#yet their influences live in the new universe and take hold onto new people

[officialtokyosan]

shang tsung's shit eating grin is the funniest thing ive ever fucking seen

nmk1's plot is actually really juicy its brand new but still has the elements of mk. the "liu king evil real?" plot, and shang tsung's scheming, shao's blood thirsty. the origin and fluences of these characters being the way they are really different but theyre still being selves that theyve always been

[johnnusz]

Full text of Robert F Kennedy, Jr.'s open letter to the DNC:

Dear Chairman Harrison and Members of the DNC,

I know some of you well. A few of you are among my oldest friends. Others of you I have never met. But all of you are my family, as public servants and fellow Americans.

Families tell one another the truth, as best we are able with grace and love and, above all, with candor. When we take wrong turns, or fail to live up to our best selves, it is our family's responsibility to hold up a mirror and recall us back to our true purpose and highest self-expression. And so I feel compelled to write to you now, because in my view, limited though it may be, the Democratic Party has gone off track.

We live in times of division, disease, and turmoil, but they are not the first such times in our nation’s history. Rulers always face the temptation to maintain social control by denying the people their sovereignty and their voice. But from our nation’s founding, through many struggles, we have upheld freedom instead. Our founders shed their blood for it. The civil rights movement fought for it, and the Democratic Party supported that movement under the Kennedy and Johnson administrations, culminating in the Voting Rights Act. Throughout the modern era, the Democratic Party fought back against censorship, upheld civil liberties, resisted corporate influence, and sought to enfranchise as many voters as possible. The Democratic party truly lived up to its name — the party of democracy, the party of the people.

Unfortunately, in recent years our party leaders have succumbed to the siren of control. They have compromised the defining democratic principle of one person, one vote through repeated interference in the primary elections. They have hijacked the party machinery and, in recent years, directed the power of censorship onto their political opponents, raising political victory onto the altar in place of honest democracy.

In school rooms across this country, we teach our children that they have an inalienable right to self-determination, that no matter the town or creed or condition into which they were born, they each have an equal right to vote for the life and society of their choosing. And that someday, they too will have the chance to put forth their own ideas and be elected or passed over, based on the equal votes of diverse peers.

Never, in all the civics lessons in all the schools in America, did the teacher add “except for in states that the President lost in the previous election.” Never, in all the glorious retellings of our fight for universal voting rights, has any teacher added, “and the decision of the people should be overturned if it doesn't comply with the preference of the ruling elites.” Yet this is exactly the new page in history that the DNC's pending rules propose, casting out New Hampshire’s votes, limiting ballot access in Iowa, and deploying party operatives to water down the popular vote and ensure a controlled victory.

Equally disheartening is the DNC’s refusal to hold debates. The matter of precedent is spurious, as there has been no serious primary challenge to an incumbent in more than 40 years. (Although Al Gore, a sitting vice-president, did debate challengers in 2000.) Voters deserve — and democracy requires — a competitive process by which to determine nominees. It should be a party’s voters who choose a candidate, not party insiders who anoint one.

The DNC and the Joe Biden campaign have essentially merged into one unit, financially and strategically, despite the promise of neutrality in its charter and bylaws. The DNC is not supposed to favor one candidate over another. It is supposed to oversee a fair, democratic selection process, and then support the candidate that its voters choose.

Much has been said in recent years about our country’s endangered democracy. As someone who has spent decades battling corrupt corporate polluters, I can attest that endangered species are not saved by idle talk. We didn’t bring the Bald Eagle back to the Hudson River Valley by holding a press conference. We did it by cleaning up the pollution that threatened its survival and introducing new chicks to the wild.

Our endangered democracy is no different. Its salvation lies in cleansing our society of the toxic divisions and corporate greed that pollute our political waters. Its salvation lies not in sound bites, but in the careful seeding and nurturing and protection of healthy examples of democracy in action.

To my dear family of fellow public servants and caretakers of democracy, I would like to offer a heartfelt invitation. Please, lead by example and hold the most transparent, equal, accessible, and accountable election that has ever been seen in this country. You have the power to do this. You have the power to restore the faith of the people — faith in the Democratic Party, and faith in democracy itself.

Family to family, I urge you to reflect, privately and in consultation with your higher power, on what legacy you wish to leave. Will it be a fearful, desperate grasping for power at all costs? Or will it be the confident and graceful letting go that marks those who truly believe in democracy? And if, in those reflections, you find yourself seeking sage counsel, I offer the parting words of George Washington — a leader whose voluntary handover of power set a precedent that echoes to this day.

“Parties,” Washington warned, “become potent engines, by which cunning, ambitious, and unprincipled men will be enabled to subvert the power of the people and to usurp for themselves the reins of government, destroying afterwards the very engines which have lifted them to unjust dominion.”

I write to you now in the hope that you hold the engine of democracy as sacred as I do. I pray that, at a time of public discontent, you cede more power to the public, not less, and thereby do right by yourselves, by the American people, and by the ideal of self-determination that inaugurated our great nation.

In service of a more perfect union,

Robert F. Kennedy, Jr.

[writerbuddha]

George Lucas on attachment from 1999 to 2021

BILL MOYERS: Do you know yet what, in a future episode, is going to transform Anakin Skywalker to the dark side?

GEORGE LUCAS: Yes, I know what that is. The groundwork has been laid in this episode. The film is ultimately about the dark side and the light side, and those sides are designed around compassion and greed. The issue of greed, of getting things and owning things and having things and not being able to let go of things, is the opposite of compassion--of not thinking of yourself all the time. These are the two sides--the good force and the bad force. They're the simplest parts of a complex cosmic construction.

George Lucas and Bill Moyers 1999, Time Magazine (http://content.time.com/time/subscriber/article/0,33009,990820-2,00.html)

GEORGE LUCAS: He turns into Darth Vader because he gets attached to things. He can't let go of his mother; he can't let go of his girlfriend. He can't let go of things. It makes you greedy. And when you're greedy, you are on the path to the dark side, because you fear you're going to lose things, that you're not going to have the power you need.

George Lucas to Time Magazine April, 2002 (http://content.time.com/time/subscriber/article/0,33009,1002323-3,00.html)

GEORGE LUCAS: In this film, (Phantom Menace) you begin to see that he has a fear of losing things, a fear of losing his mother, and as a result, he wants to begin to control things, he wants to become powerful, and these are not Jedi traits. And part of these are because he was starting to be trained so late in life, that he'd already formed these attachments. And for a Jedi, attachment is forbidden.

George Lucas to CNN, May 8, 2002 (https://edition.cnn.com/2002/SHOWBIZ/Movies/05/07/ca.s02.george.lucas/index.html)

GEORGE LUCAS: Jedi Knights aren’t celibate – the thing that is forbidden is attachments – and possessive relationships.

George Lucas to BBC, May 12, 2002 (http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/entertainment/1989505.stm)

GEORGE LUCAS: Well, a lot of people got very upset, saying he should’ve been this little demon kid. But the story is not about a guy who was born a monster – it’s about a good boy who was loving and had exceptional powers, but how that eventually corrupted him and how he confused possessive love with compassionate love. That happens in Episode II: Regardless of how his mother died, Jedis are not supposed to take vengeance. And that’s why they say he was too old to be a Jedi, because he made his emotional connections. His undoing is that he loveth too much.

George Lucas to Rolling Stones, 2005 (https://www.rollingstone.com/movies/movie-news/george-lucas-and-the-cult-of-darth-vader-247142/)

GEORGE LUCAS: The core issue, ultimately, is greed, possessiveness - the inability to let go. Not only to hold on to material things, which is greed, but to hold on to life, to the people you love - to not accept the reality of life’s passages and changes, which is to say things come, things go. Everything changes. Anakin becomes emotionally attached to things, his mother, his wife. That’s why he falls - because he does not have the ability to let go.

No human can let go. It’s very hard. Ultimately, we do let go because it’s inevitable; you do die, and you do lose your loved ones. But while you’re alive, you can’t be obsessed with holding on. As Yoda says in this one, [The scene in which Anakin seeks Yoda’s counsel] You must learn to let go of everything you’re afraid to let go of.’ Because holding on is in the same category and the precursor to greed. And that’s what a Sith is. A Sith is somebody that is absolutely obsessed with gaining more and more power - but for what? Nothing, except that it becomes an obsession to get more. The Jedi are trained to let go. They’re trained from birth, they’re not supposed to form attachments. They can love people- in fact, they should love everybody. They should love their enemies; they should love the Sith. But they can’t form attachments. So, what all these movies are about is: greed. Greed is a source of pain and suffering for everybody. And the ultimate state of greed is the desire to cheat death.

J. W. Rinzel - The Making of Revenge of the Sith page 213, published in 2005

GEORGE LUCAS: Anakin wants to be a Jedi, but he cannot let go of the people he loves in order to move forward in his life. The Jedi believe that you don’t hold on to things, that you let things pass through you, and if you can control your greed, you can resolve the conflict not only in yourself but in the world around you, because you accept the natural course of things. Anakin’s inability to follow this basic guideline is at the core of his turn to the Dark Side.

George Lucas to sci-fi online, 2005 (http://www.sci-fi-online.com/Interview/05-11-01_GeorgeLucas.htm)

GEORGE LUCAS: Love is a secret to the universe, which is compassion, which is love others, take care of others, help each other. (…) Struggle in Star Wars is about passion against compassion. Which is greed, against giving and giving up primarily and the whole issue is the flipside of greed is fear of losing. So you are either trying to get things or afraid to lose things that you’ve got and the idea is to let go of those things." - George Lucas, 2007, Devin Kumar Productions (http://www.devinkumar.com/interview-with-george-lucas/)

GEORGE LUCAS: The fact that everything must change and that things come and go through his life and that he cannot hold onto things, which is a basic Jedi philosophy that he isn't willing to accept emotionally and the reason that is because he was raised by his mother rather than the Jedi. If he'd have been taken in his first years and started to study to be a Jedi, he wouldn’t have this particular connection as strong as it is and he'd have been trained to love people but not to become attached to them.

But he become attached to his mother and he will become attached to Padme and these things are, for a Jedi, who needs to have a clear mind and not be influenced by threats to their attachments, a dangerous situation. And it feeds into fear of losing things, which feeds into greed, wanting to keep things, wanting to keep his possessions and things that he should be letting go of. His fear of losing her turns to anger at losing her, which ultimately turns to revenge in wiping out the village. The scene with the Tusken Raiders is the first scene that ultimately takes him on the road to the dark side. I mean he’s been prepping for this, but that’s the one where he’s sort of doing something that is completely inappropriate.

He’s greedy in that he wants to keep his mother around, he’s greedy in that he wants to become more powerful in order to control things in order to keep the things around that he wants. There’s a lot of connections here with the beginning of him sliding into the Dark Side.

(...)

Because of that, and because he was unwilling to let go of his mother, because he was so attached to her, he committed this terrible revenge on the tusked raiders.

George Lucas, Attack of the Clones DVD audio-commentary, 2008

GEORGE LUCAS: It’s fear of losing somebody he loves, which is the flipside of greed. Greed, in terms of the Emperor, it is the greed for power, absolute power, over everything. With Anakin, really, it’s the power to save the one he loves, but is basically going against the Fates and what is natural.

George Lucas, Revenge of the Sith DVD audio-commentary, 2008

GEORGE LUCAS: It’s pivotal that Luke doesn’t have patience. He doesn’t want to finish his training. He’s being succumbed by his emotional feelings for his friends rather than the practical feelings of “I’ve got to get this job done before I can actually save them. I can’t save them, really.” But he sorts of takes the easy route, the arrogant route, the emotional but least practical route, which is to say, “I’m just going to go off and do this without thinking too much.” And the result is that he fails and doesn’t do well for Han Solo or himself. It’s the motif that needs to be in the picture, but it’s one of those things that just in terms of storytelling was very risky because basically he screws up, and everything turns bad. And it’s because of that decision that Luke made on [Dagobah] to say, “I know I’m not ready, but I’m going to go anyway.

George Lucas, Empire Strikes Back DVD audio-commentary, 2008

GEORGE LUCAS: The core of the Force–I mean, you got the dark side, the light side, one is selfless, one is selfish, and you wanna keep them in balance. What happens when you go to the dark side is it goes out of balance and you get really selfish and you forget about everybody … because when you get selfish you get stuff, or you want stuff, and when you want stuff and you get stuff then you are afraid somebody is going to take it away from you, whether it’s a person or a thing or a particular pleasure or experience.

Once you become afraid that somebody’s going to take it away from you or you’re gonna lose it, then you start to become angry, especially if you’re losing it, and that anger leads to hate, and hate leads to suffering. Mostly on the part of the person who’s selfish, because you spend all your time being afraid of losing everything you’ve got instead of actually living. Where joy, by giving to other people you can’t think about yourself, and therefore there’s no pain. But the pleasure factor of greed and of selfishness is a short-lived experience, therefore you’re constantly trying to replenish it, but of course the more you replenish it, the harder it is to, so you have to keep upping the ante. You’re actually afraid of the pain of not having the joy. So that is ultimately the core of the whole dark side/light side of the Force. And everything flows from that. Obviously the Sith are always unhappy because they never get enough of anything they want. Mostly, their selfishness centers around power and control. And the struggle is always to be able to let go of all that stuff. And of course that’s the problem with Anakin ultimately. You’re allowed to love people, but you’re not allowed to possess them. And what he did is he fell in love and married her and then became jealous. Then he saw in his visions that she was going to die, and he couldn’t stand losing her. So in order to not lose her, he made a pact with the devil to be able to become all-powerful. When he did that, she didn’t want to have anything to do with him anymore, so he lost her. Once you are powerful, being able to bring her back from the dead, if I can do that, I can become emperor of the universe. I can get rid of the Emperor. I can make everything the way I want it. Once you do that, you’ll never be satiated. You’re always going to be consumed by this driving desire to have more stuff and be afraid that others are going to take it away from you. And they are. Every time you get two Sith together, you have the master, the apprentice, and the apprentice is always trying to recruit another apprentice to join with him to kill the master. The master knows that basically everybody below him wants his job. Only way to overcome the dark side is through discipline. The dark side is pleasure, biological and temporary and easy to achieve. The light side is joy, everlasting and difficult to achieve. A great challenge. Must overcome laziness, give up quick pleasures, and overcome fear which leads to hate.

George Lucas, explaining the Force to the Clone Wars writing team, 2010 (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9nFMBBrliyQ&t=41s&ab_channel=StarWarsCoffee)

GEORGE LUCAS: When you start to care about yourself and the things that you own and the things that you have and you’re greedy and you want things all the time and you don’t want to give them up because you’re afraid to give them up, you turn to the dark side. And that’s what happened to Anakin.

George Lucas Q&A: Field Museum, Chicago 5/8/2010 (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zRaVjM_goKM)

GEORGE LUCAS: The thing about Anakin is, Anakin started out as a nice kid. He was kind, and sweet, and lovely, and he was then trained as a Jedi. But the Jedi can’t be selfish. They can love but they can’t love people to the point of possession. You can’t really possess somebody, because people are free. It’s possession that causes a lot of trouble, and that causes people to kill people, and causes people to be bad. Ultimately it has to do with being unwilling to give things up.

The whole basis here is if you’re selfish, if you’re a Sith Lord, you’re greedy. You’re constantly trying to get something. And you’re constantly in fear of not getting it, or, when you get it, you’re in constant fear of losing it. And it’s that fear that takes you to the dark side. It’s that fear of losing what you have or want.

Sometimes it’s ambition, but sometimes, like in the case of Anakin, it was fear of losing his wife. He knew she was going to die. He didn’t quite know how, so he was able to make a pact with a devil that if he could learn how to keep people from dying, he would help the Emperor. And he became a Sith Lord. Once he started saying, “Well, we could take over the galaxy, I could take over from the Emperor, I could have ultimate power,” Padmé saw right through him immediately. She said, “You’re not the person I married. You’re a greedy person.” So that’s ultimately how he fell and he went to the dark side.

And then Luke had the chance to do the same thing. He didn’t do it.

George Lucas, 2019 (https://www.starwars.com/news/star-wars-episode-i-the-phantom-menace-oral-history)

GEORGE LUCAS: They (the Jedi) trained more than anything else to understand the transitional nature of life, that things are constantly changing and you can't hold on to anything. You can love things but you can't be attached to them, You must be willing to let the flow of life and the flow of the Force move through your life, move through you. So that you can be compassionate and loving and caring, but not be possessive and grabbing and holding on to things and trying to keep things the way they are. Letting go is the central theme of the film."

George Lucas, "Star Wars Archives 1999-2005" p. 72-73 (2020)

GEORGE LUCAS: Luke is faced with the same issues and practically the same scenes that Anakin is faced with. Anakin says yes, and Luke says no. (…) We have the scene when Anakin decides to save Palpatine and join him, so they could learn how to save Padmé. The equivalent scene in VI is when the Emperor’s trying to get Luke to kill his dad so he can save his sister.”

George Lucas, "Star Wars Archives 1999-2005" p. 421 and p. 212. (2020)

GEORGE LUCAS: The secret ultimately like in Star Wars is that you have to not be afraid. Fear is the enemy; fear is the Dark Side. If you afraid, you are going to the Dark Side. The Light Side is compassion. As long as you love other people and treat them kindly, you won't be afraid. So, the secret is to just love everybody - I know that sounds very 60s but that's what I grew up in - but it its fear that cause the problem. So you have to stop being afraid and be kind to everybody.

(...)

The main theme of Star Wars is that compassion is the good side, fear is the bad side.

(...)

I kind of lost control of Star Wars so it’s going off a different path than what I intended but the first six are very much mine and my philosophy. And I think that philosophy sort of goes beyond any particular time because it’s based on history it based on philosophy. (...)

The thing with Anakin is that he started out a great kid he was very compassionate , so the issue was how did he turn bad. How did he go to the Dark Side? He went to the Dark Side, Jedi aren’t supposed to have attachments. They can love people, they can do that, but they can’t attach, that’s the problem in the world of fear. Once you are attached to something then you become afraid of losing it. And when you become afraid of losing it, then you turn to the Dark Side, and you want to hold onto it, and that was Anakin’s issue ultimately, that he wanted to hold onto his wife who he knew, he had a premonition that she was going to die, he didn’t know how to stop it, so he went to the Dark Side to find, in mythology you do to hades, and you talk to the devil, and the devil says ‘this is what you do’ and basically you sell your soul to the devil. When you do that, and you’re afraid and you’re on the Dark Side and you fall off the golden path of compassion because you are greedy, you want to hold on to something that you love and he didn’t do the right thing and as a result he turned bad.

Mellody Hobson, George Lucas - Virtual Speaker Interview (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wRqVdcE5oyI)

GEORGE LUCAS WAS ALWAYS CLEAR ABOUT THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN LOVE AND ATTACHMENT, AND HOW "PREQUEL-ERA" JEDI PHILOSOPHY WORKS.

[awanderingdeal]

I vote leo meeting the harvard team! 💕

So this fic has been a bit of a mare to write, but we are here!

You can read the first part of this here

Rating: T

CW: Alcohol, academic superiority complex and coming out.

Logan, Finn, Leo, Percy, Will and the general Sweater Weather universe belongs to @lumosinlove. The other team members were made up by me for this fic.

“Okay, tell me their names again,” Leo said, tugging at the rolled neck of his sweater as he shut the car door.

“Nutty,” Finn laughed. “There’s not going to be a pop quiz. We’ll introduce you when we meet people.”

Leo scowled, letting Logan thread their fingers together. It was weird being able to do this in public still and Leo couldn’t help but glance around. “I just don’t want to make a fool of myself.” Logan squeezed his hand reassuringly, meeting Leo’s gaze with a soft smile.

“Nobody expects you to know anything. And everybody’s great.” Logan wrinkled his nose like he’d just smelt something bad. “Except Wesley, he’s an ass, but I’ll point him out.”

Like many of the others in Harvard square, the building was all exposed brick and white accents, blending in seamlessly with those around it. Inside was different, more modern. Leo didn’t get to see much of the first floor, the one dedicated to the restaurant Finn, Logan and the rest of the team had dined at previous evening, before he was ushered up a grand staircase, but he’d seen the photographs. The cherry blossom ceilings and walls of glass provided the perfect backdrop for the instagram feeds of the hoards of celebrities and influencers that flocked there. Hence his surprise when, after checking their invitations again, an employee pushed open a set of double doors to reveal a room that more resembled a 1920’s speakeasy than anything 21st century. A loud cheer went up as they crossed the threshold.

“Is this a team thing?” Leo mouthed at Logan.

He got his answer from Percy Marshall. Leo had met him a few times before when they’d played the Rangers. “You’re the last to arrive,” Percy chuckled. “I’d say I was surprised, but that would be a lie.” He slapped a hand playfully against Finn’s bicep. Is this outfit change number 52, Finn? Don’t worry, you didn’t disappoint. You look wonderful.”

“Fuck you, Marshy,” Finn laughed. “Tremz was on a call to his sisters actually.”

“Oh, I do apologise,” Percy clasped his hand to his chest. “We wouldn’t dare break up a Tremblay soiree.”

“You’re an ass,” Logan scoffed, plucking at Finn’s slacks. “I was only talking to them because Finn was taking so long. Did you know there are several shades of mustard and only one of them goes with this shirt?”

“Oh look, they argue like an old married couple too,” William Morgan, another of those Leo knew, and Percy’s teammate on the Rangers, teased. “Marshy, these hands are looking too empty. Get these men a drink.”

“Aye, aye, capt’n.” Leo set to follow as Percy led the way to the bar, stumbling slightly as he found Will’s firm grasp on his shoulder stopping his movement. Logan turned as his fingers slipped from his hand.

“Go ahead, Tremzy. I’m going to introduce Leo to some of the team. We want all the gossip without you two around to censor him.”

Logan frowned. “I’m not sure -”

“Relax, Logan. This isn’t a hazing. We’ll be right over there,” Will pointed towards a group perched on stools around two of the tables in the centre of the room, a mix of the old team and what Leo assumed were their partners. “Knut’s a big boy. He can object for himself if he really doesn’t want to come.”

“I’m sure I can hold my own,” Leo cocked his head slightly and smiled. “You better not leave Harzy with Percy for too long. They’ll be three shots down by now.”

The next few hours passed in a whirlwind of introductions. Leo had lost count of the number of hands he'd shaken and the new names he'd learned. It reminded him of those first few days in Gryffindor, being shuffled around from place to place and everybody telling him he'd get used to it.

The quiet of the bathroom was a welcome reprieve to the chaos. “Sweetheart,” Leo laughed, listening to Finn sing to himself in the stall. “Are you okay? You’ve been in there a while.”

“I’m coming, I’m coming.” A concerningly loud crash preceded the door being pushed open. “I’m here.”

“You’re drunk,” Leo chuckled.

Finn pulled his hands from under the stream of water, shaking droplets everywhere as he squeezed the tips of his thumb and forefinger together. “Maybe just the tiniest bit.”

Leo shook his head fondly. “Let’s go and find Lo.” Glancing back to check Finn was following him proved to be a mistake. “Shit, I’m sorry,” he apologised, rubbing at his forehead and stepping back from the wall of muscle he’d just crashed into. Of course, the tall man with his hair pulled back into a loose ponytail was the one person Leo hadn’t yet met.

“Leo, this is James. Call him Hunter,” Finn grinned with his hand resting in the small of Leo’s back. "Hunter, this is -"

"Leo Knut. I know. Everybody knows," Hunter said and Leo noted the familiar notes of his own accent in the words. He faltered with his hand thrust halfway in Leo's direction, letting it fall back by his side. "Oh fuck, sorry man. Did you want to introduce him as your boyfriend? Go ahead."

"It's cool, no worries." Finn shrugged, the rounds of his cheeks tinged with the slightest of blushes. "Aww, what the heck!" He squared his shoulders, standing a little taller, the corners of his mouth splitting with pride. "Hunter, this is Leo, my boyfriend."

Hunter extended his hand again for Leo to shake. “Nice to meet you. Please excuse me, I have to use the bathroom now, but we’ll talk later.”

***

"Boys." The call had come from behind them and Logan groaned low in his chest as they turned to acknowledge it.

"Wes! You made it," Finn smiled, the corners of his mouth tight. "We weren't sure you'd be able to. With all those big meetings you have to attend and such. Is your wife, Renee, wasn’t it, here? I'd love to meet her."

Something flickered in Wes' smug expression. "They stayed in California. Nate has a very busy schedule. Harvard is very important to me, as you know, so I came alone."

“Isn’t Nate three?” Logan blinked.

“You have to give them a good start if you want them to get them to get into a good college these days, I’m sure you understand. Where was it you went, Leo?"

Leo pursed his lips, letting the same calm wash over him that he channelled for interviews. “I didn’t go. I got drafted straight out of high school.”

“Oh, well, that’s a shame,” Wes said. “College isn’t for everybody though, is it?”

Logan bristled beside him, and Leo placed a placating hand on his shoulder. “Indeed,” he blinked. “I didn’t need my intelligence validated by a degree then, and I still don’t now. And I was hardly about to turn down an offer from The Gryffindor Lions now, was I?”

Wes grumbled something that sounded vaguely like an agreement before turning on his heel and walking off in a manner that Leo could only describe as petulant.

“You’re so hot,” Finn took Leo’s face between his hands and pressed a kiss to his lips. “I’m going to get a drink. Do you want another?”

“Please,” Leo nodded. Logan raised his still mostly full glass as a rejection of the offer.

“You should have let me punch him,” Logan huffed. “He would have deserved it.”

"And get blood on your shirt? Let’s leave that on the ice, shall we?” Leo tugged at the lapels of Logan’s jacket.

***

"So," Logan started as they claimed one of the low tables in the corner, a little tucked away from the rest of the room. "What do you think?"

"It's always nice seeing where you two started," Leo hummed, threading his fingers through the thin curls on the nape of Logan's neck. "I just don't know how you used to do this everyday. Live amongst all this energy. The guys all seem great, but it's a lot even now and I'm assuming you've all mellowed somewhat with age."

"I am not old," Logan scoffed. "Mais non, I agree. Wasn't always like this though. There's more than one graduating class here and we've been apart a long time. A lot of excitement."

"Sorry, sorry, I got caught up with Biscuit. He has triplets now, isn't that crazy?" Finn said, pressing a glass into Logan’s hand and setting Leo’s in front of him before flopping onto the couch opposite. "One Margarita for the fine sir."

"Thanks, Harzy," Leo laughed lightly.

"I can't believe him and Vanessa are still together," Logan hummed, taking a long sip of his drink. He leaned back, crossing his left leg over his right thigh and snaked his arm across the dark leather, brushing his fingers against Leo's shoulder. "I only introduced them because she was flirting with you at that party, the one just after we got back from winter break my junior year, and I wanted to distract her."

"Oh, so that's why you got all moody," Finn said. "She wasn't flirting, she needed help with an essay, idiot."

"The fact you remember Logan's mood on a night seven years ago says more about you than him," Leo snorted.

"First of all, Tremzy being grumpy? That's just a good guess. Second, some of us were still stupid at 20, Knutty." Finn sighed wistfully. "Hey, at least it doesn't feel like I'm being stabbed in the chest these days when I think about it. Progress, right?"

Logan tipped his glass in Finn's direction, nodding his head briefly. "I'll cheers to that."

"To -" Leo started, letting the toast die off as another of Finn and Logan's old team mates approached. He hoped the disappointment he felt wasn't written across his face; whilst he hadn't really expected to be left alone for too long, he had hoped for the brief respite to have lasted longer.

"Hey." The newcomer had his hand shoved into his pockets and his shoulders stooped, almost as if he was trying to hide himself. "I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

"Ken!" Finn patted the empty seat next to him. "Of course not. Come, sit."

Leo extended his arm, offering his hand. "Nice to meet you. Ken was it? I'm Leo."

"Ken's what the team always called me. Don't really hear it much these days." Leo thought he saw something sad in the smile sent his way. "My real name is Obi."

"That's because you went off the radar," Logan gave a pointed look.

"About that -" Obi swiped Finn's drink, ignoring his disgruntled protest. He drained what was left of it, pulling at an non-existent loose thread on his sweater. "I wanted to say thank you, you know. For having the guts to come out. I know Black and Lupin were first, but that was forced wasn’t it. You made a choice. I know that must have been hard. It was one hell of a ballsy move."

Leo looked between Finn and Logan, expecting them to answer, but neither of them spoke. "We didn't have much of a choice, not if we didn't want to be watching our back every second of every day."

"It was still brave," Obi muttered. "I couldn't have done it."

"Ken, what are you saying?" Logan never did have much patience for others taking their time to get to the point, even though he was a fan of the scenic route himself.

"They gave you a whole Harvard degree and you need to ask that question?" Obi huffed a laugh. "I'm gay. I met Marco, my now husband at the end of senior year, and freaked out. I didn't know how to make these two worlds work, so I didn't. I moved to DC with him, and started a new life. I'm an accountant, he works in marketing. We have four rats, and a Vizsla called Poppy. It's all very domestic. I love it, but I was a coward.”

"You're not a coward. You don't owe that information to anybody, Ken. Not the others, not the media, not the NHL and not us. Not now, not then, not ever.” Finn took a breath, holding up his finger to signal he wasn’t finished. “Besides, it's not as if Lo and I planned this. We went into this with every intention of stuffing this deep, deep into the depths of denial, never for anybody to find out. Including ourselves. And then Nutty came along.”

Obi smiled at Leo, turning his attention back to Finn. "When did you become Gay Yoda?"

"I spend way too much time in our psych's office. Just spreading the wisdom. Heather would be proud."

"Do the others know?" Logan asked.

"Not yet, I think I'd like them to though."

Logan shifted, leaning forward in his seat. "There's no rush, Ken. We've got your back, whatever you decide."

"So, do you have photos?" Leo cocked his head. "We got to show off. Now it's your turn. Even if it's only for us."

"Of Marco?"

"I'm sure he's wonderful, but I was actually talking about Poppy. And the rats," Leo teased.

There were moments when Leo wondered whether they had made the right decision. When he was playing in front of hostile crowds, or fending off stupid media questions, or blocking bigots on twitter. And then there were moments when he knew the decision they had made was 100% perfect. Right now, that was one of those moments.

[toxicjayhoe]

We don’t have to dance

Explicit

Shinso / Reader(OC)

M / F

Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot

I mean there's some plot in my head but y'all don't get to see that haha

Cunnilingus

Blow Jobs

Hitoshi is a good boy

he asks for consent

Brainwashing

Oral Sex

Vaginal Sex

Unprotected Sex

Aged-Up Character(s) obviously

Light Dom/sub

Choking

Ahegao

Smut

He glanced across the overcrowded room, observing acquaintances and strangers as they socialized and sipped their drinks, swaying to the beat of the music. The open space of the hero office had been rearranged as to accommodate as many individuals as possible for this year’s Christmas celebration.

Shinso had never really been the type who partied, but he thought it was important to attend, if only for appearances sake. As a new Pro-hero, he believed it was a necessity to demonstrate he was a team player.

He took a mouthful of his cider, feeling it burn down his throat as he swallowed the effervescent drink. He never really drank either, but he enjoyed a nice glass every once in a while.

The couch he rested on was quite comfortable, he thought to himself as he settled back into it. He was more than content in just sitting here all evening until he believed it was acceptable to leave. He wasn’t interested in idle conversation about the weather or whatever these people were gossiping about to one another.

However, the universe had other plans for him it seemed, as Denki quickly approached him, shots in hand.

“Hey bestie, down this and let’s go get some ladies.” The blond handed the liquor towards him, urging him to take it, waggling his eyebrows and winking.

Shinso sighed, ignoring the offending alcohol currently being offered to him. “What ladies, Denki? We are at the bottom of the food chain here.”

“My dude, it’s a Christmas office party. Have you never seen a movie in your life? Things always get spicy at Christmas office parties.” He cackled, downing one of the shots and throwing the empty cup behind him. He pulled another from behind his back.

The purple haired man made a face, before chuckling quietly. “Where did that one come from?!”

Denki shrugged, shoving the two shots into Shinso’s hands. He rolled his purple eyes, giving in to maybe the only true friend he had.

He brought them to his lips, one after the other, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and placing the empty receptacles on the table by him. Of course Denki had chosen peppermint schnapps.

“I’m only going to be your wingman, and only because you could really use the support.” He said with a bored tone to his voice as he pushed himself up from the sofa. Denki whooped enthusiastically, rushing off to where Shinso could only assume the ladies were.

He unhurriedly trailed after him, making his way between the gatherings of individuals, being vigilant as to not come into contact with anyone as he passed them. He wasn’t fond of strangers to start, much less being touched by them in any way.

He was terrific at communicating when he was obligated to, which was merely when he was required to use his Quirk. He still had issues with it and, even now, citizens still told him it was better suited for a villain, but he’d come to terms with not being able to please everyone. As long as he did a respectable job as a pro-hero and protecting the populace, then he would be happy.

Once he finally made it beyond the crowd and to where Denki had run off to, said man was being rejected by yet another woman.

Jaw clenched as not to show any suggestion of a smirk, he clapped the blond on the back in sympathy.

“You’re aiming way too high, Denki. And you try too hard.” He said simply, unsure if it was the right thing to say or not. Nonetheless, the shorter man smiled up at him, seemingly undeterred by yet another loss.

“Let’s go play foosball!” Denki hollered, forcing him in the direction of the tabletop game, stealing two additional beverages as a waiter walked by them.

They played a few rounds, one versus the other. Shinso loathed to admit it, but he had struggled to keep up with the innate talent Denki appeared to have at the game.

Just as he began to genuinely start enjoying his night, Denki sprinted off, declaring he needed to piss. Shinso took the moment alone to survey his surroundings once more, taking in the sight of people’s inhibitions all but forgotten as alcohol started influencing their behaviors. He took another sip of his own drink, finishing it in one gulp.

If he was being honest with himself, he was also starting to feel the affects drinking had on his body and on his mind.

He leaned onto the wall behind him, arms crossed on his chest as Denki came into sight, marching towards him, arms intertwined with the two women at his sides.

One of them he recognized as Jiro, whom he was relatively convinced Denki had a major crush on. The other, however, he could not recall ever having the pleasure of meeting.

“Shinso, don’t be rude, say hi!” He rolled his eyes before nodding silently at them both. “Good enough. Okay! Me and Jiro against the two of you. Let’s do this.”

/\*\/*/\*\/*/\*\/*/\*\/*/\*\/*

Shinso was sure Denki had let him win for some odd reason his mind could not fathom.

As the two of them argued over why they lost the game, he cleared his throat, offering his hand to the shorter woman by his side

“I’m Shinso. Hitoshi Shinso. It’s nice to make your acquaintance”

She smiled, giving him a firm handshake.

“I know who you are, Brainwashing Hero.” His eyes widened, astonished anyone, let alone an alluring young woman, would know who he was. Was she not frightened of his quirk like everyone else had been? “My name is Aruna Ai.”

He heard himself hum before the words spilled from his mouth like word vomit.

“The moon does not fight. It attacks no one. It does not worry. It does not try to crush others. It keeps to its course, but by its very nature, it gently influences. What other body could pull an entire ocean from shore to shore? The moon is faithful to its nature and its power is never diminished.” He finished, taking a deep breath after such a long-winded sentence.

“Did you just quote Deng Ming-Doa’s Everyday Tao: Living with Balance and Harmony at me?” Aruna stared at Shinso, brows furrowed as her lips quirked up.

His hand found the back of his neck as heat rose to his cheeks in mortification, unable to look directly at her.

“Sorry, I don’t know where that came from, heh.” He continued to look everywhere but her, feeling crushingly stupid. Aruna chuckled, placing the palm of her hand on his muscular arm and squeezing.

“Don’t worry so much. I’m already a fan.” An overwhelming sense of calm overtook him then, like something paranormal was causing him to relax.

“What’s your quirk?” He blurted. He scratched his skull, once again mortified that he seemed to not have a filter tonight.

She squeezed his arm again before dropping her hand to her side, smiling brightly up at him.

“Well aren’t you just the most perceptive man?” She crammed her hand into her pockets, rocking back and forth on the heels of her shoes, seemingly deep in thought.

He patiently watched her.

“I can manifest emotions in others if I have direct skin contact with them. My power varies depending on the cycle of the moon though.”

He felt his eyebrow arch in curiosity. It was sort of similar to his own quirk, when he thought about it.

“That is truly fascinating, Aruna.”

She huffed and laughed. “Not as fascinating as being able to brainwash someone. I wonder what it feels like.”

“Care to find out?” He couldn’t believe the words leaving his own mouth.

“I would love to.” No hesitation in her voice, only a slight blush stained her cheeks.

His eyes narrowed as he stared into hers. “Are you sure?” His voice low.

She rolled her eyes “Of course I’m sure, Shin-“ Her eyes glazed over as her mind went blank.

“Follow me.” Came the command.

Although she had no control over her own movements, her mind was still aware enough to realise what was happening.

She was led across the crowds and through the halls. He silently guided her into an unoccupied office, small cots lined up on the walls.

He released his hold on her mind, allowing her a moment to turn around and leave, if she so chose.

His gaze never left her face, eyes concentrated on the way her cheeks darkened. Mortified, no doubt.

They remained standing, unmoving for long moments. Hesitation welled in him for a second, unsure of himself. Aruna’s breathing came out in a sigh as she strode forward, toward him in quick steps. When she reached him, her hands grasped his clothed shoulders as she pushed herself up onto the tips of her toes, raising her lips to meet his in a sweet kiss.

Purple eyes widened at the unexpected contact.

“I just… wanted to do that of my own accord first.” She whispered as she stepped back, breathing heavier than moments before, smile on her lips.

“You look at me like you think I’m someone else.” He said simply.

Her eyes narrowed, a look he could not read painting her features.

“How do I say this… We don’t have to talk, and we don’t have to dance around it, we don’t even have to be friends. I’m attracted to you…I want you to brainwash me. And…” She paused as Shinso slowly approached her.

Eyes peered into hers, pupils dilated. “And?”

“And… I want you to use me as you wis-“ Her mouth hung open, no words coming out as Shinso gained control once again. If she could smirk, she would have.

“Come here.” Her feet pulled her to where he was now sat on one of the cots.

Large hands grasped hers. The softness of her fingers in comparison to his own, rough and calloused, felt like heaven.

Shinso had never done anything like this before and the thrill of it all made blood rush through his entire body, his heart hammering in his chest.

He looked up into her blank eyes, dick twitching against his slacks at the sight of her. He couldn’t wait to see her ruined by him.

He couldn’t get enough of her soft skin, gliding his fingers up her arm and to her neck while the other hand drifted lower, reaching under her dress.

A devilish smirk formed on his face when his fingers tightened around her throat, a soft gasp leaving her mouth.

Hiking her dress up, he dug his fingers into her hip, pulling Aruna closer, lowering his head to kiss just above his tight grip.

Teeth grazed against her skin, eliciting soft moans from above as he nipped and kissed and sucked, marking her. He hoped the resulting bruises would last weeks, reminding her of tonight.

Despite that most thought that, while under the influence of his quirk, his victims couldn’t remember what they’d done under Shinso’s control, it all depended if he wanted them to remember or not.

He most definitely wanted Aruna to remember tonight, needed her to feel and see everything he would do to her and have her do to him.

“Spread your legs.”

A hum left his lips as she did what she was told, legs far enough apart for his face to fit nicely between soft thighs.

“Good girl.” He whispered, looking up into those blank eyes, her pupils now dilated, a look of lust filling them.

He kept his gaze fixated on hers as he released her neck, hand gliding to her breast, squeezing it gently. Fuck, he couldn’t get enough of her body. Her soft curves and her even softer skin. The breathy moans that left her lips at every new sensation.

Perhaps she was the one ruining him.

Both hands were on her hips, fingers slipping under the hem of her panties, dragging them down her legs and around her feet. He placed them in his pant pocket. They were his now.

As he pressed his nose to her, he inhaled deeply, a groan ripping through his throat. Absolute heaven, the scent of her driving him crazy with need.

His tongue met her folds, licking up to her clit before bringing it into his mouth and sucking. He felt her knees go weak, the only thing holding her up straight now were his strong hands at her hips.

She tasted absolutely amazing. Shinso’s eyes squeezed shut as he devoured her. He was sure his fingers were leaving bruises. He hoped they were.

Leaving her pussy for air was torture, but he could feel his control over her slipping as he got lost in the taste of her.

“I’m going to let go of your hips now. Don’t fall.”

He wiped his chin of her juices with the back of his hand, tongue darting out to gather the droplets on his lips. He pressed his palm down onto his cock, needing some kind of touch to release the pressure building inside him.

Nimble fingers unbuckled his belt, releasing his cock from its confines. Aruna glanced down, eyes lidded.

Her own tongue slipped from her mouth, licking her lips at the sight of him slowly stroking his cock, tired eyes locked on hers.

“Come taste me.” The commanding tone sent noticeable shivers down her spine, clearly trembling where she stood.

She could feel herself resisting the request, his control wavering as pleasure began to overtake his senses.

“ Obey me.” Aruna’s knees hit the floor, palms resting on his thighs as she positioned her mouth over him.

One calloused hand cupped her cheek, guiding her lower, the other gripping the base of his cock.

The sound that rumbled through his chest was unholy as she took as much of him into her warm mouth as she possibly could, hallowing her cheeks the instant the head hit the back of her throat.

“F-fuck. Aruna” His fingers fisted into her hair, staring down at her as drool dribbled down her chin. He gently pushed her down on his cock, face fucking her softly. He didn’t want to hurt her, but fuck if her wet tongue across the underside of his dick didn’t feel like paradise.

She moaned around him as he thrust into her mouth, sending delightful vibrations through him, dick twitching in her mouth. He was losing control. He could feel it.

Her tongue swirled around the head of his cock and- he was sure it would be the end of him. This girl. How did he get so fucking lucky?

Aruna’s fingers dug into his thighs as she came up for air, his quirk weak enough from the pleasure to break out of it.

His eyes widened as she quickly rose to her feet, pushing his chest down as she settled onto his lap, sitting on his cock, sinking down on it in one swift movement.

Strong hands grasped her hips once more, furiously fucking up into her. Every moan from her lips sent heat through him.

“You like that, baby?” He asked, voice hoarse and husky.

“Y-yes. Hah. You feel so good, Hitosh-“ Her pussy tightened around him, losing herself to his control once more.

“Silly girl. Stick your tongue out for me, and don’t stop fucking yourself on my cock.”

Her eyes blank again, tongue sticking out, drooling down her face. It was absolutely stunning. So fucking beautiful, and it was all for him. He had never seen anything so breathtaking.

He stared into her face, bringing his thumb to her clit, gently pressing circles into it and watched as she shuddered, grinding on him harder, breaths coming out unevenly, whimpers escaping her lips every time he bottomed out in her.

“You’re so beautiful. Aruna. Fuck. The way I fit inside you, like we were meant to be like this.”

The words left his mouth, any shame he might have felt discarded, pleasure overwhelming his every sense. She looked amazing, tasted amazing, smelt amazing. She was perfect.

He grasped her throat again, other hand on her ass as he met her thrust for thrust. She was close, he could feel it in the way her walls clenched around him, in the way her eyes crossed, tongue still lolling from her delicious little mouth.

“Come for me, my lovely moon. “

She stilled above him, walls clenching tight one more time as her insides fluttered around him, sending him over the edge, cock spurting deep inside her, a growl leaving his throat, fingers tightening painfully around her neck.

She collapsed against his chest as he released control over her, breathing heavily in the crook of his neck as he gently caressed her back and played with her hair, calming her as she came down from her orgasm.

Shinso adjusted her dress to cover her body. His heart felt full for what seemed like the first time in his life.

“It’s so nice to meet you, Aruna.”

He felt her smile against his neck.

There was no point in saving the world if it meant losing the moon.

Art by Me

[dreamescapeswriting]

Crushed ~ JJK [M] [Request]

↬↬↬Word Count: 3.5k

↬↬↬Genre: Smut, fluff, university AU, bad!Boy!Jungkook

↬↬↬Pairing: Jungkook x Fem!Reader

↬↬↬A/n: I hope this is okay for you

Jungkook stared down at the liquid in the red cup he was holding Jimin had brought him the drink telling him to cheer up, it was another party without you you'd given him some excuse to stay at your dorm yet again. He knew you weren't one for parties but he would have assumed you'd come and spend the night with him he wanted you to that - he wished just once you would take an interest in something he was doing rather than focusing on your studies, it was close to graduation and these were going to be the last few parties you could ever go to but you weren't bothered by them. You would rather stay at home in front of the fireplace and read a good book instead. It was one of the first things that had made him fall head over heels in love with you - you didn't care who he was in the school all you cared about was getting the work done. 

"You sure I have to work with him?" You asked the tutor as you stared at Jungkook, he'd come into the class late as usual with a smug look on his face dressed in his usual attire - long hair thrown around all over the place wet from the showers at the college, dressed in black jeans, black shirt and a black leather jacket that he thought made him look cool...News flash Jeon Jungkook, it doesn't. It made him look like he was trying way too hard to get the attention he got so easily, everyone in the college was in love with him everyone had a crush on him, including one of the staff members. 

It was obvious that he clearly didn't want to be in the lessons that were for him but he was being forced to by the college. The school had already threatened to take his scholarship away from him if he didn't start bucking up his ideas and start concentrating on what was important - it wasn't the sport he was on the team off like he insisted on. 

"Yes I'm sure, you're going to have a positive influence on him." Your teacher said as she looked up from the folder she was working her way through - marking off all of the work that Jungkook needed to have done by the end of the college year which was in six months.

"You'll just have to suck it up, Princess." The nickname sent the wrong kind of shivers down your back as you stared at him from across the class. He had his feet up on his desk along with a giant smirk across his lips as he watched you walking back to your seat and begin taking notes, he just watched you as you pushed the bridge of your glasses up onto your nose. The look of concentration on your face made him smile, you looked adorable like that - not that he would ever say that out loud to you. 

"What are you writing down?" His voice came out smooth and you looked at the desk, he'd moved from his own desk and was standing in front of yours his hand outstretched on the table next to your notebook you took in the appearance of his tattoos on his hands. All of them in black except for a purple heart between his thumb and index finger. You often found yourself wondering what each of them meant but you had to act as though you didn't care about him or the way he was so handsome you thought someone had carved him in stone but you would never say that to him. His ego was large enough without someone else telling him how handsome they found him. 

"You're staring Princess." You rolled your eyes at him slamming your notebook shut already having enough of him, you hated that he thought he was this big-time guy who could get away with everything he wanted when he couldn't. 

"Don't call me Princess." You spoke through gritted teeth as you waited for your tutor to hand you the assignments you were going to be helping Jungkook with, it turned out he was behind on everything that had been set in the class since the start of the final year. 

"How are you even still allowed in the school?" He shrugged his shoulders looking over your shoulder down at the A4 piece of paper was double-sided full of things he had to do before he could even think about graduating.

"People love me." You already wanted to take your pen and jab it into his eye or maybe your own depending on how long he was going to keep all of this up, 

"Here," You scribbled down directions on a small slip of paper and handed it to him while staring at him, 

"What's this?" You looked at him as you packed up your things into your side bag and standing up from your desk wanting to get out of there as soon as you could, 

"Directions to the library, I assume you have no idea where it is." You replied snarkily picking up your folder and clutching it into your chest, snatching the piece of paper with what he needed out of his hands as you walked out of the classroom. 

"She's got you there mate." Jimin - one of his best friends on campus said as he sat back in his chair watching the younger boy watch you walk away. 

"I didn't know there was a library." He sighed looking at the tutor who was now smirking to herself knowing that he was going to get the work done on time and properly if you were the one to do it with him, you didn't take shit from anyone and she knew you couldn't stand Jungkook so you wouldn't stand for any of his lame excuses as to why he couldn't do the work.

"Mr Jeon, I suggest you met her there or you will be expelled from the college." She warned him, wanting to make sure he took this seriously. It was no longer just a threat coming from the board it was a serious thing and he had to start taking his life at college well. 

"You know it helps if you keep your eyes open and stare at the page you're working on." You snapped at him, you'd been sitting in the library for two hours and you'd already had enough of his shit. It had been nothing but excuses since the moment he sat down, the usual about how he didn't do it because he was busy or at a party that night and didn't want to sit there and do his work. 

"I'm not going to do it for you if that's what you're thinking," You warned him, taking out your copies of the work he was doing. 

"You can use mine for help but you can't copy it." He wasn't paying attention to anything you were saying, he was just staring at you and wondering when you'd gotten changed. Earlier you were dressed in a pair of jeans and a hoodie but now you were in a pencil skirt and a low cut top. 

"Any questions?" You raised an eyebrow at him and he nodded, nodding his pen up and down in the direction of your body. 

"When did you get changed? Did you change for me?" You shot him down right away shaking your head at him, 

"I got changed because I have a date tonight-"

"You look like a school teacher, no guy is going to screw with that." You sat there mouth agape as the words came from his mouth, 

"Thanks." You snapped looking at the clock and wondering if you had time to go back to your dorm and get changed, Jungkook caught sight of it and smirked. 

"You want to get laid?" You stayed silent not wanting to entertain his ideas but it was true, you'd been pent up for so long it was all you'd been craving. 

"It's none of your business what I want-"

"That means yeah." You rolled your eyes at him and kicked off the heels you were wearing and turned your legs to the side so you could get comfortable. 

"It means I'm cancelling my date to help your dumbass pass this class." He stared at you wondering why you'd suddenly changed your mind on all of this, 

"Why?"

"Because if I don't, I'll have to deal with it on my conscious for the rest of my life. Just get on with this please." You tapped your pen on the sheet of paper in front of him waiting for him to turn to it but he was just watching you closely instead of the paper.

"Cat got your tongue?" Jungkook looked up to see your roommate standing in front of him in one of the shortest dresses he'd ever seen in his life, it looked like she was wearing a top and had just stretched it down to look like a mini dress.

"No," He answered blandly, he knew about her crush on him since she did nothing to hide it but he did everything he could to express that he wasn't interested. He wasn't like that anymore and he hadn't been in almost a year. You were the only thing on his mind when it came to girls in the college, he was hopelessly in love with you and you were hopelessly in love with him...Though neither of you had told anyone in the college you were dating. You saw no need for it but Jungkook was the one wanting to scream it from the rooftops so that everyone knew he was a taken man.

"You've been staring all night," She stepped closer to him and ran her hand up and down his bicep running her fingertips along his tattoos, including one of your initials he'd gotten done for an anniversary present.

"I really haven't, you're drunk." He stated watching as she swayed a little, he felt bad for her being this drunk at a party like this.

"I'll take you home." 

"You know where I live?" She questioned a little too excitedly as he nodded telling her that he would take her home if she just stopped flirting with him for ten minutes. He was sick of telling everyone that he was taken and never having anything to show for it, every girl at the party would flirt with him - he'd turn them down and say he had someone at home but they would never truly believe him.

"Your roommate is drunk," You looked up from your romance novel to see Jungkook coming into your bedroom, 

"When isn't she drunk?" You closed the book and he bent down to kiss you as you sat in the rocking chair, you had a blanket draped over your legs since you were dressed in nothing but one of his black shirts and some panties. It was what you wore around the apartment whenever you knew your roommate was going to be too busy to even notice you wearing it. The shirt happened to be one that Jungkook wore non-stop for the first couple of years at college but once you started dating he let you have it instead, claiming that he wanted you to wear his clothes even if it was just around him or alone. 

"What are you reading?" He sat down in front of you as you stared down at him wondering what he was doing when you felt his hand creep up under the blanket and start to massage your thighs. 

"The Princess Bride, what are you doing?" He smiled up at you, he loved that one. He always had you read it to him whenever he found you reading from it.

"Read it to me," You rolled your eyes at him before finding the page you were on before he burst into the room.

"The great square of Florin City was filled as never before, awaiting the introduction of Prince Humperdinck's bride-to-be, Princess Buttercup of Hammersmith..." You continued reading from the page but Jungkook wasn't paying attention, he lifted up the end of the blanket when you were so lost in your words you weren't to notice.

"K-Kookie?" The nickname you gave him a couple of months after dating, it made him feel all warm and fuzzy inside whenever you said it to him especially when he was sitting right between your legs and trailing his long fingers up and down your skin. 

"Keep reading." He warned pulling down your panties before running his fingers up your folds, smirking as he felt how wet you were already. 

"Something tells me you haven't just been reading that book tonight," He smirked to himself, it was true. A couple of days ago he'd gone out to buy you an erotic book and you'd begun reading that while no one was home but it had you feeling so needy that you couldn't continue on with it without him there with you. 

"I-It was a good book." You let out a whimper and he chuckled at you laying gentle kisses on either of your thighs before adding one finger into your dripping core making you gasp and drop the book onto the floor beside the chair. 

"Yeah? What was your favourite part?" He'd read it?! You thought he just brought it for you without reading it first.

"You tell me yours." He tutted at you before starting to slowly draw his finger in and out of you curling it whenever he felt the need to before he began sucking on your clit. 

"The part where he fucked her against a window in his office." You felt yourself clench around his finger at the thought of him doing that to you one day, 

"Oh, you like that? Want me to do that, fuck you against your window?" You let out a whine as he finally adding a second finger and picked up the pace when you began clenching around him at the mere thought of it. 

"You want all the people in the street to look up and see you cumming so hard you squirt?" He got rougher with his fingers and you arched your back away from the chair wanting to cum already. 

"S-Shit Kookie," You whispered clamping your hand over your mouth to stop you from letting out the moans you were doing your best to hold back but that only seemed to make the thrusts of his fingers rougher.

"I want to hear you cry out my name." He grumbled holding his fingers deep inside of you and making a scissoring motion with them that had your head spinning the more he did it. 

"FUCK! Jungkook, please! Don't stop." You began rocking yourself on his fingers trying to bring some friction to you but he pulled them out and attached his lips to your pussy sucking and slipping his tongue in and out of you at a vigorous pace holding down your hips to stop you from bucking them up. 

"C-Close." You whimpered pushing off the blanket and putting your hands into his long black hair, pulling at the strands as you came around his tongue crying out his name as you did so. Pushing him closer to your core as you rode out your orgasm, his tongue still working it's magic to make sure you had one of the best orgasms you could, he smirked pulling away from you. 

"Bed. Now." You jumped up from the chair not bothering to take off his shirt that you were wearing but he stripped himself out of his clothes, revealing more tattoos over his chest and one on his back, 

"Fuck you're so hot." You whimpered throwing your arms around him and jumping lightly, he picked you up and laid you down on the bed below him as you began making out heavily. 

"I need you." You whispered sucking on his neck and leaving purple marks, he smirked ripping off your panties and throwing them somewhere in the room while you worked on unbuckling his trousers. 

"That book really has you fucked up doesn't it?" 

"Shut up and fuck me, idiot." You grumbled at him having no patience for his teasing tonight, he kicked off his trousers and began kissing you passionately as he ran his cock between your folds to lace himself in your arousal.

He slowly eased himself inside of you grunting as he reached your hilt, you whined that he wasn't moving yet and he kissed your neck sucking on the base. 

"Patience baby, good things take time baby girl." You hissed as he slowly began to pull out of you and push back in, you hated when he took his time with you when you were so needy. 

"Jungkook please," You begged raising your hips up from the bed to bring him closer to you and he chuckled lifting up your leg so it was over his shoulder and he could reach the deepest parts of you making you cry out his name as you felt the tip of his cock hit you where you needed him most. 

"I want to take my time with you tonight." You moaned hearing how much he wanted to show you he loved you, you nodded at him and he smiled looking deep into your eyes as he started his slow rough thrusts wanting you to feel every inch of him as he entered you. 

"S-So good." Your back arched away from the mattress as his thumb came into contact with your sensitive clit and began rubbing it in small slow circles. He leant forward making out with you, both of you so lost in the moment you hadn't even noticed the door opening until your roommate - Jaien - began yelling at you. 

"How could you?!" Jungkook looked up at the door chuckling as he felt you clench around him, you'd always expressed the enjoyment you got when someone watched you but you hadn't expected this. He kept thrusting into you this time picking up the pace as she started screaming at you both.

"I can't believe you're doing this! You know I've had the biggest crush on him for years." You let out a loud whimper as he continued his fast-paced thrusts while watching you, your back arched and you made eye contact with Jaein. 

"S-Shit! Fuck off Jaein!" You shouted feeling yourself getting closer each time Jungkook pressed himself deeper inside of you wanting you to cum right in front of her so she would know he was taking and you were the one making him feel good all of the time. 

"You know I've been in love with-"

"Fuck off! I'm so close to cumming r-right now and if you ruin this I will personally make Jungkook fuck me on your bed!" You screamed at her, Jungkook chuckled. Whenever he fucked you it was like you turned into a different person as soon as his dick had you clenching around him. 

"R-Right there." You cried out when the door finally slammed shut and she left the room, 

"You're so fucking hot." Jungkook grunted flipping you over so you were riding him, you smirked down at him and kissed down his tattoos as you continued rocking on him. 

"Jungkook-ah - Ugh fuck!" You felt the familar warm sensation building up as you felt him reaching you hilt with ease, the swing of your hips bringing you closer to your orgasm again. 

"G-Gonna cum." You warned him looking down as he ran his thumb over your clit and began rubbing at a face pace wanting to feel you cum around him. 

"Cum for me." He ordered sending you over the edge, as if you were voice controlled by him. 

"F-Fuck! I-I'm cumming! J-Jungkook!" Your hands fell to rest on his chest as his hands held onto your waist keeping you in place while he fucked up into you hitting you roughly the sound of your crying orgasm and slapping skin filling the room. Your vision was white until you finally came down from your high and found yourself resting on his chest. That was when you shifted and felt his seed run out of you and onto the sheets. 

"Fuck." You whispered looking over at the door when you heard a low cry coming from the room next to yours, 

"She really walked in?" He nodded turning your head so you would lay it back down on his chest, you were both covered in sweat and panting heavily. 

"Serves her right, did nothing but flirt with me all night." He grumbled pulling the sheets over you and kissing the side of your temple, part of you felt bad for doing what you did but the other part of you was glad she saw so she would finally leave your boyfriend alone. 

Tagline: 

@writingdreamsnottragedies​ @snowy-meowl​ @jooniesdarlingdimples​ @lynnthevirgo​ @lyoongx​ @mitzwinchester​ @fan-ati--c​ @callingmyangel​ @rjsmochii​ @kneel-begyourpardon​ @taestannie​

[luvnami]

𝐎𝐜𝐞𝐚𝐧 | 𝐖𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐬 (here) | 𝐄𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞 | 𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 - Second part to ‘Ocean’! Hope you enjoy it :> Reblogs, comments, shares and likes are really appreciated!!

𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐚 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬 - @getousuguruwife​ @amjustagirl​ @aliteama​

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 - Amnesia, Memory loss, Blood, Mild gore, Death, Blood loss, Corpses, Food, Manga spoilers, Pre-canon and canon compliant to a certain extent, Nightmares, Relationship Issues (lack of communication), Overthinking/Anxious Thoughts, I criticise Nanami’s choice of clothing

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 -  Nanami Kento's life has been... Good, bad, and everything in between. He  (and many others) thinks he's mature, independent, the definition of  what a proper adult should be like. But really, the only way he's made  it this far is because you've been holding his hand the entire time. 

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 - 5k

Nanami decides to enter university and get a degree. He casts a life of sorcery behind and turns a blind eye to curses that peer at him curiously on the street. When you text him and ask about how life is in the city of Tokyo, he replies that it would be much better if you were here with him. You choose to ignore the meaning between the lines and tell him that he’ll do great in university; you’re sure of it!

Truth be told, his parents are more than glad to fund Nanami’s ventures and encourage him to do so. As a result, he finds himself engulfed by the world of rigorous studying. Lectures and tutorials drain his time from morning to evening, not to forget project meetings and whatever the hell ‘socialising’ means.

But campus life is invigorating. He wakes up to the smell of coffee and his roommate singing a foreign song with a catchy tune and has time to enjoy a lovely breakfast before he heads off for morning classes. Everything is done in his own time. No one rushes him to save the lives of innocent civilians, nor does the weariness of a day’s fight linger in his bones.

Quietly, gently. That is how Nanami’s time in university goes by. Writing essays on analysing market trends or a project on that sociology elective module he chose is nothing too tricky, especially when one compares it to sorcery. 

He learns to relax, unwinding in the golden hours of the evening with a Murakami paperback and a steaming cup of coffee by his side. Nanami meets new people — people who have never heard what a curse is (though he does find his witchy neighbour intriguing), people who have families at the furthest ends of the earth. Their companionship is refreshing.

You, meanwhile, earn a nice sum from working at Jujutsu Tech. You don’t work directly with curses (something which Nanami is thankful for) and enjoy your time surrounded by nature, treating the younger students with a smile and warm cup of tea. 

You and Nanami decide to move into an apartment where the commute is halfway between both schools. It’s a nice change of pace, really. You wake up next to each other in the blinding morning light, still entangled in the cheap (and slightly scratchy) duvet you got on sale. Nanami presses a kiss between your brows. You smile, your hand warm on his skin. 

“Good morning, Ken,” you croak as the sunlight frames your face.

You lean forward and place your head against his chest. Nanami’s hand strokes your shoulder lovingly as the both of you make small talk on the day’s events, then laughing when he makes a cheesy (and slightly indecent) joke about what he enjoys eating for breakfast. Your heart soars in your chest, catching the upwind and slicing through the clouds. It feels like heaven.

But the sea does not always remain calm and peaceful. Its tides rise and fall with the waxing and waning of the moon, and waves can come crashing down on boats that dare sail through its treacherous waters. 

Nanami buries the constant nightmares of Haibara under his pillow, waking up in the middle of the night with your arms around his waist. He pretends he does not see the curses that linger in the corner of his lecture theatre, nor the ones that stare back in the bathrooms. Nanami slips a pair of spectacles onto the bridge of his nose. His fellow classmates call him intelligent, quiet, but kind. 

He wants to believe that, too.

☆*: .｡.

Nanami joins a hedge fund company after graduation. 

“Are you sure that’s what you want to do, Ken?” you ask over the table.

The restaurant you had booked for dinner boasts of its month-long waitlists and seasonal menus. You poke at the raw fish that sits on your plate, Nanami holding a glass of amber liquid. He watches its colour swirl under the dim light.

“The pay is good. We’ll be comfortable.”

“I don’t care about money, Ken. I’d rather you do something less stressful and be happier.”

“Let me try it out for a year or so. That can’t hurt, right?”

He smiles, you smile. 

Your hand slips into his comfortably over the table, and your eyes meet in silent understanding. You squeeze his hand.

The company changes Nanami. Some things are obvious — the way he now parts and combs his hair back with wax, the pressed suits that line your shared wardrobe, the work phone that buzzes with notifications every minute of the day. Others are more… subtle. He comes home later and later each night, occasionally staying over in the office. His alcohol consumption increases. You spend the weekends alone. 

It’s gotten to the point where you’re lucky if you eat dinner with him once a week. You’re busy with your own work, too, but you assume that Nanami would be able to come home on at least the weekends. Your mind begins to drift.

Is there a colleague who wears a skirt too short, a manager who touches his shoulder a second too long? It’s been at least four years since you and Nanami had gotten together, and you still don’t know his stance on marriage or children yet. Does he love you, or does he love his job more? 

You fall into a pit of doubt and despair. Perhaps you should have been a lesser burden on Nanami. He spent so many hours taking care of you back then, wearing himself thin between missions, that the idea of him getting tired of being a caregiver to someone who didn’t remember him at all was… possible; reality, even?

There’s nothing original about you, either. Your handwriting is the same as a girl you’ll never remember from middle school, the way you text influenced by the students you work with. Maybe you laugh too loud. Or you’re too fat, too skinny, too quiet, too noisy, too blunt, too shy, too clumsy. So what made him love you? Or was he just in love with a previous version of you that you weren’t now?

It feels like you’re staring into a mirror when you try to remember who you used to be with childhood journals and photographs. The same face, the same body, memories that don’t make sense and a head that has become a blank canvas. A parent’s child, a teacher’s student. Unable to reach past the glass.

You don’t know who you are anymore with how you’ve changed to please Nanami — a person of personalities that switches in the blink of an eye. So why does he still keep you in his rented heart that’s full of other tenants, and under the contact name ‘Dear ♡’? You place the button in a drawer amongst a mess of spare keys, bits of tissue paper and promotional pamphlets. 

It’s tiring. Nanami’s head is in the clouds as you share a parfait, and you ask him, “Kento, do you really love me?”.

“What?” he asks incredulously. “Of course I do.”

The eyebags that are on his face have been there since two weeks ago. Nanami can’t remember when the last time was when he got a proper night of sleep, and currently, he’s thinking about the new client that-

“Kento,” you interrupt. “You’re exhausted.”

You point your spoon at him for extra emphasis, the tip of it having a dollop of whipped cream. 

“Pointing your utensils around is bad manners.”

“Never knew you cared about table manners.”

“Well, now I do.”

You lick the spoon clean and eye Nanami. He returns a tired stare before his gaze falls to the side and he lets out a sigh. He almost wishes that you would stop bothering him about this and let him go back home. There are so many emails he needs to send, and he can’t sit still without checking the stock market every hour or so. 

“Do you want to break up?”

The words come easier than expected.

“Huh?! What makes you say that?”

“You seem like you want to.”

“You can’t just assume things like-”

The girls sitting by the next table fall quiet. Nanami thinks that they’re eavesdropping on your conversation; you think so too. You glance quickly at them and they pretend nothing had ever happened, hiding their looks of surprise as they shove spoonfuls of dessert into their mouths.

“Let’s go somewhere else.”

You sound irritated. Nanami pays with his card, grabbing his things as you step outside of the cafe first. 

“Slow down,” he mumbles and pockets his wallet. 

You whip around.

“You can’t just assume things like that, Kento.”

“Fine, I’m sorry.”

Staring at him, your eyes seem glazed over. Tired, maybe. Tearing up, maybe. Maybe, maybe. Many maybes. Nanami doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know what’s been going on with you, actually. You seem distant, out of reach when you’re lying in the same bed as him. Is it the money; is he making enough to make you happy?

Nanami reaches out and tries to hold your hand (when was the last time he had done that?) when his phone buzzes. He retracts his hand and reaches for his back pocket, but you grab his wrist. He looks at you.

“What are you doing? Let go.”

Irritation laces his voice. 

“Don’t answer that.”

“Are you crazy? It’s from work. I have to.”

“Work this, work that! You spent the last year basically married to your office and the one time we get to go out together, you want to work?”

Your voice is sharp, slicing Nanami’s hazy conscience. He watches as it pools at his feet, a gust of fresh air tickling his skin. He relaxes his wrist and you pull your hand away. Passersby glance at you briefly before continuing their daily commute, not bothering to give you a second glance.

“Sorry,” you mumble.

“It’s okay,” Nanami replies. 

The both of you stand in the street, suddenly feeling as if you’ve drifted away from one other unknowingly. Like a boat in the ocean, Nanami rocks with the waves that splash gently on his hull. Everything is blue and vast around him. He can’t see the land. 

Nanami thinks about that girl at the bakery. The way she always cried out ‘Come back soon!’ every time he left as if he wouldn’t return a second time. And then he thinks about the clients he serves, all outfits and jewellery that easily cost half his salary. They shove money into his hands, expecting even more in return without a word of thanks. 

“Hey,” Nanami says. 

He reaches out across the waters and grasps your hand in his. You look up, eyes brimming with tears. He swipes at the corner of your eye with his thumb. Understanding washes over him and he takes a deep breath. 

“I’m sorry,” Nanami whispers sincerely.

That night, he calls Gojo when you’re safely tucked into bed. Nanami tries to ignore how the older sorcerer cackles at him and hangs up once the call is presumably over on his end. He slips under the covers as you turn over in your sleep, resting against his chest. Nanami kisses your brow. 

He gets his first night of good sleep in a long, long time. 

☆*: .｡.

Nanami falls back into the rhythm of sorcery. He trains for a good month until he gets his stamina and strength back, obtaining a new weapon from the school for his missions. Gojo seems oddly delighted to see him return, laughing when Nanami’s out of breath from a workout.

“Ken,” you say, wrinkling your nose when he steps out of your shared bedroom. “You’re going to work in that?” 

Nanami adjusts the cuffs of his sleeves, staring at you. 

“Is this not appropriate?”

You observe him from head to toe. The leopard print tie, blue shirt and tan suit — you resist the urge to tell him he’s so close to looking like a pimp. Out of all the lovely suits that Nanami has, he chooses to wear this one?

“It’s a bit bright, that’s all,” you laugh. 

“I thought I would go with something eccentric. You don’t get to wear this at the office,” he remarks, striding over to the kitchen to grab your packed lunches. 

You remain quiet and fiddle with a loose thread on your own suit jacket. 

“Something the matter?”

“Oh! Nothing at all. Let’s go.”

It’s more convenient now since the both of you work at the same place. Nanami drives to Jujutsu Tech every morning and picks you up in the evenings as well. He detests how Gojo makes fun of him for it, calling him a ‘lovely husband’. It makes your cheeks warm, and you duck your head before Nanami can ask you anything about it.

Peace reigns true for a few months. The morning routine is a nice change of pace compared to Nanami’s previous job. You’re able to spend more time together, even to the point of going grocery shopping or watching a movie with takeout on Friday nights.

Nanami relaxes only a little. Compared to office work, this is probably just as bad. First of all, he has to see Gojo almost every day and have him talk his ear off. Secondly, he returns to being the balance between life and death for civilians once more. It’s not a task he enjoys. However, he harbours that the thanks he receives and the lives he saves are a good enough exchange. 

Years come and go, as do students of Jujutsu Tech. Nanami sees more dead sorcerers and exorcises more curses. You quietly type away at a laptop, filing their deaths and completing any tasks you’re given from the higher-ups. It seems that life has slowed down once more and you return to a monotonous pace. 

You wonder if your relationship with Nanami will progress any further. It’s been close to nine years and yet… nothing has developed beyond living together or the odd weekend date. That’s not to say that you don’t love Nanami. You do, honestly. He treats you well and listens to your occasional nagging to put his stacks of books away, but you want something more. You crave the thought of getting married, to be lawfully his and maybe start a family. But, contrary to belief, Nanami isn’t opposed to it when you bring the topic up over dinner one night.

“Marriage?” 

His chopsticks pick off a portion of grilled salmon and he brings it to his mouth with some rice. He chews, swallowing.

“Yeah. I mean, we’ve been together for so long, you know? So it kind of seems natural for us to do so.”

Your gut twists nervously. The steam from your miso soup rises silently in the air, wisps of white smeared out at the edges. 

“Sure.”

“Huh?”

“Sure, let’s get married.” Nanami says.

You have to physically close your mouth and your eyes are widened in shock. Your heartbeat accelerates that much faster.

“Are you serious?”

“Well, were you serious when you asked me that question?”

Heat rises to your face. 

“As you said, we’ve been together and living under the same roof for quite some time. Marriage seems like a plausible idea.”

“Then let’s-!”

“But I have one condition.”

Momentarily, your heart wavers. Nanami finishes the last drop of miso soup in his bowl and balances his chopsticks on top of the porcelain. As usual, his plate and bowls are scraped clean. 

“I’ll only get married after I stop being a sorcerer.”

Your face twists in confusion as you try to understand where Nanami is coming from. You don’t get it — didn’t being a sorcerer mean that Nanami faced death everyday and that he should be taking advantage of what time he has left? But, of course, you don’t mean to curse him into an early grave like that. Except… Except that your face visibly falls and Nanami takes notice of it.

“I’d rather not have my life entangled with curses more than it should be. Once we both earn enough money and have a nice savings account, we can retire and go do whatever we want. Besides, I’ll invest. It’ll be more than enough.”

You remain silent and stare at your half-finished dinner. Nanami reaches over the table and takes your hand in his. 

“Can you give me some more time, please?”

You don’t reply. 

☆*: .｡.

“Did you hear about the new first years?”

“Mm. The one who died, right?”

“Gojo wants me to mentor him for a while.”

Nanami’s hands are positioned on the steering perfectly. His palms guide the car carefully through the steep roads that climb up to Jujutsu Tech. You flip through a checklist of things you need to do for the day.

“Will you be heading out of school?”

“Probably. There’s a scene I need to check out.”

“Stay safe, alright?”

“Of course. You too, don’t forget to have your lunch again.”

Nanami pulls into the parking lot of the school. Leaning over the clutch, he presses a kiss to your hairline. You gently peck his jaw.

“See you tonight. I might not be able to pick you up, so get Nitta to drive you.”

“See you, Ken.”

Nanami watches as you open the car door and step out. You turn back, giving him a wave and smile through the window. He returns the gesture. Once you’re out of sight, Nanami pulls out his phone as he sits in the car. He thumbs through his emails and his Adam’s apple bobs as soon as he sees the confirmation sent to him. A loose sigh worms its way out of his chest. He pushes the door open and steps out. 

The rest of the day is spent teaching Itadori Yuuji about the sanctity of being young and simpleminded. Sorcery isn’t child’s play — especially when there are lives involved. He watches as Itadori’s face crumbles at the mention of the transfigured humans. He wants to comfort him, place a hand on his shoulder and tell him that it isn’t his fault.  

They have a quick debrief of the situation with Ijichi before parting ways. Nanami shoulders his burden once more, watching as the car pulls away in the direction of Yoshino’s home. 

As night falls, Nitta drives you home. She’s chatty, serious about her job and does it well. You smile when she gushes about how lovely Nanami must be at home, and, oh! Do tell him to lighten up at work. 

You thank her when she drops you off. As you walk through the lobby of your apartment complex, you make a routine stop by the mailboxes. Junk, bills and… a box? You flip it over to see who it’s addressed to; perhaps Nanami had ordered something online. However, your name is printed neatly across the label.

The first thing you do when you get home is to open the box. It’s small, probably not more than a hand’s breadth in length. Your pen knife slices through the tape cleanly and when you push aside the flaps, you spot two velvet boxes sitting in a mess of paper filler. Your fingers tremble when you pull one of them out and open it. 

A silver ring sits in the furrow of a cushion with Nanami’s name on the inside. Your heart skips a beat and you reach into the cardboard to pull out the second ring box. This one is a little larger, with your name engraved on the interior side of the band. It must be Nanami’s, then.

It’s already well past 6p.m. as you dial his number with your lower lip between your teeth. You pace around the house, bouncing on the balls of your feet. What were these meant to be? Promise rings? Engagement rings? You hadn’t dared to slip the one with Nanami’s name engraved onto your finger just yet.

“Hello?” 

Nanami’s breathing is laboured. Your heart falls and you stop in the middle of your living room, staring ahead at nothing.

“Ken? Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine. Just… just a little hurt. It’s nothing serious.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’ve called Ijichi to pick me up, don’t-”

“So it is serious, then!” you cry out in horror. 

“No, no. I said I’m fine. Look, did you receive the rings yet?”

“I did, but that’s not the point now. Are you safe?”

“I-”

You hear Nanami’s phone clatter to the ground and the thump of his body on the floor. 

“Kento?” you whisper.

He doesn’t reply. 

☆*: .｡.

You’re seated on the floor of your shared home, an oversized pajama shirt stolen from Nanami’s closet swallowing you. Sunlight pours in through an open window at two in the afternoon and the quiet hum of vehicles outside can be vaguely heard.

Clip, clip, clip.

One hand holds a nail clipper, while the other cradles Nanami’s fingers gently. The blond watches you absentmindedly while you trim his nails. He had insisted he was perfectly capable of doing them on his own, but the glare you gave him made Nanami sink back into the sofa. 

He was hurt after a fight with Mahito — the wound on his side made him grimace whenever he stood up, and Nanami found himself relying on you more than he wished to. Thankfully, he had passed out from blood loss and pain but nothing too devastating had happened. That didn’t change how concerned you were about him, though. You try to forget how you had hailed a taxi just to rush back to Jujutsu Tech to see Nanami lying in the sickbay with a blood drenched shirt. 

Nanami thinks it’s childish. When was the last time someone had clipped his nails for him? Was it his mother? A warm breeze wrings itself through the window. You run the pad of your finger over the cut edge, feeling for any sharp portions. 

Nanami stares at the top of your head. Your fingers feel uncharacteristically soft against his own calloused ones — wielding a weapon in battle wore his palms down at the end of the day. He doesn’t particularly want to admit he likes it.

Nanami is a man of truth. He hates lying, and definitely doesn’t tolerate beating around the bush. But if he spoke as he thought, told you everything he felt about you as often as it came like the wind, how would you react? He clutches his heart in the aching hand of a budding teenager, the fears of facing a cruel world fresh in his mind. 

Being a sorcerer means facing death on a daily basis, especially with the increase in curses with modern times. It doesn’t help that with both of you on the field, it means double the chances. Sorcerers never die without regrets.

Nanami wishes he could love you more, let you explore each crevice of his heart without fear of leaving you; being left behind one day. He doesn’t want to curse you if he dies. He doesn’t want to become a burden to you any more than he should be. 

Clip, clip, clip.

“Is it too short?” 

You glance up briefly at Nanami and brush the hair out of your eyes. He stares down at his fingers and feels them over with his thumb. He shakes his head.

“No, it’s fine.”

You nod and move on to his next hand. You’re systematical about it — trimming off most of the grown parts in three portions, then a couple tinier clips to finish the job off. A nail file sits on the ground beside you, the tiles of the floor cool against your bare legs.

“Hey, Ken?”

“Hmm?”

“I heard that there’s a new bakery opposite that popular department store. I was thinking of going to take a look later. Do you want me to get anything for you?”

“Nothing too sweet would be nice.”

“Okay.”

The living room falls back into a comfortable silence.

Clip, clip, clip.

☆*: .｡.

It takes a few more weeks before Nanami is cleared by Ieri to return to regular sorcery work. He tries to rest in the downtime he has, he really does — but the itch to get up and finish Mahito off has him restless. 

At this, Gojo sends Nanami and you off to Hamamatsu on another curse investigation for a change of scenery. Gojo doesn’t want to admit it, but he had mumbled to you something about taking care of Nanami’s mental health. Maybe the beach would help? You told him he sounded like a doctor from the 20th century. You’re not one to refuse a free trip outside of Tokyo, though, so you and Nanami pack your luggage and troop off to Hamamatsu on the Shinkansen. 

“Thank you.”

Nanami’s fingers curl around the ice cream cone handed to him, the sun scorching his back. It’s too hot for this; for anything, really. He makes a mental note to give Gojo a good stare of disapproval once he returns to school. 

Why did the mission have to be on the warmest day of the year? With how the heatwave makes perspiration trickle down your back, though, the dangers of facing a possible special grade curse is the least of your worries right now.

“It’s so hot!” 

You eagerly lap at the soft serve, savouring the cold, sweet treat. Nanami wanted to take a photo of the ice cream, but- oh well, you’ve begun eating, and the horrendous heat would have probably melted it before he found a good angle, anyways. 

Protected by the shade of a shopping district, Nanami and you had agreed to find refuge for a few hours — the curse could wait till the sun began to set. Besides, it would be more likely to turn up after dark. 

“How does yours taste, Ken?” you ask and peer over at his cone.

He had gotten a cookies and cream flavoured one, despite how you egged him on to try out the local eel flavour. Nanami was not going to ruin his taste buds just like that, thank you very much.

“It’s alright,” he says, licking traces of ice cream off of his lips. “Could do with a little more cookie.”

“Wanna try mine?” 

You stick your cone into Nanami’s face. He’s greeted with your half-eaten soft serve, where your tongue has made a path of its own against the original swirl. He eyes you carefully and you offer the cone to him once more.

“That’s unhygienic.”

“Oh, come on, Ken! We’ve kissed before, sharing saliva on ice cream is nothing compared to that.”

Heat rushes to his face, though Nanami assumes a composed facade. He blames it on the weather without hesitation. Not wanting you to tease him anymore, he leans forward and nips a tiny portion of your ice cream off of the tip. 

“Yummy, isn’t it?”

“Mmm.”

“Want to try mine too?” 

The words leave his lips on reflex. Nanami wonders when he’s begun letting you try his food — when he used to be so adamant that no one could even touch its container or look in its direction (thanks to Gojo’s greedy fingers). You nod excitedly and lick off of a portion. 

“It’s good!” 

What was the first time he had said it to you? Over oden in the winter; over those disgustingly sweet slurpees you insisted on from 7 11? All those small moments that had built up culminated in Nanami’s affection and understanding towards you. The way in which you offer him a bite of your food without expecting anything in return; is that what love is like? 

“You’ve got some ice cream on your face,” Nanami says.

You instinctively use your tongue and try to clean it off. “Did I get it?”

Nanami shakes his head. “It’s on this side,” he replies, pointing a spot on his own face.

You try again, to no avail. Nanami sighs.

“What would you do without me?” he asks monotonously, using the pad of his thumb to wipe it off.

You stand there, frozen for a second when he leans in. His promise ring is cold against your cheek.

“Kento?” you whisper. 

Under the light of the shining sun, he presses his lips to yours, shielding you from warm rays and the glances of passersby with his back. You let out a muffled sound of surprise as you taste cookies and cream, your eyes fluttering shut instinctively. 

Nanami isn’t a fan of public affection. God forbid Gojo see him kissing you, really. But as he leans back and watches your half-lidded eyes stare up at him, he asks himself if you’ve ever received his own sort of love in return. 

A relationship’s all about give and take; but has he given as much as he should have? Has Nanami loved you in a way that matters? Life is a fleeting concept to all sorcerers. Should he die and leave you behind, Nanami wonders if he would pass without any regrets. Did he do enough when he tugged the covers over your shoulders when you fell asleep on the sofa, was there more he could have done even after buying you that watch you had eyeballed for the past few months?

There’s that sort of incompetence that curls up in his chest on sleepless nights, even with you tucked into his side. It makes his head spin and his heart fall into a bottomless pit. With all the eyes of juniors and students that look up to him, Nanami can’t help but wonder if he’s truly as good as everyone thinks he is. Being a sorcerer holds little problem. But what about a lover, a husband?

He couldn’t save Haibara, so how dare he think about…

“Kento,” you swallow. “Ken?”

Nanami snaps out of his daze. “Huh?”

“I dropped my ice cream,” you whisper. 

He swivels his head and spots your cone face down on the sidewalk. His own cone drips down his hand, the melting liquid staining the sleeve of his suit. For once, Nanami’s mind runs blank. 

“Kento? Are you okay?” you ask gently.

“Hey,” he murmurs. 

“Mm?”

Nanami’s careful to avoid the pool of melting ice cream as he steps closer to you, lips brushing the shell of your ear. Your breath hitches as his cologne invade your senses.

“I love you. Let’s get married.”

[mighty-ragnarssons]

Knocked Up | Modern Vikings AU | Chapter II

Relationships | Modern Ivar x OC Warnings | some smut, a little angst, violence, harassement, teenage pregnancy

Keep up with the previous chapter here [chapter 1]

First of all let me thank you for the amazing support. You guys are the best! I hope you enjoy this one as well :)

You can read in AO3 as well (click here).

Chapter 2

Days passed and still no text. Ivar was tempted to drive by the apartment he’d left them at, but that would be crazy, right?  He should’ve never told her to use his number in case of emergency. What if that was why she didn’t contact him? Instead he tried to let it go although it wasn’t easy. He’d go to class in university, he’d party with his brothers, he’d smoke some things to keep his mind away, but nothing really worked. Once he was obsessed with something, that was it. 

It didn’t help at all when Hvitserk came home one day saying he’d seen Ivar’s girl.  

“What do you mean?”

“That girl from the other night. The one you’re so hung up on. The pretty blonde” Ivar had to stop himself from growling. Why couldn’t his brother just tell him already? Hvitserk was clearly amused at the whole situation. “I left the gym and went to try that new coffee shop downtown, know which one? Well, she’s an attendant there. And you know what, she looks really cute in an apron” Hvisterk teased, seeing how Ivar’s teeth clenched slightly. “Cute and nice. She offered me a coffee and a muffin, saying it was to thank me for the help. Damn fine muffins. I might have to go there again for one of those sweet things.” 

While Hvitserk daydreamed of muffins, Ivar was thinking about having them as an excuse to pass by the coffee shop. He couldn’t stay away and this was the perfect excuse.

“Did she tell you to visit again?” Ivar asked, taken aback for a moment. His older brother, much like the others, was the town’s heart breakers. Hvitserk’s pretty looks and dazzling smile could get him anyone he wanted. Perhaps he’d already bewitched the girl. 

“I guess so. She works there, isn’t she supposed to say that? ‘Have a nice day. Come again!’ I’m pretty sure she says it to everyone. But if what you are asking me is that I got her number or anything, the answer is no. I actually asked her out again but she didn’t take me seriously” Pretending to be hurt, he put his hand over his heart. “Perhaps she is not into Ragnarssons. Interesting, uh? There’s always a first”

Stupid Hvits, Ivar wanted to say. How could his brother go after the girl he clearly had staked a claim on? 

“Did she tell you her name?” This little detail was something he couldn’t stop wondering about.

“Now that I think about it, no, I don’t think so. I was too distracted by her pretty smile to ask about that” Well, now Hvisterk was really just trying to mess with his brothers “Tell me, little brother, will you crawl into that coffee shop right now?” he joked “Take my advice: lose the puppy face before going.”

“So funny I forgot I to laugh”

Hvitserk was wrong. Ivar didn’t crawl to the coffee shop right away that day, although he wanted to. Instead, trying to be rational, he waited a couple of days and decided to drop by after his classes in university. He could always pretend he went there to study, although that was something he rarely did. He just really wanted to see the girl again. She hadn’t left his thoughts since that night.

However, to his dismay, she wasn’t there. There were only two attendants and none were his  nameless girl. His heart sunk a little,  but disappointment was something he was used to. It no longer left a bitter taste to this mouth. He stayed, nevertheless. After a couple of hours working in his computer in the company of a whipped cream coffee and one of the famous muffins - his brother was right, they were a delicacy, he was finally willing to admit defeat. It’s not like he could even ask about her, not really given how her name was something he didn’t know yet. so, the afternoon definitely didn’t go as he had expected. 

Frustrated, he put his computer back in the bag and left the payment on the table. With the help of his crutches, Ivar stood and was on the way out, almost making it past the door but stopped seconds before the door opened, almost hitting him.

He would’ve been mad, but it was her coming in. 

“It’s like we can’t stop meeting like this” he chuckled. 

The blonde girl looked surprised. “I’m sorry. It seems I have a bad habit of bumping into you” 

Because there were clients trying to go through said door as well, both Ivar and the girl stepped outside. 

“You’re leaving?”

“And you’re just getting here  now?”

“I guess your brother told you I worked here”

“Well, yes. But I was just passing by. My university is just a couple of blocks away. I’ve been meaning to try out this since it opened and I needed to study” 

He regretted saying this almost immediately. Would she get the idea that he  was not interested in seeing her again? 

“I only work here after classes” she informed, while  mindlessly flipping her hair away from the side of her face, tucking it behind her ear. Ivar didn’t miss a single movement of hers, wishing he’d been the one doing that for her. 

What the fuck, Ivar? Focus, he was trying to tell himself. 

“It was nice to see you, Ivar. I don’t think I thank you enough the other night. You really helped us out. Not many would have done that” She smiled a little “I gotta go in or else I’ll be late for my shift” She moved closer to the coffee shop’s door. 

He didn’t want to see her go, though “Maybe we can meet one of these days?”

Looking conflicted, she bit her lip “Perhaps we'd better not" she said “It’s like I told your brother… I have a lot going on, with school and work and.. well, I’m sure you’re busy too” 

Ivar was shocked. Was she really dismissing him that quickly? He wasn’t one to take ‘no’ for an answer. “There’s always time if the company is good”

“You’re Ivar Lothbrok. One of the Ragnarssons”

That settled it. The first time he heard her saying his name, it sounded so good. This time? She was not as impressed, it seemed.  

“And so what? What stories have you heard that led you to believe I won’t be any good company?” his voice was raised and succeeded in making her feel uncomfortable. 

She shot him an apologetic look. “It doesn’t matter, Ivar. I’m sorry, I really have to go inside. Please, do know that I’m grateful for your help and I wished things were different”

“You just don’t want to hang out with a Ragnarsson, I get it” his accusatory tone made her flinch. Although his expression was carefully controlled, she saw in his eyes that her rejection stung. “Before you go, allow me at least to say a proper goodbye. I don’t know your name yet”

For a moment he thought she wasn’t going to tell him anyways. All of this was going terribly. But then she surprised him “My name is Eva.  Eva Jørgensen”

Bitterly, and before walking away, he proceeded  “Then I guess this is goodbye,  Eva Jørgensen. Have a nice life.” 

“Goodbye, Ivar Lothbrok”

Her rejection stung far more than he wanted to admit. It felt worse than his previous rejections, not just because of the blow to his ego, but more because he cared a little for her, had since the night he helped her in the club, and somewhat he’d been expecting things to go differently. How stupid he was feeling. 

It didn’t take long for his ill temper to grow as he drove back home. Finding out that a party was taking place in the Lothbrok home didn't improve much of his mood, either. Moving through the crowd of people into the living room, he saw Sigurd playing DJ in a corner, looking high as fuck by the looks of his attempted dance moves. Not far from him was Hvitserk surrounded by a bunch of ladies. Ivar recognised many of the faces among the more than a hundred people. 

“Brother” Ubbe showed up behind him. He was still in his business attire, looking completely out of place from the rave “Sigurd claimed we need to make use of the house before our father comes back. Texted everyone we knew.” he explained, opening a beer can. Only then he noticed his little brother’s somber expression. “What’s eating you? You look like you could use a drink”

“I sure do. Actually… You wouldn’t happen to have any pills with you? In your personal stash”

“Ivar… I’m not sure that’s a good idea”

“C’mon, don’t be a killjoy” 

“Is it for the pain?” Ubbe asked, but reckoning it wouldn’t be. Ivar’s eyes were not the strongest shade of blue like they used to be when he’s suffering more than usual. 

“Ubbe, will you fucking give me some or not?” he snarled.

“Look, I don’t have any at the moment. Maybe Hvitty does, but he looks like he’s already under the influence of them. Why don’t you just come out to the terrace, drink something and chill? I’m sure your shitty day will get better if you stop being so grumpy” 

“Spare me the bullshit. I’m out of here” 

Holding tight to his crutches, Ivar went to his room. It was the only room on the ground floor so the blasting music could still be heard from it. In need of releasing some steam, he took the matters to the gym they had on the basement floor, also known as the man cave. Getting one beer from the bar they kept down there, he decided to throw punches on the boxing bag, which he could only do from a seating position. When beers were no longer satisfying him, he took it to the bottle of vodka. Ivar just wanted to have his mind distracted from the beautiful Eva.

At some point, when his sight was already blurry and he had collapsed on a red couch, he thought he was imagining things for he’d swear there was a girl who was making her way to him. He tried to blink but his vision wouldn't get any better (no doubt too much alcohol and physical pain had taken over him). The world slightly dark around him, Ivar felt a set of hands pulling his t-shirt, then pressing onto his sweaty torso first, then down towards his pants.  The next thing he feels is his lower lip being bitten. At the metallic taste of blood, he regained consciousness just a bit, but enough to discern the blonde girl who now had her hand inside his pants. 

“Margrethe, don’t fucking play games with me” he said dangerously. 

Margrethe only continued to look mockingly into his blue eyes. “So vulnerable and at my mercy, Ivar. Still, you don’t get it up, do you? Why do I even bother?” A mean laugh rose from her throat “Ubbe said you need some cheering. I guess I felt sorry for the poor little Boneless”

Something snapped in him.  His ungovernable temper got the best of him. With the accumulated irritation of the day upon him, he suddenly grabbed her arm and forced it off of him. Muttering between his teeth, he warned “We 'll see about who’s at mercy here”. He could be a crippled, but he was not weak by any means. His hand was not on her neck so hard that Margrethe fell back against the couch, and stayed there with her hands spread out against him, trying to get off his grip. 

“IVAR! What the fuck are you doing?” 

Suddenly Hvitserk was pulling him away, making Ivar collapse on the floor. Margrethe jumped to the blonde brother’s arms in no time. 

"He's crazy. He’s absolutely mad!”  She whined, burying her face in Hvitserk’s chest. “Take me out of here” 

To complete the party, the rest of the brothers showed up as well, all of them taking Hvitserk’s side and looking down on their cripledl brother. Their looks were one that Ivar had spent his whole life loathing: one of pity and superiority. 

“You’re drunk, man. Crawl back to your room, cripple” 

It was Sigurd speaking, of course. Margrethe was his favorite. Ubbe simply shot him a disappointed stare before the four of them returned to the party.  

Ivar stood on the floor laughing hysterically until he realized what he had done. It didn’t matter that Margrethe was not a saint. She loved to miserly tease him just so she could humiliate him next. It still didn’t give him the right to go against a woman, though.  Shame poured over him.

Alone on the cold floor of the basement, a single tear ran down his cheek. What a fucking miserable day.

The following days were no better. His brothers were giving him a silent treatment since the party. Sigurd could barely look at him without snorting. And without his brothers Ivar really didn’t have anyone close, not really caring for his colleagues at university. 

There was one person. Floki, the oldest friend of his father Ragnar and Ivar’s mentor. 

Ivar dropped by the bay where Floki had his workshop, where he worked on the sailing boats that had coined him the best boat builder in all of Norway. He now ran a successful company called North Sails. Usually Ivar would go spend his afternoons there and would even help a bit, but his mind wasn’t in the right place at the time and Floki kindly dismissed him after Ivar almost ruined a custom-made pine wood deck by spraying the wrong product. 

For the most part of the week he had been lonely, which wasn’t something new, but it still bothered him. To pass the time, he worked out more and even went to all his classes and not skip some as usual, but none of that really helped. So that late October afternoon he had resigned to spend it indoors, playing playstation, which was something he usually delighted in beating his brother at, but not this time as he was by himself.

Until his phone beeped. At first, Ivar didn’t pay much attention, but then another text message flashed his screen and a word caught his eyes. Eva. 

He immediately grabbed the phone, sliding into the messages from the unknown number which read: 

‘Sorry to bother, but I don’t know who else to ask for help. Can you come to the coffee shop? Asap’

‘It’s Eva’

Less than fifteen minutes and many crossed red lights later, Ivar parked his SUV right in front of the coffee shop, not minding it was a forbidden parking area. Although it was past the normal closing time, the lights were on, yet the door was closed. On a normal week night, the street wasn’t as busy as during the day, and but a couple of guys in a corner, it was all empty. 

Ivar first tried to look inside, then knocked. He was worried, wondering what help Eva needed. Was she in trouble? Was she hurt? Ivar surprised himself by figuring out that all the grudge he was holding against her was gone, completely replaced with worry.

He let out a  sigh of relief when she came up from behind the counter and came to open the door, allowing him inside. The look of relief in her face did not escape him. “Thank you for coming, especially after the last time we..uh...met”

“What’s going on? What’s the matter?”

“This might be silly, and I’m sorry for making you come all the way here, you did tell me to contact in case of an emergency and this might not be one and I’m sorry  -” 

He cut off her nervous rambling “Eva, just tell me” 

“My stupid boss went to watch a football game and left me the keys to close up the space, even if it was not on my schedule. Some guys dropped by. It was really difficult to get them to pay and leave. But they're not gone. When I tried to step outside and wait at the bus stop, they started coming my way and calling out. I rushed back here and locked myself. I was so nervous I texted you. I’m sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking”

“Don’t apologize.” His jaw clenched. His face hardened, and he started to rise with a hint of violence “Stay here” He commanded before turning his back on her and walking out of the coffee shop.

“Ivar, what are you going to do!”

“Damn, Eva, stay inside”

But she wouldn’t and followed him into the alley. Ivar actually recognised the four guys propped against the wall, acting all tough. The Ragarnasson stood his ground, not feeling nor looking the least intimidated for being outnumbered. 

“Nothing to do tonight, boys? You can always go home and catch up with the last episode of Keeping Up With The Kardashians instead of creeping out here” he gritted through his teeth.

“Who do you think you are?” one of them stood to face Ivar. 

“Oh, the brave one of the group, no? Get your asses out of here before I make you regret coming” Ivar warned seriously. 

“You think I’m afraid of you, cripple?”

Don’t say I didn’t tell you so, Ivar thought before head-butting the guy in the nose. The scumbag immediately fell to the ground, dazed. Ivar stomped his crutch over his chest.

“If you ever come near her or the coffee shop again, I'm going to break the rest of your face. And after I do that, I promise I'll break every bone in your body, one by one. Trust me, I know how much it hurts to have your bones broken. You don’t want that happening” He lifted his foot a fraction and the guy whimpered “You know who I am. I am Ivar Lothbrok. I might break a bone, but I can never break a promise. Do you follow me?” 

After Ivar let him, the guy rolled over. He seemed scared enough, his hands covering the bloody nose. The guys were looking at Ivar like he was mad and that scared them enough to leave as soon as they helped their friend get up. 

When they were finally alone, Ivar turned back to face Eva, thinking he probably scared her off as well. Yet there she was and the next second he knew, Eva launched herself at him, giving him an unexpected firm hug. He definitely hadn't seen that coming. 

“Thank you” As she stepped back, she looked a little embarrassed as if realising a boundary had been crossed “I’m sorry.”

“You apologize a lot” She blushed. “I’m glad you texted me”

“I didn't know who else to text… I don’t know many people in this city yet.”

“Do these guys hang around here much?”

“Sometimes” she bit her lip nervously. “Tonight was the first time they tried  to come for me. I usually don’t do night shifts alone” 

For a moment he wondered what could’ve happened. Anger build up within him, making him wish he’d beat the crap out of those stupid guys. 

“I don’t think they’ll try again. If they do, they’ll have to do deal with me”

“Again,  I really do not know how to thank you enough, Ivar”

“It was no trouble” he replied, with a smile that made him look more handsome than ever, or so she thought. 

“It was trouble. Are you hurt?” Again, without thinking, she came closer to him inspecting concernedly “Are you hurt? You head butted that guy strong” 

“I’m fine, don’t worry”

“Well, I am worried. Let me at least give you some ice”

He followed her inside and sat waiting for her to return with a bag of ice. The inside of the coffee shop was welcomingly warm in sharp contrast to how cold he didn’t realize was outside. “Lean back” she instructed and he followed suit, putting his head back. Eva had to stand so close to him that her body touched his as she placed the ice bag gently on the swelling of his chin. She bent over him, her lips puckered in serious concentration as she tried not to hurt him. Other than his mother, no one had ever been so gentle with him before. Gradually as he takes in her closeness, he smells her perfume, surprised that it is  something spicy, sweet and lovely altogether. 

“I’m sorry you got hurt. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen” 

“This is nothing. I grew up the youngest of many brothers. Can you imagine how many times we wrestled while growing up?” 

She smiled, causing him to do so as well. After how he treated her the last time they met, he thought she wouldn’t feel comfortable with him again, but it didn’t feel that way. He felt...at ease with her. Just like he did when they had first met. 

Eventually, as Eva released the ice bag, their distance grew a bit. Ivar had to keep himself from growling in disappointment. 

“Oh shit!” she exclaimed after looking at the time and jumping to grab her things “The last bus just went by. Fuck!” 

“Let me drive you home. There’s no way I was going to let you wait for another bus anyways”

“I don’t want to cause you trouble anymore. You already had quite a share”

“Don’t be silly. I won’t take no for an answer”

Driving her home took longer than he imagined. She lived almost out of town, which made him figure it would be around forty minutes by bus. Driving took a little less time. Time which they did mostly in silence, although it looked as both wanted to start a conversation without really knowing how. 

“You can drop me off here”

“Are you sure?”  There didn't seem to be many houses there, mostly warehouses and shops. 

“Yes, I live nearby.”

“I can drop you off at your doorstep”  She seemed troubled which made him guess “You don’t want to be seen with me”

“It’s complicated, Ivar”

“You said that last time” he snorted, disappointed once again.

“You’re right. I did.”

“You have a look on your face that tells me you’re about to say sorry again”

“Well, I was. I am.” How had he read her so easily? “I wish I could explain it better. I can get in trouble if my family realizes something happened and that I took your ride. That is all. Ivar, I really owe you thanks for your help” her hand reached his instinctively. Eva looked up at him with a thankful gaze before getting out of the car. 

He watched as she disappeared in the distance and drove off afterwards, not knowing how to feel about all of this. He had wanted to talk to her, learn more about her, ask her what was going on and on what terms they were on. He wanted to ask her if she’d text him again. 

He wanted to tell her he wanted her to.

To his amazement, she did. Text him, that is. He was already in bed when his phone bipped. 

‘I really thank you, especially for helping me out twice already. I promise trouble doesn’t usually follow me so often… I also want to apologize for the way I approached you at the beginning. I'm sorry about that. Let me know how I can make it up to you. Good dreams, Ivar.’

That night he fell asleep with a smile on his face.

Tags: @adrille88 @istorkyou @heavenly1927 @youbloodymadgenius​

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[valhallanrose]

Old Bulan - Tales from the Fallen Empire

January of this year, I wrote this post on Old Bulan. In writing and planning more of Astoria’s canon, however, I realize some things don’t quite hold up the way I hoped they would in my own worldbuilding and lore. I also found it necessary to split the Bulan and the Citadel in Galbrada posts apart, despite being related entities, for the sake of not overloading one post with too much information.

While I did modify much of the contents, it still focuses on the ancient society of the Bulani people and the in-universe scholarly understanding of them. 

To start, the region I’m talking about is this area of the existing world map - the Bulan Mountains, which is the dividing mountain range between the Catclaw Desert and Prakra. 

(Continued under the cut for the sake of your dash.) 

Note: I do refer to this group as part of ‘Old Bulan’, because I believe that as with most ancient civilizations, new societies have come to the region that bear the same name. So, Old Bulan and the Bulani refer to the ancient society and language rather than any new groups that might overlap with them. 

To understand how they lived, I feel like it’s necessary first how they believed they came to be. 

The Bulani worshipped the Arcana, but not as we know them - rather, their gods were blended, aspects of multiple that guided them in their day to day lives. There were seven in total, each representing three of the 20 Major Arcana (with the Fool removed from the total of 21 to represent humanity, shaped and influenced by their journey through the gods’ guidance). Jump ahead to the next set of asterisks/the next break if you don’t feel like reading all this. 

*     *     *     *     *

In Bulani mythos, it all begins with Nyerin - the Lord of Beginnings, the Journeymaker, the Hand of Creation. 

Nyerin is born of nothingness onto the expanse of a world unformed, primed to take shape at their whim. And Nyerin does shape it - from their hands are born the deepest seas, the winding river paths, shimmering lagoons and cascading falls. They choose not to waste the earth removed from these places but rather give it new shape, first into the mountains, then the smallest hills, leaving no portion of the world unloved and untouched by their careful hand.

And so Nyerin makes, and makes, and makes, until they can make no more, forced by weariness to rest and look upon the world they have created from the peaks of their beloved mountaintop.

The world is beautiful, they think. I love this world the way I’ve made it, but I know nothing else. I do not wish to take it apart, but I am afraid that if I do not make, then I will become nothing at all.

Lost, Nyerin begins to weep, the tears that trickle down their cheeks beginning to pool beneath their feet. 

From their tears springs the Lady of Love, the Lady of Purpose, sweet Amarae from the waters of infinite potential. She, who smiles, folding her arms over Nyerin’s knees and reaching up to wipe away their tears.

Do not fret, dear maker. Sometimes, when we fulfill our purpose, it means another comes. You have made your world, and you wish to keep it whole, but what is your world missing that it does not yet bear?  

Nyerin’s tears slow, and Amarae waits, patiently beside them as they choose not to weep, but to think, taking in the world again with new eyes. Together they walk the world Nyerin has made, and Amarae listens, admiring their creation in such a way that it feels to Nyerin that they too are viewing it for the very first time.

I did not create knowing someone else would see it. Nyerin says eventually. I made it for myself. But it is wonderful to share this with another.

And so, Nyerin begins to create again, forming from the earth the people who would populate the world in hopes they too would share in its joy and its beauty. Amarae too imparts her own gifts - ones of love, for the self and others, and a reminder that purpose is always changing, so that if they are to become lost that they can always find a new path forward. 

The people are eager to partake in the world, spreading out across the great unknown and making homes for themselves. In doing so, they began to create for themselves - changing the landscape for agriculture, building homes and villages, and Nyerin became confused. The more they watched, the more they wondered: had it not been enough? Why must they change what they claim to love?

When the weight of worry threatened to swallow them whole, arms came to fall around their shoulders instead, the tightness lifting in time with the laughter that met their ears. Usone gave them a squeeze, a playful tone that was somehow laced with a comforting reassurance.

Oh, little maker, you forget you share the world now. They are not unappreciative of what you made, but you must remember that you did not make it for them. Change is necessary for the world to move forward. It can be painful, it can be unwanted, but change is inevitable. They must make their own place, make their own mark on the world if they are to survive in it. They love your world enough to want to remain a part of it. Can you not admire them for that?

Nyerin, Amare, and Usone would watch from the peak of Xaaldin, Nyerin’s favorite mountain, and the highest peak in the range now known as the Bulan mountains (among other names). They watched as the humans continued to build, once open fields becoming farmland and pastures, villages blossoming into thriving communities that made the landscape feel all the more colorful, changing before Nyerin’s very eyes with the Patron of Fate against their back. 

For a time, the triad chose to remain at Xaaldin, giving distance to the people but watchful eyes never straying too far away. They would always be close by, should the people need aid, but Nyerin thought it best to let human creation take its course to shape the next phase of the world. They had much potential at hand - perhaps it was best to nourish that by not intervening at all?

Days of watching turned from weeks, to months, to years - and one day, as Nyerin, Amarae, and Usone continued to watch, they heard the stones crumble behind them. Each turned, expecting animal or the natural settling of the mountain, but instead faced a human far out of place on this high peak.

I hope I am not interrupting, they said, but I must ask you a question.

Xaaldin was no easy climb for humankind - the journey took days, and for someone to have come over such difficult terrain to ask a mere question, it struck all three that it must have been of utmost importance. Could they have missed something that troubled the humans in the period they’d been removed from them? 

You may ask anything. Does something trouble you?

They marched forward, taking it as an invitation further into the triad’s home, up to the edge of the mountain beside Nyerin, and pointed out toward the open sea in the distance.

My neighbor says that the world ends beyond the point where the sea meets the sky. He thinks I should trust his story. But I can hardly think that the world is so small, and I told him as much. They explained, brow creasing lightly. He said only Nyerin themself can answer that for me, if I do not believe him. And so I ask you - where does the world end? 

Nyerin couldn’t help but smile - perhaps because they knew the answer, they had never considered that a human might wonder how far it goes. How many more questions did they have, that they may not know how to ask?

If I told you there was an end, would you seek it out?

Perhaps one day. They said, tone thoughtful. But for now, I only wish for the truth. 

Nyerin gestured for them to sit, much in the way they’d observed human elders teach the young, and turned their face out to look toward the sea. 

I will tell you. Nyerin said. However, I must ask for something from you. Are there others like you, who wish to ask questions?

Always. They laughed. But some are afraid to ask, or they don’t know how. They all thought I was mad for trying to come to you myself.

I think you are anything but. I wish for you to lead the curious here - up the mountain, the same way you came. For those willing to make the climb, I will answer any question they might ask of me. Do you find this agreeable?

The mortal guest sat for a long while, mulling over Nyerin’s words, before they eventually nodded and gave the Maker a warm smile.

I suppose I do.

Good. Now, what may I call you?

My name is Ithys. 

He stayed on Xaaldin for two days more, evidently burning with curiosity, before he would return to his village at the base of the mountains. Nyerin was almost sorry to see him go, though they knew they would be back soon - incredibly soon, in fact, as Nyerin learned that a few short days after he’d returned home, he had gathered up a group of people who had just as many questions and were making their way up to the mountain’s peak. 

It would continue this way for several years, Ithys guiding all manners of people up the treacherous mountain, each overflowing with curiosity - and Nyerin was more than happy to answer all of their questions, embracing them all with open arms. If they could not answer, they would turn to Amarae or to Usone, each of whom was willing (Usone less so, when it came to answering matters of life choices, but ever the voice of reason). 

A day came when a group appeared at Xaaldin, and the familiar face of Ithys was not among them. For a while Nyerin kept their own curiosity at bay, but worry soon overwhelmed them and made the words burst unbidden from their mouth over top of another’s question. 

Where is Ithys? Did she not come with you?

The man gave Nyerin a strange look, then one of sympathy as they looked back toward the path from which they came. 

I’m sorry, I thought you would have known. Ithys fell, but...nobody can find her.

Nyerin raced down the mountain, searching high and low, until they came upon them at the bottom of a valley between Xaaldin and the next peak - deathly still, with an expression of peace upon their face that looked entirely unnatural when Nyerin had only ever known the face they could read every emotion on as if it were an open book. 

Usone, who had followed them down, placed a hand upon Nyerin’s shoulder as they gathered him up in their arms, cheek pressed to his forehead as they sat with Ithys in their lap.

I am sorry, Nyerin. She murmured. I did not foresee…I know you were fond of them.

I knew it would happen one day. It is a consequence of mortality. Nyerin said quietly. But for Ithys to be punished for simply being as they were made...it does not sit right with me.

Slowly, Nyerin would smooth back Ithys’s hair, watching their seemingly slumbering expression for a moment longer, before the thought came to them like lightning from the heavens.

They had Made the others - why could they not do the same now?

Nyerin would cradle the back of Ithys’s head in one hand, pressing their lips to their brow - the spot that would crease when they came across a puzzle they could not solve - and sat, resigned to remain until Ithys would wake again, whispering their pleas to the nothingness that Nyerin was born from that he would return to them once again. 

On the fourth day, when the rains poured heavy on the mountain and soaked Nyerin to the bone, Ithys cold in their arms, they dared to hope when they thought they heard Ithys pull in a breath. A breath turned to two, then a sputtering cough, Nyerin laughing in sheer delight as they nearly crushed Ithys to their chest. 

I suppose that answers that question. They heard Ithys say, arms wrapped tight around them. Though I do think dying is particularly unpleasant. 

Nyerin brought Ithys back to the peak of Xaaldin, the fourth of them to become a part of the godly fold, and all seemed right for a time. Ithys found new joy in their immortality, their name as the Patron of Mysteries, for who better to understand human curiosity and desire for answers than one who had once walked among them? 

Ithys, Usone, Amarae, and Nyerin each poured a little of themselves into the first boon granted to humankind. Not all could use magic, but those who could did so in a plethora of ways, from clairvoyance to elemental manipulation to everything in between. The specially chosen would be given gifts of the gods themselves, gifts meant to be used to protect and maintain the lives they had built in Nyerin’s world. 

None among them had realized that there was something of resentment brewing among the people - some saw Ithys, the mortal turned god, and envied the immortality he had been granted. What had made him worthy above all others? Why had Nyerin chosen to give them such temporary lives? How could a god look upon one and grant mercy over the many?

Humankind still loved Ithys - despite their frustrations, they were grateful to have her as a guide, fostering curiosity and exploration as their perceptions of the world widened further and further still. People began to travel, technology began to change (it is in this period where ships are recorded to have been built), until group met group and the curiosity began anew. 

However, not every group that intersected did so peacefully. Conflict was common, but the first major dispute on present Bulani territory occurred when two villages broke into an all-out war that pulled in the community around them. 

(The cause of this conflict has been lost to time, but most scholars believe that it was a dispute over the authority of Ithys - disagreements over their authority as a god or as human)

The conflict killed hundreds, if not thousands, and Ithys was distraught, no matter how their fellows tried to reassure them, believing that they should give up their immortality if it meant the fighting would cease. Usone would be the one to remind them - that the death of their patron might invoke more fury and blame, and with it, more death. And Ithys, without immortality, had a fate laid clear before them. 

Wounded by the deaths of their mortal brethren, Ithys stepped away from Xaaldin, walking the mountains to try and find a place away from the bloodshed, but no matter how far they went, the sounds and cries continued to follow them, ringing through their mind as they ran until the stones cut bare feet so badly that they could run no more. Amarae would be the one to find them and sit with them, a shoulder to weep upon until Ithys could weep no more, and once they were ready would carry them back to Xaaldin in hopes that they would find some peace for themselves.

And when the rain came next, washing Ithys’ blood from down the mountainside, something would be born from it.

First came Sunione, a warning herald for those not yet entrenched in catastrophe, to gather yourself and be ready for what must be done. Sunione raced from village to village, always out of sight, his presence inducing a feeling of anxiety - not known as to why, only knowing to be ready for the worst - before slipping to the next. Sunione’s appearance, though rarely seen in shape like the other gods, was often symbolized by coyotes. To see one is a call to be wary.

Then would come Votarr, to the areas already torn asunder, whispering just beyond the edges of perception that if they were lucky, the conflicts would pass quickly, and that the worthy would survive to see another day. If one were to see butterflies with eyes upon its wings on a field of battle or just before a storm strikes, it is a symbol of Votarr, ever watchful for the wake of Sunione.

The third face of conflict, known as Abraxos, would too be born of blood - not of gods, but of mankind, rising from the spillage on the battlefields and the wreckage of villages, as the one that festers. He preys upon those seeking an easy way free of conflict, upon those whose very nature makes them a tool of destruction, a herald of impending disaster and demise for those who are not yet wary. His shapes are ever-changing, but he was most often recognized in the shape of vultures. 

Abraxos subdues Votarr and Sunione, bringing them under his control to create one three-faced god named Nimir. Each of them became known as Nimir Abraxos, Nimir Votarr, and Nimir Sunione, together the heralds of catastrophe, but individual faces maintaining their role in the pantheon. To pray to Votarr and Sunione is to pray for guidance through the storm, but to pray to Abraxos is to become truly lost in the lies whispered that become a signature of Abraxos himself. 

Nimir ravages the world that Nyerin has built, despite the best efforts of all those on Xaaldin, laying siege with curses and blights meant to destroy all creation. Humankind continues to die, and Nyerin, determined to defend their creation but needing more power than they have at their disposal, turns to the sacred stones of Xaaldin. 

They begin to work again, making new shape from the stone, day in and day out without rest until a well placed strike against the stone leads to a crack - which widens and widens until the cracks have spiderwebbed across the entire figure, and then crumbles completely. 

From the stone emerges Erasil, the Defender, who makes his descent from the mountain to try and make peace as much as he teaches each to defend themselves, and the fighting lapses to an ongoing stalemate between each side, but it does not stop. Nimir still whispers at them, pulling weary minds in all directions, and Erasil makes clear their goal to capture and subdue the Lord of Deceit once and for all. The first conflict is a failure - Erasil realizes that he cannot be defeated alone, and returns to Xaaldin, gathering up allies and setting a plan before attempting again. The battle between Nimir and the gods of Xaaldin rages on, and though Nimir does not go easily, they manage to push him back to the sacred mountain.

Erasil’s plan had been - in conjunction with Nyerin and Ithys - to build a labyrinth beneath the mountain, one with thousands of winding turns and passages to confuse Nimir, giving them time until he weakened enough for them to obliterate him completely. If they could not destroy him, in the end, at least they could contain him, and end the excess strife that he had brought upon them all. 

They could not silence him completely - Nimir’s whispers can be heard on the wind, so they say, inciting wars across the continent when he catches an opening in the stone before the passages change again. Conflict still occurs, but it is manageable, and Erasil is ever watchful, ready to step in at a moment’s notice once again. 

With Nimir sealed away, Nyerin took a breath, taking a seat in their favorite spot at the edge of Xaaldin to look over the world - healing after its loss and conflict, looking forward to the new day. The calm after the storm, in a way, even if the world that came from it would not be the same. 

And Nyerin could be alright with that - the world they had made had been one for them alone, but this one was new, this one was meant for more than mere creation now. This was a land that had come from their hands and been made anew for the sake of others, and for all the struggles it had brought, Nyerin loved this place as it had become. 

They could see the Last in the rays of sun that warmed their face - slipping between beams, Myphine, the Lady of Ends, was born of light that had come to rest beside Nyerin. 

This journey has ended, Maker. She mused, chin resting upon her hands. Some might think this is a time to rest, or to start over. 

Nyerin was quiet for a long, long moment, pondering the thought - could they truly step away, knowing that the potential for this place was infinite? That the world was truly in their hands, as much as it belonged to mankind now? They had poured love and tears into it, and the thought of this cycle ending made their heart ache.

I should think this is only the beginning of the next. They said, smiling into the golden sunlight. I am at peace with the way things are. But there is always more to learn, and the world is ever-changing. What kind of maker would I be if I did not see it through?

*     *     *     *     *

For a simpler breakdown of the pantheon of the Bulani, here is a sort of table for you that breaks them down a little more. Because of the way tumblr chooses to handles tables (it just does not), please send me a message if you would like this in a text format that hopefully makes it more accessible to screen readers or other similar devices. 

To note: Nimir has three additional epithets based on which face is being referred to - Nimir Abraxos, for the Devil, Nimir Votarr, for the Tower, and Nimir Sunione, for the Hanged Man. 

*     *     *     *     *

As I’ve stated, the Bulani make their home in the Bulan Mountains. They originate from those who settled in the mountains after the birth of Myphine, wishing to remain close to the gods in order to learn from them and share in their knowledge. Their communities largely kept to the southeastern part of the range, save for the peak closest to what is presently the Emerald Sea - the sacred mountain of Xaaldin, home of the seven gods who govern their lives. To attempt to settle on Xaaldin was considered an insult to the creator, who had been willing to share all the world with them, and only asked for one place of refuge among the rest.

The people of Old Bulan, or the Bulani, are based on a blend of ancient architecture and landscapes. This will possibly look familiar to someone who’s read my shit before, but you know what you signed up for. What I’m providing in terms of inspiration is how it looks in the ‘current day’ as an archaeological site, so more ruins ahead rather than flourishing societies.

The sites in particular I am using include, ordered from left to right:

Pompeii, of Roman fame

The Imperial Baths in Trier, Germany

Paphos, the birthplace of Aphrodite in southwest Cyprus

The site of Mycenae, Greece

The Bulan mountains are rocky, but still incredibly green, with unusually fertile soil for the area and for the type of terrain. They were masters of techniques such as terrace farming and built many of their structures from stone, which is why most of what survives are those very same structures scattered throughout the range. 

One less apparent feature of Bulan is the structure found that was built into Xaaldin - a labyrinth, carved into the very foundations, and in near perfect condition for its lack of exposure to the elements and human interference. Most historians (in universe) agree that the labyrinth predates Bulani settlement, but no evidence of prior societies exists that could have built the labyrinth as it was. 

In the real world, most people usually think of that of Greek mythos when it comes to labyrinths - which is where I pulled this one from. Arthur Evans, the archaeologist most well known for uncovering the ruins of the Palace of Knossos on the island of Crete, believed that he had discovered the original Labyrinth of Daedalus. He supported this based on the abundance of bull imagery in the remaining structure, as well as passages from the Iliad, but the theory has since been regarded with a fair amount of skepticism since that was pretty much his only evidence. But I digress - below are some of the many approximations of what the Palace of Knossos might have looked like.

Flavor that with Winchester Mystery House-type staircases to nowhere, circling hallways, overlapping halls, multiple intersections, moving staircase mechanisms, etc, etc. If you have a terrible sense of direction, the labyrinth of Nimir is exactly your worst nightmare is what I’m getting at.  

More on the Bulani labyrinth in a second, but I want to set the stage a little. Major question you’re probably asking yourself: why the fuck is any of this relevant? And frankly I’d be impressed if you’re only asking that now, because I’ve thrown a lot at you. 

The last era of the Bulani was a force in its own right. Its reach stretched beyond the Bulan mountains and down into the valley to the north, towards what would eventually become the Prakran kingdom. If we are to treat the events of the game as ‘Year 0’, then the beginning of the last era predates the game by about 1500 years with the rule of Lilous (year 1479), and old Bulani society collapses between 1100 and 1300 years before the events of the game itself. 

In 1479, the Bulani were unmatched in size, scope, and efficiency. They were warriors, still using the techniques Erasil had taught their ancestors, and taking advantage of the highly defensible terrain to protect their territory. While conquest was not an objective of theirs, they sure as hell kept what they had and maintained it over the course of their history. 

The mountains were highly defensible and advantageous for the people who lived in them, and though they were not necessarily a warring people, they were perfectly capable of defending themselves when the occasion called for it. 

This is about the same time that we see the birth of the modern Prakran Empire. Whole different post I may or may not write one day, but I treat Prakra as (among many other things, but simplified here) a blend of primarily India and Greece in terms of cultural influence with a sprinkling of a lot of other things I won’t get into here to preserve the length of this already long post. I do headcanon that it began as a bunch of smaller city-states/miscellaneous villages/provinces/etc that were unified under one banner by the first Empress of Prakra, named Naija, who also happens to be the direct ancestor of Nasrin Satrinva and by extension all of the Satrinava siblings, but anyway

To say the Prakrans and the Bulani did not get along would have been an understatement. Naija led a campaign of expansion and growth for the new nation, while the sovereign of Bulan - Lilous - had been perfectly content to ignore them until Naija’s forces snapped up several villages that made up the boundary of the Bulani territory.

The capture of these villages would mark the beginning of several years of on-again, off-again warfare between the two groups, the off periods hallmarked by attempts at peace talks, but this would usually be for naught before the fighting broke out again. The Bulan mountain range was the major obstacle for a land expansion south into the Catclaw desert, and would continue to be until the conflict was resolved. 

This is also where the pantheon mentioned previously comes back in - the people of Bulan still were ardent followers of Nyerin and their teachings, dedicating the early days to Erasil, the conflict only going as far as to protect the Bulani caught in the middle and beating back Naija’s onslaught before they too would retreat into the mountains. They feared that war for the sake of war would invite the whispers of Nimir once again, and the Bulani believed that only acting in self-defense would keep him at bay. 

That is not to say all agreed - some thought that the Bulani should try and push the Prakrans back to their original lands, considering them trespassers on the lands of Nyerin as they pushed closer to the mountains each time they came forward. Sovereign Lilous was caught in the middle, unable to satisfy all and fearing rebellion, and turned to the vassals at hand. 

When Nyerin and the others, save for Nimir, chose to remain at their sanctuary on Xaaldin, they chose a vassal apiece to act as the bridge between themselves and the people of Bulan. These vassals would spend their lives in service to the gods, and - as Ithys had granted them all - would spend their lives searching for the next vassal to follow. They would identify them and teach them how to open the ways of communication to Xaaldin, and the cycle would continue, on and on until time was no more. 

It was not particularly uncommon for a sovereign of Bulan to ask for audiences of the vassals, seeking wisdom from the gods on how to better lead the people in matters more complex than one individual could answer. The vassals were trusted implicitly, and had been for as long as the Bulani recorded their history, so Lilous expected nothing different when he called for the vassal of Erasil to come for an audience first. 

Cosaro had been the youngest to become vassal, primarily due to the unexpected death of his predecessor, who had chosen him at twelve years old. At twenty, he took on the Voice in a traditional ceremony - a largely unpopular choice in the opinions of the five other vassals, who thought he needed more time before he could truly be ready - but Cosaro seemed capable, and still willing to learn even after officially becoming the speaker for Erasil. 

However, his youth made him something of a vulnerable target. During a ceremonial ritual, conducted on the anniversary of the day Nimir would be trapped beneath Xaaldin, Cosaro had made his way to the base of the mountain.

Traditionally, it would have been the role of Cosaro to lay out offerings to Erasil at the opening of the path that would lead one to the entrance of the labyrinth. The rite would be undertaken by the Lord of Justice himself, renewing the seal that kept Nimir contained, and the point where he was supposed to stop was impossible to miss. It was hailed by a great stone arch carved with reliefs of that very conflict, but something instead compelled Cosaro to venture closer. He continued down the path long since forbidden to the Bulani people, for fear of treading unwelcome upon the home of the gods, until he stood before the great doors of the labyrinth. They stretched high above his head, echoing with the strength of the great seal that had been laid upon it centuries ago, but...he thought he’d heard wind, slipping behind the stone. 

Cautiously, he stepped nearer, pressing an ear to the seam between the doors, listening closely for fear that perhaps the seal had grown too weak, and that Nimir might have slipped free in the smallest of gaps like the cunning creature he was. 

It was believed that if one were to press their ear to the stones at the base of Xaaldin, you could hear Nimir’s voice, whispering, beckoning, begging to be set free by all who stopped long enough to listen. It was why the people were forbidden from venturing too near - all Nimir needed was a whisper, a moment of your time, and it was enough to let a little more of himself seep into a world made peaceful. 

When Cosaro pressed his ear to the stones, Nimir’s whispers would linger, stoking the fires of unrest that would ultimately lead Cosaro down the path of destruction, as Nimir was wont to do. 

Cosaro believed that who he heard was not Nimir, but Erasil, an Erasil who whispered of the dangers of allowing the threat of the Prakran to come too near, who whispered that action must be taken or all Bulan would fall to their advances, and Cosaro had the ability to stop such a fate from occurring.

It was easy for Cosaro to rally followers, those who were angry with sovereign Lilous and his inaction, and when Cosaro began to speak of concerns that Lilous would plan to negotiate a peace treaty, who were they not to believe him? He’d held many an audience with the sovereign, after all, and if the voice of Erasil told them to act, who were they to not follow?

Lilous spoke openly to his newfound political opponents, expressing his belief that while he had no current plans for the terms of a treaty, peace was the only true option for survival, lest Nimir be allowed free reign upon their lives in the familiar forms of chaos that he took. And despite the protests and affirmations of Lilous’s advisors that there truly was no such plan, the simple thought that the sovereign was considering even the idea had sent the people into a frenzy. 

Cosaro would call for action, that the true threat to their future would be inaction, that Erasil called for defeat of an enemy that was backed by Nimir, that Lilous must be removed or he would damn them all to the ashes of history. His followers would storm the royal residence and remove Lilous, who was later banished from the capital when spared from execution. Stripped of name and titles, Lilous 

The following Empress - Ghixara, a cousin of Lilous with claims of royal blood and a devout follower of the teachings of Erasil - would be installed mere weeks later, and so began the bloody campaign that would hallmark the end of the Bulani people of old. 

Ghixara kept Cosaro, as the voice of Erasil and a loyal ally who helped her acquire her place at the seat of power, particularly close. She would be the first Bulani leader to strike out against the Prakrans, leading their armies north and pushing them back towards their own territory. However, their forces could only hold them back for so long, and a smaller delegation went south by Ghixara’s orders to begin a campaign of conquest. The idea was that after conquest, conscription would become a facet of the Bulani’s fight against their Prakran neighbors, and the Bulani army would have the bodies it needed to defeat them once and for all. 

The Bulani made their way as far south as the valleys before the Great Gate, but did not expand particularly far westward, sticking close to the coasts and stretching as far as their newfound military power could without becoming too thin. Several of the groups in these regions were lost in their original form - forced to become a part of the Bulani, killed on battlefields miles from home, or fleeing their homelands altogether to avoid a conflict when loss seemed imminent. Some of them include the Boreans, of present day Vesuvia and far northern Venterre, the Yosmuc of the Catclaw Desert, and the Harmeg people of the Sea of Persephia. 

In about 1427, Naija, before her passing in 1423, would withdraw much of her forces from conflict and conquest of Bulani territory to preserve as many lives as she could - her daughter would take the throne of a flourishing empire, not one suffering in battle as it had for decades, and the withdrawal was seen in Bulani history as one of their greatest victories. Ghixara became known as the Great Defender, and would rule until 1411, when she too would pass of old age. Cosaro’s final years (died 1398) would be spent helping Ghixara’s successor, her son Anlas, build a stronger empire now that their military was not split between two forces. 

Anlas’s reign is characterized by the strengthening of the empire, the training of military forces, and continued expansion toward the Great Gate (the mountain range that separates the north from the south). Anlas kept strongly to the gods of Xaaldin, but followed the ancient belief that Nimir must not be spoken of or he would be invited in, and he feared that allowing Nimir into this new Empire would collapse it altogether while it found its footing. It’s this period and later that’s most well studied prior to the discovery of the Bulani labyrinth and the Nimirian Murals, as many of the structures and records of the day survive until the present. 

Conflict would not be a feature of Anlas’s time as emperor (1411-1360), and when the next sovereign (his daughter) would ascend the throne in 1359, the peaceful time would turn to strong tensions near the end of her rule in 1315 as drought and famine became a far more significant problem in the empire. However, these were only symptoms of another issue at play.

In the wake of Cosaro’s death, the remaining five Voices realized he had neglected his duty to find and teach his successor in favor of teaching Anlas, and chose instead to band together to try and find the voice for Erasil. They believe that Cosaro’s connection with Erasil had long since vanished, as the Lord of Justice would have directed him towards that successor with haste, as he and all the other gods had done when the time came, but now it was up to them to complete the circle and try to find a way forward when they feared Nimir was not so far at all. 

Erasil would make his voice heard in the voice of a twenty-four year old named Ephion, who had grown up a farmhand just outside the heart of the Bulani capital of Mavais. They were quite literally a shepherd to defend their flock, and particularly kind hearted if a little shy, but the gentle guidance of the others would coax them out of their shell and turn them into someone passionate and fierce since the first time they heard Erasil whisper to them. 

According to the journal of Ephion, held at the Sephin Citadel in Galbrada, Ephion’s first whispers from Erasil were that of concern that the people were misinterpreting Nimir’s words as Erasil’s, and that disaster would be sure to follow if the idea was not corrected. Erasil had expected conflict, but sought a world of peace, and the aggressive military campaigns for expanding the empire that would turn west with the reign of Anlas seemed like nothing but an invitation for disaster. 

Ephion would work their way inwards, starting in the smaller communities on the outskirts of Mavais and working their way into the heart of the capital in hopes of rallying support for a peaceful conversation with Anlas on the matter. Thousands were willing to sign their name into Ephion’s book, showing their support for a focus on the existing empire rather than continuing its expansion, and Ephion asked for an audience with Anlas in 1364. Anlas, being the devout follower he was, would grant it. 

Unfortunately, he dismissed Ephion and the people’s concerns, asserting that Erasil would not change his mind so quickly, that Cosaro had assured him that the path he was on was one of glory for Bulan and blessed by Erasil. Nothing could be said to change his mind, and thus, Ephion was left to try again and again in vain, until Anlas began to refuse their requests for audiences until his death in 1360. 

Anlas’s daughter, Phaeyar, had opened the door for Ephion once again in curiosity, for she had only bare memories of Cosaro. She was willing to listen, but was easily manipulated by her peers, who were skeptical of Ephion’s words and believed that such a radical change in action would make the Bulani appear weak and leave them open to an attack from any of their neighbors. 

Ephion’s journals insist that the drought to come was not a divine punishment, only an unfortunate circumstance. A few dry years in the Bulani empire meant that crops failed for an extended period, and due to the lack of attention on internal trade routes and coordination on top of a lack of allies, many people who relied on the resources provided by the crown found themselves desperate and needing someone to blame. Phaeyar was not the root of the issue, but certainly a part of it, but it was enough that in the years just before their death, Ephion saw the upheaval of an empire. 

Those who had heard Ephion’s words believed that Phaeyar had brought this upon the people by refusing to act by the advice of Erasil and his voice, and no matter how Ephion and the others tried to advocate in defense of Phaeyar and temper the fires of outrage, Phaeyar would step down and pass the throne to her son Tiren in 1308. It was an attempt to placate the gods, to ask for forgiveness on behalf of the people for her own ignorance, which seemed to placate the people for the time being.

When Tiren came to power and settled on the throne, he tried to implement policies and changes that would rectify his primary concerns (inefficient trade and communication networks) but the worries of the people were solved, it seemed, when rains came again and they breathed a sigh of relief at the mercy of the gods. 

Tiren was the first to express frustration at the situation - rather than trying and fixing the issues just in case there was a next time, the court he’d surrounded himself with seemed dismissive, that the gods would take care of them so long as they listened again. 

Though he believed in the gods, he thought it was unfair for six entities who did not understand the way they did things, who would punish them for trying to forge their own way in the world when curiosity and exploration had been a foundation of Ithys’s teachings, to dictate how they lived their lives. He saw and engaged with the people, it was his duty to care for them and attend to their needs, not just whatever divine plan the seven had come up with long before his birth.

His steps to try and distance the Bulani from this sort of influence was small at first - refusing audiences with the voices when unsolicited, and instead opening his court directly to the people. In years before him, concerns would be relayed to the Voices first, who would then convene with the sovereign of Bulan if the matter required larger action than the Voices had to take. It removed power from the Voices of Erasil, but at the same time, gave the people a sense that they were truly being heard and their problems answered. In the time before, there was a sense of disappointment or failure when an individual tried to ask for help from the gods and they felt they were unheard or denied, but to speak with Tiren felt personal, felt as if there was someone who actually cared and they could put a face to. 

Tiren would not change too much too quickly, for he was concerned that too radical of a change would set his progress backwards, but his heir would follow. Thedis, his middle child, ruled from Tiren’s choice to step down in 1247 until 1173. Thedis continued Tiren’s work, as well as becoming more and more outspoken on their beliefs that in order to survive, the Bulani needed to govern themselves. They could not continue to rely on the infrequent word of the gods when the gods did not live in the world they lived in, the gods lived above it, and only those who lived among them could truly understand. A new generation had come, one that was not so bound to the old ways and eager to take charge of its own fate, but that was not a universal decision among the common people. 

Those who felt that the old ways should not be abandoned chose to split off, migrating east to the islands off the shores of the Bulani Empire, founding the small nation of Galbrada, in which the people would still practice their worship within sight of Xaaldin. They thought that while it was good to have their issues addressed more directly, to abandon the gods completely was ungrateful, for the gods had given them their place in the world to begin with. 

Thedis would not demolish old religious practices but instead repurpose them - temples to the gods became public sanctuaries and gathering places over places of reverence, high holidays became seasonal festivals, atonement to the gods became projects for the public good or fair punishments for major offenses. It was a time of prosperity, of community, secularization that helped the people improve a flawed system. 

In 1172, Okaris would take the throne from their parent, and completed the last few steps that Thedis had not been able to achieve in their rule. These were more public projects, including reaching out for allyship to other empires to expand their well of resources. 

1164 would hallmark the last step in a sort of ‘liberation’ from the gods - the demolishing of the doors at the labyrinth, which had been something of a social control for generations upon generations. Nimir was nothing more than a boogeyman to them, but it was the last symbol of the gods’ authority over the Bulani, and would be toppled as a show of that freedom.

It’s at this point that historical study disagrees on how things played out, but most agree that some sort of plague affected the Bulani people and decimated the population. Some would flee to join the community in Galbrada or west further into the mountains, but the community at Xaaldin was otherwise obliterated. Archaeological sites hold no evidence of conflict or widespread famine, nor did this phenomenon seem to stretch beyond the valley, so presently this theory remains largely unproven and awaits further evidence before their fate is determined. 

In truth, what happened was that only one door would come down before the people learned that Nimir was, in fact, very much real. 

He had had hundreds, thousands of years to stew in his rage, and when the door to the labyrinth was opened, he unleashed it upon the city of Mavais for its proximity. 

This is the first known instance of the Red Plague - thousands upon thousands of beetles descended upon Mavais and infected the people with the illness that would make infrequent appearances across time until it spiked in the wake of Lucio’s travels and settling in Vesuvia. For those who did not flee to Galbrada in hopes of finding sanctuary, the Bulani population was down to two thirds in five years, a third in three more, and all but wiped out by 1154. 

(Note: see this post for my personal headcanons on the Red Plague and its spread during Lucio’s era)

In fear of invoking a similar blight, most have veered as far from the ruins themselves as possible. Sea travel has been far preferred to traveling through the mountains whenever possible, and though other communities live in the range, nothing else has built itself atop the bones of the Bulani. 

Presently, the ruins are an archaeological site, investigated by authorities from several interested parties (including but not limited to Prakra, Nopal, and Vesuvia), but much of the present intrigue has come from the rediscovery of the Bulani labyrinth. The entrance had decayed and crumbled in the millenia since and was largely lost in terms of location, with knowledge - prior to the rediscovery by Astoria Fenharrow - under the assumption that it was merely a myth. 

The site is not accessible to the general public, as it is still currently being surveyed and excavated, but students and volunteers have been permitted access on a season-by-season basis to acquire extra hands and provide learning opportunities whenever possible. 

What happened to the Bulani who survived/left will be covered in another post I currently have drafted, Sephin Citadel and the Republic of Galbrada, but will certainly be less of a behemoth than this. However, I do appreciate it if you got this far, especially because this is a big boy. The prize you win is a fat smooch on the brain from me. 

[letterboxd]

Wigging Out.

Choreographer and director Jonathan Butterell tells Gemma Gracewood about stepping behind the camera for Everybody’s Talking About Jamie, his love for Sheffield, and making sure queer history is kept alive. Richard E. Grant weighs in on tolerance and Thatcher.

Of 2021’s many conundrums, one for musical lovers is why the narratively problematic Dear Evan Hansen gets a TIFF premiere and theatrical release this month, while the joyously awaited Everybody’s Talking About Jamie went straight to Amazon Prime.

And yet, as the show’s lyrics go, life keeps you guessing, along came a blessing. There’s something about the film streaming onto young people’s home screens, with its moments of fourth-wall breaking where Jamie speaks straight to the viewer, that feels so important, given the content: a gay teen whose drag-queen destiny sits at odds with the less ambitious expectations of his working-class town.

Director and choreographer Jonathan Butterell, who also helmed the stage production (itself inspired by Jenny Popplewell’s 2011 BBC documentary, Jamie: Drag Queen at 16) agrees that the worldwide Amazon release is a very good silver lining. “I made the film for the cinema but, in 250 territories across the world, this is going to have a reach that—don’t get me wrong, cinema, cinema, cinema, collective experience, collective experience, collective experience—but it will get to people that it might not have got to before.

Jonathan Butterell on set with star Max Harwood, as Jamie.

“It feels as niche a story as you could possibly be. But also for me, I wanted it to feel like a universal story, that it didn’t matter where on any spectrum you found yourself, you could understand a young person wanting to take their place in the world freely, openly and safely.”

Everybody’s Talking About Jamie, with screenplay and lyrics by Tom MacRae and songs by Dan Gillespie Sells, sits neatly among a series of very specific feel-good British films about the working class experience, such as Billy Elliot, Kinky Boots and Pride. The film adds some historical weight to the story with a new song, ‘This Was Me’, which allows Jamie’s mentor, Hugo (played by Richard E. Grant), to take us into England’s recent past—the dark days of the discriminatory Section 28 laws, at a time when the HIV/AIDS epidemic was still ravaging the community.

Hugo’s drag persona Loco Chanelle (played in the flashback by the stage musical’s original Jamie—John McCrea from Cruella and God’s Own Country), sports a wig that looks suspiciously like the Iron Lady’s unmistakable head of hair. Grant confirms that was Hugo’s intention. “His heyday was in the 1980s, so as a ‘fuck you’ to Mrs Thatcher, what better than to be dressed up like that, at six-foot-eight, with a wig that could bring down the Taj Mahal!”

Richard E. Grant as Hugo, getting to work on Jamie’s contours.

In light of the current pandemic, and the fact that the 1967 legalization of homosexuality in Britain is only “an historical blink away”, Grant’s hope is for more tolerance in the world. “Maybe Covid gives people some sense of what that was like, but with Covid there’s not the prejudice against you, whereas AIDS, for the most part in my understanding, was [seen as] a ‘gay disease’, and there were many people across the globe who thought that this was, you know, whatever god they believe in, was their way of punishing something that they thought was unacceptable.

“The message of this movie is of inclusivity, diversity, and more than ever, tolerance. My god, we could do with a dose of that right now.”

Read on for our Q&A with Jonathan Butterell about the filmic influences behind Everybody’s Talking About Jamie.

Hugo in a reverie, surrounded by his drag menagerie.

Can we talk about the new song, ‘This Was Me’, and the way you directed it in the film? It’s a show-stopper, with Richard E. Grant singing in that beautiful high register, and then moving into Holly Johnson’s singing, as you go back in time to show that deeply devastating and important history. Jonathan Butterell: It felt inevitable, the shift, and necessary. Myself, Dan Gillespie Sells, the composer, and Tom MacRae, the screenwriter, we created this piece together, the three of us, and it’s a film by the three of us. We lived through that time, we went on those marches. Actually, in one of those marches [shown in flashback], Dan’s mum—actual mum—is in a wheelchair, by a young boy who was holding a plaque saying “my mum’s a lesbian and I love her”.

That is Dan with his mum back in the day, and it all speaks to our stories and it moves me, I can see it’s moving you. It moves me because I lived through that time, and it was a complex time for a young person. It was a time that you felt you had to be empowered in order to fight, and you felt very vulnerable because of the need to fight. And because of that disease, because HIV was prevalent and we lost people—we lost close people—it was a difficult time. I wanted to make sure that that story kept being told and was passed on to the next generation.

It’s so important isn’t it, to walk into the future facing backwards? It still exists, that need to fight still exists. The conversation, yes, has moved on, has changed, but not for all people and not in all communities.

What would be your go-to movie musical song at a karaoke night? My goodness. There’d be so many.

I mean, is it going to be a Cabaret, a Chicago showstopper, or something more Mary Poppins, something from Rent? I think what I would go to, which is what I remember as a little boy, is Curly singing ‘Oh, What A Beautiful Mornin’. It’s such a kind of perfect, beautiful, simple song. That, and ‘The Lonely Goatherd’, because I just want to yodel. It would be epic. Trust me.

What is the best film featuring posing and why is it Paris Is Burning? It’s always Paris Is Burning. Back in the day, I was obsessed with Paris Is Burning, I was obsessed with that world. In fact, at one moment I even met [director] Jennie Livingston in trying to make a theater piece inspired by that. I lived in New York for eleven years and I met Willi Ninja. I just adored everything about him, and he would tell me stories. And again, it was so removed from the boy from Sheffield, I mean so far. That New York ballroom scene was so removed from my world, but I got it. Those two boys at the top of the film, I just wanted to be one of those boys who just hung out outside the club.

Harwood and Butterell on set, with Lauren Patel (right) as Jamie’s bestie Pritti Pasha.

What films did you and Tom and Dan look at to get a feeling for how to present the musical numbers? Actually, a lot of pop videos, from present day to past. There’s an homage, in the black-and-white sequences, to a little ‘Vogue’ Madonna moment. Pop is very central to me in this story because pop is what a working-class kid from a working-class community will be listening to. That’s in his phone, that’s in his ears. Not that many young people listen to much radio at this moment in time, but that’s what will be on Margaret’s radio, that’s what’s coming into the kitchen. And that was central to the storytelling for me.

Bob Fosse also really influenced me, and particularly All That Jazz and where his flights of imagination take him. I felt that was so appropriate for Jamie, and again in a very, very different way, but I could see how Jamie’s imagination could spark something so fantastical that would lead him to dance, lead him to walk on the most amazing catwalk, lead into being in the most fabulous, fabulous nightclub with the most amazing creatures you’ve ever met in your life.

For me personally, the film that most inspired me was Ken Loach’s Kes, because that is my community. Both the world in which Jamie exists—Parsons Cross council estate, is my world, is my community—and the world of that young boy, finding his place in the world with his kestrel friend, I remember identifying with that boy so clearly. He was very different from me, very different. But I got him, and I felt like Ken Loach got me through him.

Ken Loach made a few films set in Sheffield, didn’t he? But also, Sheffield is a setting and an influence on The Full Monty, The History Boys, Funny Cow and that brilliant Pulp documentary. So Jamie feels like a natural successor. It absolutely does. Sheffield’s where I grew up, it’s my hometown. Although I moved away from it, I always return. To have a chance to celebrate my community, and particularly that community in Parsons Cross council estate. If you’re in Sheffield and you’re in a taxi and you said, “Take me to Parsons Cross,” they’d say, “Well, I’ll drop you there, but I’m not staying.” Because again there’s a blinkered view of that community. And I know that community to be proud, glorious and beautiful.

And yes, that community, particularly through the ’80s, really suffered because some of that community would serve the steelworks and had three generations of unemployment, so they became disenfranchised because of that. But the community I grew up in, my Auntie Joan, who lived on that road, literally on that road, was a proud, working class, glorious woman who served chips at school.

Aside from Everybody’s Talking About Jamie, what would be the most important queer British cinematic story to you? (And how do you choose between My Beautiful Laundrette and God’s Own Country?!) You can’t. My Beautiful Laundrette influenced me so much because, one, Daniel Day Lewis was extraordinary in that film, and two, because of the cross-cultural aspect of it. I went, “I know this world”, because again I grew up in that world. And it affirmed something in me, which is the power and the radicalness of who I could be and what I could be.

With God’s Own Country, when I saw that film—and that was Francis’ first film, which I thought was extraordinary for a first-time filmmaker—I knew he knew that world from the inside, from the absolute inside. And I know what that rural community was like. I read that script, because we share agents, and I was blown away by it—again, because of the two cultures coming together.

Jamie Campbell, the film’s real-life inspiration, with screen-Jamie Max Harwood.

Richard E. Grant’s character, Hugo, is such a pivotal mentor for Jamie. What did you need to hear from a mentor when you were sixteen? Don’t let yourself hold yourself back, because I think it was me who put some limitations on myself. And of course I came from a working-class community. I was a queer kid in a tough British comprehensive school. And did I experience tough times? Yes I did. And did I deal with those tough times? Yes I did. But the song that speaks to me mostly in this is ‘Wall in my Head’, in which Jamie takes some responsibility for the continuation of those thoughts, continuations of the sorts of shame, and that’s a sophisticated thing for a sixteen-year-old boy to tackle.

I also was lucky enough to have a mother like Margaret—and a dad like Margaret as well, just to be clear! And I remember my mum, at seventeen when I left home, just leaving a little note on my bed. It was quite a long letter. She said, Jonathan, you’ve probably chosen to walk a rocky path, but don’t stray from it, don’t steer away from it. That’s the path you've chosen, there may be rock-throwers along the way, but you’ll find your way through it. That stayed with me and I think that’s what resonates with me. And when I saw that documentary, Jamie: Drag Queen at 16, I felt that that sparked the need for me to tell that story.

Sarah Lancashire as Jamie’s mum, Margaret New.

We need more mums and dads like Margaret, don’t we? We do, we do. And the wonderful thing is, Margaret Campbell will say it and I think Margaret New in the film will say it: she’s not a Saint, she’s an ordinary mum. And she has to play catch up and she doesn’t understand in many ways, and she gets things wrong and she overprotects. But she comes from one place and that is a mum’s love of her child and wanting them to take their place safely in the world and to be fully and totally themselves.

Related content

Eternal Alien’s list of films Made in Sheffield

Letterboxd’s Camp Showdown

Persephon’s list of films recommended by drag queens

Passion’s list of films mentioned by Jaymes Mansfield in her Drag Herstory YouTube series

Follow Gemma on Letterboxd

‘Everybody’s Talking About Jamie’ is streaming now on Amazon Prime Video.

[oumaheroes]

Earthbound: Ludwig’s Story

Characters: Germany, Prussia

Context:

Hundreds of years after the fall of Earth, mankind is slowly starting to return. Some people have a stronger urge to return than others, confused by fragments of memories from a life already lived.

Arthur’s story can be found here. 

Matthew’s story can be found here.

Gabriel’s story can be found here.

---------------------------------------------

Ludwig is six, and is sick again. The doctors don't know what's wrong with him; they know what's causing it at least but they have no idea why. He can't keep food down and every time he tries to stand the world pitches and swims and he can't keep his balance so he never manages to stay up for long before he bonelessly falls to the floor, where he feels no better.

It's the gravity, the doctors say, for some reason he's affected by the gravity. The artificial gravity that he's known all his life; it's as if he's just climbed aboard and his body suffers from relapses where it just can't acclimatise. Where it suddenly realises that something's not quite right and rebels against him for a week or so. This his family already knows, but his mother isn't satisfied with such a lacklustre answer so she takes him to a different doctor every time he suffers another attack just in case one of them is even marginally more competent than the last. These 'episodes', as his mother likes to call them, don't happen all that often, but he seems to have one every ten months or so and they are regular enough to annoy his mother to no end. Ludwig doesn't really know if she's annoyed that no one can fix him or with him himself, Gilbert won't say and normally his big brother talks to pretend that he knows something so his silence worries Ludwig the most.

Mother is a very important person with a very important job: she's a governor of the space station upon which they live and it is very important that Ludwig remembers this. So, when he's laying in bed clutching at his belly and desperately clenching his eyes shut to minimise the swaying, his friends at school think that he is away for a special training academy. Because can you just imagine, the governor of a space station's son being space sick?

His father doesn't like to call it that because he thinks it's degrading so his mother doesn't, when she thinks Ludwig can't hear, anyway, but Ludwig knows that's what the kids at school would say so he happily keeps mum because it's easier than lying. They don't talk to him much besides, they find him too cold and distant but that's because he's so scared of disgracing his mother further that he can't quite relax fully.

When Ludwig is thirteen his mother, after exhausting all doctors aboard their large floating colony, finally accepts that it's unlikely that this small problem of his is going to go away. Her way of dealing with it is to pretend that it just doesn't happen; during an attack Ludwig is sent to his room where he stays painfully alone with only his books for company whilst she busies herself with her new campaigns. She's running for director now, aiming as high as she can go and there's no room for weak, feeble Ludwig all the way up there.

His brother tries his best to keep him entertained and happy during these times, but Gilbert is healthy, strong, smart; he's everything that Ludwig should also be able to grow up to be and their parents have sent him off to expensive schools which means that he's more often away from home than not. Sometimes Ludwig wonders if they've sent him away because they want Gilbert to be the all around best he can be, or if it's to distance him as much as they can from Ludwig. It's almost as if they're worried that Ludwig will taint him, or that maybe Gilbert will grow too attached to him and distract himself from what's really important. That Ludwig will anchor him down.

At five years older it's highly unlikely that Ludwig will be the one doing the influencing, but his brother, despite hardly seeing each other and such a large age difference, does seem to genuinely care for him. During one particular attack, when Ludwig is eighteen, Gilbert is home from university; it is almost Christmas and his family are preparing to travel to where his grandparents live on the other side of the space station, where they'll spend the holiday. Of course, it is now that his body decides to betray him.

He, his parents, and his brother are gathered around the large dining room table finishing off dinner. It is tense. Mostly it is Gilbert who talks because despite their mother's cool demeanour and their father's lack of interest he seems to always have something to say to fill the silence and speaks easily. Even with the response he gets, or lack of it, he seems honestly unperturbed and remains cheerful, somehow managing to both eat and speak without seeming impolite. As much as he loves his brother, Ludwig is also supremely jealous.

He stares at his fork, contemplating which point in the evening would be best to ask if he could slip away, when his body decides for him. His stomach swoops, his ears pop and the table tilts alarmingly. He clenches the edge in panic to remain upright and the noise alerts his mother, who looks up from her dessert in irritation.

'Ludwig, we are going away tomorrow.'

'M- mother-'

His mother sighs and looks at his father, who sharply stares back. 'Dear?'

His father grunts and spears another forkful of fruit pie. 'They're expecting him to come.'

'But the photographers-'

'What do you want me to do, Hilda?'

Meanwhile, Ludwig has still not been dismissed and cannot now seem to find the words to ask for permission himself without spewing all over the fancy silverware. He doubts that that will make the situation better, somehow. Gilbert notices and stands, attracting his parents' attention.

'I'll take Luddy to his room.'

'Darling...' their mother tries to say something, but it's what she's trying not to say that comes across the loudest.

Gilbert ignores her and walks around the table, slowly helping Ludwig to his feet, then away from the table and swiftly towards a bathroom. They make it just in time. Gilbert pats him comfortingly on the back and rubs soothing circles into his shoulders until he's finished, then hands him a glass of water.

'So, they're still arseholes, huh?'

Ludwig snaps his head up in horror, but this is a bad idea because the image of Gilbert swims before him and he has to shut his eyes.

'Don't call them that.' He finally manages, weakly.

Gilbert tuts. 'What the fuck did they feed you with in order to churn your personality out.'

Ludwig lays his head on the cool tiles of the floor and groans inwardly at how nice the feeling is. 'They're not arseholes.'

'Yeah, and my name's Shirley.'

Ludwig cracks open an eye, but Gilbert's not joking. He is, for once, deadly serious. 'How'd you put up with them Lud?'

Ludwig shrugs and gives a small shake of his head. 'They're our parents, Gil. They still care for me. Besides, I'm not exactly making it easy for them.'

Gilbert looks disgusted. 'You're their fucking son, arsehole. They're supposed to take care of you. They ain't even doing that right are they?' Gilbert runs a hand through his shock of white hair and bits his bottom lip whilst he shakes his head. 'Look at how they treat you versus me.'

'Yes, but I'm not exactly-'

'But nothing!' Gilbert raises his voice slightly and swallows. When he speaks again, he's much quieter, back under control. 'Have they got you in a university programme yet?'

Ludwig's silence is answer enough and Gilbert sighs deeply before brushing back Ludwig's sweaty fringe. 'There's nothing wrong with you Lud.' His brother sounds so very sad. 'Fuck, there's nothing wrong with you at all. They know full well that if they put you on a planet rather than this floating heap of rust that you'll probably be alright. And have they? Have they fuck.'

Ludwig wants to argue against him, wants to say something to stand up for himself if not for their parents but his eyes are suddenly burning and his throat is choked up. He knew a long time ago that his parents had given up on him, but to hear it from someone else hurts more sharply than anything he tells himself.

There's an odd companionable silence for a while; Ludwig lays still with his face against the floor and his brother's hand carding through his hair so he almost misses what Gilbert says next.

'I was gonna wait till Boxing Day, but I've got us tickets for Earth.'

Ludwig tenses and holds his breath. Gilbert continues. 'I was gonna wake you up on the 26th and take you away with me, but I want to tell you now instead, cause you look like shit. We're gonna get out of here Luddy; I've always wanted to take you to a planet and what better one is there than the original, huh?'

'You, I- you can't- what about your studies? The internship you've got?' Ludwig manages to stammer out, opening his eyes.

Gilbert brushes his concerns aside. 'I never liked medicine, really. I've always wanted to go to a planet, so I'm mega up for it.'

Ludwig knows he should say no, knows that he shouldn't take up the offer. He'd be denying his brother so much, he'd be exactly what their parents worried he'd be because he'll only drag Gilbert down and down and down like a heavy lead weight and ruin all of his chances at a good life.

But Ludwig wants to be selfish. He reaches out and clasps onto Gilbert's hand, squeezing it tightly. 'Gil...'

Gilbert flashes him a grin and winks. 'I know, right? How awesome am I?'

---------------------------

AN:

I’ve been a very busy bee recently and haven’t been able to write anything, so in lieu of something new, have something old.

This is from my fic Earthbound, which I’m embarassingly fond of. It’s made up of several different stories and Ludwig and Gilbert’s is the one that I’m the most happy with after all these years.

Hope you enjoyed!

[roselightfairy]

If you're still doing fic recs, do you have any favorite AUs?

Oh, do I!! This is an EXCELLENT prompt, and I’ve had a lot of fun compiling this list tonight. I’ve ended up grouping it into two different sections: modern AU (because there are a lot of those!) and “other,” which are…non-modern AU, haha. For the most part I’ve left out UA (universe alteration, in which the universe is the same but something about the story changes), because I can’t think of any of those right now – but I know there are some really good ones of that as well!

So:

Modern:

like, comment, subscribe by DeHeerKonijn

Summary: A collection of fics that take place in my modern ‘verse, wherein Minas Tirith is a bustling city, Gimli is a professor at the university, and Legolas is a model-slash-influencer-slash-layabout.

…

Come on, you all knew this was going to be first on the list. The amount of worldbuilding @deheerkonijn has put into this series is absolutely breathtaking, and what you see on Tumblr is probably only the half of it. (Go stalk her Twitter, even if you don’t have a profile – I do it all the time!) This series is all she’s written for it so far, plus the fic that we cowrote about the OC roommates. But aside from that, the series has a whole assortment of always sexy, always funny, always sweet stories about Legolas and Gimli; go read them all!

No Place Like HoME by Flamebyrd

Summary: In which our heroes play a MMORPG called Heroes of Middle-Earth.

…

THIS IS SO GOOD. I love this premise so much, haha – Legolas and Gimli are just regular humans (with regular names, even!) and a rivalry they don’t even know about – but it turns out they’ve been playing each other in a game for quite awhile! It’s cute, fun, and creative, and I wish there were more.

life’s just a game (and it’s just your turn) by plinys

Summary: Legolas and Gimli try to have phone sex (or well, headset sex) with some unforeseen consequences.

…

I ADORE that these two as gamers is a fic idea that exists more than once, and this one is so fluffy with just a hint of spice (and a hefty dose of embarrassment, haha, but they deserved it!). Read it and grin!

Hold My Number by katajainen

Summary: It's a Saturday night at the A&E, and Gimli only wants to get to the triage nurse and be done with this whole stupid business.

That is, until he meets a tall, dark stranger (a ridiculously pretty one).

…

I LOVE THIS FIC SO MUCH. The crowning glory of meet-cutes (though it’s more of a meet-ugly, really), in which Legolas and Gimli meet at the emergency room for very embarrassing reasons . . . and hit it off right away, in a way that is adorable, delightful, and funny to watch. Read for their embarrassing stories, their adorable dorkiness (they’re gamers again!), and their undeniable chemistry.

Perfect Fit by mssileas

Summary: "Both of them were painfully aware that their physical differences were shockingly obvious – much more so than their also very different personalities. And that they usually led people to assumptions they weren't shy of declaring."

Or, Legolas single-handedly disproves all prejudice, and Gimli loves it.

…

This is a lovely (and smutty, so be warned) modern AU oneshot that challenges the stereotypes of these two based on how they look – and how they would probably be treated, if they were a couple in our world. If you’re interested in the modern AU premise but not the smut, there’s another oneshot set in this ‘verse, Christmas Body, that is mostly just fluff!

Other (non-modern):

The Earth Moves Under Our Feet (It’s A Loco Motion) by notanightlight

Summary: The West is still Wild. Gimli is working on the railway, Legolas is a gunslinger, and someone needs to turn this train around.

…

WILD WEST AU WILD WEST AU!! This story is one of my favorite things ever because it’s a WILD WEST AU and Gimli is an Irish immigrant and Legolas is an outlaw and they meet in a near-death situation and bond! It has wonderful worldbuilding, excellent banter, and little moments of flirting that almost hide below the surface of the aforementioned near-death situation, but not quite. ;) Please go read it, or listen to the amazing accompanying podfic by Morvidra, which is an astounding performance.

Nothing Doth Fade (But Suffers a Sea-Change) by notanightlight

Summary: Gimli has always heard stories about the seals that lived near the cliffs of Castle Durin. “They aren’t what they seem,” they’d tell him. Gimli never knew what to think of those stories, until the night he met a stranger on the shore, with the sea in his eyes and moonlight on his skin.

…

@notanightlight has too many amazing AUs to list them all here, but I have to give a shout-out to this one because SELKIES but also ANGST and SORROW and BETRAYAL but FORGIVENESS and HOPE and – I don’t know. It plays with a common and really sad trope, but gives our characters a way through that is hard and painful, but worth it, in the end – a story in which everything is not all okay, but in which that doesn’t have to be the end, if everyone is willing to work. Plus, Thranduil makes an appearance and he is magnificent.

Wild Hunt by consumptive_sphinx

Summary: There’s a knock on the door.

It isn’t quite dusk; it isn’t too dangerous yet. But still, it’s late to be out on Midwinter’s Night. What if he was held up somewhere?

Legolas takes a nail with him when he opens the door. “Gimli. It’s late.”

…

Fae AU!! consumptive_sphinx has many wonderful AUs and you should check out their whole profile, but I had to give this one a shout-out. It’s mysterious and tender and packs a whole lot of story between the lines of its 917 words and made me yearn for more!

The Monstrous Fellowship by IchijouKenichiro

Summary: Astrin's cousins Fíli and Kíli left to fight the forces of Mordor over two years ago, but there's been no word from them for the last six months. Being a woman of action and the one who always is there to get them out of trouble, Astrin disguises herself as the male warrior Gimli and joins the army to fight for them. But the regiment she joins is anything but typical. With troublesome hobbits, a religious fanatic, the undead, a golem, and even an elf, are the greatest dangers to come from her fellow man? And what secrets are they all holding onto?

A parody of Terry Prachett's "A Monstrous Regiment"

…

THIS IS NOT A DRILL. This is ACTUALLY a Monstrous Regiment rewrite of LOTR, with the Fellowship in the place of the Regiment, and the characters are – actually matched up really, really well. Full disclosure: I read this before I read Monstrous Regiment and went in fully prepared to ship Polly and Maladict… but it turns out they were extremely shippable anyway, so that turned out all right. ;) Seriously – this is an excellent fic, such a fun story, and such a good homage!

Aulë’s Gift by daisynorbury

Summary: "Our friendship endures these strange periods of inequality. You can't remember, and I can't forget."

A new chapter in Adina's classic Back to the Beginning cycle, wherein Aulë granted Gimli perpetual reincarnation. Two thousand years into the Fourth Age, Legolas meets the ninth version of his dearest friend. Told mostly from Gimli's amnesiac POV.

…

I don’t know if this story fully counts as an AU, but I’ve been longing to rec it for several lists and just – couldn’t ever quite find a category it fit into. AU is close enough, since even though the world is meant to be Middle-earth far in the future, it’s different enough to feel like another world. This is a reincarnation story of Legolas and Gimli set in the series referenced above (and recommended in a different list), and it deals with the extreme complication of the situation with so much sensitivity and grace that it rivets me. Even if I didn’t know @daisyfornost, it would be so obvious to me that an absolutely unbelievable amount of thought and care went into the worldbuilding, the writing, the creation of this story. It is such a labor of love, and that love is evident throughout the whole thing. Please go read it, but I warn you that you will have lots of feelings.

…

Thank you again for this amazing prompt, anon! Reminder to all that this is in no way a comprehensive list – I’m sure I’ve left out so many other wonderful stories. Please feel free to add your own, if you reblog this! And my usual reminder to please leave the author a comment if you read any of these and enjoy it. <3

[maxwell-grant]

On Lord Hawthorne

A lot of what makes Lavender Jack special to me is the way it’s so masterfully able to create engaging, modern material out of it’s influences, and it’s creation of a genuinely timeless pulp icon that I think should serve as the ideal baseline for any and all creators who want to create stories based on pulp characters, old and new alike, in the future. 

As I make my way through Season 2 and eagerly await Season 3 I’d like to take the time to talk a little about the often overlooked half of the villain duo of Season 1, Lord Hawthorne, and what I think is interesting about him. Out of the many ways pulp heroes have been reimagined into villains over the decades, Lord Hawthorne stands out to me as easily one of the best ones, as a thoughtful take on the Tarzan character.

Spoilers before the cut

The first thing everyone immediately picks about Lord Hawthorne is that he’s Tarzan, with hardly any ifs or buts about it. He’s Tarzan, and we quickly learn that he’s the villain, part of a villain duo with Lady Hawthorne, the real mastermind and kingpin in pearls behind the story’s events. Having Tarzan as the villain n a story that draws from pulp and Edwardian fiction is already an interesting start, as three of the most popular molds from which are pulp heroes are based on, three of the most popular characters as icons, are Tarzan, the Scarlet Pimpernel, and Sherlock Holmes, all three of which exist in some capacity in the world of Lavender Jack. The Gentleman Villain, The Great Detective, and The Wild Man.

Lavender Jack, as I’ve mentioned, is based on the Pimpernel, as well as other figures such as Spring-Heeled Jack and Bertie Wooster. Jack draws from icons that largely predate the pulp heroes because, in Schkade’s own reasoning, if you’re going to try and create an authentic pulp hero, it only makes sense to use as a base the characters that largely inspired them, and clearly that worked out very well. Jack is a Pimpernel remodeled and recontextualized into modern sensibilities, into an era of superheroes and webcomics.

In the Great Detective’s case, we have the figure of Madame Theresa Ferrier, who is called into the story by the Mayor to try and solve the mystery of Lavender Jack’s identity. Schkade describes Ferrier as a character that pulls from elements of detectives like Hercule Poirot and C.Auguste Dupin as well as Sherlock Holmes, in particular Jeremy Brett’s later year performances. As he describes:

In the series’ final years, Brett was getting older, sicker, hindered by bipolar medications that sapped his energy and caused him to gain weight, and he used it. His Holmes became a fading, melancholic shadow of his younger self, but with the spark of his brilliance showing through when it counted. I always found that so compelling

Ferrier is repeteadly described in-universe as “The Great Detective”, and she is both the oldest as well as the most brilliant character in the comic. Despite her age, despite her physical complications, and the tragedy that surrounds her love life, she is nonetheless incredibly skilled, strong and resourceful, able to unmask Jack and survive a confrontation with Lord Hawthorne and even nearly beat him. Ferrier draws from the Great Detectives of old, but this is a character that could never be mistaken for any of them. She’s not specifically based on any of them because, as Schkade puts it: “I wanted her to be someone I’d never get to draw in a leading role in most of my work-for-hire jobs”. 

Her role in the comic ends up being one of mentorship to Jack, and despite her age being emphasized as well as the idea of her belonging to an older generation of great heroes that now gives way to the younger and hot-blooded Jack as well as Ferrier’s new partner in Honoria Crabb, Ferrier is very much another great example of where the old meets the new in Lavender Jack. Pulling from the great old archetypes but very much recognizable as her own thing. 

Thing is, when it comes to Lord Hawthorne, we don’t really get that, because Lord Hawthorne isn’t really combining the idea of Tarzan with a splash of something new and outstanding and modern. He really is just Tarzan, and not a terribly layered character at that, for much of the story he’s largely just a voiceless bulldozer who exists to do the dirty work of Lady Hawthorne no matter how dirty. This isn’t at all a criticism, because I think Hawthorne being just Tarzan, with little to no bells and whistles and twists on it, is central to what makes him work not just as a great physical threat Jack must overcome (in a similar way to Bane as both a monstrous powerhouse and also having a strong connection to a powerful pulp hero), but also someone whose tragedy comes to light as we finally learn more about him. The fact that he is monosyllabic and largely devoid of any personal interests or life outside of being muscle for Lady Hawthorne is something deliberate, as outlined in a speech given by another character in Chapter 39

Her world's been changing for years, now. She's taking her place in a wider game. A more nuanced game. And you're still...Why, you're only good for one thing, aren't you? Well, maybe two, you old hound, you.

I know why you spend vast stretches of the year off in that jungle. It's not for sport, it's not to keep your edge...it's because when there's no need to fight, no struggle to win, no enemy...there's just...you.

And you know there's not really anything to you, underneath all those scars and muscles.

No dreams, no warmth, no depth. Nothing to love.

So you stay away...and that way, you can come when she calls you. You can sweep back to Gallery and show up all filthy and draw her into your powerful, savage embrace....and maintain your novelty.

All of this so you'll never have to endure a silent sunday afternoon where there's nothing to do, any no one to kill, and your lady simply...doesn't...need you.

You do know this word, don't you, Hawthorne, old fellow? "Novelty?"

And how does he respond?

Not with a denial, but an affirmation that this is ultimately all personhood amounts to, in his worldview. Just one more thing to be conquered and then used as a club to batter others with. 

The very act of a character questioning their own worth and depth of personality usually tends to be a telling sign that they, in fact, have those things even if they are out of touch with them, but Hawthorne doesn’t particularly rebuff anything Van Lund’s saying. He just reaffirms his title as Lord while threatening him with violence, because violence is all he knows. 

As we later learn, Lord Hawthorne isn’t, in fact, the real Lord Hawthorne, but instead he and his wife usurped the title from the real one as they escaped from the jungle, where he was only known as “the wild man”. A man who’s been forced his entire life to live in a kill-or-be-killed world, to live as an animal in constant conflict with humans, was then captured and then brutally tortured every day for over a month, and then found for the first time someone who treated him with something resembling affection, someone who ultimately turned him into a tool for her evil designs, and he readily accepts this because he has no life, no identity, outside of her. He doesn’t even know his own name.

In fact, for all we know, he might as well be John Clayton himself, except he was born in a world where being Tarzan is not the greatest thing ever and there was no Jane or ape mother to guide his malleable heart into something resembling good, and there was only Sarah to mold him into an instrument of murder at his lowest point.

I argue that Tarzan is a character that’s all about freedom and vitality, as a heroic take on an archetype that’s long been the missing link between superheroes and monsters, where the dual nature of mankind between person and ape acts not as a disorder or source of conflict but instead as the ultimate power fantasy in a character who gets the best of both with none of the downsides. Lord Hawthorne isn’t necessarily a return to form, because there is no dual nature to him. There is no gentleman, no Lord Greystoke descendant of nobility, romantic hero and great adventurer and leader of men and whatnot. There is only the ape, and what little façade has been grafted onto him by his master so he can pass off as a person, only long enough until he takes his shirt off and starts murdering people for her. While we get long extended close-ups of the icy cruelty in Lady Hawthorne’s eyes, there is none for Lord Hawthorne, because he is not cruel, he is an animal. He’s not a fighter, he’s a survivor. He lives to kill and serve the person who tells him who or what to kill. 

Lord Hawthorne is what happens when you strip the Tarzan legend of the romanticism of fiction and you look at it for what it would likely result in: the tragic story of a child forced to grow in the jungle, where the concept of personhood and human decency are utterly meaningless and there is only survival, where his existence is at odds with the worlds of man and animal alike, and what happens when that sort of being receives a first contact with something resembling decency and love. Even if said first contact wasn’t with someone as evil as Lady Hawthorne, there was little chance Lord Hawthorne’s life was ever going to be anything other than just an extension of his life in the jungle, or end in anything other than tragedy, and ultimately even the characters start to pity the wild man.

Jack: All that power and stamina and fighting acumen, but yet all you seem to get to use it for is...this. Another laborious climb to another locked-room murder.

Ferrier: You've long passed the point where human lives hold any meaning. You are detached from our species, a...a stranger, loose among us. I thought the sight of you would stir distain in me, or even fear...but as I look at you now...I feel for you only the strangest sort of pity.

What I like most about Lord Hawthorne as a take on Tarzan is that, far too often, we see intended “deconstructions” or reinterpretations of the classic pulp heroes, or even superheroes, that largely just make them villainous by extrapolating the worst possible interpretations of the character’s traits or real-life circumstances around them to villainize them, or outright invent faults and problems that weren’t there in the source material, usually to put one character over the other. The entirety of League of Extraordinary Gentlemen is built on this, as is a lot of Superman parodies built on getting the most graphically shocking results possible. 

I'll admit it’s somewhat hypocritical of me to criticize this entirely, because it’s an impulse that I sadly admit I myself have fallen into in my own writings on characters not my own, as anyone who’s ever talked with me about Doc Savage, a character I do not like and cannot bring myself to like, can testify. I get why this happens, even if I understand why it’s shitty. Ultimately, the best “deconstructions” or reinterpretations will always come from people who are best familiar with the material they are using and know exactly the best ways to twist it, like with Mark Waid’s Irredeemable, an Evil Superman comic written by a huge Superman fan who knows exactly the absolute worst ways a Superman character can go sour, and was leagues ahead of works like The Boys and Brightburn who largely just take the “easy” pot shots. 

With Lord Hawthorne, we get a character who’s an evil take on Tarzan, but whose evilness isn’t made from exaggerating or adding faults to the source material character, which could very easily be done. I never got the sense that the author hates Tarzan and wants everyone to hate Tarzan and is willingly to sacrifice immersion just to get across how much he hates Tarzan (again, something LOEG does way too often), in fact it really doesn’t matter how the author feels about Tarzan, because those feelings are irrevelant to what’s on the page. 

Instead, Lord Hawthorne is an evil take on Tarzan whose characterization is largely based on just looking at the source material, the character’s origins, and extrapolating the circumstances in which that could go sour. What would a “wild man” forced to grow up and fight for survival every day in the jungle look like, what would that person look like when making it’s first contact with human affection, how could that person be twisted and manipulated into becoming a villain, what’s even left to that person outside of violent action scenes. How little it would take to twist a childhood hero into a brute that murders old women in their hospital beds, just by tweaking a few details about the context surrounding him. 

He is not a caricature of Tarzan, he’s not a parody, he is just Tarzan, but no longer the power fantasy. No longer the center of fantastical adventures. No longer getting the best of both worlds, but instead having to contend with the worst of them. Ultimately only finding some dignity in death, with his nemesis expressing hope that, maybe somewhere else, he’s going to have better luck than what this world afforded him.

[doorsclosingslowly]

This Is the Time of Our Great Undoing

“Do you think Kaz could fuck someone in a full-body bondage suit?” Jesper whispers, more to distract Inej from what’s on the screen than anything else, but still—the idea won’t leave Kaz alone.

5.8k | modern AU | Kaz[/&]Jesper, part of a polycule

content note: despite the premise this is about cuddling, gambling addiction and existing during climate change

It starts the way most things used to start: with all of them piled onto ancient couches on the fifth floor of an otherwise empty building on the edge of Amsterdam, also called the Slat. These days, it’s harder and harder to get everyone together. Nina and Matthias are both in Rotterdam now, doing associate degrees that Kaz doesn’t care about. Wylan’s got room and board and a plan for the future and a social worker, and she already disapproves of Jesper as a bad influence so it’s not worth it, generally, for Wylan to come back to his old squat and hang out with the whole gang of ex- and current reprobates.

And Inej—fuck, Kaz wishes she was just a little less righteous, less concerned with how the world’s going to shit. She’s faced off against more cops now than he has, probably. Water cannons and charging horses and riot shields. She knows criminals all over the country, Europe, probably the world—but they’re the kind of criminals with morals and worthless targets, with bandanas and badly sewn patches, who will talk about Federici and sea levels and the Invisible Committee and use value if you don’t leave quickly enough. The kind that live on trees, as Inej’s going to do in a few days. The kind that don’t make any money. The kind that have even less of a chance of making it out of a job alive and free than Kaz does—and with the enemies she’s talking about, politicians, banks, Shell, he doesn’t even know if he’ll be able to extort her out of jail next time.

For now, though, they’re all together in the big room, watching some ancient movie on the massive 8k screen with mood lighting, etc, the works, that’s in the Slat courtesy of some MediaMarkt manager desperate enough to save her marriage to bribe Kaz into silence, but not so desperate she wouldn’t fuck two other women in the breakroom.

It’s impossible to know whose fault it is that they’re currently watching Pulp Fiction.

Kaz is inclined to blame Jesper, because most things are his fault in some way or another, and he’s supplying the login data for an old uni flatmate’s streaming accounts, which is where they found that film, front and centre, paid to rent until tomorrow. Who even pays for films? If that’s the calibre of people they send to university these days, it’s no wonder the planet’s going to the dogs. Jesper, though, swears he wanted to watch some goofy horror flick, so he’s splitting the blame with Nina and Matthias: Matthias, for growing up in a cult and having never heard of what’s apparently a film classic and mentioning that to Nina, who of course cooed over her boyfriend and insisted on it, even though actually none of them have watched it before either so it’s not like it’s an important cinematic milestone. Or just not b horror, crime, some weird arthouse thing with complicated morality… It’s weird and has crime but there is nothing to figure out, so Kaz is bored. It’s Inej’s fault, because instead of vetoing it she said yes, just because she has a heart-shaped soft spot for Nina. Wylan could have done his oh I’m still an innocent barely-two-years not a minor this looks bloody thing, and Kaz might not even have mocked him this time if he'd insisted on Jesper’s pick instead just so he could hide in Jesper’s arms for the most minor decapitations.

Jesper’s been talking through the whole film. Kaz got used to that a long time ago: the landing and failing of small non-sequitur jokes like rain against the window, whispered to Wylan who’s cuddled into his side on the left, or to Inej who’s burrowing under Jesper’s outstretched right arm. Sometimes Jesper thinks a quip will land better with Nina, so he shouts it over to the futon where she and Matthias are always just shy of engaging in heavy petting, and the really mean and bleak jokes he saves for when he’s made eye contact with Kaz.

Now, though: in this scene Mr Motorcycle and the gang boss are captured in a pawnshop and dragged into the basement, and Gang Boss gets raped. Inej’s hand is white-knuckled on Jesper’s arm, and Jesper’s talking non-stop. He’s talking about the flooding, and asking whether Inej thinks Doggerland will happen again but here, soon, you can never know when the scientists are so wrong about the speed of climate change, and apparently it all flooded in a day because something broke off Norway, and then he abruptly pivots to some demo where he bashed in a shop window and got new shoes, and then if she’s got dates for more street fights because then he’s in but please, don’t trick me into another book club, I don’t care about why the cops are bad I already know I just want to hit them—not topics Kaz would have chosen, exactly, but he’s rooted in his red leather armchair off to the side, not even able to hold her for comfort, not like Jes does now, and why didn’t they think to look up the content beforehand, why did they assume it was tame just because it’s an old film—and then, long after it’s over, Jesper idly asks, “Do you think Kaz could fuck someone in a full-body bondage suit?”

Wylan groans. Kaz wishes a sound existed that could express his own current emotion.

“You saw the guy, right?” Jesper turns over to Wylan, while still stroking Inej’s hair. “There was no skin on him. All leather. And that’s the trigger, so—might solve all our problems. I can’t believe I didn’t think of it before!”

“I don’t see a huge difference,” Nina snipes. “Kaz is already in all-black, with gloves. Though I guess, that hood would hide his atrocious haircut…”

“Stop being so mean to Kaz, Jesper,” Matthias mumbles. “Although he does deserve it.”

Kaz downs his entire glass of vodka. When he tops his drink up for the second time—he exed the first refill right in the kitchen—he brings the bottle and some maracuja juice over and refills Jesper’s, too, because Jesper’s been anxiously glancing over at him, every moment he thinks Kaz has turned his head away, since he shot his stupid mouth off and actually, it’s—Kaz isn’t thinking about it now but it just might—maybe it could work—well, he fills up the glass to stop Jesper from worrying himself into yet another mental crisis and also so he can bend over Jesper’s ear and whisper lovingly, “I’m going to make the leather for the suit out of your skin.”

“We should look for an Ed Gein film next!” Jesper laughs, much more brightly than the joke warrants, and Kaz refuses to interpret the look on his face.

+

By the time Kaz gets back to the Slat, on a day roughly three months later, it’s long past two in the morning. He’s in a foul mood: of course Haskell won’t even reimburse him for the taxi he had to take because he missed the last metro. Of course he just told Kaz to take a night bus. Haskell won’t even apologize for the last minute details he wants included in his casino’s tax returns. The old man’s not even mentally capable of understanding the extra work he caused. Yes, Kaz is good at filing taxes creatively, exactly tailored for the business to pay nothing whatsoever and meticulous enough to never arouse any suspicion, but that takes work. Things have to balance. Haskell thinks Kaz just has to press a button, and that he’s paying Kaz so he doesn’t have to press the button himself, and that it’s only worth it because he doesn’t want to sully his mind with ‘the Spreadsheet Program’. Which is also why he’s loaning Kaz out to a friend of his, which he just remembered to mention today, for that guy’s mattress store slash money laundering business, so that’s even more work for nowhere near enough money.

Sometimes, Kaz amuses himself with the idea of sneaking in small ‘mistakes’. Enough for even the stupidest tax official to unravel the whole sordid scheme and land Haskell in prison for tax fraud, whereupon he’ll also be discovered to be involved with drug smuggling, blackmail, murder, … none of which will ever trace back to Kaz. But the one time he was livid enough to try, nothing happened. He’ll never manage to plunge the true depths of stupidity of an average bureaucrat, apparently, and is thus doomed to failure.

And anyway, it’s good regular money for little work. Usually. He can’t really complain. Especially not to his friends, because three are going legit, Inej will just rant about the uselessness of defrauding the Belastingdienst for a few measly million euros a year when the world’s being set on fire every day, and Jesper’ll tell him to quit, again, because they live in a squat after all. It’s not like they’re paying rent. Jesper’s never heard of forethought, or gratitude. He doesn’t know how many of his bills Kaz has paid off.

Kaz’s leg aches after the climb to the third story. Two more to go. As usual, right at this point he remembers the joke Jesper made eight months ago about fooling someone into installing a stair lift, and as usual, he dismisses it in disgust after two more steps. Stomps harder on the next flight of stairs, with grim satisfaction at the shooting pains in his knee. He doesn’t need help. He doesn’t need to move to a house with a working lift, and he doesn’t need a stair lift, either. Fuck you, Jesper. I’m the actual functional adult with a job in this household. I don’t need a stair lift.

That’s what he would throw at Jesper’s head, but it’s nearly three o’clock, and Jesper’s probably out. Over at Wylan’s, if he knows what’s good for him, but given how evasive he’s been all week, how manic… Inej’s still camping high up in some forest to save the frogs or something, but no news there is supposed to be good news. If the cops had chucked her off a tree house, it would have been on tv. About everything else, he can worry after he’s slept.

He doesn’t bother with the lights in his room. The streetlight coming in through his open curtains is more than enough, and anyway, he found the empty tenement he turned into the Slat five years ago, fully moved down here three years ago when he met Jesper, and he knows every single thing in his room by heart. The antique dresser he made Jesper and Matthias carry up with the threat of cutting off a finger for every scratch it received is next to the door, the place where he leaves his gloves and wallet and phone and cane. The coat rack beside it, where the hangers for his suit are, then the hamper, and at the foot of his bed the long black linen nightgown that Jesper’s never, ever allowed to see, and—

There’s a black shape on top of his bedcovers, Kaz realizes when he’s pulled on his nightgown.

Kaz takes his cane back. He hasn’t made any new enemies recently as far as he’s aware—none who know his name—but he was careless, brutal, desperate when he was a lone kid getting by on the streets, and those victims had gangs, families, business partners. Just because no-one’s ever traced little Kazzie the bastard rabid dog back to the Slat-that-wasn’t-then doesn’t mean a thing. The fact that the friends he started collecting press-ganged him into doing more behind-the-scenes embezzlement and fewer turf wars because ‘they’re watching us, they have all our faces and fingers and DNA on file and cameras everywhere and did you hear about that informer having kids with the activist he spied on?’ or the more pragmatic, ‘If you don’t stop fucking up your leg on purpose I’m going to send you to a kink party you fucking masochist’…

None of it means safety, not really, and Kaz is glad he’s alone now. They’ve all moved on, and even Jes… well, if he’d been here tonight then the whole squat would be trashed because Jesper doesn’t come quietly. And now, if he comes back to find Kaz gone or his throat slit… Jesper’s going to fucking collapse. He’s been one phone call away from going hysteric all week. Who knows, though—he has Wylan now, and maybe it’ll be the push he needed, the path none of them could ever find, to get his life back on a solid track.

All of that is presupposing that Kaz loses, of course.

And he does not intend to.

The weird black ninja on Kaz’ bed hasn’t reacted yet. They’re curled into a foetal position and they’re snuffling, quietly, because they’re asleep.

Not even assassins dressed up as b movie henchmen expect the toll taken by Per Haskell’s technical naïveté and utter disrespect for Kaz’ work-life balance, apparently. He got back home so late he missed his own murder. Well, then. Kaz hasn’t tortured anyone in two years and he may be out of practice, but the films he’s been forced to watch in the meantime have, if anything, made him more creative. He’ll teach them not to underestimate the brutality of Kaz Brekker, even when he’s moved up a few rungs in the ladder of Amsterdam’s underworld and landed a desk job.

He’ll—but Kaz hasn’t had to stalk silently towards his prey in two years, either. He’s underestimated the extent to which his lame leg’s gotten worse.

Also, someone’s pulled a box out from under his bed.

Kaz stumbles, and in the split-second before he catches himself on the edge of the mattress he wonders—will they have a gun? I can still bash them in the head before they fire, I haven’t gone that soft—and then the would-be assassin stretches out their lanky body as they wake up.

With their arms raised over their head, Kaz can see the bright white light of the street lanterns outside reflect off the gleaming black PVC fabric they’re wearing. Sleek and skin-tight, no ornamentation except a few steel buttons glinting at the crotch, and a full-cover leather hood over their face adorned with one-euro-sized rivets at the jaw, the forehead, the bridge of the nose, the large buckle around the neck. More buckles, at the back of the head and hanging off the right side at eye-height. The open silver zipper at the mouth reflects the streetlight, too, as does the padlock that hangs off it.

Oh no. Kaz knows that mask. Not even shoving it all the way back to the furthest corner under his bed allowed him to forget the way it looks.

Oh no.

Jesper yawns loudly. “Morning, boss. Evening. One of those. I thought you were finishing work early?”

“Haskell had some last-minute revisions to his tax returns.” Kaz sighs. “Don’t cook tomorrow. I’ll be out late for the whole next week—don’t expect me before three am. New client. I need to create a whole year’s documentations from scratch.”

“Just fuck him over, boss. He doesn’t appreciate you, and you don’t need the money. We live in a fucking squat.”

Sweet, financially illiterate nuisance Jesper, who probably doesn’t even know what that awful mistake he’s dressed in right now cost. The thing he’s dressed in. Which was hidden under Kaz’ bed. In Kaz’ room. Which they are inside right now. “You broke into my room,” Kaz rasps. “Again.”

“You know, Kaz,” Jesper replies with poorly feigned innocence, ”this thing is a little big for you. Fits me pretty well, though.”

“I told you I don’t keep cash under my bed. I told you that, the last time you tried to steal from me to pay off your gambling debts. I like my room organized as it is, and so I don’t keep any money here. Not under the bed, not in the wardrobe. And you won’t find any of my actual caches, because I’m smarter than you.”

“You’ve lied to me before.”

“You’ve stolen from me before. Remember last year? Remember you made Inej cry? I though you were clean. I thought you promised Wylan, when you asked him out, that you were done gambling. Maybe we all had too much trust in you.”

Jesper pulls his PVC-clad shoulders up to his en-leathered ears: a ridiculous sight, and Kaz doesn’t know what’s worse. That a bondage sex slave could actually look this dejected and humiliated and alone, or that Jesper does. He’s almost ready to call off the assault. It took a while to figure out, but as usual Inej was probably right, because she’s been researching and discussing the mental health industrial complex in general, and the traumatizing nature of modern life, with her comrades. Even though Kaz is neither the kind of person to touch people with kid gloves, and nor does he like thinking of Jesper as someone who needs that kind of handling—when Jesper’s in a shame spiral this deep then any criticism will drive him even deeper into the arms of the next casino. So the adrenaline and dopamine can wipe out everything else, or to feed his self-loathing even more by being exactly the person he’s terrified people think he is—Jes couldn’t quite explain it himself during the Intervention, except that everything is too much sometimes, even more too much and faster than usual.

He’s a pitiful creature. Kaz almost has pity. Then, though—

“It’s not working, boss. I know why you’re reminding me I fucking relapsed, again, and tried to steal from my best friend, again, and that I’m going to beg you to lie to Wy, again, but I still haven’t forgotten I’m wearing a bondage suit that you’ve been keeping under your bed for—two months now, is it?”

It’s just one month, actually. The manufacture and shipping took six whole weeks.

Two can play that game. Kaz might be very slightly embarrassed, but Jesper’s relapsed into the combination of addiction, theft and deceit that destroyed his life three years ago, and nearly did so again, two-and-a-half years ago and one year ago. “Careful. I haven’t even yet agreed to lie to Wylan, Jesper. About your problem. That you promised you’d tell him about.”

“Also, I notice it fits me, not Inej. Not Nina. Not Matthias. Not even Haskell, I bet. Me. Almost like it was made for me.”

Kaz ignores his insinuations. The answer’s obvious, anyway: yes, he did take clothes from the main washing pile in Jesper’s room and measured them. Yes, he used the measurements when he ordered a bondage suit. Yes, that’s creepy. Yes, a decent person would have asked. No, he’s not sorry. Jesper knew who Kaz was when he moved in with him. And it’s not like Kaz is the one who’s really at fault here. If Jesper just stopped gambling, he’d never have found out.

“Even attempted theft is illegal, Jesper. Completed robbery is worse. I cover my tracks, but you… you should be careful what you say now. They’re still looking for whoever robbed that jeweller last year.”

“Inej’s gonna cut off your head if you try. It’s like you never read her hoodies. All cats are beautiful, et cetera, Kaz. Thirteen-twelve. Keep up.”

Sometimes, the only thing that keeps Kaz from tossing Jesper out of the Slat is that Inej hates landlords and landlord-adjacents just as much as the pigs. If only he’d known back when he let the drunk penniless fancy uni boy who jumped into a fight to defend Kaz from some thugs—a fight Kaz would have won regardless—if only he’d known, before he let Jesper crash on his floor for a night or two, where all of this would end. “I’ll never mention anything about tonight again if you don’t either. Forget it. It was a bad idea. A failed plan. That’s all.”

“Without even trying it?”

“I will zip your mouth shut,” Kaz rasps. “I’ll lock it. I’ll throw the key into the harbour. Fuck you.”

Jesper, though, somehow got even mouthier when he put the bondage suit on. Less respectful. This isn’t how it’s supposed to go. “Come on, Kaz,” he wheedles. “I put it on, right? So I’m fine with it, if you’re worried. Aren’t you curious? If our places had been reversed—well, if you’d found it in my room you’d have murdered me, so we’re not exactly identical, but still. Come on, sit down next to me. This is—PVC right? Good job choosing me. Inej would hate it. So much plastic.”

“It’s less like skin than leather.”

“Not complaining, Kaz. I have some juice with a straw over there to keep me hydrated in case I sweat like a pig, but I haven’t, yet. I can probably camp out in this for a few more hours.” He tries a patented Jesper I’m flirting in an over the top way to make you laugh which is my flirting style for when I’m genuinely worried about the reaction because this way I can pass off exasperation and mockery as the response I intended look, probably with fluttering eyes, but since Kaz can barely make them out through those open zippers and the rest of his face is a complete mystery, it falls flat. It looks ridiculous, though, so it also works, and Jesper has the nerve of complaining about Kaz’ eight-dimensional chess plans. He’s worse. He’s worse, and animated by Jesper’s ridiculous, familiar movements the bondage suit doesn’t look like a pathetic attempt anymore. Not like the desperation of an emotional cripple. It just looks like Jesper, with an extra layer on his skin. Jesper, probably making a duckface, purring, “Don’t you think I’m sexy?”

Kaz looks away. “Are you serious right now?”

“Of course,” Jesper replies instantly, as if there was never any reason to doubt him. As if he doesn’t blame Kaz for doubting, simultaneously. As if Kaz is allowed to try. To fail. To fuck up, risk hurting him. There is a reason why Kaz never even considered someone else for the suit. “Come on, get on the bed.”

“We have to talk with Inej first. And with Wylan.”

“One-track mind,” Jesper replies, and just like that Kaz is ready to murder him again. “We’re not fucking. We’re not doing more than normal, except maybe touch. We don’t even know yet whether this helps you. I’m not risking it. We’ll just try touching, and if you think it’s triggering, we stop. We’ve got all the time in the world to work up to more. Until this city sinks into the ocean and the grid collapses from heat, which might be tomorrow, so. Or the fascists win.”

“You’ve been listening to Inej.”

“I do try to keep up.”

“Well, stop. Or listen more carefully, until the end, when she gets to the doomerism is the opiate of the masses part.”

“Just get on the bed, Kaz.”

Kaz puts his bent good knee onto the mattress and pulls himself over to Jesper. The fabric of his linen smock rubs against his heated skin: not like corpses, not like that, not like Jordie and he won’t even think about him or this will be over but—it just feels like his own familiar coarse age-softened nightgown that Jesper hasn’t even made fun of yet, his thin nightgown that in a second will be one of only two layers between him and Jesper.

He rolls over so he can sit down next to Jesper, at first. Daringly, he leans an arm against his best—well, they’ll figure that out later.

“Okay?” Jesper asks. He has to crane his head a lot to look through the thin eye slits of his bondage mask at Kaz’ face, and even then he’s probably mostly seeing the gleaming teeth of the eyehole zippers. And still he leans forward forty-five degrees and twists his torso and neck so he can look up into Kaz’ face, carefully keeping the arm that’s touching Kaz as motionless as possible, because he’s being careful with Kaz. Kaz has told him a thousand times he hates being coddled. He’s not a poor little abused dog, he’s a vicious murderer who destroyed his leg and his ability to be close to people while he was murdering, that’s all he ever told Jesper. That lie. And yet—even if he’s only fooling himself because this scene is so patently ridiculous, and the psych ward he got sent to once for the crime of rough sleeping while underage would stamp every single thing about what they’re doing as deeply unhealthy, and he can’t see Jesper’s soft concerned expression under the hood… Whatever it is, Kaz feels warm all over. He feels good. Safe.

Jesper can tell, apparently. “Want to touch my chest? Or climb into my lap?”

Kaz moves over, carefully smoothing down his nightgown before he sits down on Jesper, angled so he can lean with his left arm pressed against Jesper’s chest. It’s safer, somehow, than giving him the back, but perhaps someday…

Jesper loosely wraps his arms around Kaz. They’re just there, barely touching, the hands lax on top of Kaz’ right knee. You can leave at any time, they say, I’ll let go as soon as you’re uncomfortable, and Kaz would have known that regardless. Jesper’s never usually this still, unless he’s lost in concentration: and Kaz, who’s seen how gambling can destroy someone’s life, how it is currently destroying someone’s life, would still bet everything he has ever owned that Jesper’s concentrating on every single aspect of Kaz’ body language right now.

It’s not necessary, though. Those hands are gleaming black PVC. They don’t look or feel anything like Kaz’ memories.

He drops his own naked right hand onto Jesper’s gloved one. Joins them. Anchors Jesper. “How much do you owe this time, Jes?”

A beat. Jesper’s face drops down towards Kaz’ lap. Trying to hide his shame, and he’s forgotten that he’s wearing a full bondage mask, that Kaz can barely make out his eyes through the slits of the zippers. If he’s trying to deny everything, Kaz will just beat it out of him. He’s done it before. A year ago, when it was bad, but Jesper promised he got it under control. But Jesper’s promises were never worth much, not for this. If they were, they’d never have met.

“Four grand.”

“To?”

“Tom Geels. One of Big Bol’s old friends—”

“So he put you up to—”

“I was already playing when he walked up to me, Kaz,” Jesper grinds out. Aware that he could save himself from at least a little of Kaz’ disappointment by casting Bollinger as the tempter. Simultaneously aware that Kaz promised to feed Bollinger to a marine propeller last year if he ever took Jesper gambling again. Noble, to try and save Bollinger’s life—or to save Kaz from committing another murder—not that either of them deserves his loyalty. “I’ll pay you back, Kaz. I’ll have the money. Give me—give me half a year, Da’s still sending me—sending me rent money, Christ, he’s—I’ll save it. No, you’ll get it straight as soon as I get it, and in six months, you’re paid back in full. I promise.”

“We’ll figure it out. I have some jobs I could use you on. Nothing big. Intimidation, mostly. Some breaking, some entering. Boring stuff, not even worth mentioning to Wylan I should think.”

“Thank you.” Jesper’s forgotten all his restraint. He’s kissing Kaz’ forehead, or rather kissing the inside of his mask that’s pressed against Kaz’ forehead. He’s wrapped Kaz tightly in his long bondage arms too, painfully twisting Kaz’ shoulder and elbow and wrist because Kaz is still holding onto his hand. It’s that welcome pain, and the texture of the bondage suit that Kaz still isn’t completely used to, that keeps him from breaking Jesper’s nose. Keeps him—he isn’t back in the North Sea. He isn’t with Jordie. He should be, but he isn’t, and even if it comes…

Inej taught him about grounding. None of them trust the system as far as they can throw it, so she didn’t send him to a shrink when they started dating, unlike he feared, but—she said they helped her, those grounding exercises she found on the internet, and so Kaz has been diligently practicing breathing techniques and focusing his awareness on details of the present moment. Five things he can see: well, it’s dark, but the way what little streetlight gets through reflects off the folds of the suit on Jesper’s bowed stomach is quite interesting. His own knees. His hand, still clutching Jesper’s. The cane, on the floor. The floor. Five things he can hear: early morning traffic, Jesper’s breath, Jesper trying not to sob out loud in relief or shame or a mixture of both, the rustling of fabric, the squeaking of fabric. Five things he can feel: The old ache of his leg, always. Jesper’s hand. Jesper’s thighs. The hard buttons at the flap over Jesper’s crotch, digging into his side.

Somehow, Jesper’s noticed his shift in focus. At least he’s stopped crying now. “You know, you could have just asked how big I am if you wanted a suit with a dick pouch,” he teases in a voice that almost manages to sound happy. “I wouldn’t even have been suspicious.”

“Just because you have no boundaries, Jes, doesn’t mean I have to sink down to meet you at your level.”

Jesper takes a big breath. To forestall the whole Who bought this bondage suit argument Kaz elbows him in the stomach, hard. Once Jesper’s done coughing—a wriggling movement against Kaz’ side that he’s never even felt before—he mumbles something else, though. “I texted Da my new number. He called last week. Wanted to know how I was doing,” and oh. That makes sense. That’s what did it. “Apparently I’m graduating in seven months, according to that fake schedule you made me so I could keep my lies straight. He wants to come to the graduation. He asked me whether I have a job lined up.”

“I could hire somebody to fake you a degree,” Kaz offers. This should be Inej’s job. She shouldn’t be off somewhere, saving grasshoppers. She should be here. She’s the one who tried to talk Jesper into coming clean to his father, last year. All Kaz knows, all he has ever done, is to keep digging, and it’s worked for him. So far. “It’s all the rage now I hear. Cheap, too. No-one will find out. Just don’t become a politician in Germany.”

Jesper sighs. The air kisses the back of Kaz’ neck. “I don’t even care anymore. I could have a degree, or not, it all doesn’t matter. Universities are a scam to regulate economic class relations anyway. I don’t know that I can keep lying forever, or get a job, just so I don’t have to tell Da I betrayed him. Because nothing matters anyway. We’re collectively throwing the future down the drain. It’s not like anyone needs another mechanical engineer when we hit four degrees. I don’t know what we need. I just know everything I know is pointless.”

“I’m sure Inej can hook you up, if you want to blow up a coal power plant.”

“But what about you, then? What would you do?”

“I could have you kidnapped,” Kaz says. That’s not what Jesper meant. Kaz refuses to think about what Jesper meant. “Fake your death. Colm will be so relieved when they find you that he won’t even care you failed all your studies so you could become a live-in human blow-up doll.”

“That’ll only keep Da happy for a year at most and you know it.”

“Well, then Colm’s just going to have to get used to it. Get used to you, like we did. Real, annoying, good-for-nothing directionless screw-up Jesper.”

Jesper rubs his leathered cheek against the crown of Kaz’ head. “Fuck you. Thanks.”

Kaz runs his fingers over the squeaky PVC on Jesper’s forearms, steeling himself before he whispers idly against Jesper’s neck, “If Inej’s right about the warming and the sea level over the next decades, it won’t just be refugees from the south we’re letting drown, people it’s easy to lock out. Maybe you’re right about the Doggerland thing, and we all get flooded.” He swallows. The words are high up in his throat, trying to spew out. “Then it won’t just be one stupid child with a stupid family going out boating in the North Sea when there’s a storm coming. Not just that one kid thrown out of a sinking boat nearly drowning and clinging to his brother’s corpse. Your blow-up doll skills will be in high demand if everyone else gets triggered by skin contact too.”

Jesper, miraculously, reveals a talent Kaz didn’t even know he possessed: he shuts up. He ghosts his gloved hands over Kaz’ shoulders, and then he starts carding his fingers through Kaz’ hair. Kaz can feel the static electricity building up, the crackles and the safety, and then he realizes his eyes have drifted shut. He realizes he doesn’t know how long Jesper’s been petting him.

“Take off your hood,” he mumbles.

“Kaz?”

“Take it off. Scuttle over so your head’s on the pillow.”

Jesper obeys, like Kaz always knew he would. He looks up at Kaz with something that might be confusion but might also be—trust and deep joy and more, something Kaz can’t quite admit anymore now he’s in his bed, and Kaz puts his head down on his chest. His legs will still fit, and this way, he has the squeaky PVC right where he needs it. Squeaky, rhythmically rising warm dry plastic under him. The exact opposite of a waterlogged corpse.

“I don’t have time to call you an ambulance when you get into a bondage suit erotic asphyxiation incident, just so you know. I have a full schedule for today, remember. I’ll be at Haskell’s until after midnight. I have to break Bollinger’s thumbs. My alarm is at seven. Turn it off and I’ll send you to Colm in bite-sized pieces,” Kaz rasps, and then, with a movement that no-one would call timid if they wanted to keep their tongue attached, wraps his arms around Jesper. “You’ve kept me awake for two hours, so be a good pillow. If I kick you off the bed while I’m dozing, remember. This is your fault.”

[jenonctcity]

My Responsibility - Part 1

Differences - Huang Renjun 

Part of the Bad Boy Series - Differences.

Badboy!Au, Parent!Au

Warnings: Mentions of mental health problems, dark themes, explicit sex (choking, oral, rough sex), mention of drugs.

Word Count: 6.1k

When Huang Renjun first started having sex, he couldn’t stop. He became almost addicted to the mind-blowing feeling all – well most, of his sexual encounters gave to him. Although he doesn’t like to talk about the time he hit his head against one of girlfriends’ shelves whilst he had her bent over her vanity table at 4am. That’s a story he wished he’d never shared with his friends, because even to this day, a year and a half down the line, they loved to remind him of it. Not like Jeno, Jaemin, and Haechan didn’t have their own embarrassing sex stories, he assumed. He’d never actually asked.

He dated multiple girls at one time and soon got the label ‘fuckboy’. It was around this time he moved into a shared apartment with the previously mentioned friends, none of them bothering with further education after they left school, and they paid for their rent doing less than legal activities. He’d previously been living in a small apartment his parents rented for him whilst he studied in Korea. His parents soon cut him off after he told them he didn’t have plans of going to university, and he hadn’t been back to China since he left almost 6 years prior. Haechan was quite good at selling drugs, his handsome looks and charming personality making many girls throw money at him for even the smallest bag of whatever it was he was selling at the time. When he wasn’t selling drugs, he was working at the local mechanics with his uncle. Jeno, well he was good at…being Jeno. He found out his raging temper meant he was good at picking fights, and winning fights. He soon started participating in underground street fights and earning cash that way. He got in big trouble with the law, but that’s a story for another time. Jaemin, the cheeky boy with a killer smirk that had girls dropping their pants with one single wink. Jaemin had a talent for racing, and earned his money taking part in illegal street racing in the dead of night.

And finally, Renjun. Renjun was good at stealing, he made a lot of money by stealing cars and selling them on. He’s not particularly proud of it, but he needed to make money somehow. Something else Renjun was good at, fucking . He soon ended up with one girlfriend after he got one too many slaps around the face when his girlfriends found out about his infidelity. She was a sweet girl, and the best part was she didn’t mind when he went out with the boys, smoking and doing drugs all night. Well…she didn’t actually know that he did that, he managed to keep it a secret from her. When she found out, he found himself being dumped. A month later, she asked to meet up with him, where she dropped an absolute bomb of news on him that changed his life forever. That’s how he found himself holding the 8-month-old baby girl currently in his arms as he walked up the stairs of his shared apartment.

Huang Jiyeon had no idea that her father wasn’t ready to be a parent when she was brought into the world. In fact, Renjun was still struggling with balancing being a father and being a teenager. He had only just turned 19 when she was brought into the world and shoved into his arms. He never told anyone, but he had tears pouring down his face as he held the tiny little human he had made. Jiyeon’s mother had no interest in resuming her relationship with Renjun, and she swore to him if she ever found out he was under the influence of drugs or alcohol when it was his turn to have Jiyeon, she would make sure he never saw his child again. Renjun made a promise to never do something as irresponsible as that, and since her birth, he’d had her Thursday – Sunday every other week. His roommates had been his support throughout his entire journey, and although none of them had any clue how to look after a baby, they helped when they could. They also reduced the amount of illegal activities they did when she was under their roof. Since then, Renjun hadn’t had a girlfriend and the amount of sex he got was very limited. Although he couldn’t deny the stares, he got from women didn’t make him proud. Obviously, women must like to see a young man with tattoos, dressed in dark clothing, holding a baby dressed in a duck onesie.

“Why can’t I ever find my fucking keys?” He often found himself talking to the infant, despite the fact she couldn’t do much more than crawl and cry. He held the baby girl on his hip, her dark hair pushed back by a pink headband that had a flower on it to match her pink dress, struggling with finding his keys as he tried to juggle holding his baby and all the shopping bags he held. “Hey…don’t repeat that word…especially not to mummy.” He hadn’t quite gotten used to not swearing yet, but he was working on his habit. Jiyeon just stared up at him, then changing her gaze to look at his hand where it was riffling around in his pocket. He let out a sigh and a groan. “Don’t judge me for this okay. And don’t go anywhere.” He dropped the bags to the floor and then gently lowered the baby girl to the floor, sitting her on the doormat outside the door as he used both hands to find his keys. “Got ‘em!” He pulled them out and as he was about to unlock the door, it swung open. Haechan stood on the other side of the door with a raised eyebrow, his stare slowly moving from Renjun to the baby sat on the doormat.

“Dude…you put your child on the floor?” He reached forward and picked up Renjun’s bags for him and Renjun quickly swiped Jiyeon off the mat.

“I couldn’t find my keys, don’t judge me.” He grunted back, entering the apartment and kicking off his shoes. He often found himself telling people not to judge him nowadays, especially as he was still learning how to parent. Jiyeon gave Haechan a toothy smile when she saw him, kicking her tiny legs out in excitement at her favourite uncle. Haechan quickly threw the bags onto the floor without a care.

“I’m not judging you, just questioning your parenting.” He shrugged and patted Jiyeon on the head, taking her little hand in his own before completely snatching her out of Renjun’s arms. He started to talk in baby language with her, leaving Renjun and disappearing into the living room. Renjun followed him and gasped when he saw Jeno lounging on the sofa with a lit cigarette between his fingers.

“Ya! Lee Jeno smoke that on the balcony!” Jeno rolled his eyes but wordlessly moved onto the balcony to continue with his actions. “My life is so hard.” Renjun groaned, running his hands through his thick black hair and back over his face.

“Has anyone told you that you’re starting to grow a mullet?” Jaemin piped in from across the room, an amused smirk on his face as he spoke. Renjun’s jaw clenched and stared at Jaemin.

“Just fuck o-” He was interrupted by a knock at their front door. He let out a sigh to compose himself and without another word he went back to the door he’d just came through. He opened the door and was taken aback to see a beautiful girl stood in front of him. He would describe her to have a casual, girl next door kind of style. Her jeans and jumper combination surprisingly causing a stir in his stomach. ‘God I need to get laid’ he thought to himself as he stared at her.

“Hi! I just moved into the apartment opposite you and I thought I’d just introduce myself to you so at least I know someone in the building! I’m (Y/N).” You chirped, hiding the butterflies you felt in your stomach as you stared at the handsome young man in front of you. The first thing you noticed was his slightly long, black hair. Then you noticed the tattoo that started on his left hand and disappeared up the sleeve of his dark denim jacket. He was wearing black skinny jeans but had on pink socks, a complete contrast to his entire aesthetic that you could see. When you’d knocked at the door opposite your own, you’d hoped that an elderly lady lived in the apartment, knowing you’d easily get along with someone like that. So, to see a devilishly handsome man had you nervous. His lips curled up into a smile and he closed the door slightly behind him as he held a hand out to you.

“Hey, I’m Renjun.” He bowed his head to you and looked you up and down once more. Your curiosity got the best of you and you asked your next question without even thinking about it.

“Do you live alone?” You mentally slapped yourself for being so nosey, keeping the smile plastered on your face instead of cringing at yourself.

“Oh, no there’s three other guys here too, Jeno, Jaemin, and Haechan. I’m sure you’ll meet them at so-” He was cut off by the feeling of the door no longer being on his back, Haechan’s voice cutting into his own.

“Who’s this?” Renjun watched your eyes widen as you laid your eyes on Jiyeon. You also noticed that the man had a similar style to Renjun, his white t-shirt tucked into his black sweatpants. He had a slit in his eyebrow and a graze across his right cheek. The baby in his arms stared at you with a look of bewilderment swimming inside her almost black eyes.

“You have a baby!” Your smile widened and Renjun started to feel his palms go clammy.

“Haechan, this is (Y/N), (Y/N) this is Haechan, and Jiyeon, his daughter!” As soon as the words left his mouth and he saw the look of confusion on Haechan’s face he knew he’d fucked up. Haechan raised an eyebrow and then put on a big smile, turning to face you.

“Pleasure to meet you (Y/N).” He bowed his head to you, playing along with Renjun’s lie despite not knowing the reason why he’d decided to lie to you.

“You too, wow she’s so beautiful! How old is she?” You titled your head, your curiosity piqued about the whole baby situation, considering both of these boys looked like they lived wild lives. Haechan’s mouth opened, his mind completely blanking out as he had no idea about how old the baby in his arms was.

“8 months.” Renjun answered, even though you’d aimed the question at the young man stood beside him. Renjun turned to Haechan and gave him a wide eyed look that you couldn’t see, silently telling him to go away.

“She needs…feeding? Goodbye (Y/N).” He fake a smile and quickly disappeared back into the apartment, leaving you and Renjun stood together.

“She’s adorable…anyway, I’m gonna er, go now. It was nice meeting you.”

“You too.” He smiled, shutting the door as you disappeared into your own apartment. When he turned around, Haechan was stood behind him with a smirk on his face.

“What game are you playing Huang?”

“I’m…not sure yet.” He admitted with a shrug, holding his arms out for Haechan to transfer his daughter back over to him. He pressed a kiss to her head and spoke quietly so only she could hear him. “He’s not your daddy, please never think he is okay my princess?”

---

It had been 3 weeks since you moved into your new apartment, and since then, you’d seen the men who lived in the apartment opposite you plenty of times. You’d met Jeno when he was collecting the mail in the entrance to the apartment building. He didn’t seem like a man of many words, but you’d introduced yourself and he’d mentioned that Renjun had told him about you. You couldn’t help but think about how good looking Jeno was. His bleached blond hair giving his dark look a sharp look. You noticed how when he smiled, it barely reached his eyes, almost like it was fake. But you then saw how bloodshot his eyes were, so you assumed either he was super tired, or super high. You pretended not to noticed how scabbed over his knuckles were, obviously damaged from his fist flying into something. Your meeting with the final boy had you feeling uncomfortable. Jaemin had shamelessly flirted with you in the hallway after you came back from work one night. His eyes raking up and down your body shamelessly, but then he simply said bye and disappeared into the apartment.

A week ago, you’d bumped into Renjun in a nearby coffee shop. He suggested you both sit together so you did. He was wearing a black hoodie with black skinny jeans, his hair tucked underneath an adidas baseball cap. As you sat with him you both idly talked about your lives. Although you felt yourself being the one who talked more than him, you found out he was born and raised in China, then he came over to Korea to study in high school. He’d told you he was raised by wealthy parents, but that he has nothing to with them anymore because they didn’t support him with his choices. In turn, you’d told him about your life. You had a normal 9-5 job working at the local pet store. It wasn’t anything special, but you could live off of the wage. You told him about your parents and how they were very loving and helped you moved into the city when you’d told them you wanted to. He listened to you with a soft smile on his face, nodding his head along to show he was listening.

“Do you have a boyfriend?” He asked out of the blue, his head tilting slightly as he waited for you to reply.

“No, I’ve only ever had one relationship and that last for around 5 months.” You shrugged, pretending as if it didn’t matter, when in fact, your previous boyfriend had lied to you about being married. It had torn you apart when you’d found out by seeing a text on his phone from someone under the contact ‘wife’. He’d admitted everything to you, also telling you that he lied about his age, and he was in fact 26, not 21 like he’d told you. You didn’t hesitate to break it off with him.

“Would you maybe want to go on a date with me sometime?” He looked confident as he asked you out, a slightly smirk on his lips as if he knew what your answer was going to be. You smiled and said yes, exchanging phone numbers with him.

Two nights ago, Renjun had taken you out for dinner at a local restaurant. It was nothing fancy, but you thought it was the perfect setting. The date went really well, and you found out a bit more about Renjun’s life. However, he still neglected to tell you he was a father and part-time thief. Instead he told you about his little job that he actually did have on the side. He worked with Haechan on Mondays and Tuesdays, stripping down the cars he’d successfully stolen to sell the parts. It actually did bring him in a lot of money, so he only did it two days a week. Although, he told you that he worked there Monday-Friday. In his mind it was just a tiny lie. You went back to your apartment building after walking home hand in hand with him, and he gave you a soft kiss on the cheek as he bid you goodnight. You went to sleep that night feeling giddy about your new love interest.

It was getting late, and you decided it was the perfect time to settle down for bed. But first you wanted to cleanse yourself of your day before climbing into your freshly made bed. You turned on your shower, testing the temperature and letting out a sigh when it just continued to run freezing cold.

“Damn it!” You groaned, shutting off the water and drying your hand on your jean leg. So much for your evening cleanse. Just as you exited the bathroom to write a note to remind yourself to call your landlord in the morning, the world around you went dark, all your lights fading to nothing. “Fuck!” You let out a shout, not caring if your neighbours heard. Was it a power cut? Was it just your apartment? You needed answers. Without thinking, you navigated your way through your apartment, occasionally bumping into random items of furniture as you went. Once you made it to the door, you opened it and stepped outside into the hall, leaving your foot on the door so it didn’t fully shut. You glanced down the hall to see if you could see any light coming from anyone else’s doors. You squinted into the darkness and took a step further into the hall, completely forgetting about your door until it clicked shut behind you. “Fuck!” You whisper shouted, stamping your foot on the floor as you realised you were now locked out of your apartment in what seemed to be a power cut. What made things worse was you left your phone and keys inside your apartment. “I’m screwed.” You sighed, rubbing your eyes and walking across the hall to apartment opposite. You knocked on the door and waited for someone to answer, and you prayed at least one of the four boys were actually in. The door opened and you had to squint to avoid being blinded by the torch of an iPhone being pointed at you.

“(Y/N)?” The torch lowered enough for you to see Renjun stood in the doorway. “What’s up?” You noticed he only had on a pair of sweatpants, his chest bare and you could finally see the rest of the tattoo he had on his hand, it travelled up his arm into a sleeve that finished at his shoulder. You couldn’t make out what it was a tattoo of though because of the dark. You were glad he couldn’t see how your cheeks heated up at seeing him with no shirt on.

“I’m locked out of my apartment and I didn’t know what to do so…” You rocked back on your heels hoped he understood what you were getting at.

“Oh! Come in.” He smiled, moving out of the way to let you in. You entered the apartment and waited for him to shut the door to lead the way. You hadn’t actually been inside of his apartment yet, so you had no idea where any of the rooms where. He took your hand in his own and pulled you through to the living room.

“Is anyone else home?” You questioned when you failed to hear anyone else.

“No it’s just me, we’re alone.” He smiled, sitting down on the sofa and pulling you to sit beside him. “What do you want to do? Normally I’d ask if you wanted to watch a movie or something but well, we have no power.” He laughed softly, his hand coming down to rest on your thigh. You noticed a candle burning on the opposite side of the room, but it only gave off minimal light. Your eyes widened and you were thankful it was so dark so he couldn’t see your reaction to his simple touch. You panicked and just started to talk about your day, asking him about his own. He let out a soft laugh and humoured you, sparking up a conversation about what he did with his day. In your nerves at being alone with your new boyfriend, you just kept talking. And an hour later you found yourself slouched with him on the sofa as you were still talking. You paused and let out a sigh, finally out of things to talk about. “You’re adorable…” He whispered with a small smile on his face. He reached out and cupped your cheek in his palm, tilting your face to his own. Your felt your stomach erupt in butterflies as he stroked his thumb on your cheek. He leaned in and placed a soft kiss to your lips, letting his lips linger on your own once he realised you were kissing him back. He continued to kiss you for what seemed like forever, his tongue evading your mouth and pushing against your tongue. The kiss got hot, and you felt like you were having a hot flush as he moved to trail his lips down your jaw to your neck. His hand came to rest on your thigh once more and he rubbed circles against fabric of your jeans.

“Oh…” You let out a breathy moan, his lips attaching to your neck as he sucked at your hot skin. He smirked against your neck, licking at the fresh mark he’d just made on you to mark you as his.

“Can I fuck you?” He was straight to the point, his words causing a searing heat to rush to your centre and causing you to leak with excitement at his filthy words. When you didn’t verbally respond to him, he pulled back, placing a soft kiss on your lips. “If you think it’s too early then you can say no. We can take it slower. I just really want to be buried inside of you; I want to make you feel good baby.” You gulped and let out a soft whimper when the dirty words left his lips.

“Fuck me.” You whispered and without needing anymore prompting, he scooped you up into his arms and almost expertly carried you through to his bedroom in the dark. He threw you onto his bed and you landed perfectly with your head on his pillows. You smiled at his silhouette in the dark, feeling comforted by the smell of him on his bedding. He crawled over the top of you and leaned in for another tongue filled kiss, using one of his hands to travel underneath your t-shirt to your breast. He gave it a squeeze over the cup of your bra and bit at your bottom lip, letting out a husky growl as he tugged your lip with his teeth. You cupped his face with your hands and pulled his lips back to yours, initiating another kiss. He reluctantly pulled away from you and smirked.

“How much do you like this t-shirt?” He tugged at the material, pecking your lips once more. You furrowed your eyebrows at him, confused as to why he was asking that all of a sudden.

“Erm it’s just a t-shirt?” Without giving you a reply, he gripped the material with both of his hands, tensing up as he pulled at it, the fabric ripping from his strength. You gasped and your mouth formed an ‘o’ shape. You also felt a rush of arousal leak from you at how turned on that made you. “Jesus.” You moaned when he ducked down, kissing at the top of your breast. He trailed his tongue over your skin, blowing onto where he’d left his spit on you. His caused shivers to cascade down your spin, your head tilting back when he pulled your bra down, his tongue swirling around one of your sensitive nipples. He closed his mouth around the pink bud, sucking and shutting his eyes momentarily as he felt closer to you. Renjun loved sucking on women’s nipples. He had a slight kink for it that he couldn’t shake and loved more than anything to just suck at a nipple until he fell asleep. He once googled ‘why do men love women’s breasts?’ and he was pleasantly surprised to find out that it actually makes the bond between men and women stronger.

“Fuck.” He moaned and moved to give attention to your other nipple. He felt restricted as his cock got harder in his boxers. He grinded his hips against your thigh, biting your nipple and tugging at it gently before letting it go and moving to kiss down your abdomen. He sat back and pulled his sweatpants and boxers in one go, kicking them off of the bed before hurrying to pull your jeans off of you. He couldn’t wait any longer. He hadn’t sex in about two months, which was almost an eternity to him. “God, I want to taste your pussy baby, but it will have to wait until next time; I just need to be inside of you.” You spread your legs for him as he pulled your panties down your legs. You bit your bottom lip, a cool feeling spreading on your folds as the air hit your dripping hole. He groaned as he reached out two fingers, rubbing from your hole up to your clit, spreading your arousal over you before circling them around the bundle of nerves. “Fuck it.” He leaned down and flicked his tongue against your clit, pressing a kiss to it before trailing his tongue up and down your heat, a moan leaving his chest at how good you tasted. You let out a squeak in surprise, automatically winding your hands into his thick hair and pushing his face into you.

“Feels so good.” You whispered, two of his fingers sliding in and out of your repeatedly. He curled them up and sucked on your clit as he rammed his fingers into you faster. Your chest started to move faster as you struggled to steady your breathing, soft moans falling from your parted lips as you felt the heat rising inside of you. He took you all the way to the brink, just to withdraw himself from you all of a sudden.

“You’re gonna cum on my cock baby girl, not my fingers.” You couldn’t see because of the dark, but you would put money on it that he was smirking as he said that. He blindly fumbled around in his drawers for a condom, letting out a sigh when he couldn’t find one. “Hang on.” He jumped up from the bed, about to leave the room when you spoke up.

“I’m on the pill, just pull out.” You needed him so desperately that you weren’t too bothered about him going in raw. You couldn’t see, but he winced and let out a soft groan.

“I’m not risking another baby.” He mumbled quietly.

“Huh?”

“Nothing, it’s okay I’m sure Jaemin has some.” He left the room without another word. You heard things clatter and him let out a yelp in pain once before he came back into the room. “Got one!” He wasted no time in rolling it onto his leaking cock, pumping it multiple times as he climbed back onto the bed. He crawled over you, pushing your legs up to his waist as he slowly pushed his cock into you. You held your breath as he filled you up slowly, his lips finding purchase on your neck as he started to thrust in and out of you. His hips built up a steady rhythm, and he removed his lips from your neck to press his forehead there instead. You closed your eyes, your hands gripping at his back and a burning sensation inside of you at how good he was making you feel. His pace quickened and he breathed puffs of air against your skin, little grunts leaving his lips every now and then. He pulled out of you and rose to his knees, using his strength to flip you over onto your front. He manoeuvred you so you were on your knees with your elbows laying against his bed, then he slammed his dick back into you without warning.

“Fuck!” You whined and pushed back against him, his hips pounding against your ass with one of his hands coming down to slap the soft flesh of your ass. “Again.” You whimpered into his pillow, biting at it as a coping method for the ecstasy he was causing you to feel. He smirked, bringing his hand down against you one more time before leaning over you, his lips now next to your ear as he whispered dirtily.

“You like baby? Does my dirty girl like being spanked?”

“Yes, oh fuck right there!” The angle his hips were in was causing the head of his cock to brush against you g-spot perfectly. “Fuck!” You whined as his hands tangled in your hair, dragging you up so your back was pressed against his chest. He wound his hand to your neck, holding you by it with ease but very carefully putting pressure on either side of your neck with his thumb and fingers. You didn’t know you had a choking or spanking kink until Renjun had done both to you. He was making you feel so good, there was little you wouldn’t let him do to you. The knot inside of your stomach became bigger, his pace speeding up until it snapped suddenly. You let out a choke whine, your body convulsing as he continued to fuck you through your orgasm.

“Good girl.” He pushed you forward onto your hands again, pulling out of you and taking off the condom without a care. “On your back.” His voice held an authoritative tone, slapping you on the ass when you didn’t comply to his demand straight away. You gasped and rolled over fast, spreading your legs for him instinctively. His hand started to work over his cock fast, his breath becoming laboured until he let out a long moan. That’s when you felt his hot cum spurt onto your lower abdomen. He tried to catch his breath as he milked his cock onto you, finally letting go of it and letting out a long sigh. He then let out a soft laugh, leaning over you and placing a kiss to your forehead. “Stay here.” He left the room, coming back a minute later with a wet cloth. He ran the cloth over your body, cleaning you up before tucking you into his bed.

“Thank you.” You whispered with a giddy smile on your face. You felt like you had a new bond with Renjun, despite having only known him for a short period of time. You didn’t want to jump in too quickly, knowing the last time you did that you got hurt. But Renjun made you feel all gooey inside, like a pre-teen girl going crazy over her crush. He opened his curtains, the light of the moon flooding into the room and making visibility better. He opened up his window and lit a cigarette, taking a long drag before letting it out with a sigh. He smiled at you, the sight of you in his bed making him feel a spark of happiness rush through him. It had been a while since he’d felt this way towards another woman, the last woman probably having been Jiyeon’s mother. All the other women he’d slept with meaning absolutely nothing to him.

“Stay with me tonight?” He asked after taking another puff of his cigarette. He finished it off and closed his window, coming back to you and snuggling up to you in his bed. You wrapped an arm round him, laying your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat as he breathed in and out slowly. He pressed another kiss to your forehead and then let out a gentle laugh. “Sorry if I rushed into this too quickly, I just couldn’t help myself. You’re gorgeous and you really turn me on.”

“It’s fine, I would have said no if I didn’t want to.” You shut your eyes and smiled, enjoying the soft flow of conversation you were having with him. You took a deep breath and found the courage to tell him about your last relationship. “My ex-boyfriend hurt me badly…he made me fall in love with him and then I found out he’d been lying to me. He was married and he’d lied about his age too.” You still had your eyes shut, so you couldn’t see how Renjun’s eyes widened in surprise and worry. He instantly knew he’d fucked up with lying to you.

“Oh…what a prick.” He murmured, pretending to be sleepy so that he could get out of the conversation, the guilt weighing down on him now. Renjun wished in that moment that he was like his old self. The Renjun who would date multiple women in one go without any remorse or guilt. But since becoming a father, his point of view had changed, and he knew if anyone like himself dated Jiyeon then he’d beat them until they couldn’t breathe.

“So please never lie to me, even if it’s a big deal then I’d rather you tell me. I just wanted you to know that before he took this any further.” The more you spoke, the more Renjun could see how big the hole he had dug himself was, and it kept getting deeper. He didn’t reply to you, pretending to fall asleep until eventually he did.

---

It had been a whole week of Renjun avoiding you. Sure, he’d texted you and even facetimed you once. But every time you’d tried to make plans with him, he’d lied and told you he was busy. The guilt sitting on his shoulders like a heavy weight, and the more he lied, the heavier it felt. He’d bumped into you in the hall a day ago when you were coming back from work, but this time he actually was busy, he had to pick up the big lie he’d told you about, as it was his weekend to look after her.

“That’s all you are Jiyeon…one big lie.” He let out a sigh, his baby girl sat on his lap facing him. She was fiddling with her plush giraffe and not really paying attention to her fathers rambling. “Actually, that’s mean, you aren’t a lie. I’m sorry.” He groaned and picked up her bottle from the sofa beside him. “What do I do Jiyeonie? I’ve lied to her about you, and I don’t know how to tell her the truth. What if she doesn’t want to date a dad?” Her innocent brown eyes lifted to look in his, her mouth hanging open as she listening to him. “I really like her, what shall I do? Do I break up with her or do I tell her the truth?” He ruffled her hair, a soft smile on his face as he looked at the little human he had made. “Drink your juice.” He lifted the bottle to her lips, but she whined and turned her face, her little hand coming out to push the bottle away. “Ya! Look if you don’t drink your juice, then you’ll get thirsty, then you’ll get dehydrated and die, and then your mother will kill me, and I won’t be around to kick your future boyfriends ass!” His widened his eyes at her and then furrowed his eyebrows. “Well I guess if you died then you wouldn’t have a boyfriend so that doesn’t really make sense, just forget I said that!” He groaned loudly and let his head tip back. “I don’t even care anymore, do what you want.” He threw her bottle onto the sofa and then lifted his head up quickly. “No I’m sorry! I didn’t mean I didn’t care about you dying, I do! Fuck.” He felt guilty, almost as if he’d offended her despite the fact, she had no idea what he was saying. She smiled widely at her dad, showing off her little teeth as he had a mini breakdown. “Parenting is hard…”

A throat cleared from behind him and he turned his head to see Jaemin stood in the doorway with an eyebrow raised. “And I thought I had problems; you’re talking to a baby like she’s going to just tell you what to do.”

“Well can you do any better?”

“Tell her the truth man, but you did fuck up.” Jaemin shrugged and left the room, leaving Renjun with his own thoughts.

“Don’t tell mummy about daddy’s mental breakdown.” He deadpanned to Jiyeon as she pulled a face of concentration. “…You’re pooping, aren’t you?...is this your way of telling me that my life is shit?...you’re a genius baby!” Every cloud has a silver lining he guessed.

[sepublic]

The Art Gallery and Mega Maze Car!

           …Goddammit Kez. I really don’t know what I expected, but of course MORGAN wants you dead as well…!

           Also, I called it- Morgan is the castle! Anyhow, RIP to the judge, I really liked her design and was glad she survived the zapper… But then Pig Toddler got interested in the word butter (clever writing for these two unlike things to come together like that), and I knew it was all over! Damn he was terrifying and hilarious, breaching the rubble like a freaking Mosasaur to devour the judge, alas! So much for a peaceful resolution… Also, seems only Pig Toddler and the Bouncer are left. What was up with the Bouncer at the end there? I dunno, but I’m glad the person with an actual family to feed has a new job now; Guarding Morgan might make ends meet and help them reconcile with Kez, or at least decide NOT to kill her…

           Seriously though, that gag with the Bouncer catching them at the end after you forget, only for THAT joke- This show is so funny you guys.

           But, let’s backtrack for a bit… Okay, that Hand Monster was TERRIFYING, and I was lowkey afraid it would join up with the posse after Kez, but thankfully not! But JEEZ, the shadowy hands, the sound design like it’s from the Grudge… And the DESIGN, it’s so visceral and grabby and uncomfortable, like it’s grasping onto and constricting and strangling you, it’s violating, and I LOVE IT! It’s SUCH a metal character design, whoever came up with it, I wanna shake your hand, and maybe even kiss you! I’ll have to plagiarize- I mean, TAKE INSPIRATION FROM, this type of superb peak character design later down the line!

           But seriously, with how it’s made of hands, and one of them has a number on it… Does this denizen like; KILL passengers, and add to its mass with their numbered hands; The higher the number, the better? I’d suggest it aggravates passengers, but Min and Ryan seemed to agree that it didn’t ACTUALLY influence them, this was just all them going out… That, or it enabled them to say what was on their minds the entire time! Oof, that thing gave me heebie-jeebies, but also…

           THIS is a character-heavy dump, let’s go into it! It seems Min and Ryan are afraid of being the other… But they also want to BE the other as well! And Min, he’s got abandonment issues, which makes sense- He’s clearly a more anxious and reserved person and an only child… But Ryan doesn’t think people will miss him because he feels like he’s always overlooked, that he has to earn attention! He doesn’t think Min cares that much about him, and vice-versa… Oof, love that trope, the tragedy of such misunderstanding because of insecurity and self-loathing, thinking you’re not good enough! And damn, Min really broke at the end there, thinking Ryan had abandoned him…

           I do wish Kez had cleared up that the Art Gallery Car would NOT let Ryan back inside and even silenced him, but like. It still opens how he feels in general, and it led to some honest discussion in the Mega Maze Car, so it’s fine… Love you Kez, you adorable weirdo just screaming and weirding out even this hand-monster! I love how she’s SUCH a shameless freeloader, but she also serves to lighten the mood, and she’s something Ryan and Min can BOTH agree upon! She’s the glue that holds the trio together, I love and adore Kez…

           But back to Ryan and Min! Like I suspected, being in a large family, Ryan feels ignored and undervalued, just another face in the crowd, so he wants to be somebody… And Min, he didn’t want to go off and abandon things, he felt Ryan wasn’t taking him into enough consideration; But maybe he also hoped that Ryan would see that Min wasn’t ready, and then stay for him? And then it broke his heart when he went on anyway… And Ryan, he thinks Min is looking down on him, and in a sense it’s like… They WANT to be one another in some ways, but are also afraid of that? Ryan wants to be more level-headed, Min more bold, but not to the extent that it becomes negative, because they can see the good AND bad in each other’s traits!

           Min is kind of jealous of Ryan’s boldness and more fun life… And it’s like, these two can’t progress until they learn to respect one another’s decisions and places in life more, to recognize their own decisions, etc.? To not look down on each other, to think they have to guide the other and look after them… Hence Ryan saying initially that Min is just ‘dead weight’ to him, because he still wants to be his own person and individual and live his own life, so maybe he doesn’t need Min anyway?

           And Min, he’s amazed at how Ryan can be so bold and be himself, but Min, like he said- He’s tired of faking things, pretending he’s fine when he’s not, that he’s okay with this… And he gets an outlet to admit how he feels aloud, instead of trying to be calm and level-headed about it! Min’s just having this identity crisis, figuring out who he is… Ryan probably thinks he’s secretly dumb, Min’s belittling didn’t help, as did Ryan admitting he could never get into university. Ryan doesn’t feel respected, and it’s just AMAZING how… How each has a trait that can easily be both the best and worst of them at the same time! It’s SUCH good writing��� Min feels left behind from taking things too slowly, and Ryan keeps moving forward so he can stand out; One wants companionship from being alone, the other wants to be an individual and recognized!

           Min thinks that Ryan complicates things, that HE’s the one making them difficult, and Ryan feels like he’s being dragged down and discouraged, that he has to pull Min along, because he DOES care and wants him; And they think they’re the others’ caretaker. Ryan wants HELP, he wants support, and he feels like he gives it to Min, but Min doesn’t reciprocate and instead just tells him his ideas are dumb. And it’s this duality of Min wanting conformity and safety, belonging, while Ryan is sick of that and wants adventure, risk, individuality and to stand out after being overlooked, to be free and not weighed down! It’s fascinating, they’re like mirrors of one another, if one were a denizen I’m SURE Mace would get a kick out of this…!

           Overall, this was a really weighty pair of episodes. It helped us get into the meat and confrontation of their emotions, of their issues; The darkest parts, their low point. But they say after the low point comes the triumphant rise, hopefully… If Min and Ryan are about two coming together and becoming whole again, it could contrast with Amelia, who is missing her other half; Let’s hope it does! I’ve never seen passengers constantly go back and forth, relapsing, tugging on the progress on opposite ends- Really conveys the frustration of two people whose numbers are together, bound, like a three-legged race.

           And, well, we’re on it- The final pair of episodes! And possibly our last episodes yet, EVER… This might be the last time I see a new Infinity Train episode. Here’s to the final destination, guys… Our journey might be over, maybe not. There’s more to the journey than just the destination, but eventually you always get there; All things, inevitably, come to an end.