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physalian · 4 months

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Pacing your Story (Or, How to Avoid the "Suddenly...!")

Arguably *the* most important lesson all writers need to learn, even for those who don’t give a damn about themes and motifs and a moral soap box: How your story is paced, whether it’s a comic book, a children’s chapter book, a doorstopper, a mini series, a movie, or a full-length season of TV (old school style), pacing is everything.

Pacing determines how long the story *feels* regardless of how long it actually is. It can make a 2 hour movie feel like 90 mins or double the time you’re trapped in your seat.

There’s very little I can say about pacing that hasn’t been said before, but I’m here to condense all that’s out there into a less intimidating mouthful to chew.

So: What is pacing?

Pacing is how a story flows, how quickly or slowly the creator moves through and between scenes, how long they spend on setting, narration, conversation, arguments, internal monologues, fight scenes, journey scenes. It’s also how smoothly tone transitions throughout the story. A fantasy adventure jumping around sporadically between meandering boredom, high-octane combat, humor, grief, and romance is exhausting to read, no matter how much effort you put into your characters.

Anyone who says the following is wrong:

Good pacing is always fast/bad pacing is always slow

Pacing means you are 100% consistent throughout the entire story

It doesn’t matter as much so long as you have a compelling story/characters/lore/etc

Now let me explain why in conveniently numbered points:

1. Pacing is not about consistency, it’s about giving the right amount of time to the right pieces of your story

This is not intuitive and it takes a long time to learn. So let’s look at some examples:

Lord of the Rings: The movies trimmed a *lot* from the books that just weren’t adaptable to screen, namely all the tedious details and quite a bit of the worldbuilding that wasn’t critical to the journey of the Fellowship. That said, with some exceptions, the battles are as long as they need to be, along with every monologue, every battle speech. When Helm’s Deep is raging on, we cut away to Merry and Pippin with the Ents to let ourselves breathe, then dive right back in just before it gets boring.

The Hobbit Trilogy: The exact opposite from LotR, stretching one kids book into 3 massive films, stuffing it full of filler, meandering side quests, pointless exposition, drawing out battles and conflicts to silly extremes, then rushing through the actual desolation of Smaug for… some reason.

Die Hard (cause it’s the Holidays y’all!): The actiony-est of action movies with lots of fisticuffs and guns and explosions still leaves time for our hero to breathe, lick his wounds, and build a relationship with the cop on the ground. We constantly cut between the hero and the villains, all sharing the same radio frequency, constantly antsy about what they know and when they’ll find out the rest, and when they’ll discover the hero’s kryptonite.

2. Make every scene you write do at least two things at once

This is also tricky. Making every scene pull double duty should be left to after you’ve written the first draft, otherwise you’ll never write that first draft. Pulling double duty means that if you’re giving exposition, the scene should also reveal something about the character saying it. If you absolutely must write the boring trip from A to B, give some foreshadowing, some thoughtful insight from one of your characters, a little anecdote along the way.

Develop at least two of the following:

The plot

The backstory

The romance/friendships

The lore

The exposition

The setting

The goals of the cast

Doing this extremely well means your readers won’t have any idea you’re doing it until they go back and read it again. If you have two characters sitting and talking exposition at a table, and then those same two characters doing some important task with filler dialogue to break up the narrative… try combining those two scenes and see what happens.

**This is going to be incredibly difficult if you struggle with making your stories longer. I do not. I constantly need to compress my stories. **

3. Not every scene needs to be crucial to the plot, but every scene must say something

I distinguish plot from story like a square vs a rectangle. Plot is just a piece of the tale you want to tell, and some scenes exist just to be funny, or romantic, or mysterious, plot be damned.

What if you’re writing a character study with very little plot? How do you make sure your story isn’t too slow if 60% of the narrative is introspection?

Avoid repeating information the audience already has, unless a reminder is crucial to understanding the scene

This isn’t 1860 anymore. Every detail must serve a purpose. Keep character and setting descriptions down to absolute need-to-know and spread it out like icing on a cake – enough to coat, but not give you a mouthful of whipped sugar and zero cake.

Avoid describing generic daily routines, unless the existence of said routine is out of ordinary for the character, or will be rudely interrupted by chaos. No one cares about them brushing their teeth and doing their hair.

Make sure your characters move, but not too much. E.g. two characters sitting and talking – do humans just stare at each other with their arms lifeless and bodies utterly motionless during conversation? No? Then neither should your characters. Make them gesture, wave, frown, laugh, cross their legs, their arms, shift around to get comfortable, pound the table, roll their eyes, point, shrug, touch their face, their hair, wring their hands, pick at their nails, yawn, stretch, pout, sneer, smirk, click their tongue, clear their throat, sniff/sniffle, tap their fingers/drum, bounce their feet, doodle, fiddle with buttons or jewelry, scratch an itch, touch their weapons/gadgets/phones, check the time, get up and sit back down, move from chair to table top – the list goes on. Bonus points if these are tics that serve to develop your character, like a nervous fiddler, or if one moves a lot and the other doesn’t – what does that say about the both of them? This is where “show don’t tell” really comes into play.

4. Your entire work should not be paced exactly the same

Just like a paragraph should not be filled with sentences of all the same length and syntax. Some beats deserve more or less time than others. Unfortunately, this is unique to every single story and there is no one size fits all.

General guidelines are as follows:

Action scenes should have short paragraphs and lots of movement. Cut all setting details and descriptors, internal monologues, and the like, unless they service the scene.

Journey/travel scenes must pull double or even triple duty. There’s a reason very few movies are marketed as “single take” and those that are don’t waste time on stuff that doesn’t matter. See 1917.

Romantic scenes are entirely up to you. Make it a thousand words, make it ten thousand, but you must advance either the romantic tension, actual movement of the characters, conversation, or intimacy of the relationship.

Don’t let your conversations run wild. If they start to veer off course, stop, boil it down to its essentials, and cut the rest.

When transitioning between slow to faster pacing and back again, it’s also not one size fits all. Maybe it being jarring is the point – it’s as sudden for the characters as it is for the reader. With that said, try to keep the “suddenly”s to a minimum.

5. Pacing and tone go hand in hand

This means that, generally speaking, the tone of your scene changes with the speed of the narrative. As stated above, a jarring tonal shift usually brings with it a jarring pacing shift.

A character might get in a car crash while speeding away from an abusive relationship. A character who thinks they’re safe from a pursuer might be rudely and terrifyingly proven wrong. An exhausting chase might finally relent when sanctuary is found. A quiet dinner might quickly turn romantic with a look, or confession. Someone casually cleaning up might discover evidence of a lie, a theft, an intruder and begin to panic.

Whatever the case may be, a narrative that is all action all the time suffers from lack of meaningful character moments. A narrative that meanders through the character drama often forgets there is a plot they’re supposed to be following.

#writing advice #writing tips #pacing #writing tools

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lenasai · 2 years

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ID: Digital drawing of Merry Exit from Blaseball. They are wearing a blue and red tattered cape with the hood up and looking directly at the viewer with a blank expression on their face. A glowing light emanates from one of their eyes that splits the background into five sections: a red sky covered in black feathers, a background consisting only of TV snow, a Solar Eclipse with spreading flames, a Feedback storm, and a corrupted Blaseball field. End ID.

this is how merry exit can still win, i think

here's my piece for a zine about players who don't exist! i just think it's kinda neat that we never got to see them actually play, but they were part of gamma 1 and a seemingly separate tutorial universe!

...or maybe that was someone else?

#blaseball #doodles #merry exit #blaseball zine jam

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tittachi · 2 years

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Park beyond

Of course, everyone who has played the original Rollercoaster Tycoon knows that it's probably not a good idea to embark on a ride until you can see if the tracks are actually complete, or else you might end up with some unwanted flying lessons. While we only briefly tried the many customisation options, a short video presentation showed some quite impressive user-created designs that you will be able to easily share with friends or strangers online. So, while it's a bit early to draw conclusions, the park features seemed pretty intuitive, and there was a nice sense of life when the gates opened, and the guests started flooding in. Park Beyond is still very much a work in progress with the UI consisting mostly of placeholders, and we only got to try one of the many different park themes. We also got to try some of the zanier features such as canons shooting the carts over obstacles, and we even tunnelled trough a mountain - security and environmental protection be damned.Īfter clearing the first mission we also got to dabble a bit in the sandbox mode. The first mission didn't take more than 15 minutes to complete, but despite the short play time, a lot of interesting features were gradually introduced such as the opportunity to build rails with lifts for going uphill. As the track design is modular, it's also easy to adjust an earlier part without having to undo all of your previous work. Still, it never wrestles control away from the players, and by adjusting the height of the tracks or the angle of the final track piece, you can control the layout with great precision. The tracks are easily placed and automatically adapt to the terrain if there are obstacles in the way or smaller changes in elevations. The track editor in many ways seems to capture this design philosophy perfectly. During a brief presentation, the game's creative director, Johannes Reithmane, spoke about how Limbic Entertainment wanted to make the game easily accessible while still containing advanced features underneath all the high-pitched screams and sticky candy floss. Rollercoaster Construction Shows Great Potentialīut what about the actual gameplay? As already mentioned, the first mission had us designing a complicated rollercoaster with twists and turns through a sprawling city. We did however get to try another one of the game's selling features. Actually, I had to make up the last example about the toilets, as we didn't really get to see that many of the impossified features during our preview. Sanitary workers collect equal parts litter and unlucky guests with a huge vacuum cleaner (sort of like in Ghostbusters), explosive cannons shoots carts from one track to the next on the rollercoasters, and the toilets are designed as merry-go-rounds. This results in some fanciful inventions. In simple terms, it means that we have access to the same rides, staff members and facilities as in a normal amusement park - everything is just a lot crazier than usual! The exaggerated and satirical tone is even more pronounced in Park Beyond, where Limpic Entertainment has introduced the new word impossification. The developer's previous game is the wacky sim game Tropico 6 where you, as the dictator of a stereotypical banana republic, can lead your nation to glory or transfer the treasury to your offshore bank accounts.

#Park beyond

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confused-beany · 2 years

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I wanted to draw something more elaborate, with a Christmas tree and stuff. But in the end I'm lazy and I just really cared about drawing these three being themselves ( talking/arguing about all the fights they used to have during Christmas)

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luthienne · 3 years

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this may be a weird question but you joked that you own legolas in some tags, and as it happens i’m in love with lotr/the legendarium and also adore your blog. which is to say that i’d love to hear some of your thoughts on him, if you’re comfortable sharing?

ahh hi yes i think he’s such an interesting character!! there’s something so fascinating about the wood-elves for me, something so rooted in folklore and myth that compels my imagination. the dark wood inhabited by the deathless. more below cut:

as much as we know that boromir is tempted by the ring because his people are fighting a seemingly pointless battle just to hold back sauron’s forces at the expense of their own people—we can infer that the situation for legolas is exactly the same. the forces of dol guldur are held back by the wood-elves and no one else. thranduil has no ring of power to protect his people, has no other armies at his back, no aid from the other elven realms.

so, contrary the commentary/characterization of the films, i don’t think legolas would be confused at gandalf’s death just bc he’s “immortal and thus doesn’t understand the concept of death.” he’s the prince of the only elven kingdom without a ring of power for protection, the prince of a wood called taur-e-ndaedelos, the forest of great fear. he’s personally witnessed the transition of his home from greenwood the great to mirkwood. he personally witnessed the occupation of his home by the stronghold of the necromancer, dol guldur, and the darkness that followed. the descendants of ungoliant. the dark creatures and the death.

whenever i witness legolas’s consistently gentle characterization throughout lotr, i’m actually reminded of that ilya kaminsky quote:

“Is it foolish to speak of little joys that occur in the middle of tragedy? It is our humanity. Whatever we have left of it. We must not deny it to ourselves.”

[ from Still Dancing: An Interview With Ilya Kaminsky by Garth Greenwell ]

this is a consistent theme for tolkien through lotr.

“the world is indeed full of peril, and in it there are many dark places, but still there is much that is fair, and though in all lands love is now mingled with grief, it grows perhaps the greater.”

—the two towers, “lothlórien”

“there, peeping among the cloud-wrack above a dark tor high up in the mountains, sam saw a white star twinkle for awhile. the beauty of it smote his heart, as he looked up out of the forsaken land, and hope returned to him. for like a shaft, clear and cold, the thought pierced him that in the end the shadow was only a small and passing thing: there was light and high beauty for ever beyond its reach.”

—rotk, the land of shadow

Théoden's final words are to Merry on the battlefield on the Fields of Pelennor: "Live now in blessedness; and when you sit in peace with your pipe, think of me! For never now shall I sit with you in Meduseld, as I promised, or listen to your herb-lore." It is a heart-breaking moment, and for a while Merry believes he can never again enjoy his pipe because it will remind him of losing his friend, but Aragorn convinces him otherwise: "Smoke, then, and think of him!" said Aragorn. "For he was a gentle heart and a great king and kept his oaths; and he rose out of the shadows to a last fair morning. Though your service to him was brief, it should be a memory glad and honourable to the end of your days." (x)

bc legolas does seem to exemplify that throughout the lotr books. he is chosen not for great deeds (glorfindel would be the obvious choice there) but more it seems bc of the lightness of demeanor he has maintained despite despite despite. not to say that he is not capable of great deeds! we know he is a formidable archer (he slew one of the fell beasts of the nazgûl in the dark) and skilled at hand-to-hand combat with his silver-hafted knife (a weapon and skill set necessary in a dense, dark wood with no room to draw or maneuver swords like andúril/glamdring). and this is not to say that deadliness in combat is the only mark of great deeds! tolkien makes it so very clear that great deeds are not defined by glory or battle but by strength of heart. <3

i love that moment in fotr when legolas teases gandalf and the fellowship, says that he goes to find the sun, the innocence with which he reacts to the ents and the huorns in two towers, the way he is always singing, the way he learns to not only accept gimli but grows to love him so much that he brings gimli to the undying lands. this is the son of a sindarin king who likely witnessed the sacking of doriath. it would certainly explain why thranduil is characterized as having not only a mistrust but dislike of dwarves in the hobbit.

meanwhile, we know absolutely nothing of legolas’s mother! tolkien says that oropher adopted the customs of the silvan elves when he was made their king. it’s possible that thranduil married a silvan elf. it would make sense from a political standpoint. legolas refers to himself as a wood-elf, which could lend itself to that theory. either way, interesting!

now tolkien’s description of the wood-elves:

The feasting people were Wood-elves, of course. These are not wicked folk. If they have a fault it is distrust of strangers. Though their magic was strong, even in those days they were wary. They differed from the High Elves of the West, and were more dangerous and less wise.

we’re told that elven magic is not like wizard magic but rather more earthy, more natural, a part of the fabric of their beings, of the realms they inhabit. i could speculate on what i think the magic of the wood-elves is, but idk i think tolkien had it right in keeping it enigmatic. the idea of an elvenking hidden deep in the dark woods is the stuff of myth, of songs. an elf-king with the power to transport you before him, an elf-king with the power to either alter your perception of reality or to truly transport his own people to safety at the hint of a threat, to extinguish light, with the ability to singlehandedly and without a ring of power keep the forces of dol guldur at bay.

it’s impossible for me to think about legolas and not think about his father and his grandfather, to not think about the life he must have lived leading up to the forming of the fellowship.

Seven mounds upon the left, and nine upon the right," said Aragorn. "Many long lives of men it is since the golden hall was built."

"Five hundred times have the red leaves fallen in Mirkwood in my home since then," said Legolas, "and but a little while does that seem to us."

— the two towers, "the white rider"

legolas, the prince of a hidden, fighting, wary people. a people who must take any chance they can to celebrate and find joy in still being alive, in still being together. a people with no magic outside of their own to protect them, a people who coexist with death, who inhabit an oppressive darkness forced upon them.

and still we see that legolas is not worn down by the years of darkness, that he is characterized not by bitterness or despair but by a kind of gentle resilience and strength of heart, motivated by loyalty and love of his friends. he is the son of the elvenking. he owes no allegiance to aragorn, a mortal king; nothing to gimli, or to the hobbits. but he sees minas tirith and he talks about how he will help aragorn to rebuild, to bring birdsong and green, growing things. he marches to the doorstep of mordor for the love of his friends and middle-earth. he lingers in middle-earth even after he is struck by sea-longing. and when he finally leaves middle-earth, it is only after the penultimate member of the fellowship has passed away and just he and gimli remain. and then he takes gimli with him when he sails to the undying lands. how could i not love a character with that kind of deep loyalty, deep love, deep feeling?

#ask #anon #i mean. to be fair. that kind of deep love and loyalty is what characterizes each member of the fellowship but! legolas has that added #✨wood-elvishness✨#that i am fascinated by #lotr #i also just feel like he is personified by that richard siken quote:#and the gentleness that comes not from the absence of violence but despite the abundance of it #tolkien blogging

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jjacob · 3 years

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all i want for christmas is you

❝ the school had started to take notice of you. lee juyeon, however, had always noticed. ❞

PAIRING ▸ lee juyeon x fem!reader (ft. best friend!lee minho)

GENRES ▸ fluff, high school au, sports au, best friends to lovers au

WARNINGS ▸ mild profanity but !! lots of !! fluff !!

SUMMARY ▸ the bet was simple: find a date to the winter ball. the only problem was that juyeon didn’t want just any girl. he wanted you.

PLAYLIST ▸ all i want for christmas is you by mariah carey

WORD COUNT ▸ 5055 words

AUTHOR’S NOTE ▸ merry christmas! this is a gift for addy @honeyju the biggest juyeon simp ik !! ily addy i am excited/scared/not emotionally ready to read the minho one which ! btw y’all should read here bc our stories are loosely connected! also disclaimer: i know jack shit ab football but i tried

LEE JUYEON TENDED TO REGRET HALF THE THINGS HE SAID SOMETIMES.

In eighth grade, Juyeon’s sense of humor was largely self-deprecating and consisted of saying he wanted to die at the slightest inconvenience. But, with his spectacular timing, he let the joke slip in front of a teacher once and froze up upon seeing her concerned expression. Juyeon later received a note from the counselor’s office and had to convince them that he was perfectly fine.

In tenth grade, Juyeon had grown past his phase of dark humor and moved onto high school football. He made the cut for the team the previous year, and managed to make it on the varsity team by the time he was a sophomore. In the beginning of the season, they asked who wanted to be captain the next year, and Juyeon boldly declared that he did. Thus, he was ridiculed and sentenced to pick up balls and clean up the gym after every practice from then on.

Now, as a high school junior in the varsity football team, Juyeon had screwed himself over by making a stupid bet with his best friend, Lee Minho.

Lee Minho was, in short, a conniving bastard. Juyeon never should have trusted him and gone along with his antics. The mere thought of what he had gotten himself into was enough to send his heart into overdrive.

The bet sounded simple enough: find a date to the Winter Ball.

Of course, it was easier said than done, but Juyeon was a star athlete and had girls sliding in his DMs left and right. He could easily find a date if he wanted to, and, honestly, Juyeon only needed to send a few texts and he would probably be secured for the dance. The problem was, however, that Juyeon only wanted you.

Minho was well aware of Juyeon’s pitiful, unrequited love towards you. It was probably the reason he suggested the bet; his best friend either wanted to see him miserable or see him score a chance with you. Either way, Juyeon wasn’t sure his heart was ready to shoot his shot.

Juyeon had crushed on you ever since you sat next to him in the seventh grade and let him borrow your pencil. It was such a silly start to his admiration for you, but his feelings grew stronger when the both of you actually became friends. You were so bright when you laughed, so sweet when you spoke, and so adorable when you smiled. Juyeon had never felt this way about anyone else and always got butterflies when he saw you. Juyeon was never one to chase after girls but he would find himself constantly thinking about what you were up to and having several internal dilemmas over whether he should ask you to hang out or not.

Five years later and Juyeon still harbored feelings for you. Now, they had matured into something deeper, but you still racked his brain nevertheless. It didn’t help that you had a major glow-up in high school and were probably the most beautiful person Juyeon had ever seen.

The school started to take notice of you.

Juyeon, on the other hand, had always noticed.

“Are you sure we can finish a medium before practice?” Minho asked Juyeon, setting a box of pizza on the table in front of him. “Also, I saw Y/N by the gym earlier.”

Juyeon perked up. “Y/N?”

“Yeah,” Minho replied, grabbing a slice of pepperoni pizza for himself. “You know what day it is, right?”

Minho took a bite out of his pizza, observing Juyeon with a raised brow. His best friend was on the baseball team but treating themselves to pizza had become a monthly ritual. Despite being on different teams, he was closer to Minho than his football teammates.

“Thursday?”

“And that means?”

Right.

Juyeon had formulated an elaborate plan to ask you out during the football game today, but, of course, it all depended on whether their team won or not. It would have been kind of ridiculous to propose after a loss. On the bright side, he knew he could count on the fact that you’d actually be present considering you were a cheerleader.

But what if you already had a date? You surely hadn’t mentioned it to him or posted about it on social media, so he was riding on an assumption that you haven’t been asked. That was bizarre to Juyeon, though, because you were the prettiest person he had ever seen. However, it was true that you were gradually getting popular, and that made Juyeon a touch nervous.

“I ask her out tomorrow,” Juyeon breathed out. “Am I ready for this?”

Minho scoffed lightly. “Are you ever?”

Juyeon frowned at his best friend, scrunching up his nose at his distasteful comment. “What about you? Have you gotten a date?”

“That’s for me to know and you to find out.”

Juyeon sighed. That was probably all he would get out of Lee Minho today. Once Minho set his mind on something, he carried it out diligently until the end. Juyeon honestly had no idea who he wanted to bring since Minho didn’t like talking about girls he was interested in, but he supposed it wasn’t that big of a deal as long as his best friend was happy.

It wasn’t like Juyeon was never going to hear about his friend’s endeavors. After all, he did pick up on Minho’s slow descent from an apathetic individual to a whipped ball of fluff. If Juyeon mentioned that to his best friend, however, he would probably be ridiculed for consistently being whipped for you since the seventh grade.

Juyeon nearly jumped out of his seat at the sound of his ringer going off. He scrambled to pull his phone out of his pocket, ignoring Minho’s teasing smirk at the sight of his frazzled self.

y/n: hey :) i’m gonna drop off some gingerbread cookies my mom made after practice so lmk when i can come over

Juyeon must have saved a country in a past life for this kind of luck.

juyeon: i love your mom’s cookies. you can come over whenever you’d like

y/n: how about we walk home together after practice?

juyeon: sounds good to me

Now, the pizza was starting to make his mouth water, but if you were walking home with him, Juyeon was ready to drop it and run to see you even though he loved pizza. But Juyeon loved you more than he loved pizza, and he believed that was true love.

“She made me cookies,” Juyeon announced.

“She made you cookies,” Minho repeated, leaning forward in surprise.

“Well, her mom did, but yeah.”

Minho turned his attention back to his pizza. “So this is about your mommy kink again.”

“I don’t have a fucking mommy—why would you say that?” Juyeon cried out, kicking his friend’s shin under the table.

“You don’t? Last time I checked, she was making dinner in the kitchen when I came over yesterday.”

“I’m talking about the kink!”

Yet, even a silly back-and-forth with Minho couldn’t get Juyeon down from his high over you. He was still processing the fact that you were going to walk home with him and, if Juyeon played his cards right, maybe he could get a feel of how comfortable you would be if he asked you out during the game tomorrow.

Minho snickered. “You look happy.”

Juyeon couldn’t even mask his lovesick smile and flushed cheeks. He folded his arms on the table in front of him and buried his face in them, his head spinning at the thought of you.

“Shut up, Minho.”

The only problem with you being on the cheerleading team was that you were extremely distracting.

Juyeon was the star quarterback and frankly, it was kind of pathetic that the one thing that kicked him in the ass was seeing you in the knee socks and pom-poms. It didn’t help that you were a flyer so Juyeon’s stomach pitted with anxiety whenever he saw you being thrown up and whenever he heard a scream coming from the direction of the cheerleaders.

Today was different, though. Juyeon could care less about the screams and falls from the corner of the field. All he could think about was you and how he was going to ask you out. If his plan was going to work, it was going to draw a lot of attention and be quite embarrassing if it failed.

All of his confidence got knocked down with a single sweep when he saw someone asked you to the dance.

One of the cheerleaders broke into a fit of giggles at the sight, clasping a hand over her mouth. “Oh my god!”

You were frozen stiff, an awkward smile on your face as the guy walked onto the field with a sign and about a dozen roses. Juyeon could feel his heart sinking to the ground with each step the guy took, with each second his smile grew brighter.

“Is he seriously confessing during practice?” Sohn Youngjae asked, brows furrowed as he rested his arm on Juyeon’s shoulder. “That’s real brave.”

“What’s his deal doing it here? He isn’t even on the team,” Juyeon said, coming off more bitter than he had expected.

Younghoon scoffed. “It’s a bold move. He must be confident that Y/N’s going to say yes.”

Juyeon squared his shoulders. He was conflicted with the swell of anger and deflation of you possibly being taken, but nevertheless, all he could do was watch helplessly as you were being asked out. From where they were on the field, Juyeon couldn’t hear much, but he could see your reactions quite well. The wolf-whistles and cheers were pissing him off, but he was fixed on you.

He turned to look towards Minho, who was practicing on the field adjacent to theirs. His best friend met his gaze immediately like they had some form of exclusive telepathic communication. Minho nodded towards you and raised a brow, as if nudging Juyeon to go interrupt them. That, however, was something he was far too cowardly to bring himself to do.

Your voice resounded clearer than Juyeon had expected.

“I’m really sorry,” you apologized sincerely, ducking your head and keeping your hands entwined behind you. “I’m not interested, but I do appreciate the gesture.”

Juyeon felt a weight lift off of his chest. He wasn’t sure if he should’ve felt relieved that you shot him down or nervous that you rejected an attractive, confident guy who clearly liked you. However, he soon had no time to mull over that when the guy’s reaction was getting more aggressive than crestfallen.

“Y/N, I asked you out in front of all these people,” he said with a distasteful laugh. “Are you seriously rejecting me right now?”

“Sorry, I just don’t want to go with you,” you replied firmly, voice dropping as you became more conscious of your surroundings. “I’m sorry it had to be public but you didn’t really give me a choice.”

For a split second, Juyeon wondered how he could still hear you when you were practically muttering at this point, and then he realized that he started walking to you without even realizing. His feet carried him unknowingly, hand balled at his side and eyes stony and trained on the guy.

“You could’ve just accepted it and told me later that you didn’t want to go with me,” he said with a scoff. “It’s like you enjoy humiliating others publicly.”

Your teammates rushed forward to argue and fend him off while you opened your mouth to protest, but Juyeon was faster, moving in front of you so he was head-to-head with the guy.

“She said she’s not interested,” he said with a threatening undertone, wondering where he managed to muster up the courage to be this assertive.

You were visibly shocked by Juyeon’s actions, and he couldn’t even blame you because he was equally just as surprised as you were. Yet, all he could do was glare daggers down at the other guy with steely eyes and frown until he backed off.

“Thanks,” you said softly once the guy had left.

Juyeon was flustered by all the girls giggling behind you but was amazed by how cool and collected you remained despite that. He turned to you, eyes softening and shoulders relaxing. He knew he was getting an earful about this from his teammates after practice and most definitely from Minho as well.

“No problem,” Juyeon replied, cheeks red. “He was bothering you. I couldn’t just ignore it.”

“That was really sweet of you, Juyeon.” You bit back a smile and suggested, “Meet you at the front gates after practice?”

“See you then.”

Even though Juyeon could’ve spent the rest of practice talking to you, he sprinted back as fast as he could because his cheeks were only getting redder as the cheerleaders gushed about what he did for you. He could hear their gossip and whispering even as he was running back to his team. Juyeon was positive he wouldn’t escape the embarrassment, though, because Lee Jaehyun was smirking at him when he got back.

“You’re blushing, dude.”

Juyeon shoved him.

There was a universal law that was newly decreed. It read: Lee Minho shall never text, call, or speak to Lee Juyeon whenever Y/N was around.

The reason for that being the fact that Juyeon was easily embarrassed and Minho’s texts were not helping his case. He felt it was rude enough to check his phone while he was walking with you, but every time he saw a notification flash, his eyes widened with sheer distress over Minho’s texts.

minho: like three people asked me if you and y/n are fucking bc of what you pulled during practice today

minho: wait are y’all fucking and just not telling me

minho: i knew it was sus that she was coming over to your house

juyeon: fake news!! stop making me feel shy :(

Juyeon decided he had enough Lee Minho for today and turned off his phone.

“That was honestly the coolest thing I’ve ever seen you do,” you gushed to Juyeon as you walked home with him, fingers looped around the straps of your backpack. “Way cooler than you punting footballs.”

“No need to flatter me,” Juyeon replied coolly but his shy smile and red-tipped ears said otherwise. “That guy was being unnecessarily aggressive.”

“His proposal was out of nowhere!” you exclaimed. “I don’t get what he expected me to do.”

Juyeon smiled through the pain. Lord, give me strength, he prayed to whatever divine power was out there.

“Are you not interested in having a date to the dance then?” Juyeon asked, looking down at you curiously.

You paused for a moment and Juyeon thought his heart would stop in anticipation for your answer. Come to think of it, he had never seen you go to a school dance with a date before. You were always with your friend group. It wouldn’t be out of the ordinary to see you stick with them, but Juyeon was hoping he could change that.

“Well,” you started, “if the right person asked me then I wouldn’t be opposed.”

Juyeon couldn’t exactly read your smile but it made him want to faint. The rest of the walk back home was spent talking about school and football, but Juyeon couldn’t get your answer to his question out of his head. He even walked past his house because his head was so full of you, resulting in you needing to stop him and tell him that they had already reached his place.

“Y/N! It’s so good to see you!” Juyeon’s mom chirped with a good-natured smile. “How has your mom been?”

Juyeon’s eyes widened upon the realization that they never stopped by at your place first to get the cookies. He opened his mouth to interject but you went on to answer.

“She’s been great, Mrs. Lee,” you replied, smiling just as big, and pulled out a box of cookies from your bag. “She wanted me to give these to you.”

“That’s so sweet! Give her my thanks,” his mom replied and opened the door wider once she accepted the cookies. “Come in for some tea, will you?”

Juyeon was practically frozen at the doorway while you were taking off your shoes and walking inside. If you had the cookies with you this entire time, then why didn’t you just give them to him to take home himself? Unless you were worried about the courtesy, it was a bit out of your way to take the time to walk home with Juyeon to deliver them.

“Juyeon, what are you doing out there?” his mom asked. “Come inside. It’s cold.”

“Right.”

Having you over at his house wasn’t exactly the sparkly fantasy that Juyeon thought it would be.

He was getting quite jealous of your mom hogging all of your attention. It wasn’t like you and Juyeon drifted apart during high school, so he wasn’t sure why his mom had to pull you away from him and have her own conversation with you. The worst part was that Juyeon couldn’t even join in on the conversation. He had no idea what they were even talking about.

That is, until his mom brought up the dance.

“Do you have a date, Y/N?” Juyeon’s mom asked.

“I don’t,” she replied. “I usually just go with my friends.”

“You’re so pretty, though,” Mrs. Lee tutted. “I’m sure someone must’ve asked you out.”

“Actually, someone asked me today,” you said. There was a moment of silence as you looked over at Juyeon while his gaze bore into yours. For a moment, you were struggling for what to say, mouthing words that weren’t being processed. Juyeon rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly once you regained your composure. “Juyeon actually helped me out.”

Mrs. Lee straightened up. “My son did?” She looked amused as she turned to Juyeon.

“Yeah,” you answered, grinning. “He was really cool.”

Juyeon blushed darkly once their eyes were on him. “W-what? I couldn’t ignore it. I wasn’t even doing that much. I was just helping out. You know, being a decent person,” he rambled and stood up. “Anyways, isn’t it getting late? Mom, Y/N has to go home soon and it’s gonna be pitch black outside if you keep her here.”

“Oh, you’re right.” Mrs. Lee frowned as she peered out the window. “Juyeon, you walk her home then.”

“What?” he sputtered out, looking between you and his mom before he caved, muttering, “I’ll go get my jacket.”

After an exchange of goodbyes, you had stepped out of the house and waited while Juyeon was slipping his shoes on. There was a moment of struggle where he had tied his laces too tight and couldn’t get the shoe on but he managed to slip it on after a few seconds of internal screaming. Juyeon zipped up his jacket the moment he stepped outside, the brisk coldness making his goosebumps rise.

“You really don’t have to walk me back,” you told Juyeon. “It’s cold outside.”

“It’s really late,” Juyeon replied, rubbing his hands together in hopes that the friction would provide some heat. “You shouldn’t be walking home by yourself, and I really don’t mind.”

“Thanks,” you mumbled, ducking your face. “For this, for what you did during practice—everything.”

Juyeon was glad that you weren’t looking at him because his mouth was opening and closing over and over again like a fish. He was also thankful for the fact that he could blame the dust of pink across his cheeks on the cold winter bite. Unfortunately, you lived close by so Juyeon didn’t have time to come up with a cool response and he didn’t want to leave things like this. There was a good vibe going on and he was upset that he couldn’t act upon it; when it came to you, Lee Juyeon was a coward.

“Um, we’re here so…” Juyeon trailed off when he turned to you, sort of thrown off by how beautiful you looked with your windswept hair and flushed cheeks. Dazed, he reached forward and moved a strand of your hair out of your face. “It’s good I walked you home and you’re not like, lost or… something—I’ll shut up now.”

You laughed, and it was an octave higher as if you were rattled from him touching your hair. “Ah, yes, a few streets down can be a harrowing trek.”

Juyeon laughed with you before his eyes settled on you. Your hands were crossed, rubbing your arms that were prickled with goosebumps. A wave of guilt washed through Juyeon and led him to strip his jacket off immediately. He ignored the piercing chill and put his jacket around your shoulders, making sure they covered your bare arms.

“My house is right here,” you argued. “You’re going to be cold.”

“Keep it on. I have something to tell you after the game,” Juyeon said firmly. It was his second burst of courage for you today and he was a little too amped up for his own good. “If you don’t like it then give me back my jacket tomorrow.”

Before you could respond, Juyeon turned on his heel and bolted home, the biggest grin across his face because he was head-over-heels for you.

Juyeon had never been so nervous in his life.

The game was underway, Juyeon’s leg bouncing as he eyeballed the scoreboard. His team was strong in the first two quarters, cutting it close by the third, but now they were neck-to-neck. They had ended with a tie and now they decided to go into overtime for the sake of choosing a winner for the game. It was a sudden death round so whoever scored first would win the game. Juyeon, however, found it difficult to concentrate.

Especially with Lee Minho breathing down his back.

“Are you ready?” his best friend asked.

“Yes—well, no, but I don’t really have a choice.”

“That’s true.”

“I already made the sign and told the team and everything,” Juyeon whined. “I really screwed myself over, Minho.”

Minho pushed at the back of his head. “Dude, I’m talking about the game.”

“Oh, that—that’s fine,” Juyeon stammered. “Fifteen minutes—we just have to win, and then I have to ask out the most amazing person I’ve ever met.”

“You could chicken out,” Minho suggested, “but that also comes with me never letting you live it down.”

“You see, I kind of already implied that I’m going to tell her something important.”

“You did?” Minho’s voice was somewhere between shocked and impressed.

“Shit, I gotta go,” Juyeon muttered, pushing himself off the bench. “Keep the poster safe for me!”

“Good luck, champ!”

Juyeon, sweaty and bangs sticking to his forehead, had to ignore every distraction and think about winning the game before his stomach threw itself into a pool of anxiety over asking you out. He got in a huddle with his team in the remaining fifteen seconds they had before they had to get in formation and lowered the facemask of his helmet. It was up to this one last play to determine whether they would win the game or not.

“Just like we practiced, alright?” Juyeon told them. “Double-wing power pass. We get them to bite thinking it’s a run play and then open up a passing lane.”

“Alright, let’s go,” Jaehyun cheered, and the rest of them put in their mouth guards and lowered their facemasks.

Juyeon took a shaky breath as he got in formation at the line of scrimmage. His heart was racing but he wasn’t sure it was about the game. Nevertheless, he steeled his nerves and held his ground. The whistle blew and the crowd was silent, observing the tension on the field carefully.

“Silver-80! Silver-80! Hut! Hut! Hike!” Juyeon yelled, and the center, Sangyeon, snapped the ball to him.

Juyeon faked a handoff to Jaehyun, the fullback, and spun around, rolling to his right. Changmin sped up in front of Juyeon to defend him. A smile tugged at Juyeon’s lips. Their plan was working just as he intended, but there was a problem: they couldn’t open up a passing lane for the running backs like he thought they would. The play was too rushed, so it wasn’t ever a guarantee.

So Juyeon had to do what he would normally deem crazy.

He spun at the sight of the other team coming to tackle him and skirted around the field, belting down the field. He dodged past another linebacker that tried to body him. His primary motivation was that he didn’t want a concussion before he confessed to you, but he assumed it was okay to admit that to himself as long as he didn’t throw the game.

Juyeon felt a hand grab him but he pushed forward, running across the goal line and into the end zone. He threw the ball down and cried out in joy as he scored a touchdown. The whistle blew and the scoreboard flipped. They won.

He did it.

Juyeon’s team ran to him, cheering at the top of their lungs. He was lifted up on Jaehyun and Younghoon’s shoulders, grinning happily before his heart sunk back down. The cheerleaders ran to the field, cheering and tossing their pom poms up. The crowd was roaring. Juyeon was realizing that he had to do the scariest thing that a heterosexual teenage boy ever had to experience.

“Jaehyun, Jaehyun,” Juyeon tapped his shoulder quickly. “We have no time. I have to do it now.”

“Oh shit.”

Jaehyun and Younghoon dropped Juyeon onto the turf. Juyeon winced at the sudden impact, gathering himself back to his feet and hoping you didn’t witness that. Jaehyun gave him a half-assed apology and pushed him forward to run and get his poster and flowers from Minho. Jaehyun then grabbed Changmin by the shoulders, urging him to go to the announcer’s booth.

Juyeon sprinted over to Minho, waving his hands dramatically. “Give, give, give,” he demanded amongst all the cheering.

Minho didn’t waste any time and pushed the poster and bouquet into Juyeon’s hands. “Break a leg, tiger.”

“Trust me, I nearly did.”

Juyeon jogged back onto the field, cheeks hot and head a little dizzy for what was about to come. He didn’t even tell his mom he was going to ask you out and she had to watch her son ask his best friend out to the dance. This was probably going to be a moment of utter humiliation but once Juyeon saw you in your high ponytail with a bright smile on your face, all that fear faded away and it was just you and him.

More importantly, you were wearing his jacket over your uniform and Juyeon felt like he was going to combust from the cuteness.

“Guys, guys,” Jaehyun called to the team. “Surround Juyeon. Make sure Y/N doesn’t see him.”

Juyeon’s heart was beating a hundred miles per second. He was glad he was running on the adrenaline from winning the game because otherwise, he would be cowering in fear and sweating buckets right now.

“Everyone, listen up!” Changmin spoke over the intercom. “First of all, the football team scored a major dub today—ow! Sunwoo, cut it out—alright, I’ll get to it!” Changmin broke from the mic and started bickering with Sunwoo.

There was a pause, and Juyeon was surprised to hear Minho’s voice fill the speakers, “Anyways, my buddy and our star quarterback, Juyeon, has something to say for a special someone.”

The crowd fell silent, a couple cheers and wolf-whistles as it was pretty obvious that a confession was about to happen.

“This is so fucking fluffy,” Sunwoo mumbled.

“Shut up, Sunwoo,” Juyeon replied, nudging him with his elbow.

The football team moved out of the way so that they weren’t huddled around Juyeon anymore. Juyeon’s breath caught in his throat as he walked forward to the middle of the field, holding up his sign, reading: Will you be my sunshine?

“Y/N,” he called out loudly, “honestly this confession is long overdue, but will you go to Winter Ball with me tonight and be my sunshine?”

The crowd started cheering and whistling again, and Juyeon wanted to die. She hadn’t even given him her answer yet and everyone was acting like she had agreed and they eloped. The cheerleaders pushed Y/N forward and she approached Juyeon, looking like a deer in headlights.

Juyeon took another shaky breath and continued, “I’ve been in love with you for so long so it would be an honor if I could take you to the dance,” he said and his voice dropped to a whisper. “I’m sorry if this is uncomfortable for you.”

You bit your lip but that wasn’t enough to contain the happiness that showed on your face. You zipped up Juyeon’s jacket and threw yourself into his arms. Everyone practically exploded but Juyeon was sure his heartbeat was louder. He wrapped his arms around you and buried his face into your shoulder.

Was this what people called a Christmas miracle?

“Oh shit!” Changmin screamed over the intercom. (“Shut up, they’re having a moment,” Minho’s faint voice was picked up in the background).

“Oh my god, you just made me the happiest man alive,” he mumbled.

You pulled back and reached forward to move his damp bangs off of his forehead. “Took you long enough.”

“Wait, did you—did you like me?” Juyeon choked out.

You laughed and cupped his face in your hands. There was a shaky inhale and exhale of breaths when his lips brushed against yours, and Juyeon closed the distance, kissing you like he was starved of your touch. His hold tightened on you as you melted into him, and then you both pulled away, smiling and dazed and lovesick.

You giggled. “Does that answer your question?”

“Yes,” he breathed out, grinning as he brushed his nose against yours.

Juyeon could care less about all the presents and holiday cheer because he had you and you were all he wanted.

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nctsworld · 3 years

Text

gifts galore

✩‌ jaehyun ‌x‌ ‌reader‌ ‌|‌ ‌smut‌ ‌|‌ fluff | ‌2.3k

SUMMARY‌ ‌⇾‌ you and jaehyun agree to not exchange any gifts this christmas, yet both of you break your agreement for the better. // part of the x-mas in ncity collection WARNINGS‌ ‌⇾‌ ‌smut,‌ costume/roleplaying (sexy mrs. claus outfit), playful dirty talk, unprotected s*x, f*ngering, couch s*x, mentions of alcohol/drinking, established relationship ‌ ‌ RATING‌ ‌⇾‌ mature

⇾‌ gif created by me, please don’t repost or share without credit!

Snuggling underneath a blanket on the couch by the crackling fireplace, you and Jaehyun are casually watching a Christmas movie in your new apartment. His hand listlessly switches between playing with your hair and lovingly rubbing your shoulder.

You beam happily, absolutely content about your updated living situation and being with your one and only on Christmas Eve, and soon to be Christmas in half an hour or so.

Breaking apart from his arms momentarily, you sit up to reach the coffee table. You refill your empty glass with wine. Noticing the one beside it is empty too, you pour a splash in, assuming the owner will want some more.

“Thanks, babe,” Jaehyun coos, his fingers brushing over the bottom of your back.

You’ve known each other long enough to know what the other wants without exchanging a word. Needless to say, you and Jaehyun were a perfect fit on every level. You couldn’t ask for anything more from him.

Taking a sip, you gaze over at the little Christmas tree set up in the corner of the room and pout at the sight of the empty space surrounding it.

Because you two spent so much on the new place, money was tighter than usual, so you mutually agreed to not exchange any gifts this year. It hurt you so much since you loved seeing Jaehyun’s face light up brighter than Christmas lights when he unwrapped his presents.

Despite the agreement, you may have had one small gift hidden up your sleeve.

You check your phone for the time. 11:48 PM reflects back at you. With a sly nibble of your lip, you rest your drink back onto the table and snuggle once more with your beloved for another several minutes.

At the stroke of midnight (which you know from constantly checking your phone), you glance upwards.

“Merry Christmas, Jaehyun,” you whisper softly. His rosy cheeks rise and his dimples show; the smile he gives you meets his starry eyes.

“Merry Christmas, my love.”

He cranes his neck to capture your lips, delving into a sweet embrace. Your hand lays on his firm chest while he rests his palm atop your cheek. Parting the kiss, you’re both forehead to forehead, sharing this moment amidst the warm atmosphere. However, without a word, you depart from his body and bolt towards the bedroom. Jaehyun’s left on the couch with ruffled eyebrows.

As he opens his mouth to say something, you call out from the bedroom. “I know we said no gifts this year, but I sorta maybe have a teeny, tiny gift this year...”

He chides you with a holler of your name. “I thought we both agreed—”

“You know I can’t help myself, okay? And anyway—”

Jaehyun’s jaw immediately drops.

You’re leaning on the doorframe with your hand stretched on the wood beside your head, donning a fitting, strapless red dress with white fleece trimming at the top and bottom, which barely covers your uncovered goods, and a Santa hat as the cherry on top.

“I thought you’d like this,” you shrug, feigning innocence. Looking off to one side, you twirl some hair around your finger. “It was cheap, so it’s not like a big gift—”

Suddenly, Jaehyun’s lips cut you off. His body presses up against yours, barring you between the doorframe and himself. A hand snakes up your thigh and, with a little help from the lack of fabric, his hand quickly grasps your bare ass.

His kisses are eager and hungry, and when he desires more of you, he captures your neck. Your eyelids tremble, head leaning back on the doorframe.

“You really didn’t have to get me anything, you know,” Jaehyun mumbles into your skin. He’s now moved onto your exposed shoulders, but never forgetting to squeeze your ass throughout. “Not that I’m complaining...”

“Do you like it?” you moan aloud as Jaehyun leaves chaste kisses across the top of your chest. You already foresee the answer from his reactions, but you yearn to hear it explicitly. He brings his face up to you once more.

“Of course.” And his lips find a home upon yours again. The pressure against your hips strengthens and you’re certain he’s about to reward you with an emerging present of his own.

“Now, Mrs. Claus...” he says in between kisses. Light giggles let loose from you.

“Have I been on the naughty or nice list this year?” You inhale his question with his forehead against yours.

“Definitely naughty.”

He cocks his head to the side and his fingers dance away from your ass towards the front of your thighs.

“How can I prove to you that I’ve been a good boy?”

Said fingers are now being dragged along your thigh, upward to your arousal. Your breaths become shallower, thoughts melting fast from his touch, but you hone your focus, wanting to make this a proper gift for Jaehyun.

“I can think of a few ways…”

Hurriedly, you take his wrist and lead him back to the couch. You playfully push him by the chest to sit down. Your seated love feasts his eyes on you taking your time to straddle him.

For the longest time, your lips intertwine deeply, as if your lips are soldered together. Hands flounder over every part of your body, only intensifying the craving for you both. Exhausted from kissing, Jaehyun draws back and strips off his shirt with ease, perspired from both the passion and the fireplace.

Rising yourself off his thighs to devour his neck, your burning desire hangs overhead his own. Taking the opportunity, he slides a digit over it and you sigh into his touch.

“I don’t think Mr. Claus would appreciate you touching what’s his,” you tease, nibbling on his ear lobe with your hands resting on his chest.

“You’re mine, and you know it,” he growls half-seriously. Without warning, Jaehyun swiftly releases his touch to grip onto your ass and waist, then lays you on your backside onto the couch. He hovers over you with fierce eyes and directly sticks two fingers into you.

Your hat drops over the arm rest and onto the floor as your back arches from the immediate delight. Ardently, Jaehyun’s free hand pulls down the top half of your dress and your tits are pleased by his heavenly mouth.

“Am I a good boy yet?” he asks on the way towards your other breast, hot breath searing your supple skin.

“F-fuck,” You shake your head, desperate for more. “Not quite, ah—”

Responding to your words, Jaehyun’s wrist fires up. The muscles in his arm flex greatly alongside the acceleration of his thrusting digits, and yet, he’s still maintaining the puckering around your acute nub. The excitement builds in your chest and delicate moans develop into harsh groans.

“Babe, babe,” you call out, pausing the roleplay talk. Your fingers are falling weak within his hair and upon his arm, losing strength by the second. “I don’t want to come just yet. This is all for you, and I haven’t even touched you yet.”

With one last inhale of your chest, he then hangs his head overs yours.

“Seeing you in pleasure is a gift in itself, honey,” Jaehyun states gently.

Behind your half-lidded eyes, you notice Jaehyun’s fixed stare, not deterring eye contact with you whatsoever. Despite the lust, your love plants a kiss atop of your forehead.

“Now, come for me and I’ll show you how good I can be to you.”

Embracing his relieving reassurance, you relax into his touch and unwind over his full fingers. After you’re fulfilled, Jaehyun tastes your slick off his fingers with a wink prior to the undressing of his pants.

Finally bare, your sight wavers between his beautiful figure and his equally beautiful cock as he lines up with your entrance. When his possession disappears entirely, engulfing within your desire, you simultaneously moan at the initial gratification.

Your beloved’s grip is safe around your waist, feeling the downy fabric of the dress still scrunched around your body.

Jaehyun drinks in everything—your face drenched in delectation, the constant bouncing of your bosoms happening in tandem with his deep plunges, his name spilling sweetly from your pretty lips, and the raw pleasure of it all.

He braces a hand onto the arm rest next to your head. Looking up at him, you bring your hands that were gripping tightly onto the couch towards his cheeks, cupping them.

“I can’t believe you’re all mine,” he utters. His spare hand moves towards your sprawled upper arm, rubbing the tender muscles. You nod, whimpering in agreement.

“Are you all mine?” you moan unevenly, intoxicated by the passion.

Jaehyun nods too with hazy eyes, running fingers through his mussy hair to view you clearly.

“Of course, of course...”

The kiss you share is overpowering, as if he was kissing you upon every inch of your body all at once. Flares flood over your body, but they’re not stopping anytime soon.

Following more fondling of one another’s bodies and the never ending orgasms he consistently draws out of you, Jaehyun can only last so much and eventually stirs, his pleasure reaching the brim and pouring onto your inner thigh.

Like clockwork, Jaehyun is quick to clean-up you and himself, and the two of you lay on the couch with him spooning your backside. You both agree to no blanket since each of you are sweltering because of the fireplace, in addition to what you just endured.

“If you think you’re going on the nice list after that, you’re wrong,” you pant, glancing over your shoulder slyly. “That was naughty from head to toe.”

Jaehyun pecks the back of your head, stuffing his nose in your hair.

“Coal is worth the price of having you.”

He hugs you tightly and you burst into a flutter of giggles as he kisses the crook of your neck.

Morning comes and you’re surprised to not find Jaehyun in bed with you, especially after the tiring events from last night. In your pajamas, you tread towards the living room and see him in his knitted black sweater by the kitchen counter on his phone. He glimpses up, grinning ear to ear, and places his phone down.

“Good morning, beautiful,” he greets, walking to you.

“Jae, why are you up so ea—”

Your gaze falls upon the Christmas tree in the corner and you notice a gift box as tall as a book. Puzzled, you make your way over.

“To get back at you for your gift last night,” he says next to you beside the tree and watches your next moves carefully. “I got you a little something too.”

You laugh as you unravel the large bow, thinking it’s likely a joke gift he often does or, on the other hand, maybe more lingerie since he loved the way it looked on (and off) you.

However, your breathing stills and your entirety stiffens.

A tiny velvet box is inside, with a folded piece of paper leaning against it.

One of your hands darts to your mouth, covering it. Shaking slightly, you peer up at Jaehyun.

He nods softly, urging you to continue.

You read the letter addressed to you quietly to yourself:

“Can you believe this is the fifth Christmas we’re spending together? Time flies by so fast, and this is our first Christmas in our own place. Hopefully the first of many!

I’m always grateful to spend the holidays with you and I couldn’t imagine anyone else to spend it with. I know it’s cliché, but I mean it when I say you mean the world to me. I can’t ask for a better gift than being with you.

On the topic of gifts, I know you might be disappointed that we agreed on no presents this year, but please don’t hate me for going against my word (if you want, you can gift me something from Boxing Day and we’ll call it even).

I’ve been waiting to give you this gift for a really long time...

I hope you like it.

Merry Christmas, my dearest.

Love,

Jaehyun ♡”

As you lift your head, tears blur your vision and you can’t stop them from falling. You try your best to muster up the biggest smile and squeak a simple, “Yes!”

The love of your life chuckles tenderly, caressing your cheeks in his palms. His thumbs swipe away the oncoming waterworks. “Honey, you didn’t even open the box yet.”

“I don’t need to. I have x-ray vision,” you joke. “My answer is yes.”

“You sure?” he asks. Even with the fog in your eyes, you see a sliver of worry and rejection flash by on Jaehyun’s face. You’re nodding fervently, not wanting him to doubt your love for even a second.

His expression fades and he gently grabs the letter and box out of your hands. Getting onto one knee, Jaehyun opens the velvet box, revealing the not-so surprising sparkling ring. He holds your hand in his and slowly places the ring on your left finger.

It’s a perfect fit.

Jaehyun stands up, still cherishing your hand in his. You’re enraptured by the light hitting the gemstone, twinkling back at you like a familiar smile.

“Guess we’re even now?”

Sniffling, you shake your head at Jaehyun before you wipe the tears away with the back of your hand. “I’m definitely getting you a proper gift tomorrow.”

Neither of you are aware of it and will find out later that day, but snow begins to fall outside at about the exact moment you lock eyes.

You take a deep breath, trying your best to sound as normal as you can, as if you weren’t just bawling your eyes out.

“I love you, Jaehyun.”

Your love moves some of the stray strands of hair out of your face and whispers:

“And I love you.”

The next kiss is ardent and heartfelt. A kiss you’ve shared with Jaehyun many times before, but it’s a little different than the rest.

It’s a kiss that signals the new beginnings for you and Jaehyun.

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atlasmisery · 3 years

Text

fatalism vs. existentialism in shadowbringers

i have reason to believe one of shadowbringers’ main themes is fatalism vs. existentialism. eulmore & vauthry represents the former, while the crystarium & the crystal exarch represents the latter.

the fight between these two ideals, narratively, reaches it’s peak and conclusion after the WOL faces vauthry in the innocence trial. but i believe that the more interesting parts of this conflict lies in it’s foundation and build-up. our introductions to the respective cities, and the meeting between vauthry and the exarch.

eulmore vs. the crystarium.

when we are (very smoothly) introduced to the crystarium, we’re immediately given a clear impression of what kind of city we landed into. this is a post-apocalyptic safe haven. here, everyone works together to keep that title. in the face of the horrible tragedy of the flood of light, the people of the crystarium banded together to keep this little corner of life alive, even if it takes some hard work. katliss makes a point of this herself, when you first talk to her. you can get what you need, but in return, you’ll have to work for it.

life isn’t easy in the crystarium but, there’s little choice in the matter. yet, even then, it doesn’t seem like people suffer or beat themselves up to just survive in the crystarium. the honest hard work everyone puts into feels so genuine, within every resident of the crystarium lies a resolve to survive in a world completely ruthless to them.

they represent the existentialist thought. the world of the first is cruel, and one could say it renders all lives meaningless. it has become a blank and dying world, where sin-eaters rule, and men suffer. yet, at the face of a world that seems so pointless, the residents of crystarium continue to create meaning in their lives.

eulmore is the complete opposite of the crystarium. it consists of people who have grown complacent, lazy and cruel-- relying on those they deem ‘beneath them’ to serve them. this already draws a sharp contrast with the values of the crystarium, wherein you have to put honest hard work to attain what you want. in eulmore, it’s given to people on a silver platter, because they value hedonism above all things.

this hedonism is drawn from the eulmore residents’ clear fatalism.

the eulmore residents have long accepted the world is approaching it’s end, and the only thing left to do is to make merry and drown in pleasure. they have thrown away both the past and future, and choose to live in the present, not working a day to a better tomorrow, nor honoring those who have fallen in the past.

(not to mention, the obvious hostility the crystarium residents have for the eulmore residents, having insulted them numerous times, it’s already a very obvious impression to the player that these two cities are at a conflict even past the metaphorical.)

the eulmore residents have resigned to their fate, and see no meaning in their lives anymore. the crystarium residents fight for the morrow, and strive to create meaning in their lives.

vauthry vs. the crystal exarch

i believe that vauthry and the crystal exarch are foils of each other. how they rule, their ideals-- everything, sharply contrast one another, just like the very city states they rule. they also represent fatalism and existentialism in their purest form.

vauthry is an ‘all-giving god’ that can be commonly found in extreme fatalist beliefs. in eulmore and gate town, the people have completely lost their own agency, stopped thinking, and leave it all up to vauthry (or those serving vauthry) to do the thinking for them.

this is taken to an almost very literal extent, wherein vauthry feeds eulmore residents and khoulsia residents ‘meol’ to completely hypnotize them and bring them under his control.

the people of eulmore do not seek meaning in their lives anymore, but banal and simple desires for meaningless pleasure, all thanks to vauthry’s stance as an all-giving god that provides for them and hypnotizes them to his whims.

the exarch is the culmination of the existentialist beliefs of the people who survived the 8th umbral calamity, the crystarium people and himself.

both the post-calamity source and pre-crystarium side of norvrandt suffered from an apocalyptic hellscape with a lack of true, coherent civilization. but, the exarch had become a ‘symbol of hope and meaning’ to both of them.

in the case of post-calamity source, the exarch was a ‘symbol of hope and meaning’ due to the fact he was their only hope of restoring the source to it’s former glory. he, possessing the power of the crystal tower, can help mend the first and therefore save the source.

in the case of the first, the exarch was a ‘symbol of hope and meaning’ because he was the one that gave the gentle push to the people to create the crystarium. he is the one who, as much as he dislikes putting this way, ‘rules it’ and guides the people to a better tomorrow. without him, their efforts would be much harder than usual, and because of him, he helps create meaning in people’s lives without taking away their agency.

in the case of the exarch himself, or rather, in this paragraph, ‘g’raha tia’, g’raha himself was awoken to a world without meaning. he struggles with this, but eventually wins out because he creates his meaning for himself: he wants to save the warrior of light and the world. in a world so absurd and cruel, he decides for himself what he wants and works towards it, if not for a lack of choice, but for the sake of his own sanity as well.

these two extremely different characters clash hard upon meeting each other, and it’s very fascinating.

at the start of the conversation, the crystal exarch asks a valid question, and vauthry reinforces fatalism. he calls himself a ‘god’, and emphasizes on his determinedness to provide the people the mindless pleasure they want. he considers himself separate from his people, and views them like animals to herd, not as individuals. he is ‘their god’ providing them ‘sanctuary’. sanctuary being a world with no meaning, and only power to him.

while you could say he has a point in regards to spending the last few remaining days happy and blissful, this point of his is conflicted by various inhumanities he commits.

forcibly hypnotizing people and feeding them meol, that makes them more susceptible to it

preying on those who are suffering in gate town, seeing them as expendables who can be invited into eulmore for a short time as servants, and then turned into sin-eaters and meol afterwards.

the complete lack of regard for his people’s agency, and basically just treating them like pets.

while it IS true that it was basically impossible and completely difficult to save norvrandt in any way, the fact he enables the sin-eaters (the very beings that terrorize and kill people) without any regard for those who have suffered at their hands is... disturbing.

he has a very “hm, makes sense.” sort of goal, but the things he does and the things he say to reinforce that goal are absolutely disgusting. he has no faith in his people, and only in himself.

the exarch responds to his speech with a clever quip, and then a counter.

whereas vauthry flaunts his complete lack of faith in people, the exarch expresses his belief in them. vauthry sees the people as mindless animals to be herded before they hurt themselves, but the exarch sees them as individuals and people to be given guidance and true sanctuary-- a better tomorrow.

vauthry protests. he claims that people only live in the present, and do not care about the future. after all, why work hard for a tomorrow you’ll never see? but, again the exarch counters. because he’s fully aware, and has seen himself, the kinds of people who’d work towards a tomorrow they’d never see.

the exarch is the living proof of the existentialist ideals of those of the source and the first. the people who desire a better tomorrow, the people who desire meaning in their lives, and meaning in their children’s lives, and in their children’s children’s lives.

he refuses to take away, or disrespect, the agency of people, and acknowledges vauthry’s ideals for what they are-- gilded chains.

and with a smile, the exarch re-affirms his stance, for he believes in those who those who dare to dream of meaning in a meaningless world.

shadowbringers is a story that confronts many themes, and i believe one of these is what it means to live in a world that doesn’t care about you. and seeing it confidently defend the decision to continue living, to strive for meaning for yourself, instead of succumbing to fatalism-- is hopeful and heart-warming.

#ffxiv #shadowbringers #crystal exarch #vauthry

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let-them-read-fics · 3 years

Text

Home For The Holidays

Pairing: Lisa x Fem!Reader

Word Count: ~ 3,335

Warnings / Misc. -- Potentially Lethal Fluff, Crying, Holiday Themed

Disclaimer: This writing is a work of fiction, and no disrespect is meant for those mentioned herein.

A/N: Hey everybody! This idea came to me out of nowhere, but it’s definitely gotten me into the holiday spirit. I hope you enjoy it! Let me know what you think.

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

“Babe, have you seen my beanie?” Your question rings throughout the air, carrying across the apartment in search of Lisa. Just as you get your earrings put in, her reply comes through: “Mhm, it’s in here.” Before setting off to grab it, you take a long look at yourself in the mirror: the nervousness that you’re harboring is decently masked for the moment, but you pray that your composure doesn’t slip in the next few hours -- after all, that would surely spoil the fun that you have in store for Lisa.

“Aha!” You declare, sliding the material onto your head. She stifles a chuckle, which prompts you to look at her. When you do, all of the air in your lungs swiftly leaves your body; she looks absolutely stunning. She chose a simple outfit, consisting of a regular pair of jeans and a cozy sweater, but she makes it look designer.

“I’m convinced that you can make any and everything look good.” You tell her earnestly, once some of your thought processing skills have returned to you. With a roll of her eyes, she engulfs you in a hug; her perfume washes over you, and you fall into her embrace.

“I love you.”

Even after hearing those words from her as many times as you have, they still managed to send your heart wild. You hide your face in her neck, loving the cute squeal she lets out as you pick her up and twirl her around.

“I love you, jagi. So much.” Her eyes find yours, and the moment is perfect.

~~~~~~~

“Keep them closed! We’re almost there.”

“You’ve been saying that for the past 5 minutes.”

“Just trust me!” You laugh at her impatience, keeping your grip on her thighs steady as you make your way towards the restaurant. She lets her head lay beside yours, resting it on one of her arms that’re wrapped around your shoulders. In any other circumstance, she would’ve been whining more by now; this time, however, she didn’t mind waiting a little longer, considering she was comfortable and content, currently receiving a piggy back ride from you. In competition with the frigid air rushing around, your bodies work to keep each other warm.

After a little more walking, you finally reach your destination.

“Reservation, please?” The hostess requests upon your entrance.

“L/N.”

You gently set Lisa down, back on her feet again, and tell her to open her eyes. The expression that takes over her features is priceless, and you pat yourself on the back for having the foresight to book a table here so far in advance. The holidays always made it difficult to get in anywhere in the city without a reservation, and this restaurant is no exception -- in fact, it’s one of the hardest to get into. After hearing about the reviews, the two of you had been dying to try it out.

“Right this way, ladies.” The hostess says, and you fall in line behind her. Lisa links her arm with yours, and she begins ranting about all the different foods she wants to try.

~~~~~~~

The view from your table is unbelievable; seated next to a row of large windows, you can see the entire city before you, throngs of people walking about, enjoying their night out. You take a minute to think of all the possible things they could be doing, what routes they’re going down, each of them having a unique and beautiful story playing out in front of you.

Against your palm, the surface of the window chills your skin. Once you remove your hand, you see the imprint of it on the glass; a reminder that you had been there.

Lisa notices this, and leans towards the window; at first, you were confused, but soon your heart melts at her actions.

She releases a breath against it, the warm air prepping the surface for her artwork; her finger -- the very one that you’re wrapped around -- draws a heart, complete with your initials and hers inside of it.

“You’re the cutest,” she gushes, looking over your features. You can feel how dopey you look, completely in love and in awe by her. You can’t blame yourself, though.

Her hand finds its way to yours on the table, just as it always does, and you bring it to your lips. She grins at the feeling of your lips pressed against her knuckle, and her heart skips a beat. Both of you are completely whipped for each other, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

~~~~~~~

Stuffed and satisfied with the special anniversary meal you just consumed, you and Lisa make your way out of the restaurant. Next up on the agenda for tonight: ice skating.

~~~~~~~

Waves of fresh snowflakes flurry around the two of you, seemingly in a tango with the breeze that’s drifting by; two lovers rediscovering one another. Her hand is warm within your own, the mittens on your skin keeping the harsh temperatures at bay.

The gentle scraping of your skates can be heard against the ice, little patterns trailing behind in your wake. Yellow and white lights are strewn across the sides of the rink, offering a dazzlingly cozy aura, and you take them in. They remind you of the stars in the night sky, shining brightly, a certain unique twinkle held within each and every one of them.

Lisa gives your hand a squeeze, her silent way of requesting your attention.

“Yes, my love?”

A light blush rises to her cheeks as she begins speaking; you’re amazed that she still reacts to your pet names like that, just as she had when you first started dating. It’s adorable, and you can’t get enough of it.

“Let’s grab some hot cocoa, I’m getting a little cold.”

“Alright, last one there has to clean the litter box tonight!” The last part of the sentence leaves your lips in a rush, an attempt to stall her and give yourself a bit of a head start.

“Uh! Hey!” Her shocked exclamation quickly fades as you dash away from her, set on getting to the stand first.

~~~~~~~

Now armed with your warm beverages, the two of you skate over to the bench positioned directly outside of the rink. Conveniently, the seat is equipped with a heater, and Lisa pulls you in tight.

“Mmm, it’s good.” You tell her, taking another sip. She had spent the trip over here pouting at her defeat.

The two of you carried on with light conversation, reveling in the feeling of having each other so close. The city’s atmosphere was always different around this time of year, the holidays adding an extra charm to everything, no matter what it was. You would be content with doing absolutely nothing, so long as you had Lisa by your side -- and she felt the same way about you. Perhaps that’s why your relationship was so strong; genuine love and understanding ran true in every aspect, and you could never seem to get enough of each other. You still felt the same as you did at the beginning: the happiness upon waking up next to her, that excited blush when she told you she loved you, that familiar rush of desire from your passionate nights spent together -- all of it. She’s everything you’ve ever wanted and more, and you feel beyond blessed to have the privilege of calling her yours.

The night had been perfect so far; memories being made that would surely last a lifetime. The thoughts raced in your mind, swirling around just like the snow had before. They were only stopped by the feeling of her soft lips pressing against your cheek in a sweet kiss.

“Thank you for tonight. I’m so happy.” She leans her forehead against yours, and you brush her nose with your own.

“Of course. There’s no one I’d rather do this with.”

Her eyes are shining with affection, and you nearly get lost in them. Before you can, you stop yourself; your plans for this special night are long from over.

“How about we walk around a bit? I saw more trees and light designs on the way here and I wanna check them out.” She happily agrees, and the two of you change back into your boots before returning the skates. You slip an arm around her shoulders as you begin your journey, and she settles against your side.

You had remembered correctly -- after a short walk, you find the hub of activity from before; a whole block of the city is filled with different vendors and booths, a wide array of services offered. The area is a holiday bazaar, groups of merry people roaming about, lighting up at the different things to do.

Trees line the square, decorated beautifully with various lights and ornaments, their toppers reaching high up into the sky. The moment is too perfect to let slip by, so you retrieve the camera from your bag to capture it all. Lisa cuddles in close to you, smiling widely as you turn the device around to take a selfie of the two of you.

One mini-photoshoot later, you begin your exploration of the square. Quickly, you discover what the places have to offer: some hold arts and crafts, others have face painting, snacks, and even eggnog chugging contests. You grimace at that last one, seeing a group of what appears to be frat boys stumbling around nearby.

Upon spotting a special booth in the distance, you’re quick to remember your reason for suggesting coming here in the first place: Lisa’s next surprise. You do well in acting cool and calmly bringing her attention to the area, being careful not to blow your cover. It doesn’t take much convincing to have her trailing along after you, her hand snuggly tucked into yours.

The booth in question sticks out among the others, a bit out of place in what it offers: for $5, you get the opportunity to knock the city mascot into a dunk tank. The money goes to charity, and everyone has fun in the process. Win-win, right?

The second that you approach the counter, your heart begins racing feverishly -- the plan is coming together. “Just the $5 option, thank you.” You request, and the clerk hands you the balls: $5 gets you 5 opportunities to dunk the mascot into the chilly water below. As you walk over to the tank, you’re afraid that Lisa can see your nervousness; she’s always been able to read you well.

Luckily for you, though, you know just what to do to throw her off your tracks: you pull her in, guiding her lips to your own in a tender kiss. She places her hand overtop of yours, against her cheek, and her fingers lace with yours. She sighs against you, and you smile. Mission accomplished. Before things can get too heated, you pull away, setting the weapons of choice into her hands. “Good luck,” you whisper into her ear, a chill running down her spine at the lowness of your voice.

~~~~~~~

After 3 misses in a row, she’s beginning to get discouraged.

“Ahh, this is rigged!”

As you open your mouth to reply, your phone begins to ring. Right on time. You suppress the smile playing on your lips -- a task much easier said than done -- and tell her that you’ll be right back.

You pretend to answer your phone as you return to the counter, making eye contact with the clerk.

“Are they ready yet?”

“Almost. They’ll be right out.” He smiles back at you, happy to see something like this about to go down. The holidays truly are a magical time of the year.

The moment is interrupted by Lisa’s father walking out of the back room and into your line of sight. “How do I look?” He asks no one in particular, and receives a whistle from his wife, who is also making her way out of the room.

You beam at them, so excited to be with them again. “Those suits look great on you guys.” You tell them, fanning yourself to add to the comical effect. They don the same outfits as the mascot sitting in the tank.

“Alright, so does everyone remember what to do?” You ask, eyes darting between them.

“Once she dunks him, we run out and celebrate.” Lisa’s mom looks to you, waiting for your reassurance of the plan.

“Exactly. Any questions?”

“No, but hurry her up. This outfit is itchy.” You can’t help but chuckle at her father’s words; now, a little weight lifted off of your chest, you make your way back to Lisa.

“There you are! Who was that?” As much as you hate lying to her, you think it’s safe to bet that you’ll easily be forgiven.

“Just someone from work, lame business stuff.”

She accepts your answer right away, and turns the topic back to her mission. With you by her side once again, she resumes her efforts.

After an eternity of careful deliberation and tense preparation, Lisa chucks the next ball through the air; a loud whoosh sound follows behind it, and you hold your breath.

Time seems to move in slow motion; the ball collides with the target, sending confetti into the air and retracting the seat beneath the mascot. Soon he’s submerged in water, everyone in close proximity to the booth now cheering loudly. Lisa turns to you, her arms above her head in triumph, a winning smile on her lips. You lift her up in celebration, and smile against her as you nuzzle your face in the crook of her neck.

With a quick peek over her shoulder, you spot the two “mascots” approaching; you swiftly set her down and attempt to contain your excitement.

Her mother taps her on the shoulder, grabbing her attention. She offers her daughter a balloon -- the customary prize for winning -- and claps when she takes it. Her father gives her a thumbs up and a pat on the head.

As she turns her attention to you, shooting you a look of confusion, her mother stands behind her and removes the mascot head. The subsequent smirk that you don lets Lisa know that something is up, and she spins around once again.

Upon seeing her mother’s face, she drops to the ground, quickly becoming a mess of tears and emotions. The situation is only heightened when her father removes his mask as well, bending down to wrap his wife and daughter up in a long-overdue embrace.

The sight before you has you in tears within an instant; opportunities like this are rare for Lisa, and you feel honored to be the reason for this little reunion. You release a silent thank you to your past self for having the foresight -- yet again -- to squirrel away some money. Something back then had told you you’d need it, and you were beyond thrilled that you had trusted your gut.

Perhaps it was your imagination, but you could’ve sworn that everything shined a little brighter now. The snow sparkled in some majestic way, and the city lights worked together to create a beautiful picture, contrasting with the dark mountains that resided in the distance. Nothing could compete with the view in front of you, though; especially when Lisa raised a hand in your direction, calling you over to their little huddle.

The four of you held each other tightly, simultaneously sobbing and wiping away each other’s tears. No one spoke for a while; everyone was too emotional and content with the happy silence to do so.

Besides, what could she say to you? Lisa knew automatically that you had been the one to arrange all of this and raise the money to get them a flight out. What could she possibly say to repay that? You’re her world, and she’s so happy to have you in her life. People like you are rare, and she cherishes you more with each day you spend together.

None of you really kept track of how much time had passed, but you had made your way into one of the enclosed tents, seeking shelter from the cold and dying to fill each other in on all that's happened since your last visit.

You watch them in awe, loving the way that they light up when they talk to each other. It warms your heart, the way they're all holding hands and looking at each other with so much love. It’s easy to see that this is just what they needed; you can practically see their worries being lifted and cast away.

With one last swig of your drink, you begin to mentally prepare yourself for your final surprise.

In one motion, you accidentally drop your phone into the floor, and crouch down to retrieve it. Lisa gives you a quick look but soon does a double take when she sees you still on the floor, now down on one knee, a small box in your hand.

You’re sure her eyes are about to pop out of her head.

As you clear your throat and swallow your nerves, you glance up at her parents; they’re already looking to you, proud expressions written plainly on their faces. That silent gesture alone is encouragement enough, and it prompts you to begin.

“Lisa…” Wow. One word in and your voice is already failing you. Your eyes shyly scan up to hers, only to find her recently dried cheeks now covered in tears once again. Her hand is clasped over her mouth in an attempt to stifle her cries.

“I knew from the moment we met that I wanted to marry you someday, and I can’t think of a better way to ask than this. I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone, and I’m so glad we get to share this day with your parents. I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to properly thank them for making you, but I’ll spend my life trying, as long as you’ll have me. So, whaddya say?”

Lisa has always made it clear how much she loves you; despite knowing that, you can’t help but feel nervous as you wait for her answer. Her head is swimming with just about every different emotion imaginable right now, and she’s doing all she can to hold in her tears long enough to respond to you.

“I love you so much. Let’s get married, Y/N.”

A loud whoop leaves your mouth upon her reply, the sound echoing around the space.

You surge forward, eagerly pressing your lips against hers, and she cheerfully takes you into her arms. Once the ring is on her finger, you walk around to the other side of the table and embrace her parents. Having their approval and support means the absolute world to you, and you take a minute to think about how perfect everything turned out.

Now, once again cuddled into Lisa’s side, one of your hands playing with the ends of her hair, you look up into her eyes.

“How did I get so lucky?” She asks, looking down at you, utterly overjoyed with what went down tonight.

“It was written in the stars, baby.”

Lisa’s heart swells at your words, and she pulls you in impossibly closer. Wanting to give the two of you some private time to celebrate, her parents leave the table and go to order some food from across the tent.

Now alone, her lips find yours again, and they take their sweet time in showing you all of the things she didn’t know how to verbalize to you. She peppers kisses across your face; starting with your cheeks, then your nose, and finally, your forehead. You let out a squeal as she grips your waist, her fingers gently toying with the fabric of your sweater.

Sitting there, in the arms of the love of your life, you’ve never felt more content. What a night, you think to yourself, smiling at her parents once more.

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

Thanks for reading!

#lalisa manoban #lisa manoban #lisa x reader #lalisa #blackpink #blackpink oneshots #blackpink imagine #lalisa imagine #blackpink x reader #lisa x fem reader #let-them-read-fics

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lovelylogans · 3 years

Text

i wish i knew how (your eyes are like starlight now)

warnings: vampires (blood drinking mentioned), alcohol consumption, food mentions, cuddling, kissing, death mentions, if i’ve missed any please let me know!

pairing: logan/patton

word count: 6,003

notes: for @fangirltothefullest for our discord server’s secret santa! prompted with “Preferably logan-centric and fluffy! Logicality would be great! Logince would also be good. Maybe some cute cuddles by a fireplace?” title is from “baby it’s cold outside!” the idea of vampires being able to eat red food comes from a book i remember reading as a kid, but i cannot place the title, so if anyone knows it please let me know!

Hot chocolate with peppermint schnapps and Bailey’s, it turns out, is a particularly adept calmative.

It’s made the world go hazy and lovely and beautiful, and that’s even before Logan acknowledges the way his eyes are half-lidded and he’s leaning his head a bit more against the side of his wingback armchair than he would if he were entirely sober.

Logan narrows his eyes down at his mug, the one Roman had wheel-thrown and painted him with the chemical illustration of the molecular construction of caffeine on it, which is half-drained, the whipped cream and marshmallows melted, the peppermint stick meant to stir already losing its red stripes. Logan plucks it from the mug and sticks it into his mouth, crunching it, wriggling in the armchair to get more comfortably seated, and to get a better view.

Roman, Janus, Virgil, and Patton have long since been occupied with a board game; Remus left to do whatever it is that Remus does at night, probably screaming profanities at random passerby, so it’s just the five of them left. The Christmas party’s been winding down slowly for the past hour or so, the fireplace still crackling but burning lower and lower, their hot chocolate supply depleted, and Roman and Virgil’s fits of competitiveness losing fervor as the moon creeps higher and higher in the sky. The white of the waxing moon peeks out against the clouds that distribute the fat, fluffy flakes falling from the sky.

The snow catches the light of the Christmas lights hung outside the house (goodness, hadn’t that been a trying day) so the snow gleams in technicolor reflection, the rest of the world lit by the hazy orange glow of the street lamps. It is very beautiful, and Logan, in an unusually sentimental fit that he would tell himself in the morning was brought on by the alcohol, is incredibly grateful to be alive, at this precise moment, that allows him the company of such wonderful friends in such a beautiful world.

What a statistically improbable event they all are. What an outright scientifically impossible group they all make—a vampire, a set of twins that turned out to be a banshee and a siren, a selkie, and two humans. Three years ago Logan would have scoffed at the idea of any sort of supernatural, mythical humanoid, much less even suspected he’d meet them. And now he is in love with one, and is best friends with the others, and his life is so strange, so odd, so wonderful.

Logan comes back into himself when Roman cries out in protest, making Logan’s ears ring unpleasantly, as Janus crows in victory, holding the longest road card aloft, the dark gray seal-skin on his face gleaming pearlescent in the firelight.

“Cheater!” Roman accuses, his voice still maintaining that double-pitch—a high keen layered over Roman’s typically pleasant baritone—that always makes something in Logan’s head throb.

“Just because you didn’t strategize your road properly,” Janus gloats, pointing—and yes, the yellow road winding around the edge of Catan is decidedly longer than the red road circling over itself in the middle.

All the while, Virgil is muttering darkly about how useless the Largest Army card has been, tossing it aside, and Patton looks up at Logan, dark eyes glinting brightly in amusement, freckles speckled across his face like constellations, trying his best to hide his smile around the specially-ordered red-dominant candy canes he’s been eating all season, his fangs gleaming white, freed from the fake teeth Patton usually wears to pass as human, his lips tinged artificially red.

Logan feels even warmer all over at the sight of him.

Patton’s eyes get even brighter, and he flashes a sweet smile at Logan before he turns back to the board game and breaks up the squabbling with patient declarations of “Everyone did a really great job!” and “The fun’s what matters, right?” and being so stubborn and relentless in his optimism and platitudes that Janus and Roman relent and grumble grudging “good game”s at each other.

Patton’s far more patient than the pair of them—which makes sense, as he’s been practicing at it since the seventeenth century, according to all their estimations surrounding the first edition of Human Understanding he’d acquired the month after he’d been turned, in a fit of uncharacteristically dark humor—so he always wins out when it comes to digging in his heels and cheerfully going about something with the consistency of the little bird and the diamond mountain.

Roman ducks out to sulk for a moment, under the excuse of adjusting Patton’s painstakingly maintained gramophone he’d bought in the 1920s—he still has the early prototype phonograph he bought in the 1870s, but that one is even more painstakingly preserved in the rooms full of obsolete technologies, clothes, and knick-knacks that Patton’s accrued and hoarded throughout the years like a magpie—and the sound of Bing Crosby crackles to life in the next room, crooning “White Christmas,” the snapping of the fire providing unintentionally harmonious percussion. Logan wouldn’t be surprised if this is one of the original vinyls, too—Patton’s got loads of vintage music from artists Logan had never even heard of before.

Janus bows out, next, content to allow the high of his victory usher him out the door. He even allows Patton to fuss over ensuring his coat is warm enough to protect him from the snow, considering he’s wearing his sealskin coat and not a proper winter coat, and then even lets him fret over Janus staying moisturized, despite the fact that both Janus and Logan have attempted to explain that Janus’ version of moisturized and the human version of moisturized are quite different in execution, one being smearing lotion all over oneself and the other consisting of sealing himself into his skin and taking a dip in the nearest ocean.

Logan mentally backtracks over the previous sentence and immediately blames Patton for the pun, and simultaneously promises himself to never utter it in Patton’s presence. Patton still brings up the time Logan had accidentally mentioned Patton sinking his teeth into something, and can hardly finish recounting it before bursting into giggles. He is fortunate he is so adorable, otherwise it would irk Logan to no end. As it is, when it happens, Logan can’t summon up anything stronger than resigned affection.

He’s in love with a vampire who is currently fretting over a selkie with the exact air of a concerned father. It’s a fate he’s all too eagerly accepted.

Janus usually gets snappy about being mother-henned, so Logan suspects that either the Bailey’s has done a number on him, or the Christmas sentimentality is getting to him.

And, considering that Janus had one mug of mulled wine with dinner, Logan has a fairly good guess as to which is the root cause—especially taking into consideration Janus allows Patton to hug him goodbye. Janus wishes him a happy Christmas in a tone that is not quite as drawlingly dramatic as usual.

By then, the gramophone is playing a new song, a soprano prettily warbling “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas,” and Roman seems to be over his discontent over losing because he joins in, singing pleasantly rather than shrieking—he usually leaves the wailing to the banshee in the family, it’s just that the whole “drawing men to their deaths” aspect of his voice emerges when his temper flares—and Logan swallows down the sudden lump in his throat at the sound of it.

Of course, Roman’s voice is supernaturally exquisite, but there’s something different about it now; Roman had tried enchanting Logan, exactly once, after Logan had pestered him for weeks out of scientific curiosity, so he can say with certainty that this isn’t like the captivating sound that put him in a stupor with the speed and subtlety of being hit by a train, but it’s like someone has captured the flame in the fireplace and tempered it to a temperature that a human could stand, the cozy sensation of being beside a fire rather than the fire itself, and set it directly inside his heart.

You’re happy, a sober corner of his brain says dryly. You know this, you’re happy.

He is.

He is stupidly, incandescently, absolutely happy.

He will blame the dryness of the room from the fire for the sudden wetness in his eyes when Virgil joins in, usually quite shy about singing, but it is almost equally as pleasant as Roman’s, even though Virgil’s vocal chords (and the rest of Virgil) were entirely, completely, mortally human.

They are excellent, the pair of them. Not just their voices, but them, as people—they are excellent. Logan is exceptionally glad to have made their companionship.

Logan takes a deep breath, downs the last half of his hot chocolate, and launches himself from his armchair, perhaps a bit wobblier than he was at the start of the night, and Roman laughs without halting his song, wrapping an arm around Logan’s shoulder to steady him.

He can only join in for the last part of the song, which is probably for the best; Logan supposes his voice is tolerable enough, but it surely cannot compare to a siren, or to Virgil’s voice, rumbling like thunder. Also, he does not want to make a fool of himself, and surely singing more Christmas carols than necessary while not entirely sober would be a surefire way to do that.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees Patton watching the three of them, a fond expression on his face, even if there is a flash of sudden gloom that passes over his face as the three of them sing “ Through the years we all will be together, if the fates allow,” and Logan frowns to himself, noting it.

Intellectually, he is aware of the various burdens an immortal life forces upon its receiver; Patton has hundreds if not thousands of sketchings and, when the technology became available, photographs of people he had known through the hundreds of years of his life, painstakingly filed away.

Intellectually, he is aware that Patton was the source of unexpected windfalls that had been bestowed on Virgil’s family throughout the years, the reason Virgil and his siblings could afford to go to college; it is only after he and Virgil knew who Patton truly was that they found the reason behind the luck that struck his family once a generation. Patton had once been Virgil’s great-great-great-grandmother Violetta’s dearest friend, and she his; he’s been anonymously helping the descendants of all his friends in a similar manner for centuries.

Intellectually. He is aware that Patton fears the day that he will lose them all, and he will be left alone, unchanged, eternally in his late twenties, as he has been for centuries.

It is different to be intellectually aware of something, and to remember seeing Patton show Virgil the portrait he had personally painted of Violetta and choke back his tears because he’d missed her so much, and meeting and befriending Virgil had been a bit like having a piece of her back in his life again, and getting to know you has been such a gift, such a blessing. She would have adored you, as I do, and then Virgil had hugged him, and Patton had gotten so overcome he had not been able to say much else.

It is this memory plucking at his heartstrings that sends him stumbling in Patton’s direction.

Patton moves so quickly that Logan’s eyes can’t track it; one moment he was watching the three of them, the next he’s caught Logan around the waist, smiling down at him.

“Hi,” Patton says, and Logan takes a half-step closer to wrap his arms around Patton’s neck.

“Hello,” Logan says. He is about to attempt to say something that is emotionally adept, he really is, except Patton’s skin is smooth and cold under his fingers, and his lips are still tinged red, and Patton’s eyes dart down to Logan’s lips and then looks him in the eye and then he smiles, and any particularly subtle ideas about how to probe Patton’s emotions or perhaps to get him to stop thinking about the curse of bearing witness to the passage of time entirely flee his mind.

He barely has enough time to hope that Patton’s mind is similarly empty before Patton meets him halfway, pressing his lips against Logan’s; even though they’ve been together for years, Logan still isn’t quite used to the chill of Patton’s lips meeting his own. It makes him shiver every time.

Patton is always so sweet, so soft—Logan thinks only part of that is that he is a vampire afraid of hurting his comparatively delicate human lover, and the majority of it is because Patton strives to be sweet and soft as a default state of being, because he is a person who understands that kindness is not a state of being but constantly, consciously making mindful choices to be kind—and his kisses reflect that about him.

He almost always tastes of mint, because Logan had established early that he was perfectly fine with Patton drinking blood, he would not be facing secondary exposure to someone else’s blood, absolutely not, he holds a less than zero amount of desire to become an amateur hematologist through taste, and so Patton was incredibly scrupulous about brushing his teeth after consuming the blood he’d procured through a source of his in blood donation.

Patton tastes of peppermint now, and Logan sighs into the kiss, lips parting, and he feels the slightest, teasing pinprick of fangs against that sends a thrill zipping down his spine, and—

“And that’s our cue to leave!” Roman bellows with good humor; Logan turns to scowl at him over his shoulder anyways.

“Oh, you don’t have to—” Patton begins, brow creasing ever so slightly.

“Yeah, we do,” Virgil says, an edge of a laugh in his voice. “Besides, us humans have to sleep.”

Patton usually forgets about this; he doesn’t necessarily need to sleep, but he can. Logan knows of at least three decade-long naps that Patton’s taken; he has next to no memories of the foundation of the United States, because he was snoozing for the vast majority of the buildup to the Revolutionary War and the establishment of the government afterwards.

He is, though, content to lie in a bed he’d bought for Logan’s use as Logan dozes throughout the night; sometimes Logan wakes up to Patton propped up on an elbow, looking at him with an expression in his eyes that is a bizarre mixture of fondness and jealousy.

Patton nods and says wisely, “Or else Santa won’t come to your house.”

Virgil snorts, “Yeah, that’s why.”

“I’ll have you know that Nikolass’ a close personal friend of mine,” Patton sniffs, “and it is a very long way from Gemile.”

“North Pole,” Virgil corrects. “Santa lives at the North Pole.”

“Mm,” Patton says neutrally.

“Patton, did you really know St. Nick?” Roman demands.

“No, no, you’re right,” Patton sighs, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. “Far too late for you mortals. Off to bed, then, and don’t forget to leave him some börek!”

“ Milk and cookies,” Virgil says, he and Roman now wearing twin expressions of desperate curiosity. Logan, who knows when St. Nick supposedly lived, keeps silent.

“He prefers börek,” Patton says, his nose twitching, a telltale sign he’s holding in laughter. “It’s traditional, where he’s from. Leave him a note that old Patton remembers him, it’ll earn you börek points!”

“Brownie points,” Virgil corrects again, “Patton, did you actually know Santa Claus—”

Patton bursts into giggles, unable to hold up the ruse for very long.

“The figure we know today as St. Nicholas of Myra lived in the 300s,” Logan explains. “He predates Patton by thirteen hundred years, approximately.”

“I can’t believe you fell for that!” Patton cackles, eyes bright, making him look as young as his face presents him to be.

“Yeah, okay,” Virgil says, as Patton pulls Roman into a hug, “you say that like it’s entirely unbelievable when you’ve shown us paintings of you and other completely unreal people like Maid Marian—”

“Aw, I miss her,” Patton says.

“— sorry if Santa Claus is too far out of the realm of belief from the vampire, ” Virgil continues to grumble, even as Patton folds him into a hug, too.

“He has also known Marie Curie,” Logan says, still unable to quite believe it even though he’s practically memorized the missives she had sent Patton. “Also, I may have elevated my threshold of belief to include vampires, selkies, sirens, and banshees, but I absolutely will not be budged to start believing in childhood myths.”

He pins Patton with a look. “And I am still unconvinced that you knew Robin Hood.”

“Well, he wasn’t actually called that then — ” Patton begins.

“Nope!” Roman practically yells. “Nope, Logan, you are not going to take the fact that I am one degree separated from the Merry Men, I refuse to listen to you debate this again, Sheriff of Not-letting-Roman-have-this-one-thing-ingham—”

“All of my research suggests the people you knew were imitators—” Logan begins again.

“As a Christmas gift to me, shut up,” Roman says.

“Roman,” Patton scolds.

“ Please shut up,” Roman amends politely—only his tone is polite, as the words themselves and the eyeroll that accompanies them are not particularly courteous.

Virgil distracts him quite handily by physically turning Roman around and nudging him toward the door.

Patton follows after them, Logan a few steps behind.

“All right, well, be safe going home,” Patton says, beginning on his spiel as Roman and Virgil pull on gloves and scarves. “Are you calling for a ride?”

“Walking,” Virgil says.

Patton makes a discomfited noise. “In this cold?”

“We barely live three blocks away, Ed-worry Cullen,” Roman says, and flaps his arms to show off his new peacoat, a gift from Janus. “We’re all bundled up.”

“All right, well,” Patton says, clearly still fretting, “Text message me when you get home?”

“Just text works,” Logan murmurs, but he can empathize with Patton’s difficulty with memorizing certain terms; it’s just that Patton’s are mostly technological in nature, and Logan’s are slang. Back when they first met, Patton still had the occasional slip-up and called texts telegrams.

“Text me,” Patton corrects himself, smiling at Logan and squeezing his hand in silent thanks before turning his attention back to Roman and Virgil.

“We will,” Virgil says, and amends, “or at least, I will,” because Roman was notorious for promising he’d text when he got home only to wake up to fifteen missed calls from Patton because he’d forgotten to do so.

“Good,” Patton says with a sigh of relief, then, “All right, bring it in!”

Logan releases Patton’s hand so Patton can step forward and hug Roman and Virgil simultaneously; Roman pulls a face at him over Patton’s shoulder, likely still stung by Logan’s accurate theory about the validity of the so-called Merry Men Patton had been acquainted with.

Though Logan is the correct one, Patton may believe that those people were the original Robin Hood and his band of thieves, but he was most likely deceived considering the earliest myths of Robin Hood originated two hundred years prior to Patton’s birth, even if Patton protests that the dates of the origin of many myths during his human life are incorrectly cited—

Logan presses his lips together in an expression that is not reciprocating the face that Roman pulled at him. Logan is correct; he can rest easily knowing this. And perhaps Christmas is not the proper time to bring up this oft-rehashed debate.

Even though Logan is right. It should not be oft-rehashed because he is right.

“Merry Christmas, Brainy Swan,” Roman says, stepping forward to give Logan a hug that Logan would describe as brotherly, except he knows Roman’s brother and this is far too tame, even if there is more back-slapping and hair ruffling than Logan would prefer.

“I am not anything like Isabella Swan,” he begins—this is an oft-rehashed debate, too, but this one is far more teasing in nature; Logan, at least, has the retort of pulling up any image of a particularly hideous mermaid mock-up or ugly fish and showing it to him with the (Virgil-taught) response “This you?”—and Roman rolls his eyes.

“Stop denying the Twilight renaissance, Lucy Weste- nerd -a,” Roman says, and reaches out to pluck at the patched elbow of Logan’s tweed jacket, even as he’s hugging Patton goodbye. “You’re dressed Victorian enough—”

“Patton isn’t anything like Dracula,” Logan disputes this time, because obviously Patton would never drink Logan’s blood or turn him without his consent. He straightens his waistcoat, and is about to reach into his pocket, grab his phone, and show Roman the image of a blobfish he has saved for a special occasion to tell him that this is clearly his long-lost twin, not Remus.

He may or may not have rehearsed this with Virgil to ensure a devastating effect.

“Can we please go before you two spend all of Christmas Eve talking about vampire franchises,” Virgil groans.

“Yeah, as fun as that is, most nights, this is kind of a special night!” Patton says brightly. If it were anyone else, Logan would wonder if he should attempt to scan his tone for sarcasm, but Patton probably does think it’s fun.

Virgil steps forward to hug Logan next; a one-armed hug around the shoulders, quick. It’s what they’re both best with, really; abrupt, swift affection that can be moved on from in a tidy manner.

“Merry Christmas, L,” Virgil says, then he steps forward to allow Patton to give him a more substantial hug; Patton wraps his arms around Virgil’s shoulders, squeezing him tight, his eyes shuttering for a brief moment, his face becoming gaunt.

“Merry Christmas, Pat,” Virgil says in a very quiet voice.

“Merry Christmas, V,” Patton says, his voice equally quiet and a touch strained.

Something deep in Logan aches at the sight of them before the look on Patton’s is wiped clean, so abruptly it’s almost as if Logan’s imagined it, and Patton inhales deeply and lets go of Virgil.

“Text me,” Patton reminds them, as Roman and Virgil step off the front stoop.

“I will,” Virgil promises.

Roman’s face splits into a grin, and he calls back, “Merry Christmas, Elena Gil-boring!”

Logan’s head whips around, and he opens his mouth to respond—he isn’t sure with what— and the world surrounding him spins, and he’s weightless, airborne, and as suddenly as it started, it’s stopped. He sees Patton smile at him before Logan closes his eyes, the world still spinning in a way that is distinctly unpleasant.

“Okay?” Patton asks, gently touching Logan’s shoulder.

“Mm. Dizzy.” Logan takes in a deep breath through his nose—the smoke off the fire, the lingering scents of their dinner and desserts, peppermint—and releases it, shaky, through his mouth, before he chances opening his eyes again.

“Sorry,” Patton says, guilt in his tone.

“It’s all right,” Logan says, and he smirks a little. “I’m sure Roman would have said something to interrupt the Yuletide peace if you hadn’t.”

“Yes, Roman would have,” Patton teases, amused, before he blurs for a moment and comes into focus just as quickly, Logan’s empty mug in his hands, one of his many fluffy blankets over his arm—Patton is almost always eager to use his preternatural speed when they are alone in his home. “Would you like another?”

Logan evaluates it; he does not drink very often, but it is a holiday, and he has eaten a sufficient amount and kept well-hydrated today. Though, he does not usually get too vertiginous when Patton moves him quickly, unless they are moving a great distance, he does have reason to suspect that the alcohol is the reason for it today. He’ll have to mention it to Patton; so long as he avoids that, and keeps it to this last mug, he should not face any unfortunate aftereffects in the morning.

“Yes, please,” he decides.

Patton kisses his temple and casts the blanket in front of the fireplace with great fanfare, fluffing it up so that it is at optimum comfort levels, before he unfolds another with an equal amount of fanfare, wrapping it around Logan’s shoulders. Logan smiles at him in thanks, as he knows the blanket is likely for his benefit—Patton frets about Logan getting too cold when they cuddle due to their disparate temperatures—and there’s a rush of artificial wind as Patton zooms to the kitchen.

Logan wraps the blanket around himself a little more securely as he settles in front of the fire, taking a moment to adjust the wood with the poker, listening to the popping crackle that allows him to lean back in time to watch the spray of sparks leap up the chimney. There’s the sound of a needle being lifted off a vinyl, the vinyl being replaced, and the needle lowered back down; Patton has switched them to an album of orchestral performances of Christmas songs.

Another rush of wind, then, a soft tap of fingers at the top of his head. Logan tilts his head back to look up at him.

Patton’s smiling down at him, eyes reflecting the last remaining sparks, his dark eyes catching the light like stars. He cradles the mug in his hand, and, despite the great speed at which he had moved, he has not spilled a drop.

“Here you are, love.”

“Thank you, dear,” Logan says, placing the poker back where it’s meant to be before he accepts the mug. Patton takes the time to settle in beside him, setting a tray on the hearth, before he wraps his shoulders in the fluffy blanket, too.

Logan smiles a little at the sight of the tray. One half would pass as a traditional, human charcuterie board, if perhaps a bit heavier on jellies than most. The other half is crowded with sectioned blood oranges, a small bowl of pomegranate seeds, raspberries, cherries, and strawberries, all foods as red as Patton’s punny Christmas sweater. It says Merry Chrismath! on it, with math formulas sketched out to form the shape of a Christmas tree, which Patton had purchased specifically because the corners of Logan’s lips had turned up at the sight of it in the store.

Patton takes a sip from his own mug—from the smell of it, mulled wine—and sighs in satisfaction.

“This feels very human, doesn’t it?” Patton asks Logan, as if he is asking for Logan’s approval, and in all honesty he probably is; Patton has been undead for so long that the memories of his human life are dim and distant. “Sitting in front of the fire, eating snacks. About to cuddle.”

It does feel rather human—all he has to do is pretend that his boyfriend is a red food enthusiast, rather than, for whatever reason, red foods being passable enough to a vampire that they are the only human foods he can stomach.

He doesn’t waste time pretending, though. Why should he, when his reality is stranger than fiction?

Logan presses his cheek to Patton’s shoulder, for a moment.

“I’m perfectly satisfied with this being a shared vampire-human experience,” Logan says, deliberately misunderstanding why Patton is asking. He likes that Patton is a vampire; it is part of him, it is why they have been able to meet. He does not understand why Patton sometimes seems to act like Logan would prefer a human boyfriend, because he wouldn’t. He prefers Patton.

“Well,” Patton says, his voice almost unbearably soft. “I suppose I’m all right with that too.”

Logan reaches for his own mug and takes a sip, before, once again, pressing his cheek against Patton’s shoulder in a way that presses his hair against Patton’s face.

Patton huffs softly in amusement. “Are you trying to get me to smell you?”

“I find it interesting,” Logan says, and he does; the amount of data Patton can deduce by one smell is absolutely astounding. He has plans for a more specific experiment, which he will ask Patton to conduct on a day he is bored and amenable to such suggestions.

Patton hesitates, just for a little bit, before Logan scoots closer, about to tilt so that some of his more major arteries will be closer to his nose.

“All right, then, for Christmas.”

Patton presses his nose against Logan’s hair, kissing the crown of his head, before he inhales, slowly, curiously, like someone trying to place what’s cooking in a kitchen without being able to see what is being prepared.

“And?” Logan asks.

“Mm,” Patton hums, getting his thoughts in order, before he inhales again, this time as if he is a sommelier inhaling the scent of a fine vintage. “Well, you, my favorite smell in the whole world.”

Logan feels very warm in a way that has nothing to do with the blanket, Patton’s arm around his shoulders, or the fire before them.

“You washed your hair this morning—oh, this is a new shampoo!”

“You didn’t like the other one, you thought it was too chemical-y,” Logan says. “I finished it yesterday.”

“Ooh, thank you,” Patton says. “Not that you didn’t smell lovely without the overtone of whatever phoenix is supposed to smell like, but I like this one much better—ooh, lemongrass? You’re spoiling me.”

Logan grins into Patton’s collarbone; really, only Patton would think that a new shampoo scent was spoiling.

“And the usual soap smell,” Patton says. “Sweat, skin, deodorant, your aftershave. You walked by someone smoking today; tobacco and herbal cigarettes, that’s unusual, those were way more common back in the forties—damiana, blackberry leaf, rose, and,” another inhale, “hibiscus and mullein. Gosh, the thought of those takes me back.”

Logan is about to ask—perhaps a past acquaintance or friend smoked something similar in those days—but Patton moves on without ruminating on it further, which makes Logan feel an odd prick of pride; nostalgia has been one of Patton’s greatest strengths, true, but also one of his greatest downfalls.

“Did you have tacos for lunch yesterday? I can smell the spicy salsa still.”

“You cannot,” Logan says, still stunned, even after years, at the amount of things Patton can detect. He’s probably smelling the capsaicin in his salsa, for one, but Patton can also smell certain chemicals the body produces: illness, for example, but also things like cortisol and oxytocin.

“Mhm, makes my nose itch a little. And I can smell the stuff we had at the party, and for dinner last night and breakfast this morning, so it wouldn’t be as fun for you if I listed that off...” Another inhale. “Oh, and I can tell you’re a little tipsy.”

“I think that’s probably why I got dizzy when you ran with me earlier.”

Patton kisses his forehead as a form of apology. “And. You’re happy.”

Logan pulls back just enough, just so he can look Patton in the eyes.

There are a great many supposed vampire stories that claim to know the color of a vampire’s eyes; blood red, commonly, but yellow or gold were popular ideas, as well. Silver, sometimes. Almost always, the presumed color was a color not found in nature.

Patton’s eyes are so dark a brown they are practically black, the iris near indistinguishable from his pupil unless someone was shining a direct light at them. They were the same color when he was human, Patton thinks; he has an illustration of his mother hidden away upstairs, and they are identical in shape and shade. They are beautiful, and captivating, and full of the warmth and love that are so perfectly, wonderfully Patton.

“I hope you don’t have to smell me to know that,” Logan says, and then, fumblingly, “I mean—I am aware you can smell my oxytocin, but I hope you know that I am without relying on that sense. That I am happy, I mean. Because I am. I do not tell you how you make me feel enough and I feel the need to do so now and articulate it clearly. You make me incandescently, impeccably happy. I am deeply in love with you. I could not have imagined the way my life is now, but I do not want it any other way, because you have made my life so much better.”

Patton’s expression has softened, his head tilting to the side, his lips tilted up into a smile, his eyes so full of affection that Logan almost has the urge to look away, overwhelmed. But Logan, bolstered by something —the Bailey’s and peppermint schnapps, the Christmas spirit, his own love for Patton, he isn’t sure which or if it’s a combination of all of them—keeps looking at him, savoring the expression, before his hand drifts up to cup Patton’s jaw.

They lean in simultaneously, and Logan’s eyes drift shut as he presses his lips to Patton’s once again; this time, without anyone to watch or heckle, Patton’s soft lips part easily for him, Patton’s fingers tangling in his hair, and Logan shivers a little with pleasure as Patton’s tongue brushes against Logan’s bottom lip. Patton is always, always so intolerably tender with him, so careful and deliberate, as if Logan is something to be savored, something exquisite and vitreous that needs to be handled delicately, something precious.

Logan tries his best to treat him in kind. He touches Patton’s face, Patton’s mouth and lips and tongue, eternally cool to the touch, with the kind of mindfulness he gives to pipettes and microscopes and test tubes, as if touching Patton in a way that is any less than the amount of devotion and love Patton deserves will irrevocably contaminate the results of his hypothesis.

But then Patton’s tongue brushes against his own, and Logan gasps, and he moves to kiss Patton with the devotion and love and passion that ignites in Logan’s stomach, burning hotter than a Yule log, his heartbeat thudding rapidly in his ears, and Logan presses himself even closer to Patton, so wonderfully chilled to the touch, the only thing that could temper the heat flaring to life in Logan’s stomach to something bearable, the only thing that brings balance, something as undeniably well-paired as the heat source and the heat sink—they bring each other thermodynamic equilibrium, romantic equilibrium, equilibrium in all things—

Patton pulls away, just in time, just as Logan needs to break away to gulp in a breath that Patton does not need to take, and Logan looks at Patton, whose eyes are flaring with their own kind of heat.

“I love you too,” Patton says, and he presses his forehead to Logan’s, inhaling deeply; Logan wonders if his body has started producing dopamine and norepinephrine and serotonin and vasopressin, if Patton can smell it.

“I love you so much,” Patton says again, his voice trembling with the weight of it.

Patton wraps his arms around Logan’s waist, pulling him into his lap, and Logan wraps his arms around him. Patton cuddles closer, rubbing his cheeks against Logan’s hair almost like a cat.

“I love you too,” Logan says, “I love you.”

Patton bundles the blanket around them, the fire crackling and the ebb and flow of string music in the background, and Logan presses a kiss to Patton’s cheek.

“I love you,” Patton repeats.

I love you, I love you, I love you, they whisper at each other, wrapped up in a blanket until the fire sputters down to embers, Patton’s cold skin keeping Logan from overheating, the pair of them exchanging kisses that only slightly tip into overly passionate, always returning to holding each other, cuddling in front of the fire, even as Logan’s eyelids slip lower and lower as the moon rises higher and higher in the sky, so comfortable and so adored and so absolutely, completely sated that he cannot help but drift off in the comfort of it, one thing ringing in his ears that carries him off to a deep, dreamless sleep.

I love you, I love you, I love you.

#my post #text #my fic #my fanfiction #sanders sides fanfiction #logicality

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ent-maiden · 9 months

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#The four conspirators #a conspiracy unmasked #lotr fanart #lotr #tolkien #fredegar bolger #samwise gamgee #pippin took #nicolas cage #oops i mean #merry brandybuck #i kept erasing his face and trying to draw anything but nicolas cage #but it kept coming back #i can never draw merry consistently #fatty bolger #he's holding a glass of wine because fancy #not for a legitimate reason #my art #ent tag

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northern-passage · 3 years

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speaking of boots and fashion and the like, in the character art, we see Lea wearing a white shirt and a vest (?), but during the prologue it's mentioned they also wear a jacket, what would that look like? 🤔

no idea LOL i'm really bad at outfit design, to be honest. i never expected people to consistently draw lea in that vest but it has been very cool to see (especially since people draw it way better than me lmao) and i figure they would typically wear that vest-long sleeve shirt combo when it's warmer. in game i imagine they're already wearing a gambeson or just some kinda warm/padded tunic & then just a plain black button up jacket w a high collar. i also like the idea of it maybe having a little cape that goes over the shoulders & arms.

but honestly you all can go wild when it comes to imagining the clothes, really. i just tend to favor certain colors for each character, so green & blue for noel, blue & black for lea, blue & pink & purple & gold for clementine bc they're extra, and usually earth tone colors for merry.

#tbf merry just has like. a stereotypical pirate outfit i feel #tho she does have the padded and fur-lined doublet thing #underneath her pirate jacket lmao #ask #anonymous

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gxldenflower · 3 years

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Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas (Vision x Reader)

NOTE: Originally posted on my ao3, supposedly_archer, on December 25th, 2020. Both the summary and A/N are copied & pasted

Summary: Vision makes the holidays a little bit better

A/N: Merry Christmas!! I hope that you're all staying safe and staying home! Please enjoy this Christmas fluff that I wrote all in one day because I realized that I had nothing prepared for Christmas:)

Warnings: Mentions of COVID, light angst

Word Count: 1,267

Gender Neutral Reader

Spending the holidays without your family was odd, to say the least.

As much as you complained about the travel, the weather, and the loud and noisy house, you missed it. You’d never thought that you would miss it, but here you were. Stuck. Thousands of miles away from home.

But, you considered yourself lucky. At least you still had Vision, who was currently doing his best to untangle the cat from the Christmas tree. You laughed and went over to help him as Peanut yowled angrily.

After a couple of scratches to your hand, you and Vision are able to get the cat out of the tree. He runs off, presumably to hide under your bed. You shake your head, laughing. “I don’t think he likes the tree that much,” Vision says, laughing along with you.

Your laughter dies down though when you spot an old ornament hanging from one of the branches. You feel a sudden ache in your chest as you pick it up and hold it gently in your palm. It was a simple clay snowman, one you had made in 2nd grade. On the back, “I luv u mom” was written in sharpie.

You stare down at it and feel tears well up in your eyes. You hadn’t meant to become so emotional so suddenly, but you missed your mom terribly and hated that you weren’t able to spend Christmas with her.

You feel Vision place a hand on your shoulder. “Are you alright, Y/N?” He asks you quietly, and you shake your head no as tears begin to fall. You clutch the snowman tightly to your chest as Vision pulls you into a hug.

You sob, burying your face into his shoulder. “I miss her,” you cry out, shoulders shaking. Vision shushes you, petting your head with one hand and rubbing your back with the other.

“I know, I know,” he whispers, doing his best to comfort you. You sob harder, tightening your grip around the ornament.

Once your tears have dried up and the shaking in your shoulders has stopped, you pull back, and Vision cups your face in his hands. You sniffle and can feel snot running down from your nose.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, crossing your arms over your chest.

Vision shushes you again. “There’s nothing to be sorry for. You’re perfectly fine, Y/N.”

You nod, and Vision lets go of you to go and grab a tissue from the cardboard box that sits next to the TV. He hands it to you, and you wipe your face clean.

“I’ll make you some hot chocolate and maybe you can video call your mom?” He says, and you nod. Vision kisses your forehead, making his way to the kitchen. You can hear the clattering of pots as you pull your phone from your pocket, pulling up your mom’s contact.

After a long call with your mom, with lots of tears spilled into the mug of cocoa that Vision made you, your mom asks to talk alone with your boyfriend. You comply, confused, but hand your phone over to Vision before making your way to your bedroom and closing the door.

You sat on the bed and Peanut came over to bite your hand, which was his way of saying hi. You pick him up, scratching behind his ears. He purrs and closes his eyes. You smile and kiss him on top of his head.

Once your mom and Vision have finished their private conversation, you walk back into the living room with Peanut in tow. You curl up with Vision on the couch, and he throws a blanket over you before turning on an old Christmas movie.

At some point, you must’ve fallen asleep because when you open your eyes you’re being tucked into bed by Vision. You smile, then yawn as Vision pulls the covers over you before kissing you on the nose. You fall back asleep soon after.

***

The next couple of days passed by with nothing out of the ordinary. You called your mom every day, and there was no private conversation between her and your boyfriend again. You were curious as to what it was about, but it slipped into the back of your mind as Christmas drew nearer.

On Christmas Eve, you and Vision sat on the floor next to the tree with your mom on a video call. Your family had a tradition of opening presents that consisted of pajamas every year. Vision had been incredibly confused by this when you had brought him home for his first Christmas that he spent with you, but was also delighted.

You and your mom watched on as he carefully unwrapped the polar bear patterned wrapping paper. Vision unfolded the pajama pants and held them up in front of him so both you and your mom could see. They were covered in small drawings of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.

When he brought them down to his lap, he was smiling and shaking his head. It was originally an insult of sorts that came from your aunt when you spent your first Christmas as a couple together. But, it turned into an inside joke between you, your mom, and Vision.

Once you and your mom finished opening your pajamas, you wished each other a Merry Christmas before ending the video call. You realized afterward how tired you were and fell asleep soon after you’d gotten changed.

***

Vision woke you up around 9 am, stating that he could no longer wait. After taking a few moments to fully wake up, the excitement hit you and you jumped out of bed, racing toward the Christmas tree.

Peanut joined you and Vision as you unwrapped the gifts that you had gotten for each other. Vision had gotten you a new blanket, journal, a couple of CDs, and a set of wireless earbuds. You’d gotten him a couple of new cookbooks, a wristwatch, a few new sweaters, and a 9x9 Rubix cube.

Once the wrapping paper had all been thrown away and the cat was happily napping on the couch, you went over and grabbed the two stockings that hung in front of the TV.

You handed Vision the one that had a large embroidered V on it and you held onto your own. You both rummaged through and found the little trinkets that you’d left in each other's stockings.

Finally, you’d hit the bottom of the stocking when you found a small box. Confused, you pulled it out and held it in the palm of your hand. “What’s this?” You ask Vision.

Without answering, he takes it from you, standing up from the couch where you were both sitting on and kneeling in front of you on one knee. You stare at him, knowing where this was going but not knowing how to react.

“Y/N,” Vision starts, “I know that this year wasn’t what any of us had expected and that we were supposed to be with your family this year. But, I know that I want to spend every moment with you, and I never want to be without you.”

He opens the box, revealing your mother’s wedding ring. “Will you marry me?”

You nod wildly, not trusting yourself to speak. Vision grabs your left hand and slips on the ring. Your hands are shaking wildly and you throw yourself at Vision, causing him to fall back onto the floor. You both laugh and you hover over Vision, smiling like a madman.

“I love you, Vision.” You tell him breathlessly.

He smiles, “I love you, too.”

Vision Taglist: @ineffablebean @marvelsbanner @9zoria9 @kawaiiusagichansan @therookie @silverdragonoid @themarvelousb

All of Marvel Taglist: @hawkmoony @romanoffbby

#vision #vision x reader #wandavision #wandavision x reader #marvel

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aceofspadegrass · 3 years

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Can you write a fic about the AIB cast having a sleepover in the mansion that they all bought so that they could all live in there like a family...yes the dog trio will be in here too thank you very much.

Like one faithful day,Kento decided that everyone needs a break from their career...so? Why not a sleep over he says?. There will be board games (specifically family board games,Uno and Manolo-) and chaos!

Nijiro will constantly sometimes get scolded by Aoyagu sho(aguni) because he what been playing PUBG too much on his phone.

The mother of this family?: Nobuaki of course!

How about the father?: Aoyagi!

And now it's all up to you on what's gonna happen next :3!!

Cast Sleep

Characters: Yamazaki Kento, Sakurada Dori, Murakami Nijiro, Aoyagi Sho, Kaneko Nobuaki, Miyoshi Ayaka, Tsuchiya Tao, and Asahina Aya

Genre: Fluff. Just a section of the cast vibing in a brief sleepover. :D

1.3k words

Here it is! A sleepover without the sleep? So scandalous, I know, but a dash of marshmallows and UNO should do the trick. :D They're just vibing. :3

The idea came to their director one day, after the success of Alice in Borderland, and how well everyone was interacting with each other. In a moments time, they were all ushered to take their cars to drive to a mansion that they all chose together, some carpooling to save gas.

The first group contained the girls, Asahina and Miyoshi climbing out the front while Tsuchiya came out the back, her dog hopping out with her with a happy bark to be let out of the car. They settled in first, Asahina and Tsuchiya marveling at how huge and pretty everything was, Miyoshi dragging in their luggage and bringing them up to their rooms. Apparently she didn’t take that long, as when Miyoshi came back the other girls were still talking about the decorative fish tank with fake fishes swimming about, Tsuchiya pointing out how cute the little robots were. Misao trots up to Miyoshi wanting pats, Miyoshi smiling at the poodle and petting Misao as much as the little pooch wanted.

Not much later, came Sakurada with his group, consisting of Yamazaki and Murakami, the latter playing games on his phone while listening to music. Tsuchiya opens the door to greet them, Yamazaki leaving the car and running up to greet her. Sakurada pokes his head to look at Murakami, the younger of the two humming quietly to himself. Fanta, Sakurada’s dog, was napping peacefully on his lap, apparently freed by either of the two men at some point. Sakurada chuckles and taps Murakami on the leg, Murakami looking up with wide eyes, pulling the earphones from his ears. “ Hm? Are we there yet?

“ Mmhmm! Let’s go!” Sakurada opens his door and gets out, Murakami (and a freshly awoken Fanta) following behind him and entering the house. They too greet the girls, Yamazaki heading outside with Tsuchiya to grab the trio’s luggage. By the time they get it in, another car pulls up, and out came the rest of the group, Kaneko excitedly waving at everyone with Aoyagi not that far behind.

“ Hello everybody!” Kaneko greets as he comes up to the mansion with his luggage, and besides him was Merry, who was casually trotting besides him. Sakurada kneels down to greet the dog, Merry coming up and getting her daily pats with a happy tail wag.

“ Why do you have Yanagi’s dog?” Asahina asks, watching Misao bound up to Merry and give a doggy greeting, Fanta busy playing with Murakami.

Kaneko just smiles, and points back out the door, Yanagi coming out from the backseat with a whole load of bags. “ We buried him in stuff by accident, so Merry was sitting up front with us!” “ We’re coming in-“ Aoyagi’s voice appears from behind Kaneko, Kaneko quick to move out of the way as the guy came in, followed shortly by Yanagi carrying as much bags as he could, only tilting his head in greeting as he walked by to drop the bags down somewhere. The others move out to help bring the rest, which all seemed to just hold foodstuffs. It made sense, of course, they needed food after all.

The group all eventually settle, dispersing within the house to get comfortable with the new living situation, Murakami sticking himself in the living area with all three dogs happily settling themselves around him. Sakurada found it rather sweet, even if Murakami himself didn’t seem to want to pay them much attention at the moment. His attention was instead watching penguins, a perfectly valid reason to be engrossed.

Months pass, and they have been busy, doing their work and being the absolute stars that they were. Not a moment where they could get together and relax like the family they ended up making within this circle.

So Yamazaki comes up with a plan.

“ How about we all have a sleepover? It’ll be fun!” Yamazaki chirps as they all had dinner around the table, Asahina gasping a little, a smile slowly forming on her face.

“ That sounds really fun, actually! Oooh, can we roast marshmallows?” “ Isn’t that for camping?” Yanagi questions with a confused look, Asahina shrugging.

“ Marshmallows can be for any occasion if you try hard enough! It’s only this one time after all!”

Kaneko hums, drumming his fingers on the table. “ You’re not wrong! Okay! Let’s do it!” Yamazaki cheers a little, along with Asahina, Tsuchiya, and even Fanta, who seemed to have picked up the excited energy and gave a little bark in response.

After dinner they all go to grab their pyjamas, Aoyagi grabbing basic family games for them to play whenever they felt like it, setting them up in the living room as the others start to come in, apparently very excited about hanging out in a much more loose way and relaxing.

But apparently relaxing and this group never mixed long, as not long after, Aoyagi was practically watching the most intense game of UNO, Kaneko, Yanagi, and Miyoshi all staring each other down with cards in hand, all of them putting down Draw 2 cards one after another, Yamazaki just watching them go at it for a good while before Kaneko lightly threw his hand up when he ran out, Yamazaki giving him a look of pity as Kaneko was given 24 new cards to deal with. Not that far away, Sakurada was focused on a game of Jenga with Asahina, the two joking all the while as they tried to not topple the tower.

Tsuchiya was currently playing with the dogs, the three running after a ball she threw with excited barks and paws padding along the ground. Murakami was just sitting on the couch playing a game on his phone, Aoyagi occasionally giving him looks as he pretty much didn’t join in on the festivities of family sleepover night. At the very least he seemed to be okay with being there, the man fully free to have left to go to bed at any time.

The sweet sound of blocks hitting table and Asahina letting out a sound of surprise and disappointment catches a few of the other’s attention, Sakurada getting excited and shouting, Yamazaki clapping for his friend while Asahina dramatically flops over in defeat. Misao comes over to her and barks, tail wagging curiously and getting faster when Asahina pets the dog.

“ Thank you Misao, at least someone here supports me in my loss.” Asahina mumbles, picking up the dog and plopping Misao on her chest, Misao yipping.

“ Aww, no doggy love for me?” Sakurada places a hand on his heart, pouting in jest. Fanta appears from nowhere upon seeing Sakurada look sad, clamoring onto his lap and barking. Sakurada gasps with a dramatic air, smiling and happily petting his dog. “ Never mind! I got Fanta!”

Yamazaki chuckles, only to pause as suddenly a card flies down in front of him, Yamazaki looking over to where the UNO players where, Aoyagi meeting eyes with him as Kaneko continuing to fling cards into the sky.

“ Oh hey, this is actually pretty fun! You must’ve had fun doing this, huh Murakami?” Murakami looks up from his game upon his name being called, trying to see what was going on. “ Wh- Hm? Oh, uh…. yeah! It was pretty fun holding that flame-thrower too! Fwoosh~”

“ Playing with fire is very dangerous, you’re lucky a stunt double took in for that scene!” Sakurada says, Murakami humming and going back to his game.

“ Tell Yanagi that too, he set the Beach on fire.” Murakami comments offhandedly, Sakurada looking at the taller male “ For good reason. Very hot. Good for warming up cold, cold hearts.” Yanagi picks up the closest UNO cards around him, Miyoshi helping him pick up the scattered cards. The others pick up whatever landed closest to them to hand off to the two. Asahina leaves a bit later, coming back with marshmallows and a portable cooker to roast marshmallows over the gas fire. Mmmmmm marshmallows. So a successful sleepover, even though nothing caught on fire-

“ Aoyagi your marshmallow is on fire-“

“ Oh-“

#🂡🌿#yamazaki kento #sakurada dori #murakami nijiro #aoyagi sho #kaneko nobuaki #miyoshi ayaka #tsuchiya tao #asahina aya #half of this is them coming to the mansion the other half is them vibing #poor marshmallow it suffered the niragi fate-#they deserve the world #they're vibing together look at them go

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bamfdaddio · 3 years

Text

X-Men Abridged: 1977

The X-Men, those starjammin' mutants that have sworn to protect a world that hates and fears them, are a cultural juggernaut with a long, tangled history. Want to unravel this tapestry? Then read the Abridged X-Men!

(X-Men 103 - 108) - written by Chris Claremont and art by Dave Cockrum, Bob Brown and John Byrne

The fabled M’Kraan Crystal, a.k.a. Everything’s a butt plug if you’re brave enough. (X-Men 107)

When we last left our X-Men, they were being pummelled into a paste by Black Tom and the Juggernaut at the ancestral Cassidy Keep. Only Nightcrawler was out of their clutches, because he was saved by elves. (All Irish keeps have elves, plz don’t question it.) Apparently, Juggernaut and Black Tom have been holding the inhabitants of the castle hostage under the orders of Eric the Red. Black Tom plans to mindrape the X-Men to lure Charles to Ireland to kill him, which… er… Wouldn’t it be easier to go back to the USA now that Charles is mostly unprotected? Most of the the X-Men are in Oire right now!

Nightcrawler incidentally discovers he turns invisible in the shadows, and it makes total sense that he only realizes this now, because they have no shadows in Germany. Eh, nobody remembers he has this power these days anyway, so! Moving briskly on!

Kurt surprises the gay villainous duo by pretending to be a surprisingly spry Xavier. (Image inducer ftw.) While trying to turn Nightcrawler into a smear of blue fuzz, Juggernaut punches through a wall, exposing Storm to the sky and releasing her from the tight grip of her claustrophobia.

Very few things fill me with more delight than seeing Storm doing loop-de-loops. (X-Men 103)

Storm frees the rest of the X-Men. In the final battle, Banshee tussles with Tom, tossing him off the ramparts and straight into the choppy ocean. Even though tossing a villain into the water is an absolutely sure-fire way to guarantee they'll survive, Juggernaut jumps in after him, desperate to save his boyfriend. Friend. Whatever.

Hilariously, the people at marvel.fandom hate this issue and plotline, saying it’s more riddled with plot holes than Swiss cheese. For example, the elves reveal Wolverine’s real name - Logan - which… “This issue implies that the leprechauns have some prior knowledge of, and even a connection to Wolverine. This plot point, however, was completely dropped and never referenced again (which is probably for the best, considering how goofy it is.)”

I mean, they’re not wrong.

So. Hey. You ready for things to get weird?

Moira has received a VAGUE BUT DISTRESSING call for help from Muir Isle. Off-screen she got upgraded to being an associate at Edinburgh University who owns a lab in Scotland. She left some dude named Jamie Madrox in charge, which - Moira, you have a Phd, you should be able to tell that Madrox is an absolute (entertaining) mess of a person.

Also super surprised that Jamie Madrox was conceived in the seventies, but whatever.

In order to check out the lab, the X-Men rent a hovercraft, which explodes just off the shore of Muir Isle.

Get a bucket and a mop for this wet-ass fuzzy. (X-Men 104)

They are beset on all sides, before being pulled into the laboratory by… MAGNETO?

Magneto accusing anybody other than Dr. Doom or Namor of all-consuming arrogance shows us that self-awareness can’t be taught. (X-Men 104)

Cyclops arrives by airplane, reuniting with the team, while also talking to Moira and Madrox. Absolutely bonkers revelations are made in the space of three pages:

Moira’s lab is a secret Mutant Research Centre. (uh…)

In the Defenders-comic, Magneto was de-aged into a baby. (...what?!)

‘Research Centre’ is a Scottish synonym for a penal colony for all kinds of dangerous mutants, like baby Magneto, Dragonfly, Unus and the mysterious Mutant-X. (...what?!)

Moira quite cavalierly experiments on prisoners and babies. She also has a machine that can manipulate age. Xavier knows and is fine with all of this. (wtf!?!?)

This is such a bonkers, messy way to rewrite both Moira and Magneto. Like, I can’t.

Eric the Red freed Magneto and then used the aging machine to turn Magneto back into an adult man at the peak of his powers. This Magneto is understandably upset at having been turned into a science lab experiment/baby and he mops the floor with the X-Men.

Cyclops makes the executive decision to flee Muir Isle, because they have no chance against Magneto and he now realizes Professor X is unprotected and probably at the mercy of Eric the Red. Wolverine calls him a big fat sissy to his face.

I kind of dig that the X-Men don't win a lot of their fights yet. They’re still treated as relatively unseasoned, especially as a team, and they don’t automatically win at the end of every story. It also gives Magneto more oomph as a villain.

Anyway, when the X-Men arrive at the mansion, they’re defeated by Firelord, Galactus’ former herald. He’s been duped into attacking them by Eric the Red. Firelord is convinced the X-Men are the villains, because Eric went with the Wounded Gazelle Gambit: he even knocked out Havok and Polaris to pretend he was attacked by our merry mutants. (Next time we see them, they’re back to their normal, non-brainwashed selves.)

In her new apartment, Jean is introducing her parents and Professor X to her new girlfriend roommate Misty Knight when princess Neramani (of, uh, space) teleports into the room. And then Firelord attacks Charles! Jean has absolutely zero chill for all of this.

I know very little about Misty Knight, but every time she appears, she responds to anything remotely surprising by drawing her gun. I assume she shoots her paper boy every morning. (X-Men 105)

The entire point of this issue is to show how big a threat Phoenix is. Claremont originally wanted to use a big name like Thor or the Silver Surfer, but editorial nixed that: they feared that it would be emasculating for a popular character to be beaten by a girl. Once again, this proves how badly the Phoenix storyline was needed. Did Jean single-handedly introduce feminism to superhero comics? I’mma say yes.

With Jean distracted and Charles teaching Lilandra English telepathically so he can woo the pretty space-lady and/or get an explanation as to why the universe is ending, Eric the Red strikes, revealing himself to be: SHAKARI.

Yeah, no, I don’t recognize the name either, but the dude’s been working on this reveal for a while, so just let him have it.

He absconds with Lilandra through the Stargate and switches it off, just as the X-Men arrive. Jean casually turns it back on and because the Professor is all, “we’ve got to save her! I mean the universe!”, the X-Men jump through the gate.

Jean’s parents are all out of wtfs to give.

We take a break from Shi´Ar shenanigans with an inconsequential filler issue, where we flashback to Xavier while he was being driven crazy by his Space Trek dreams. It’s established that Moira and Xavier are ex-lovers and that Xavier’s melodramatic subconscious wants to kill the new X-Men. (Probably not for real, but who knows.) Next!

Still a better villain than Onslaught. (X-Men 106)

Anyway, the X-Men find themselves surrounded by aliens in front of the ginormous M’Kraan Crystal. The Shi’Ar are all: ‘dafuq you’re doing here’, Cyclops is all: ‘We’re here for Lilandra’, and the Shi’Ar are all: ‘You mean our prisoner and rogue princess?’ Scott decides that gathering more information is for losers and starts blasting, triggering a fight with the Imperial Guard.

Lilandra, meanwhile, is in the hands of Shakari and her big brother, Emperor D’Ken. He releases some nebulously defined monster - a Soul Drinker - to kill Lilandra. Nightcrawler saves her from its murderous clutches by teleporting two people for the very first time. Lilandra doesn’t barf up her insides, which is apparently a test of character, and proceeds to explain what’s what.

First, she tells the X-Men that she felt Professor Xavier when he was doing the telepathic care bear attack against the Z’Nox way back in the sixties and that she felt instantly drawn to him. She also explains that she’s D’Ken’s younger sister and leading a rebellion against her mad, power hungry brother. Why is he mad? Well...

The X-Men vs. Astrology! Riveting. (Still a better villain than Onslaught.) Although, “I’m a Pisces” sounds a lot lamer than “I was born under the Nine Death Stars. (X-Men 107)

The guy in the mohawk is Gladiator, he is consistently the worst. Even when Lilandra reveals that opening that gate triggers the End of All That Is, he’s still all: “Juuust following orders.”

The Imperial Guard goes in for a smackdown, but the X-Men are fortunately saved by the Starjammers. (Space pirates, not an 80’s rock group.) They are:

Corsair, a debonair dude with one golden earring. Pretty obviously a human.

Raza, cyborg with a temper and somehow bald whilst rocking a ponytail.

Ch’od, lizard creature. Has a white fluffy spider monkey-thing that I don’t recognize and but is apparently called Waldo Ch'ee. (I pray it just got lost in Marvel history and that it doesn’t get squashed at some point. It’s adorable.)

Hepzibah, cute cat girl with a gun. Involved with Corsair, except he can’t pronounce her name so he just gave her the completely unrelated nickname Hepzibah? Dude!

Jean, having learned psychic etiquette from Charles Xavier, immediately violates their privacy and scans their minds, figuring out that Corsair is Scott’s dad. Superficial telepathic read, my ass.

Meanwhile, power builds up in the M’Kraan Crystal and the universe briefly blinks out of existence, threatening to tear open the fabric of the universe if this keeps up. To emphasize that this is a Big Honking Deal, we cut to Earth where the Avengers, Fantastic Four and Peter Corbeau (rumored to have an IQ over 200) are all: oy, did the universe just stop existing?

That’s Hank McCoy for “we’re fucked’”. Hi Jimmy Carter! (X-Men 108)

Apparently, this is the year the X-Men can’t catch a break, because after being beaten by the Juggernaut, Magneto and the Imperial Guard, they are soundly trashed by Jahf, the Guardian of the Crystal. That is, until Phoenix drops a small meteor on him. In a story beat that I really like, Jahf isn’t fazed at all: the Phoenix, despite her immeasurable power, isn’t omnipotent. Sometimes, you need a scalpel instead of a sledge hammer: it’s Banshee whose sonic scream can scramble the guardian’s circuitry.

Unfortunately, defeating the first guardian only awakens a second, stronger one, so…

Raza decides he’s had enough of this nonsense and, displaying admirable proactive problem solving skills, simply tosses D’Ken into the M’Kraan crystal. Presumably, the Crystal is annoyed at being attacked by someone who also has an unnecessary apostrophe in their name, and it lashes out, trapping everyone involved in their own personal hell. For Jean, this is apparently death, but she’s all: “Um, I was recently deceased, no big deal,” and snaps out of it.

The Phoenix reaches out the crystal, which is slowly cracking under the weight of the universe. (Same.) If it shatters, it will destroy the universe, devouring all . Think of it as a cosmic reset button. The Phoenix is its opposite, a bringer of energy and life, so it might be able to fix the crystal. Problem is, Jean has trouble remaining anchored in this reality, because she’s being absorbed by the crystal.

OKAY. SO MANY THINGS TO LOVE. Even when allied with a cosmic force, Storm proves she’s our queen. Furthermore, other than Jean/Scott, Ororo/Jean might the most fleshed out relationship among these new X-Men at this point. Their friendship is consistently a highlight.

Also, rough, rough day for Corsair. (X-Men 108)

Phoenix mends the crystal with a lot of mystical space mumbo jumbo and… er, that’s it. Cosmic balance restored, she poofs the X-Men home.

Lilandra tags along with them, explaining that D’Ken’s tinkering with the Crystal left him catatonic and unfit to rule. As his sister, she’s the rightful heir, but since she also led a rebellion, she kind of cancelled by her empire. She announces she will stay on Earth with Charles while the Shi´Ar iron out the details of the succession. So, instead of consolidating her power base and claim to the throne, she peaces out to explore her feelings for the hairless pink alien who can peek into her brain. Solid.

And with that final bit of space opera, we say goodbye to Dave Cockrum and welcome artist John Byrne. The Claremont/Byrne-run is widely seen as the definitive X-Men run, so hold onto your butts and let’s see where the Phoenix takes us, shall we?

Didn’t you take Art History? I stand by my space mumbo jumbo comment from earlier, but check out these Byrne-pages:

Chef’s kiss. (X-Men 108)

Ugliest Costume: I have a fierce hatred for the Shi'ar's weird wispy triangular hair/feather/thingies, but those are technically not costumes. So: Lilandra, why is your boob window a bug?

Best new character: I’m not much of a fan of space operas or the Shi’Ar and their extended court, but I do have a soft spot for the Starjammers, Hepzibah in particular. I fondly remember her being a part of the X-Men at some point in the future, although I don't think her actual unpronounceable name ever gets revealed.

Most audacious retcon: Moira the housekeeper is actually an evil morally complicated mad scientist.

What to read: Issue 105, 107 and 108, for all your Phoenix Saga needs.

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