#i think the ONLY thing that i can remotely point to as potentially 'well damn that was a lot all at once'

[novantinuum]

gnawing at the bars of my cage

can we please Stop telling SU blind reactors all the fandom drama and SU crit that came out of every episode so we can allow them to just enjoy the show like a normal person at their own leisure and make their Own opinions thank u

#anyways if i see a SINGLE person comment anywhere from SU s3 to s5 that 'warning the end of s5 is rushed' i will rush right in with #'IN YOUR OPINION' #bc like i know i've beaten this dead horse against the wall a million times but It's Not Rushed Honey it's literally just Fine #it's an Ending #it's Entirely Serviceable #rushed would be if steven pulled a deus ex machina out of his ass at Garnet's wedding and magically healed all corrupted gems by himself #with the power of uwu or whatever #but NO he has to work for his healed corrupted gems #the ones that caused the damage Fix the damage as reparations for the harm they perpetuated #steven learns he is Not His Mom and gains a more stable sense of self #that's all p good and thought out shit to me #i think the ONLY thing that i can remotely point to as potentially 'well damn that was a lot all at once' #was the new fusions one after another. but like come on. why you gonna be mad about that. just enjoy it and have fun brenda #they thought they literally had No More Story and wanted to leave the fans this one last gift #and instead what they get is fans whining that it's 'rushed' #rushed has a shit ass connotation these days #why can't we just say what we mean and call it 'lean storytelling' #it's all the story we needed to get a cohesive ending but without any fat #and like i LOVE me some fat sometimes #but like!! even non fatty meat tastes good! #my god #jen rambles #edited tags to clarify my meaning ahahah

[roobylavender]

this is a completely random thought but one of the funniest things about comic fans is how they’re utterly incapable of conceptualizing that writers can have preferences and priorities that in turn impact how the narrative moves forward at large but not necessarily in an inherently negative way. like re: whether selina is essential to the core batman mythos or not there’s one camp that seems to believe denny o’neil hated her guts and thereby decided to make her non-essential, and another camp that seems to believe bc he greenlighted her solo it’s obvious he had to care about her but nonetheless took the same decision as above out of some logical reasoning as to her importance or whatever and like.. i think the reality is that he respected her as a character enough to realize there was a lot of potential with greenlightning a solo but he wasn’t necessarily invested in her himself. if you look at the number of batman comics denny has written over the years selina is only in two from the seventies (at least if i have my numbers right. correct me if i’m wrong). and they’re well-written appearances! some of my favorite in fact and that serve to establish she has a potentially very significant meaning to bruce despite that antagonism. but i don’t think denny necessarily had an investment in her to the point that he was actively trying to make her a driver in the major story arcs he oversaw. that on its own isn’t a bad thing, rather i think it speaks to a preference he had with the stories he wanted to tell, which every writer will obv have

having a preference with who you want to write about in comics isn’t inherently bad nor does it act as a barrier to circumstances changing in the future and a writer who maybe does have an investment in that character entering the scene. that’s the novelty of comic writing. so i find it very odd when people use this whole phenomenon to argue as to whether characters are definitively essential to a mythos or not bc ultimately that essential nature is crafted or it isn’t, it can be crafted well or it can’t be, etc. do i think the way selina was written more deeply into the mythos after denny left was well executed? not remotely. but i don’t think that automatically means the way she existed under his tenure was automatically damning in comparison, whether that’s an opinion that comes from the camp who hates her or the camp who loves her. he may not have focused on her heavily in the story arcs he was crafting, but that’s not to say exploring her and her relationship with bruce in any more depth was forbidden, or that it could never have been done meaningfully with respect to her and bruce’s clashing ideologies. the right writer just needed to come around and.. in my opinion they never did after mindy newell left 😶

#i feel like this makes no sense so. rip #but idk this has always kinda nagged at me like damn would it be nice if a writer or editor cared about every single allegedly impt char #obv yes. but they won’t always and that’s fine like it’s not inherently evil unless they make it a point to start being idk demeaning or etc #and i don’t think denny ever was that frankly #i have a lot of problems with him but i don’t think pitting the women of the batman mythos against each other was ever a priority for him #bc he didn’t think any of them should be with bruce. he was celibate bruce stan numero uno #but idk that’s a tangent jdbdjndkdm. it does factor in though #to be deleted

[existslikepristin]

Impromptu Review

Thanks for editing this one goes to momirene and Worldsover, and for helpful beta reading feedback from them and one dork who wants to remain anonymous.

Tags: TheLounge, Red Velvet, SNSD (Girl's Generation), Joy, Sunny, loneliness, potential traumatization of cats, a hoard of hell-themed sex toys, a strap on, a butt plug with Jiu's face in it, and bisexual problems.

The front door of Sunny’s apartment swung open so fast that Joy felt a breeze from the vacuum it left behind.

“Joy! You’re here!”

Joy blinked. “Yeah, I said I would come over.”

“It’s been so long since we’ve met up! Come in, come in!”

“It’s only been like a month though.”

Sunny grabbed Joy’s hands and pulled her through the doorway. “It feels like so much longer than that!”

Joy smiled and took her shoes off in the entryway. “You seem more excited than usual.”

“What? How so?”

“Well for one,” Joy said, pointing at the kitchen, “It looks like you prepared for a whole party in here.”

The kitchen’s island was covered in plates of snacks and several variations of alcoholic beverages. Additionally, Sunny was noticeably sweaty, like she had just run around the house preparing for guests. Joy figured it would be best not to bring that up.

“What? No. That? That’s… yeah, that’s a lot of food, isn’t it?” Sunny’s posture drooped, as if she’d already expended all of her energy on her greeting.

Joy pulled her into a side hug. Her height served to straighten Sunny back up. “What’s going on, girl?”

Sunny sighed and leaned her head on Joy’s chest. “I dunno. I’m just excited. Haven’t had a good social night any time recently.”

“Aw! But what about these cutie kitties?”

Sogeum popped her head out from behind the wall and gave Joy her signature droopy, grim stare without so much as a meow. As soon as Joy shuffled in her direction though, she turned and went back into the living room.

“Well, you know. Can’t really have a real conversation with the cats.”

Joy hummed her agreement and stepped into the kitchen. “I’m always happy to talk to you Sunny. They don’t call SM a family for nothing.”

Sunny groaned, loudly.

“Um. Okay,” Joy said when Sunny didn’t elaborate. “Not a family? Just a bunch of really close friends?”

“Yeah, that’ll work better. Not a fan of the family motif.”

Joy picked up a cracker and chomped down. “Gonna… explain? Family is normally a positive thing, isn’t it?”

Sunny grabbed a bottle of wine and yanked the cork out. “Yeah, totally, for sure. Hey, do you like Chardonnay?”

“I…” Joy didn’t want to skirt around whatever issue Sunny was having, but was well-aware of her stubbornness. “I sure do.”

As fancy glasses of white wine were generously poured, Joy made note of Sunny’s slow, unsteady movements. She worried that perhaps Sunny had already started drinking, or wasn’t getting enough sleep.

* * *

“Can you believe that, Joy?”

“No way. It’s just inhuman.”

“Completely! It’s not like green onions are suddenly more expensive to dry out!”

The conversation had started with gossip and cheese snacking when the sun was high. As the sun set, the discussion shifted to the price of instant meals, and the snack plates were all but empty. Joy had to fight the constant urge to fall asleep, as the topics were never much more interesting than that. But she let Sunny lead the talking as much as possible.

Joy was simply relieved that Sunny called her over before diving into her liquor storage. “You should start a petition to regulate the price. I’d be the first to sign it.”

Sunny’s tipsy grin matched Joy’s. Though the alcohol consumption had been slow-going, they had been doing it for several hours. “Oh that would be great press. ‘Washed up idol upset with ramen manufacturers.’”

With an exaggerated roll of the eyes, Joy pointed at a set of boxes in the corner of the living room, currently being used as a lookout tower by Sogeum. “You’re not washed up yet. Look at all of those sponsor gifts. Those weren’t here last time I came over… Wait, they weren’t, were they?”

Sunny giggled. “No, they’re, uh… new.”

Their corporate sponsors weren’t something that Joy, Sunny, or any of the other SM idols discussed often. There were usually so many vying for their attention that it was pointless trying to keep track. But Joy reasoned, somewhat drunkenly, that talking about it might be therapeutic to someone so down on their social status. “Who are they from, anyway?”

A blush deepened the red of Sunny’s already tipsy-glowing cheeks. “Uh… Nobody. Just a regular sponsor, ya know?”

Joy grinned. “Oh, come on. You can tell me. What am I gonna do? Call a press conference to tell the tabloids who’s contributing to your paycheck?”

Sunny rolled her eyes. She shot off the couch, spilling a drop or two of her wine in the process. From Joy’s naturally higher perspective, Sunny didn’t seem that much taller. “Fine,” she said, wobbling, “but you better not make fun of me.”

“I’ll make fun of you for other reasons, like how much I love you, bitch!” Joy blinked at her own shouting. She didn’t know when the alcohol had hit her, but she was beginning to think that she was a little more intoxicated than she previously thought.

Thankfully, the joviality in her voice seemed to encourage Sunny to play along. She set her wine on the coffee table and picked one of the smaller boxes off of the pile. “Disclosure first! We haven’t agreed to any deals yet. They sent me this stuff to try to convince me to shill it. I didn’t reach out to them.”

Joy waved the disclosure off like a mosquito, but Sunny still tossed the box in her direction. The weight inside of it was awkwardly distributed. Joy attempted to catch it, but it wound up ricocheting off the tips of her fingers and nearly knocking over an open, mostly full bottle of soju.

“The fuck is in this thing?”

“I’ve got some ideas but I just know who it’s from. Open it and find out.”

Joy tore into the box with no regard for the care that went into the packaging, which itself was surprisingly discreet. A smirk cracked her lips when she thought about what sorts of deliveries required such discretion. But the smirk faded right away when she got a view of the inside and realized that the packager apparently had the same idea.

Inside was a pair of plastic sheets wrapped asymmetrically around a roughly water bottle sized blob of blood red silicone. A small bit of pink cardboard advertised it as a five-speed, rotation-simulating, self-cleaning, pattern-switching, USB-charging, automatically-lubricating, remote-controlled vibrator with a speaker at the bottom for replicating a set of desired moans and a specialized charging dock.

Joy cleared her throat and stared at the horrifically fancy dildo, and its label, “Dante’s Dive,” unsure if she should toss it back to Sunny, considering it was clearly a personal item.

Sunny reached into what was left of the box, procuring a pretty little decorated card. “Dear Ms. Lee, we at Second Ring Inc were very pleased to hear your impromptu review of our products on a recent episode of ‘Welp, I Guess We’re Talking About This Now’ and wished to send you some additional items to show our appreciation. These are in no way a request for further public review,” Sunny was briefly interrupted by Joy’s disapproving snort, “but should you be interested in a partnership, we have included a phone number at which I, the chief executive officer, Lee Youngjoon, may be reached. Optionally, my username--”

Joy missed a few words as she was shocked by the extreme sound emitted by the vibrator when she pushed a button on the remote control.

“--is ‘worldsover’. As you know, Second Ring specializes in sexual wellness products, of which we’ve sent you a wide variety. They can be enjoyed by couples, or can serve as a fantastic outlet for power singles like yourself…”

Sunny trailed off. Joy was afraid she knew what was coming. “Damn, Sunny. You say so much as three words on national television and they scramble to get right up on your ass, eh?”

It was too late. Sunny was already tipping up the bottom of the soju bottle. A few drops spluttered back out of her mouth as Joy pushed it back down. “Sunny! You’ve said it yourself! You don’t want to get married!”

“Doesn’t mean I’m not still lonely!”

Joy wrapped her arms around Sunny. “You’ve got me. And a million other friends!”

“Fans don’t count.” Sunny’s voice was partially muffled by Joy’s shoulder.

“Ouch. Time for me to delete my Sone club membership. But fine. A hundred other friends. It’s not just me. It’s my members. Your members. And plenty of others. All of NCT would be--Okay, nevermind. Aespa though! They love you too.”

“But I don't want to inconvenience you." Sunny ended so matter-of-factly that Joy had to pause to process the short conversation.

"You know how… You know how you take a road trip, and there's a road block, or really bad construction, and you have to take a detour?"

"Yeah. I'm a detour."

"Come on, Sunny. What you are is the scenic route!”

There was a long silence.

“Was that the end of the metaphor?” Sunny eventually asked.

“I am very drunk.”

“You’re not that drunk.”

“Drunk enough to be shit at metaphors.”

“It’s…” Sunny extricated herself from Joy’s hug. “It’s okay. I think I know what you’re getting at, and I appreciate it. It’s just that a few words don’t really fix a brain, you know?”

Joy nodded slowly, watching as Sogeum casually stalked across the room. “Yup. But believe me. I’m here for you, at least. So if you need a friend, or some company, I’m at the top of your list.”

The cat plopped herself on the floor, right up against Sunny’s leg. Joy giggled. “Fuck off, kitty. I just said I was the top.”

It seemed the topic of conversation was ready to change. Sunny smiled, and it was enough to indicate her understanding.

“So!” Joy moved things along. “A pile of free, top of the line sex toys in your living room. What’s a young woman to do about that?”

Sunny snorted. “Well I’m not going to masturbate while I have company over, that’s for sure.” She grabbed another box from the pile and handed it over, doing her best not to disturb Sogeum’s new resting place.

The new box took mere seconds to open, this time revealing a black silicone butt plug with a red gem in the base. The casing suggested that a picture could be inserted beneath the gem, and it appeared there was one already there as an example. Joy had to flip it around to a variety of angles before she could make out that it contained a headshot of Dreamcatcher’s Jiu making finger hearts on her cheeks. She cocked her head, wondering if the image had actually been authorized.

Another box swapped between the womens’ hands. It took Joy a little longer to open than the last, but it turned out to be that way for a good reason, given that it was gently holding some fragile cargo: A red-tinted glass bottle of lube, labeled as “Juice from the Fruit of The Tree.” The lengthy product title had a snake winding through the letters.

“Well now they’re just really doubling down on this theme, aren’t they?” Sunny asked as she worked out how to open the next package, using her bottle opener as a makeshift knife.

Joy laughed and picked up yet another, now eager to see what kind of wild object it would contain. “Yeah, they really are! No lie, they’re starting to give me some ideas. Talk about sinful.”

“‘Oh I know,’” Sunny mocked the company, as SM artists often did, fingers still struggling to find their way under the first cardboard flap. “‘Let’s send Sunny a whole pile of sex junk. Bet she’s sinful enough to use it all.’ Like, come on Love-eye, or whatever your name is. What’s a single woman gonna do with all this? Hold up a pillow fort?”

“Hey, maybe he doesn’t know you’re single. Maybe there’s some stuff in here that takes two to tangle with… Fuck. Choerry’s got me using alliterations.”

Sunny barely managed to get her fingers inside the box, but her knuckles were turning white from the tightness of it. It seemed that she had left a portion of the packing tape uncut. “I said I was single on the show, though. I don’t think there will be any couples’ toys in here.”

“Oooh, I’m gonna make it a bet now.” Joy smirked. Her next sentence bypassed her verbal filter through the holes left in it by the alcohol. “If you get that thing open and there’s a strap on inside, you have to fuck me with it!”

A jerk of her arms snapped the remainder of the packing tape. Sunny chuckled. “You’re on. There’s no way it is.”

Joy had to admit that Sunny had a point, considering how small the package was. Surely it couldn’t fit a series of leather straps, or a dildo any larger than a couple of inches in any direction. The little voice in the back of her mind that told her making such an offer was stupid quieted down somewhat.

There was a moment of quiet. Sogeum rolled away from Sunny and made her way to the kitchen. Joy picked up another box, confident that she hadn’t just placed herself in an awkward situation. Sunny shook her head, amused. And then…

“J-Joy?”

Joy looked back, but wasn’t quite sure what she was looking at. It was a sort of mass of black string with some silver discs hanging off of it. Another piece of pink paper fluttered to the floor, where Joy picked it up and read aloud.

“‘The Obol.’ As Charon ferried Dante across the Styx and into the hole that is Hell, so too shall this state-of-the-art magnetic harness ferry our exclusive Dante’s Dive dildo into your… partner’s hole…”

There was more to be read, but both women seemed to get the point. The only sound in the room came from Sogeum chomping through some hard cat food in the kitchen. Slowly, their eyes raised and met. They both spoke at the same moment.

“That was a bet’s a joke bet right?”

Their drunken minds needed a moment to detangle their words into distinct sentences. Sunny’s “That was a joke, right?” and Joy’s “A bet’s a bet.”

Sunny started again first. “You know, we don’t have to.”

“I will if you want to.”

Every sentence being exchanged was followed by a palpable stillness. Joy’s heart beat loudly in her own ears, and she swore she could hear Sunny’s too.

“Do you… want to fuck me with that, Sunny?”

Sunny answered instantly. “Yup.”

There was a flurry of action, though it was slowed here and there by a tipsy stumble or two. Sunny gathered up an armful of the items on her coffee table, both sex toys and the bottle of soju, and sprinted for the bedroom. Joy rushed after her, messily attempting and failing to remove some of her clothes on the way.

Sogeum was spooked by the sudden kerfuffle and fled out of sight.

The bedroom was no less hectic. Sunny dropped everything on the bed except the soju, which she took one more swig of directly from the bottle before setting it dangerously close to the edge of her desk. She wiggled out of her shirt and bra, which attracted Joy’s attention instantly.

Joy struck at Sunny’s cleavage, wrapping her fingers as far as they could go around the legendary orbs, and her lips around one of the budding tips. Their differences in height made it awkward, but they very soon found their way to a horizontal state that eased that tension. Unfortunately, it was not on the bed, but on the floor, but they weren’t about to let something like that stop them.

What clothes they were still wearing exploded off their bodies. Joy’s shorts and shirt, Sunny’s pants and socks. All of it ended up in different sections of the room, thrown under and over furniture.

Joy was no stranger to encounters like this, and neither was Sunny. They had shared countless stories with each other… and some spit. But neither had considered their prior make out sessions to be precursors to explicitly sexual action. For her part, however, Joy considered this one differently, and Sunny’s hands searching half-blindly for Joy’s ass confirmed to her that Sunny thought the same.

Backs arched. Legs ground against one another. Open mouths met, trading the alcoholic scents that the women no longer cared to distinguish. Their minds had devoted themselves entirely to the search for physical pleasure.

A lot of exploratory prodding led Sunny’s fingers to the entrance to Joy’s pussy, failing to notice the number of pokes that ended up at Joy's exit. She took some time familiarizing herself with the drenched outer folds.

Joy, however, noticed the poking at her ass. Her mind swam with serotonin, thoughts of other people, and alcoholic fumes that seemed to rearrange the letters of her thoughts into nonsense. Or possibly into inspiration.

Inspiration relevant to the happenings at the prior year's award shows, that is.

Joy tried to pull back the moment Sunny’s fingers dipped inside her. She had opened her mouth to speak but instead groaned and arched herself further into Sunny’s grip on her sanity. "S-Sunny. B-bed."

At least that message was received loud and clear. Sunny dragged her fingers against Joy’s G-spot as she, disappointingly, pulled them out, nearly causing Joy to scream. The same fingers plunged into Joy’s mouth and quieted her as she diligently sucked her own juices from them.

The action transferred to the bed. Fingers immediately found their places again, and Joy bounced on her back in time with Sunny’s brutal shoves. Packaging bounced all around them. It was like a desperate, distracted game of Vegetable Shinobi for Joy, swiping at the jumping dildo. Sunny’s fingers were divine, eye-wateringly so, but Joy wanted something unholy.

Sunny muttered Joy’s name, catching her attention again. She lifted her head to meet for yet another imprecise kiss. Their legs twisted around each other. Joy could hear the desperation in Sunny’s moans, vibrating all the way down her throat, burning like the alcohol. She snaked a hand between them and found Sunny’s clit.

The moans freed themselves as Sunny bucked backward, almost out of Joy’s longer reach. Joy noted the exceptional reaction, and flipped Sunny onto her back, following immediately and putting herself in the position of power Sunny had initiated.

“You’re gonna fuck me with the strap on… right, Sunny?”

Sunny’s eyes widened, and she grabbed the toys.

“No, not yet,” Joy stalled in her most seductive voice. She slid down, nearly falling off the bed, and wrenched Sunny’s legs wide open with her elbows.

Sunny clenched her fingers around the hell-themed dildo for dear life. Joy’s name poured through her lips over and over again as Joy’s lips poured over her pussy.

Joy had to fight Sunny’s strength to keep her spread thighs from clamping around her head. She wanted to keep hearing her senior beg, loud and clear. To that end, she dug in her tongue, unable to penetrate far, but far enough to open Sunny up and feel the wetness flow into her mouth.

“Please… Joy… I’m close… Joy, please! Joy, don’t stop!”

The thought flitted through Joy’s head, that perhaps denying Sunny her orgasm would be fun, but something about the way she said it made Joy wonder if Sunny’s neediness was rooted in her loneliness, more than in her desire to get off. She shifted herself to wrap her arms under Sunny’s legs and pulled. It wasn’t possible for them to be any physically closer than they were, but she wanted to make it feel like they could be.

Sunny’s voice cracked, choked, and broke into a scream. Joy winced as her tongue was squeezed uncomfortably, but she wasn’t about to stop. The back arches, hair grasping, and pained gasps that followed were worth it.

Joy kept it up until Sunny’s body fell back down and her muscles relaxed. Only then, she removed herself to ask, “Need a break before my turn?”

A smile crept up Sunny’s mouth. Her fingers tightened around the dildo she still had in her hand. “Get… back down here.”

If there was any benefit Joy appreciated most about idol training, it was recovery speed, and Sunny still had it. Joy picked up the strap, quickly figuring out how it was supposed to fit and sliding it up Sunny’s legs. The motion doubled as her approach for another make out.

Of course, Joy was still immensely horny. Her interest in making out with Sunny was overshadowed by her desire to get fucked savagely, but she had the wherewithal to hold out, to let it happen naturally. She was always good at letting others take the lead. Whether they led from the top or from the bottom didn’t especially matter to her.

The alcohol made her more impatient than usual though. She forced herself to wait for the five-speed pounding she’d get, but she ground herself against Sunny’s leg in the meantime. Thankfully she didn’t have to wait long. Sunny threw her to the side and attached the vibrator to the unusual strap with very little trouble. Joy fingered herself as she watched.

“Fuck, yes, Sunny. This is going to be so goo--”

Sunny practically tackled Joy. Their lips collided again, strap hovering somewhere between Joy’s legs, but not close enough for her to feel it.

The moment she did, though, Joy grabbed Sunny’s ass and pulled. The lack of accuracy was made up for by the inhuman amount of lubrication present; both Joy’s and the curious synthetic compound that the dildo exuded seemingly of its own volition.

It was almost too much for Joy. The dildo was certainly longer than any she had used before, and bottoming out at full speed meant it hit her rather painfully in the cervix. She hissed, but otherwise just readjusted her legs in Sunny’s way to prevent the same thing from happening so easily again.

The strap held the dildo in place on Sunny’s body well. Despite its genuinely small frame, it seemed to prevent all wiggling. Every one of Sunny’s movements, including the less delicate, more intoxicated ones, translated to sensations that felt to Joy like a biologically attached dick, albeit with a plethora of extra features.

"You're so pretty, Joy," Sunny said. Even though she was doing all the work now, she wasn't nearly as winded as before. Knowing she’d affected Sunny made Joy grin into another kiss.

“No you,” Joy said with a smirk. She knew this would be good, but she truly underestimated how great it would be to see Sunny’s famous tits jiggling with the effort of fucking her. The sheen of sweat covering them would ensure the night wouldn’t be forgotten, even if Joy had another drink or two.

Joy’s first orgasm struck quickly and unexpectedly. Her breath stopped and a shudder spiked through her body from her core to the tips of her toes and fingers and head. The ability to think normally left her for a brief moment. She only kept the fleeting question of whether or not Sunny was able to feel Joy’s climax. Stars popped in and out of existence, obscuring Joy’s view of Sunny’s fantastic body.

It all faded relatively soon after, but it wasn’t enough for Joy. As soon as her lungs refilled, she screamed, “More! Sunny! Fuck me! Fuck me! Oh god!” She was practically numb everywhere, except for every square inch of her that the dildo rubbed, slid, and vibrated against. Her arms and legs wrapped around Sunny on their own.

Joy, eyes half closed, barely registered when Sunny slowed down to grab and open the extra package. She did, however, notice the sudden prodding feeling at her asshole.

“Sun--”

She couldn’t even finish Sunny’s name before something slipped its way into her butt. Her vision cleared up enough to see that even while she continued thrusting, Sunny had one hand tucked between them, and it was the source of the extra intrusion.

A couple more thrusts though, and Joy was lost to the pleasure again. She started to pant instead of scream or moan, or perhaps she was whimpering, or speaking fluent Polish. Joy couldn’t have said one way or the other. Another orgasm hit. And another. And another. She knew some time was passing between each one, but whether it was seconds or days between no longer mattered. Her mind was fading out of existence.

Until, that is, it wasn’t.

With seemingly no provocation, Joy suddenly remembered Cheungae. She had been meaning to talk to Sunny about him before they had gotten drunk. Her mind wandered, far, far more than it normally would during such intense sex.

Cheungae had taken her out several times since their first, less-than-professional meeting at the MAMAs with Wheein. Even though Joy knew he was struggling financially, he always insisted on paying for coffee, but would give up if he saw the bill when Joy took him to some of the much higher end restaurants.

He was always so polite, genuine, and humble. He didn’t even question when Joy told him they couldn’t be in a relationship, but instead insisted that they could be friends. Joy wondered if it was fair to him that she was treating him as a boyfriend in every way but name while she was still having a grand old time fucking everyone else in the industry. Cheungae knew about it, but wasn’t part of it.

And yet, sex with Cheungae made Joy feel good. Great, even. She could recreate the sensations in her mind for days afterward. His slim, toned figure hovering over her, his face contorted beautifully in adorable agony, his admittedly mediocre cock managing to hit her just right with every move. She couldn’t stop picturing him.

Another orgasm smashed through Joy’s illusion. The mental image of perfectly human Cheungae was instantly replaced with the very physical image of god-like Sunny. As tended to happen, Joy held her breath as the climax coursed through her. Her muscles contracted until she was holding Sunny in a deathly grip.

“F-fuck. Sunn-ny. Slow… slow down.”

It seemed that the request was desperately needed by both lovers, because rather than simply slow down, Sunny fell over. Joy’s pussy immediately craved to be filled again, but she knew she needed to clear her head. And besides that, she still had an odd full sensation. When her muscles relaxed enough for her to move of her own volition, she reached beneath herself and recoiled again at the feeling of a drenched butt plug. Her fingertips carried a puddle of mixed cum and lube back up.

“I’m sorry… Joy… I think that’s all I have left in me,” Sunny said between gasps.

Joy made note of her own throat and how dry it was. Whatever sound she was making while she borderline hallucinated, she’d be regretting it for a while. “All good. I was losing my sanity. That was unbelievable.”

Sunny giggled. It sounded painful. “The vibrator… or the surprise plug?”

Joy giggled back. “The plug was definitely a surprise. Was that the one with Jiu's face in it?”

“Mhm.”

“Cool,” Joy sat up, her head swimming in the aftermath. “But I just think it was you using the stuff that made it so good.”

Sunny seemed invigorated by the compliments. She smiled and reached under the bed, making some noise and bringing up a bottle of water. The two of them swapped it back and forth until it was empty and then collapsed into one another, idly feeling each others' bodies up the whole time.

“Does that mean you’re up for another… night like this? Or day?” Sunny asked as she fondled Joy’s tits. It sounded like she had sobered up, at least most of the way. Joy was too afraid of what she would see to look at a clock.

“You fucking know it,” Joy responded while she brushed her fingers up and down Sunny’s inner thighs. It was a reflex for her to agree, but she cringed inwardly as soon as she did, realizing how much more sober she had become herself, and how she wished she wasn’t. She was thinking about Cheungae again.

There was a barrage of light kisses all over her face, neck, and chest. Sunny looked far too happy for Joy to feel okay about retracting her statement.

“Maybe not right now though,” Joy said, just in case Sunny was already getting ideas. “We should really get to bed.”

She didn’t hear any arguments. They simply got up, and only long enough to flip up the duvet, flinging all of the remaining sex toys off, and jumped underneath.

It took a minute for Joy to realize she needed to remove the surprise butt plug. It was easy enough, and she ended up tossing it to the floor without looking at it.

Joy wrapped herself around Sunny. She was usually the big spoon, not that it bothered her. Sunny’s bare back felt comfortably hot against her chest and stomach. Cheungae liked being the big spoon too. He’d swap with her all the time…

“Hey, Sunny?”

“Mmm?” Sunny was on the verge of sleep, it seemed.

Joy lowered her voice, barely above a whisper. “Have you ever thought about… Settling down, I guess? Just being with one person?”

She didn’t expect Sunny to have an immense store of wisdom, but she hoped for more than what she got: a snore.

“Good night to you too, Sunny.”

#red velvet smut #snsd smut #girls generation smut #joy #sunny

[seyaryminamoto]

Do you think that Sokkla could ever become a thing post canon?

Well... there's several layers to this answer.

Do I, personally, believe that the showrunners and comic writers absolutely could write future content where Azula and Sokka not only interact more, but develop an interest in each other, whether strong enough to become each other's endgame pairing or just a temporary relationship? Why... yes. They absolutely could. Fic writers have been doing it for a while, and they've gone about it veeeery realistically, imo. I don't think it's remotely impossible, I don't even think you NEED Azula to already be redeemed to start a unique personal dynamic between them (there's a lot of story concepts that suggest Sokka could chase after Azula now that she's on the run, interesting things can happen between them in that situation). So, as far as narrative possibility goes, I would say an absolute, proud, completely confident yes.

But... do I think the showrunners and comic writers actually want to do this? :'D

That is, in fact, a whole different question.

My belief in the quality and value of my ship is pretty damn strong, I know it can be an amazing relationship and I've not only developed it several times myself in multiple timelines but I've also seen great fic writers writing them wonderfully, thus, I KNOW it can be done. But something being a possibility does not make it a guaranteed outcome: virtually every ship you can think of is a possibility and it isn't up to us to choose which one will become canon at any point in time. For as long as Avatar is helmed by Bryke and co., I sincerely don't expect them to ever give Sokkla the attention such an interesting ship deserves. The fact that Yang even had them interacting and developing a surprisingly personal rivalry in The Search was already astonishing for me, but as much as I may have rejoiced in it, I KNOW that he wasn't doing it with any intention to feature them as a potential romantic pairing. It's not impossible that the thought crossed their minds, no, but I don't think that's what they're going for.

Which, I suppose, means I should elaborate on what I think they're going for? :'D

We have to think about the priorities when it comes to these sorts of media content: what do Bryke and co. want the most with ATLA's characters by now? LOK is, in fact, a rather easy way to find an answer to this question: Azula wasn't mentioned a single time, Sokka and Zuko got no confirmed endgame pairings, in Sokka's case not even any confirmed offspring, therefore, their futures are complete blurs. You can headcanon just about whatever you want, and that's what the fandom has been doing for ages. Why, exactly, did they do this? The answer is pretty simple: it keeps people invested. If you don't tell them, outright, that Sokka married Suki and that Zuko married Mai, people who want to believe that's what happened will be digging into every clue, every sign across ALL future content to hope that ATLA's three main ships stayed together forever. Likewise, people who ship those two with anyone other than Suki and Mai will be looking for clues to the opposite: why would we not see any indication that those two were their wives if it's as simple as that? Why no confirmation about Izumi's parentage through external sources, at least? Why break up Mai and Zuko in the comics unless it's for SOMETHING?

Alas... it's not even funny how easily they can manipulate a fanbase through vagueness. People spent ages taking a thousand guesses as to what happened to Ursa, and then The Search came along...

... And a preeeeetty big chunk of the fandom rejected the explanations because they liked the ones they'd come up with far better than what turned out to be canon.

The same is basically true to what would happen if Bryke and co. confirmed endgame ships for Sokka or Zuko, or for any characters they haven't confirmed endgame pairings for yet. If you tell the fanbase that Sokka married Suki, the fanbase that didn't want that to happen will riot, rage... and most importantly? They'll stop consuming the content they were desperately scavenging for breadcrumbs of their ships until then. It's not even a matter of storytelling as much as it is of business: keep people guessing, keep them baited, and they'll be right there, desperate for ANY kernel of information that suggests one thing or another, anything that makes them think their preferred outcome is what will happen. I honestly find this practice preeeeetty disgusting, to the point where I just haven't touched anything canon from ATLA since North and South #1 because I'm just BORED of the irrelevance of all the latest post-canon content they've released. It's going to bait, it's going to touch the surface of greatness and never really get into it, and it will keep everyone guessing because, as Mike himself admitted in his pretty ridiculous blog post about why The Search #1 had a great ending, when you're telling a story like this one, you just have to keep people on the edge of their seats! So... no, what they're doing in current times is not about telling the best story they can, it's about keeping people engaged, invested and guessing which ship is canon. The longer they keep up the mystery, the longer they can get away with people purchasing every post-canon comic in hopes of finding any sign that what they want for characters' futures will somehow come to pass.

My point is... Sokkla is, in my humble opinion, the absolute best ship to develop in ATLA. The storytelling potential is immense, I've never seen a ship whether involving either of them, or any other characters, that embodies remotely as much potential as they do. It can reach a point where, if you spend long enough falling in love with their love, you just forget that it isn't canon because it's just that GOOD! And even then, it's entirely possible Bryke don't even know that people ship those two and haven't even considered it a potential pairing to develop in future content well, tbh they probably do know it exists and just dismissed it, same as how they dismissed every non-Bryke sanctioned ship in that pretty infamous panel they did where, as far as I know, they didn't even get permission from fanartists to use their art for a slideshow where they ridiculed every non-canon ship they could feature... only to basically diss the fanarts they used, too? nooot a good look on them, no...

All I'm trying to get to is that Bryke's approval or disapproval doesn't really mean much to me anymore, at this point. I'm honestly pretty sure that they're not going for Sokkla, and it's great to be surprised by sudden things like Azula saving Sokka in The Search, or Azula calling him Socky in that panel from Suki, Alone, but I don't think that anything they've done so far is at all any manner of conscious build-up towards Sokkla becoming canon in the future.

And I'm okay with that. I really am. Like I said, I don't need their approval to love what I love. Sokkla becoming canon in the right way would be wonderful, and yet I know that, if it did, we'd have hordes upon hordes of haters claiming any potential version of the ship is abusive (even if it were developed properly and the romantic relationship itself depicted in a healthy manner), that it's racist or homophobic or what-have-you, and that the shippers are garbage for supporting something that is offensive to their existences because their minds are geared to interpret everything as a personal offense despite it has nothing to do with them. I'm not going to pretend I'd be particularly vexed by these stale takes, it would certainly be annoying, but I'd be happy to block them all x'D and yet my point is... the ship is already incredible as it is. I don't need Bryke's approval to know it. I've developed it for nearly 10 years now x'D I've been working with it for what feels like ages! And I have zero doubts that it's one of the greatest ships there ever were. If Bryke disagree or agree, that's irrelevant to the storytelling quality these two can embody: said quality is absolutely there, and I'll always enjoy developing and exploring it in my content, no matter if Sokkla is not canon and never becomes canon.

... And I know it may not be what you were hoping to read from me? But like I said, becoming canon just... isn't really my concern at this point. I don't think Bryke should be telling a story just because I want that story to be told: if they don't want to tell it, I will do it just fine via fanfiction and we'll all be happier for it. If they're not interested in exploring this amazing possibility, no doubt I'd think of it as their loss because I think their potential is absolutely incredible, but they don't owe me anything in those regards, much as I don't owe them the absolute obedience of only writing whatever canon ships they've chosen over everything else. I can create whatever I want to, and so can they. If, by some miracle, their interests end up aligning with mine, you can be sure that I'll cherish it, but if they don't? It's not up to me to decide the content they made sucks just because it's not catered to my personal tastes.

My criticism of Bryke and their choices is, as best as I can, a criticism of how they could have told their story better (as in, looking at their intent, analyzing and interpreting it, and identifying the issues in the execution of each concept in order to understand why it's not working quite as well as it could be). A lot of that criticism is in regards to Azula, Iroh and Zuko: I do feel that the writing is biased in many ways when it comes to these characters, and I feel the show could have benefitted from a different approach to writing each of them to achieve its goals for all three characters. Not once, though, have I said "this show would be better simply if my ship were canon". Speaking seriously, the truth is that the show lacks the narrative build-up necessary for Sokka and Azula to be in a proper romantic relationship. If they'd pulled this out of nowhere, with no build-up, upon finishing the story or so? I'd honestly be outraged over such a cop-out. If they did it correctly by gradually developing something of substance between them, yes, I'd be over the moon. But it's clear as day that this wasn't the intent of the writers and showrunners, and so, this wouldn't be a serious criticism to make: a lot of people love other ships that also don't have build-up, thus, they're in the same boat as we are. Whether you believe your own ship is better than the others is your business... but that doesn't make your ship entitled to "canon" status just because it's the one you like best. No matter how valid, no matter how complex and how much potential it may have, nobody is entitled to that.

Whatever ships they want to make canon for Sokka and Azula, if they even want to make any, had better be developed, fleshed out and built up properly. If it isn't Sokkla? No, I won't be particularly happy... but I won't feel entitled to rage at them on the basis that "my ship is better" or "how dare you not make my fanfic dreams canon". That's not an actual argument, storytelling-wise, to criticize ANYTHING.

Just... going a little deeper into the "my ship deserves to be canon" debate? I honestly have been in fandoms for ages and seen so many ship wars over "who gets to be canon" and "who's the true endgame couple" and "who should have been canon and got robbed"... and they're always a goddamn waste of time. All the time you waste debating with someone who disagrees with you regarding which ship will be canon will is time you could be spending creating actual content about whatever you're passionate about, or just talking with people who love what you love. Typically, these ship wars end up having a hilariously stupid effect on people: they become more passionate about hating the "rival" ship than about loving the one they support. Yes, I find that profoundly stupid. There's a fair share of ships out there that I dislike and I honestly prefer to spend as little time as possible thinking about them... but, heh, people going wild with ship wars apparently think they're on some religious crusade to prove their religion's superiority? And my god, it's already stupid when religions do it... but it's beyond idiotic to do it over fictional ships whose canoncity is 100% NOT in your control as a fan.

Thus, while I'm happy enough to see my ships becoming canon (surprisingly, it has happened a handful of times!), I'm really not invested in horse-race shipping, as in, placing bets obsessively on one horse/ship and screaming like a banshee over how canon it is, pretending that doing so will SOMEHOW make it more valid and inspire it to pull forward and win the race...! Honestly, I don't even know if cheers have any impact on how a horse runs in races xD but what I do know is that the best stories are NOT told that way. In fact, I can't think of a single situation where a fanbase demanding for a ship's canonicity did ANYTHING favorable for a TV show: see OUAT's ghastly, steep decline in narrative quality and all-around purpose once a certain "bad boy" started to be promoted as the one true love of the protagonist. See Supernatural's 15-season run, where people who loved the show actually dropped it around seasons 5-8 because it was clear that they'd run out of actual storytelling material, but the slash shippers of two of the protagonists were so devoted and giving them such high ratings that the show had enough momentum to carry on into irrelevance for FIFTEEN YEARS... only to make the aforementioned ship canon for 2 seconds before killing one half of the ship. And of course, see Voltron, altogether, and how the unbelievable toxicity of a fanon ship basically drove the fandom, the cast and staff, hell, the show itself, into sheer incoherence.

These three cases of VERY popular TV shows have one thing in common (or at least one) that saw their narrative sense and quality vanishing beyond repair: a horde of rabid shippers demanded to be pleased and the showrunners caved in, destroying their story if that's what it took to deliver something (or to not deliver it but allow fans to imagine it would happen in the future, as the case was in Voltron) that was not worth derailing their whole shows over. I'm not ever, EVER, going to pretend that showrunners and writers have the final say on their content, it's 100% likely that they don't see things the way fans do, and a common person could actually flesh out the content they overlooked (as seen through fanfiction) and develop it beautifully. But, see... sometimes, stories take life of their own and become better upon going off-course. What I'm describing here, however, is not giving stories life of their own: this is forcing stories to adequate to whatever will "sell more". And that concept is basically the annihilation of art as... well, art.

No, I'm not under any delusions that showrunners like Bryke create the stories they do out of nothing but the need to tell stories: these guys need to eat, as does everyone, and their creation of Avatar was a gold mine for them, a very lucky hit, one that they're still reaping benefits for, 17 years later. Clearly, if your story is being published or distributed by a major corporation, you're not a selfless soul sharing stories with the world for free because you think art should be for everyone... but that's nowhere close to the greed I'm talking about in the previous paragraph. You CAN tell a story, earn a wage, pay your dues and make profit WITHOUT sacrificing your integrity as an artist. The minute you start telling a story by looking into whatever is popular in your fanbase, the minute you lose sight of whatever goal you had in mind (if you had any) for your story just for the sake of earning more popularity, you're not making art. You're just making a product and looking to sell it, and it shows in how the quality of the story typically just dips and dies when this happens: I would NEVER want my ships to become canon if this is how it happens.

For me, this is the problem as seen from a broader perspective. If Bryke want to make this ship, or any ship, canon? They have to put in the work. They have to tell the story right. They can't just rely on fanbase thirst and desperation in order to tell a story through silences (which, I'll say, is something that CAN be done properly, but that's certainly not what they're doing with any ship so far) and then call a ship canon without proper, narrative build-up for it. Do I think that there's build-up in canon for Sokkla so far? Not at all. You did ask if I thought it possible for it to happen in the future, ergo, the build-up absolutely could happen going forward and then we could have a great depiction of their relationship. Ergo, I say of course it is possible... but I don't want it if it's going to be something they do at random, poorly developing it or, worse yet, turning it into a joke. The closest they ever came to exploring ANYTHING remotely similar to Sokkla was the horrific depiction of Bolin and Eska's relationship in Book 2... and that was, indeed, played for jokes. And not very good ones, I might add. If that's all they could do for Sokkla? I, frankly, don't want it. This ship has a ton of potential, soooo much of it, and the concept of Azula having Sokka whipped and him being a total himbo to her girlboss is such a light scratch on the surface of the ship that it doesn't really count for me as an exploration of it at all. The point where these two start to see each other as equals even if subconsciously, clash but develop a slow respect for each other, grow to feel affection for one another and to want to protect each other at all costs? That's what I'd love to see. And I sincerely don't think that's a story they care to tell so far.

If I sound defeatist, it's probably just because fandom culture has put suuuuch a ridiculous priority on "becoming canon" that not everyone would know what to make out of hearing someone say they love their ship but doesn't NEED it to be canon. The truth is, for a lot of us, shipping isn't a matter of choosing the winning horse. It's a matter of delving into what canon didn't, into looking for the kernels of brilliance that weren't explored as profoundly as we believe they could have been. And so, we explore them ourselves, or we look for content created by other people who also did that exploration. But we don't need a ship to be canon to love it, I certainly don't. I've loved a lot of ships that have been sunken in canon and it doesn't matter to me one bit that they're not canon: why? Because, to me, shipping just to be canon is just playing a roulette game. You're picking your favorite color, or your favorite number, and waiting for the universe to align so you can get a victory. But there are so many other possibilities, and it's completely possible that the roulette will land elsewhere: what are you going to do if that happens? Switch to the next table and try again? On and on until you get it right? Well, it's completely possible that you'll find yourself penniless by the end of the night without getting a single lucky hit... but oh, imagine you get one! And boy, oh boy, maybe you only doubled your money, but that still means profit! Maybe you got the jackpot!

... And then the roulette table gets cleared. And the next game starts. And that moment of triumph gave you whatever profit you'll be prompt to waste again on the next table, and the next, and the next, all looking for some profit that just won't get you anywhere but to the next table, in the end.

The satisfaction of seeing your ship becoming canon is fun and all... but that's really not all there is to shipping for me. I mean, I guess it was when I was very young and innocent, and then the Bleach fandom introduced me to crack pairings and my brain was blown away by the possibilities of testing random character pairings until you found one that worked PERFECTLY. And that the ship would never be canon didn't matter, because I'd find amazing fics to enjoy and maybe even the occasional fanart to be hyped over, and it's a much more lasting joy than simply waiting for the roulette to land where I wanted it to, or for the horse I bet on to win the race. Worse yet, maybe there's things worth enjoying in roulette spinning or horse racing... but the obsession with victory is so strong that whatever else there is of value in either contest just falls out of focus.

And that's seriously the way this sort of "shipping for canon" mentality feels for me. It's "destination over journey" mentality, too: "who cares how poorly my ship gets portrayed as long as I can say it's canon?!" Is a take I cannot believe is still happening to this day... but it is. I'm not trying to take a dump on canon ships in ATLA, but frankly, none of the three main canon ships in ATLA were realized to the best of their potential and I seldom see any of their vocal fans admitting as much. All of them could have been executed so much better and they weren't. Does that mean they shouldn't rejoice in being canon? Of course not, but being canon doesn't equal perfection, or any form of superiority, and yet that's what most canon shippers appear to believe (and boy have I seen this toxic attitude in waaaay worse ships than anything ATLA's fandom can offer). Worse yet, it's what a lot of non-canon shippers somehow believe too: "if my ship were canon everyone would be shipping it!" uuuh... but if you DON'T ship what's already canon, what makes you think there'd be an unanimous understanding between yourself and countless others simply if your ship had any form of canon validation? It's outright admitting you privilege canon above quality, and that doesn't say anything good about a person's criteria...

Okay, so... to summarize:

Yes, Sokkla could be canon in the future. Otherwise, I don't think so many fic writers would have had as much fun as we've had developing this incredibly engaging, complex and satisfactory relationship in our work.

But... I don't want it to be canon unless Bryke and their writers build it up appropriately and portray it as the complex, interesting ship it can be. If they play it exclusively for the laughs and turn it into Azula walking all over a bland and shallow version of Sokka? I simply don't care for it.

I don't need Sokkla to be canon to love it as much as I do. My participation in fandom has zero correlation with what's canon and what isn't. I work with the ships I work with because I think there's value in them, not because Bryke or their writers decided they were the only ones anyone's allowed to create content for (which, tbh, goes without saying because the only canon ship that has featured in my main story is Kataang and it's not even close to the central focus of the story).

Shipping for canonicity's sake is pointless to me. Too often canon will take a route that isn't the one you would prefer, whether by making other ships canon or by making yours canon without truly developing it in the best way possible. If the only thing that matters to someone in shipping is being able to declare that it's canon, their priorities are certainly not ones I share because canon =/= perfection, canon =/= superiority, canon =/= word of god. If I thought any of those things were true, believe me, I'd live a very miserable life right now and I wouldn't even have received your ask, since I'd likely have never become a relevant enough person in this fandom (and I don't think I'm that relevant, but I seriously don't think I'd even participate in fandom activities at all in this case) to be granted any sort of attention :')

Alas, there you have it. I rambled, as ever xD

#anon #pertaining 'canon shipping' #and why I... don't do that :'D #look it's not like I hate canon or something as basic as that #but someone can't spend almost a decade of her life working on this fandom #as devotedly as I have #only on the hope that it will somehow become canon #when you reach shipping nirvana #being canon is a bonus #and not at all the reason why you're doing what you're doing

[littlemisspascal]

Death and an Angel part 6

Helmetless + Death!Din and Cupid F!Reader

Summary: Three things happen at once. 

He pulls his glove off and tosses it aside. You forget how to breathe.

Rating: T

Word Count: 2,114

Warnings: Swearing, backstory, angsty angst, fluffy fluff, mutual pining finally acknowledged, overuse of italics, don’t mess with Din’s Cupid or he’ll kill you

Author Note: Important please read this! Ok, so if you’ve been following along you’ll know I had no outline for this originally. And well, that’s come back to bite me. I had to make an edit to Part 2, a small one but still the very beginning will look marginally different if you’ve read it before today’s date Dec. 16, 2020. Basically, I took away the implication that You don’t know exactly how You became a Cupid. So, yeah. Hopefully moving forward I’ll be better handling all this *awkward shuffling*. As always, thank you for all the support and I appreciate every one of you so much ❤

Links to Part 1 and Part 5 and Part 7

Cross-posted on AO3.

Photo Inspiration:

Silence floods the ship in the wake of your admission, stifling and charged with enough tension you fear breathing too loud will set off a chain reaction with disastrous results. It makes the hair on the back of your neck prickle, every instinct inside of you screaming to teleport away, if only so you no longer have to see Din stubbornly trying and failing to hide his internal turmoil behind a mask of indifference. 

When he opens his mouth, you tense but the question slices through you all the same. “When?”

You hesitate, making a face. “Din, we really don’t have time for this. Let’s just move on—”

Without warning, the hand holding your elbow slides to your wrist and twists, turning your palm up for inspection. Din stares at the blank expanse of skin, then slowly his gaze lifts, and he releases you as if you’ve poisoned him.

“You’ve never lied to me before, angel. Did you honestly think now was the best time to start?” he asks, and something breaks inside of you when he looks at you as if you’ve become a total stranger to him.

But before any pain can begin to sink in, anger overcomes you as his assumption registers.

“I’m not lying, you asshole,” you say sharply, feeling a faint pulse of petty satisfaction when you notice the subtle way his stance shifts defensively, betraying his surprise at your boldness. Resting your hands on your hips, you fix him with your fiercest glare. “For all that you are a powerful ancient being of the universe, you are also the biggest, most ignorant fool I’ve ever met. You have absolutely no idea how Cupids become Cupids, do you?”

You don’t offer him even a second to respond, too wound up and fueled by the overwhelming desire to make him get it. To make him understand you’re not purposefully trying to hurt him. If it were up to you, you’d make sure he never felt any kind of pain. But that would require having a choice and that is the one thing the universe did not grant you as a Cupid.

“Every Cupid was once a mortal with a soulmate,” you explain, choosing each word with careful precision while watching his face to make sure his focus never wavers. “And every one of us was rejected by them. When we die, we’re transformed into Cupids, losing our soulmate markings in the process.” When you feel your bottom lip begin to wobble, you pause to take a steadying breath. “You asked me before, what is the true purpose of a Cupid? It’s to help others find the kind of love we never experienced for ourselves.”

Din stands there in front of you, still staring passively, and you’re scared for a moment your words have made no difference, but then his jaw clenches so tightly you hear his teeth grinding. 

“You were rejected?” he growls, vicious and guttural, the sound of a feral beast.

He pivots, fist colliding with the wall with enough force it dents the metal beneath his knuckles. You flinch at the noise, shocked at the abuse he’s inflicted upon his beloved ship. Every bone in his hand should have shattered upon impact, but because Death is immune to such damage he merely turns back to you, breathing raggedly and eyes blackened with rage.

“Tell me his name.”

You’ve already begun shaking your head before you say, “So you can go hunt him down? Hell no. Trust me, it doesn’t matter.”

Instead of pacifying him, this only infuriates him further. “How can you say that? That bastard broke your heart when he was supposed to cherish you, protect you, love you above all else.”

“You think I don’t know that?” you ask peevishly, letting your temper get the better of you. Sparing a moment to mentally count to ten, you quietly reveal, “I can say it doesn’t matter because I don’t even remember who he was. There is no point sending you to kill someone who’s face I can’t pick out of a crowd.”

The sudden way Din’s whole body slumps in response to the news, like a puppet whose strings have been cut, expression scrunched and dumbfounded, would have made you laugh if the circumstances were entirely different. Being what they are, you can only meet his stare evenly, silently assuring him you’re not joking in the slightest.

“I don’t understand,” Din says at last, looking like he wants to approach but is unsure you’ll welcome his nearness so he keeps his distance. “You never told me you had memory loss before. What happened to you?”

You shrug helplessly. “I don’t know. For as long as I’ve been a Cupid, all my memories from my mortal life have dark spots, like something poked holes in them.”

Din glances away as he mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like ‘Or someone’ but before you can comment, his tone rises to its usual volume as he says, “Is this why you collect all those old newspapers? To try to help you remember?”

You recall with embarrassment him having previously commented on the pile in your living room. That moment feels like years ago, the two of you sitting in your apartment and Din asking...if Cupids were on the list of potential soulmates. Was that his way of asking if you were on the list? Surely not. He’s much cleverer than that.

...Isn’t he?

“I just,” you shake your head, refocusing on the current conversation. “I keep thinking maybe I’ll find something that fills in the gaps. I don’t like this pit in my stomach, this feeling that I’ve forgotten something important.” You huff a self-deprecating chuckle. “Other than my soulmate, I mean.”

He offers you a smile, small and lopsided, likely meant to be consoling, but you see right through it. You see his pain in the tightness around his mouth, in the way his fingers flex at his sides like it’s taking all his self-control not to reach out to you. Your confession has hurt him. Badly. It’s the kind of hurt no amount of bacta can heal.

The silence returns, different than the one usually experienced during hyperspace in that it wishes to be broken, for someone to say something, anything. You would grant its wish except your thoughts are a jumbled mess inside your head. Deep down, there is a part of you which knows there is nothing you can say that will fix this—this being the chasm forming between you and Din, widening with every passing second spent staring wordlessly at each other. 

Would telling him sooner have prevented this heartbreak? Probably. But looking back, you can’t think of an opportune moment. You had never thought your crush could be requited—not just because you were already matched, but also because it had always seemed so ridiculous, imagining the great and powerful Death feeling anything remotely close to affection for an unimportant, low-ranking Cupid. 

“Angel,” Din begins after a few minutes, his voice anchoring you back in the present. He’s staring over your shoulder, brow furrowed thoughtfully and you can practically hear the gears turning inside his head. “Earlier, you said you didn’t tell your boss I was your client. Why didn’t you?”

“I-I don’t know,” you stutter, before an unexpected wave of boldness comes over you. Digging your finger into the armor on his chest, you remind him, “You came to me first, remember? Not them. So, I figured you didn’t want them knowing.”

“I couldn’t care less who knows,” Din deadpans.

“Oh.” You blink, hand falling back along your side, because what else can you say.

“You want to know what I think?” Oh Maker, he’s stepping closer until there’s only a foot of space between you two. His voice is a low, raspy murmur, sending your heartbeat into overdrive. “I think you didn’t want them knowing because you like being the only angel who does.”

You start to squirm, fight or flight instincts at total war with each other. His theory isn’t too far from the truth, making it all the worse hearing it out loud because it practically oozes possessiveness which is exactly what you’d feared.

“Before you pull away from me again,” Din continues, knowing you and your mind too damn well. “I want you to listen when I say nothing that you’ve told me changes how I feel about you.”

“Din—” you try, only for your voice to crack.

Then three things happen at once.

He pulls his glove off and tosses it aside. You forget how to breathe.

“I’ve been alone my entire existence and I kept telling myself that was how the universe intended it to be. That I couldn’t love anyone because I kill everything I touch.” A smile pulls at his lips when he looks down at his bare hand and a note of awe slips into his voice. “Then you came along, beautiful and clumsy and unafraid to call me out for being an ass. I started looking forward to each full moon because it meant I got to see you and admire every new detail about your life you chose to share with me. And then when this appeared,” he nods towards the soulmate marking, gleaming faintly beneath the overhead lighting, “all I could think of was you.”

You feel your throat becoming thick as you blink back tears, inhaling sharply through your nose. “Why didn’t you say anything at the train station? Why would you let me try to set you up with matches if you liked me that way?”

Din grimaces, abashed. “Because after you said there weren’t any Cupids on your list, I realized you didn’t know I liked you. I convinced myself I had to show you how I felt, instead of tell you. Although,” he holds up a finger, backtracking, “I actually almost did confess, on our way to Sorgan, but you stopped me. And that just further convinced me actions spoke louder than words. I knew none of the people you found me could ever compare with you, so I thought once you saw each unsuccessful connection, you’d realize the only hand I want to hold is yours.”

“Din, it can’t be me.” Your protest is weak, on the verge of caving in, forcing you to try another angle. “I can’t have two soulmates.”

He inhales a breath so sharp and unexpected, it startles your poor heart into skipping a beat.

Din looks at you like you’ve gifted him all the stars in the galaxy, brown eyes blown wide with hope. “Angel, do you mean it? That you consider me—”

“Of course, you idiot.” You attempt a laugh, but it comes out sounding broken and forced. “As Death, as Din, as whoever you want to be, I’ll always consider you. But...what if what happened on Sorgan happens to us? What if the universe doesn’t favor us?”

“I just want to be yours.” Din extends his hand towards you. “And if that means breaking the universe’s rules, then fuck it. We’ll make up our own. Together.”

Time seems to stand still, like you’ve entered a realm separate from the rest of the universe where you’re able to forget you have a complicated past, filled with holes and a soulmate who rejected you. Here it’s just you, Din, and his offer to love you unconditionally. Here you have a choice.

And it’s the easiest one you’ve ever made.

You slowly lift up your hand to hover in front of his, fingers trembling as they uncurl.

“Together,” you whisper.

And then your hands are moving to meet one another, closer and closer until his fingertips brush yours, sending a spark of warmth through your nervous system. Oh, Maker, you had described what you imagined a soulmate connection was like, but you had no idea this is the true experience. It’s like a sunrise dissolving midnight skies, lighting up your surroundings with breathtaking vibrancy. You can’t fathom how you survived all this time being in his presence without feeling his touch.

“Dank farrik,” he mutters hoarsely, sounding just as overwhelmed and awestruck as you feel.

You open your mouth, but instead of words a whimper of agony escapes instead. That lovely warmth spreading from your linked hands has started to boil, white-hot and furious. It’s as if all your internal parts have caught fire and are slowly withering to ash—your organs, your bones, even your kriffing blood. 

Your body crumples and Din cries out your name, but you don’t get to hear him say it, unconscious before your head collides with the floor.

Tag List:  @leilei-draws​, @theocatkov​, @becauseican2, @vintagesaph​, @stardust-and-starlight​, @kay2304, @odelia-d32, @adrieunor​, @remmyswritings​, @gallowsjoker​, @rhiannon-russo​, @randomness501​, @eleine-t1d​, @nicotinebirds, @sylphene​, @softly-sad​, @maytheglitter​, @melobee, @rogertaylorsfalsettogivesmehives, @eleinemk, @captain-jebi, @aerynwrites, @promiscuoussatan

#din x you #din djarin x you #din x reader #din djarin x reader #Din Djarin #mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian #my fic #death and an angel #soulmate au #Pedro Pascal

[leiascully]

Fic: Citius, Altius, Fortius (MSR, T)

This ficlet is dedicated to the commercial about the adopted Paralympian that makes me sniffly every time.  I don’t even know what they’re advertising.  All credit to AAVE for the “hip” slang Mulder uses and basically all cutting-edge words in American English.

The Olympic theme was more of a suggestion than a fanfare, but Scully still leaned forward and turned the volume down a few more notches.  She could feel Mulder giving her that crinkly-eyed smile.  She knew the remote worked just fine over the distance between the tv and the couch, but it felt like it worked better when she leaned.  It was like Jackson and his video games, a sympathetic movement.

“I don’t want to wake Gracie,” she said.

“Good plan,” Mulder said, and put his arm comfortably around her shoulders as she leaned back.  Jackson snorted and looked away, but peeked back at them to check in.  Scully was glad she was there for him, the Ginger from his journals, she and Mulder solid presences in his life, bracketed by the ghosts of his adoptive parents.

“I didn’t think you two would buy into all this jingoistic shit,” Jackson said.

“We are still employed by the United States federal government,” Scully pointed out.

“They’re basically our coworkers when it comes to repping the flag,” Mulder said laconically.  “Gotta respect the hustle.  Besides, compared to a lot of national anthems, ours kinda slaps.”

Jackson winced, predictably, at Mulder’s attempt to use slang.  Scully sensed Mulder mentally adding a few tallies to his side of the imaginary scoreboard.  It was all so sweetly familiar, a song she hummed in her dreams.

“Still,” Jackson said.  “It’s all so fuckin’ rah-rah America.  I thought you knew better.  Like you said, you work for the government.  You know all the shit they pull.”

“For two weeks every two years, I support the finest athletes that wealth, health, grueling training, and the opportunities inherent in living in the country possessing the world’s largest economy can produce,” Mulder said, a trace of irony audible in his voice.  “And also anyone competing against Russia.”

“It’s a distraction from all the shitty things happening in the world,” Jackson said.

“It’s a damn good one,” Mulder countered.  “At least they’re not supersoldiers.”

“Some of them might be,” Jackson grumbled.

“Those abs,” Mulder said, sounding a little mournful.  He patted his stomach.  “I should have gone for the upgrade when I had the chance.”

“When I was little,” Scully said slowly, “my mother would tell me that the prowess of Olympic athletes was proof that God loved us.  She said that their bodies were miracles.  I don’t think about it exactly the same way now, but there is something almost holy about that quest to go farther and faster than anyone else ever has.  In a sense, we fly without wings.  We climb higher than we thought we could.  We run faster and farther than early humans imagined.  We lift heavier burdens.  We test our nerve and our resolve in feats of endurance.  We subject our bodies to almost-unbearable forces and conditions.  We test the laws of physics, twisting in the air or gliding over the ice.  For a moment, we defy expectation, gravity, and in a sense, mortality.  The athletes of the Olympics show us the potential of the human body and the human spirit in a way that our daily lives don’t, and we feel like we are there with them as we perch on the edges of our seats, our bodies echoing their movements as if we could lend them our strength.  It’s possible that sometimes a distraction is a welcome respite.  For a short time, the world is focused on something other than war.  Many of the results may be predictable, but astonishing things happen and we learn to expect the unexpected.  Athletes from nations and peoples that have been overlooked and exploited dazzle us.  A runner falls and someone pulls them up.  Someone may shatter their leg and because of that tragedy, someone else realizes their lifelong dream.  The Olympics are a microcosm of our own attempts to strive for perfection, a supercondensed spectacle that reminds us of all our potential.  In pitting us against the people of other nations, the Olympics somehow unite us in the pursuit of a singular goal, reached by various paths: a gold medal, and the accolades of an awestruck world.”

“I love it when you give a dissertation on everyday life,” Mulder murmured, kissing under her ear.

“A spectacle that displaces the people who are already the most fucked-over,” Jackson said, but there was a little less disdain in his words.  “A profit machine for corporations and a propaganda outlet for governments.  It’s a slippery slope from athletic superiority to eugenics.  Only the strong survive.”

“George Orwell said that athletic competitions were essentially a proxy for war games,” Mulder told her.  She craned her head to look at him.

“I thought you liked the Olympics.”

“I do,” he said, “but Jack has a point.”

“Hell yeah, I do,” Jackson said.

“I wasn’t saying the Olympics are perfect,” Scully argued.  “Just that they could be perceived as creating a net good.”

The broadcast cut to commercial, sentimental strings music welling quietly from the speakers.  Mulder looked away, rubbing at his eyes.  Jackson chuckled.

“It’s that easy, huh?” he said.  “All they need to get into your psyche is footage of someone winning something and some sad music, maybe a Morgan Freeman voiceover.”

“Wait until you get old,” Mulder said.  “Then you’ll be welling up at every Visa commercial.  These ads are designed by experts in psychological warfare.  The Olympic mindgames.”

“They remind us of you,” Scully told Jackson.  “You weren’t supposed to exist.  You weren’t supposed to survive.  And here you are, capable of things your father and I could never have dreamed of.”

“Whatever,” Jackson muttered, looking away and definitely not dabbing his face on the shoulder of his t-shirt.

Scully settled back into the couch.  Grace would be waking up soon - she wasn’t an Olympic-level napper - but until then, she had a moment to enjoy the half-scripted pageantry of the Games, savoring the bittersweet combination of impossible victories and unpredictable defeats.  It wasn’t unlike her own life, in a way: she’d accomplished things she’d never imagined, uncovered truths too painful to endure, run up against her own limits over and over and overcome them all to be sitting here, in her comfortable home, with her stalwart partner, dragged back from the dead, and their miraculous children.  The glint in Jackson’s eyes as he argued with Mulder was more precious to her than any medal; the sound of Grace’s sleepy sighs stirred her heart more than any anthem.  She stood atop the podium of her destiny.

She leaned her head on Mulder’s shoulder and watched the marathon swimmers cut through the water, one stroke after another, keeping themselves afloat for hours. She understood their exhaustion.  She understood their triumph.

“I like the dressage,” Jackson said unexpectedly.  “It looks like mind control if you do it right.  I’m not, like, asking for a pony.  I just think it’s cool.”

“I knew we could find some common ground,” Mulder said.  “What’s your opinion on medals for horses?”

“Horse-sized medals,” Jackson said immediately.  “Bankrupt the IOC.”

“That’s your son,” Scully told him.

“No denying it,” Mulder said in a smug voice.  The broadcast changed to gymnastics and they all sat forward, watching in awed silence, as history was made.

#xfiles fic #my fic #leiascully fic #msr

[flowerflamestars]

I'm in a very angry-with-the-IC-and-Rhys-in-particular mood, and since I'm just rereading Daylight I was wondering, what is going through Rhysand's mind throughout the events of Daylight? Because it's basically his entire life CRUMBLING around him and I'd love to see the mental gymnastics he does to fit it all into his "I'm the good guy, actually" narrative. Or just his general reaction.

this is a FABULOUS question, thank you!

Daylight! Rhys is, in my opinion, the closest to a canonical (pre-acosf) character representation that I go for. He's so SO fucked up, and sublimating and burying all that trauma has, of course, failed, and it's all manifesting, in all these different directions.

To understand the level on which Rhys is losing his shit, it's important to go back to the very beginning: Rhysand, to Rhysand, is always, always the hero of the story. The down on his luck knight with truth in his heart. The struggling, just man.

He CANNOT seeing beyond himself for even a second. He casts himself in the most important role, as the only person whose personal consequences exist.

His mother, at probable great risk, takes him to Illyria to be trained- the precious, first-born, godly son of Night. To learn to fight- to learn, presumably, her culture- to see what that culture is reduced to, a harshness he will on day have the power to change. Rhys had to be, at some point, a great hope for Not High Fae denizens of the Court.

What does Rhysie learn? Illyria is harsh. Illyria is bad. Backwards and cruel.

He hates his father for...presumably, the crime of being a pretty traditional High Lord? Rhys hates the cruelties! the Court of Nightmares! the broken system!

So what does Rhys do when he has power? he fires everyone. He doesn't like them, he doesn't like whatever they did under his father...so instead of hiring new people, he removes himself entirely from a potential role in changing/mitigating those policies. See also: the Court of Nightmares, cowed occasionally, but not in any way governed by Rhys.

But he's the hero! He's destroyed the oppression! His Court of Just his Bros is made of women and Illyrians!

(Rhys removed the terribleness from his direct experience...because only his experiences matter)

So, Rhys in his head: the struggle, the hero, the man just trying to do it right.

Which brings us to Daylight....and Feyre. I know we can attribute the way the characters stop even remotely being sympathetic between acomaf and...everything else...to poor writing, but I also think there's some (maybe accidental but PERFECT) character work there: in acomaf, pre-acknowledged bond, Feyre is an important possession/ally- she's on the same level as the other members of the Court of Dreams, if the jewel of the collection, a high point in the story Rhys tells himself: HE saved the HERO OF PRYTHIAN

(which...let's not even touch on the fact that the deal he makes in acotar is CREEPY and he can only justify it later. she wasn't someone he wanted to work with in acotar- she was a vulnerable, hot young woman he fully took advantage of)

And then they're mates.

And then, slowly but surely, Feyre's personhood disappears. For two reasons: 1) Feyre is on a pedestal so sky-high it blots out everything. Good, pure, true hero Feyre whose adoration Rhysand needs like air. the happy end of his story, the prize and the salvation, the one who sees him.

and 2) ultimately, to Rhys, Feyre is an extension of him. A symbol: his happiness, his peace, his endless power, what he fought to keep.

She's his whole anchor staying sane, which isn't great, considering...ya know, everything. But the Story is Over. They are Happy.

Except- except- nothing is over. Post fifty straight years of torture, a freefall into war and fuckery, teen marriage and literal death, the consequences for all those things AND THE SHIT RHYS WAS PULLING LONG BEFORE AMARANTHA TURNED HIM INTO A CHEW TOY, are still present.

But now, he has something to protect. His golden future. His puppy Mate.

Because Feyre's safety is the safety of his power and vice versa. Anything he does is justifiable because the loss of Feyre is Not an Option. She is Happy. They Are Happy.

It bleeds into everything- and then it intensifies, because this is the breaking point.

The Az/Lucien thing and Feyre incredibly hurtful blindness? No Rhys isn't going to interfere- Az is so private anyway- if Feyre believes its a romantic bond, Feyre is right, she knows her sister, not that it matters because Elain is totally out of her mind.

Sending Cassian to Illyria? Illyria is a backwards shithole right? They're fierce fighters and that's what Rhys values them for- as the hammer of his power- and nothing else? why would there be anything else? Look at them fighting and hurting each other.

Nesta runs and Cassian is left throwing himself in battles actively trying to die and Rhys? Rhys is totally smug. A problem that hurt Feyre and his brother is GONE.

But it's not gone. Az isn't talking to anyone- and Rhys thinks this probably means Lucien is probably, finally fucking him- but even Feyre understands that Azriel knows where Nesta is. When this is proved (when Elain surfaces and they have the very fun kitchen fight) Rhys isn't happy- but he understands. Azriel has always felt responsible for broken things.

But thats not his job, it's Rhysands job, and Rhys has already made that tough choice for the safety of his own: Nesta has no place here. When she resurfaces inevitably, broke and wanting something, Rhys will stop her before she gets close enough to upset (hurt) Feyre. It's his job.

Cassian goes missing, and Rhysand sets upon what will become his eventual move: Illyria's value is strength. (a martial strength that belongs to RHYS). But they think they can take from him? They can destroy their own best chance? (Rhys recognizes Cassian's value to Illyria even while, you know, ordering him to slaughter Illyrians) They would threaten his power? hurt his family?

Rhys will not allow a world to exist where Feyre can be hurt.

If Illyria can't be controlled, Illyria will be put down, like the rabid creatures they are. (They were always backwards, Rhys thinks. Freeing my mother was the one good thing my father ever did)

But Cassian lives.

Rhys asks Azriel if he's been cursed. Az laughs in his face.

And Cassian is a terrible enemy to have. The strategies the loyalists are using? His, filtered through Rhys. The magical contingencies? Cassian and Az, trying to prevent bloodshed.

Feyre thinks, for a long time, that maybe the rebels have Nesta. What else could compel Cassian to even care? these people keep trying to kill him. they want to kill Rhys. the brothers suffered in the frozen mud at the hands of these monsters, what is Cassian doing?

And then the massacre happens.

And Feyre sick to her stomach, cries when she hears. Rhysand thinks about a little hazel eyed boy who'd never had a bed, a present, who'd been nothing until Rhysand plucked him up- a little boy who'd grown into a dangerous man, who'd just killed every person who ever contributed to his pain. Rhys thinks, knowing he'll have to punish Cassian for this, that it's over.

The camp lords are dead, it has to be over.

(Azriel hears and understands- because he knows damn well Cassian was something before Rhysand, and after despite him. That beneath those repeatedly broken ribs is a heart that was once so big so save him, grown strong enough now to save everyone who was like them: forgotten, abandoned, used.)

It's not over. The mountains are burning. Banners fly on northern wind in a language long dead. They're singing, the spies say, they call him dawn. Loyal-heart-as-dawn.

It's Cassians name. Not that Rhys, who never knew more than a few vile insults in the language of his mother's ancient, proud people, understood it then.

Rhysand, the long-suffering hero of his own story, has been betrayed.

He can risk no more- it's time to end this madness. It's Feyre's idea to use Elain- it's Feyre who is left crying, a betrayal Rhysand will never forget- when Elain, who they've given everything, Elain, perhaps just as broken and wretched as her eldest sister, refuses to help keep Feyre safe.

(Elain refuses to participate in what she sees as genocide, but as we've established, what consequences exist? the ones Rhys feels right in front of his face)

Azriel, Elain, and Lucien run.

Of course, if both Feyre's sisters are capable of betraying her, of course, both of Rhysand's brothers would as well. They are one in the same, aren't they? Marked by destiny, by fate for this hard and terrible work- of course it hurts. Of course- but Rhysand will stop it from hurting Feyre any more.

There's one force in the world that can stand in truth against Illyria. The Darkbringers- their ancestral, ancient conquers.

(Yes, I do think Rhys knows the shitty, shitty history of his court! He just doesn't care! He didn't do it. He's different. He's in Velaris with the common people. He has wings. He's not his father.)

(He is, in fact, far worse)

When he thinks of it, it seems perfect. Illyria will be destroyed- a loss, but a safe one. Keir, will, almost certainly, also be destroyed or at least critically weakened.

Rhysand will stand alone, the man who was willing to do anything for peace. He will rule over an emptied playing field, secure in a world where Feyre is safe.

The Hewn City empties, the armies march- Rhysand holds tight Feyre's hand, says nothing about the fact that nothing, nothing, will stop Keir from killing anyone in front of him when battle starts, and reaches once more for Cassian's mind.

His brother, his friend, his loyal right hand- he begs him to come back. To come home. That they can put down this rebellion and in his love for Cassian everything can go back to how it is meant to be, all of them together.

It does not occur to him to address the hundreds dead. The system he was complicit in and responsible for that ground a culture to dust and ash- what matters is brother against brother should never have turned, and Rhys, in his kindness, will offer Cassian this last chance for honor.

Rhys doesn't want Cassian to die- he wants Cassian by his side- but he will drown the world in blood before he'll lose his crown and hope and Feyre.

And when Cassian dies, falling to the earth in Rhysand's arms, Rhys thinks of penance.

A circle closed.

But of course- Cassian wakes. Death is not done with her right hand anymore than the contract between Lordship and land in immutable. Cassian brought the magic back, brought Illyria back.

Rhys is fighting for something personal- Cassian is fighting for a whole world and future, with everything in himself.

When the new border is drawn, Rhys doesn't despair- sure he's shaking, he's covered in Cassian's blood, his twelve thousand year old walls are smoking and the whole world smells like fucking Nesta Archeron- he's been the victim of curses before.

He won't let it keep him down. He'll be fine. He has Feyre, they're safe. Illyria is going to implode- and maybe, maybe, he'll save some of those that remain when the violence is too much, when they need a real High Lord.

They'll come home. Just like Feyre's sisters will. Rhysand's brothers. They fought for peace and Velaris has it- it is their home.

It's what they fought for, the happy ending, and it's all worth it.

It has to be worth it.

#Rhys is deadset a huge narcissist #and in the middle of a breakdown the entirety of daylight #he's SO HURT #But's turning all that hurt into anger #and an even stricter paranoia #its all catching up to him #everything from imperialism #to the shitty way he treated his friends #to the Winter Massacre that yes was absolutely him #this is more of a Shoreless Concept but all of feysand can be summed up #by Feyre making teary BUT WE'RE FAMILY demands and Rhys immediately committing a literal warcrime #and like #I do think Rhys hates himself too #but for wildly the wrong reasons #and never more or in a real way that overcomes how much he thinks everything he does is right #Cassian's death was a cost to them #as Nesta tells Feyre: what's done cannot be undone. Rhys chose wrong #the truly bonkers Rhys thing in canon #will always be that he's both represented as Most Powerful Ever #and the wrongly ignored underdog #when in fact he throws around power constantly for petty shitty reasons

[eternally-writing]

chain reaction 02 | jjk

genre: fluff and angst 

rating: PG 

pairing: Jungkook x reader

theme: college!au , enemies to lovers, series 

word count: 4.6k

warnings: light swearing

synopsis: A semester with your mortal enemy, Jeon Jungkook, as your lab partner was bound to be an experience to remember. 

banner by me!

read part 1 here! 

 If you want to be tagged in future parts, send me an ask! 

--♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡--

When you had imagined what Jeon Jungkook’s apartment would look like, you had definitely thought it would look something like an evil lair (except messy, because Jungkook definitely struck you as the messy type). 

However, upon stepping into his surprisingly well-finished apartment, you found the exact opposite case. Before this, you had planned to make a ton of jokes based on whatever you would find in Jungkook’s apartment. And the truth was, you still could. 

Jeon Jungkook was an absolute neat freak. You watched the way he subtly shuddered as a fleck of dirt from your shoes travelled off of his doormat and you took note of how his kitchen counter was so clean you could probably eat directly off of it (which was especially rare from someone in college). If he had a roommate, there was no trace of him right now, as the apartment pretty much looked like a showhome.

“I didn’t know you were such a clean freak, Jeon,” you said with a smirk.

For the first time, you saw Jeon Jungkook look the slightest bit timid. 

“I like to keep things tidy, I guess,” he said while rubbing the back of his neck with his right hand. 

He gestured for you to enter his quaint but somehow spacious living room as he sped to the kitchen to grab you a glass of water (he may not like you, but he’d be damned by his mother if she found out he let a guest into his place without giving them a beverage).

You had a very clear game plan when it came to entering Jeon Jungkook’s apartment: Enter. Talk about the project (and nothing else). Grab the chemistry notes from the class you missed on Monday. Leave. 

It definitely seemed like an easy peasy 4 step plan  -  except that all seemed to flow out the window once you saw the photo Jungkook kept on his coffee table. From what you could decipher, it looked like a high school aged Jungkook in a music studio, right in front of the mic, with some of his friends around him. You had never seen Jungkook smile as big as he was in that picture, and it even managed to pull at your heartstrings.

Before you could open your mouth to ask about it, Jungkook had already come over to you and slammed the picture to be face down on the table, leaving smiley high school Jungkook out of sight. 

“An invitation into my apartment isn’t an invitation into my private life, Y/N. Don’t get it twisted.” he said coldly, dropping the glass of water hashly onto a coaster by the picture frame. 

To be fair, you kind of deserved that (and looking into Jungkook’s personal life definitely wasn’t part of your 4 step plan to seeing him today), but he didn’t have to be that mean.  As a peace offering you moved as far away from the photo frame as you could.

“Let’s just get this over with, Jeon. I have a pilates class in an hour on the other side of campus.”

Now Jungkook couldn't pass up that opportunity to make a joke. 

“Pilates, mmm.”  He let out an overexaggerated moan to make his point. 

“ Think you can slip my number to the hot girls there Y/N,” said Jungkook with a smirk. 

“In your dreams Jeon. You’re lucky if any girls will still want your number if you fail organic chemistry, which is what you’re going to do if we don’t work on this project.”

“I think you’re forgetting Y/N.” he said as he bent down, bringing his lips to your ear - “if I go down I’m taking you with me sunshine”. 

Ignoring how his close proximity to you was making your heart race (it was probably due to anger, right??), you jumped away from him and pulled out your macbook.

“Our group contract is due tomorrow so let’s just finish that up and then I’ll be out of your hair okay?” you said with an air of desperation and potentially sexual frustration.

For the most part, you and Jungkook worked in silence besides the occasional sound of you typing or clearing your throat. Looking at the live google doc in front of you and the progress you both were making, you were starting to think that working with Jungkook might not be the worst thing in the world. 

Jeon Jungkook and Y/N L/N : CHEM 251 LAB PRESENTATION CONTRACT

Topic - Green Chemistry 

1. Answer all communication from your partner (emails, messages) within 24 hours

2. Complete all portions of assignments at least 1 day before it is due. 

3. Any changes to your availability should be communicated to your partner. 

4. Y/N will handle the background literature and introduction of the presentation. 

5. Jungkook will look for future applications of Green Chemistry and direct applications of course material in the field of Green Chemistry. 

6. Don’t fall in love with your partner. 

As soon as you saw Jungkook type the last point on the document, you glared at him beside you on the couch. 

“Seriously Jeon? I forgot you have the mindset of a 13 year old boy,” you muttered as he looked at you cockily. 

You took a deep breath as your internal monologue started to run: 

Okay, Y/N. you’re not here to let Jeon Jungkook mess with you. 3 strikes and you’re out of here - there’s no reason to need to keep up with his bullshit (especially since at least the first part of your project was over).

Jungkook had then had to add more rules to your group contract. 

7. Y/N will give out Jungkook’s number to any hot girl at her pilates class. 

You groaned and hastily deleted off the document. 

That was strike 1 for Jungkook. 3 strikes and he’s out. 

Jungkook was still relentless in his attacks. 

“Seriously though Y/N, do you really not think I’m attractive at all? You really don’t want a piece of this?,” he said as he wiggled his eyebrows and gestured to his body all too suggestively. 

“Cut it out Jeon, I’m not dealing with your shit today,” you hissed, your eyes shooting metaphorical lasers into Jungkook. 

Strike 2: He’s getting close. 

“C’mon Y/N, what’s the chance that you’ll ever be able to bag someone as hot as me. I mean, look at me and look at you!”

Strike 3: you were DONE  with Jeon Jungkook today.

Not even stopping to put on your shoes fully, you took one last glance back at him before you walked out the door. 

“Fuck you, Jeon Jungkook.”

The glass of water he got you sat untouched on his coffee table, drops of water spilling onto the photo frame beside it due to his apartment shaking from you slamming his door.

Mirroring the new droplets on his coffee table, you found tears starting to drop across your face as well. 

--♡--

Even though you loved your chemistry lecture, you’re not sure why chemistry labs had such a bad vibe to you. The most obvious explanation for this would be having Jeon Jungkook as a lab partner (especially after your last meeting, the situation speaks for itself). But what could be is probably at least part of the reason is because of what happened in your first year 8AM chem lab. After getting through a grueling 3 hour titration (that you messed up and got no results for in the end), you walked back to your dorm to find your (now ex) boyfriend Jimin in bed with your roommate, Soomi. 

Needless to stay you left that day with one less friend, no boyfriend (and you had also gotten 16/30 on that lab… yikes), so chemistry labs did leave a little bit of a bad taste in your mouth. 

It had been months since that incident, but even after getting a new lease and cutting any ties you remotely had to Jimin, you still carried the insecurity that Jimin instilled in you by cheating on you with someone who you thought of as a sister. 

You had yet to run into Jimin against post-breakup, and had managed to successfully avoid him, until now.

“Y/N?” 

You knew that voice all too well. Turning around, you were met with the sight of your ex, Jimin. As if that wasn’t bad enough, as you looked him over you noticed your old roommate, Soomi, hanging off of his arm. You had no clue that they were still together (you had lost all contact with anyone remotely related to Jimin), and somehow seeing them together hurt you even more. 

Jimin looked even prettier than you had last remembered him; his prince-like hair shone in the afternoon sun, his charming smile seemed even brighter. Knowing Jimin was still with Soomi made you feel that he didn’t even feel a pang of regret for cheating on you, like he didn’t need to take some time by himself to reflect (like you definitely did) or stop to grieve your relationship. From your point of view, it seemed like you never even mattered to Jimin. 

You suddenly felt self conscious of everything under the judgmental gazes of Jimin and Soomi. Those baby hairs that you didn’t bother to pin down with a bobby pin this morning now felt like they were sticking straight out of your head and the pimple that was poking through your concealer on your forehead suddenly felt like a volcano. In your mind, compared to Soomi, you looked like a hot mess.

Your brain was on autopilot for all the small-talk you made with the two of them, and you didn’t snap out of your trance until you heard these words from Jimin. 

“I only wish the best for you Y/N”

You internally scoffed at this statement. Who the fuck was Park Jimin to say that he “wishes the best for you”. You took months to get over him and the hurtful words he said to you. Every mean comment and snarky comparisons he made to you felt like it was tattooed onto your skin and stuck with you forever. But now he was standing in front of you like nothing was wrong?

In a different world, you probably would’ve slapped Jimin across the face. But instead you rose above like your mom taught you to. 

“You as well Jimin.” you said courtly with a nod, trying to stop the tears that were pricking at your eyes from escaping your tear ducts. 

After receiving a small nod from Jimin as a response, you turned around as if you had somewhere to be (in reality, you didn’t have class for another 2 hours).

Getting as far away from Jimin was all you could think about at the moment, and you moved as far as your legs could take you in whatever direction you thought would take you out of your college’s quad, even as the tears falling from your eyes blurred your vision.

You didn’t know how to feel. You had imagined what seeing Jimin for the first time after the break up would look like; maybe he would grovel at his knees and beg to have you back (it’s not that you wanted to date him again or that you had feelings for him, but it would feel nice to feel wanted), maybe you would just throw a drink in his face and walk away like a bad bitch, maybe you could’ve flashed a new boyfriend in front of his face. 

All of a sudden your phone started to ring.  Your first fear (and somewhat hope) was that it would be Jimin calling you, but little did you know that it was something so much worse.

Incoming Call: Jeon Boy 

“as if this day couldn’t get any worse,” you thought to yourself as you pressed decline. You had yet to talk to Jungkook since that day at his apartment (you didn’t even call to congratulate him on his 

Incoming Call: Jeon Boy 

You groaned and hit the decline but at the speed of lightning again.

Incoming Call: Jeon Boy

Seriously, could this guy not take a hint? You were tempted to turn your phone off all together, but settled for hitting the decline button again.

Incoming Call: Jeon Boy

You realized that for whatever reason, Jungkook was not giving up, so you either had to answer him or listen to your ringtone of “Love Killa” by Monday X play every 10 seconds. Praying that your voice wouldn’t betray you, you took a deep (albeit shaky) breath and tried your best to wipe your tears before clicking “answer”.

“Look Jeon, I’m - uh - sorry but I really can’t do this right now okay? I’ll call you later.” you choked out, your voice obviously wavering as you tried to be as professional as possible. 

Before you could press the “end call button” you heard Jungkook’s concerned voice through the speakers.

“Y/N, wait, you don’t sound too good. Are you okay?”

Ah yes, “are you okay” - probably the most loaded question a person could ever ask. 

You probably could’ve kept it together if he had asked any other question, but his “are you ok” truly pulled at your heartstrings.

You felt your chest tightening but you tried your best to help the feeling subside. You had yet to show weakness about how Jimin had affected you to anyone, and you sure as hell weren’t going to start with Jeon Jungkook. Clutching at your chest and taking a few deep breaths in an effort to calm your racing heart, you continued on. 

“Is that genuine concern I’m hearing from you Jeon? Be careful, you’re losing your bad boy persona,” you said as you tried to make a joke to distract him. 

“Y/N, no. I’m serious. are. you. okay.”

You couldn’t handle it anymore. Sobs broke free from your chest and you heaved into the phone, your whimpers and whines striking Jungkook on the other side of the phone. 

“I, I can’t- I just-“

The words barely broke through your sobs. Your chest was tightening and you could barely hear Jungkook through the ringing in your ears. 

“Y/N where are you, I’m coming’” said Jungkook. You could hear the jingling of his car keys and the rustling of him putting on shoes. 

As if mother nature felt your pain, the rain started pouring down on you at the same time.

You barely got out any more words to Jungkook,  but he didn’t hang up on you. He just kept whispering comforting phrases, trying to calm you down from afar as you could hear his car engine roaring in the background (in another world, you definitely would’ve yelled at him for using his phone while driving). You barely even registered that Jungkook was there at all. Every memory of you and Jimin seemed to reopen like a fresh wound, and you couldn’t feel anything except the pain. All you could do was sit on a random curb by the edge of campus, your wails probably reaching the sorority houses nearby. 

You felt broken. The sound of the thunder overhead mixed with your cries as the rain pelted you, soaking your thin sweatshirt. You don’t know how much time passed there. In your head, it felt like time was frozen, while for Jungkook it felt like he was wasting hours zooming through campus (he truly was zooming - a month later he found out that he had accumulated 3 speeding tickets trying to find you, but he would never tell you that).

“Oh, sunshine,” he murmured, voice laced with pity and concern as he pulled over his car on the curb in front of you. 

You and Jungkook hadn’t even said a word to each other since the feud at his apartment, and you had absolutely zero clue how he even managed to figure out where you were through your jumbled phone call. But all you knew is that right now you needed him. You needed someone to give you a bit of comfort, and Jungkook was somehow here to do that for you. Despite everything between you twom you couldn’t hide the feeling of relief that ran through your body as you looked up and saw Jungkook in front of you.

Coming to your side, Jungkook crouched beside you. 

“Jungkook”, you wept as he pulled you into his chest. It was probably one of the first times you had actually addressed him by his first name, which came as a surprise to him. 

Holding you closer, Jungkook couldn’t help but feel protective over you. He couldn’t help but hurt with you as he saw your fragile figure shaking in his arms. 

“You’re gonna be okay now Y/N, okay? I’m here. I’m here for you. I’m not going anywhere.”  

And in that moment, on a dirty curbside off campus, you weren’t Jeon boy and little miss sunshine,  mortal enemies and chemistry lab partners. Instead, you were just Jeon Jungkook and Y/N., and nothing else seemed to matter at the moment.

--♡--

To your surprise (and the surprise of anyone else who knows you), you and Jungkook had not been stepping on each other’s toes as much. What had started out as extreme, extreme dislike had turned into a mild dislike (maybe even a very slight enjoyment of his presence, although you weren't about to admit that anytime soon). And of course, you both refuse to acknowledge the “Jimin incident” that had occurred a week ago and you both refuse to believe that it may have had something to do with you and Jungkook not hating each other. Your emails stopped being signed off with “do your part Jeon, or else” and instead now usually started with “Hey Jeon!” and “Thanks, Y/N”

That brought you here, in your apartment on a Friday night, eating old pizza in an old sweatshirt, no bra, and some comfy shorts that had definitely been through the wash one too many times. Researching for your chemistry project, you chuckled at how much of a londer you would look to an outsider. Sending off the articles you found on Green Chemistry to Jungkook, you closed out the email with some casual pleasantries and then turned to continue rewatching episodes of your favourite kdrama. You definitely weren’t expecting a response from Jungkook until Monday. You were sure that someone like him was at a frat party (was he even in a frat? You had no idea). Either way, Jungkook probably was lounging around in some party house with like 6 girls on his arms, while you were doing quite the opposite. 

Surprisingly, Jungkook was actually doing quite a similar thing to you. Instead of watching kdramas, he was watching Iron Man (for what was probably the 50th time), and was huddled under a makeship blanket fort like a child and scrolling through reddit. Don’t be mistaken though, Jeon Jungkook was definitely a partier, but he also knew when he needed to give his head (and liver) a break.

He saw his phone chime with a gmail notification. He took a brief scroll through the articles you had sent over to him (those were definitely work for another day since there was no way he could digest academic jargon without at least 3 cups of coffee in him), but he was pleasantly surprised with what you had come up with. 

At the same time, the Facebook tab he had open on his Macbook also lit up. 

It’s Y/N L/N’s birthday today! Leave a message on her wall to celebrate!

Jungkook’s jaw dropped. 

It was your birthday and you were sending him chemistry research papers?? Jungkook chuckled because he could already think of 1000 bad jokes to make fun of you, but he also felt some other feeling that he couldn’t quite place.  

Jungkook’s mother had always taught him that it was important to celebrate birthdays, and that is was bad luck that it was  He wasn’t sure if it was just a farce that his mother had come up with to make sure that he still attended those family-wide facetime birthday celebrations once he went to college, but either way, he still believed it to some extent. 

He had no clue why he was doing this, or how he even got here, but somehow Jungkook found himself in sweatpants and a hoodie in front of your apartment door at 10pm on a Friday night, cake in tow in one hand, his other hand out ready to knock on your door. 

On the other side of the door, you were equally astonished. It almost felt like you were seeing a hallucination, as if your email to Jungkook had somehow summoned him to your door. You couldn’t help but rub your eyes in disbelief, just to make sure he was actually there. 

“Jungkook?”

Bashful Jungkook seemed to make an appearance again as he tapped his feet in anxiety. And before he could stop himself, words were already tumbling from his mouth”

“Happy birthday?” he said as a question , posing it as if he didn’t know whether facebook was just playing a prank on him (which he honestly didn’t know). “Can I come in?”

You didn’t even really know how to process this situation, but all you could mutter was a “uh, thank you?” in a similar inquirable tone and gesture for him to step into your apartment. If Jeon Jungkook showed up at your door at 10pm on a Friday night, he probably deserved to be heard out.

“You can make yourself comfortable on the couch. Sorry, I wasn’t expecting company otherwise I would have cleaned up a bit.”  You were sure that Jungkook’s neat freak brain was probably frying itself into overdrive based on the empty now-empty pizza box sitting on your coffee table and stray utensils and crumbs on your kitchen counter. You felt a little embarrassed that he had to see this.

Mirroring Jungkook’s hospitality last time you were at his place, you brought him a glass of water and hoped that this evening would go a LOT better than the last time you and Jungkook were alone together in an apartment. 

Jungkook’s cake was still held in his hands. It was a little cake from the 24/7 cafe on campus; he could only find one that said “happy” with little sunflowers and smiles, so hopefully the “birthday” part of it was implied. 

“I, um, I brought cake - for you. I mean your birthday.”

You sat down across from him. 

“Oh you didn’t have to Jungkook, uh that’s really nice but you didn’t have to do that,” you said as you leaned further away from the cake, as if it was an item that scared you. “I’m not big on birthdays anyways, just usually me chilling in my apartment!” 

However, Jungkook was not planning on taking no as an answer. He tried his best to plead with you, but was still getting nowhere. 

“you… you have to do it for my mom!” he said as he thrust the cake even closer to your face. 

You tilted your head in confusion at his statement. 

“I mean uh-, my mom says that it’s bad luck if you don’t blow out candles on cake on your birthday and that if you don’t do it then you won’t live to your next birthday. And um- i know we’re not friends Y/N but I’d rather see you alive next year”.

 Jungkook tried to look as nonchalant and cool as possible, and when he realized his statement was a little too thoughtful he followed it up with a “i mean you could do whatever you want i don’t care it doesn’t matter to me”. 

You were beginning to like this side of Jungkook, the one that was more thoughtful than he was a selfish, inconsiderate dude.

Taking the cake softly from his hands, you muttered a soft “thank you”. At this point Jungkook didn’t know whether you took it from his hands to throw it on the ground or actually use it for its intended purpose. As you leaned over to grab the lighter by your candles on your coffee table, Jungkook let out a breath of relief. 

Throwing open the cake box, you lit the candle in the cake and stared patiently in front of it. 

“Well Jungkook, I believe if I am going to be blowing out candles there should be singing too, no?” You joked with a silly smile on your face. 

Knowing he had no way out of this (and to be honest, he secretly wanted to anyways), he began to sing. 

You had never heard a more beautiful rendition of happy birthday in your life. Jungkook turned the most mundane song, one that you didn’t have many happy memories with, into a tune that made your heart start to swell with joy. You wished the song was longer, because as he stopped to sing you wanted nothing more than for him to keep going. 

“Make a wish, Y/N” , he whispered. 

You didn’t know what to wish for. There were a lot of things that needed to be fixed in the world, and lots of things that you needed too (like a new toothbrush, or the experience of true love). It seemed fitting that since you were only blowing out these candles because of Jungkook, you should at least dedicate the wish to him. So all you wished for was for you and Jungkook to get along just like you were in this moment. 

You looked up at Jungkook from the cake, and from there all you could say was a sincere “thank you”.

The moment was all too sincere, and you and Jungkook could feel the atmosphere shift to one that was all too intimate and friendly for your relationship. As moving away from a hot flame, you both picked up your phones and mumbled excuses to move away from the situation. 

Jungkook was the first to break the ice again. 

“I don’t know how good this cake is going to be, the expiry date was at least a week and a half ago”

“Well Jeon Jungkook, if you brought an expired cake into my apartment, it feels like a right of passage that you have to try this cake with me.”

You couldn’t stop yourself from picking up a piece of cake on a fork and shoving it into his mouth. Immediately, his face scrounged up in disgust, and you could pretty much see him gag. 

“That cream is… very creamy to stay the least,” he said as he thickly swallowed it down, grimacing the whole time. 

His expression made you chuckle. There was something about the way his naturally fluffy hair seemed to move as he swayed like a piece of seaweed on your couch (a mannerism that you had picked up on quite quickly), that made you feel warm inside.

“Considering me sacrificing myself to this cake as a birthday present to you, Y/N” 

The laugh that bubbled out of your chest almost made that gross cake worth it to Jungkook. And some words of sincerity slipped out before you could hold them in. 

“Best birthday present ever, Jungkook, thank you.

--♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡--

Taglist: @apollukee , @mrcleanheichou , @monvieesdaebak 

If you want to be tagged, please send me an ask! 

 If you liked what you read, please interact/follow! Thank you for reading♡

- Emily

#bangtaninn #kwritersworldnet #btsghostie #thebtswritersclub #btscreatorscorner #jungkook fic #btsfic #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #bts x reader #armywriterssupport #bts x you #jungkoook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook #jungkook imagine #bts imagine #bts scenario #bts fanfic #bangtan sonyeondan #bts #jungkook fanfic #jeon jungkook #jungkook scenario #bts college au

[innocentbi-stander]

Can you do demigod jaskier? But this time he is the son of Hecate?

@localhalfvampire I need to preface this by saying you’re an absolute GENIUS

Demigod jaskier, but son of Hecate has so much untapped potential and I’m LIVING for it

A jaskier who has magic, who hides himself from detection by using his abilities to manipulate the Mist that shields demigods from discovery from the rest of the world (he shivers to think of what sorcerers like that bastard Stregobor would do if they realized that demigods, sources of pure godly power and ability were walking about the Continent, free to manipulate)

Obviously children of Hecate possess an innate talent for magic, each level of magical ability depending on the child, but nobody, not even Hecate herself, had been prepared for the unintentional powerhouse that is jaskier

And how fitting is it that the person who would care about ability levels the least ends up the most powerful child of Hecate to walk the Continent since Circe herself?

Jaskier was brought to camp at a young age, his noble father unwilling to deal with the baby of his one night stand with a goddess

He is raised amongst demigods and taught to defend himself and defend others from the monsters that plague the children of the gods

A sword is placed in his hand as soon as he is strong enough to grasp it, he learns to throw daggers with deadly accuracy, to shoot arrows at a target blindfolded

For all that jaskier is taught to be fierce, and witty, to speak gracefully with a silver tongue, there is nothing he picks up faster than magic

Magic to jaskier is like breathing, for he was born from the goddess of magic herself, it is woven into every piece of his being

Hecate is a tough parent, and she believes in  challenging her children and their abilities, and so it is no wonder when jaskier leaves camp to explore the world on his own, though he visits often

And then jaskier meets geralt and the rest is history

He spends twenty years chasing after the witcher (and though twenty years is not really a blink in the eye of an immortal demigod such as jaskier, that still matters) , there’s many hunts and contracts, aftermaths of jaskier stitching up geralt and lying about where he learned to sew skin so neatly

There’s evenings spent by the campfire, playing his lute and trying to ignore the way the firelight dances in geralt’s amber eyes

There’s laughs in taverns after a bit too much to drink, there’s lute strings tucked into his bag and no word of where they came from (though he knows), apples for Roach amongst complaints of destroying her diet, doublets ruined by days in the wilderness, and geralt’s barely there smile when jaskier produces honey cakes ‘given’ to him by the local baker

There’s inns, and shared rooms, then shared beds, and shared baths closer than close, and then there’s the djinn, and yennefer, and growing apart bit by bit

Jaskier possesses some of the greatest magic in the world, and there’s nothing he can do except watch the love of his life pick someone else over and over again and pretend not to be slowly falling apart

And then the mountain

Jaskier is alone for a little bit after that, wandering aimlessly 

He travels across the Continent, killing monsters that the rest of the world can’t even see, wiping yellow sulphur dust from his hands and wishing he was somewhere else

Jaskier visits camp and stays there for a while, but no matter how many times he comes back jaskier is a traveler at heart and never stays for long

Not far past the borders of camp, at a nearby village, jaskier learns that nilfgaard has been looking for him

He can’t bring himself to be even remotely surprised then when he’s ambushed on the path a day later

The first few parties of soldiers are easily dispatched with the use of his sword and daggers, but then at some point nilfgaard realizes that the ‘harmless’ bard has teeth and sends a small army

Jaskier really should have laid low and hid himself amongst the Mist ages ago, but he’s never been one for hiding (and frankly he’s a little bit insulted that nilfgaard seems to have thought him so easy to defeat and resolves to knock them down a few pegs)

Unbeknownst to the demigod/bard/whatever the hell else he is right now, there’s been a rather frantic witcher accompanied by a witch and a princess that have been searching for him for ages, following the trail of bloody groups of soldiers

Geralt hears of the army sent after his bard and reacts first with confusion on why an army is needed to take down one human man, and then feels blind panic. Rather hysterically, as he’s shoving his, yennefer, and ciri’s things into roach’s saddlebags, is the thought, he’s going to tear them apart

Which really makes no sense given that jaskier is fucking human, but geralt has always felt something off about him, something bigger, and regardless of that he’s seen jaskier’s more feral side and is comforted slightly by the thought that jaskier is hardly the type to go down without a wicked fight

Yennefer is less reassured by this information (your bard is going to get torn apart, not the other way around!) and ushers them off immediately 

When they reach the clearing where whispers of nilfgaardian soldiers has lead them, there is an entire small army present, at at the other side in the most bizarre looking fashion, is jaskier

He stands alone, but he does not look afraid

Jaskier faces the army of nilfgaardian soldiers, his doublet a shade of midnight blue, sword in hand, and a fierce look in his eyes that for some reason sends chills down geralt’s spine

He assesses the army, silent and calculating, finding something that nobody else can see 

The captain of the army shouts an order and the men charge forward, a smirk reaches jaskier’s lips

The army’s movement sparks geralt into action, what is he doing just fucking standing there, and he unsheathes his sword to somehow help his bard

But then there is a well manicured hand on his arm and a spell stopping his feet from moving farther, and geralt looks to yennefer to ask her what the hell she thinks she’s doing and pauses at the curious look in her eye

“Wait” she mumbles to him, brow furrowed, “Something isn’t right”

And geralt turns back to the battlefield and jaskier’s eyes are glowing

Jaskier sees the army charging forward and it takes everything in him not to laugh. They are fools, every single one of them

Jaskier whispers a quick prayer to the gods for luck (even though he doesn’t need it), and lets his magic explode

When the screams fade and there is nothing in the clearing but ash and blood drying in the dirt, jaskier wills his magic to return to his body

He scrubs at a little spot of blood that had managed to stain his sleeve, a new doublet at that, and considers maybe it is time to hide amongst the Mist, if not to save his poor beautiful clothing

The snap of a twig interrupts his musings and brings jaskier to alert, the hum of his magic singing through his veins, hands at the ready

Jaskier goes deadly still when across the clearing he spies two ghosts from his past, one of them with a rather unflattering look of shock across his face, and the other looking way too pleased with herself

When they both start to make their way to him, jaskier debates on whether he still has enough energy in him to shadow travel, anything to make a speedy getaway and the fuck away from this horrible confrontation

He raises his hands , willing the shadows to lengthen and warp, ignoring the persistence dizziness and figuring there’s no better way to find out than to try, only to be stopped by a sharp, “don’t even think about it bard”

His response is instant and without hesitation, “who the fuck made you the boss of me? If I want to get the hell away from here I’m very well going to, I don’t give fuck all what you’ve got to say about it”

Yennefer’s eyes narrowed and she snatched one of his hands, still shaking with overexertion. “I think your hands tell a different story, you’re exhausted.”

“Yes, well defeating armies will do that to anyone I suppose”, Jaskier reclaimed his hand and tried to ignore the fact that geralt had yet to do anything but stare

Purple eyes examined him carefully, “You never told me you had magic”

Jaskier laughed, a hollow sound even to his own ears, “I don’t really, not your kind. It’s a long story”

“Then you’ll have plenty of time to tell us when we get to Kaer Morhen”, at last, the White wolf had spoken and unsurprisingly jaskier liked absolutely none of what he had to say

He sputtered, and he was sure his cheeks were turning that infuriating shade of red they always assumed when he was particularly pissed off, “I’m not going with you anywhere!”

Geralt turned to the bard, focusing on him with an intensity that jaskier before the mountain would have killed to receive “Nilfgaard isn’t going to stop. They want Ciri. The armies will keep getting bigger and bigger, until whatever fucking powers you have aren’t enough”

Jaskier scoffed, crossing his arms across his chest “I can handle myself”

Something in Geralt’s eyes softened “I know you can. But you don’t, shouldn’t, have to. Come with us. Just for the winter. Then you can go wherever you want. Please”

There was a long moment between them, amber and blue staring into each other’s depths. Jaskier didn’t know what to think. It had been made clear on the mountain that the witcher didn’t give a damn about jaskier, and jaskier wasn’t big on wasting his time in places he wasn’t wanted. His heart wouldn’t be able to take it.

But geralt had never pleaded with him like that, never said please. There was a desperation in his eyes that jaskier had never seen before and without his permission he felt his heart melt a little. What was one winter?

“Fine.” jaskier spoke carefully, trying to ignore the small smile that formed on geralt’s face. “I’ll come for the winter. But after that I’m leaving and I’ll be out of your life for good”

Jaskier hadn’t forgiven Geralt. He was owed an apology, and a thousand other things. Yennefer was still a bitch, and he had no idea how geralt’s brothers and mentor would react to a demigod in their midst. But jaskier was lonely, and tired of being on his own, and as much  as he hated it there was a part of him that had desperately missed his witcher, no matter how much he had hurt him. 

It was just one winter, right?

He’d figure it out….. somehow

_______________

That went in an entirely different direction than I was originally intending, but the story just got away from me... I hope you enjoyed!

What do you think folks, worthy of a part 2?

#geraskier #jaskier #the witcher #geralt #geralt of rivia #bamf jaskier #the witcher jaskier #witcher geralt #witcher jaskier #the witcher geralt #immortal jaskier #non human jaskier #the witcher yennefer #jaskier and yennefer #not yet but they will be friends I stg #powerful jaskier #I just love it so much #demigod jaskier #this time he’s a son of Hecate baby #son of Hecate jaskier #Jaskier is a sad powerful voice who DESERVES an apology from geralt #Jaskier is angry at geralt and isn’t afraid to tell him #geralt regrets his actions but sucks ass at apologies #I’m sure eskel will help #maybe #Kaer Morhen is gonna be interesting this year

[forbiddensoul562]

Contagion

I could have sworn I’d published this, but I found it in my draft folder this morning... So... I apologize that it hasn’t gone through a rigorous editing process, but I hope you enjoy anyway!

Two years ago I sat on a train in Taiwan, headed from Taipei to a small, remote place called (I think) Wufeng. As I sat there, I thought about a post-apocalyptic zombie Meronia fic I’d read somewhere on here. It was very good, but I had no luck tracking it down again, and I thought that was a damn shame.

So, I pulled out my notebook and wrote a test first chapter of my own version during the whole two hour train ride. 

It’s not much, and might not have much substance to it. But I’d love to get anyone’s thoughts on it’s start.

Working Title: Contagion

The moment they appeared their existence made national news… The world screeched to a halt, all attention on these things. Humans… turned diseased, feral, or perhaps something else entirely. No one knew for sure where they came from. It was as though one moment the world continued spinning like normal, and in the next… these things began flooding the streets. The initial confusion of news analysts and reporters slowly began to turn to fear. It took only an hour before the first bite was reported... The victim turned, becoming one of the diseased. 

That was the moment public fear began to turn to panic, catching like wildfire.

As Near watched, from secluded inside his high tower, he was acutely aware that he was witnessing the turning point of human history.

By the second hour after the first report had hit the news, Near had decided that what he was witnessing was potentially the unravelling of human society. He was a detective… trained to solve the world’s mysteries. But this… There was no training for this, and even if he wanted to act, the pandemic was spreading far too fast.

By hour three Near found himself trying to name these things based on their condition – should he refer to them as the Sick, infected initially by some kind of widespread contagion? The news began to report them as simply ‘undead,’ and while Near understood that such a title effectively, and most simply communicated to the general populace what these things were doing, based on common knowledge from mass media, Near could only roll his eyes at how unoriginal and unfitting the term appeared to be.

At the tenth hour, local news agencies began going off the air as it was too dangerous to stay and try to report. It made sense, they had themselves and their own families to think about. It was in that moment that fear suddenly began to take the place of Near’s previously more pragmatic thoughts. A new, chilling terror of encroaching total isolation the outside world seeped into his bones.

It was then that he decided it best to make the one call of utmost importance in the dying world, before cell towers began to completely fall off the grid.

Rester handed Near the phone and the detective listened to the ringing tone as he pressed it to his ear, an unspoken panic brewing in his center and he couldn’t decide if it was premised in his worry for lines of communication, or something much more morbid. ‘Pick up,’ He mentally pleaded, desperately. ‘Come on, answer your phone…’ Of all the times to be ignored…

But then, as if by command, finally the other end of the phone ceased the repetitive tone, replaced instead with a simple, abrupt, “What?”

“Mello.” A heavy breath was released that Near hadn’t realized he was holding, momentary relief taking its place. “You’ve seen the news?”

[More beneath a ‘keep reading’, just in case Tumblr isn’t showing it...]

There was a brief pause from the other end, and Near felt his heartrate quicken in response. Time was just too precious for delays of any kind. Every second that crucial information wasn’t being conveyed was another second that Near felt his panic increase, worried that the call might drop and he might never get to say what he needed to.

“It’s starting to be chaos here, too.” Mello’s tone was somber, quieter as though speaking any louder would make the events all the more real.

“I see.” Near reached for a strand of hair, though the repetitive twirling sensation was proving to do little to calm his nerves, as it once had. This was just becoming too big of a catastrophe for his simple rituals to pacify his worry. “The world is ending, Mello.”

“Strangely dramatic of you.” The older successor muttered, but was quick to add, “You think I don’t know that?” There was an irritated edge to his tone, yet still Near couldn’t help cracking a small smile at Mello’s underhanded, and perhaps unconscious, implication that they both truly were not above dramatics. Though, perhaps he was reading too far into it, searching for a sliver of normality in a world that was quickly falling crumbling.

“No, of course you would already be aware.” After all, Mello was much more heavily involved in the world, or at least connected to it on a far more personal level than Near was. “No doubt the grid will be going down at some point. Maybe in a few minutes, maybe in a few hours, or days… So to that effect I wanted to contact you first over anyone else.” Near’s motions in his hair stopped, the white strand unravelling around his index finger. His vision and even his attention to the rest of the room seemed to blur as he focused entirely upon his connection to the only other person of importance Near had, in a world that was falling apart. “If things continue as they are, to the best of my ability I plan on attempting to create a safe zone within my tower. Right now it has the resources to survive here for at least a year, but I aim to build on those.”

When Mello said nothing in response, Near continued, rambling still, but this time more to the point, “What is happening right now is far greater than you or I, Mello, and on our own I do not think we will make it long. You lack the resources and I lack the physicality. But together, we-”

“Near, don’t, I’m not-”

“Mello, please.” He could hear the pleading in his words, “Just listen to me a moment.”

This time, the blonde remained quiet on the other end.

“If you can make it from your present location in California to here in New York… I would greatly benefit from whatever you have to offer to survival efforts. Neither of us will make it if we’re split up. This is not like anything else we have ever dealt with, and because of that I don’t think it makes sense to hold onto lingering animosity. Think of your survival.”

Near shook his head. Logic wouldn’t work with Mello… So he added quieter, “I need your help, Mello.”

There was a long silence between them, then, the words and residual antipathy culminating between them into that one moment of silence which seemed to hold all the necessary potential to be both of their ruin, not to mention all the others Near had every intention of trying to help. Everything hinged on this single moment… of being able to put aside disputes, and endless history for a greater good. It had never worked before. Yet this time, Near held his breath.

Finally, “I’ll do what I can.” The words were vague, but of course both successors understood the weight and challenge associated with attempting to travel from one side of the country to the direct opposite in the current collapsing state of things. But if Mello was as willing and able as his words alluded to, then Near was willing to hold his breath a little while longer.

Near nodded, “I look forward to your arrival, then.”

The detective was ready to end the call while he had Mello’s agreement and thus his own sense of hope, but of course Mello broke in before he could, “Yeah, you say that, but you’re not the one having to go out and deal with this shit. It’s a risk, Near. At this rate, who knows what the country will do in response...”

Near could read between the lines: Mello thought he might not make it.

But Near had to stay positive, even if he was feigning it for both of them, now. The thought of being alone to go going through what was shaping up to be the apocalypse was troublesome at best, and truly terrifying at worst. “Getting into and climbing the ranks of the Mafia was a risk, too.”

There was a short, curt chuckle from the other end of the line. “Yeah, well… we’ll see. I’ll try.” The younger successor didn’t like the tone latent in his voice. He didn’t like hearing Mello be anything other than his loud, over-the-top self that exuded confidence. But then, nothing was good about this situation or provided any reason for the blonde to hold onto his normal demeanor… Still, it was jarring and was almost worse than seeing the reports on the news.

But Near forced himself to nod, “Right, I’ll see you soon, then.”

Yet another pause on the other end, followed by a simple, “Yeah.”

In that moment Near found himself reluctant to cut their connection. There were so many things he wanted to say to the blonde successor… just in case this was their last time ever speaking. Years of harbored words flooded his mouth like bile, yet burning his throat with the knowledge that no matter how much he wanted to let it all spill out, Mello wouldn’t stand such talk. Not now. Maybe not ever. Though, perhaps it was better this way. He didn’t want to say anything that might prove a distraction to Mello’s journey across the country to get to him.

So he instead swallowed it all back down, promising himself that he would make time to pour out all of these words to Mello when the older successor made it to him.

He could only bring himself to whisper, “Good luck. Be safe. Please.” It was the closest thing to a prayer Near thought he could ever formulate. 

“You too, Near.” Mello said much quieter. “Don’t... let anything happen before I can make it there, alright?”

“I won’t.” He shook his head. “I’ll be here waiting.” With that, he pulled the phone away and hung up.

#fsfics #Death Note #Meronia #MelloxNear #MelloNear

[viastro]

despite everything, it’s still you | wen junhui

ミ★ synopsis: in which you only have eyes for your best friend, but he sees everyone else.

ミ★ genre: best friends to lovers!au, angst, some fluff, some humor

ミ★ warnings: mentions of vomit and drinking

ミ★ word count: 3,897

ミ★ pairings: junhui x female reader

ミ★ notes: hi guys ! i actually scrapped this last night when i first wrote it, but i came back to it a few hours ago and actually finished it. this isn’t one of my favorites, but i think it turned out better than i originally thought it would. so as always, please give jun lots of love !! and i hope you guys like this one <3

“Aren’t you tired?” You turn your head to see Minghao staring at you with a pitiful expression on your face. Squinting, you respond, “Of what?” 

“Of being lonely.” You scoff, turning away and going back to typing on your computer as Mingyu and Minghao lose their shit beside you on the couch. You don’t even know why you invited the two stooges to your house as you did homework, but alas. 

you were lonely.

“I should’ve never invited you guys.” You mumble as you add the last few sentences to your essay. Mingyu giggles, walking over and wrapping an arm around you as his apology. While Minghao steps over and puts his face close to yours, giving you a big smile. 

“Forgive us queen.”

“Fuck you.” 

“Damn.” Mingyu mutters, raising a hand to his heart to feign offense. The corner of your lips tilts up at Mingyu’s reaction, and Minghao claps his hands. “She forgave us.”

“Aye, now I didn’t say all that-”

Minghao and Mingyu stop you as you turn around, hands raised in your direction. You stare boredly at the two as they give you a mischievous smile. “You forgave us, you can’t take it back.” 

Letting out a sigh, you run a hand through your hair, grinning at your two friends who are now discussing who gets to choose what movie. Your ears perk up when you hear the sound of your door opening, and the three of you turn to see Jun walking in with the containers holding the fried chicken. He lets out a grin at the sight of you guys, and you quickly call him over so that you can begin devouring the food he brought. 

The four of you have been friends since your first year at University. What started as a group project in your guys’ film course, became a three year long friendship that you all hope will last until you’re all old and wrinkly. 

Jun quickly settles himself down beside you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders in greeting, and you let out a soft smile. He gives you a grin, “Did you finish your essay?” 

You nod your head, and he lets go of his hold on you to throw a thumbs up your way. You let out a laugh, and run a hand through your hair, before turning back towards the chicken. 

Your guys’ friendship all began when the four of you got paired for that group project. However, you were attracted to Jun from the moment you laid eyes on him on the first day of class. When the four of you all got closer as friends, you decided to let go of trying to go after him. Especially when you found out how popular he is among the ladies and gentlemen at uni. 

His popularity has only grown since freshman year, and he’s been with his fair share of different people. You claim to be over him, but it’s you simply just ignoring the warmth in your heart whenever he pulls you into a hug, or the pain whenever he introduces his new fling to you. 

It’s your biggest secret that you’ve been harboring, and Minghao is the only one that knows. He wasn’t even supposed to know of your feelings for Jun, but he stumbled in on you crying on the floor after Jun left on a date with this one girl a few months back. 

In your defense, you were incredibly stressed with midterms and seeing Jun go on a date with another girl that isn’t you, really set you off the edge from that stinky week in general. However, Minghao refuses to believe that you being stressed was the main cause for you crying over Jun going on a date. 

So that’s why you ignore Minghao’s gaze when Jun hands you the crispy part of the chicken you always enjoy most. You turn and give Jun a smile, and he fondly knocks his head into yours. “It’s your favorite part, right?”

Nodding your head, you place it into your mouth, and Jun grins happily. He turns back towards his food, and takes a big bite of chicken as the four eat in a relative silence. Mingyu glances over at Jun, letting out a mischievous smile. 

“How was your date?” You freeze slightly, and Minghao notices, his eyes trailing over to your rigid form. Jun chuckles, shrugging his shoulders as he wipes his hands on a napkin. Leaning back into the couch, he lets out a breath. 

“It was good. She was actually more funny than I expected.” Jun explains briefly, and Mingyu nods his head. You stay quiet as you eat, knowing that if the two end up going on a second date, you’ll have to meet her in the near future. 

“She kinda reminded me of you.” You pause, turning to see that Jun is staring at you with a fond smile on his face. You raise an eyebrow, pointing at yourself with the drumstick in hand, and Jun chuckles, nodding his head. “Yeah, you.” 

“How?” Minghao asks, and you shoot him a glance. Minghao just waves you off with his hand, and you widen your eyes with more urgency, but he chooses to ignore you. Jun thinks to himself for a moment, before chuckling. 

“Yn’s humor is really weird, you know. Remember the time she just laughed to herself about that video of a bird jumping off a building?” You snort at the memory, raising a hand to your mouth to try and hide your laugh as you remember the video. Jun turns to you with amusement painted over his features, and he points at you with his thumb, “See? She’s just giggling from the thought of it.” 

“It was funny!”

“You sadist.”

“I am not a sadist!” You exclaim, and Mingyu purses his lips. He turns his head away and takes a sip of water, while Minghao takes a bite of chicken. You squint at the two, before turning to Jun and seeing him also avoiding eye contact with you. “I’m not!” 

“Anyways…” Jun begins, and you roll your eyes. He chuckles and pats your head before continuing, “Aiya was kinda like yn, in a way. She laughed over silly things, and made good jokes, so the atmosphere was nice.” 

Your mood drops slightly, and you turn away. Mingyu changes the subject by bringing up the time he saw you painting a meme of kermit on a canvas, and you laugh at the memory. Jun turns to glance at you when he hears your laugh, and he smiles softly at you. 

Minghao bites the inside of his cheek, wondering when the two of you will finally realize that you’re a perfect match so that the pain on both sides will stop. He’s the middle ground, with him knowing that you love Jun, while also being able to tell that Jun is in love with you based on the fact that everyone he goes on dates with is so oddly similar to you. He just questions whether the two of you will be able to realize that fact.

And with that, Minghao smiles, holding up the remote to turn on the TV. “Well, let’s watch a movie.” 

Your head is laid over a sleeping Mingyu’s lap as you drunkenly listen to Aiya and Jun laugh together. You open and close your eyes slowly, staring up at the colorful lights displayed on the ceiling. You begin to wonder how many shots of soju you had, but you’re unable to come up with an answer when you hear Jun’s angelic laugh across from you. 

The music is loud and it hurts your head. You question how you were able to let the boys convince you to come to the party their friend Jungkook is throwing. However, the answer is simple. Jun gave you that smile of his and outstretched his hand towards you, telling you that he wants you to meet Aiya tonight. You wanted to decline the invite and stay home, maybe have a self care night as you knew you were going to simply have an aneurysm at the thought of Aiya and Jun. The thing is that you can’t ever say no to Jun, so that’s how you’re here now.

At a party you don’t want to be at.

With Jun and his potential new girlfriend sitting right across from you as you try to sleep on Mingyu’s lap because you couldn’t walk straight anymore. You were originally going to get another shot of soju, but Minghao threw you over his shoulder and brought you back to their group, laying you down on the already passed out Mingyu’s lap so that you can just go to sleep instead. It’s not working though, because every few seconds you hear Aiya’s giggle and Jun’s laughter. 

And you hate it.

Aiya’s a nice girl, and you think she’s incredibly beautiful. You don’t blame Jun for wanting to date her, you would’ve gone for her too if you weren’t so hung up over Jun. You’re sure that the two of you would’ve gotten along, but the pain from seeing her and Jun was too apparent that it made it hard for you to try and initiate any close friendship. You don’t think she minds though, as she’s been attached to Jun’s arm the whole time. 

Minghao glances down at you, and he finds you wordlessly staring up at the ceiling. He purses his lips, turning to look at Jun to see him having a pleasant conversation with Aiya. Not even noticing the state that you’re in, let alone care. So Minghao stands up from the couch and bends down beside you, resting a hand on your shoulder. You turn to glance at Minghao, and you see the sad smile on his face. 

“Wanna go home?” He asks you, and you nod your head. He helps you sit up from the couch, but you move too fast, and you feel the alcohol coming back up. Minghao’s eyes widen at the lack of color to your face, “Wait yn-”

You vomit over his shoes, which leads to a chorus of screams from Minghao, and Mingyu waking up to the sound of said screams. Next thing you know, you’re being carried by Jun into the bathroom, and he’s setting you down on the counter. 

“I hope Hao doesn’t hate me.” You mumble as Jun wets a paper towel from under the sink. He lets out a small chuckle, shaking his head. “Hao could never hate you.” 

He begins wiping the area around your mouth, making sure to get rid of all the traces of alcohol. You stare into his eyes as he concentrates on cleaning you up, finding them to be his most beautiful feature even through your drunken haze. Jun feels your intense stare, and he glances up into your eyes, feeling his heart rate quicken slightly. He keeps eye contact with you for a moment, and you wonder if he knows. 

does he know how much i love him? how could he not after all this time? 

Jun looks away first, coughing into his shoulder. He grabs the mouthwash from the cabinet, pouring out a bit into the cap and handing it to you with a soft smile. “Let’s gargle some mouthwash, okay?” 

After you’re sure that you no longer smell of vomit, the two of you step out of the bathroom. You’re about to walk down the stairs when you see doors leading to a balcony down the hallway, so you turn the opposite direction and head towards it. Jun raises an eyebrow, following after you. 

“Yn, where are you going?”

“Fresh air.” 

“You can get fresh air when we head to Minghao’s car. Come on, I’m taking you home.” Jun states, reaching out to grasp your wrist, but you pull your arm out of his grip. Jun’s slightly taken aback, not used to you reacting like that before. However, he blames it on you being under the influence. You open the doors to the balcony and walk up to the ledge, resting your hands on it as you stare up at the stars. 

Jun walks up beside you, turning to glance down at you as you close your eyes. He lets out a breath, seeing how the moonlight illuminates your features. You open your eyes, and Jun frowns when he sees tears fall down your cheeks. He reaches out and grasps your face with both hands, turning you towards him. “What’s wrong?”

You swat his hands away, but Jun refuses to let go. The tears continue to stream past your face, and Jun grows more concerned by the minute. “Yn?”

You close your eyes and push Jun away, and he feels a sense of shock hit him. You’ve never been so physical with Jun, and he’s confused as to why you’re pushing him away now. You glance up at the sky, and at this moment, you wonder if the stars are laughing at your fate. “Did I do something wrong?” 

“No.” You mutter, and Jun tilts his head to the side because he knows when you lie. The two of you are best friends, you know each other's mannerisms now.

“Why are you lying to me?”

“I’m not.” 

“Yn, you’re lying.” Jun states, and you look away. You stare down at the ground over the ledge, watching the sprinklers turn on and begin watering the grass. Jun bites the inside of his cheek, attempting to reach out to you, but you step away. 

“Yn. What did I do wrong-”

“I love you.” You confess, and the words die in Jun’s throat at your confession. 

“I’ve loved you for years, and it hurts to know that you’ll never love me back. It hurts so fucking bad whenever you introduce me to your new fling and I have to put on a fake smile.” You explain, and Jun stands there in silence. He watches as you hurriedly try to wipe away the tears continuing to fall from your eyes, but it’s not working. You let out the most sad smile Jun has ever seen, and he wants nothing more than to take away the pain you’re feeling. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Jun asks, and you scoff, turning away and looking back up at the stars. He frowns at your reaction, and you begin to wonder if the stars could ever be brighter than the galaxy in Jun’s eyes. 

“Yn?” You turn to glance at Jun, staring into his eyes, while his trail after the tear falling from your left eye.

You decide that the stars are no rival to Jun’s galaxy. 

“How could I tell my best friend that I love him, when he’s never even noticed me.” You state, and Jun shakes his head frantically at you. You squint at him, and he reaches out to grasp your hand, but you pull away again. 

“Yn-”

“Are you going to tell me that I’m wrong? How am I wrong when all you’ve done since the beginning was introduce me to the people you go on dates with, huh? How am I wrong when you’ve never once caught onto the fact that I love you.” Your sadness slowly turns into anger at the way Jun stares at you in shock. You shake your head, trying to wipe away the tears that continue to fall past your eyes, wondering how many tears you’ve shed for the man in front of you.

Jun just can’t help but stare, feeling his own heart break within his chest at how stupid he is. How he never noticed. How he never admitted that he loved you. How he dated around to try and fill the void in his heart that can only be filled when he’s with you. How is he so stupid?

You cover your face with your hands for a moment, feeling pathetic at the fact that you can’t stop crying. You finally look back up at Jun after a second, and you shake your head at him. You take a step towards him, and point your finger directly over his heart, and look up into his eyes. 

“Despite everything, it’s still you.” You whisper, and Jun’s mouth opens and closes as he tries to think of the words to say. While you just stare into his eyes, the tears continue to fall past your own.

You question whether or not the love and sadness you see in his eyes is just a reflection of your own.

“But it’s not me for you, right?” You ask, and Jun doesn’t respond. He’s internally quaking at the fact that you love him, but you don’t know that.

So you take his silence as his answer, taking a step back, you give him a sad smile. Running a hand through your hair, you turn to walk off the balcony and back into the house. Your hand rests on the doorknob when Jun finally speaks. 

“It’s always been you.” You freeze, hand clutching the doorknob when you turn to look at Jun. The moonlight casts a glow over his skin as he stares at you, and you come to the answer that the love and sadness in his gaze isn’t just a reflection of your own.

“What?” Jun takes a few steps towards you and grasps your hand. You stare down at your connected hands, and you wonder why you pulled away in the first place.

this whole hand holding shit is nice. 

“It’s always been you, yn. I love you, and I’m so, so sorry it took this long for me to finally tell you.” Jun confesses, and now it’s your turn to just stare at him in a shocked silence. “I’m so sorry for all the tears you’ve shed, and all the pain I’ve caused because of my own stupidity.” 

You bite the inside of your cheek, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I- I was stupid. I never thought you would give me the time of day, or-”

“Have you seen yourself?!” You sputter, and Jun shrugs in reply. “You’re the most handsome guy I’ve ever seen! And when I got to know you, I saw you as the most perfect human being.” 

“I just! I didn’t know! I’m stupid yn, you know this.” Jun says with a little laugh, and you can’t help but giggle back, shaking your head at him. Jun lets go of your hand so that he can reach up and grasp your face with both of his hands, wiping away the tears with the pads of his thumbs. 

“So please stop crying. You shouldn’t let yourself cry over me. I’m not as great as you think considering the fact that I couldn’t even tell that the girl I’m in love with loves me back.” Jun mutters, and you let out another giggle, causing him to smile. You shake your head at him, and he leans down, resting his forehead onto yours as the two of you stare into each other’s eyes.

“I’m stupid, and I know this is so long overdue. But if you’d let me, I’d like to take you out on a date.” Jun whispers, and you let out a smile at how ridiculous this all is. Just a minute ago, you were pouring out your heart to this man under the assumption that he didn’t love you back on the balcony of Jungkook’s house. Speaking of Jungkook’s house, you pause when you remember who Jun came with. 

“What about Aiya?” You ask, and Jun purses his lips at the thought of her, and you scrunch up your nose when the action causes him to peck the tip of your nose.

“She kept seeing me take glances at you throughout the night. So when you threw up over Hao’s shoes and saw me immediately stand up, she told me to be with you. She said it was rather upsetting how I go for everyone else when it’s obvious that I only have eyes for you.” Jun mutters sheepishly, and you decide that you do like Aiya. She’s cool.

“She did not lie.”

“Nope, not one bit.” Jun agrees, and you chuckle. The two of you stare into each other’s eyes for a moment in silence, and Jun leans back so that he can get a glimpse of your whole face. He smiles fondly at the sight of the sparkles in your eyes.

“So, what do you say?” Jun asks, and you find a smile breaking out over your features as you nod your head.

“Yes Jun, I’d love to go out with you.”

“Fucking FINALLY!” You and Jun jump apart at the sudden voice, just to find Mingyu and Minghao standing by the balcony doors, with Minghao holding his shoes in a plastic bag. You mutter out a quiet apology, and Minghao raises his hand up towards you, basically saying that it’s okay. 

“How long have you been standing there?” Jun asks, his hand resting on your waist, and your heart does a a fucking windmill within your chest. 

“Long enough to know that you two stopped being stupid.” Minghao answers, and Mingyu lets out a sleepy smile. You purse your lips at Minghao’s snarkiness, but then remember that you just threw up on his shoes. 

“Anyways, can we head back to my apartment now? I just wanna eat ramen and watch Train to Busan or something.” You and Jun turn to glance at each other before turning back to your two friends. 

“Yeah sure, but you know how yn gets when we watch that movie.” Jun says as the four of you begin walking off the balcony. You pinch his side, causing him to chuckle. 

“It’s not my fault that shit hurted.” You mumble, and Mingyu grins. The four of you walk down the stairs and out of the house after bidding goodbye to Jungkook, who is currently vibing with Taehyung in a corner of the room. 

Minghao glances down at his throw up shoes in the bag, before turning back towards you and Jun, seeing the two of you walking with happy smiles on your faces. When you all finally reach the car and step inside, he lets out a sigh, and the three turn to look at him.

“I guess we have yn throwing up on my shoes to thank.” Minghao jokes, and the three burst into laughter while you profusely apologize for vomiting on Minghao’s sneakers. He pats your head, “It’s okay. You and Jun finally being together makes up for it.” 

Jun tilts his head to the side, “Really?”

To which Minghao turns in the driver's seat to glance at Jun in the backseat beside you, and he shoots him a death glare. “No, that only applies to yn. You owe me new shoes.” 

Jun rolls his eyes, cursing Minghao under his breath as he rests his head onto your shoulder, and you smile softly. You press a kiss to the top of Jun’s head before closing your eyes. Jun closes his eyes as well, a smile displayed on his features.

After a few minutes of silence into the car ride, Minghao glances up into the rearview mirror, just to find you and Jun fast asleep. With his head resting on your shoulder, and your head resting over his head, and he lets out a quiet chuckle. 

You and Jun are finally happy.

And Minghao couldn’t have wished for anything better.

#caratwritersclub #seventeen scenarios #seventeen x reader #wen junhui x reader #junhui scenarios #seventeen x you #seventeen fluff #seventeen angst #seventeen crack #seventeen wen junhui #seventeen junhui #seventeen jun #wen junhui #moon junhui #jun au #jun scenarios #jun crack #jun fluff #jun angst #jun x reader #junhui oneshot #junhui fluff #junhui angst #junhui crack #wen junhui scenarios #wen junhui fluff #wen junhui angst #wen junhui crack

[jetaime-jespere]

Prompt #15

#15: Don’t Tempt Me

Smut.

A special thank you to @sweetsecretskeptinside for the inspo pic (and the 3:30 AM conversation that led to this little thing)

In 7.21, Emily says, No, I don't have a fear of owning stuff. Turn me loose in a shoe store, I'll prove that. So, we know she loves a good pair of shoes. Well, what would happen if Emily were in fact turned loose in a shoe store, only to come home to a curious Aaron?

Aaron is about three quarters of the way through a basketball game on TV when he hears the door open, announcing her arrival. “I’m back,” Emily calls through the narrow hallway, keys jingling from her wrist as she closes the door behind her. “Aaron? Where are you?”

He hears the thump of her shoes coming off, the soft swish of her jacket being hung up. He smiles, because even though it’s only been a few hours, he’s much happier now that she’s back. “In here,” he calls over the hum of the game as he finishes the last of the beer on the end table. “Watching the game.” Not that he actually cares too much - but there isn’t much else on at the moment, and it’s been just a little too quiet.

“Someone had a busy day,” Emily says in jest when she takes in the sight of him sprawled across the couch, while taking note of the spotless living room with appreciation. All the toys normally strewn about are cleaned up and tucked away, blankets neatly folded on the back of the couch. There’s a bag dangling from each of her slender wrists - two long white handles, brown and nondescript, with elegant white lettering across the side. Emily sets both down next to the couch, coming up next to him and looping her arms around his neck. “Hi,” she murmurs, kissing the sharp ridge of his jaw. “I’m sorry I’m so late getting back. Traffic outside McLean was awful.”

“That’s Northern Virginia at rush hour for you,” He quips, looking slightly amused, because she was supposed to be home almost an hour ago. “Did you have fun shopping at least?”

“Yeah,” she says casually, settling on the couch beside him, draping her legs over his lap. “It was crowded though. You’d think it was a holiday.”

“Get anything good?” Aaron massages her ankles, trying to appear interested in whatever she’d purchased. She’d gone out with JJ and Penelope a few hours before, giving him a few hours to run some desperately needed errands. There’s hardly any food in his fridge - they’ve been slammed with cases one right after the other for the last two weeks - and his place was in dire need of a cleaning. With Jack at a friend’s house for the afternoon it was perfect timing, but he’s expected back home at any time. There are dinner plans to figure out; Aaron promised his son the three of them would watch a movie, one that Jack gets to pick.

“You could say so,” Emily says coyly, reaching for the magazine in his hands. She flips through a few pages, even if her attention isn’t on it at all. Instead, Aaron feels her stare from across the couch, the subtle shift of the weight of her legs in his lap. The smile on her face and the lift of her eyebrows tells him she wants him to ask just what she got.

He relents, because her insistence has his interest piqued, and he wonders just what could be so fascinating about a standard day of shopping with JJ and Penelope. It’s something they do fairly often, sometimes coupled with drinks and dinner, or sometimes with brunch. Those trips usually end with her slightly tipsy, something he finds endearingly adorable. And while he still isn’t completely comfortable with the fact this his name most definitely comes up more than once, he looks past it now. “What did you get?”

“Some shoes.” Emily says casually, with a slight shrug. “I didn’t see much else.” But she’s reaching for the bags on the floor, the brown paper crinkling under her fingers. “Want to see? You think you can tear yourself away from the TV for a few minutes?”

There are two boxes in Emily’s lap. Both are brown, matching the bag, with the same logo embossed in the middle. Each box is wrapped with a red ribbon on the ends, and he frowns, thinking the whole presentation is a little … ostentatious.

But she’s already undoing the ribbons, popping the lids off the boxes. The first box contains a pair of high heels, black, with high sharp heels and an unnatural looking arch. They look ridiculously uncomfortable, yet something tells him she’d pull them off without question. The other pair are even less than practical - a pair of slingbacks with bows on the back, with even higher heels. They look like the kind of shoes that could break an ankle. And yet she’s watching him intently, gauging his reaction with an expression that he might label as pleased.

Where the hell would she ever wear those? His mind starts to wander with possibilities, and it dawns on him they’re not supposed to be practical. They’re fuck me shoes.  “Are they supposed to …” Aaron blinks with confusion as he studies the ridiculously impractical pairs of shoes, nestled in wrapping paper, both with red painted soles. “Are the bottoms supposed to be red?”

Emily laughs lightly, and Aaron can’t help but wonder if this is one of those things he’s just somehow supposed to magically know - not that he knows remotely anything about womens’ fashion. Haley’s taste in clothes had always been relatively practical, and given their line of work, he can count on one hand the number of times he’s seen Emily actually dressed up, much to his chagrin. “It’s the designer’s trademark, Aaron.”

He narrows his eyes with confusion. “Red soles?”

“Mmhm.”

“But no one sees the soles of your shoes,” he points out logically. “Besides, don’t you have a few other ones that look just like this?” He isn’t quite sure he sees the need for multiple pairs of black high heels that basically all look the same, even though the more he stares at the shoes, the more he can’t help but think about what she’d look like wearing these particular pairs.

“So? Emily looks very pleased with herself. “They’re an investment piece, Aaron. Christian Louboutin is timeless and classic.”

“Christian Lou - what?” He completely butchers the word Louboutin, struggling with the French pronunciation that seems to roll off her tongue so easily. Emily laughs softly, patiently pronouncing the word again, and then again. Something about hearing her speak French makes his mouth go dry, and he swallows thickly as she neatly wraps the shoes back up in the boxes.

Something else catches his eye - the pricetag - and he makes a conscious effort to keep his jaw firmly closed. “Emily,” he says evenly, even though he’s certain he’s seeing an extra zero he shouldn’t. “Tell me those shoes were not seven hundred dollars.” He pinches the bridge of his nose with disbelief, a slight shake of his head. “You bought two pairs.”

“Actually,” she says with an air of indifference. “The ones with the bows were seven hundred. The others were on sale for six.”

“Six hundred dollars for a pair of shoes?” He sounds incredulous, probably because he is. He’s no stranger to the fact that Emily was raised with an abundance of wealth and with that, probably comes some appreciation for the finer things. And not that he cares one bit about how she spends her money, but the thought just seems completely absurd to him.

“You know,” she begins slowly, batting her eyelashes with a mere shake of her head. “I’m sure you’d appreciate them more if you saw them on me.” And then her fingers drop to her shirt, beginning to undo the top button, then the next. “What do you think?”

It’s his turn to smirk, the slightest lick of his lips with his tongue as he meets her gaze with a look in his eyes that matches her own. “What are you  -”

“Daddy?” The excited voice coming from the foyer tears them out of the moment completely, and Emily practically bolts off the couch in surprise, as if they’ve been caught doing something they shouldn’t. Shit. She hurriedly buttons her shirt, taking a few precautionary steps away from Aaron out of habit. Jack is still hanging up his coat, chattering animatedly about his afternoon, running through a rather long list of potential movie options. Aaron gets up from the couch, pecking Emily on the cheek with a slightly apologetic look. “Next time?”

“Next time,” she agrees, practically purrs in his ear, pressing her body up against his. She stands on tiptoe to kiss his cheek, letting her teeth scrape against his earlobe as she disappears with the boxes in her hands, putting an extra sway in her hips along the way.

…

“Not here,” Aaron tells her for the third time, this time more firmly. They’re milking drinks at a roundtop table in the middle of an ALS Benefit a few days later. They’re there for Dave, like every year, and for some reason, he’s just not feeling it tonight. It’s warm in the room, he doesn’t feel like dancing, and not to mention, Emily has been goading him since they arrived.

“Come on,” Emily coaxes him with a wink from across the table, a glass of red wine in her hand. “You’re no fun, you know.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, our colleagues happen to be in or around the vicinity of this room.” Aaron takes a sip of his drink, this time downing most of the glass. The drinks are a little too strong, the music is a little too loud, and he’s already having trouble concentrating on anything, thanks to the fact that Emily has stayed within his line of sight almost all evening. It’s intentional, that much he knows. The rest of the team has dissipated, spread out amongst the crowd, mingling with the other guests. He knows they should probably do the same. After this drink, he tells himself.

“But I’m wearing the shoes.” It’s the way she says it, locking her eyes with his. But he already knows - he’d noticed as they walked into the hotel two hours before.

“Don’t tempt me,” he hisses just a little more forcefully, wishing he had a fresh drink to occupy his hands. “We’ve got another two hours at this thing.” He’s doing his damn best to keep his eyes forward instead of staring at her, but that’s getting harder. She’d decided on the black dress after a careful deliberation, showing him the various options she’d pulled from the depths of her closet. They’d barely made it out the door on time.

“There’s plenty of open rooms,” she tries again. “Nobody will notice we’re gone.” As if to prove her point, Emily tips her head in the direction of the band, where Strauss and Dave are all but tearing up the dance floor. “Look at them.”

Aaron nods, stifling a laugh in his fist. “Sometimes I still can’t believe they’re together.”

“It’s been going on for years,” Emily snickers. “Dave used to think he was subtle about it. He wasn’t. But good for him.” She tips her head back, exposing the side of her neck. Something inside of him snaps, his mind made up, because before he can stop himself, he’s wrapping his hand around her elbow, giving her a gentle shove through the crowd of people.

“Aaron, what are you -”

“Let’s go,” he growls in her ear, pressing a hand into the small of her back to lead her closer to the door. It’s risky at best and a bad idea at the worst, but what the hell? He thinks, leaning forward to get a trace of her perfume on the back of her neck.

Emily grins to herself, her eyes locked on the door just ahead of them, and she’s grateful for the dimmed lights in the ballroom - no one will even notice they’re gone. The hallway is hushed quiet compared to the booming of the music on the other side of the door, and they stare at each other for a brief moment. “Here,” he says, taking her hand. There are multiple closed doors that lead to empty conference rooms; Aaron leads her to the one at the far end of the hall.

“I thought I wasn’t supposed to tempt you.” Emily flutters her eyelashes, her fingers lingering on his face as she slips past him through the doors. This is a bad idea, they both think, not for the first time, and yet, neither of them are about to put an end to it.

“Too late.” Aaron closes the door and adds the lock for good measure, spinning on his heel to face her. Emily licks her lips, backs up until her back is against the wall, all but cornering herself as he nearly rips his own suit jacket off, throwing it against the table. He’s eying her almost ferally, staring at her legs and the damn shoes. His jaw is set in determination as he moves toward her. “I’m going to take you apart.”

Damn, Emily thinks, her eyes widening as Aaron gets a hand around her waist, pulling her into him. He bypasses her mouth entirely, going right for her neck. She gasps as his teeth drag over her skin, his hands impatient as he goes for the zipper at the back of her dress.

“Don’t rip it,” she breathes, arching her back as his fingers dance down her spine, pulling the little metal tab down to the small of her back. “It was expen-”

“Shhh.” He covers her lips with his own, smiling a little when she moans into his mouth,  her body bowing into his. Aaron gets his hands around her hips, walks them back and around until he can lean her against the large credenza in the corner, pulling the dress down over her shoulders. Her breath hitches as the cool air hits her skin; it pebbles as his hands slide around to work the clasp; it snaps free in one go.

“I’m impressed,” Emily drawls with a grin as it falls away.

“This isn’t my first rodeo, you know.” He leans her back even further, going with her as her back hits the top of the table. He takes one breast in his mouth, alternating the pressure of his mouth until she keens into the air, her hands pulling at the fabric of his expensive dress shirt. Emily gets a hand in his hair, urging him to keep going. He switches to the other breast, repeating the same pattern with his mouth. “You’re perfect,” he breathes, cupping his hands around her jaw when he stands straight to kiss her again. “So perfect.”

Emily smiles, already starting to work the buttons of his dress shirt. “There’s lipstick on this,” she murmurs, finding the imprints of her lips on the collar. “I guess we weren’t very subtle earlier.”

“I don’t care.” He gets the shirt off his shoulders, then lifts her up just enough to get the dress past her hips and over her head. She’s left in nothing but those damn shoes that make her legs look endless, and some impractical, lacy underwear that matches the bra that’s now discarded on the floor. He stands back to look at her, an equal mix of adoration and lust. It takes little effort to lift her up, setting her on the top of the credenza, coming to stand between her legs. He runs his hands over her thighs, down her calves, closing around her ankles, admiring her, smirking when he sees the shoes again. Emily rests on her elbows, watching as he kisses the insides of her knees, her stomach quivering with effort to remain semi-upright.

“The shoes,” he says as he props her legs on his shoulders, watching her for a few moments. “Stay on.”

All she can do is nod, her heart fluttering in her chest as he tugs on either side of the lace at her hips, dragging it down over her legs. On the pile it goes, and when she’s finally completely bare before him save for a ridiculously expensive pair of high heels, her legs bent around his shoulders, does she seemingly realize where they are, her eyes sparkling. “If anyone hears us,” Emily breathes, “I’m blaming you.”

“Then keep quiet,” he says with a wink, spreading her thighs even further open with his shoulders. He kisses each thigh, taking his time to build her up until Emily presses the spikes of her heels into his shoulders. He only smiles against her, one long, slow lick of his tongue follows a moment later. Emily whines as he drags her closer to his mouth.

“Hurry up,” she pants with anticipation, and as if on cue, he touches his lips to her clit just enough to make her back arch and her eyes fall shut. “Fuck,” she groans, tugging at his hair with both hands, and when his tongue becomes an insistent pulsing rhythm, Emily lets out a loud whimper, one that reverberates through the conference room. Aaron pushes her over once; she comes against his mouth hard, her legs shaking on his shoulders as the heels nearly pierce his skin. He rears back, encircling her ankles with gentle fingers, staring down at her.

“So much for keeping quiet, Sweetheart.” He’s taunting her, loosening his hold on one ankle as he pulls at his belt. Emily’ head rolls back against the table, biting her lip when his pants are added to the pile. He palms himself in his hand, lining himself up with her as Emily wraps her legs around his waist. Aaron smiles when he feels the spikes of her heels dig into his lower back; he kisses her in tandem with the initial thrust inside of her. Emily whimpers into his mouth, bringing a hand to grip his shoulder for leverage as he pushes all the way in one smooth press of his hips.

“Oh fuck,” she whines, and he runs a finger over her lips to remind her of volume. She’s making these little noises, clenching around him, tilting her hips forward to meet his shallow thrusts. “Harder.” She tightens her legs around his back, bringing him impossibly close, and he’s more than happy to appease her. And he does, driving into her deliberately and forcefully as she hums in pleasure around him. Her nails scrape down his back, he winds an arm around her waist to keep her steady as those damn shoes remind him of how tightly her legs are locked around his hips.

Jesus Christ. “Emily.” Each drive of his hips sends the table into the wall. “Come for me.” He gets a hand between them, swipes his thumb over her clit a few times and it’s all it takes to send her over again, the near scream in his ear. She clenches around him like a vice, her moans muffled by the seal of his mouth around hers. He kisses her through her second climax, his own coming quickly, and one final push of his hips and the rasp of her name on his lips. It takes more strength than he anticipated to keep himself upright, and his arms shake with effort as he cleans her up with a tissue from his pocket. Aaron helps her down, making sure her legs don’t give out beneath her in the unforgiving shoes, beginning the now arduous task of searching for their clothes. Even with the closed door they hear the boom of music, indicating the party is still going strong.

“We should make this a yearly thing,” Emily says with a wicked grin, tossing his jacket in his direction. “No one even missed us.”

He pretends to consider it, wondering if there’s any truth to her words. They’ve been gone awhile; certainly by now someone might be wondering. His jaw flexes as he watches her rearrange her bra, getting the dress over her head and past her hips. And as his eyes wander down her legs to the expensive shoes, the ones with the name he still can’t pronounce, he knows he’ll never be able to deny her. “Fine. But only if you wear those again.”

#hotchniss #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss #hotchniss fanfiction #smut #writing smut at 5 am what else is new #i'm making myself late for work with this one but oh well

[thattimdrakeguy]

Prompt: Bruce hugs Tim after Tim fought with Jack

Alright, fellas, gonna be honest. Got way into the whys and hows of the actual fight with Jack over the actual comforting hug with Bruce.

It’s in there, oh boy it’s there, but I’m curious to see if this thing even fits into a Tumblr post cause I don’t know what the limits are actually.

So uh,

Trigger Warnings for: Domestic Abuse, Emotional Abuse, Mentions of Drugs, Threats of the Police (is that a trigger warning? cause I feel like it should be nowadays), traumatization, and potentially more. Oh, and Alfred has a gun but idk if that falls into any triggers.

It’s not a “Jack is evil” fiction. I tried to stay away from that. But I didn’t try to not make him do something I did feel like he’d do at the same time. He never hits Tim, I’ll say that.

Hoping it’s not too bad. I feel it’s half decent. So ayy.

Wasn’t sure what to call it.

Maybe “Assumptions and Consequences” idk.

Also probably has lots of typos and grammar mistakes so sorry for that lol.

--

Tim Drake loved his dad. His biological mother had already died, and Jack was all Tim had. Dana Winters was only Jack’s girlfriend who was wanting to become Tim’s mother, but it hadn't happened quite yet. So Tim only had one parent left, and man, did it suck to have a parent sometimes when you’re Robin. All the lying from having to be Robin drove Tim mad some days. Plus neither of them were quite compatible with one another. Honestly how were they even related?

Jack thought Tim was a bad kid. Well, he didn’t, but look at the evidence. Tim kept sneaking out, leaving school early, getting into fights. That was a kid acting out if Jack ever knew, and Jack would blame himself, until he couldn’t be bothered about it. Was it Jack’s fault? Jack had a habit of forgetting it a day or two after an accident. So he never really did improve yet, despite saying he would.

But the thing was, Tim wasn’t a bad kid. He was a great kid; a really great kid. Tim Drake was Robin the Boy Wonder. Not that he was the most talented, or most efficient at being Robin, but Tim filled the job out well. Being a good kid as Robin, meant having to be a bad kid as Tim though. When Tim saw bad things happening, Tim had to disappear, for Robin to take a beating, and for Tim to keep the bruises.

One day it got too much for Jack to handle. Tim wasn’t even home yet, and Jack’s face was red. The man of the house kept pacing back and forth really considering what he had to do to contain Tim this time. In his sea of tension he started biting down on his fist to get out some of the anger but it wasn’t stopping. What would Tim’s mother think of Tim right now? All those years of Janet protecting Tim and coddling him, and all it took was--what a few years for Tim to turn into this? Janet would’ve been so disappointed in him.

Jack sat down in his recliner past midnight to wait for his son, and only seconds after the creaking sound of his chair did he hear the doorknob twisting on the opening door that must’ve been his son. Must’ve been a lazy day for Tim. Normally Tim would come in through the window of his bedroom. Jack was actually listening for a creak on the walls. After a quick sigh that came deep within the chest, Jack tossed down his remote swiftly onto the table making a loud smacking sound, as he stood up and turned around.

It was darkly lit like a shadowy alley way in the house. All Jack wanted to do was scare the crap out of Tim. He didn’t care how small Tim was, or how young he was, if Tim was so willing to let Jack be scared, Jack thought it only made sense for him to scare Tim right back to make it only fair. Jack grabbed a flashlight on the coffee table and shined it in the eyes of the small figure that stood right in his doorway. And he made sure to make himself seem as big as he possibly could. Standing up straight, broadening his shoulders, and holding his flashlight up higher.

He prepared his voice as something similar to Clint Eastwood. All he did all day was watch movies and take phone calls, and it really showed. “Tim, do you mind telling me, why in God’s green hell are you so damn f--” Jack quickly squinted his eyes. This wasn’t Tim he was looking at. It was Ariana Dzerchenko, and she was shaking in her boots, while Jack seemed disappointed it wasn’t his son. “What the hell are doing in my damn house?! You’re telling me at 3 A-#@!@#-M you don’t have anything better to do, then open my door when I never even gave you a key? My son isn’t even here. You trying to steal from me?” Jack went over to grab her arm after the brash accusation. “Get over here, I’m calling your Uncle.”

Ariana moved her arm away and backed outside, still shaking. She stared at Jack scared, and concerned. Ariana could tell he was disappointed for the wrong reasons

“Look, it’s either in my house and I call your uncle, and you take another foot and it’s the police.” grunted Jack. He stopped bothering doing the gravelly voice, but he was still oh-so-damned pissed. After Ariana didn’t bother making any move of any sorts, Jack relented and tried to talk a little more normal. “Do you know where Tim is?” he asked like it was only the afternoon and he happened to pass her in the park.

“N-no.” was the only word Ariana could manage to get passed her lips.

Jack’s brow lowered, and angled. “Then why are you here, Miss?” He took a step closer to Ariana. “And be honest.”

“T-Tim, uh, he, uh, he asked me to bring back this and put it on the kitchen counter.” the girl held up the house key. “And all he said to me was that he was going to be late. Really late, and that he didn’t want his dad to worry again.”

All Ariana could see of Jack was the way the shadows contoured around his aging face. Making him not even look human. It made him look paler, with black eyes and a still face that would barely move except when it got angrier.

“He tell you where he was?” Jack asked again as he turned his head to the left. His left ear was his good ear.

“No, sir. He just sounded...swollen-y.”

“Swollen?”

“Like he just got hit in the face again.”

“Did you hear anything else?”

“A really loud engine and some gunshots later when I called him. Look, Mister, I’m really worried about him too. I didn’t even want to come over here--but I was just--I was just hoping he’d be here again maybe. Do you know what he could be doing?”

“Hell no. At this point my son doesn’t tell me anything. All I can guess is that the son of mine, I spent all that money on, is dealing drugs, like my money isn’t good enough for him.”

“Drugs? Timmy? Drugs? I’m not his parent or anything, I’m just his friend, but Tim would never do anything like that. I think he’s in trouble in another way.”

“That’s what I thought, but somehow every week I’m getting a call from the school counselor telling me that my small-fry son is dealing with a bruise of some kind. They found him passed out in school one time, and I found dirt marks on the outside of his window. What kind of normal former-board-school-student do you hear about ending up like that?”

“But Tim went on for hours one time about how he hates drugs. He saw a kid with a bag of something and wouldn’t stop ranting for what felt like an hour. He--”

“Ari--”

“--wouldn’t ever--”

“You can go home, Ariana! And thank you for your time. I won’t tell the police, or your uncle. But just go home now.”

“I--” Ariana closed her eyes and realized she better just go. “Okay. Okay, I’ll...go. Just tell me Tim’s okay when he comes back. And--if it actually ends up being drugs...tell him--tell him we’re over.” she fled the scene not being able to handle it anymore.

Jack didn’t answer back, but he knew that she knew he wasn’t going to tell her anything that was going to happen. Once he heard a ruffling in the bush right where Tim’s room would be, he knew that the boy came home. Taking another chest deep breath he slowly walked to that wall where he saw Tim, and he used the flashlight on him for real this time.

That middle parted bowl cut, and baby-face were impossible to misidentify. His already large eyes grew larger and he looked like he saw an entire army of ghosts coming for his head. Sneaking into his own house was something he’s done dozens of times. Tim loved sneaky time, but this time he thought he really messed it up. His Robin career and life flashed right in front of his eyes.

Nothing in Jack’s mind resembled pleasant. Everything was fire and disappointment. Actually seeing his son in the act of sneaking around outside, when he should be in bed made everything he thought felt true as the solution to a math problem. Just like the outlaws in the westerns he watched, Jack narrowed his eyes as he paid attention to his target. He really needed to get outside himself fast.

Tim gasped, as his mind had no thoughts besides a realization that his dad finally caught him sneaking in. “Dad?!” he uttered before being grabbed by the collar of his sweater.

“So you finally decided that my house is better than whatever alley you've been laying in every night?” pushing himself closer to Tim, Jack made it so the only thing he could see of Tim was the panic in his baby blue eyes.

Meanwhile, all Tim could see was the anger in his dad’s face. “W-what are you talking about?!” Tim’s voice cracked. He knew his dad thought something was going on, but he never imagined it’d be this intense. He could break the grip on Jack at any time, but would Jack find that even more suspicious? Tim still had Dana thinking he was too small to play football. Could Jack believe Tim would be able to take down someone over a foot his own size?

“The drugs, Tim. The drugs.” The hoarseness to Jack’s voice was painful. If his hand was around Tim’s neck and not just his collar, he’d be strangling the kid. “I've been staying up each night for the past three days waiting for you to come home. To have a fatherly chat, but all I ever hear is you sneaking up the wall, and I’ve had enough of that. I try to be a father, and you just try to treat me like an obstacle. Is all I am to you, is in your way, Tim? I paid for your freaking ninja camp, and it ends within a week of you being there. If the people running the camp didn’t end up in jail, I’d have the mind to ask them what you exactly did there. A fake piercing, and fake stubble to look tougher? I’d be real curious to know where exactly a 14-year-old kid can buy a fake stubble.”

Tim was really doing his best to try and seem calm. If he didn’t everything would get much worse. Then it donned on him that he was treating his own dad like he would a master criminal in the middle of a breakdown. “Dad, I really know this looks bad. I really do. Trust me. But this isn’t at all like what it seems.”

“Answer me immediately: If I searched your room would I find drugs? Narcotics? Booze?”

Booze. Tim could smell the booze in his dad’s breath. If Tim showed up just a bit earlier it wouldn’t have been this bad. And you know Tim would beat himself up over that when he shouldn’t.

“No, you wouldn’t find anything of the sort. I need you to listen,  I’m going to need you to let go of me, and put down the light. It’s hurting me.” Another half second passed where Tim’s brain suddenly tried to process this. And like someone running away from the scene, it hurt too bad to stay on it. “I don’t deal drugs...I--I stop people from selling drugs!” Even in a moment like this, not having to lie for once felt like a weight off of Tim’s shoulders.

The man standing above Tim was about to blind him with that flashlight, but he eventually dropped Tim down onto the wet and muddy grass below them. Where he left him lay and to get mud all over his clothes without any sense of regret. Jack could only think of his late wife. Which seemed rare ever since he got to know Dana better. Strangely, this Janet that Jack was remembering seemed to be a lot more on his side than anyone that knew them back then would remember.

“Don’t talk down to me.” said Jack in an uncomfortably soft voice. “I let you stay in my house because I loved you enough to let you. Your room is my property, everything in there was bought with my money.” The pace he spoke was slow and methodical. His mind was quiet and released. “I am going to look in your room. You’re going to stay here, and when I come back to you. I’ll decide then what’s going to happen to you.”

Should Tim speak? Should he not? What was better right then? When he heard Jack talk about his room, he wasn’t worried about the punishment he’d have to deal with. All he was worried about was any proof about being Robin. That wasn’t just Tim’s own secret to keep. It was a secret he had to share, and was honored to share.

“I--I can’t let you do that, sir.” another voice crack from the kid.

“I bet I know why.” spoke Jack with full eye contact. To him he wasn’t lying to himself. It was a fact he had to find the evidence for. “Let it be known by the way, that I don’t hate you. I’m scared for you. But you also make it awfully hard to love you lately.”

That was one hit Tim couldn’t dodge.

Being 3 AM not too many people were able to witness any of this happening, except for one particular neighbor in Alfred Pennyworth. He was tidying up around the side windows on the second floor when he could see some sort of commotion at the Drake residence. Using binoculars like a bird watcher that exclusively looks for Robins, he saw Tim on the ground and Tim’s dad above him. That wasn’t going to fly past anyone in Stately Wayne Manor.

Very quickly he let Bruce know that Tim needed help and why. It’d only take a few minutes for him to return to his home, but it felt crucial. Tim needed a father figure that felt like he’d protect him, and not vilify him. In no world is Batman the best for the job of dad, but he gave it his best unlike Jack.

Outside it was wet from the harsh rain earlier in the evening. Most of the lights in the neighbors were out, signifying they had gone to sleep. A foot felt like a yard when everything was so quiet and dark.

So though the owner of the manor wouldn’t exactly appreciate it, Alfred brought a small fire-arm in the inner pocket of his suit jacket just in case things went worse. Very quickly he rushed his way over to Tim, making it just after Jack entered the Drake residence again. Tim still seemed in such a shock that he didn’t even try to get himself up.

In his head, Tim meant to go after his dad, but his mental legs just gave out on him. Leaving him to sit in the mud as he panics about what could happen next. He recounted where all of his Robin stuff was. During his messy messy thoughts he was almost certain that it was all on, wearing it under his clothes. Confidence was never Tim’s highest attribute though. Normally it was his perceptiveness, but it was failing him. He was lucky he could still recognize Alfred.

“Alfred?” said a confused Tim who was dazed more and more as the night went on.

“Young Master Timothy, are you alright?” greeted the Butler as he helped Tim up to see his feet. “I didn’t see everything, but I saw everything I needed to.” He quickly noticed a bruise on Tim’s cheek. “Young sir, did he do this to you, or was it another person?”

“Who’s ‘he’?” Tim’s eyes widened and looked past Alfred. “Dad?”

Alfred may have been an older man, but he wasn’t a man you should bother trying to stand taller than. The quiet, noble man turned around promptly and stood his ground and he saw fit. Only reaching his hand in, just in case, with no intent on striking first. When Alfred turned around to see the returning Jack, there wasn’t any cowardice within him. Former British Secret Service agent Alfred Pennyworth could get the drop on anyone if he tried hard enough, besides those with powers. Tim’s dad wasn’t someone with powers, so Alfred had his number ready just in case.

Jack on the other hand only had a vague sense of right and wrong keeping him from hurting anyone. Just sick of the lies, and obvious sneaking around. Whoever thought Jack was a good dad never really saw enough of him.

“Who--Are you--are you Wayne’s butler? Did he call you?” Jack  asked, pointing at Tim. “The kid’s fine. There’s nothing to worry about. He’s just being sensitive.”

“Jack Drake, I want to let you know that I am not a blind man, nor an easily fooled man. And that all I see when I look into the eye’s a man such as you, that all I see is an inner-pain that I’ve seen nearly everyday since my eyes could first see, and my mind could first retain thought. All you do is feel bitter, distract yourself, and in the moments where you can’t, you take it out on everyone else. If I look at the ground behind me, I can see a very brave boy have a fear so bad that he didn’t even want to get out of the mud. Either meaning he’s about to be killed, or he’s being traumatized, and I don’t see a gun in your hand. So sit down and get some rest, and think about it. While I’ll take young Timothy with me where he’ll be safe for the night, sir.”

“You know I’m not going to let you do that.” growled Jack.

“Then allow me to let you know that in my inner jacket pocket I have a firearm that you know I’ll use. Not to aim at your head, but below the waist where, if you don’t already know,  it won’t count for attempted murder.”

“I’ll call the cops on you then, you bum. You’ve freeloaded on Wayne before that man could walk. To this city you’re nobody but the guy that used to wipe Wayne’s ass.”

“I’m mighty gracious I don’t have any worry of convincing you of anything. The reputation I actually do have serves me enough just fine. As for...your reckless statement on the police, I should let you know we have cameras showing everything that happened. You wouldn’t be the one winning in court.” Alfred didn’t look pleased when he took another glance at Tim who was struggling to process any of this. Alfred was there in the same home Tim was in when he found out his mother died. This wasn’t something Alfred enjoyed doing. “You can come with me now, Timothy. We’ll figure this out, alright?”

Surprisingly, Jack let them walk away. Jack wasn’t an evil man. But not being evil doesn’t equal being good. Life was just complicated, and so was he. Did he regret his actions? Well, he isn’t a monster. Of course he did--Well, maybe he did. Who really freaking knew. But did he know why exactly he did if he had? Not quite. Was he going to get better? There was going to be a while before that’d happen.

Inside Tim’s own heart he felt dead. The remains of his biological family seemed to break down into crumbs of dust. Where was home anymore? Jack didn’t say he wasn’t allowed to come back home, but the message was made plenty clear that he couldn’t go back home easily. Actually, Tim didn't know if he wanted to go home after that. Even for such a great detective, Tim had no clue what his dad was going to be like after that.

Mud. Ew, the mud. It was all over Tim’s clothes and hands from his fall. It certainly wasn’t going to help Tim’s mood.

“Young Master Timothy, I think it’d be in your best interest to get a bath and relax. You can give me your clothes for me to wash, and I’m sure we have some of your clothes around here somewhere for you to lay around in.” he stated as he opened the door to Stately Wayne Manor for Tim.

Tim barely said any words, and said none of all during the walk to the Manor. “Oh, okay, Alfie.” Even his tone of voice seemed down on himself.

Seeing Tim so frozen stiff over it was breaking Alfred’s heart bit by bit. He’s seen Tim shake in fear, he’s seen him panic, but never frozen. This really was different. It was obvious it would be, but seeing it in person is always a different feeling. As they went up stairs you wouldn’t know Tim was an athlete. Alfred saw how natural Tim was at acrobatics in front of his own eyes, and now he saw the young boy struggling going up stairs.

Batman wasn’t able to make it till after Tim was in the bath. So he’d have to wait a bit to speak with him. He took off his cowl and how upset he was, was immediately evident. He had a stubble covered frown, and was breathing heavily, which was odd since he came home in the Batwing. As someone who stops domestic disturbances like this when he has to, he was fuming.

“We have to do something about Jack Drake, Alfred.” said Bruce drinking the tea Alfred gave them, as they waited for Tim in the kitchen.

“Something involving the courts may I assume?” assumed Alfred.

Bruce shook his head. “No. At least not yet, unfortunately.”

“Sir, but we have the evidence. There’s no doubt we’d win.”

“He’s still Tim’s father. That means something, and is a bond that’s hard to break, and shouldn’t be broken.”

“If I was only a second or two late, I would say it’s accurate to assume Mister Jack Drake was going to strike Timothy. He reeked of liquor and tossed him onto the ground.”

“But he didn’t hit him. Sounding harsh isn’t my imperative. But accusing a child of doing something they didn’t do, wouldn’t classify as anything that’d allow Tim to leave. And again, Tim and Jack are family. We shouldn’t break a family. That isn’t a good goal to set.”

“Are you really defending a man that didn’t bother to raise his own son, that he threatened with boarding school over something he should be more sympathetic with, and berates him when Tim actually acts his own age? People can change, Master Wayne, but when people are constantly given chances, those chances should run out eventually.”

“What would you suggest, Alfred? I’m doing what's best for Tim in my eyes. If we took him from his dad he’d hate us forever. Once Tim is able to function properly again, he’ll just look at it like another incident in his life. He’ll want to go back whether he wants to or not, because in his heart he loves his father.”

“Please forgive me for what I’m about to say, Master Wayne. But your over glorification of genetic parents because of the death of your own seems to have left you forgetting that whether biological or not, your family isn’t truly who’s related to you by blood.” Alfred sighed having to speak in such a rough way. “You’ve brought in Master Grayson as your ward, and Master Todd as your son. Family is who you bring in close and who you choose to stay with, and if you all care for one another. Sir, you know this best. And I’m not forgetful that they had no parents left when you brought them in, but don’t forget that just because they live right beside your home that damage isn’t being done to a child.”

The chair Bruce was sitting on squeaked as he moved back to stand up. He made his way up the stairs to where Tim was getting a bath. He took a deep breath, and took a moment to consider his actions, and knocked on the door.

“Tim--Tim are you decent? I’d like to speak to you about what happened. Now, it doesn’t have to be right this moment. Take any moment you need. But we need to know if--”

In a quick unhesitating moment, the door opened, and Tim never looked smaller to Bruce. The vulnerable look in his eye mixed with the oversized sweater he had on. The kid was still damp from a poor job drying himself, but it didn’t stop him from leaping at Bruce and putting his arms around him for a hug. Tim rested his head on Bruce’s chest as it was the highest he could reach, and he squeezed as hard as he could. A slight tear went down Tim’s face. Did he hear Alfred and Bruce? In the moment it didn’t matter, and Bruce hugged him back in a fatherly embrace. Neither of them knew what to do.

As the hug continued on longer Bruce lifted Tim into the air in a similar matter as Jack and Tim as Tim went to make sure they were okay during No Man’s Land. Would Tim remember that and choose to stay with Jack? Did Tim still believe Jack would get better? Or would Bruce’s rare act of physical affection convince Tim to tell everything he knew to make a case to stay with Bruce? Did it even matter yet?

It felt like a part of Tim’s life died, but as an era of your life is killed, another is born. Something new you have to make the best out of. Maybe the era will stay and it’ll get better, or maybe not. The future was a mystery, and could be scary. If it wasn’t then people wouldn’t be pretending to be fortune tellers. Sometimes though, it’s best just to remember and focus on the present.

“I love you, R--um, Tim. I hope you know this. I care about you, and want to protect you for as long as I can, and if needed I’m absolutely willing to--” Bruce was cut off by a still tearful Tim.

“I love you too, Bruce.”

#Tim Drake #Robin #Alfred Pennyworth #Jack Drake #Bruce Wayne #Batman #Fan fics #Fan fictions

[garrothromeave]

the hell is mystreet season 6??

(warning, long post ahead)

ok so before i start this

1) ive never posted shiiiit on tumblr before so watch me suffer, im just here to talk about stuff that my friends who dont know anything about aphmau have to listen to me rant about for hours on end

2) i havent seen mystreet in like years (except season 3, i watch that frequently since im laurance and shadow knight deprived) so please bear with me because i might be completely wrong on this lol. it’s just like, pointing out things i remember

3) im sure someones already talked about this but who cares

4) im gonna do this stupid thing where i just explain myself a bit at first, if you dont want to read that just skip to the part where you see “the actual thingy:” in bold and italics 

5) mild disclaimer; i am completely aware that jessica is not a professional writer. i know that she did her best to appeal to her fans, and honestly, respect for that. while this post will come off as aggressive and probably look like hate, that’s not my intention in the slightest. it’s just... intense criticism. im sure y’all probably already know that, but yeah, just stating that anyways. i do believe that jess is doing her best, and in no way do i want to dismiss any hard work she’s done. that being said; prepare for a very strongly opinionated post.

haha watch there be 10000+ typos in this making me look like a complete dumbass

ok here we go 

one of the main reasons i stopped watching aphmau back in 2017 was the mess that was season 4. like, in the first few episodes of the emerald secret, i thought “woah!! this is kinda cool, im a sucker for mystery!” because of course i was, it was something new and something exciting. the only problem i had with it at the time was kim, but that’s just because i always found her annoying and out of place. i just didn’t understand why garroth dragged her along and honestly i still don’t to this day BUT, moving on.

anyways, as the season progressed, 13 year old me was of course just “:0!!” the entire time--that is, up until the reveal of the main villain. i remember watching the episode, seeing the reveal of ein, and then stopping. like, just for a quick break, but i was still just overwhelmingly disappointed. like, and this was the time when pdh was airing and ein just got made alpha (i think?) and i had really really liked eins character in pdh. either way, that really sucked and actually opened my eyes to a lot of things.

one of the main things bein’ the fact that this was supposed to be a slice of life kinda series that decided to take a turn to a more edgy kinda approach. which, i guess i regularly wouldnt mind? but seeing as mcd was kinda bein neglected at the time it just didnt sit right with me. BUT WHATEVER, point is i stopped watching mystreet all together at the end of season 4.

like, a whole year later my brother tells me that shit’s getting intense in season 5 + 6 of mystreet, and my brilliant self decided to give it a shot--but i refused to watch all of season 5, so i only stepped in when ein made an appearance. so whenever that was, that’s where i picked up because i didnt care enough to see 

and y’know--i honestly didn’t hate it at first. in fact, i found it oddly cool. it wasn’t enough to get me into aphmau again, but it was enough to where i was intrigued. i dont know why, but i never watched the finale, so i didnt see the ending until just a few weeks ago--but back then, i thought it was neat. looking back on it however... im just so confused. 

side note: only got back into aphmau this time around because of mcd. mainly because like, i adore the first season and the first half of the second season. and being nearly 18 now, im a lot more appreciative of plot and well-written characters n junk. 

the actual thingy:

ok back on track. imma stop spilling out my story of how i got back into aphmau, and lets just skip to what rewatching mcd made me realize of season 6′s plot and shit:

-emmalyn. how the fuck does ghost even remotely exist? if she’s emmalyn as claimed, then why have we already seen emmalyn in the mystreet universe alive? look i get that creators can do whatever they want with their stories but at the same time please provide some sort of explanation good god. and maybe they did and i just havent seen it, so if there is one--let me know. but until that day imma just sit here confused as fuck

-ok so imma just be real, the whole ‘ultima’ thing is just... not great. in my opinion, anyways. like... i saw someone mention this in another post, but if this ultima stuff was like, a really big deal, why isnt it mentioned in mcd? though i suppose since its a curse of sorts, it could be later on past the time period in which mcd takes place--but even then, how did it manage to make its way into aaron’s family bloodline? 

-WHY IS EVERYONE AT STARLIGHT ITS JUST SO CONVINIENT like what happened to this place being the most expensive shit on the planet or whatever, and how the gang happens to run into like, the werewolf trio and blaze and kai and guy and nate all of these people like god damn life doesnt WORK LIKE THAT 

-im sorry but turning people into relics? thats... thats the best you could come up with? plus, like, how does that even work? in mcd it’s established that relics are separate entitles that choose their wielder, based on a ‘personal’ connection (being a descendent of a previous wielder) or if they’re a good match personality and (i think?) moral wise. so the whole turning-people-into-relics doesnt make much sense to be honest. 

-irene really over here using her god powers to only keep her friends alive like god damn not a great god if you ask me 

-can i talk about how incredibly predictable aphmaus death was? like i just kinda sat there waiting for it to happen and when it did i literally went “haha! wonder when she’ll be revived” because god forbid we actually kill off characters 

-when aphmau + demon warlock fought in the irene dimension there was no passage of time whatsoever in the real world whiiiiiiiiich really bothers me because they fought in there for at least a few minutes

-speaking of aphmau and the demon warlocks fight does it bother anyone else that it had to be aaron who took over the fight?? like we get it hes the big protector blah blah blah but god damn it wouldve been cooler if aphmau had fought this battle as her. aaron fighting this battle was so underwhelming

-...love. like, thats the only thing thats needed to break out of a forever potion? love? LIKE YEAH, GOOD GUYS GOTTA WIN SOMEHOW, but its just so cliche and overdoneeee

-oh yeah and also when travis went bonkers and became the demon warlock or whatever, why’d he only take over katelyn and garroth?? like, zane had been influenced by the potions in the past as well? DONT GET ME WRONG--i do love some good brother edge, but uh, the demon warlock was just bein kinda a dumbass by not possessing zane too just sayin’

-can aaron please go to fucking jail for mass murder now like holy shit, he just got sent home on a fuckin boat. also why did blaze forgive him for killing him thats not even remotely realistic. then again, nothing in mystreet has ever been realistic when it comes to characters and motives and personalities, (cough katelyn being actually abusive and travis being an actual pervert) but yknow whatever

-katelyn and kawaii chan literally added nothing to the plot whatsoever. like lets be real, katelyn lost her personality the moment season 5 started and kawaii chan just kinda sits there :I

-ok im sorry this was bound to come up but cmon guys imagine laurances potential if he was in season 6 like god damn this is beyond maddening. AND YOU KNOW WHAT WOULD HAVE BEEN A REALLY REALLY COOL PARRALLEL?? IF IT WAS LAURANCE WHO SNAPPED GARROTH OUT OF HIS MIND CONTROL THING, because it would mimic laurance’s speech to get garroth to snap out of his rage in season 1, episode 100 of minecraft diaries. like how fuckin rad would that have been? missed opportunity 

-also?? why does kim/ghost know magicks?? like, if i remember correctly, emmalyn is a scholar--not someone who knew magicks. i mean, i guess research? study?? but its been established that knowing how magicks works =/= being able to use magicks. i dunno, just doesnt seem right i guess. maybe its explained, i wouldnt know (yes i know that makes me look like a dick leave me alone)

-melissa should have stayed dead. LIKE, NO, ITS NOT AS SIMPLE AS “haha it takes more than a few bullets to kill me”??? look ive got nothing wrong with melissa (cough lie cough) but yknow it would have just been cool a character... stay dead? for once? its just too fuckin cliche that shes alive god damn

-can i also just say the only good thing that came out of season 6 was travis’ dads sacrifice like damn that made me actually sad

-howww was lucinda turned into a relic. or yknow, anyone else? like im sure they explain it better in the actual show i just dont remember, but its just that easy? turning anyone into a relic? granted, a normal person wouldnt be able to produce a good relic, but idk man. IM JUST SAYING; that the only really powerful relics that aphmau should have been able to wield is the one that aaron + zane produced because shad relic and esmund relic moment. lucinda isnt even like, connected to a divine warrior. ALSO, another point, if its seriously that powerful of a relic getting one from just a magic user like lucinda, why go through the trouble? i mean i guess ofc youd want the “all powerful” one that the ultima produces but i mean damn whats the point

-ok this is just going to bother me but in one of the episodes (i think might have been in season 5 actually) where that like, guardian dude was chasing aphmau and zane and at one point they split up and the dude just chuckles at zane diverting paths and goes under his breath “youre not the important one here”, suggesting that aphmau somehow is? first of all, id argue that any ro’meave is significantly more important than aphmau was, especially not knowing much about her other than that shes with aaron. i might be missing some bits an pieces, but if i was that dude id forget about aphmau and go after zane 

-killing off derek for shock factor sucked, and i know the moment was supposed to be really sad because like “oh :( aarons dad is sacrificing himself for his son” but lets be real dereks still was a shitty father and i dont think his reasons for doing what he did was very good at all

-less about plot or more like: why the absolute fuck did the gang bring kim along instead of, oh i dont know, a life-long friend? like, laurance or dante maybe?? im sure its explained, i never saw aphmaus year or most of season 5, but god DAMN id hate to be apart of this friend group AND GOD LIKE, imagine reconnecting with an old friend who ends up getting closer to your best friends and taking priority in their lives over you (cough laurance) like god damn lol

-im just going to preface this one with: i dont remember everything that’s happened, so if im wrong i apologize in advance--but (you actually can correct me if im wrong and please do) didnt like, irene reincarnate her friends in order to give them better lives? I DONT KNOW IF THIS IS TRUE, ITS JUST WHAT I REMEMBER--however, if im correct, then:

a. why the hell would she bring back someone like zane, or gene, or ivy, etc.

b. why the hell do they all have the same exact names? first and last? again, im aware that the whole mystreet+mcd tie wasn’t originally supposed to be there, but i dont think that means such a coincidence can be excused? its just a bit much if you ask me.

c. why the hell is the fact that (as much as i literally hate this) aaron is a decedent of shad being ignored? like, you’d think that something like this would be something thats actually important, or something the demon warlock couldve taken advantage of. or are we completely erasing every other connections to divine warriors besides aphmau + irene? because even if irene did reincarnate them or do whatever it is she did, does she even have the power to sever the connections between them and their ancestors? my guess is, no.

d. speaking of irene why on earth was aphmau able to talk to/see irene, they’re literally the same person are they not? did she like, fuckin reincarnate herself without actually doing it?? BUT--i will give it to them, the demon warlock did refer to aphmau as something along the lines of being “one of the 3 parts of her broken soul” or something like that. however, my point still remains. also what are the other two did i miss that or is it never explained

now; if irene in fact did not ‘reincarnate’ her friends then please ignore that little bit right there :)

but yes, those are a few of the problems i have with season 6 off the top of my head. i would go into like, season 4 and 5 more as well, but i honestly didnt feel like it. at some point i might go into other things, like how important laurance could have been to the plot of these later seasons, or HELL, even dante. i might also go into what could have made season 4, 5, and 6 actually good--maybe... a rewrite? perhaps? but im getting too far ahead of myself, so i just leave you with this for now.

and i know that as soon as i post this 15 more things are just going to pop into my head BUT im going to try and not edit this post because why stress myself with that even more

anyways thank you for coming to my tedtalk 

#in conclusion i hate it here #lets go back to mystreet bein slice of life pls #anyways tune in next week for 'the hell is pdh??' #aphmau #mcd #mystreet #minecraft diaries #please ignore these next tags im just promoting relentlessly #garroth ro'meave #zane ro'meave #aaron lycan #kawaii chan #kim mystreet #laurance zvhal #pls i have no idea how to tag posts #rant

[pedros-mustache-main]

like the movies

summary: he’s the writer; you’re the muse. there’s a cup of coffee somewhere in there, too.

word count: 3.3k+

warnings: fluff & pining—so, a change of pace from my usual angst. :) also: a serious lack of dialogue because i am feeling verbose. 

a/n: this is entirely @joemazzmatazz‘s fault. it was her idea (albeit given to me actual ages ago), but she said “do it” and who am i to say no? anywho, i’m relatively uncertain about how this turned out, but have it regardless!

your latte is hot, almost too hot. it burns your tongue on the first sip.

but you welcome the heat and the momentary burst of pain. the weather swirling outside borders on atrocious: freezing rain mixed with snow flurries, bloated, gray clouds, and a thin layer of ice on all surfaces. though the tip of your tongue stings upon that first sip, the heat that rushes to your chest pushes away the dreary weather you’d slogged through to get to the coffee shop.

you’re a regular here. not a regular regular, but regular enough that the interchangeable baristas recognize you and you recognize them. you exchange tight-lipped smiles and nods of greeting when you approach the counter, but nothing more than simple pleasantries. you don’t know their names, and they never ask for yours, but they remember your order: frosted blueberry latte with extra foam. it’s gotten to the point where you can simply walk up to the counter, money in hand, and the barista can repeat your order before you open your mouth.

it’s the little things, you suppose. in this little corner of the world, you feel seen.

today, you have your laptop open, latte pushed to the side, and a cherry and almond scone on a bright blue plate. you resist the urge to pull your foot up on the chair and rest your chin on your knee. though you’re here more often than you’re at home, this isn’t your living room. you settle for sliding your ankle beneath your opposite thigh.

being a paralegal is decidedly unglamorous. sure, it sounds highfalutin to the person sitting beside you on the airplane, but damn, if it isn’t stressful. you feel like a glorified secretary most of the time. pushing papers and getting signatures and making tens of phone calls to people and places that are not interested in speaking to a lawyer isn’t really what you signed up for. at least, it’s not what you ultimately want. it pays the bills for now, though; a partnership… that’ll come later.

you’re lucky enough that you can work remotely, hence your sturdy corner of the café. from where you sit, you watch customers enter and exit the shop. each time the door opens and the little bell tinkles above, a blast of cold air rushes into the cramped space. you enjoy watching the reaction of newcomer­—the way they stamp their snow-covered shoes on the wood floor and shiver, turn to their companions with a smile, hurry to the counter to order something sweet and warm. in those moments, you grow wistful, your heart lurching with loneliness. it’s been a long time since you’ve had anyone to meet for an afternoon coffee date, friend or otherwise. your job doesn’t afford much downtime, and what downtime you do have is devoted to menial life responsibilities. 

your phone buzzes, and you glance down. a text from your boss. time to refocus.

you work for a while longer, nibbling on your scone, sipping from your latte. the emails pile up, and your phone buzzes incessantly. a headache forms at the base of your skull as you struggle to keep up with the constant flurry of communication.

after receiving a terse email from your boss’s legal partner in relation to something that is no fault of your own, you shut your laptop. a five-minute break; you deserve that much. rubbing a hand down your weary face, you grab your purse, slide out from behind the table, and head for the restroom. in the poorly lit bathroom, you splash some cool water on your cheeks and sigh at your reflection in the mirror. you look tired, feel it too. the dark bags under your eyes bely how little sleep you’ve gotten in the last week, and your shoulders droop under the weight of the world. maybe by christmas…

who are you kidding? christmas is just as busy as any other time of the year. people don’t stop needing lawyers just ‘cause it’s the holidays.

when you return to your makeshift workspace, you immediately frown. you freeze several paces from the corner of the table and glance over your shoulder, tightening your grip on the strap of your purse.

someone had been at the table in the five minutes it took to freshen up.

nothing is gone, thank god. (in retrospect, you probably shouldn’t have left your laptop and phone sitting in plain sight. call it naivety, but you like to think the best of people. however, your line of work consistently reminds you that the bad in people often outweighs the good.) your laptop, though, has been nudged to the side, the movement causing the charging cord to fall out. several drops of dark liquid—spilled latte—dampen the corner of your yellow legal pad.

what truly catches you eye is the square piece of paper resting on your laptop’s keyboard like a discarded feather.

you look over your shoulder again, but the shop is largely empty save for the baristas and an older couple in the far corner. the weather is certainly a deterrent from lingering. perhaps someone had come in while you were in the bathroom and left you a note. had your car been hit? you hope not. you don’t have the extra funds for vehicular maintenance right now and even less time to fix whatever damage had been done.

leaning forward, you lift the piece of paper, and your chest tightens.

it’s a drawing—a drawing of you. blue ink scattered across the page in swirling lines forms the hazy outline of your profile. your chin rests in your hand, and the artist made certain note to emphasize your eyelashes, which are not that long in actuality. at the bottom of the page, a message in curling script: when you are old ­— yeats

your mouth runs dry, your palms moist with nerves. returning to your chair, you quickly type the words into the search bar of your browser. you remember enough from high-school english to know yeats is a poet, but when the poem loads and you read the words, you feel like you might fall over.

your neck snaps up, cracks at the sudden movement. someone had been here in the café long enough to watch you, to sketch you, and to think of the yeats poem in relation to you.

how decidedly… romantic. like something out of a chick-flick.

despite the warmth in your chest, you shut your laptop, fold the sketch, and shove it in your coat pocket, willing yourself to forget the random happenstance. things like that—serendipitous moments of romance—only happen in the movies. they certainly don’t happen to you.

whomever had left the note, well—at least they’d brightened your day. your mother would call it a gift from the heavens, an angel smiling down on you.

shaking your head, you gather your things and hurry out into the cold, wintery weather. you refuse to allow yourself to go home and daydream. you could use the note as a bookmark, sure, but there was no use in dreaming about the artist. no use whatsoever when you would likely never cross paths again.

except you do go home and daydream. why you ever thought you could keep yourself from mulling over a moment rife with potential is ridiculous.

all throughout the evening—as you make your stir-fry dinner, as you draw your bath, as you change the sheets on your bed, and fold the laundry—you consider the possibilities:

you’d been at the café for a handful of hours, but how much had you truly paid attention to the patrons coming and going? barely, if you’re honest with yourself. you had noticed the older couple when they came in; you’d wondered how they’d managed to get from the parking lot to the warmth of the coffee shop without slipping on the icy sidewalks. you’d noticed, too, a man who looked a lot like how you imagine paul bunyan: massive height, plaid shirt stuffed in worn jeans, impressive beard. no one else of note sticks out in your mind hours later.

what had you been doing all afternoon? hopefully you hadn’t done anything embarrassing. god, sometimes you have this habit of resting your fingers over your mouth in such a way that it pushes up your nose to resemble a pig’s snout. had you done that? sometimes you fiddle with your hair too much and bounce your knees and hum to yourself. you want to sink below the suds of your bathwater when you recall your propensity for talking to yourself.

your thoughts turn fanciful when you finally slip beneath your covers.

maybe the artist is like tom hanks in “you’ve got mail.” only instead of emails, you could exchange notes in a coffee shop and forgo the business rivalry part.

maybe the artist is like tom hanks in “sleepless in seattle”: soft and sweet and really good with kids.

maybe you just have a thing for tom hanks.

you turn your head with a girlish grin, tucking your lower lip between your teeth.

you’d promised yourself you wouldn’t daydream, but how could you not? yeats’s poem filters through your mind like the moon filtering through your curtains: how many loved your moments of glad grace, and loved your beauty with love false or true, but one man loved the pilgrim soul in you and loved the sorrows of your changing face.

with a muffled squeal, you allow yourself a moment to thrash in delight—like a schoolgirl with a crush and a note checked yes i like you tucked beneath her pillow. the idea that someone somewhere notices you, of all people, is simply too much to bear. you feel like your heart will explode and sunbeams will burst from beneath your skin. you feel warm and happy and drunk on possibility.

you settle, then, and sigh, smoothing your hands over the rumpled comforter. you’re a professional, though. a paralegal, for god’s sake. you’ll go back to the café. maybe not tomorrow, but you’ll go back. just maybe—maybe, maybe, maybe—you’ll run into your artist again.

you return to the coffee shop in two days, lugging your over-stuffed bag with you, earbuds snug in your ears. when you cross the threshold, you can’t help the way your eyes immediately scan the customers who have parked themselves in the various sitting areas. you’re looking for your artist, obviously, but you have nothing to go on other than the note tucked away in your jewelry box at home. a few words, a carefully drawn profile—that’s not enough to determine who had created the note from a simple glance.

begrudgingly, you remind yourself once again that life isn’t a movie. there’s no tom hanks waiting for you on the other end of the note. it’s silly to dwell on it any longer, really. you’ll get too wrapped up, too attached, and that wouldn’t bode well for the upcoming holidays.

the table you usually occupy is already taken by a man in a red sweater. his head is bent over his laptop, glasses slipping down his strong nose. you try not to take it to heart; the table was never explicitly yours. with a soft grunt of effort, you drop your belongings in an orange armchair across the room before meandering to the counter. julie (at least, you think that’s her name?) smiles when you approach, and she rings up your order, asking about the weather and plans for the holidays.

once your coffee is in hand, you return to your new seat and relax in the accommodating plush armchair. maybe the man in the red sweater had done you a favor after all. you glance up to look at him. if he stays as long as you often do, his ass will ache by the time he leaves. the wood chairs offer zilch in the way of comfort.

you quickly lose yourself in work, but the idea that your artist could be in the same room as you never truly leaves your mind. you find yourself glancing about the room from time to time, studying those who come and go, wondering if perhaps they were the one who saw something worthwhile in you. no one catches you eye; everyone is too busy with their own affairs, and you don’t blame them.

by the end of the afternoon, you find your latte completely and utterly forgotten. it’s cold when you take a tentative sip, and you sigh. maybe not five dollars wasted, but five dollars you had meant for a hot drink, especially considering the cold weather. rising from your seat, you take the latte to the counter and ask the barista to pour your drink in a to-go cup with some ice. might as well make the best of it, and you don’t like things to go to waste.

when you return to your chair, you nearly drop the plastic cup.

another note.

“holy shit,” you breathe. instinctively, your palm tightens around your cup, and the plastic gives a small crack. you wince and double-check to make sure no leaks have sprung before picking up the folded piece of paper on your messenger bag.

your fingers tremble as you flip open the folded note.

the same blue ink, same hurried penmanship. no drawing this time; only words.

she sat, much as i did, working fervently. i couldn’t help but watch, and maybe that made me a creep, but i’d been called worse. she sat with an heir of regality, her chin held firm, eyes dancing about the room like she owned the place. not haughty or self-possessed. just sure of herself. what did that make me then? alone in my corner? i didn’t like to dwell too long, so i—

the words stop in time with the seize of your heart.

you can’t seem to look away, to look around the room again in search of your artist, your writer. your heart pounds in your chest, flush rising on your cheeks. eyes—you feel eyes on you whether they are present or not. you feel dizzy. never have you felt so… seen, so noticed. not even in past relationships have your boyfriends took such care to notice the minute details of your being.

the strange urge to vomit rises in your throat. you aren’t afraid; you aren’t creeped out.

you’re just… overwhelmed.

so, you tuck the note in your pocket and leave, careful to keep your gaze on the floor as you exit. just in case your writer is still there, still watching.

you’re nothing special, nothing like the paragraph they penned. they should get that through their thick skull before they find themselves disappointed.

you don’t return to the coffee shop until after the holidays.

it’s not that hard to stay away. the hustle and bustle of work combined with the hustle and bustle of family gatherings keeps you from finding the time for an afternoon of solace anywhere, let alone the café.

you must admit that you think of your author often, try as you might to forget them.

by now, you have the cadence of the yeats poem memorized and the prose of the paragraph tattooed on the front of your mind. each time you pass a couple in a warm embrace, you wonder what became of your writer. you wonder if they think of you as much as you think of them; if they ruminate over the possibility of a life that cannot be.

if this were a movie, you would run into your author by random happenstance. you’d bump into them at the market, spill your legumes on the floor, touch hands in your haste to right the mistake, and—boom—as you look up, it would all fall into place.

if this were a movie, you would see them in the library or the post office or the deli or—

—or the coffee shop.

you sigh as you enter the café, wishing for your author to be there, knowing they won’t be. it is enough that you’ve experienced two mysterious love notes; things like that don’t come in threes.

that’s only in the movies.

the café still has its holiday decorations up. twinkle lights hang draped across the ceiling, and music filters over the sparsely filled tables and chairs. in the post-holiday haze, you didn’t expect the café to be crowded. in all truth, the sight of few patrons eases your mind.

less of a chance to run into your author. less of a chance to reveal yourself as the decidedly uninteresting person you are.

you set your belongings down at a side table, and as you reach for your wallet, a presence hovers over your shoulder. frowning slightly, you straighten, prepared to ask the person to kindly give you some space. when you do turn, your heart leaps to your throat, and the wallet in your hand clatters to the table.

it’s your author. you just know it.

there’s something vaguely familiar about the man, about his strong nose and groomed facial hair and crystal eyes. he’s tall, warm looking, like a hot drink on a cold day or a crackling fire. his eyes scan your face as though he is worried, as though he’s uncertain of what he should do now that you’ve actually faced him.

you speak before your thoughts catch up with your heart. “you wrote those notes, didn’t you?”

he nods, and the movement—so gentle, so reminiscent of a small boy on the verge of a scolding—makes you love him all the more. “yeah.” he sighs, lifts a hand to rub the back of his neck. “yeah, sorry about that. i wanted to apologize. wasn’t sure i’d get the chance, if you’d come back again.”

you shake your head. “no, don’t apologize. please don’t apologize.”

it’s his turn to frown, and he looks up from the table. you lose your breath momentarily. god, his eyes are blue. “when you left last time i thought… well, i thought i’d scared you off.” with a rueful chuckle, he shoves his hands in his pockets. “would serve me right, too.”

“why do you say that?”

“i mean, notes on your laptop when you aren’t looking? intently watching you? kinda stalkerish, huh?”

you can’t help but smile—smile at him, at the nervous twitch of his mouth, at the way he avoids your gaze. “i guess.” on a daring move, you reach out and touch his elbow. when you touch him, he feels like home. “but i don’t want you to apologize. i like the notes. i haven’t thought about anything else since you gave me the first one.”

“really?” there’s a hopeful tone in his voice; it sets your heart on fire.

“yeah.”

“i’m writing a book—a novel, really. i saw you so often that any time i got stuck, i just wrote about you instead.”

you could kiss him then and there. instead, you tell him your name, and he grins.

“i’m gwilym.”

“tell me, gwilym.” you pull out your chair and motion to the café counter. “how would you feel if i bought you a coffee? i want to hear more about that novel.”

“i’d—i’d like that.”

he follows you to the counter, his hand brushing the small of your back.

the barista—matt, you think—looks up from the register and laughs. “holy shit, i won!” he looks over his shoulder. “hey, julie! you owe me a fifty.”

you glance at gwilym, but he’s already looking at you. you smile.

matt continues. “we had a pool to see how long it would take for you two to get together. you were always looking at each other but never at the same time. you knew that, right?” still laughing, he rings up your orders without be asked. “coffee is on us today, guys.”

as you wait for your latte to be steamed and gwilym’s chia to be poured, you tuck your lip between your teeth to stem your widening grin. gwilym is strong by your side, the perfect height for you to rest your head on his shoulder. you look up at him, at the noble planes of his face, and your chest squeezes. when he looks at you again, your chest squeezes even tighter.

maybe life is like a movie after all.

#gwilym lee #gwilym lee x reader #gwilym lee imagine #bohemian rhapsody #j writes

[royallyprincesslilly]

Title: Buzz, Buzz—Buzz, Buzz {One-Shot}***

Chris Evans x Reader

Warning: Cursing, Tease, NSFW, SMUT

Words: 4.5k

Note: I love vibrating panties by the way. Great idea! This was too much fun to write. I hope you enjoy it!!!

***Loosely Edited/Proofread***

~~~~~~~~~

 “I can’t believe you cooked all of this,” Scott said as he gaped at all the food scattered around your townhouse.

You had gotten a little carried away in the kitchen with all the cooking. You’d made fried coconut shrimp, some potato salad, mac and cheese, and some honey BBQ smothered ribs. That all went with various little finger foods like chili cheese nachos topped with all the fixings, little kabobs, and a fruit salad. Looking at all the food you may have gone overboard considering there was probably only going to be maybe ten people in attendance today to watch the fight.

“I know, I think I went a tab bit overboard.”

 “No, it’s great. It is fight night after all,” Scott said.

 You finished putting out the rest of the décor for the night and making sure your townhouse was company ready.

 “You are quite the little entertainer.”

 Scott helped you straighten the rest of the townhouse which you had neglected in your cooking spree. While you tackled upstairs, Scott tackled downstairs. You had to make sure the bathroom and the bedroom and even the guest bedroom was good. The one thing you hated was when you went to someone’s house and their whole house was not on point. It could have been just something small, but it got to you.

 “Shit, Scott I forgot the cake.”

 “I knew you would. How could you not? I didn’t think you’d be doing all of this.”

 “If I go to get it I won’t have enough time to get ready before everyone gets here.”

 “It’s okay, I’ll get it. Give me the receipt and I’ll go. You get ready,” Scott offered.

 “Thank you, Scott.” You rummaged through your bag until you found the receipt for Scott so he could pick up the cake for fight night. Fight night was never complete with something sweet to end the night.

 Once he was gone you finished tidying up and setting fresh candles out you hopped in the shower. Ten minutes later you were trying to find the right outfit but couldn’t decide what to wear. It was a fight, so you didn’t want to get too crazy, but you also didn’t want to look frumpy. You tried on dresses with wedges and heels, jeans and tanks, jumpsuits, skirts but you could not decide.

 Halfway through your mind jumped to Scott’s brother, Chris. You’d been friends with Scott for about nine months before he introduced you to his brother superstar Chris brown at a party. It was of course an automatic attraction for you. who the hell wouldn’t think Chris Evans was hot? Sometimes when you hung out with Scott he was around, and it became normal after a few months. Every once in a while you’d hang out alone mainly when you were in a group. You’d break off alone and talk or even do things together. You’d come to realize he was a cool guy, really funny and down to earth. You’d gotten comfortable around each other and you couldn’t deny that you were probably developing a crush.

 After nearly fifteen minutes of debate, you decided on an off the shoulder shirt and a pair of jeans that you would pair with some wedges. You thought it was a good combo. When you reached into your drawer for a pair of panties you didn’t think anything about picking the black thong you’d gotten as a naughty birthday gift from your friends. You’d lost the remote months ago so that rendered the vibrating contraption useless. While you were rushing around to make sure you were ready in time you didn’t realize the doorbell rang until you heard pounding at the door. When you opened it, Chris was standing there holding the cake Scott was sent out to get.

 “Hey. I’m sorry I didn’t hear the door.”

 “It’s okay. I come bearing sweets.” You smiled and held open the door so he could come in.

 “You can put it in the kitchen on the counter. Thanks.” You followed behind him looking over his body. His white polo looked so good on him. It fit him just right and accentuated his broad his shoulders were and how trim his waist was. He looked so good. Catching yourself before he caught you checking him out you looked away and tried to compose yourself.

 “What happened to Scott?”

 “He had a few things to do before he made it over here, so he asked me to bring this over.”

 “Thank you.”

 “I feel like I should thank you, it smells amazing in here. I can’t wait to get my hands on all this food,” Chris said as he rubbed his hands together.

 “You’re so silly.” A few moments passed with the two of you smiling at each other before you snapped out of it.

 “Okay, I’m gonna finish setting up, everyone should be here any minute.”

 “Okay, need help?”

 “No, I got it. You chill and get the channel right. I’ll be back.” As you walked past him you thought you heard him whisper “god damn”. Deciding it was your ears playing tricks on you, you continued rushing around.

 While you were rushing around doing God knows what he found the channel the fight was on and got it ready. When he fixed himself a plate and sat on the couch it was then he saw a small black device peeking out from underneath the wall mounted bookcase. He dug it out but before he could investigate further the doorbell rang. He slipped the device in his pocket and answered the door to find a group of smiling faces.

 “Heyyyy!” He smiled and ushered them inside as they all spoke at once. Some were commenting on how good it smelled inside, some on the coming fight, and some just chattering. Before long everyone had settled and situated around the living room.

 “How was this recent trip, Chris?”

 He’d just got back into town from filming a coming show that he was excited about. “It was good. It was mainly last minute reshoots and whatnot. It should be premiering soon.”

 “What’s it called?”

 “Defending Jacob.”

 When you walked out everyone approached you and pulled you in for hugs. You spent the next few moments hugging everyone and having small talk. He couldn’t help but watch you. When he first met you he thought you were beautiful, yeah but he didn’t dwell on it. As the weeks and months passed and he got to know you better thanks to Scott he really liked you and the vibe you gave off. The more he talked to you away from your group of friends, the more he liked.  

After a few months he knew he was in real danger of finding himself in a situation that had the potential to be messy. Normally he wouldn’t have cared but he’d just gotten to a point in his life where he was through making bad decisions that made him into the asshole. If he made a move on you he would be the man he was. So he kept his distance and did everything in his power to keep himself in check.

 His eyes roamed your body and he fully took notice of your outfit. The jeans fit you too well and the top accentuated your soft shoulders and ample cleavage. Just like that he knew it was going to be a long night.

 When everyone got their food and seats the fight started, by that time he’d checked out your ass more than four times and found himself staring at your breasts more times than he could count. He made it a goal to focus on the fight and nothing else. He told himself it didn’t matter that you were beside him and smelled like every flower in the book or the fact that your thigh brushed his every so often. A little after the halfway mark you returned with a beer for him.

 “Thanks.” Your smile was polite and sweet. He dug his hand in his pocket and remembered the small device there. He didn’t know what it was but after fiddling with it he decided it was probably a stress thing. It took him a few minutes to realize the soft rubber spots were buttons. He pressed one down. Almost at the same time, you dropped back onto the couch with an “oh”.

 When he looked at you the look on your face said confusion and shock.

 “Are you okay?” Your head snapped to him and you instantly nodded. The way you did it was weird, but he didn’t think anything of it. He continued to fiddle with the device in his pocket and pressed another button. You whimpered beside him and crossed your legs. When his eyes met you again you gave him a reassuring smile before looking back to the TV and the fight.

 “Wow, that was a great cross,” you stuttered. He tried not to notice on your squirming beside him, crossing and uncrossing your legs but he noticed. You took your beer bottle and raised it to your lips and guzzled it until it was empty. He noticed you squeezing it so tightly the skin around your knuckles was taunt. As he tried to figure out what was going on with you he pressed another button. You released a sigh and sat up with a straight back then placed your empty beer bottle on the table before you with a shaky hand.

 He watched you as you looked around the room as if you were looking for something. He was so busy watching you trying to figure out what was going on that he didn’t think anything of pressing more buttons on the device in no particular order.

 “Oh Jesus Christ. No, no, no.”

 “You okay Y/N?” You pinched your lips and nodded to Scott.

 “Yep, all good. Cake. Does anyone want--cake?” You blew out a breath through your mouth. He watched your chest heave as if you were having trouble breathing. He pressed another button and your eyes closed before you stood. He noticed the shake in your legs when you did though and he was even more inquisitive.

 ~~~~~~~~~~

When you got to the kitchen you were free to panic. The remote wasn’t lost at all. It was somewhere. Either it was in one of the couch seats and someone was unaware they were controlling it and your pleasure. You’d forgotten how these things felt after trying them out that one time. You remembered very well now. Taking a few moments you cut slices of the cake and placed them on plates. After you’d cut the slices Chris’ voice took you by surprise.

 “You okay?”

 “Yeah I’m good. Are you good?” he looked at you as if he were suspicious of something. You’d probably acted weird as shit before.

 “I’m good. Need help?”

 “Uh yeah, thanks.” You and Chris each took a few plates and walked back out to hand them out to each guest. Once your hands were free you leisurely walked around the living room checking behind free cushions and spaces to see if you could find the root of your embarrassing situation.

 “What’re you looking for?”

 “Oh nothing important. I just thought I lost a piece of jewelry earlier. Don’t worry about it,” you lied. You tried to act as normal as possible but it was hard. You didn’t know when the next vibrating surge would come and you could also feel Chris’ eyes on you. the two things were making you more awkward and nervous than usual.

 Soon everyone was on their feet cheering on their chosen fighter. The controlled chaos gave you the opportunity to look in each of the couches but you’d come up empty handed. The only other possibility was that someone had it and was controlling it without knowing just what it was. Now you looked around to each of your friends assessing them trying to figure out who the culprit was. Your eyes met Chris’ from across the room and he stole your breath. The two of you stared at each other for a few moments and you wondered if it was him but his hands were free. Everyone cheered snapping you out od the moment to see the fight was over.

 The vibration began again this time it wasn’t on the low setting, it was a lot stronger.

 “Fuck!” You crossed your legs, pinched your lips and tried to hold back any sounds you were tempted to make. The vibration continued then intensified and you could feel the beginning stirs of the orgasm that wanted freedom.

 You didn’t think you could stop it so you walked to your balcony as smoothly as possible. You turned your back to the French doors and bit your bottom lip trying to stop the moan. It definitely wasn’t working so you grabbed the railing before you and bent over and let the orgasm free with a grunt. Your body was on fire and you already knew it wanted more. The vibration stopped unexpectedly giving you a much needed break. The wetness between your thighs was now distracting. 

After taking a little time to get yourself under control you walked back inside the living room and to the couch and sat beside Chris with a sigh.

 “You’ve been acting weird all night. Are you sure you’re okay?”

 “Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just a hot night.” It wasn’t a lie, you were burning up at this point.

 “Uh-huh.” He didn’t sound like he believed you, shit you didn’t believe yourself. Your eye caught the shine of something black Chris was holding, and all the blood drained from you as horror filled you. He was holding the remote you thought you’d lost. It dawned on you at once that he’d had it this entire time and he’d been playing with the buttons inadvertently bringing you to a pretty intense orgasm.

 “Shit,” you whispered to yourself as you tried to act normal.

 Nothing about this was normal. You had to figure out a way to nonchalantly get it back without tipping him off to what it really was. Before you could come up with something the vibrations began again against your already over sensitive clit sending your back crashing back into the couch. The setting was set low, but it was still more than enough to start the stirs of yet another release. Fighting through it you sat up tried not to squirm. When the setting increased you failed miserably. Your hand shot out to grab and squeeze Chris’ thigh. When you looked at him the second your eyes met you knew he knew. Slowly he looked to the black device in his hand and back to you and then his eyebrow arched up.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~

No fucking way, he thought. There was no way this was real life. He couldn’t believe events would turn like this. Quickly you yanked your hand back and apologized before looking the opposite direction. He almost laughed out loud. This was too perfect. What he thought was just a useless stress reliever turned out to be a lot more valuable. It was the remote to what he’d now pieced together as your panties. 

The thought of you wearing some sexy contraption that he had control over instantly made him hard. He could have turned it off but he chose not to as he realized your antics on the balcony was probably you being overcome with pleasure. It was then he realized he’d made you come. The old him wanted to resurface so badly so he kept the setting where it was and watched you squirm. God, it was sexy as hell doing this knowing everyone around you was clueless. He watched closely he wanted to see you come this time knowing that he knew just what he was doing. You didn’t utter one word or give one thing away. The only thing he noticed was your body heaving clearly exerted.

 With a smile, he turned off the device and tucked it back into his pocket. He’d give you a break. The rest of the night he tried to forget the power he had, forget the tightness in his pants and ignore how badly he wanted you. After the fight finished everyone stayed for a few hours longer just laughing, dancing and having a good time. You stayed away from him the entire time. If he was close to you, you found a reason to go to the opposite side of the room. It amused him; he’d gotten under your skin. It had him thinking back to every glance you’d shared over the months. Did they mean something more?

 Slowly everyone made their exit leaving Scott his partner and him there to help you clean up. You tried to shoo them out but they each insisted on helping to show appreciation for the hospitality you’d shown. He could tell you hated every minute of it and that made him even more amused. Your cool composure was crumbling and he could see the angst in you bubbling to the surface to reveal just how much he’d affected you.

 By the time you showed them to the door, he still had your remote and he knew you knew it.

“Y/N, this was so much fun. Thank you for hosting it,” Scott said giving you one last hug.

 “No problem, it was fun.”

 “Yeah I had a lot of fun,” he added. You didn’t look at him, but you pinched your lips.

 “All right y’all get home safe.” He walked out the door and down the hall with Scott and his partner with a small satisfied smile on his face.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~

Five minutes from when you closed the door the doorbell rang. When you opened the door there Chris stood holding the remote between his thumb and pointer fingers. Neither of you spoke, you just stared at each other. Who needed words with everything that had transpired between you? here was a man you’d never slept with but had made you come two times.

 As you reached for the remote Chris yanked his hand back. You continued trying to grab the remote but every move you made he evaded. Soon he was stepping inside.

 “Chris, give it to me.”

 “Why do you want it?”

 “It’s mine.”

 “It’s been mine tonight.” You caught his double meaning and you rushed him in a mad dash attempt to grab the remote from him. Chris evaded you and the two of you danced around the living room, you trying to get what belonged to you and him determined to hold on to it. Chris stumbled backward and fell on the floor and took you with him. The remote fell from his hand to a few feet away. When you realized it you were laying on top of him. Your eyes locked and you realized just how your body was angled on him. You were sitting right over his crotch and you definitely took notice of the thick ridged muscle pressing into you.

 You caught the glint of the remote off to the side a few feet away and slowly looked to him. He must have realized what you saw and the two of you scurried to it. Thanks to his long arms he was the one to grab it. As soon as he did you felt the most intense vibrations, he’d turned it to the highest setting.

 “Fuck!” You shouted out and writhed on him. You bucked your hips against him and picked up the speed dry humping him and rushing to find a release. Your body shook and your eyes rolled to the back of your head. “Oh my god, oh my god, oh—my—god!” You screeched as your body convulsed.

 It felt like you were having the wildest seizure, a seizure that took any control you had of your body. All you wanted was to come and thanks to the vibrations you got your wish. You threw yourself across his chest trying to catch your breath, but it was impossible. Whimpering you writhed some more from the unbearable pleasure. It was too much. Slowly the settings decreased until the vibrations stopped.

 You didn’t know how long you laid there on him but when you lifted your head it felt heavy as if it weighed a ton. Your hands still shook as you pressed them to his chest. When your eyes met the fire, you saw there was something that you were not prepared for. 

“Oh god.” Chris’ eyes dropped to your lips and in seconds your lips crashed together. This kiss was the most intense one you’d ever had. Chris’ tongue delved into your mouth and entangled with yours just as his hand gripped your ass pulling you closer to him and holding you against his hard cock. Both of you moaned together already knowing what you were going to do. There was no way you could stop now. He’d teased you all night and now you wanted something more.

 Chris’ hands came around to the button of your jeans and quickly undid them before he slipped his hands inside the backs to cup your bare ass. You bucked your hips against him brushing your core on his swollen need. The entire time neither of you broke the kiss, instead, it intensified and became even more passionate. Chris’ hands lifted the hem of your shirt and yours were there to pull it off completely. As soon as it was off Chris’ hands were there to unhook your strapless bra to free your breasts. It was only then his lips pulled from yours to latch onto a hardened nipple.

 He greedily went between both nipples sucking, licking and biting them bringing you even more pleasure. You pulled his shirt off of him and clawed his back enjoying the smoothness of his skin. He pulled you down again on his need and the urgency you felt increased. You stood above him and began pulling off your jeans. As you did he busied himself with his own pants. Once you’d kicked them off you moved to pull down the panties, but he stopped you by pulling you to him. Your feet were beside his face just as he pulled you down onto his face connecting his lips with your soaking slit.

 “Oh shit!” Your eyes rolled to the back of your head again, he was not going slow and you were glad for it. Now was not the time. Chris licked and sucked your clit as he slurped you’re your opening sucking all your juices from you. It didn’t take you long to begin bucking against his lips and using them to find your next orgasm. Chris moaned the faster your rode his face and played with your nipples. When you looked down to him the intimacy of the moment pushed you over the edge so much that you lost yourself and smeared your pussy across his mouth and nose.

 Before he made you come again you slinked down his body to his bulging cock and pulled it free. Your first reaction was to lick your lips as the feast before you. wasting not even a second you took him into your mouth. He was bigger than you expected, but you were not going to back down. Slurping against his skin you bobbed your head up and down his shaft a few times before bringing your hands to increase his pleasure.

 “Fuck yeah!” taking a quick glance at him you found his head angled back with his eyes closed and mouth ajar. The lower you dipped the wider his mouth became until he scrunched his face and bit his bottom lip and watched everything you did.

 “Yes, suck this cock. Fuck those lips!” The quicker you bobbed the more your slurped until you didn’t care how sloppy things were getting. Sloppy head was the best head after all.

 Chris grunted loudly before pulling your head off of him.

 “I don’t have anything,” he said.

 “I do.” You reached into the drawer of the coffee table beside you and pulled out a condom. Once you opened it you slid it onto his rock solid cock. Every time you touched him he hissed and sucked in a breath. Once he was fully sheathed he pulled you to him and kissed you again. feeling the tip of him at your opening you slowly slid onto him. Both of you groaned and savored the sensations flowing through you. before you sank down fully Chris pulled your shoulders down fully sinking into your heated core.

 “Holy shit!”

 From the beginning, Chris pumped up into you with purpose, it was the same purpose he’d had all night—to make you come. You moaned and panted trying to catch your breath and take all he gave. He filled you so perfectly and to absolute capacity.

 “Mmm, Y/N, I always knew you’d take this dick so well.”

 Chris flipped you onto your back and held your thighs open and plowed into you never slowing his thrusts. Every connection had you shouting out unable to hold back how much pleasure he was giving you.

 “Your tight little pussy loves this dick. Look how wet you are.”

 Chris changed his angle and slammed into you quicker them before. the new angle had you clenching round him as you felt yet another release wash over you. you gripped him tightly and fug your nails into his shoulder trying to not pass out. Chris looked as if that was the last straw for him because his thrusts became wild and deep. The only sound in the room was the sound of your wetness squelching and your combined moans. You were so wet for him it should have been embarrassing but you weren’t embarrassed at all.

 “God your gonna make me come,” Chris grunted.

 “Come on this pussy right now, tag me up!” You had no idea where that came from. As if on queue Chris pulled out, yanked the condom off and stroked his length at the same time he pressed the button on the remote giving you another intense jolt.

 “Oh fuck, yes, yes. Shit, I’m gonna come.”

 “Come with me,” Chris’ voice was strangled, and his hands moved impossibly fast. Soon he grunted and gasped as he released spurt after spurt of hot come across your pussy, pelvis, and stomach. The third made it all the way to your breast across your nipple and that was when you came again. You arched up onto your legs as if you were a bridge as you rode through the intense pleasure. Chris was the one to turn off the device as he dropped onto his knees to catch his breath. His eyes never left your newly decorated body. You saw the string of come across your nipple and you lifted your breast to your mouth to lick off the trial all the while staring at him. Chris’ jaw dropped as he watched, and as he watched his cock grew again.

 “Mmmm, tastes just like cake.” Chris looked in utter shock and disbelief before he snorted and dropped back onto the floor.

 “Oh god, you’re gonna be the death of me!”

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