#like a third one is mixing the languages up in my brain

[slightlymore]

if I lose my mind

dream sorter haechan x dreamer fem reader

genre: fantasy/tim burton-esque??, romance, smut, angst!!, fluffy moments

warnings: nightmare content (tame), strong language, explicit sexual content [oral f, fingering, mutual masturbation, spit, cum play, dirty talk, manhandling, overstimulation, biting, hickey m]

other characters: taeyong and doyoung as yn’s friends; mark, chenle and taeil as haechan’s friends, jisung

words: 14.5k

you’ve never cared much for your dreams. they were always confusing nonsense you forgot in the morning. this until you started to have the same dream again and again and again: a lobby, pleasant elevator music in the background, many golden doors, a handsome young man welcoming you and asking where you wanted to go that night. his name was haechan and apparently you weren’t supposed to know that, let alone fall in love with him. 

______

Third time's a charm, they say, and the third time you had the same eerie dream of the same hotel lobby, even your careless ass had to ask yourself what the hell was going on. 

You’ve never thought much of your dreams - just a bunch of scenarios your brain was trying to get rid of information through. 

But lately, eyes still full of sleep after waking up in a cold sweat, you'd wonder what the hell you've been watching for your brain to create the same scenario again and again during the night. 

"And it's all purple," you recounted, telling your friend Taeyong the story of your recurring dream for the third time that week. "A hotel lobby and this little music in the background. It's not scary at all but it's weird. I've been dreaming of the same scene so many times in a row now."

"Yeah," he hummed as if seriously concerned. "Maybe it's class and the workload. It's been a bit stressful lately."

You were walking towards the university building not actually seeing where you put your feet. "Well, it's not like we're learning anything about hotels and purple," you replied then chuckled to yourself.

"Maybe you're falling asleep listening to specific music which translates into elevator tunes in your brain."

You sighed. "Maybe I should stop drinking Red Bulls."

"Anyway, the dreams will eventually stop," Taeyong assured you. 

You nodded, starting to feel a bit uneasy at Taeyong’s serious replies. You wanted him to perhaps laugh at your weird dreams with you. That way they would have become stupid laughing matter. Yet, Taeyong just made you more nervous. 

And, no matter how much he could assure you that the dreams will eventually stop, when you went to sleep that night you found yourself opening your eyes to that same damned hotel lobby. 

Same shit as every night. You scratched your eyebrow then huffed. Then you crossed your arms. 

Was it normal to be mad inside your dreams? Because you were mad. 

Wait, were you lucid dreaming? Because you were pretty aware that it was a dream. 

Your eyes scanned the already familiar room and you counted what you could remember: purple floors, purple walls, pink counter, green wall? Your eyebrows furrowed and you took a step forward. 

There was no green accent wall before. 

"Oh, this wall was added today so I can pop up better against it," a voice suddenly vibrated into the air and you jumped in place, an embarrassing sound coming from your chest. 

On your side was standing a man. He was looking at the wall as if analyzing it from your perspective. 

Then he looked at you. His eyes were dark and amused. 

You gulped. 

He was wearing a bellboy uniform, all purple, and his hair was an uncertain mix of curly pink. His pouty lips stretched in a smile and he walked behind the baby pink counter. 

"Like this," he explained, posing against the green wall, one hand on the hip as if to explain the eccentric colour choice of the place. It actually looked pretty well together, you found yourself thinking for a second. 

Then you shook your head. It felt like being in that Grand Budapest Hotel movie but directed by both Tim Burton and Hayao Miyazaki at the same time. 

"What the actual fuck is going on?" you asked when you found your voice. 

The man straightened his back while clearing his throat and he put his gloved hands on the counter in a proper pose. "Good night. This is the Dreaming Lobby. Where do you want to go this time?" he recited. 

You blinked at him then looked around as if a filming crew could come out any time soon to yell "hidden camera prank". 

But it was impossible. 

Because you were dreaming. Dreams were allowed to be weird, right?

"Who greets with good night?" you walked over trying to read the cards on the counter but they were all gibberish. 

You felt like a Sim. It was weird the man wasn’t talking in Simlish. 

Maybe he was. 

"This is a dream. Right?" you added. 

The man's customer service smile didn't leave his face. "It's night so I wish you a good night,” he explained. 

He didn't comment on the possibility of you being in a dream or not. 

"Well, that's what you say at the end of things. When you leave or when you put someone to sleep," you tried to reason with him. 

"At the end, when you leave, I say good morning."

You closed your eyes for a moment as if your head hurt. "What's this place?" 

"The Dreaming Lobby."

"Who are you?" 

The man hesitated for a second as if not expecting that question. "The Dream Sorter?" 

His voice sounded unsure. You’d think dream people were confident in their weirdness. 

You inhaled and exhaled slowly trying to oxygenate your brain. "So you sort dreams?" 

The man shook his head. "I sort you into dreams."

"So it's your fault I've been having this dream for the fourth time now?"

The bell boy's eyebrows furrowed and his customer service face disappeared.

"What do you mean?" His real voice was so different from the polite tune he put on that you shivered. 

You crossed your arms on your chest. "I keep dreaming of this purple lobby and this shit ass music in the background."

"You dream," the man gulped silently, "me too?" 

You eyed his adam apple move for a moment then your gaze went back to his face. He looked calm and panicked at the same time. 

"No. This is the first time seeing you," you replied, giving him a suspicious look. 

The other nodded soon after as if relieved. "This must have been some error on my part. You're not supposed to remember this place when you wake up. You won't dream of this again. I apologize,” he recited quickly, back to his trilly tone. 

"What do you mean remember? You're telling me every night I come to this place and I don't remember it when I wake up?" 

The man made a face as if regretting talking too much. But then his expression relaxed just as quickly. "Precisely."

"You know me?" 

The bell boy leaned on his elbows and put his face on his palms. 

His eyes were calm and soft like a cat’s. You were expecting to hear purring any time soon. 

"You always come in, look around with furrowed eyebrows and ask what this place is. Then you choose a door and you leave. Then again and again and again every night,” he explained. "You never ask me who I am, though," he mumbled to himself. 

"What?" you asked, not having heard him properly over your thoughts making you dizzy while trying to understand that damned dream. 

"No, it's okay. You'll forget about this anyway. Don't worry,” he waved one hand in front of his face. “I'll make sure you don't remember this place again. You'll only remember the dreams you actually have after you walk through those doors."

You looked at his polite face then at the doors he indicated. They were big golden doors, 3 on one side of the room and 3 on the other. 

"Which door is the waking up one?" 

The man pondered. "I don't know. You just need to choose and see where that takes you."

You gave him a last look, and with weak legs, you walked towards the closest one. 

The handle was cold and you took in just how huge and expensive they looked. You expected the door to be very heavy so you almost tripped when you pulled. A silent scream erupted from you and you felt like going blind because of the light. It engulfed you all and you woke up gasping in your bed. Your chest was shaking with your heavy breath and when you passed one hand on your face and you felt sweat. 

The man told you you'd forget that dream yet his perfect face was burned inside your eyelids. 

_________

As soon as your back disappeared behind the golden door, Haechan exhaled deeply, feeling his knees wobbly as every time he'd see you. 

But that was routine. 

This time something else happened. 

He passed one hand on his chest, feeling his heart beating too fast for his liking. His brain was working just as fast trying to make sense of that exchange.

Recurring dreams? Of course. It was possible if your subconscious needed that. Dreams after all were realities each person created for themselves. Not even him could tell what one would find behind one of those doors: a nice dream or a nightmare. 

But not once he'd heard of a Dreamer remembering the Lobby before. 

There could be only one reason why a Dreamer would remember it. But Haechan didn’t want to think about it. 

Lost in his thoughts he almost missed the ding of the elevator and your figure appearing again. 

What the hell were you doing back in the same night? 

Shit. 

He put his best smile on.

"Good night. This is the Dreaming Lobby. Where do you want to go this time?" 

He was used to faking it after all. That was the main training part. Act as if you see the Dreamer for the first time even if you've seen them every single night for years. He was a pro at it - being fake. Top of his class. He smugly accepted the trophy of being the best fake bitch. 

Your eyes scanned him and the surroundings as usual. 

Then your eyes locked and he could see the way you looked at him. 

Not as if seeing him for the first time like usual. 

"This can't fucking be," you whispered. 

Haechan's guts felt like dropping. 

"You said I'd stop remembering this," you walked the distance separating Haechan from you. 

Your voice sounded mad but Haechan learned to sense fear underneath that. 

He panicked, unsure if showing you how shocked he was as well or gaslighting you. 

Why were you remembering the Lobby? No. Fuck the Lobby. 

Why were you remembering him?

Then your eyes fell on his chest. 

"Haechan?" you read the little shiny tag. The man's eyes widened and he was quick to cover it with his hand. 

"How did you understand that?"

"You're asking me questions? I woke up in the middle of the night and I could remember everything and when I fell asleep again I ended up here again? And now I can read these too," you grabbed the pamphlets from the counter you couldn’t decipher before. 

Feeling tired? Just sleep.

Falling teeth, falling down, or just falling: the guide. 

Stop dreaming of going to school in underwear in 5 simple steps. 

"Choose a door, please."

Haechan's voice became suddenly low and very grave. 

You lifted your eyes from the papers to see his serious expression. 

"What?" 

"Choose a door and dream. You need to get out of here. Quick."

"Wait!" you tried to stop him but he was already walking around the counter and his hands were on your arms, urging you to walk towards a random golden door. 

"Wait a second-," you mumbled. 

He opened it and pushed you inside. 

Haechan's hands were trembling when he grabbed the phone and a lazy voice picked up. 

"What do you want?" 

"Listen, I hate hearing from you but I need help."

The man on the other side of the line groaned and Haechan could almost see the way Chenle rolled his eyes. "What? My Dreamer is about to come. I’m busy."

"My Dreamer remembered the Lobby. Four times."

"Shit," the other's tone changed. "I'll put you through with the Boss."

Haechan bit his lower lip. 

He didn't add that you were remembering him too.

__________

That morning you chose to not tell Taeyong everything about the crazy dreaming night you had. After that man, Haechan you remembered he was called, pushed you past a door, you had one of the worst nightmares of your life. 

"I was driving in the middle of nowhere and it was night. Perhaps raining too. And in front of me suddenly a figure appeared and I yelled and hit the brakes but instead of crashing I looked to the passenger seat and the figure was there and I yelled again and woke up," you told Taeyong only the last dream. 

"Fucking hell. You must indeed be very stressed. Maybe you were sleeping weirdly. If you're hot or if you had food close to when you go to bed it's common to have nightmares. If you sleep on your back too. You might even end up having sleep paralysis-"

"Okay, that's enough." You didn't want Taeyong to fuel your dreams even more with those scenarios. “How do you even know all of that stuff?”

"No lobby dream though? That's an improvement,” he ignored your question with a smile. 

You remained quiet. For some reason, you felt weird to share such vivid dreams with him. It sounded too crazy. 

Haechan said you would always end up there, in the Lobby, and he'd help you choose a door, or a dream. Meaning he allegedly saw you night after night while you used to forget everything in the morning. That up until now. Did something shift?

What dream could that be? Should you start seeing a therapist? 

The day ran quickly as you tried to not think of dreaming. Or the way the sun kept sliding away underneath the horizon making you dread the moment you'd have to go to bed and sleep. 

The thought of having another confusing encounter with the lobby man and a nightmare afterwards was terrifying. 

Not that he looked bad or scary or anything. He was a rather pleasant-looking man, even handsome. Hell, he was a dreamy man, pun intended. 

But the recurring dream was too confusing for you to enjoy any of its happenings. You had to understand what was going on first. 

You thought you could skip one night of sleep that night for your own sanity, but as soon as you put your head on the pillow the tiredness got the best of you. 

You opened your eyes to the sound of an elevator ding and its doors opening.

Usually, you’d already be in the Lobby. That night, though, you woke up in the elevator. The hue of purple and lime green came first through the doors sliding to the sides, before you actually saw that damned room. 

"Good night. This is the-

"You can cut it," you stopped Haechan from finishing his usual line. 

The man was at his usual spot behind the counter, his open lips frozen around the vowel. "Whatever you are doing, it's not working. I'm still remembering everything."

You walked towards him and eyed the pamphlets as if expecting something new to pop up but they were the same. Then you looked at his name tag - Haechan. Then you locked eyes with him. He closed his mouth. You furrowed your eyebrows analyzing his features. You had no idea if he had moles before or if that place birthed new details for you to notice every time. 

"I had the most terrifying nightmare last night," your tone was accusatory. 

"I am aware."

"You-," you stopped and took one step back. "What do you mean you are aware? Can you see my dreams?" 

Haechan hesitated. "Yes? I am a Dream Sorter."

"You see in my brain when I sleep?" you were dumbfounded. 

Then you became mortified just as quickly, your eyes losing focus as you realized: the list of wet dreams you've had before flashing before your eyes making you almost dizzy.

Haechan seemed to have understood what you were thinking about because he cleared his throat and looked elsewhere. 

"I am sorry I shoved you into a dream like that last night. Please choose one door by yourself calmly this time."

"Oh no, I am not going into one of those."

Haechan blinked at you. "What?" He visibly didn’t expect you to say that. 

You blinked back, lifting your chin as if daring him to push past one door again if he had the balls. 

"I am staying here." 

Haechan sighed as if to compose himself and he put on the little customer service smile you were growing to find annoying. "I am afraid you can't do that. You need to choose one door to have a dream or to wake up," he indicated both options with his palms like a scale. 

"Or," you stepped back, turning around the room as if about to explore, "I can hang out with you here until I understand what the hell is going on."

"Y/N," he said, dropping the fake smile and walking around the counter to get to you. 

Your name on his lips took you by surprise. 

"How do you know my name?" 

"I know everything about you," he cut it short. "Please, just go into dreams until I figure this out. It's dangerous for you to be here too long."

You looked him up and down. 

"Are you- what are you anyway?" 

He blinked, taken by surprise. "A man. I know I'm gorgeous and all but like-"

"No, I mean, are you real? A human?" 

Haechan scoffed once. "Unbelievable. Is this what you want to know? Touch me and see for yourself."

You lifted one hand but hesitated. The man grabbed it and gently pushed your palm against his chest. 

You gulped, eyes trained on the way your fingers could feel the fabric of his uniform and the heart beating underneath. His hand was warm and soft. A real human hand. 

Then you slid it up on his chest until reachin his jaw, feeling the very short stubble growing, and then you poked his cheek with one finger. 

Haechan closed the eye above the cheek you touched. 

"Are you done?"

You touched his hair. It was very fluffy and a bit damaged. 

"This is not your real colour."

"No shit Sherlock. Who comes out of the womb with faded pink hair?" 

"So you're a real human. Like a human from my real world."

Haechan bit his lower lip. "Classified information."

"Classified information my ass. If you explain this place maybe I can understand what's going on and help you too. Given your reaction, I understand that me remembering this place is causing you serious issues."

"Listen. I appreciate your help. But I can deal with this on my own. Please just go inside a dream."

"You're coming with me or I'm not going."

Haechan's eyes rounded. "What? You’re such a-" 

"You heard me. I'm not risking getting into a nightmare alone."

"I can't-," 

"Then I'll stay here. Forever. You’ll probably lose your job or whatever, right? Well, I don’t care."

"You're so fucking annoying," he shook his head and headed back to the counter to get something. It was a cellphone. 

"Uhm rude? You're literally a hotel bellboy and I'm apparently your customer."

"I think we're past that formality at this point," he turned around and opened his palms. "Well? Where to?" 

__________

You opened your eyes to a dark forest. It was cold and wet and you almost slipped as you took a step back. You hit a wall with your blades and you yelped turning around. 

"Calm down. You almost broke my nose with that hard-ass head you got."

It wasn't a wall. It was Haechan. 

You felt weak. Haechan was actually with you in your dream. 

"It worked!" you yelled. 

The man sighed at your excitement. 

"This means it's all real. You're actually a Dream Sorter. The Lobby is real. I'm lucid dreaming. Am I lucid dreaming right now? Or am I shifting? Is this shifting? Am I moving realities when I dream?" 

Haechan let you recite your anxious monologue for a moment, watching your face go through all sorts of emotions at the same time. 

"If this is lucid dreaming it means I can just create the dream I want to?" you kept going. 

He watched you close your eyes with hands clasped together under your chin as if praying and he scoffed. 

“Are you trying to create something right now?”

When you opened your eyes and looked around nothing changed. 

"It's more complicated than that. Let's go,” Haechan continued, seeing your disappointment. 

You looked at his back as he started to walk the dirt path in the forest and you noticed he had different clothes - dark jeans, a t-shirt and a leather jacket instead of the obnoxious purple uniform. 

"Where are we going?" you sprinted a bit to catch up with him. 

"I don't know. This is your dream."

Then you noticed his hair, a dark cold brown, longer in the back as to create a short mullet. 

"Why did you change appearance?" 

Haechan passed one hand through his fringe as if he didn’t know he didn’t have pink hair anymore. "You did this."

"I did? No, I didn't."

"It's your dream, baby. You did this all. Maybe you like bikers and brunettes better."

The thought of your subconscious being open to Haechan made you anxious. And that baby just added to it. 

“You also changed appearance,” he pointed out and you stopped in place. You were wearing a white thin sleeping gown like those creepy women in horror movies. You had no idea why that and not a cute outfit like Haechan. 

"Wow, you're literally walking inside the deepest parts of me right now," you reflected, starting to walk again and looking around the forest. 

"I'm honoured. There are many deep parts of you I'd like to be in but this one is also good."

You stopped in place. "Oh my God. You didn’t just say that."

Haechan chuckled at your expression and lifted his palms in front of himself. "Sorry. This is the personality you're giving me in your dream."

“That’s not true.”

“Unfortunately it is. I am whoever you want me to be right now.”

"You're fucking with me." 

"Not yet."

You ignored his smirk. "You're lying. This is probably just you being you. I can't possibly give you-," you indicated his whole being, "-all of this." You felt your whole face on fire. 

"Well, not consciously. You had so many dreams like this. Remember that dream of Taeyong wearing a choker and being on his knees begging-" 

"Shut the fuck up! That dream never happened!" 

Haechan laughed delightedly at your pointed finger. 

"I was so disturbed by that, what the hell. He's my friend. I don't like him like that."

The bell boy - well, now a biker for the time being - didn't reply. 

"Which means it's not me who creates dreams,” you continued your reflection. “They're just weird shit my brain creates randomly. Meaning you're not this way because I want to. It’s random. Case closed." You were satisfied with your brainstorm session. 

"It's okay if you want to see my ass in tight pants. Don't excuse yourself."

"Stop with this attitude! Also, that would be a plothole. I'm not dreaming of you. You're a person with me in my dream. You have autonomy."

You finished the debate then looked around. The forest starting to look even darker than before. A chill travelled down your spine and you rubbed your arms as if to soothe yourself. 

"What tells you I am a real person in your dream right now? Maybe I'm just a figment of your imagination," Haechan’s voice lowered. "You're dreaming after all,” he added. 

You tried to see his face but it was half-hidden in the darkness of the forest. 

"Haechan, don't scare me."

He turned around and you could see his eyes. He smiled.

"You're safe with me. But still, be careful. Don’t trust people in your dreams.”

That sounded like a warning. 

Then a trill made the forest shift. It sounded like a bird or something else you were sure you've heard before. 

Haechan looked around peacefully as if he was used to that, and then his eyes found yours again. 

"Time to wake up."

You furrowed your eyebrows and yelled as he suddenly pushed you but no sound came out of you. 

You woke up in your bed, head spinning and throat dry to the sound of your alarm. 

__________

Taeyong said you looked mad all day. And well, how could you not be after Haechan pushed you like that to wake you up? You were still feeling like falling although you were walking. 

When you were dreaming everything seemed so real that you wouldn't even question if that was reality or not. 

But when you were awake, walking around campus with your friends and having lunch under the shining sun, you kept calling yourself stupid for believing there was actually a place where a man was sorting you into dreams. 

And that man being the closest to an ideal man you’ve ever encountered. 

Of course, it had to be a dream. 

“Do you reckon day dreams are different from night dreams?” you asked after gulping your food. 

Taeyong and Doyoung were focusing on their own lunch. “Huh?” the second asked. 

“She’s been having weird dreams lately so she’s very into the topic,” Taeyong explained with a chuckle. 

“Oh, really? I don’t think there’s any difference between sleeping and dreaming during the day and doing that at night,” Doyoung commented. 

“We don’t reach REM during a nap though, do we? That’s the moment we have the most vivid dreams,” Taeyong questioned, gaining an impressed look from the other. “What? I took some classes about it.”

You whipped your phone to Google. Do we reach REM during naps? you typed. 

The results made your eyes widen. “We do it if it's longer than 90 minutes.” 

“Great. What do you need all this info for, though?” Doyoung had a sip of water. 

“I’m going to see if I dream the same things during the day outside of REM or not,” you mumbled quickly, standing and grabbing your stuff. 

The two men watched you a bit concerned. “Where are you going? We have afternoon class.” 

“I’m going to nap less than 90 minutes so I won't reach REM and hopefully I don’t dream at all or I dream something else for once,” you filled them in quickly leaving so fast to almost throw them away from their chairs. “It’s an experiment!”

You weren’t a big napper. Not because you didn’t want to but because you didn’t have the luxury of time as a college student. But that issue was bigger than anything. You had to understand what the hell those dreams meant before you could go insane. 

You enjoyed doing research for class and you decided to consider that situation just something to research. 

Does Haechan and the Lobby exist? If yes, how? If not, how, and why were you having the same lucid dreams again and again? 

The spot you chose for your nap wasn’t ideal but an empty class felt safer than a full one. You sighed, placing your head on your arms and closing your eyes after setting your alarm for 30 minutes, wondering if you were going to dream anything or if you were about to waste your time. 

But you didn’t have to wonder too long, because almost in the blink of an eye you inhaled deeply and the ding of the elevator entered your ears. 

Your eyes were still closed and you tried to feel your body. 

You felt very real. 

You begged all entities to just give you something else, anything else, besides that fucking Lobby. 

But when you opened your eyes slowly it was there. 

“Shit,” you mumbled. 

You stepped outside the elevator feeling your blood pressure go up. “Fuck,” you repeated. “This can’t be real.” 

It was the same place as ever. The purple walls and the green accent one. The golden doors, the pink counter. 

The only thing missing was Haechan. 

You looked at the pamphlets. How was it possible for you to dream the same writings again and again?

Looking around and seeing no sign of the Bellboy you walked around the counter taking his place. You eyed an old-style phone and some empty journals. You opened the drawers to see some snacks and a pair of white gloves. You took one to try it on. It fit you a bit loosely on the tips of the fingers. 

You sighed. Why wasn’t Haechan there? So it was a random dream afterwards? Or was he in the bathroom or something?

Then you looked behind you, trying to see if there were any other hidden doors when the phone rang and you jolted. 

You stared at it for a few seconds as if it were a poisonous snake. Ringing phones in horror movies and dreams weren’t lovely. 

But then you inhaled and got closer. It was a dream after all. 

You could wake up anytime. Right?

You picked it up and brought it to your ear, waiting. 

“Good afternoon, this is Mark from the Data sector. We’ve been notified that your Dreamer is dreaming right now. As it rarely happens during the day we were trying to check if you got notified of it too and had taken the position yet or not.” 

You felt your blood flow out of your body. 

“Hello? Can you hear me?” the voice, you understood was some man called Mark, spoke again. 

You brought one hand to your mouth so as to not make any noise. 

“Haechan?” he repeated. 

You put down the phone with a clang and you ran towards the first golden door you could see. The whiteness engulfed you all and you gasped, waking up in the classroom, your hair messy and dry mouth at the sound of your alarm. With trembling fingers, you tried to turn it off but for some reason, you couldn’t touch the phone screen well. 

Then you realized it was because you were wearing a white glove. 

__________

"Rule number fucking 1! No falling in love! Are you perhaps dumb?" 

Haechan stared at Taeil’s furrowed eyebrows and his index finger hitting the desk in front of him. 

As a Boss, he didn’t look intimidating at all. 

"Rules are meant to be broken,” Haechan replied simply just for the sake of it. 

"Say that again and I am spanking you."

Haechan lifted one eyebrow and opened his mouth to invite Taeil to go on. 

"Don't you dare,” was the reply. 

Haechan nodded once and zipped the imaginary zipper on his lips. 

Taeil scoffed. “You don’t want to be funny right now, I assure you.”

Haechan sighed. “I am not in love. That makes no sense. Something else must have happened.” 

“If a Dreamer remembers the Lobby and the Dream Sorter it means the Dream Sorter created some sort of connection with the Dreamer.”

Haechan listened to Taeil recite that while mimicking the words with his own mouth. He had to learn that by heart in school until he got sick. 

“Well, I didn’t,” Haechan replied. 

Taeil was his friend and that gave Haechan enough guts to act the way he wanted to. Unfortunately, their friendship also meant Taeil was an expert on Haechan shenanigans. 

Taeil crossed his arms on his chest and waited. 

“Okay, okay, listen. I am as shocked as you are, alright?” Haechan sat down in front of Taeil’s desk. “I have no clue what’s going on. Suddenly she came in and she could remember the Lobby then after a few nights she could remember me too. But I didn’t do anything, I swear.” 

Taeil didn’t comment. 

“I am doing my best! I haven’t been giving her any information. We don’t talk much. She's entering dreams. All good. I have things under control.” 

“I think we just need to give your another Dreamer-” 

“No!” 

“Aha!” Taeil got up with an accusatory smile. “Why not?” 

Haechan’s cheeks bloomed with dust of red. He got up as well. 

“If you don’t care about her, why do you care if you get another Dreamer or not?” Taeil went on. 

“I will fix this,” Haechan replied while touching his buzzing inner jacket pocket. “I promise. Just give me some time. But don’t give me another Dreamer.”

Taeil scoffed incredulously, hands on the hips. “What’s wrong?” he asked after seeing Haechan reading his texts. 

“She’s here in the middle of the afternoon,” he mumbled. 

Taeil’s fringe got a new wave from the sheer velocity of Haechan running away. 

_________

You had no idea who you could talk to about that whole issue. Even if you showed the glove to someone they’d still think you were slowly descending into madness. 

And you were feeling like that indeed. 

But you knew you had no damn glove on your hand before going to nap. 

The afternoon classes were forgotten as you stormed home, your mind busy only with dreams. Google had no answers for your questions and the fact that the afternoon nap gave you even more questions than answers drove you insane. 

But what could you do? It’s not like you could stop sleeping. You’d probably die. 

Turning around in your chair you almost didn't notice the ding of the elevator. 

You inhaled deeply. 

"Hey," Haechan was near the entrance that night as if waiting for you. He looked worried. 

"Hey," you stepped out, a sudden wave of anxiety washing over you too. 

Did he notice you came in the afternoon? You felt as if you got caught doing something you shouldn’t have. 

"Are you having a good day?" you tried to sound casual. "I mean, night."

You walked towards the counter as if bored, while your brain was busy trying to understand if it was a good idea to tell him that you woke up with a glove. You felt your throat dry. 

Then you realized he wasn't real anyway so there was no reason to feel anxious. 

When you turned around to speak, Haechan's hands were lifted in front of himself. One has a white glove. The other was bare. 

"Right! About that," you indicated his fingers with a fake chuckle. "Yeah, I took it by mistake this afternoon.”

He blinked as if the confirmation of his doubts still shocked him. 

"I have no idea how it happened but at this point, I'm probably just going insane," you chuckled again, with no amusement in your voice, looking a bit crazy indeed. 

"Y/N," Haechan said softly, taking a step further, but without touching you. 

You felt your cheeks getting warm with tears. You wiped them off fast as if they enraged you. 

"I just- don't understand anything and no one would believe me and I'm so exhausted all the time because I feel like I don't sleep well and my brain is all mush and during the day all I do is think of this damn lobby and you and I think I’m about to get real hysterical-" 

"Shh, it's okay," Haechan hesitated then patted your arm a bit. 

"No, it's fucking not. And I don't want to go into one of those doors and walk into a forest and have you push me awake like that ever again!" 

"It's a Friday," he said all of a sudden. 

"What?" you wiped your tears again, a bit annoyed at the interruption but also surprised. 

"You can sleep in. You have no alarms on the weekends,” he explained.

"And how do you know that?" 

"I told you I know everything about you. Let's find a nice dream, come."

You stared at Haechan's fingers grabbing your hand. His touch felt so nice that you wanted to hold onto it tighter. 

"What about the glove? How is that possible?" 

You let go of his hand. 

Haechan stopped. 

"I also-," you gulped. "I picked up a call,” you confessed. “They were saying your Dreamer was dreaming and they were asking you whether you were notified. This is no damn dream. This has to be reality."

The man sighed and turned around at your piercing gaze. "I can't tell you anything about it, Y/N. I am sorry."

He looked genuinely sad and apologetic. 

You felt new frustrating tears sting your eyes but you exhaled. “I just wish to forget this place.” Then you walked around him and got past a random golden door. 

__________

The forest this time was windy and rainy. You looked down at your body, the thin pyjamas soaked although you came in just a moment ago. 

"Fuck," you looked around for something. 

Then you pinched yourself like they do in the movies. 

Then you slapped your face. 

"Shit!" you soothed the cheek. 

That was a real slap. And unfortunately, you didn't wake up. 

A far away howling sound made your skin crawl so you just started to walk, trying to understand how to wake up alone. 

What kind of dream was that? Was it possible for you to not have one single peaceful dream? You really missed feeling refreshed in the morning. 

The howling got closer and you picked up the pace, your nude feet splashing in the dirt. Then the howling became a growl right behind you and you screamed, running as fast as you could. And when you reached a bottomless pit and your feet slipped, you could only turn around as you started to fall, your throat silent but sore because of the scream you couldn't hear. 

A tight hug engulfed your body as you fell.

"I'm here. I'm here. It's okay. You're okay. You're safe," the soft lullaby started to fill your ears and you felt your chest full. 

You slowly opened your eyes then your fingers gained sensitivity. They felt a thin material on a soft surface. 

A shirt. 

Then you felt the surface. 

A human back. 

Then you made sense of Haechan's body on top of you, his arms caging your head and yours hugging his torso. 

"You're okay," he kept saying, eyes searching for yours. 

His hair was a warm brown and his skin looked even more glowy than usual. Then you noticed the shining sun in the sky behind him and the flowers you were lying down between. 

"What?" you finally spoke. 

"Everything is fine," his voice sounded soft. 

"Where are we?" 

Haechan sighed and rolled over. It looked like he fell with you while trying to grab you. 

"This is-,” he hesitated, “-my dream," he finally said. 

You sat up. "What?"

Haechan passed one hand in his hair. His white summer shirt was open on his chest and although he was lying on grass it kept looking pristine. 

"This is my dream. I took you in my dream," he said again. 

You felt your brain hurt. "This can't be your dream. I am the one dreaming. You're in my dream."

"We're both dreaming."

"You can't be dreaming! You're not real!" you were on your feet, hands thrown around as if about to yell. 

Haechan stood up as well. You locked eyes. His were black like carbons. 

"Right? You're not real," your voice was becoming a little whine. 

He looked away while standing and dusting his black slacks. 

"What is this place? How is this possible? You have to explain now, Haechan. This is not funny anymore. I haven’t heard of dreams like these before.”

“Can’t you just trust me on this? Dreams are not something to understand with your logical mind. Just let go. I know you want to understand but nothing good will come out of it. Just-” he interrupted himself, “-just dream, please.”

You wrapped your body with your arms and sighed, looking around. 

You didn’t know what to add. 

“You keep having the forest nightmare because you’re confused.” 

“Of course I am confused. Wouldn’t you be?” 

The place was silent but peaceful. The greenery was luscious and the flowers looked like infinite dots on those hills. 

A soft breeze made Haechan’s fringe gently wave on his forehead. 

You bit your lower lip after calming a bit. “You look like Howl. That’s one of my favourite movies.” 

His eyebrows furrowed and he looked down to eye his clothes as if he didn’t realize what he had on until that moment. Then he looked up to try and see his hair. 

“Do you know who he is?” you asked. 

“Yes, and this is still not my doing.”

“Well, you said this is your dream. This time it has to be you,” you shrugged and touched one flower to your side. 

The place was so peaceful that your anger about the situation was diminishing. It wasn’t fair to take it on Haechan although he was keeping stuff away from you. 

“I think it’s a mix of me and you.” 

You looked back at him. “I did the place and you did the rest,” he added. 

“Just tell me one thing. If you’re dreaming, it means you can wake up, right?” 

Haechan bit his lower lip. “Maybe.”

You exhaled. “Okay. That’s the only thing I had to know. Won’t ask other questions.” 

__________

Haechan couldn’t talk about that situation with anyone else. He caressed the only white glove that remained in the drawer with a mix of worry and excitement. Then he rested his hands on the counter and closed his eyes. 

"Forgive me my weakness,” he mumbled to himself like a prayer. He had no idea who he was addressing to. 

It was his fault. All of it. He was aware but couldn’t find the guilt in himself. 

You were there, remembering him. 

He has always dreamt of that, pun included. 

But then he saw your expression that night and he wavered in his choice and delight. 

And when you started to cry he felt sick. Of himself. 

Would you forgive him if he told you it was all his fault you were in that situation?

“I just wish to forget this place,” you said and he felt his chest physically hurt. 

He was the only one dying to see you night after night. After all, you didn’t know him and you were probably tired of seeing his face. He could tell that you were exhausted. 

He let the heavy air out of his lungs and he was ready to grab the phone and ask to meet Taeil again. Perhaps having another Dreamer would be the right choice. He was holding onto you because of his selfish feelings, after all, causing your pain and confusion. 

But then you screamed his name, his name out of all names that you could choose from. 

His body has never moved faster. 

“Haechan!” it was clear and loud, your arms extended towards him as your body fell into the dark pit. 

He didn’t think twice. 

Your body felt soft between his arms and he let that sensation as well as your scent guide the reality in its creation. 

"I'm here. I'm here. It's okay. You're okay. You're safe.” 

Your eyes opened and they looked so full of his image that he gulped. 

No one looked at him like that before.

“You’re okay.”

"What?" you finally spoke. 

Your hands palming his back made his skin shiver.

"Everything is fine,” he repeated.

"Where are we?" 

He had to roll over before leaning down and just kissing you.

"This is my dream," he said. 

Fuck. That wasn’t his dream. That was just his reality. He took you outside. 

If anyone discovered that he was dead. 

You sat up. "What?" You looked shocked. 

"This is my dream. I took you in my dream," he said again, trying to not show the tremble in his voice. 

"This can't be your dream. I am the one dreaming. You're in my dream."

"We're both dreaming right now."

"You can't be dreaming! You're not real!" you were on your feet, hands thrown around as if about to yell. 

Haechan stood up as well. You locked eyes. 

I am real. I am here and real. And madly in love with you. 

"Right? You're not real," your voice was becoming a little whine. 

Haechan had to look away. 

"What is this place? How is this possible? You have to explain now, Haechan."

His brain was hurting. He wanted to yell as well. It was frustrating. 

“Can’t you just trust me on this? Dreams are not something to understand with your logical mind. Just let go. I know you want to understand but nothing good will come out of it. Just-” he interrupted himself, “-just dream, please.”

You wrapped your body with your arms and sighed, looking around. He wanted to hold you.

“You keep having the forest nightmare because you’re confused,” Haechan tried to give you the little information he could give. 

“Of course I am confused. Wouldn’t you be?” 

He was confused as well. 

“Do you actually want to forget all of this? I can fix this. I can make you forget the Lobby and my existence. I can do that for you,” he was about to say but you talked before he could. 

“You look like Howl. That’s one of my favourite movies” 

Your expression was more peaceful and you were looking at his clothes. You’d always have that expression after a nightmare, he recounted although you couldn’t remember yourself: the face of someone scared but willing to show they’re tough through lightheartedness. His eyebrows furrowed and he looked down to eye his clothes as if he didn’t realize what he had on until that moment. Then he looked up to try and see his hair. 

“Do you know who he is?”

“Yes, and this is still not my doing.” 

“Well, you said this is your dream. It has to be you this time,” you shrugged and touched one flower to your side. 

“I think it’s a mix of me and you.” 

Could that be possible? Haechan tried to remember all the manuals he had to memorize. 

You looked back at him as if waiting for more information. “I did the place and you did the rest,” he added. 

He couldn’t tell you that was his reality - that all dreams people had were just his normal world. 

Your eyes grew heavy again and Haechan waited. 

“Just tell me one thing. If you’re dreaming, it means you can wake up.” 

The silent implication was almost physical between you two: meaning he was real, meaning he was a real person asleep somewhere and dreaming just like you. 

He wasn’t. 

Not the way you meant it anyway. 

But he was real for himself. And you were the dream for him. 

Haechan bit his lower lip. “Maybe.” 

You exhaled. “Okay. That’s the only thing I had to know. Won’t ask other questions.” 

Then you turned around and started to walk in the flower field. 

Haechan hesitated for a second then followed you. 

The white clouds were huge and fluffy above you and the breeze was perfect. 

You turned around all of a sudden, hands behind your back. 

“How do you know I am real?” you asked. 

Haechan asked himself that question often. They were all assured that Dreamers were real beings, some sort of gods with the power of creation, but how can any of them prove it? Where did these people come from? Why did they need a Dream Sorter? Haechan had no idea. 

“I don’t know,” Haechan simply replied. 

He started to work as a Dream Sorter to try and figure out all the secrets of his world in the first place. He still hasn’t figured out anything. 

You stopped walking. “Well, I know I am real. Although this place is not.” 

“I know that much too.” 

“How are you both a real person and a Dream Sorter? Who sorts your dreams then?” 

Haechan chuckled once. “I guess you do.”

Your expression faltered and your body suddenly became more transparent. You exchanged a last look before you woke up, leaving Haechan alone in his flower field. 

__________

You do. You do. You do.

Haechan's voice rang in your ear for a while after you woke up. You rested your forehead on your palm for a moment. 

Nothing made sense. 

Then you looked around your sunlit room. 

For the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel exhausted. That was actually a lovely dream and you could almost feel Haechans arms still around your waist.

You inhaled and exhaled slowly. Then you noticed the white glove on your nightstand. 

You took it and for some reason, you brought it to your face. The fabric that used to touch his wrist had his scent. It engulfed you before just as the way he wrapped your body in his arms. 

You could remember it clearly. 

“Fuck,” you fell back on the bed, hitting the pillow with your head. 

__________

Haechan slowly sat down at the table. On his right Chenle sat down as well and sighed, trying to place his food down the way he felt was the most optimal for consumption. 

“Fucking hell. This dude has had only nightmares lately. I’ve almost died.” He was talking about his Dreamer, a boy that went by the name of Jisung. He was famous for forcing the weirdest realities upon the Dream Sorters and he had to change a bunch of them until Chenle said he could handle it. 

Chenle bit on his apple before noticing Haechan’s empty expression. Other Dream Sorters started to gather as well, the gentle murmur filling the hall for breakfast. 

“What’s wrong with you? Is your Dreamer still remembering the Lobby? I thought Taeil would force you to change them.” 

Haechan tilted his head to the side without replying.

Chenle shrugged as if he had no force to deal with nostalgic people that day. 

“Do you think Dreamers are real people?” Haechan asked after a moment. 

“Who the hell cares? They’re making our world possible and if it’s not them doing that, who the hell cares anyway?” 

“I do if I’m asking, you rude ass-” 

“Listen, I’m not your friend or anything-” Chenle started and Haechan scoffed at the lie, “but if you’re falling in love with your Dreamer I suggest you change Dreamer or change job. I think that’s your issue.”

Chenle finished and Haechan’s smile died. 

The following night Haechan was behind the counter in his purple uniform. He was postponing any real change to that situation. 

Living the day. 

Reality was that he was too scared to lose you so he delayed the parting moment as much as possible. 

You gave him a little smile as you walked the distance. He smiled back a bit surprised at your good mood. 

“Here as always. How are you doing tonight?” you asked. 

Haechan let his eyes fall on the new pyjama set you were wearing. You gulped looking elsewhere. You had no idea why you felt the urge to buy a new one but for some reason, you wanted to look cute for once. 

“I am doing good. How are you?” 

“I was thinking-”

“As usual,” Haechan commented.

You ignored him. “-and I’ve decided I will just make the most out of this dreaming situation.” 

Your chin was lifted and Haechan chuckled once at your fake confidence. “Sounds great.” 

“Only if you first tell me what you mean with me sorting your dreams. I woke up before you could explain.” 

Haechan sighed. He thought about that all day. “I was lying.” 

Your face fell.

“No! I mean, I wasn’t really. But,” he sighed and walked around the counter. 

It was already too late to keep any more secrets and he was so exhausted himself. It wasn’t in his nature to deny himself anything and he has been denying himself your touch for too long. 

“I am a real person in my perspective. And for me, you are not a real person. Just like you must be a real person in your perspective and I am not.”

You blinked at him. 

Haechan sighed again at your confused expression and crossed his arms on his chest, leaning against the counter as if thinking of other ways to explain that. 

“In my world, you people are some sort of gods. You create our reality and we live in it. Dream Sorters are a bunch of people like me that are assigned to make sure things don’t go to shit. We destroy crazy nightmares so we don’t have to live in them and we keep the good ones, the fun ones. Let’s say I am working for the government from your perspective.”

You felt your eyebrows furrow. “Oh. I thought I was a bellgirl in some hotel as well pushing you past golden doors and I had no idea.” 

Haechan chuckled once. 

“There are many jobs in my world and I happen to do this. We learn how to work with you and we need to keep the secret of your dreams being just our world,” Haechan felt safe to add. 

“Your world. Because we don’t share the same.”

“Not that I am aware of.” 

“What other jobs does your world have?” you asked. 

You were taking the situation better than he expected. This only if you weren’t just so shocked that the reality of events still had to hit you. 

Haechan thought about it. “Creating colours.” 

You laughed waiting for the eventual “I am fucking with you” line but Haechan looked serious. 

“Creating colours? Really? What does that even mean?” 

Haechan chuckled with you trying to understand your perspective. “Just, making colours.” 

“Okay, this conversation is really dream-worthy but I will believe you even if it sounds insane,” you turned towards the doors with a sigh. 

“Where do you want to go?” he asked, seeing you pondering over the doors.

You hummed. “I want to have fun. Also,” you showed him your gloved hand. “I brought this back.” 

Haechan looked at your fingers and at the way you gently slid the material off. He held onto that glove for a second then looked up at you. 

You were extending your hand. 

He hesitated then held onto it, slowly letting his fingers between yours. 

“Is it okay if you come with me again? What is your boss saying?” 

“He doesn’t have to know,” he whispered and you bit your lip. 

Then you looked away and you walked towards a random room, dragging Haechan with you. 

Then you opened it. It felt heavier that usual and when you finally pulled enough, you gasped, feeling your chest hit by something. 

When you opened your eyes you realized it was the sheer volume of a bass hitting your body again and again, rhythmically. 

The dark place was full of people, all dancing as a single wave under the strobing lights. 

You felt your heels sting and you noticed you were wearing heels. Behind you, Haechan placed his hand on your waist to guide you in the crowd. Then you faced him when you found an empty spot. 

He leaned towards your ear and you heard his “Nice dream. I’ll keep this one for ourselves.” 

You smiled. 

“I wonder how you made me look tonight,” he added. 

He straightened his back for you to admire, and you took in the hair pushed back and the sharp jaw. 

“I guess I’m very hot,” Haechan lifted one corner of his mouth at your dreamy expression. His eyelids were droopy and his collarbones were too much on display in the outfit you presumably subconsciously chose for him. 

You cleared your throat and looked away. 

Some people passed by you and Haechan pulled you towards himself, hands sliding even more on your body. “Careful,” he said, or yelled, in your ear again. You felt your breath shake and stop as you inhaled the cologne on his neck. 

You were starting to get too used to it. 

Your hands imitated his touch and you slid them upward his arms to reach his neck in an attempt to dance. The music was overwhelming but you couldn’t make sense of its rhythm, although the lyrics were loud and clear. 

“I wonder, I wonder about the end, Closer, A little closer, I dream, I’m in my big dream, Closer, A little closer.”

You felt intoxicated and confused. 

The lights, the music, his touch, his scent, the warmth of his skin. Drunk and dazy just like dreams could make you, you leaned in and placed a kiss on his throat, right on top of his moles. 

Haechan’s fingers shifted on your back and you saw his eyelids flutter at the sensation from the corner of your eyes. 

You liked that reaction, so you kissed his neck again, going up, reaching his jaw, moaning into his lips as he pressed his hand on your nape, pulling you closer.

The kiss felt messy and needy, and you bit his lower lip and he sucked on yours.

Your dress straps fell down your arm and he pressed one soft kiss to your nude shoulder. Then another one and another one, peppering soft wet kisses all over your chest. You let your head fall back, tangling your hands in his hair. 

The music’s beat was as quick as your heart and when you looked Haechan in the eyes they seemed so dark and lustful that you gulped. 

“Take me elsewhere,” you mouthed and he presumably understood, or maybe not because he just grabbed your chin to kiss you again, this time slower, sliding his tongue inside of your mouth. 

And when you couldn’t breathe anymore and gasped, breaking that intoxicating kiss,  you realized the music stopped, replaced by the sound of heavy rain hitting the glass. 

You were in Haechan’s lap, tightly straddling his thighs, and he was staring at you, back flush against the headboard of a luscious bed. Then you made sense of his palms, gently moving up and down your hips. 

“Where are we?” 

“Elsewhere,” he simply replied. 

The room was dark with the edges looking like an incomplete painting. On your left, half of the wall was just a tall window, separating you both from a huge storm. 

“Elsewhere where?” 

Haechan’s lips turned into a smile. “You want me to check the coordinates?”

Your eyes lightened up. “Really? You can?” 

He scoffed and pulled you towards him. You grunted at the sudden kiss and he moved your hips to sit more comfortably. 

You gulped, a single ‘oh’ escaping your lips like a whine as you felt yourself rub on his hard cock once. 

“Yeah?” Haechan looked at you from under his eyelids. 

“I’ve never had a wet dream like this before,” you mumbled, foreheads touching as you looked at each other’s lips, your breaths heavy. 

“There’s always a first time.” 

“Is it okay if I fuck my own Dream Sorter?” 

“Do you care?” 

“I care about you,” you exhaled and Haechan closed his eyes for a second as if savouring that line. “Is this going to cause you any problem?” you continued. 

“You’re still as rational as ever. Just give in.”

“What if you’re one of those incubus demons and you’ve just been tricking me all of this time?”

Haechan smiled again at your fantasy. “Does it matter?” 

“Well-,” you tried to keep reasoning but Haechan’s open lips went to your neck, slowly rubbing on your skin. They felt soft and his mouth was so warm that you wanted him to suck on it, biting you. 

You couldn’t speak anymore. 

No, you couldn’t even think. 

So you just let your body do the talking, sliding your fingers into his hair and ruining the hairstyle your subconscious mind kindly gave him. 

His palms were still on your hips, nudging at you ever so slightly until he fully slid his hands on your ass instead and cupped it, squeezing the flesh. 

You whined as he made you rub against him for a second time, and he looked up at your face, enjoying your expression. Then his gaze fell on your chest flush against his. He adventured on it, helping himself with the tongue. 

“Haechan-” your shaky voice caressed the top of his head. 

“You have no idea how much I’ve wanted to feel your body against mine,” he whispered, lips tracing your almost nude breasts. 

You inhaled through your teeth at his deep husky voice and when you felt his warm palms on the underside of your boobs, helping himself reach your hard nipples, you bit your lower lip until almost drawing blood. 

That dream was feeling too real to be a dream and the wet patch you were creating on Haechan’s jeans was definitely there. 

You felt his tongue swirl around one nipple and you gazed down with difficulty, trying to see him through your eyelashes. You had no idea if the shiver that travelled down your spine was caused by his devilish smirk or the darkness of his eyes. 

“Fuck, Haechan,” you grabbed his chin and directed his pretty face back towards your lips, knocking the air out of his lungs. His hum reverberated inside your mouth and his fingers danced on your back, drawing messy circles on your spine. 

Then he grabbed your nape and pulled you back only to roll you off himself and push you into the mattress. 

Your legs were quick to tighten around his hips as if you’d been used to doing that for a long time. But your thighs slid off as he lifted himself on the knees, giving you a breathtaking view of his quick hands sliding his shirt off by the collar. 

You exhaled shakily, sliding your hands back into his now messy curls as he leaned back and kissed your jaw, following the line until reaching your throat. You extended your neck and he chuckled against your skin, his palms reaching the flesh of your thighs just like yours were caressing down his nude shoulders. 

“Cute,” he whispered, his plump lips now travelling down to the swell of your breasts again. 

He slipped away from your arms and you could only watch as he flicked your nipples with his tongue again, eyes deep and cutting under his lowered eyebrows to not miss any of your expressions. Your knees pushed on his ribs at the last kitty lick just when your whimpers started to become full-on loud moans. Haechan clicked his tongue and grabbed the underside of them, spreading your legs apart. 

Your satin dress was gathered around your waist by now but Haechan didn’t bother to get rid of it. 

He kissed your inner thigh instead, then the other, giving you a knowing smirk as he hooked his fingers under your panties and slid them slowly off your thighs. 

You lifted your legs in the air to help him out, feeling your head dizzy and face on fire, and when you felt his delicate fingers on your calves and ankles, a little whimper escaped your chest that you concealed with a loose fist on your lips. 

Haechan shook his head in disapproval. 

“Hands off. I want to hear you,” he mumbled against the spots that made you shiver, lazily placing wet kisses on your legs, coming closer and closer until you lifted your hips and closed your eyes with a deep hum. 

But then you opened them again at the sudden feeling of his hands on your wrists instead, harshly pressing them on the pillow above your head. 

You bit your lower lip, wondering how you looked to him at that moment. 

As if reading your mind, he leaned down to whisper, his fingers slowly sliding on your palms and intertwining them with yours. “You’re so fucking gorgeous right now, I might go insane.” 

You gulped those words he slipped in your mouth with his tongue and curved your spine, urging him to do something more as you were going insane as well. 

“Are you going to be a good girl and keep your hands off your face?” 

“I can’t make any promises if you keep touching me like this,” you replied. 

“I haven’t even started,” he murmured with an amused tone in his voice. 

Oh, you were so wet. 

Just so fucking wet. 

And you felt even slicker as Haechan suddenly got back on his knees and spread you with his index and middle finger, spitting right on your sensitive clit. The saliva slowly descended to your hole and you shivered at the sensation. And when you felt those two fingers nudge at your entrance, feeling how hot and soft you were, Haechan grunted, sliding them in slowly and curling after one pump. 

You whined loudly, hands grabbing at his shoulders while your head was thrown back. He kissed your inner thigh as his bicep flexed, fingerfucking you just the way you’d always wanted someone to do, and then he kissed your other thigh, while his thumb started to circle your clit. 

“Oh, God,” your voice was shaky. 

Your hips lifted and your legs trembled, his name escaping your throat. 

Haechan grabbed those legs harshly, pressing on the underside of them and putting them on his shoulders, letting you curl your toes in the air at the way his tongue felt on you, licking one stripe up until flicking your clit once with the tip of his tongue. You felt electricity burn in your blood and you grabbed at the sheets underneath you uncontrollably. Haechan’s hums and the wet sounds made your head so dizzy that you felt high. His tongue felt flat between your folds then his lips sucked on your clit. Your hands flew to his soft hair, trying hard not to pull too much. 

“Look at me,” he ordered, and the view of his wet pink tongue flicking you mercilessly while his eyes were lit up by the most mischievous sparkles was enough for you to go over the edge. 

“Cumming- Haechan, cumming,” you mumbled and Haechan’s fingers tightened their hold on your thighs. They didn’t let go and his mouth didn’t stop when your body seized in his hold. 

“Please please please,” you were begging. 

If that was for urging him to stop or not, you weren’t sure yourself. 

Haechan groaned deeply as if he came himself, and he licked up every drop of your wetness, feeling you pulsating rhythmically against his tongue. 

You felt spent, your arms abandoned around your head and muscles still shivering. 

“Stay with me,” you heard him closer than you expected, so you opened your eyes to his dreamy face on top of you, his dainty necklace that adorned his prominent collarbones now dangling on your own chest instead. “Don’t go so quickly,” he added. 

You wrapped his neck with your arms and pulled him closer. “I am not going.” 

Haechan exhaled and kissed your lips once, then he kissed your cheek and temple, and when he dipped his fingers inside of you again you dug your nails into his back for a moment, hissing with him in unison. 

“The second one is the best,” he murmured into your ear, holding your body tight against him while his fingers lazily moved in and out of you. 

And when he scissored you palmed his lower stomach, opening his jeans button, hungry to hear his pretty voice mixed with your own whimpers. 

He didn’t disappoint and your skin shivered at the sound of his moan caressing the crook of your neck as you slid your palm under his pants. 

Your name has never been pronounced with such desire and need before and it just added to the growing new heat inside your navel. 

Haechan lifted himself on the knees again to be able to see you and when you slid your fist up and down his pretty hard cock you could see his furrowed eyebrows and his plump lower lip being bit. 

“Fuck,” he grabbed your dress with one hand and pulled your body on the sheets closer to his hips, giving you a better reach while his fingers didn’t stop for a second. 

You imitated him, your wrists bumping, and you kept chanting his name laced with curses, feeling how heavy he was in your hand until your muscles started to burn. 

But you couldn’t stop, not when his voice became a higher whine and his thick neck looked so delicious extended for you to the side to see his crazy pulse. 

“I’m close,” he grunted and you’ve never heard him huskier. 

That just gave you the last crumb of force to make him cum on you with a shudder, his hot slick coating your fingers and sliding to your core. 

Haechan’s hand stopped for a moment, his eyes adjusting from the high back to the view of you still spread for him. 

The only sound in the dark room was the rain still mercilessly hitting the window and your breaths, both quick and heavy. 

But then a moan disrupted the peace as he curled his fingers inside of you again, making you push your head back into the pillow. 

Haechan cursed under his breath, pushing his cum inside of you. That felt so foreign to you yet so right that you just abandoned yourself to Haechan, shaky legs lifted as to beg for more, and palms frantically touching his chest and abs until you had to dig your nails into his skin again, body shuddering at the wave of pleasure that washed over you. 

Haechan was right, the second time was even better, and you couldn’t see or hear for a moment until Haechan’s sweet voice murmured nothings inside your ear. 

Your chest was still lifting and falling frantically when you felt your body wrapped in his arms, pulling you towards his own chest. 

You rested your head on his arm and you let him gently kiss your abused lips. 

“Are you okay?” he whispered and you nodded, probably with the most fucked up expression ever because he chuckled a bit. 

Your body was feeling like putty and you just wanted him to keep holding you like that forever. 

But after you dozed to sleep and woke up, you weren’t in his arms anymore and the dreamy room was nowhere to be seen. 

The morning light looked too septic in your sensitive eyes, concealing every remnant of the dream from under your eyelids. 

__________

“Shit, dude, are you finally seeing someone?” 

Mark’s sudden voice made Haechan jolt in place. The young man sat down near him with his tray of food and looked at Haechan’s intact plates with a raised eyebrow. “You’re not eating?” 

“I’m not seeing anyone,” Haechan replied, grabbing his water. 

Mark chewed on his food for a moment then hit Haechan’s neck with two fingers. “Yeah, so you sucked on your own neck last night, huh?” 

“Can’t believe you’re funny for once,” Haechan scoffed, palming his skin and getting out of his trance. 

“Or, perhaps you need to change mattress? Them bugs huge if they can leave hickeys that big.”

“Are you in a good mood today?” 

“I am and you should also be if you finally got your dick wet, yet you’re frowning like you got blue balls all night. That, unless you actually did and I’m sorry.” 

“I think I did a mistake.” 

Mark watched Haechan’s eyes gazing at nothing in particular over the dining hall’s huge windows. 

“I mean, you often do. What’s the issue?” 

Haechan shook his head. “No, this time it’s huge.” 

“Like the hickey you got yourself?” 

“I can’t believe I’m being the serious one for once and you the clown.” 

Mark lifted his palms apologetically. “Okay, what’s the issue?” 

“I fucked my dreamer.” 

Mark’s eyes got huge and his face red as he choked on the piece of food he was chewing. 

“Shit,” Haechan mumbled and got up to hit the other in the back. 

Mark exhaled and grabbed his wrist to stop him. “That hit was personal.” 

“Don’t die on me, dumbass.” 

“Are you mad at me? You’re the one fucking dreamers!” 

Haechan lightly slapped Mark’s mouth with his palm. “Yell that louder, would you? Let everyone know.” 

Mark shook his head to free himself. “Listen, it’s not a big deal. Your dreamer doesn’t remember you.” 

Haechan sighed and looked at his friend with a grave expression. Mark opened his mouth. 

“God fucking damn it, Lee Haechan. Do I understand this correctly? Your issue’s that you fell in love with your fucking dreamer? Oh my God,” Mark closed his eyes for a second then got up in disbelief. 

“Sit down,” Haechan pulled him by the cuff. “People are watching.” 

“Do you know the most important rule?” 

Haechan interrupted the other before he could get schooled. “Yes, thank you very much.” 

Mark scoffed and sat back down heavily. 

“So she remembers it all. What did you tell her?” 

Haechan scratched the back of his neck. “Nothing much.” 

“Haechan.” 

“Okay okay. Just enough so she would not go insane.” 

Mark let his head fall into his palm. “God, you’re so dumb.” 

“What would you have done in my place?” 

“Maybe not fall in love with a goddess?” 

“She’s not a goddess. I mean she is. But like she’s not. You get me.” 

“You got into something bigger than you. If they catch you, you’re dead.”

Haechan exhaled and leaned back in his chair. 

“I know of someone. It’s more a legend than anything. He also fell in love with his dreamer and he got put out.” 

“Thank you, Mark. I really want to hear about people in my situation getting killed now.” 

“No, hear me out. They say he became one of the Dreamers.” 

Haechan furrowed his eyebrows. 

“What do you mean?” 

Mark looked around for a moment then his eyes fell on Haechan’s face again. They looked blacker than ever. “When we die, we become Dreamers. We go to their world.” 

Haechan felt his mouth go dry. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

____________

The mix of bliss and sadness accompanied you all day. 

If you closed your eyes you could still taste Haechan on your lips and feel his touch on your skin. The dream kept rolling in your mind again and again making your guts twist on themselves. 

“Taeyong, I feel like I’m going insane,” you sputtered all of sudden, not having heard anything of what your friend has been saying for the past hours. 

The young man closed his mouth surprised and blinked at you. 

“Is it about your dreams again?” 

You bit your lower lip as if ashamed and nodded. 

“Do you want to tell me about it?” 

You inhaled as to speak but then your throat closed. How could you tell someone that you fell in love with someone you probably made up in your head and be taken seriously? 

“I just keep having the same dream again and again. The Lobby one. I lied to you but I’ve dreamt the same thing all of this time.” 

Taeyong’s expression was still serious and his big eyes gave you enough courage to add the crucial element. 

“I keep dreaming this man and- it is all just so fucking real. I lost track of what’s real and what’s not and I am so afraid I’m going to actually lose my mind over someone that doesn’t exist.” 

“Is he-” Taeyong started after listening, “-a Dream Sorter?” 

__________

Mark closed the door to his apartment after making sure no one was following them and turned around to face a confused Haechan. 

“Listen, I work so closely with the higher-ups. I see and hear shit in the Data sector that you Dream Sorters don’t even dream about.” 

Haechan made a single unamused ‘ha’ at the pun. Mark ignored him and walked quickly to his studio, opening drawers as if looking for something. 

“The life cycle is that they become us and we become them. We still have no clue which state is the initial one. This is still being researched.”

“Wait, wait, Mark,” Haechan had to close his eyes for a moment and rest his hands on the friend’s desk to collect himself. “Are you saying that we were them? I was a Dreamer?” 

“Yes, and your lady has been a Dream Sorter or whatever,” Mark replied quickly and let a huge pile of paper hit his desk. Haechan coughed at the sudden dust, swinging his hand in front of his face. 

“Me too, and everyone here,” Mark added. 

“And everyone there.” 

Mark found the file he was looking for and nodded. “Exactly.” 

Haechan looked down at the other’s hand and eyed the slim file for a second before taking it and opening it. “Fuck,” he murmured after reading the first line. 

__________

You felt your limbs weak. Then you chuckled once. 

“Dream Sorter? How do you know about that?” 

Taeyong inhaled and exhaled while looking at the students’ faces sitting on the grass around you. 

“I was one,” he simply said. 

You shook your head and slid backwards. “You’re joking. You’re fucking with me right now. This is not funny, Taeyong.” 

Your friend’s eyes looked sincere though so you didn’t flinch when he took your hand in his. 

“I would never joke about this. I was a Dream Sorter and I got-,” he paused as if trying to find the right word, “exiled.” 

You put the other hand to your mouth as hot tears started to slide down your cheeks. You had no idea why you were crying, perhaps you were overwhelmed, or perhaps you were relieved. 

Maybe, you were finally losing your mind and that was just another dream.

“How?” you asked with a broken voice. 

__________

Haechan sat down on the only chair in the studio, reading the file for a second time, this time slowly. 

“It was before we were born so we wouldn’t know. But yes, that dude was a Dream Sorter who fell in love with his Dreamer and got killed off. The thing is, when we die naturally, we become like them with no memories. Just normal people dreaming. When you get killed off or you kill yourself, you remember everything and you can’t dream anymore.” 

Haechan listened to Mark’s summary of the file while his pupils moved across the lines saying the same thing as him. 

“Also, in that case, you can’t come back here in the usual cycle when you die,” Mark added. 

“And where do they go?” 

Mark shrugged sadly. “We still have no idea. Perhaps their idea of hell.” 

Haechan leaned down in his chair at a loss of words. “This is her friend. She knows him. I’ve seen him in her dreams before. What are the odds?” 

He put down the file titled “Lee Taeyong”. 

“I don’t know Haechan. What I’m telling you is that you better not get killed off like him,” Mark warned him and took back the file, locking it away with the others.

__________

“If your man gets caught, he’ll have my same destiny, Y/N. Not dreaming anymore and not going back to the dream world after death. I just wanted you to be aware of this. It is not worth it, I promise you.”

Taeyong ended his tale and you had to just blink back, taking in the huge amount of information. Your head felt like splitting in half. 

“And what do you suggest doing?”

“Dying naturally.” 

You shook your head in disbelief. “We might as well just swap at this point. He’ll be a Dreamer and I’ll be a Dream Sorter and we’ll forget about each other. Not seeing each other anymore. That’s not a solution to be together.” 

“I wasn’t giving a solution for you to be together. It’s a survival solution.”

You groaned frustrated. Taeyong didn’t speak anymore. 

“Where is your lover now?” you asked after a moment of whole long minutes. 

Taeyong looked down at his lap and then he bit the corner of his lip. “She doesn’t remember me.” 

You felt tears prickle your eye corners again. 

“I am so sorry, Taeyong.”  

“I thought I could have a chance by being around, make her fall in love with me from the start again, but nothing happened so far. I think it’s already too late.” 

His kind smile was so full of sad acceptance that you felt your heart hurt. Then you thought of Haechan. Imagining him getting killed off for you just to be reborn and you not remembering him was making you nauseous. 

“You’ll go insane if you keep this relationship with him in your dreams. And he might get killed off. You need to break all ties. Ask him to get you a new Dream Sorter. It’s the only solution, trust me.”

__________

Haechan was pacing around the Lobby nervously waiting for the ding of the elevator. 

Mark was right, as soon as you would get another Dream Sorter you’d forget about him. 

It was the right thing to do for both of you. 

But he couldn’t accept it. 

Lost in his thought he almost jolted feeling your arms around his waist. He exhaled and closed his eyes, bathing in that sensation as long as possible. 

Then he turned around and gasped softly.  

“Why are you crying?” he cupped your face as his thumbs delicately tried to wipe your abundant tears. 

“Haechan-” your voice broke and you hugged him tightly, face buried deep into his purple Bellboy uniform. 

The young man sighed, your daily memories invading his mind. His fingers delicately massaged your nape as his lips went to your temple. “So you know too. I am sorry,” he whispered and your body started to shake even more. “I didn’t know either.” 

“No, I am sorry. It’s- I am privileged and you’re the one risking-” you tried to express your confusing thoughts. 

“Maybe I’ll never get caught,” Haechan gave you a small smile but you didn’t smile back. 

“I would never forgive myself if they-” you started again but couldn’t finish. 

Killed you. 

“I don’t care, Y/N. For me it would be enough to life one human life and be over with it if it means to be with you.”

You shook your head. “Listen to me.” 

Haechan shook his head too. “No.”

You took a step back. “I want this to be over,” you lied. “Get me a new Dream Sorter. I can’t keep being with you only in my dreams. I’d rather forget you. And I can’t let you lose your soul for me.” 

Those words cut in your heart so deeply that you fought the urge to fall to your knees and hug your own body. 

Haechan inhaled and looked up to not make the tears escape his eyes. His tongue wandered inside his cheek for a second then he exhaled deeply. 

“This is for the best,” you added with a tiny voice. 

Haechan chuckled dryly. “It’s easy for you to say that. You’ll forget everything and I’ll be the one-,” he interrupted himself and turned around, pacing towards the counter and resting his palms on it. 

You put your hand to your mouth, forcing yourself to not run to him and beg him to not make you forget. 

But Taeyong’s words came to mind. There was no other option for happiness.

Haechan will eventually forget you himself. You didn’t spend much time together.

He’ll fall in love with someone else, you were sure of it.

__________

When you woke up that morning, your head was hurting from the confusing nightmare you had. 

You sighed and passed one hand on your face to brush the last remnants of it away and you felt your cheeks wet. 

With a tentative hand, you looked for your phone near the pillow. 

There was no phone in sight but you felt a soft fabric. You grabbed it and stared at it under the shining light. 

It was a white glove and you furrowed your eyebrows. It was a bit loose on the fingertips when you put it on. 

Then the alarm went off and you finally eyed your phone on the floor. With a groan, you spent the buzz and getting up you put away the strange glove in your closet. 

Then you smiled at the sight of your boyfriend’s text. 

From Taeyong <3: hey sleepyhead, I'm already downstairs, hurry up

__________

Haechan looked in the mirror that evening, staring at his new uniform. 

He didn’t need a new one and this was just the same shade of purple as the previous one. But a new job meant a new uniform and he was missing a glove after you asked for it. 

He sighed walking into the Lobby and winced staring at the pamphlets on the counter, remembering your expression while reading them. 

Then a ding made him raise his face and a small person exited the lift. 

“Hey there. Is this your first time dreaming?” Haechan asked with a kind and bright voice. 

The little boy looked around as if scared and nodded, so Haechan walked the distance and knelt on one knee in front of him. 

“I am Haechan. It’s not important because you’ll forget this anyway. But you can trust me to have a very fun time. Come,” he stood up extending one hand. The child took it slowly and Haechan smiled again. “I’ll show you how dreaming works.” 

__________

PREVIEW FROM PART 2

Haechan was rolling peas on his plate when a hard slap on his shoulder made him cough. 

“Are you fucking insane?” he asked when he found his voice. “What’s wrong with you?”

But Mark’s spirited expression didn’t care about Haechan’s tone. “You need to come with me.” 

“Whatever is going on there’s no need to beat me over it.” 

“Get up right now. I found something.” 

Haechan sighed, not in the mood to hang out with anyone. 

“It’s about Y/N,” the other lowered his voice. 

Haechan closed his mouth. 

Mark grabbed him by the arm and pulled him up to his feet. 

“I talked to her new Dream Sorter. I know, I shouldn’t get involved but this whole thing made me want to research further. No one knows, so you understand this is confidential, right?”

Mark was talking quietly and fast while walking just as fast towards what Haechan guessed was his apartment. 

“Slow the fuck down. What exactly is going on? Is she okay? Is he hurt?” 

Mark stopped in his place. “You said it was weird that she was friends with Taeyong, the dude killed over his Dreamer.” 

Haechan blinked emptily for a moment before the realization made his whole body turn into mush. 

Mark held onto his shoulders so he wouldn’t fall over. 

“Yeah. She was his Dreamer. And she couldn’t remember that. Why? We don’t know yet. But he of course could remember her and he sabotaged you two when he discovered she was in love with you. Now they’re dating. Her new Dream Sorter told me.”

Haechan felt his head full of cotton. “Wait, wait. And so what? She was right. It was not worth it. Dating in her dreams? Absurd. If she’s happy with him then so be it. They’re in the same world. I was ready to go to hell after being killed but she didn’t want me anymore-”

“She got convinced she did it for your sake. Taeyong didn’t tell her there is a way for you two to be together so he could have her for himself.”

Haechan couldn’t process fast enough. 

Mark patted his cheek with a little smile. 

“I found the way. I’m going to help you get back with her.”

#haechan #haechan smut #nct-writers #haechan angst #haechan fluff #haechan fanfiction #nct dream #nct #nct dream fanfiction #nct dream smut #nct dream angst #nct dream fluff #nct fanfiction #nct smut #nct angst #nct fluff #haechan scenarios #haechan imagins #nct imagines #nct scenarios #nct dream imagines #nct dream scenarios #fanfiction #fantasy

[witchofthesouls]

Tbh Star Saber’s reaction is justified. Sentinel just claims this random bot as a bride (probably doesn’t even know their name too) I’d be miffed too if I was his protector. But what about said bot’s reaction? You wake up after passing out and suddenly your hitched, I’d be backing up Star Saber in the background as he yells at Sentinel.

(You're going to be busy trying to deal with alien biology to start yelling. If anything you're yelling at whatever drop-kicked you into this timeline that's the dumpster fire that makes up Bayverse.

Get ready for misunderstandings and failed negotiations:)

Consciousness doesn't gently trickle back. It kicks you in the teeth without any warning. One moment, darkness. The next moment, you're heaving up and accidentally slamming into something hard.

That something yelps.

While you have the grace of facial protection, Sentinel isn't as lucky. You still have a throbbing headache, though. It flares whenever there's the incomprehensible electronic noise of their native tongue is being spoken.

Your head pulses to an excruciating degree when suddenly it clicks. The noise becomes words.

And you don't like them.

"Look, it can't even speak. Let alone understand us." Star Saber - your HUD factually pings, rapidly scrolling all of his positions, achievements, strengths, and possible weaknesses - says like an absolute cunt.

"Oooooo. Cooon-tuh." The High Lord Protector sounds out the English your ass of a mouth that not even a supercomputer brain could leash have shot out. The Seeker is unamused, and you don't even resist the urge to stick your tongue out since you're wearing the visor and he can't see.

You have a vague sense that you're forgetting something important. The wisps of a strange dream linger in the periphery edges of your mind, but a hiccuping wail interrupts everything.

Nearby and attached to the berth (fanon terminology don't fail you now!) are the infants. You immediately pick up the crying one. The tiny face warps from the force of their distress. Something compels you to cradle it up to your chest, and they settle down to snuffly whistles.

Of course, the other one starts up when your hands are full.

Sentinel picks the second infant to maneuver them to you. You never expected this asshole to have gentle hands, but he does. At least for the babies.

"They're split-spark." He explains as both of them grab a hold of each other, whistling and chirping between a songbird and a hot kettle. "They have to remain close together until they're third in-star."

There's a moment of silence in the room, only interrupted by the newsparks' chirping babbling and fretful meeping.

"Not to be rude," you slowly test out the digital language, and Star Saber doesn't snort or move his expression, but he definitely disproves. Fucker. "But why am I here?"

"Yes, Prime," the Seeker knows how to turn a soft voice into an assassin's thread. "Why do we have such a guest here?"

The words he chose have so many insulting undertones and stresses that if you didn't have your arms full, you might as well slap him. High Lord Protector be damned.

He wants you far away, and you want to be farther than Star Saber could dream of.

Of course, neither you nor Star Saber gets those desires granted.

"You're here," Sentinel’s tone shifts. Formal. Very formal. A strange mix of anticipation and... duty? "In the privacy of my household and in the presence of my most trusted-" Star Saber's expression is set in stone and just as cold "-to declare our sparks together in front of Primus."

Unlike fanfics where Sam Witwicky has the Allspark to handily act as a translator, you only have the equivalent of a more sensible Google translate with all of the additional kinda-helpul-but-not-really dings of subharmonics and underlying glyphs to provide more context. It sounds like a marriage proposal, but the way Sentinel emphasized it is more akin to a 'Guardian seek out an equal partnership in a (business) venture.'

Thanks, Google. Great help as always. Never change.

Unless you've taken over the body of a noble with capital to buy out galaxies or some sort of daring pirate/elite assassin with that ghostly possession of hidden skills, you have no idea why he's asking you for this kind of proposition.

You need to bite the bullet because you don't know what you're walking into, and maybe you can jump out another window and speed away.

You start searching the lexicon for the right words. Hopefully.

_____________

Even with the visor eclipsing your face, you're refreshingly honest and it's something Sentinel profoundly misses ever since he's been taken from the Guiding Hand's Towers.

And right now, they know your possible intention to jump again beneath the tangle of confusion and worry.

The windows here are reinforced and capable of withstanding artillery blasts and extreme heat resistance as well.

:: The foundlings are completely attached to this one. :: Hard and unforgiving Star Saber may be, but there are a few things that soften the mech. It may be the Seekerkin-coding in him that invokes protective feelings towards the very young.

You and the newsparks have sealed a guardian/parental bond. They can't separate them from you. The strain will most likely kill them, and possibly you with your recent recklessness. You may have a powerfully dense spark -a hallmark of mecha with Primal heritage- but you're still young, barely past the ninth in-star, and still developing towards an adult frame.

Ratchet had been torn between absolute fury and begrudgingly impressed by the one that had done your frame-schematics. It's a remarkable mix of stealth modifications, hidden components, and security. Your systems had literally chewed up suppression codes and medical overrides and spat them out.

Either you have a creator that's a fiend of a weaponsmith or you have ties to the legendary War-Forged, too. Unbelievable, but no one expected any frames out in the Wastelands to be blessed by Primus, and yet here they are with not one, but two individuals.

And Sentinel is asking the mechling for a formal courtship with the intention of bonding.

"Are you-" you speak carefully, testing out the glyphs, and he wonders what kind of dialect the Wilders speak "-asking me to bond with you?"

The phrase makes logical sense. However, Sentinel can't help but choke at the subglyphs you used. Instead of 'unity of wedlock between two parties,' you attached something akin to sponsoring a courtesan for an exclusive relationship. An explicitly sexual one.

Star Saber doesn't budge. The Seeker's body langauge is impeccable and beyond reproach to stand as a witness to this mess, but Sentinel feels the icy talons of their shared bond flare to a vicious burning grip.

:: If you say any sort of agreement to that poorly worded question, Sentinel Prime. :: Star Saber's terrible words cut into Sentinel's spark. :: I will personally make the rest of your limited time on this planet a new level of Unicron's Pits. ::

Sentinel had to lock his joints to keep himself upright and not sprawled on the floor. After a long moment, he manages to grapple with the bond to sear away Star Saber's influence. :: I wasn't! ::

Slag all those that deify their partnership as the original split-sparks Prima and Megatronus, it's a slaggen mockery of a marital bond.

Sentinel gathers every scrap of his intentions to make it work with the newly found Primal-descended and throws it at Star Saber's end. It's still a raw wound. He finds it deeply discomforting to be intimately tied to the Seeker upon the confirmed demise of an unmoored Zeta Prime. Just barely after the Temple's blessings to establish suitable compatibility as a Prime and a new Protector.

(If Sentinel thinks too much about it, he will scream until he burns out and -)

Star Saber quirks a plate at his efforts and releases the onslaught. :: Look at that. Perhaps there's a warrior underneath that softness, librarian. Correct your Intended before the Wilder escapes with the newsparks. ::

During their internal spat, you pressed your back against the wall, plating closed to minimize noise. You've silenced your biosignature as well. Even the foundlings are silent -a natural defense that's driven by terror of the sudden tensions and your own reaction.

Fan-fragging-tastic.

#ask #transformers #transformers bayverse #bayverse #humans into Cybertronians #humanformers #reader insert #isekai #sentinel prime #sentinel #star saber #bitlets #sparklings #cybertronian culture #cybertronian biology #dubcon #maccadam #My writing #look everyone here has trauma #not even the Primacy of the Golden Age was kind to their Primes and Protectors

[lazypeachsoul]

Like I've known you forever.

Summary: Sometimes traumatic events make you realise how deeply you love someone or a collection of moments and memories of love after the birdstrike.

Pairing: Robert 'Bob' Floyd x F!Reader

Word Count: 3k.

Rating: No warnings per se but the events are a bit sad because it's after the birdstrike, hospitals, mentions of painkillers, ilnesses.

A/N: Normal is current events, Italics are memories. Inspired by one of my favourite movies and I thought the quote fit Bob so well. As always, english is not my first language so sorry for any mistakes. And enjoy.

Days off were a sort of myth for your little two person —one cat— household. The sort of myth you grew weary of fully enjoying because at any moment a call could end your boyfriend’s off time. But you enjoyed nonetheless because any minute you got together you cherished. But this time it was different. This time the house felt tense and cold, nothing to do with the bright and home-y feeling of mornings spent watching a show and laughing together. This time you were trying to fold for the third time the couch blanket while keeping your ears open for any sounds coming from the bedroom.

He was okay —that’s what he had said—, just needed to sleep off the tension —also his words— and spend some time with you —brown noser—. According to the doctors he had a bruised rib and you should look out for possible neck or back pain caused by falling a few thousand feet at high speed. Look out for that while being grateful that it was only pain and not a spinal break. Damn it, there go the tears again. Walking towards the living-room window, unfolded blanket still in your hand, you realised how late it had gotten. The day was winding down to and end in a mix of oranges and yellows while you wrung out the fabric between your hands.

Your mind couldn’t stop replaying the events of the last 48 hours.

Your mind couldn’t stop replaying the events of the last 48 hours.

You were in the middle of what your boss had warned you was a very important meeting for the company, a potential new big shot client. Robert knew and had wished you the best of luck before he left for work looking like a dream in his ironed uniform and his recently gelled hair. So when your phone started vibrating against your desk you frowned, knowing very few calls would have gone through in Do Not Disturb mode. In fact, it could only be one of four people: Robert, his mom, your mom or Maverick.

Fully ready to see Bob’s contact picture you almost had to do a double check when you saw it was actually Maverick calling.The voice of your boss speaking through the laptop became nothing but background noise while you tried to reason why Maverick would be calling you. Your gut told you to answer quickly and it spoke so loud you pressed the green button before you could properly excuse yourself from the meeting. And soon it became apparent you weren’t the only one feeling the urgency.

“Maverick?” Was the only word you could muster, your overthinking brain always negative.

“Hey, I’m sorry to call you.” Oh well, that wasn’t a good start to the conversation. “Bob and Phoenix had some difficulties during today’s training-”

“Difficulties? That sounds-” “Worse than it really is, don’t worry. They are being rescued as we speak-”

“Rescued!?” You asked raising your voice, probably an effect of the fear and that run through your veins. If the word difficulties made your heart skip a beat the word rescued restarted it completely. You could feel the adrenaline starting to flow through your veins, suddenly feeling cold and warm at the same time.

“Sorry, it’s technical talk I didn’t want to scare you. I know how hard a call like this is.” Did he? But even if he didn’t a part of your mind thanked the excuse. “The team said they looked in okay shape and are being brought to the base hospital for a check up. I wanted to call you before you received a call from the hospital, thought it would be less intimidating.” Had you been in your right mind you would have almost laughed at his sheepish voice. “Although I don’t seem to be doing it very well.”

A ping sounded through the speakers of the laptop and a chat notification from the video call system appeared. A private message from your boss. Everything okay? You look pale from that call. You knew there was more than worry written in the message, probably a reprimand about taking private calls during a meeting. But your mind at the moment only seemed to care about how injured you needed to be to be considered in ‘okay shape’. Okay?

“Are you still there? I know the news are unexpected-”

“Yeah, I’m still here.” At least you thought you were, even if you couldn’t stop picturing horrible scenarios involving a jet plane, your boyfriend and your best friend. “I should go to the hospital right?”

You probably sounded like a horrible girlfriend, the worst. But nobody ever takes the time to explain the protocol for technical difficulties resulting in the need of a rescue and hospital checkup.

“Are you okay to drive? You sound shocked. Don’t want you distracted on the wheel.”

You looked at the message from your boss and managed to type a few words: Bob was in accident. Grammar be damned. And as soon as you sent the message all the adrenaline that up until this point had been building in your body exploded. The laptop slammed shut while you muttered “See you there” to Maverick on the phone, picking up what your amped up brain considered essentials before you run to the car.

A movement outside the window snapped you from your painful memories, a bird flying to find refuge before the day became night. Birds. At one point when you were a child you wanted to be like them, flying looked to be the most freeing experience. And when you met Bob you realised that maybe your interest in flying was a happy coincidence. One of life’s funny foreshadowing moments. Birdstrike, that’s what the ha told you.

“How can something as small as a bird win against millions of dollars of military technology?” You mumbled against Bob’s neck almost without realising. The question had been in your head since Maverick tried to explain to you the situation in the waiting room.

Bob couldn’t help but let out a wheezy laugh, wanting to groan at the pain in his chest but fighting against it fearing you might remove yourself from his arms. “Isn’t it incredible? Best pilots in the US navy and a pidgeon knocked us out.” You lifted your head and looked at him with a raised brow. “Okay, maybe not incredible. Bad wording. It’s surprising.” He rectified with a small smile.

Silence, or as much silence as possible in a hospital full with beeping machines, surrounded you when you kissed his temple before pressing your forehead against it. The adrenaline rush fizzled into tiredness, but every time you closed your eyes horrible images conjured by your imagination plagued you. “I love you.” You heard him muster and you smiled. “Thank you for being here.”

It broke your heart to think how he might be feeling. You were suffering the effects of not knowing, but he probably was feeling the effects of knowing exactly what could’ve happened and didn’t. “Nowhere else I would rather be, bub.” You muttered close to his ear, not wanting to disturbe the atmosphere created in the room. “Well, maybe home without the scare. But always with you.”

“Something interesting going on with the neighbours?” Spoke behind you the same voice you had been daydreaming about, making you jump in your place.

“What are you doing out of bed? You are supposed to be on complete bed rest!” You turned to walk his way. But he quickly stopped you with a raised hand and a bright smile.

While he walked towards the window you took your time to check him out to see potential damage -what would spine damage look like? The doctor didn’t explain that part-. But you could only see his unruly hair, blonde curl falling against his forehead, and his crooked glasses. His cheeks were rosy, more than likely result of the painkillers and the deep sleep, and his eyes had recuperated the shine they lacked after a night in hospital. His wrinkly pijamas only adding to his relaxed image. Definitely not the image of someone who had fallen out of a plane at 50 feet per second 48 hours earlier. Once he was within reach he took the blanket from your hands and draped it over your shoulders before pulling you close to him with it.

“Okay mother hen.” He spoke softly, almost as if scared that any sound louder would spook you. “I think it’s more dangerous if I lie all day, blood clots from lack of movement are a real risk.” Damn, should you be looking out for that too? The doctor hadn’t said anything. Almost as if he could read your thoughts he pressed his lips to your forehead. “Stop. I’m okay.”

You wanted to say that he wasn’t. Wanted to recite the statistics for the results of jet plane ejections you had googled while in the waiting room. To repeat the diagnosis the doctor had made. But that wouldn’t have been good for either of you. You raised on your tip toes, pressing a chaste kiss against his lips that meant only three things: sorry, I love you and I’m still taking care of you.

“I am probably overbearing. I’m sure you would prefer to be in that hospital room again.” You joked, a probably too morbid joke that he seemed to get thankfully.

“Ah yes, nothing like the smell of disinfectant and sickness to feel better. Definitely, tender love and care from my favourite girl doesn’t even come close.”

His favourite girl, how you loved to hear him say it.

Deep breath in, deep breath out. Maybe the disinfectant in the air could clean your system of the icky feeling the wait had left you in. You looked at the plaque on the door and triple checked this was the right room. It was. You also justified the minutes you had already spent in front of the door without moving because you could hear voices inside the room talking. Deep breath in and you raised your hand to knock and the door opened quickly, knocking the air out of your lungs.

“Oh, Lieutenant. It looks like you have your first visitor.” The man in scrubs and a white coat exclaimed with too much enthusiasm for a hospital. “Please come in, I’m already done. I’m guessing you are his next of kin?”

You nodded while walking inside, not daring to look up yet.

“She’s my favourite girl, doctor.” Bob’s voice spoke up, but that wasn’t a very Bob-like phrase. Always prefering privacy over ostentatious declarations.

You looked up then, deep breaths be damned, and you realised nothing could have prepared you to see the man you loved so deeply laying in a hospital bed and hooked to different machines. Now you understood what Maverick meant with ‘okay shape’. Bob looked okay except for a few scratches and an ugly bruise in his cheekbone, but not even his loopy smile could make you stop worrying.

“Hi baby.” He said his a slight slurred voice that made your heart clench. He tried to raise his arm to wave you but dropped it a groan.

“Nice to meet you, I’m doctor Stevens.” You gave him your name with a tense smile, not wanting to remove your eyes from your boyfriend face for too long, as if he might disappear. “All his tests came back okay, only a bruised rib. But they probably already told you that.” You nodded, they had informed you while you were waiting. “He’s under the effects of the painkillers, so don’t worry if he’s a bit out of it.”

The doctor probably wanted to speak more to you, talk about tests and x-rays. But nothing in that moment meant to you more than the man laying in the bed with a smile too big to be natural. Sensing the disconnect, the doctor quickly said his goodbyes and moved towards the door. Walking towards the bed you couldn’t help to ask.

“Doctor, is Phoenix okay?” Seeing Bob had relaxed your nerves a little, but the same worry kept circling your head. And you knew even under the haze of the painkillers Bob would want to know too.

“Lieutenant Trace appears to be in as good shape as one could be in this situation. They were both incredibly lucky.”

Lucky. Your lucky best friend. Your lucky boy.

“What was so interesting? You spent quite some time looking out the window.” He repeated his first question and you turned in his arms to look out the window again. Pressing your back against his chest -carefully because of the injury- you sighed contentedly when his arms wrapped around you.

“Nothing. It’s peaceful out there at this time.” You murmur and he hums against the hair at the back of your head. “Looking at the birds.”

He tensed a little and a sigh brushed against your head. You knew it was probably soon, or maybe not an appropriate time but you also couldn’t find it in you to lie. “You always loved the birds.”

And it was the tone in which he said those words, as if instead of knowing eachother for a three years he had known you for your entire lifetime. The tone that said I wasn’t there but I knew you even when I didn’t. That’s what made the sting of tears appear. Because you felt exactly the same about him. And you knew he wanted to spare you of any pain and that he wasn’t able to protect you from the fear hurt him too. Sweet Robert, raised to put the ones he love before himself.

“I love you.” You spoke after a minute of trying to reorganise your thoughts. “I love you so much it hurts sometimes.” You could hear him huff behind you and you knew he was about to interrupt you. So you turned quickly and pressed your hand against his mouth to shush him preemptively. “Let me speak. Sometimes it hurts because I simply cannot process all the feelings and I can only hope that you understand one third of the feelings I have for you. Because I’m unbelievably lucky that I found you. While also sad that I haven’t known you for longer because I wish I could have been therefor every story you tell me, good or bad.”

By that point the knot in your throat was too big to keep talking, but just by looking at Bob’s eyes you knew he knew. And the shine in his eyes told you he was feeling something big too. You raised your hand to straighten his still crooked glasses and he grabbed your wrist, placing the inside of it against his lips to press a soft kiss.

“I don't believe in luck.” He spoke, tickling the skin of your wrist with the movement of his chapped lips. “I do believe we've known each other since forever, though.”

“Really?” You whispered while moving your hand to rest against his warm cheek.

“Yeah. You know how?” You shook your head no, enjoying the softness in his voice that paired so well with the now purple and blue tones coming from the window. “When the big bang happened, all the atoms in the universe, they were all smashed together into one little dot that exploded outward. So my atoms and your atoms were certainly together then, and, who knows, probably smashed together several times in the last 13.7 billion years. So my atoms have known your atoms and they've always known your atoms. My atoms have always loved your atoms.”

And if the Robert lying on the hospital bed pumped full of drugs wasn’t your Robert, this was exactly him. Scientific and precise, and loving and just a perfect amount of nerdy that made your stomach fill with butterflies. The Robert that could make talking about atoms the most romantic thing ever said in history. Your Robert, forever.

“Do I know you?” You asked the blonde man standing to your right at the crowded bar.

You were feeling a bit out of your comfort zone surrounded by so many people in the bar,, that’s why you had offered yourself to get the drinks not thinking this side would be even more crowded. But, somehow, in the middle of the chaos you had found yourself next to a blonde man who seemed as uncomfortable as you. While waiting for your drinks you couldn’t help but glance at him from time to time, your gut telling yo there was something familiar about him.

He looked at you surprised and opened and closed his mouth several times before clearing his throat. “I-I don’t think so.” The man answered before he seemed to rethinking his answer. “I wouldn’t forget a face so beautiful.”

And you appreciated the sentiment but it almost sounded weird out of his mouth. But he himself cringed at his bad pick up line so you knew your reaction wasn’t alone. With a chuckle you introduced yourself and he reciprocated with a bashful smile.

“Well Robert, I am so glad now I know you.” “I’m sure I won’t forget you now, pick up lines aside.”

#robert floyd fic #robert bob floyd #robert floyd #Robert Floyd x reader #Robert Bob Floyd x reader #top gun maverick imagine #top gun maverick fic #bob floyd x reader #Bob Floyd imagine #Robert Floyd imagine #Robert Bob Floyd imagine #bob floyd fluff

[fishwithtitz]

The Five Times I Hooked Up with Mary Goore (and the One Time I Couldn’t) - Chapter 2

Summary: From beside me, I heard what sounded like a mix between a groan and a low breath. My brain told me to keep looking ahead, to ignore him, to wait until the movie was done and I was feeling better before finding Des and asking for somewhere to crash for the night. My impulsivity got the best of me and I slowly cast my eyes in Mary's direction. His eyes were slightly larger, the flickering light of the screen reflecting off the olive hue of his irises, and his bottom lip was just barely caught between his teeth. He clearly felt my stare because his head pivoted in my direction. His gaze was nearly smoldering.

Rating: Explicit, 18+ MDNI

Mary Goore x OFC / 8.5k words

Warnings: language, graphic description of oral sex, graphic depiction of manual stimulation, recreational drug use, alcohol, light gore

ao3 link

Chapter Two: Hook-up #2: The Den

Five hours. Five long, arduous hours of measuring, mixing, cooking, cooling, trimming, crumb-coating, frosting, and piping. I was almost certain that I had inhaled flour or powdered sugar at some point as my nose felt gritty and raw on the inside, but I tried my best to pay it no mind. I was on a mission.

It had been a few weeks since the house show at Thomas’ place (and the subsequent tonguelashing from Mary on the weather-torn roof), and I’d had done my best to try to write it off as the once-in-a-lifetime experience that I’d tried to originally pacify my nerves with. 

It turned out that Thomas and Des had hit it off at the party, in more ways than one. I couldn’t say that I was necessarily surprised; Des was charming, alluring, and very persuasive when she wanted to be. Ever since she’d locked eyes on Thomas at the smoky bar downtown a couple of months ago, she’d known she had to have him, and to her credit, she’d accomplished it in record time. And honestly, I was happy for my friend. It had been a while since I’d seen Des so happy and free spirited while in the arms of someone she was so blatantly enamored with. However, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t just a tad bit jealous of Thomas and the hold he’d captured on Desiree. 

Routinely, weekends had been spent just the two of us together - Doll and Des - curled up on my worn couch watching trash TV or engaging in parallel play as we sent videos back and forth that had us laughing so hard that we were covered in equal parts tears, mascara, and snot. Takeout or a drunken “do” meal (as I grew up calling them) of randomly delicious ingredients thrown together and cooked often followed, and both of us banked more memories than we could count of bonding through the sillied, domestic tasks we enjoyed together. 

Not the past few weekends, though.

I got it, believe me, I did, but after the third night in a row that I’d been blown off for either a bar or a bedroom, I couldn’t help but be a little bit worn down at my best friend’s new love interest. To avoid being the ever-dreaded third-wheel, I denied Desiree’s kind offers of accompanying them out or to Thomas’ house, which unfortunately meant many nights of movies alone and crappy blue-box mac eaten straight out of the pot.

So when Des came begging for me to use my baking talents to make Thomas a custom cake for his 30th birthday (Puss in Boots eyes and all), I didn’t even hesitate to agree to the task. I missed my friend, and although I wasn’t looking forward to slaving over the black-metal themed confectionary after finishing a particularly grueling shift at work, I was happy to do this for her. “Besides,” Des had said, “it will give you a chance to do something you enjoy and live a little.”

So, here I was: my grandmother’s old apron tied haphazardly across my curved waist, melted chocolate and white icing smeared across my forearms and the backs of my hands, and the tip of my tongue perched between my lips in concentration as I finished piping the intricate Baphomet head and pentacle on top of the three-layer cake. I glanced up at the microwave clock and felt my stomach drop deep in my guts. The party was in a little over an hour, and I still had to pack up the cake, shower, and make myself look at least semi-decent before heading over. Taking a step back, I admired my work. It wasn’t perfect, but I knew that if I kept fussing with it I’d inevitably fuck it up, so I dusted my hands off with a sigh and left the kitchen to hurry through a shower and makeup routine.

After a way-too-quick rinse and a blow-dry of my hair in record time, I futzed through my closet to try to find something acceptable to wear. It was warm out, so I opted for a dark-printed swing dress and a pair of worn, black sneakers. As always, I lived by the motto of “comfort before style,” and I was fresh out of fucks to give.

I ran my curling wand through the long tresses of burgundy hair that hung down my back and framed my face before putting on a light face of makeup. It was too warm to wear anything heavy, and despite my annoyance of my freckled cheeks, I didn’t want to spend the evening wiping flesh-toned grease from my face every time I felt a sweat droplet dripping down my jawline. Simplistic it was, then.

I fastened my weathered St. Peter’s Cross necklace to rest on my decolletage and gave myself a quick once over before hustling into the kitchen to pack up the cake. After finding a cardboard box, some saran wrap, and multiple crumpled up balls of newspaper stuffed around the cake, I was off. 

 🜏🜏🜏

“Doll, you’re here!” Desiree swung open the front door with a cheshire-like grin, beckoning me in with the wave of her hand. I smiled at my friend, feeling genuine happiness for her excitement of both the party and for us finally getting to see each other. Awkwardly, I stepped into the home and followed her through the short hallway to the garage. “I want the cake to be a surprise,” she said in a low, nearly-whispered voice, ushering me out towards the outdoor fridge. 

We set the cake on a lower shelf, still hidden by the recycled box I’d used to transport it in. She took a quick glance at the hand-drawn decoration on top and her eyes went wide before she all but pounced on me in a tight hug. 

“It’s fantastic!” she squealed, holding me firmly before pulling back to look at me properly. “Doll, I can’t thank you enough. It’s so fucking rad. He’s going to love it.” 

I flashed my own warm smile in response and chuckled. “Of course, Des. If he’s important to you, he’s important to me.”

We headed back into the house and Des led me out to the back patio, motioning towards a cooler propped against the sliding glass door as she stepped onto the eroded deck. I grabbed a random beer from the red and white Igloo and sat down in a nearby plastic chair, crossing my legs as I twisted the top off the bottle. 

“Happy Birthday, Thomas,” I said as I leaned over, clinking the tip of my bottle against his own. At this point, Des had slid into the seat next to him, resting her head on his shoulder as she absorbed herself into the conversation happening around us. 

“Thanks, Dahlia. Glad you could make it,” He replied as he tipped his bottle towards me in salute and took a swig, smiling politely before turning back to the chat we’d interrupted. I looked around and noticed that this party was definitely much smaller than the last one I’d attended here. There were only about ten other people, most of them acquaintances or friends from the music scene, and I recognized a few of them as Thomas’ band mates. 

Leaning back in my chair, I took a long sip of my beer and allowed the warm air of the evening to envelop me. I had to admit, this was nice. It’d been a while since I’d been around friends with no expectations or masks to wear. I could just be me. I could enjoy the banter between the boys of which Metallica album was most iconic (and why according to Johnny, it was definitely Master of Puppets, because “zero skips,” of course), or how Mark was told by a coworker that it was “gay to wash your butthole” and how he found it completely fucked that one, he didn’t wash his ass, two, his coworker was homophobic, and three, Mark finally knew where the smell in the stock room was coming from. At some point during the story, Johnny had lit a cigarette which was now dangling dangerously from his lips, ash falling onto his jeans pocket as Mark animatedly told the tale. Suddenly, he patted the ashen pocket and his eyes went wide. 

“Oh shit! I forgot to give you your birthday present!” Johnny fished a square (and slightly smushed) package from inside his pocket. It was wrapped in what looked like an old titty magazine, but I couldn’t be completely sure from my distance away from him on the patio. He leaned forward and plopped it into Thomas’ lap with a grin. “Happy 30th, dude,” he beamed with a salacious smile. “You’re officially a senior citizen.”

“30’s still young!” he defended with a glare, thumbs inching under the duct tape holding the wrapping together. 

A snort was heard from beside him, and Greg, one of the guitarists from his band, muttered something to the effect of, “Yeah, for trees,” under his breath, which earned an even harder scowl from Thomas. 

Thomas ripped the wrapping off and turned the slightly smashed box over in his hand. “Heat?” he questioned as he squinted at the brand on the box. He shook it a little and gave the parcel a quick sniff. “...is this a box of chocolates?’ His eyes looked at Johnny questioningly, but his lips were curved into a curious smile.

“Yup!” Johnny replied as he took another drag from his cigarette. “They’re kind of a present for the both of you.” He motioned to both Thomas and Des as he spoke, smoke rising from his hand.

“Are they spicy or some shit?” Thomas asked as he tried to read over the back of the box, picking at the plastic wrap covering. 

“You could say that…” Johnny grinned, ashing the cigarette and taking another drag. “I figured that since you’re so old now, you might need some help getting your dick to work.”

I had been mid drink of my half-downed bottle of beer at his comment, and I found myself snorting as I swallowed, immediately causing the fizzy liquid to seep its way into my lungs. I coughed loudly, which luckily covered my laughter. Des and I both leaned over to get a better look, and I glanced at the small print at the bottom of the box:

“The high-quality chocolate that uses natural ingredients to increase your pleasure and boost your sex performance.”

“Are these aphrodisiacs?!” Des yelled out incredulously, eyes wide as she stared at Johnny.

All of my efforts to hold back my laughter were gone as I tilted my head back and dissolved into uncontrollable giggles. I couldn’t even formulate what Des was screaming at Johnny (although I knew it was likely something hilariously angry and defensive), and I beamed at the ridiculousness of the situation. I hadn’t laughed so hard in weeks, and it felt good to let go a little. Though, I’d never admit to Des that she was right…I’d never hear the end of it, especially now.

The conversation was cut off by a pounding on the door followed by three succinct doorbell rings. Des shot up out of her seat, yelling “pizza!” as she ran toward the door, tapping my knee on the way out as if to nonverbally ask for help. I grunted and rolled my eyes, begrudgingly getting myself out of the chair as I followed her. She must have ordered a ton of food if she needed two people to carry it out back, I thought.

Des swung open the front door and her look of excitement slightly fell, but she kept her smile in greeting. “Oh, hey Mary,” I heard from my place behind her. 

Mary? I thought to myself. I felt my stomach somersault in my gut and I unknowingly bit at my bottom lip. 

I hadn’t really seen Mary since the house show a few weeks back. Sure, he and Thomas had probably hung out, and if Thomas was socializing with anyone these past few weeks, Des had to have been there, too. However, she never mentioned anything to me. Then again, it would make sense that she hadn’t — I had never let her in on my evening hanging out with Mary (only that we had talked on the patio that night), and I definitely didn’t tell her about his shitty beer slushies and the eventual redemption arc of his head between my legs. 

“...Do you need some help with that?” Des questioned as she moved aside, watching as Mary balanced at least three giant packs of beer while stepping through the threshold. The heavy boxes made the muscles in his arms appear permanently flexed, each limb framed by the cut-off sleeves of what was once a short-sleeve Morbid Angel tee. He was deceptively strong, and images of those arms curled around my legs as he dipped his face between my thighs ramparted my mind. I couldn’t help but watch as he moved swiftly through the house and out onto the patio.

“Nah, I’m good,” Mary grunted as he hurriedly beelined for the back door, pushing the crack of the door opening to the side with his foot as he slipped through with his contribution to the party. I subconsciously licked my lips and followed Des as she made her way back out to the patio with a sigh. Apparently, she’d really been looking forward to pizza. 

The patio crowd cheered as Mary appeared and Thomas got up to help him empty a couple of the boxes of beer into the cooler. I slipped into my seat quietly, almost hoping to avoid his notice, yet watched as his hands smoothed out the cans of Keystone in the ice to ensure they fit when the lid was dropped. 

He must have felt me staring, because his eyes shifted up towards me, quickly locking on mine. I felt my heart rate begin to staccato in my caged chest and I did my best to keep my face fairly stoic, though I knew it was futile. Those eyes like spring, of sage and straw, glued me into place. 

“Hey,” he said, ever nonchalant as he finished organizing the brews and secured the lid. I looked down briefly, trying to mimic his cool behavior, and then flashed him a small, polite smile. 

“Hi,” I replied quietly. 

Mary took a seat on the other side of the patio (it was the only empty seat available) and struck up a conversation with a couple of the guys and their girlfriends that were nearby. I tried my best to engage myself in the exchange happening between Thomas and Chassie (another mutual friend of ours), but my mind was swimming with snapshots of my evening with Mary. I mentally shook it off, likening my response to my all-too-often loneliness and trying to focus on celebrating Thomas’ milestone birthday.

Not long after, pizza came, and we hovered both in the kitchen and the patio as we listened to Sabbath playing over the speakers and shot the shit with one another. The more beer I drank and pizza I ate, the more I loosened up, and I found myself reconnecting with some of the old friends I used to see at various venues around town. Mary weaved in and out of the conversations, but I did my best to pay him just as much mind as anyone else. He didn’t seem phased by me, and surely, I wasn’t phased by him, either. 

I heard the door to the garage slam, and Des’ voice echoed through the kitchen landing. “Move it, out of the way, come on,” she said as she weaved through the couple blobs of congregated bodies, the cake box obstructing her face enough that she had to peer out from the side to see. I met her at the kitchen counter and helped her to unsheath the cake from the box, gingerly peeling the plastic wrap from it. 

“Oh, god damn it,” she exclaimed as she stared at the top of the cake. I felt my stomach drop with fear that I had messed something up, but it was quickly abated when she continued her sentence. “I fucking forgot candles.”

Mark, who was unknowingly standing behind us, fished through his pocket before brandishing a cigarette. He held it between his lips and lit it before plopping it dead-center into the cake, the smoking stick appearing as if it was perched in Baphomet’s mouth. I let out another chuckle and Des shrugged. 

Mark moved to help Des carry the cake, but she slapped his hand away playfully in an act of defiance and likely in worry that his drunk ass would immediately drop it on the floor. Though somewhat heavier than she expected, she slowly glided across the open kitchen and into the dining area. Chassie noticed and yelled out “Hey, cake’s lit!” and waved a few people in (Thomas amongst them) from outside to the dated dining table. 

A raucous chorus of “Happy Birthday” rang through the room as Des set the pitifully smoking cake in front of a now front-and-center Thomas. I could tell he was trying his hardest to hide his smile, but as he looked at Des with softened eyes, it was obvious how touched he was at the personalized gesture. The moment was immediately broken when one of the guys belted into his own rendition of the song, singing, “Happy Birthday to you, you’re older than poo. If you were a horse you’d be made into glue!” which earned deep laughter from the majority of the room. 

The cake was a three-layer round cake coated in thick chocolate frosting. A bright white Baphomet stared ominously from the center of a pentacle, while swirling piping lined the borders and edges. Thomas took a moment to study the cake, shaking his head in mock-annoyance at the song. As he went to blow out the “candle,” he stopped just short of the cake, eyebrow cocked, and slowly removed the smoking (and now ashen) cigarette from the middle of Baphomet’s lips. Mark took it from his fingertips and inhaled before licking the chocolate off the filter with a shrug. 

The cake was cut quickly by Des and passed out on whatever dinnerware Thomas had laying around the house. It didn’t take long for only crumbs to remain on the cake board — a badge of honor that I took with silent pride. 

After everyone enjoyed their cake, additional pizza, and sweaty cans of beer, Mark sidled into the kitchen to stealthily pour himself a shot of vodka and a chaser of soda. The bottle of soda that he’d found hidden in the fridge had been nearly empty, and as he drained it, realization lit his face. “Shit, Tommy, there’s one more present we forgot to give you!” he yelled out as he grabbed the bottle and ran out to the patio. 

Empty two-liter bottle in one hand and a bag of bud that he had fished out of his pocket in the other, he looked at the crowd on the deck with a grin. 

“Anyone up for grav hits?”

🜏🜏🜏

A small group of people crowded around the stained tub in Thomas’ spare bathroom — one sitting on the closed toilet lid clothed in a fluffy cover, and two others leaning up against the side wall. I sat on top of the builder-grade countertop, legs crossed, a shiver dancing against my skin at the feeling of the cold formica on the backs of my thighs. 

Mark sat on one side of the tub’s edge while he fashioned some tin foil to place over the top of the mouthpiece of the cut-off soda bottle. Thomas sat across from him watching intently while his hands clasped onto the bag of pungent flower. Only a handful of us had been interested in the present Mark brought for Thomas ( Des had decided to stay out on the patio with the rest of the crew). I didn’t mind — the bathroom was small and it already felt pretty cramped with the amount of willing participants. Plus, I saw this as opportune bonding time for Thomas and I.

My eyes studied Mark’s fingers absently as he pricked holes into the tin foil and began to load the bowl with a mixture of shake and bud, packing it almost fastidiously, his movements careful as to not drop it into the water-filled bathtub. After he was satisfied with his work, he proudly  handed the makeshift contraption to Thomas and extracted a BIC lighter out of his jeans. “Want to do the honors, birthday boy?” he asked as he handed him the light.

Thomas sank down to his knees and crouched over the tub, lowering the sliced bottle into the water so that only the top third was left unsubmerged. He held onto the threads of the mouthpiece as he flicked the lighter with a quick flit. The flame etched the surface of the weed, leaves and flower petals curling into charcoaled darkness as smoke began to simmer and swirl in the bottle's thick body. Thomas focused on making sure the bottom of the bottle's cut-off edge remained submerged but that there was enough room inside to collect as much smoke as possible.

When he was satisfied, he removed the flimsy silver bowl and handed it to Mark quickly before fixing his mouth over the neck, inhaling deeply as he pushed the bottle down into the water. The thick haze slurped into his lungs almost instantaneously and he all but shot up, the plastic bottle bottom dripping as his face contorted into discomfort. He let out a series of coughs before grinning wide at Mark. 

"Forgot how hard that shit hits-" he started, head shooting to the side when the door bolted open and almost hit the man standing behind it. 

"Oh fuck, sorry," I heard, and I lifted my legs from their dangling position over the bathroom vanity to hug my chest, hoping to avoid getting smacked by limb, body, or door. 

Mary slipped into the bathroom, his golden hair stringing into his eyes as he turned to fasten the door shut again. He stood awkwardly in front of the threshold as he realized there wasn't much room in the bathroom for him to stand. Thomas reached up and opened the small window above the shower to filter out some of the smoke before inching his way past the person on the closed toilet and the few against the wall. 

"I'm gonna find Des. Thanks for this, man," he reached across and clasped his hand with Mark's in gratitude, grasping into the handshake tightly before slipping past Mary and out the door. 

I sat awkwardly on the countertop, doing my best to keep my legs folded and out of the way while still ensuring my dress covered my crotch and ass. I could feel the cold metal faucet pressing into my back and my butt felt like it was about to slip into the basin of the sink. 

Over the next ten or so minutes, I watched from my uncomfortable position as a few more people in the bathroom each took their hits, most of them leaving directly afterwards to find some air in a less-cramped space. Eventually, only myself, Mary, Mark, and the guy sitting on the john (who I’d learned was named Jesse) remained. Mark gestured to me as he dumped the ash from the foil into the clear water of the tub and began to fill the bowl again. 

I hopped from the counter, smoothing the skirt of my dress as I slipped past Mary and toilet man, eyes straight ahead to avoid any contact. As I knelt in front of the tub, I felt the cool tile lick at my knees and the heels of my feet dig into my bottom. Mark handed me the bottle and lighter. 

I could feel Mary’s stare from behind me, and while I’d like to say he was decent enough to keep his eyes above the belt, I was certain he had snuck a glance at my ass as I flicked the wheel of the lighter. Shaking the perverse thoughts that bombarded my head, I pulled the aluminum from the bong and lowered my head, lips dancing across the mouthpiece as I inhaled deeply and fully while expertly submerging the bottle. 

It was as if I licked a fiery raincloud. The smoke hung heavy in the alveoli of my lungs, pricking at the blood vessels and sacs, and I closed my eyes to keep them from watering. I rose up and exhaled, my hand softly pushing the 2-liter to Mark as I turned and gently pushed past Mary to exit. My head was swimming and I was doing everything in my power not to cough. I didn’t want to make a complete ass out of myself. Unfortunately, that also meant I was holding my breath. 

I could hear the dull thud of the music playing through the speakers outdoors and unremarkable chatter punctuated the beat. I didn’t even recognize the feeling of my feet against the Pergo as I padded down the hallway and across the landing, down the carpeted steps, and right into the den, sinking onto the worn plaid couch with another weighted exhale. My head was spinning and my stomach wasn’t far behind. Maybe smoking after a handful of beers wasn’t my smartest choice. 

Eventually, I lowered my forehead to the armrest of the couch and closed my eyes, lifting my legs up to curl under me as I soaked in the cool quietude of the empty den. I sat there for what my mind registered as an eternity. The calm doused my speeding heart and helped me to keep the heavy reams of impending panic from erupting in my chest. 

I melted into the firm side of the couch, brow bone melding with the scratchy plaid material, and reached an arm out to ground myself against the side table. I'm not sure how much time passed —it could have been a few minutes or nearly a half hour— but my body was lulled into a calmer, settled state when I heard the slap of a remote against something firm followed by some quieted curses. The click of plastic buttons on the TV console tickled my ears. 

Within seconds, sound from the TV began to ring out in the quiet den, the volume loud enough to hear over the buzz outside but quiet enough as not to startle me. I felt the couch slump next to me and the scent of cigarettes, weed, leather, and musk whooshed into my nostrils from the movement. I craned my head up to look at the man next to me. I'm not sure why. I already knew it was Mary.

"Assholes found lawn darts in the shed outside and decided to set up teams. Fuck if I’m gonna get stabbed," He started, bringing a bottle of water to his lips. My eyes trailed his form. His legs were crossed at the ankles, boots perched on top of the coffee table in front of us, and at some point during the night he had put on his leather jacket. He looked over at me and his demeanor changed from one of kind indifference to one of concern. "...you good?" he asked, turning to face me.  

"Mmph," I mumbled, trying my best to sit up straighter against the pillowy back of the couch. I licked my dry lips and realized for the first time just how cottony my mouth felt. "Too high."

Mary let out a soft chuckle and the nerves that I had spent time pushing down into my belly threatened to peek through again at the warm sound of his voice. “Not surprised," he said with a shrug, eyes flickering to the movie on the screen before falling back on me, "I’ve never seen a chick take a hit like that before. You’re a pro.”

I wanted to argue with him. In a much more sober state, I would have denied his compliment and told him that getting the spins from smoking bud was not the sign of a pro, but at the moment, all that came out of me was the sentence "I am liquid garbage." I licked my dry lips again and inwardly groaned at the Sahara that was my mouth.

“It’ll pass.” Mary reached over and handed me the water bottle he had been drinking. I smiled, recalling the last time he'd shared his beer with me weeks ago out on the patio, and I took a couple of swigs. Capping the bottle, I handed it back to him, sinking a little further back into the couch as I began to watch the scene unfolding on the screen. 

"What movie is this?" I asked after a beat, bringing my legs to cross in front of me as I snuggled into the pillows resting against the arm of the sofa. 

Mary murmured his response, clearly focused on the film, and I didn't quite hear what he said. Or, if I did, I didn't recognize it. It looked like an older film (something I confirmed when I glanced across the room and saw the VHS cover thrown on the floor next to the TV console) and the quality led me to believe it was likely an indie film or B-movie. That seemed to track from what I knew about Mary. 

We sat there for a while in a comfortable silence as the movie played in front of us. The lights of the den were off, but the incandescent kitchen lights shown in from the hallway, which paired with the glow of the TV made the details of the room fairly visible. We watched as the characters on the screen sculked down a dark alleyway, not a care in the world, and from my horror trope knowledge I knew that the action was about to start. 

From my left, I heard the crinkling of a wrapper and the distinctive clunking noise of something bitten. Another wrapper crinkled and Mary brushed my arm with his own, his hand coming out in front of me. 

"Here, eat something," he said as he handed me what looked like a square of chocolate. I felt my stomach tumble a little at the thought of something sweet, and I made a gruff noise in response, shaking my head a little. 

Mary shook the chocolate slightly as if to double down. "It'll make you feel better. Settle your stomach." 

I all but rolled my eyes as I grabbed onto the candy and muttered a noise of thanks. Typically, I'd argue with him that sugar was the antithesis of a sour stomach remedy, but his sweetness and ever-present thoughtfulness won me over. I snapped the chocolate with my teeth and as it melted on my tongue, I sank a little further into the couch cushions. It was good — a little more bitter than I expected, citrus-y, and not nearly as rich as I had worried about. Damn it, I hated when he was right. 

Before I knew it, I had downed the whole square. Unbeknownst to me, Mary had watched with side-eyes and already had another square ready for me when I'd finished, which I accepted gratefully.

We remained like that, mere inches between us as we snacked on square after square of dark chocolate until barely any remained, absorbing the scenes of the movie unfolding before us. I felt warm and heavy and full in the sanctity of the cozy sunken room and the party outside lived far from the boundaries of my mind. Glancing at the table, I looked to see if I could find a wrapper or box to mentally note the brand of chocolate to buy it later, and I noticed a familiar smashed box laying open on the surface. Within seconds, the recognizable panic rose in my chest. 

"Mary," I started cautiously, staring at the box, "where did you get those?"

I saw Mary shrug out of the corner of my eye. "They were in the kitchen."

I swallowed harshly. "So...you just…took them?" I said slowly, hoping to clarify that he hadn't taken what I thought he had. After all, Mary had shown up late. He wouldn't have known what they were.

This time, Mary turned his head to look at me straight on. The look on his face was relaxed and seemingly unbothered. "The box was all damaged so I assumed someone would throw them away. And Thomas is more of a Hershey guy," he reasoned. 

At that moment, my heart fell out of my ass — partially because we had just eaten Thomas' entire birthday gift, but more so because of what we had eaten. 

My face must have been a clear tell, because the long-haired man in front of me cocked his head in confusion. "Mary, those were, uh..." I tried to choose my words carefully despite the haze in my mind, "...those were fucking chocolates."

He laughed and looked at me with eyebrows raised and eyes wide, a look of ridiculing understanding on his face. "I know they were chocolates," he said with another mocking chuckle.

I grunted in frustration. "No, they were FUCKING chocolates!" I sighed and ran my hand through my long hair, tilting my head back as I searched for the right words. "God damn it, Mary, chocolates for fucking. Sex chocolates!" I looked over at him, my grey eyes widened a little in irritation, and studied his face for his response. 

He shrugged, fucking shrugged, and leaned back a little further into the couch. "That shit is all marketing BS," he waved his hand and settled back in to watch the movie. I was certain he didn't notice me glaring daggers at him. 

Despite my frustration, I followed suit and decided to distract myself with the film. I couldn't really decipher the plot (which I mostly attributed to my intoxication), but I began to deduce that it was some sort of slasher film riddled with horror cliches and gore.   

My suspicions were quickly confirmed when the movie cut to an intimate scene between two of the side characters. As they moved against each other in the dark, clothing half-ripped off, lips trailing skin, and almost pornographic moans permeated the screen, I felt my stomach tighten. I wasn't typically the kind of person to be affected by sex scenes in movies or TV, but for whatever reason, I felt a rush of heat flood my abdomen and pull at my navel. 

Shadows moved behind the preoccupied couple on the screen and I tried my best to focus on the horror element of the plotline. The murderer is in the room and is waiting for the opportune time to strike, I told myself in prediction, willing my eyes to study any and every small detail in the movie to keep the tugging at my core from building. 

I licked my lips and let out a quiet breath, hoping to God that Mary didn't hear me. Anger started to prick at my gut. Was this a placebo effect? A side effect of weed and alcohol? Or were those chocolates the real deal? Regardless, I pulled my knees to my chest and did my best to not allow the movie to bother me (one way or another).

From beside me, I heard what sounded like a mix between a groan and a low breath. My brain told me to keep looking ahead, to ignore him, to wait until the movie was done and I was feeling better before finding Des and asking for somewhere to crash for the night. My impulsivity got the best of me and I slowly cast my eyes in Mary's direction. His eyes were slightly larger, the flickering light of the screen reflecting off the olive hue of his irises, and his bottom lip was just barely caught between his teeth. 

He clearly felt my stare because his head pivoted in my direction. His gaze was nearly smoldering. I licked my lips, the wet sounds and moans of the TV punctuating our focus on one another, and I felt the air grow thick with tension that was practically palpable. My fixed stare drifted downward to look at his bitten lip and I shuddered as I noticed the reddened teeth mark against the soft flesh.

I don't know what overcame me. Suddenly I was lurching forward, my legs bent below me as I pushed into him, hand resting on the worn fabric of the band shirt below the jacket, knees brushing the fabric of his jeans. Our faces were inches apart and I could see the stubble outlining his chin and cheeks. His hand snaked up between us and grasped the back of my neck, and before I knew it, he pulled me into him with such force that I nearly lost my balance. 

My lips crashed against his for the first time ever, and through the fog in my brain and body, I noted their firmness, how they were slightly chapped but still velvety as they moved against mine. I shifted to lift a leg over his lap and straddled him, both hands resting against him as his own free hand came to slot against the curve of my waist. The fabric of my dress floated around our conjoined laps and I tilted my head to the side to deepen our locked lips.

Mary groaned and the hand on my neck traveled down my back and over my ass before gripping onto the other side of my waist. With both hands, he held me firmly and pulled me down into his crotch. I could feel the rough jean fabric scraping against my inner thighs and seat of my panties. I let out a whimper.  

Heat soared through my groin and had I been clear-headed, I would have laughed at the aptly-named chocolates, but I was too distracted by Mary's noises and his guitar-calloused fingertips now brushing up my thighs and oh god did he smell good (all leather, spice, cigarette, and earth). I felt my dress flutter up to the crease between my legs and pelvis and his hands came to cup around my backside. I let out a wanton moan into his mouth and he pushed his tongue against my lips, parting them as he ground himself into me. 

Had we been completely alone in the house (or at least in a more secluded space), I couldn’t promise myself that I would have had any restraint against Mary completely taking me right there on the old sofa. However, a moment of worry panged at my core and I separated from him slightly, mere centimeters between us as we both breathed heavily. 

“Aren’t you worried about getting caught?” I stumbled out, lips brushing against his own as I spoke. 

Mary grunted in reply and pulled me in against him deeper. “Everyone is distracted outside," he murmured against my jawbone as he pressed slow, tantalizing kisses that flowed down to my neck. I tilted my head further to the side and fluttered my eyes closed, enjoying the feeling of his body pressed against my own, fingertips digging into the tines of his zippered jacket. His lips ghosted a sensitive spot on the curve of my neck and I felt electricity swim across my skin. 

"I don't fuck people I don't know," I breathed out, feeling my own hips move against his now as if betraying my own words. 

He let out a noise that registered somewhere between a groan and an "mmm" before detaching from my neck. One of his hands reached up to brush some rogue strands of hair that had fallen into my eyes, tucking them behind my ear as he brought our faces close together. "I guess we'll have to get to know each other better, then," he rumbled out, voice low as his thumb pressed into my jaw and pulled our lips together again. 

The lights of the movie flickered behind us and screams from the victims of the story percussed our heavy makeout. I paid them no mind, but after the third scream and the sploshing sound of what I assumed to be blood, I could have sworn that Mary's kisses became more heated. 

His hand trailed from my jaw and down to squeeze at my breast through the thin fabric of my swing dress, which earned him a moan from me in response, before he traced his fingertips down to the skirt gathered at my waist. He dipped his fingers low between the heat of my legs, swiping them once, twice up the crotch of my panties to feel the wetness gathered there. I felt him smirk against my lips and his nimble fingers pushed the damp cotton aside to graze my pussy. I let out a whimper into his mouth and he took this as permission to go a little further, stroking along either side of my inner folds with his pointer and middle fingers. 

The muscles of my legs quivered at the sensation and I moaned a little into his mouth again, my tongue licking against his own almost lewdly as he rubbed his hand against me. He broke the kiss just barely, squeezing his fingers on either side of my clit. "Did you want me to stop?" he purred out as he languidly stroked. 

"Please," I choked out, the tenseness of weeks without physical touch bubbling up in my abdomen and throat. 

He began to remove his hand teasingly. "Please what? Stop?" he asked as he bit softly on my bottom lip. 

I tugged my lip back from his teeth and opened my eyes to look at him imploringly. "Please don't stop," I practically begged before leaning back into his touch. He slammed our mouths together again and began moving his fingers with more speed and intensity, rubbing me up and down but being careful to never directly touch my most delicate spot. His teasing had me dripping for him, and right when I felt my frustration about to run over, he dipped his hand lower and slipped inside of me smoothly. 

I let out a noise of complete pleasure against him, our lips breaking apart, and rested my forehead against his as my eyelids squeezed together. His free hand rocked me against him and he added another finger before curling them into me, pushing and stroking and prodding at my g-spot expertly. 

"Mary..." I moaned breathily, and he grunted out in response as he leaned down to lick a stripe from my collarbone to my ear. Goosebumps pebbled my skin and I ground my hips into his hand, unknowingly pushing it into his swelling cock. 

"I've been staring at you in that dress all night," he purred into my ear. The movements of his fingers began to speed up and I reached down between us to rub at my clit, but he beat me to the punch, his thumb reaching up to massage it at a teasingly slow speed. "How your tits were pushed up against your knees as you sat on the bathroom counter," he took in a sharp breath and I felt his inhale prickle the curve of my ear, "The way your ass looked bent over the bathtub, lips around that bottle. Fuck, I wanted that to be my cock."

I could feel the outline of his hardness pressing against me through his jeans, and images of his leaking cock being pressed between my lips made my gut flutter with need. I brought my fist up to my mouth and bit into it, groaning loudly and hoping that it was at least somewhat muffled. The desire pooling in the pit of my abdomen was threatening to break through, the dam nearly cracking, and I could feel each nerve of my pussy jolting with fiery synapses, just waiting to explode. 

My head tilted back and I looked down at Mary through half-lidded, lust-drunk eyes. "Mary, I'm—"

He cut off my whine, his voice gravelly as he spoke. "I want you to cum on my fingers, babydoll. Just like you came on my tongue." 

I felt the fire rage inside me and it was as if I lost complete control of my body. My hips writhed into him and my hand reached up to grab onto his shoulder for support, fingernails digging roughly into the leather of the battle jacket as I let out a noise of complete rapture. His hand on my hip darted up and quickly covered my mouth as he continued to fuck me with his fingers. 

"Shhh, you didn’t want them to hear us, remember?" His eyes pierced into mine, pupils wide and blown with desire, and he watched every minute movement of my face as I came around him. Despite his sultry reminder, I keened against his hand, his skin tasting salty against my tongue and lips with each little noise. He pulsed me through my orgasm and circled my sensitive nub with increasing gentleness as I came down in his arms.

After a moment, he slipped out of me and brought his soaked fingers to his lips before making a show of sucking my slick from them. "You taste just as good as I remember," he breathed out with a smirk. I let out a shuddering breath, closed my eyes, and rested my forehead against his once more, our hair tangling in a mess of golden brown and mahogany tresses. I felt his dick pulse beneath me. 

My mind shot back to our time together on the roof, and as I sat nearly puddled against him on his lap, I realized that I had yet to return any of his favors. With shaky knees, I pushed myself from him (earning me a brief look of concern) before I slid down his lap and onto the floor in front of him. The worry melted from his face as his eyebrows rose, and a grin stretched across his lips. 

My hands slithered down the black denim of his thighs, ghosting the skin of the ripped knees, and I grabbed his shins to push them open. Settling between them, I reached forward to push his bullet belt up and pull at the button on his pants. It popped open with minimal effort and I gripped my hands onto the meat of his thighs as I leaned my face directly over his crotch. Taking the zipper in my teeth, I wrenched it down smoothly. The heat of his groin flushed against my cheeks and even without looking, I could tell he wasn't wearing boxers.

He quickly pulled his pants down from his hips to his knees and his cock sprung out, nearly hitting me in the face. While he was no Owen Gray, it was longer and thicker than I had imagined given his height, and I knew that it would be difficult to take him completely. Grasping onto the base, I flittered my eyes up to him and peered at his face through thick lashes as I licked the tip lightly.

Mary let out his own series of aroused noises and his hands grasped at the couch cushions below him. I smirked and knelt a little closer, back curving to highlight the swell of my ass as I took the tip into my mouth and sucked sparingly before letting it go with a pop. Mary whined at the loss of my mouth and I let out a small laugh, enjoying returning some of the teasing he'd put me through, before I grabbed the base and licked from his balls to his frenulum. 

The dialogue from the TV just barely drowned out his heavy breathing and I surprised him by taking him into my mouth as deeply as I could without gagging, hand still squeezing around the base as I began to bob up and down. By now, the spinning nausea and hazy headspace was gone and I was feeling the more positive effects of the gravity hit, so I slid my other hand down to cup his balls as I took him a little more deeply into my mouth. 

One of Mary's hands came to thread through my hair, grasping the burgundy locks with a tight grip as he helped guide me up and down his shaft. I pressed the tip of my tongue against the vein on the underside of his cock and he groaned out, lips spilling out the words "Fuck, just like that” as his hips quaked beneath me. 

I continued to move my head against him, alternating licking and sucking, hollowing my cheeks and pulling lightly at his balls. I could tell he was close when his moans became louder and his arm started to tremble. Speeding up my ministrations, I looked back up into his eyes to see them closed, his head tilted against the back of the couch, and he started to jerk his hips up roughly into me. I relaxed my throat and stilted the gagging feeling the best I could, tears pricking my eyes as I let him fuck my face. 

The tip of his cock hit the back of my throat and he let out a guttural noise, his other hand coming to grab onto my head as he thrust into my mouth. "Ungh, fuck, babydoll, you're gonna make me cum," he growled, and even with my recent orgasm, I felt wetness instantly pool in my already soaked underwear. 

Seconds later, his hips spasmed into my face and he came roughly into my mouth. His salty spend pooled on my tongue and I swallowed around his cock before slowly sliding off with an audible "pop". A bead of cum dribbled down my lips and I wiped it with the pad of my thumb, popping the digit in my mouth to lap at it slowly while locking eyes with Mary.

He looked at me half-lidded, completely enthralled as I nearly devoured every drop of him, and I leaned back a little while shooting him pleased smile. 

"I couldn't let you go through life without experiencing one of my blowjobs at least once," I said, nearly echoing his words from weeks prior. He instantly recognized this and laughed, one of his hands moving from my head to trace his thumb over the swell of my bottom lip. 

"I don’t know what it is about you, dollface," he whispered. My heart leapt again at the nickname he'd assigned me and I hummed as I leaned into his touch before slinking up to sit next to him. I rested my head on his shoulder and closed my eyes. I could hear the clink of his belt as he carefully tucked himself back into his jeans, the sound of his zipper whirring briefly through the heated air. 

His arm came to snake around my waist and we sat there in a comfortable silence, film credits dancing on the screen. I heard the sliding glass door open from the kitchen and footsteps clatter against the fake laminate flooring, but I didn't move from Mary's grasp. I was too tired (and too satiated) to care. 

After a while, I felt his lips press onto my forehead and I opened my eyes again to look at him. He motioned towards the last chocolate square on the coffee table with a subtle flick of his head, a smile carved into his face, and broke the quiet. 

“...you gonna eat that?”

#mary goore #mary goore x ofc #mary goore x oc #mary goore x female character #repugnant #repugnant band #ghost band #ghost bc #the band ghost #ghost band fanfic #ghost bc fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #my writing

[katyspersonal]

(More elaborate under cut)

It is really interesting to think of what might have been a particular reason, if any at all! Both putting one's special skill they've worked hard to master to a great use OR not having much under one's belt but finding the way with passion and open-mind offer for a compelling character! But Bloodborne is also full of various gods (or people) using others and who knows if the results are handy in some way? Caryll could've been chosen, or someone (Willem? Laurence? idk?) could have offered them. Like 'yeah it will shorten your lifespan by like 50 years but you will serve the humanity well!'. And knowing madness of Byrgenwerth scholars, Caryll could actually volunteer for something like this!

But also Hunter rune/mark has been shown to exist since Pthumerian civilizations AND Byrgenwerth used to be a place of studying history and archeology; Caryll might have rediscovered and improved lost knowledge for that matter! But also Runes Workshop Tool is found on Hemwick on some unfortunate normie hunter victim tied up and surrounded by many pages, and the statue behind Memory Altar (also found all over Chalice Dungeons) has a surgical stitch on the forehead and AAAAAAAA-

Personally my first thought about the character was a mix of things - an artist guy that also had synesthesia and partially deaf. Then I fell into a rabbit hole of Hemwick implications and had Caryll be the long-missing third head witch of Hemwick (there are at least three statues in the game implying the 'triad', and one IS in Hemwick Mansion!). ......then I found out as far as Japanese original is concerned Caryll has a male name (Karel) with that mother-teresa-looking-motherfucker statue also being a reused asset in dungeons- My current compromise is to have two characters - a scholar in Byrgenwerth that deciphered the alphabet, and the witch that found a way to burn it into a brain for hunters' aid! So why she is the one revered by Old Hunters and Church Prospectors, whereas Caryll is otherwise a hiding figure closer to Byrgenwerth.

And what are your stories about Caryll guys?

#bloodborne #polls #runesmith caryll #bloodborne headcanons

[fandomsimagined]

Opposites Attract (Scara x Reader x Tartaglia)

Summary: Tartaglia doesn’t really think that his roommate’s girlfriend is a good match for him. She’d be much better with someone else... like himself. 

Pairing: Scaramouche x FemReader, (one-sided) Tartaglia x FemReader

Warning: Slight obsession, pretty toxic relationship, language and slight smuttiness. I mean it’s Scara and Tartaglia? 

A/N: Scaramouche has me in a chokehold right now. The brain rot is real and I'm not mad about it? please feel free to send me your thoughts on this amazing man that I am so ready for to come home!

Tartaglia knows that it's normal for couples to be different, they are different people after all and you know, opposites attract and all that. Still, surely two people need to have something in common right? But for as much time as he’s spent observing the ‘happy couple’, he doesn’t think he’s found a single thing (Y/N) and Scaramouche seem to share. 

Honestly, Tartaglia has been trying to figure it out since the day he met (Y/N) and realized she was in a relationship with Scaramouche. It’s a bit of an embarrassing memory, because he laughed in her face, literally, when she told him. He really thought it was a joke until he saw the tears welling up in her eyes and he heard his roommate berate him for making his girlfriend cry. In Tartaglia’s defense he had been living with Scaramouche for months and he couldn’t recall a single time that he’d heard him mention another person’s name with anything but disgust. When he brought that fact up Scaramouche simply told him that it was “none of your fucking business.”

Thankfully, (Y/N) was quick to forgive him. That was the first real instance of Tartaglia noticing a huge difference in personalities between the two and thinking that they seemed off. Since then he’s had somewhat of a weird obsession with figuring out exactly how mismatched they truly were. 

The second time was nothing special, but he still remembers it as if it were. A pretty boring day at work mixed with a healthy dose of seasonal depression that January usually brought had left him feeling weighed down by the monotony his job held at times. Truthfully he was actually looking forward to going home and picking a stupid fight with Scaramouche over nothing. It was hardly a productive way to blow off steam, but if he were being completely honest the competitive nature Tartaglia had always made him somewhat enjoy arguments. His mood only further soured when he made it back to his apartment and he walked in to see (Y/N) cuddled up on the couch to Scaramouche and him looking as indifferent as ever. 

Tartaglia had made a pretty bad first impression. Sure, they hadn’t had any more unpleasant run-ins since then, still he was enough of a gentleman to think twice about subjecting her to one of their screaming matches that turned volatile pretty quickly. Change of plans then, he’d just walk by and head to his bedroom and be miserable. It was not part of his plan to catch (Y/N)’s gaze and he surely didn’t plan on her asking if he was okay. He reassured her he was fine with a nod and a smile, honestly appreciative of the kind gesture he wasn’t normally met with there. 

The third time actually was a bit special, namely because it was a holiday and therefore more notable of a date. Valentine’s Day to be exact. (Y/N) bounced in happily with two neatly wrapped gift boxes in her hand. He could vividly remember the way her smile fell whenever she presented Scaramouche with the chocolates she’d spent archons knows how long she’s spent preparing. “We literally said no gift last week.”

“Oh, well… I thought it might be okay since I didn’t buy anything-” Her voice was so small and Scaramouche didn’t respond with anything but an exhausted sigh as he took the box from her hands. 

He did pop a small piece of chocolate in his mouth and smirk at the way she perked up at the simple action though. “I'm getting my coat. Be ready to go when I get back.” 

She was smiling again by the time she turned to Targalia and handed him the second, slightly smaller box, “It’s not much, but Happy Valentine’s Day!” 

Scaramouche may have gotten a small smile as he covertly snuck a piece of the candies she prepared. But she beamed when Tartaglia freely gave her praise and eagerly ate a few pieces. She even giggled a little when he let her know that if Scaramouche wasn’t willing to spoil her on Valentine’s Day next year he would do it without hesitation if she promised another box of chocolate. 

After that Tartaglia couldn’t help but start to think that HE would make a much better match for (Y/N) than her current boyfriend. But, by the fourth instance, Tartaglia was absolutely sure. His keys hit the counter with a quiet clink and thud as he threw them haphazardly and grabbed a beer out of the refrigerator. He headed towards the living room and stopped in his tracks when he spotted (Y/N) on their couch. She wiped her puffy eyes quickly when she saw him and offered him an unconvincing smile and wave. “You okay?”

“Yeah! I’m fine, I’m just waiting on Scara to get back.”

“Oh okay… he just left you here?” Tartaglia wasn’t sure how to word it without sounding so harsh, but he hoped his soft tone helped. 

“Yeah. He shouldn’t be too long. Funny story, actually, I was supposed to pick up something for him on my way here, but I completely forgot. He just went by himself since it was important and he was already late to get it. I didn’t want to slow him down or anything so it was just best if I waited here.” The chuckle she let out was absolutely pathetic and he winced a little thinking of the conversation that actually occurred instead of her sugarcoated version. “If I’m in your way or anything I can go wait somewhere else though?”

“No, of course not. In fact, mind if I wait with you? I was just planning on watching last night’s game, it’d be way more fun with a pretty girl beside me.” Tartaglia flashed a charming grin and plopped down beside her when she nodded. 

He almost forgot about Scaramouche’s existence until he returned and (Y/N) jumped up, apologies at the ready and waiting the second he closed the door behind him. That left a bit of a bitter taste in his mouth, but not as much as listening to Scaramouche detailing what she could do to properly apologize to him. 

She bid Tartaglia a goodnight with a flustered expression on her face. Cute, even if it was due to a man that he was now sure didn’t deserve to see it. But that was okay for now. Tomorrow would be a new day, a day where Tartaglia would start to open her eyes to the horrible matchup that was her and her current boyfriend. 

Tartaglia’s plan was… working? He was definitely getting closer to (Y/N). Conversations and playful flirting coming easily every time he saw her. Unfortunately his efforts didn’t seem to be driving the wedge between her and Scaramouche that he hoped. He was also starting to get the suspicion that Scaramouche was starting to catch on, if his more frequent glares were any indication. 

His suspicion was confirmed soon enough and his jaw almost hit the floor when he saw them. Tartaglia’s eyes locked with Scaramouche’s, the smug grin on his face let him know that their meeting in the living room was no accident. Tartaglia swallowed hard as his eye drifted downwards to where (Y/N) was settled between his knees, completely bare and bobbing her head seemingly unaware of his presence. 

He should retreat. Turn right around and walk back out the front door and try to forget what he saw, or head to his bedroom and try to rub one out. Still he stayed glued to the floor watching with bated breath as Scaramouche tangled his hand in her hair and yanked her off of him. The whine she let out was sinful and Tartaglia could feel his jeans tighten just a bit, “Come on, Scara..”

“Sorry, baby, looks like we’ve been interrupted.” Scaramouche twisted her head so she could get a clear view of their intruder. Tartaglia’s eyes widened to the size of saucers when they met (Y/N)’s. She seemed to be just as shocked as him and scrambled for a throw blanket on the couch to cover herself, while Scaramouche didn’t bother trying to move in the slightest. Apologies spewed from her mouth like water from an ornate fountain. Scaramouche did very little to hide his amusement. 

“No need to apologize. He walked in on us, and besides, looks like he enjoyed himself.”

Tartaglia watched as her eyes flitted to his crotch and quickly back up to his eyes like she was trying to hide the fact she was confirming her boyfriend’s claims. He guessed it was his turn to apologize, “Sorry, I was just-”

“Just what? Getting a good look before you got off on watching my girlfriend?” Scaramouche chuckled when he saw Tartaglia’s jaw twitch and face flushed. His attention then turned back to (Y/N), “Looks like I was right, huh? I told you he spends too much time fawning over what he can’t have. You know what though… I'm feeling kind of generous today. Maybe we could throw him a bone and let him watch just this once.”

Tartaglia was ashamed of how quiet he was, how uncharacteristically meek he was being. Still, he stayed glued to his spot and watched (Y/N). He wasn’t stupid enough to think that her bastard of a boyfriend didn’t have this entire thing planned. Tartaglia was pretty sure that (Y/N) was just along for the ride, and he could only hold that she might just have some mercy on him. She looked at him and then turned back to Scaramouch, “Umm… I guess that would be okay, if that’s what you want to do…”

Scaramouche scoffed at the relieved look on his roommate’s face and even muttered something on the lines of him being pathetic. Normally, Tartaglia would be ready to fight and defend his own honor, but he did feel pathetic at the moment and he could always punch him after… Then, a wicked grin spread across Scaramouche’s face, “First things first though. If you want something from me, you beg for it.”

#scaramouche #scaranation #scaramouche smut #yandere genshin x reader #yandere tartaglia #tartaglia x reader #tartaglia #scaramouche x reader #genshin smut

[dearmantis]

For I'm too busy committing sins

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova/The Darkling x Durast!Reader

Summary: The next experiment with Merzost has unforseen side effects and you finally realize that you have not only poked a bear with your greed for knowledge and power. No, you've signed your fate.

Warnings: I'm blatantly ignoring the established rules of the magic system, English is not my native language and this isn't really edited

Word Count: 3.6k

Authors' Note: Sorry this took so long, I just can't write sometimes. Title is still from the fruits, just like the others from the series. We have a two week time skip here, sorry for that but this made the most sense to me. let's hope part 4 will be finished quicker :/

Part 1 | Previous Part | Series Masterlist

The first time you summon you're pretty sure you didn't have to pay a price, not really. You don't notice anything odd on the second try either.

It's the third time that ends up having clear, unforeseen consequences.

You just sat down in your freshly filled, steaming bathtub, scrubbing your skin with a sponge almost an hour after your latest experiment finished when you notice it. Fine lines, as silver as the moon and shimmering like the surface of a mirror, are slowly starting to form on the underside of your arms. It's faint and seems to be spreading slowly, but you can already see what it is.

The words you use to summon are starting to appear on your skin, syllable after syllable etching themselves in tiny letters into the organ, mixed up and spread widely all over the surface of both of your arms, connected to indicate their correct order despite the chaos by long lines that loosely remind you of depictions of star constellations.

No matter how much you scrub, how much soap and force you use, it does not go away.

Burying your face in your hands you pull your legs to your chest and try to suppress any pitiful sounds of frustration. There is simply no point to cry about your own stupidity, no matter how strong the wish to do just that is. What is done is done and now all you can do is hope and pray to the saints that the experiment was worth it and that the writing stays on your arms where it's easy to cover with your kefta.

Wrapping your arms around your legs you stare up to the ceiling of the bathroom, your thoughts rushing through your brain at a speed higher than even the shadows of the General, spurred on by your own anxiety.

Working alone has been a blessing for you. You're good at what you do, so good that you're arguably one of the most, if not the most talented Durast currently staying at the Little Palace. Your work is efficient and exact in a way rarely seen in Durasts that only do repetitive tasks for years like you have, giving you lots of time to experiment with the forbidden science since you make progress with your smoke grenades quicker than most people would expect from you.

And now all of that extra time to plan and go through with experiments has come to bite you.

Groaning quietly your gaze moves towards the small window on the left of the bathtub. It's dark outside, but that doesn't mean much, not during winter. Dinner will not start for another 3 hours and you're honestly not sure if you're even going to attend. Now that you know that physical evidence of your deeds can be found on your skin simply leaving your room feels like a risk.

It's a stupid fear, you know this. There's no way anyone would force you to take off your kefta, no way for anyone to see what is going on, but you can't silence your own mind. The fear still sits in your heart, spreading it's wings and sharpening it's claws to make sure it will never loose hold, will never be exterminated from your heart like the parasite it truly is.

But it's not like you can just never eat with the other Grisha ever again. You're just a normal Grisha, they will never make exceptions for you.

Mind wandering you continue to stare outside, creating and scrapping plan after plan until the bathing water is ice cold, your mind however far too deeply hidden in the clouds for you to notice until one of the servants finally chooses to hesitantly knock on the door.

You turn your head towards her, humming quietly to signal that she can enter.

"Miss, dinner is about to begin" She announces and you pause for just a second, trying to comprehend what the woman has just said.

Dinner is about to begin? Saints, are you so stuck in your own mind that you bathed for three hours without noticing?

Your arms are tightly pressed against your torso as your eyes dart through the room, looking for a robe or towel to cover yourself up with before you simply stare back at the servant. She mirrors your looks, eyes slowly widening as she gets more and more confused and scared because of your intense eye contact, reminding you a bit of a surprised deer. Slowly, as if she's trying to get away from a predator, she turns around, attempting to escape the room, when a sentence finally forms on your tongue, an idea so horrible and stupid that it shocks even you filling your mind like a poisonous gas.

"I'm actually not gonna eat with the others today." You say before you can stop yourself. "I decided to resume my training with Baghra and I though the best way to ask her would be during a meal. Could you bring my portion of dinner to her hut?"

As soon as the words leave your mouth you want to push your head under the water and drown yourself. Baghra is still mad at you. Sure, she knows about your experiments with merzost and might even know something about the writings on your arms, but she also hates your guts right now. Well, she has always hated you, but it's definitely a lot worse now than it was two wreks ago. Also, nothing good has ever happened in Baghras hut, every Grisha knows that. It's unwritten law at the Little Palace.

The servant stares at you for a few more seconds, eyes round like plates, before she gives you a nod that is too enthusiastic to be real and a smile that is so terrifyingly false that a shiver runs down your spine.

"Of course" She answers, and then she's gone like lightning. You stare at the spot she occupied for a few seconds, silently hoping that she was just scared of you because you're behaving weirdly and not because she noticed something fundamentally wrong about you.

Sighing quietly you finally stand up, cold water dripping from your naked body as you step out of the tub and walk out of your tiny bathroom, back into your room, shivering like a leaf in the wind.

Pulling out the towel you foolishly forgot to bring into the bathroom you dry off your body, getting closer to the candle on your desk to look at the lines one more time. They're still thin like sowing needles, colour shifting in the candlelight. The skin around it is sensitive and hot to the touch from all of the scrubbing you've done to get the writings off and your eyes move to the clean kefta hanging in your closet, then the many white shirts right next to it. Even the newest one will probably continue to irritate your skin and you regret taking that bath altogether.

Your eyes dart to the clock on your desk. Dinner will begin soon and you'd prefer to arrive around the same time as your food to make sure the old woman has no chance to spit into your meal.

It's not like you can ask a healer to fix your problem - they would all report the patterns on your skin to the general - so all you can do is quickly wrap one of the bandages you've been hoarding in your desk around your arms before getting dressed and slipping out of your room.

You're almost at the entrance of the Little Palace when you walk around a corner, directly into an Oprichniki. You're pretty sure it's the same one you ran into last time as well, recognizing his copper-like haircolour and the sharp look in his eyes. Quickly moving to the side you keep your eyes on the ground, not wiling to repeat the events that followed the last time you accidentally ran into an Oprichniki.

The saints are not merciful, however, because only a few heartbeats later the smooth, polite voice of the General reaches your ear. "Ah, I'm glad to see you. You've been quite busy, or so I've heard. How are the experiments on the prototypes going?"

Forcing a smile onto your lips you look up, meeting the Generals gaze shakily. "It's going fine, sir. The last two weeks have been quite work intense for me but I got used to working alone quickly. I believe I might even miss it after I'm finished."

He mirrors your smile. "I'm glad to hear that. It's always good to see Grisha find the right environment to flourish. Maybe we could make it a permanent arrangement."

Kirigan looks around for a few seconds, before holding out his hand for you to take. "Would you allow me to walk you to dinner?"

"Oh, I'm not planning to eat with the others tonight." You answer quickly, eyes focused on his hands. What if he touches me again? Sure, he doesn't seem to have noticed anything odd about me the first time we touched, nor the second time, but now I have those markings and I don't know what they do.

Dropping his hand the dark eyes of the General look you over and you feel like he's looking though your clothes, your skin, your muscles, right at your soul, and thinks of what he finds as lacking. Like he can see every single sin you've ever committed.

"You shouldn't overwork yourself too much. You have all the time in the world to finish the-"

You cut him off, nervous energy bubbling deep in your stomach and signaling to your brain to pump you full of adrenaline. You need to get away. Away from him, away from your little workshop, away from the poor bird sitting in a cage down there. Your hands are shaking and your throat feels like you swallowed a handful of wood and metal shavings.

"I'm not working on the grenades tonight. I already finished my work for today. I chose to eat with Baghra tonight."

His eyes narrow, just a tiny bit, and your muscles tense as if your body is instinctively preparing to run from the danger right in front of you. "Is there a reason why you're choosing to dine with your old teacher? I hope you didn't run into any issues with your work."

Shaking your head quickly you try to give a reassuring smile, but you're sure it looks more like a grimace. "No, no issues at all. I just thought I might reconnect with her. It has been years since I last had a conversation with her, after all."

"I'm glad to hear that, but I have to admit that I still don't understand. As far as I know she's not particularly... popular. How come she's the one you want to reconnect with and not any of your other teachers?"

Saints why can't he just leave me alone. Why does he have to question everything?

"I just felt like meeting up with her would be nice, especially since I feel like I've grown a lot as a person since we last said goodbye all those years ago. It's like the otkazat'sya always say: Distance makes the heart grow fonder."

The laugh you force out afterwards feels like acid in your mouth, but you can't give up now. You're three lies deep already and have finished the groundwork to get out of this conversation. Giving in this late would be pathetic.

"Anyways, I'm so incredibly sorry to reject you like this and leave you standing in a hallway but I really have to get going. I don't want to insult Baghra and show up late to our meeting. I promise I will deliver the prototypes by the end of the week and to make up for the rejection I promise to design and make whatever your heart desires after my work is done, moy soverenyi."

Before he gets a chance to respond you're already jogging around another corner, leaving the Little Palace entirely not even thirty seconds later.

It's cold outside, a thin layer of frost on the grass and leaves making everything sparkle in the moonlight. In the distance you can see a servant walking with hurried steps back to the Little Palace, coming from the direction of the hut, and a frown appears on your face, your own steps speeding up again. Luckily it hasn't snowed yet so your trip doesn't take long, arriving at her hut only a few minutes after the servant must've left.

You don't bother with knocking, instead choosing to take one last deed breath of the freezing air before ripping the door open and stepping into the dark hut.

The tolerance to the heat in her house that you've build up while you still regularly trained with her has long disappeared, the warm humidity making breathing even harder than it already is due to the panic attack threatening to overwhelm you since you discovered the marks.

This is not a good day for you and your mental health.

"You could at least do me a favor an turn on a candle or two." You say quietly into the all consuming darkness as you step into the room where you know Baghra eats her dinner. Thankfully you still now the layout of her living quarters like the back of your hand.

"I knew it was you the second the servant mentioned someone invited themselves into my house." The woman responds, her voice sharp and clearly angry at you. "And since when do you need light? I trained you long enough to know you can see more than enough with your powers!"

Your jar clenches in frustration as you wake your gift to find your way to a chair, sitting down quickly and locating the plate where your food waits on the small table in front of you. All of your fear is gone, annoyance and frustration taking its place as the familiarity of Baghra and her home hit you.

In your mind you're five, being dragged in here for the first time by one of the Servants and a Corporalki guard, Baghra looking down at you as if you're a particularly disgusting stain on an expensive carpet.

Then you're seven, cowering on the floor in front of Baghras chair, holding onto her long skirt. Your body aches horribly after a few Corporalki children decided to practice on you against your will. You beg her to tell the General but she just looks down at you, black eyes cold despite the warm candle light flickering in them. "You're a Fabrikator, child. He doesn't care about your kind. You just have to pay more attention to your surroundings, run faster, and get stronger. That's all you can do. No one is gonna safe you."

You're eight, sleeping on her doorstep at the end of autumn, hiding from the other students, the cold air creeping into your bones. She doesn't open the door but you wake up to a steaming cup of tea standing next to you.

You're thirteen, carefully using your powers to look for a special type of ring hidden somewhere in the pitch black hut. The dark still scares you, like it scares most kids, and you can't help yourself. You're starting to get anxious, your control over your powers wavering as your movements get more hectic and your breathing quickens. In your panic you miss the leg of a chair, falling down with a squeak and ripping the skin on your knees and palms open. Baghra clicks with her tougue, disapointment audible, and a second later a match goes up in flames. The woman stares down at you and shakes her head.

You're sixteen, saying goodbye to her one last time, silently promising yourself that you will never step into this house again, no matter what happens.

Grabbing a piece of bread you rip off a piece and put some pickled herring on top, chewing the bite quickly before moving onto the next. Based on the movements of Baghras bones and the containers she's holding you're pretty sure she's drinking tea instead of eating. She must be waiting for you to speak, that's the only explanation for her silence. Or she's waiting for you to finish eating to kick you out, but that would suggest that she has something like manners and cares about hospitality and that just seems unrealistic to you.

Clearing your throat you grab a glass full of water, lifting it up and taking a few sips while starring into the shapeless, all consuming darkness, your powers carefully feeling around the room, looking for familiar items that could maybe give you a feeling of security.

When you place the glass back down you force the words out of your mouth.

"I think I made a horrible mistake."

The silence that follows reminds you of the kind that fills the air after an explosion in the labs. Deafening and gruesome, full of dread because for a few seconds no one knows if anyone got hurt, if someone might be dead or if they lost a limb and don't notice because of adrenaline. It's a sick, horrible ringing in your ear that only disappears when she finally responds, annoyance clear like daylight in her tone.

"Of course you have, idiot. I told you that two weeks ago. Glad that you finally caught up as well." She hisses, angrily placing the teacup back on the table, the porcelain breaking as soon as it makes contact with the wood. You drop your next bite of fish and bread back onto your plate, wordlessly reaching for the shards of the cup. Baghra tries to swat your hands away but you simply hit back into her direction, no longer a child that gets scared of her antics, pulling the pieces to your side of the table and grabbing the first few pieces to fuse them back together.

"Does the cup have a pattern I have to pay attention to while I repair it?"

You feel the way she shakes her head no, then she scoffs. "I'm not gonna save your life because you fixed my cup."

"I don't expect you to."

Neither of you says another word until you finish fixing the cup, carefully placing it back down on the table. A few seconds later Baghra lights a match, using it to set the wick of the candle that's standing between you two on the table on fire.

Soft, warm light fills the room and you look at the woman, watching as she picks up the cup and looks it over, checking your work like she used to when you were still her student.

As soon as she's done she sets it back down, using the napkin you got with your food to soak up the tea that she spilled.

"Your best work yet. Good to see that your brain didn't fully rot away while making corecloth and playing around with merzost."

"Oh, I actually haven't made any corecloth since your visit. The General ordered me to work on my own to make smoke grenades. I think he might be finally noticing my talent."

You don't expect her to throw the wet napkin at you so you don't even flinch when it hits your face full force.

"He noticed that you're messing with things and is isolating you to see what you're doing when you feel safe, you idiot! You're being played. I've told you a thousand times that he does not care for the Fabrikators, what makes you think you're the exception?"

She jumps up, long hair whipping around her head as she stares you down. "When he looks at you he does not see good ideas or talent. He sees something odd. Something that's not right. Something he does not understand. Do not be fooled. I taught you better than to fall for simple tricks like this."

You don't dare to move, not even after she sits back down and eyes your plate for a few seconds before grabbing a piece of bread and fish for herself.

"Now, tell me what idiotic things you've done so I know how to get you out of it."

So you tell her, beginning right at the start. You tell her how you couldn't take the constant mistreatment from your fellow Grisha anymore, people who thought you were weak and an easy target because you're a Durast and not an Inferni or Heartrender. How you started combing through every book, every notebook, every letter you could find to figure out how to become stronger and ultimately ended up with choosing merzost as the only viable solution to your problem.

When you arrive at the part where you have to explain today's experiment, the first attempt at making an actual amplifier, she buries her face in her hands and stays like that for ten minutes, refusing to look at you even after you finish your retelling of the events of the last months.

Her voice is tired and strained when she finally does speak, slightly muffled through her hands. "Did you at least free the bird you used?"

"Why should I? It didn't work."

Finally lifting her head she looks you over for a few seconds before snatching your hand from the table, fingers clawing into your skin. You wait for the amplification to start like it always did in the past, but nothing happens.

Shaking her head she lets go, leaning back in her chair.

"That's what I thought. It has no effect anymore. You don't know if it worked or not, you can't test it. And considering that you said you have markings on your skin I'm guessing you successfully made an amplifier. You already payed the price for summoning it after all."

A frown appears on your face, but before you can even think about asking what she means she continues speaking. "You can't be amplified anymore. That's the price, the corruption you suffered. You're on your own now. You wanted to summon merzost to make yourself stronger and now all you can do is make others more powerful."

Part 4 - The fruits of my labour

Taglist: @shawty-writes-a-little @dreamlandcreations

#the darkling x reader #aleksander morozova x reader #general kirigan x reader #shadow and bone

[tiredrobin]

referring to my last post im too lazy to like. explain the premise in detail so the basic idea is danny and damian twins thing, danielle/dani clone is the same age as danny, she has his memories but not all of them and jumbled and fragmented and messy and it fucks with her a lot. and danny also. now theyre triplets in the way where damian has obviously no memories of dani but she remembers him and its SO MESSY and emotionally difficult for all of them because dani is 100% danny's sister but not damian's. heres a non-specific ficlet thing i tamped out because this au is stuck in my fucking head but i dont know enough to write it because i dont care abt dc stuff. thanks for understanding

also. theyre literally all transgender. because i said so. this is a legal requirement for this au. vlad switched the chromosomes to make a more stable clone but dani was like "...no, im a girl actually". danny and dani joke about switching bodies all the time. damian and danny didn't know they were trans until after they separated, damian still doesnt know danny is because he thinks danny is dead, danny does know Now because damians a wayne and is in the news and danny recognized him evn tho no one but damian's family knows hes transmasc. also danny is transmasc in the agender kind of way. nothing can fucking stop me

vague context: sometimes dani quizzes danny on his/sorta-their past, bcuz her memories are so weird and jumbled and it helps to hear the truth evn when she cant actually remember it.

cw: brief mention of an adult being creepy towards children

-

"Okay," Dani says, and Danny pretends he isn't fervently praying she'll shut up.

"Okay," he echoes after a long moment, prompting. Somehow, the wariness doesn't leak into his voice.

"Third coach tried to kill us—you," she says.

'Third coach' means Danny and Damian's third trainer. Dani uses words pretty strangely, sometimes. Her language has a habit of slipping into something more rudimentary, simplified, like she's a toddler.

She's a year and seven months old. Her grasp on language is, in Danny's personal opinion, remarkable.

"That happened, yes," Danny says when he realizes he'd been quiet too long. He's starting to drag. These conversations are exhausting in a way he can never articulate, not even to Dani, but there'd be no reason to because he knows she gets it. From the way she's listing to her side in the air, the imbalance fucking with her physics enough that she's starting to drift very subtly to the left, she's worn thin.

"… Why?" she asks after a long pause. "He seemed nice."

Danny focuses in on the thrum of her core. It's in near-perfect resonance with his own, which used to be so deeply disturbing it made his skin crawl but now feels soothing. It's a balm on his frayed nerves during the bad days; a reminder that, though he's lost one sibling, he has another.

"He wasn't," Danny murmurs. Third trainer smiled a lot—that might be what Dani is remembering—but he had wandering hands and a creepy way of looking at him and Damian. He taught them about pinching nerves. His fingers always lingered.

"Oh," says Dani. She rights her tilt, though she's still drifting. Danny's brain does a weird thing, a math sort of thing, that calculates the angle of her drift, the current speed, the projected acceleration. If she keeps going, she'll bump into the wall in three minutes, twenty-seven seconds.

(His brain does weird things like that, sometimes. Frostbite says it's a result of ectoplasm mixing with living neural pathways. The ectoplasm appears to be acting as a stimulant of sorts, or maybe a steroid. A stimulant-steroid. (…Stimuloid?) He hadn't been able to follow the explanation very well at the time, due to the fact that his brain was doing the opposite of what it's doing now. Sometimes he thinks so fast it feels like his thoughts are teleporting; sometimes his head is so foggy he can barely process what's right in front of him. It's super great. Super.)

"… Oh," Dani says again, softer. Then, in an abrupt subject change, "Did you really almost push Tucker off some stairs?"

"You" this time. The way she selects it—"us", "me", "you"—it says a lot about how the memory feels to her. She'd been raised an assassin; she barely knows Tucker, Danny's oldest friend. She hardly recognizes dad; she wants to cling to Sam. Sometimes it's him, sometimes it's her, sometimes it's a weird third thing. Or something. She'd phrased it in a way that made him laugh and forget most of it, when he'd asked, and now he regrets that.

"I did, yeah," he huffs a laugh. "He stole—"

"Our truck!" Our. "Yeah, okay, I remember that."

"It wasn't a truck."

"No? It—ohhh, it was the, um. The model train. The one you built! That Tucker's dad gave you."

He nods. "Yeah. I was worried he'd break it."

"And pushing him down the stairs wouldn't?"

"Assassin training."

"Sure."

One of her eyes is a little crinkled. She might be getting a headache, because that's the face Danny makes when he's getting a headache. (It's the face Damian made when he got one, too.) (Stop comparing them.) "You should get some rest," Danny tries.

"I'll get nightmares."

Her nightmares are weird. She's talked about them enough for Danny to feel familiar with them, even though his are nothing like her's. She'd tried sharing one with him, once, and it'd hurt his head for days after.

"I'm gonna get nightmares too, now," he points out. She winces. Danny realizes too late that might have sounded more accusatory than intended. He wanted her to stop asking questions, yeah, but not at the cost of herself. He's the reason she exists now; he's the reason why her head is so stuffed full of things that don't make sense, memories and daydreams and terrors both real and imagined haunting every step she takes. Even if he isn't the one that made her, hadn't ever wanted her—even if that, she's his responsibility.

"It goes both ways, idiot," she says.

She's not reading his mind, but. It's like she is. She can feel his core like it's his thoughts, and that's near enough. "I'm the older brother," he says, intentionally putting something a little haughty in his voice, a tone he hasn't carried since he was, like, eight or something. The effect is ruined a bit as he lays down, angled so he can still watch her drift towards the wall. "You're my responsibility. That's how it goes."

She rolls her eyes. "What if I wanna be the older brother?"

"Can't. You're the youngest, out of the three of us."

Dani sort of… pauses.

Danny does, too. He hadn't meant to say that out loud. Damian is… "gone" isn't the right word, because he's not dead. Not like Danny thought he was for a… for a while. But he's off limits in a way Danny can't access. He hasn't referred to Damian as his brother since the first time Dani started asking questions, and she'd been careful to avoid doing so herself. Which would seem considerate, if Danny didn't know she avoided it because the whole thing just feels too big and too messy to look at in the eyes.

And here Danny's gone, shoving his foot in his mouth. The three of us. There isn't three; Damian has to think Danny's dead. Has to have mourned him. If Damian knew…

It's so scary to think about.

And—there's Dani, now. Not a replacement—nothing could replace Damian—but Damian would feel that she is. Probably.

"What a mess," Dani says.

Had she thought the same things? Maybe. No way to tell without asking, and Danny's too tired to ask. "Yeah."

She touches down onto the ground. On silent feet, she checks the locks on Danny's door, and then she pads over to the bed and nudges him until he gives her enough space to lay down next to him. She's not going to sleep here, and Danny won't be able to sleep with her there (it reminds them both of sharing a bed with Damian), but she likes to do this sometimes and Danny likes it when she does.

Neither of them say anything else. Danny won't be able to fall asleep, but he manages to start a very light doze. Dani's core thrums contentment and his echoes it. She's saying I love you I love you I love you and he's singing it back, and when her pinkie hooks into his—like Damian, like Damian, stop comparing them but it's so much like Damian—Danny curls his to lock it in place.

"I might to spy on him," she murmurs after an unknown amount of time.

Danny cracks open an eye. "You won't."

"I want to," she amends, "But… I won't." I'm scared, she doesn't say, but Danny can hear it anyway.

"The tabloids do it enough for us," Danny points out.

She snorts. "Yeah, sure. 'Damian Wayne: Vegetarian or secret animal killer?' Definitely a good accurate way to get information."

Danny smiles and lets his eyes slip shut again. "He was like that even when we were little." Didn't like eating meat, eating animals.

"I remember."

He sighs. His core sings I love you. Dani's pinkie slips from his. There's a sweep of cold, like a blanket being pulled over him, and then she's gone. He might see her in a week; he might not see her for months.

Danny drifts to sleep.

#danny phantom #dcu #dp dc crossover #damian wayne #dani phantom #robin rambles #robin writes #this au is SO. #SILLY. #wish itd leave my head

[prozac-shaped-urn]

I’m goddamn serious when I say I socked that Leocadia audio away and used it for hot tub on the mesa because lemme tell you what just happened.

Breathy grunts n shit allow me to hypothesize sex positions, which then allows me to hypothesize sex scene dialogue, which then allows me to hypothesize specific motives for both characters, which then allows me to apply motive to other places in the story, which then gives me a better insight into what these characters want and need.

I just unlocked Stella’s place in this puzzle. She’s Beth’s daughter, 25, a recovering addict and a fashion photographer. She’s the undercurrent of logic in this story and it’s ironic that it’s her who’s the “brains” so to speak. Beth comes to her when she’s getting really self-conscious about her body, and Stella’s the one who reminds her “it’s called self-worth for a reason. Only you can determine your self-worth because it comes from you and you alone.” Which is like……. SO wise.

But also!!! There’s a thing I do where I find something that’s mine and nobody else’s on my body. Like my stretch marks. They’re mine. They’re a tattoo in my skin and cannot be replicated on anyone else. They’re my calligraphy fingerprints and no one else has them. My only child ass LOVES doing this. So that’ll be going in the script.

A third thing!!!! I’ve been playing around with the whole idea of sexuality in women 50+ and how it would no doubt be difficult for a woman of that age to go full steam ahead and throw caution to the wind and whatnot, on film and IRL. So hearing a 30-something Donna be… idk I guess open is the right word here… in delivering a performance with a sexual aspect in it gives me something to point to and go “OKAY! So obviously she was younger then but that woman is still alive inside her right now. Is there something I can gain from this? Can I translate this into a language which would play well on film? Can I headcanon my way into a 3D character with all the qualities needed for a full backstory, arc, motive, lesson to learn, etc? And if I can’t, then at least I tried.”

And ya know what? It helped. It helped so much. Because now I’m looking at Felicity going “…honey child, you’re about to carry all of my insecurities about my stomach and you’ll carry them better than I ever will.” And that’s a beautiful discovery.

(No I didn’t mix the names up. Liss has the body insecurities and Beth is self-conscious about literally everything thanks to social media. Body image issues are only a small % of Beth’s insecurities. Liss p much worked thru her shit except for her belly. Which like,,, same sis.)

#irl post #writing #hot tub on the mesa #being a feral fangirl comes in handy sometimes

[dusktarot]

Hello I am curious about toki pona 👀

rubs my hands together evilly... teehee

ok so! the basics. toki pona is a constructed language made by Sonja Lang made up of around 120-150 words (depending on who you ask). the first book, known by toki pona speakers as lipu pu, which is a sort of an introduction to the language and basic reference document, has 120. the second book, lipu ku, which is a dictionary based off usage by toki pona speakers, adds 17 more words that are commonly used, bringing it up to about 137 "canonical" words. many low-use words exist, known as nimisins (literally "new words") or nimi ku lili (words that are in the second book but aren't part of those 17 common use ones), but these are often very situational and often not well regarded, because the point of toki pona is minimalism! i think linguistic minimalism's a lot more fun than most other kinds-- it forces you to really dissect what you're thinking about. but it also helps trim the fat! some people stick to the words in lipu pu only, which imo is a little wild. where would i be without kijetesantakalu..... (joke)

most words cover extremely broad meanings. soweli refers to most any animal, though generally it's referring to a mammal. something furry, beasty, something like that. waso refers to birds and perhaps other flying animals! i get into discussions about if a bat is a soweli or a waso-- my opinion is that if youre looking at its little mammalian face, or considering its other features rather than its flight, it's a soweli. if it's just something flying around at night, it can be a waso! or maybe even its a soweli waso, or a bird-like mammal.

toki pona's very context-sensitive, like i mentioned a bat can be either a soweli or a waso. what matters is what's important to the conversation. if im using a pencil to draw, it's an ilo, or tool. if i'm referring to the shape of it, it's a palisa, or stick-shaped object.

the name "toki pona" uses two of those very few words in the language-- toki, meaning talk, language, speech, etc., and pona, meaning good or simple. personally i think this conflation of good and simple raises some problems, but i've had this conversation with other toki pona speakers lol. ultimately, if you're speaking toki pona you should be able to see the good in simplicity, which is what makes the idea of pona work.

one of toki pona's selling points is that it's easy to learn. you could probably learn the vocab in a few weeks! but fluency takes more practice-- and one reason for that is that you're having to interpret each phrase and figure out what meaning's important... or you have to stretch your brain a bit to not care what kind of ilo someone is using, it's just important that theyre using some kind of ilo. if it was important what kind, they'd specify!

it makes for a really fun challenge and i call it sort of a "toy" language. it's not going to replace other languages or anything, but it's fun and makes the brain feel a bit better! not worrying about the specifics of things can really feel nice.

also one of the 137 main words is tonsi, meaning trans or nonbinary, so yaaaaay. mi tonsi. plus gender is completely optional in toki pona-- meli (female) and mije (male) are words that exist but quite frankly i rarely ever use them. there is one (1) third person pronoun. toki pona speakers may mix up their headnoun, though! basically all proper names in toki pona become adjectives instead of nouns-- for example, the US is ma Mewika, aka a place called Mewika (America). i use kili (fruit/vegetable) or jan (person, which is the standard/default for people), so im kili Temeke or jan Temeke!

as you can see words also get changed to fit into the acceptable sounds of toki pona, since it also has a very limited sound inventory and won't accept consonant clusters/consonants at the end of syllables except for n. this is also to make it more accessible to speakers of many languages, since all the sounds are quite common cross-linguistically!

#toki pona #long post #unleashes the autism. #babble #ty for asking!!

[cody-the-kirby-used-psi]

A Silly Idea

Spawned from reading too many of Star_going_supernova's Godzilla stories.

So I've got this kinda stupid idea in my head.

It started with me remembering the old Godzilla cartoon from 1998( henceforth being referred to as the only thing of worth coming from the 1998 movie) and I thought that it would be cool if they did something like that nowadays with the Legendary versions.

It was at that point my brain threw the Legendary Godzilla in a blender with some 90's era ‘we'll-make-a-cartoon-outta-anything’ juice mixed with a bit of Star_Going_Supernova influence spice, hit puree, and spilled this slurrie everywhere.

Which I will now regurgitate to any one willing to read this.

So Cody's Idea Corner now presents:

Envoys of the King:

A Godzilla Pilot.

So it starts with a view of an aircraft carrier. We see the Monarch symbol emblazoned upon it. Monarch employees bustle around on it, giving an 18 year old sitting on a crate a large berth, or rather the large bear-sized lump of familiar scales behind him a large berth. 

The teen looks tired, like ‘put through the ringer and now I'm just done tired’. He has short black hair and brown eyes. He's of Japanese descent and wearing a long brown coat.

In walks Maddie Russell. She walks straight up to him.

“Hi,” she says.

“Sup,” he responded.

“I'm Maddie.”

“Martin.”

“So Martin,” she starts. “Why's everybody avoiding you?”

“Think they're more avoiding the big grumpy lizard than me.”

He points back to the lump of scales. Maddie stares at it.

As if sensing her stare it raises its head, its face is familiar to Maddie.

“Who's that?” She asks. “Kindda looks like Godzilla, if he were smaller.”

Martin sighs.

“That's because it is Godzilla.”

Maddie double takes.

“...what?”

“It’s… it's a long story.”

Behind him Godzilla huffs. Martin rolls his eyes.

“Which the lizard wants me to tell apparently.”

“Wait, you can understand him?”

“That's…”

“Also a long story?”

“Eh, more of the same story.”

“Okay this I gotta hear.”

“Pull up a crate,” Martin says, waving over to some other boxes. “Don't got much else going on right now.”

Maddie pulls over a box and sits down. Expectantly waiting for Martin to begin.

He sighs.

“Okay, where to start…”

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

So about a year ago my grandpa passed. In his will, he left me four things.

The first was a bunch of money. Said to use it to travel the world. Find myself.

The second was this bag that had eight, uh, guess I'll call em crests.

Third was this crystal sword.

Fourth was a journal. The journal was full of writing in different languages. What I could read was just confusing and made no sense. At the back of the journal was a message from grandpa; ‘you'll know what to do when it's time.’

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

Maddie: That's it?

Yep.

Maddie: Well, that's… vague…

You're telling me. Anyway, with nothing else to go on, I did the other thing he told me to do, I went traveling. Till I ended up here.

I'd heard Monarch was doing some sort of dig outside of town. Cordoned it off and everything. Normally, it wouldn't have mattered to me but, I don't know, I felt… drawn to the place. Like I'd just be doing my thing and suddenly I'm staring off in the direction of the dig.

Maddie: So what did you do?

What I imagine any self-respecting teenager with no adult supervision and an inexplicable draw to an off limits sight would do.

Maddie:... you broke in?

I broke in, yeah. And… I got caught. That. Is when the crazy stuff happened.

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

Martin sits in what appears to be an interrogation room. He sits in the chair, slouched back and staring at the ceiling.

‘You're an idiot, Martin!’ He scolds himself.

Before he can berate himself further, the door opens, letting in a woman with blonde pixie cut hair. She wore a lab coat and held a tablet in her hand.

“Martin Yami?” She asked as she sat down in front of him. “Or do you prefer Yami Martin.”

“I was raised in the states,” he grumbled. “Martin's fine.”

“Very well.” She smiled softly. “My name is Leana Marpole. I work as a Doctor of archeology for Monarch.”

Martin raised a brow.

“Archeology? Thought Monarch was full of Kaiju researchers?”

Before she could answer, he shook his head.

“Nevermind, doesn't matter. Look Miss Marpole-”

“Call me Leana.”

“Fine. Miss Leana, if you guys are gonna pull a ‘Men In Black’ on me, could we just get it over with?” He sighed. “It was a mistake to go in there. I'm not even sure why I did it.”

She chuckled.

“I don't know what rumors you've heard about Monarch's technology, but we're not advanced enough to rewrite memories.” She smirked. “Or perhaps you were referring to the methods of the original comics?”

Martin blinked.

“I… was actually… how do you know that?”

She laughed.

“A fond part of my childhood,” she said brightly. “Regardless, I can assure you that we plan on doing no such thing.”

“Hmm.”

His eyes narrowed in thought.

“Wait, those comics are like thirty years old. You read them as a kid? So you're like-”

“Although, I could convince the General to adopt some of those methods, if you would like to continue down that train of thought?” she interjected with a clearly false cheer.

“Uhhhhh… noted…” He coughed. “Uhm, a-anyway, if you're not planning to do… that… then why am I here instead of with the police for standard B'n'E?”

“To answer one of your earlier questions,” she began as she tapped away on the tablet. “Titans have existed long before humanity. There are even records of temples of worship to some of them, and I will be the first to tell you, zoologists, do not make good archeologists.”

“Okay, fair,” he said with a nod. “So Monarch needs archeologists to study these supposed kaiju temples. Still doesn't explain why I'm here.”

“Kaiju…” she mumbled. “Most of the world refers to them as titans.

“Its… just what my grandpa always called them,” he said softly. “It stuck.”

“Ah, yes, your paternal grandfather. Your file mentioned he passed a year ago?” She asked, her eyes glinting with sympathy. “It must have been hard, losing your only family.”

“Uh, y-yeah,” he glanced away.

Even a year later, it still hurt.

‘For it to still hurt, means that there is still love there.’

His grandpa's words echoed through his head. 

He took a deep breath.

“Can we- can we get back to the part about why I'm here?”

Leana nodded.

“You are still here, Martin, because I would like to ask you about some items you had in your possession when you were detained.”

Martin sighed and leaned back.

“Well, sorry to tell ya, but it's a dead end. They were just in a box my grandpa left me in his will,” he said. “You all probably know more about them than I do.”

“If you would just humor me for a minute, Martin.”

“Fine, but all I got is puns,” he mumbled under his breath.

She snorted before setting the tablet in front of him.

“Do you recognize this symbol?” She asked.

Martin studied the image. It looked like it had been carved into a stone wall. It also did look familiar.

“Actually… yeah… it looks like one of the symbols in the book.”

“Yes,” Leana agreed. “It's pretty much an exact match. You said your grandfather gave you the book?”

“Yeah but I know he didn't write it.”

“No, the brush strokes and marking are indicative of multiple writers,” she explained. “We dated the book as best we could and while it is only a few hundred years old-”

“A ‘few hundred’ she says.”

“Some of the language used in it is much older.”

“Yeah, but it's probably all written in code,” Martin said with a shrug. “There's kanji in there. I can read kanji but it just seems like gibberish.”

“Yes, we noticed that,” she said, taking back the tablet. “Moving on, what do you know about the sword?”

Martin leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling.

“Well there's not really anything special about the tsuka or saya,” he supplied. “But the blade and tsuba are made of some weird materials.”

“Referring to them in the traditional way,” she hummed. “Are you a swordsman, Martin?”

He shook his head.

“Just did some kendo when I was younger,” he said. “They nail those terms into your head before they even let you look at a boken.”

“And do you still practice?”

“I still know the basics, practice ‘em once in a while.” He sighed. “Grandpa said it may come in handy one day.”

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

“So your grandpa made you take kendo as a kid,” Maddie interrupted. “Encourages you to at least practice the basics, dies, and then leaves you a sword and a note saying ‘travel the world’ and ‘You'll know what to do when its time.’?”

Martin nodded.

“Yep. Really suspicious in hindsight.”

“Okay, cool,” she said. “Not just me.”

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

“Anyway,” Martin continued. “The whole blade is some kinda crystal and the tsuba looks like its the same kinda stuff as the crest.”

Leana nodded.

“Correct,” she confirmed. She showed him the tablet once again. “The materials used in the blade, the ‘tsuba’-”

“You can just call it the guard if you want,” Martin said. “Wouldn't be insulting me or anything. Not like it's a common term.”

Leana smiled and continued.

“And the crests are all incredibly dense, but thanks to another artifact Monarch has access to we have been able to identify the substance used to make the blade.”

“And what's that?”

Leana grinned and showed him the tablet. On it was a picture of the katana next to another picture that looked like a crude axe.

“The axe you see has the same makeup as your sword and the axe is made from the dorsal plates of ‘Titanus Gojira’,” she said, steppling her hands. “Or, his more common name-”

“Godzilla!?” Martin cried. “The thing is made out of one of his back spines!?”

“It would appear so,” she stated. “And with the crest's unique feature of absorbing radiation-”

“Should I be worried about that?”

She shook her head.

“While they do absorb ambient radiation, their output of radiation is no worse than that of a banana.”

“So avoid eating 20,000 of them, got it,” Martin joked.

Leana chuckled.

“Yes, but as I was saying, based on that fact, its likely they are made from Godzilla tissue as well, likely his scales, if I had to guess.”

Martin rubbed his forehead.

“Why the heck did you have these, Grandpa?” He asked softly.

“And that's the million dollar question, Martin,” Leana said with a sigh. “The cultural significance of these items alone is incalculable, not to mention what they would be worth to collectors.” She looked him in the eyes. “It's clear he knew to some extent the meaning behind these objects. So why did he leave them with his grandson, and why did said grandson try to sneak onto a Monarch research site?”

Before Martin could even think of how to respond, an alarm went off.

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

After that, some stuff happens, I got my things back, small monsters show up, chaos and destruction, Godzilla stands in the bay, and me and Ms. Leana end up at the top of an altar Monarch dug up.

“... I feel like you're skipping a bunch of stuff.”

It was mostly just a lot of running and screaming every curse word I know.

“Ah, yeah, been there. Welcome to the club.”

Are there t-shirts?

“I'm getting some made. What size do you want?”

Put me down for an extra large. Anyway, so me and Ms. Leana are on top of this altar, right?

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

As the two crested the stairs, Martin could admit that the altar had a pretty good view of the bay. There wasn't a lot at the top. Just a single stone wall to his right with writing on it and a large stone ring in front of him.

“Don't cross that line, Martin,” Leana warned, pointing to a line on the floor. “Everything past that line, I'm told, is radioactive. To a point, it would be lethal to stand in it too long.” She turned to the wall. “I haven't been up here yet.” She gasped. “Martin, look, these symbols match certain pages of your book.”

She sighed.

“Oh, if only we could read them.”

Martin stared at the strange symbols. His hand went to one of the crests now hanging from his neck.

A brow raised.

“Wait,” he mumbled. “I can… I can read this!”

“What?”

The letters glowed, rearranging themselves into a form he could understand.

“Martin,” Leana said with another gasp. “The crest is glowing! It must be somehow tied to the ruins!”

“Its letting me understand the words.”

“Well, what do they say?” she asked giddily.

“To you who now faces the trial of the envoy,” he read slowly. “Show your strength and courage to the King. Let his starfire cleanse you of indecision…”

“Fascinating,” she breathed. “If I had to guess, it must relate to some kind of ritual, most likely towards Godzilla, given the interaction with the crest and the use of the word king.”

“A ritual involving the King of monsters,” Martin mumbled.

He glanced back towards the arch.

“The use of starfire though,” she pondered. “Perhaps, a primitive understanding of his atomic breath?”

“Maybe,” he agreed, walking back over to the line. “Everything past that line is radioactive.”

“Perhaps these supposed ‘envoys’ were meant to stand in that area as a test of courage.”

Somehow, Martin didn't feel that was right. An arch with a direct line to the bay, plus a radioactive area, plus the phrase ‘let his starfire cleanse you of indecision.”, yeah, Martin was starting to get a clearer picture of this ritual.

It seemed Leana was as well, as she suddenly went tense.

“We should go,” she said firmly, almost nervously.

Suddenly there was a loud noise, a sound from the bay. Martin glanced out. Godzilla was looking at the top of the altar.

‘No,’ Martin's brain supplied. ‘He's looking at you.’

Somehow, it felt like the great lizard was locking eyes with him. Martin felt rooted to the spot.

Godzilla let out a roar. His dorsal fins began to glow.

Martin gripped his head.

‘Best grit your teeth, welp!’

A demand. Somehow entering directly into his mind, from the king himself.

“Martin!” Leana called over the roar.

She stood behind him.

“Run, Ms. Leana!”

“Its too late!” she cried. “We'll never make it before he fires!”

As if to prove her point, Godzilla fired directly at the arch.

A single thought entered Martin's head as he threw the sword's sheath aside and raised said sword high above his head.

‘I am about to do something very very stupid.’

The beam approached and Martin swung. 

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

“Hold up! Wait!” Maddie interrupted. You are telling me that Big G fired his ATOMIC BREATH, a beam as wide as a skyscraper at you, and your reaction is to try to CUT THROUGH the beam like a shonen anime protagonist?!”

Look, no matter how you slice it, I pretty much thought I was gonna die anyway. If I'm gonna go out, I might as well try something cool.

“...fair enough. continue.”

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

It burned. It burned his arms with the strain. It burned from the heat. It burned his very soul.

Or at least it felt like it.

The strange sword split the beam, diverting it around them.

‘WHY IS THIS WORKING!?’ he mentally screamed.

He held on through the onslaught. He doubted he could have let go even if he wanted to. It felt like his hands were melted to the hilt.

In a seconds that felt like years, the beam finally stopped.

Martin dropped to his knees, panting hard. The now glowing blade was still in his hands. Up his arms were glowing marks, similar to litchenburg figures. The glow from the marks soon receded down towards his hands, like the blade was drawing it out of his skin.

Leana dropped beside him.

“Martin!” she cried. “Are you okay?”

“WHY DID I DO THAT!?” he screamed in a rather manic manner. “AND WHY DID THAT WORK!?”

Another sound brought his eyes to the kaiju out in the bay.

Did… did Godzilla just nod at him.

Apparently Leanna saw it too as she let out an audible gulp.

“C-congrats, Martin,” she stuttered

 “I think you passed the test. You're an envoy to the King.”

“What does that even mean?” he growled.

Leanna helped him stand up. His hands were no longer numb, so he removed one hand from the sword and flexed his fingers.

Leanna grabbed said hand and looked it over.

“The burning looks minimal,” she mumbled as she looked him over. “Rather fascinating given the circumstances.”

Leanna pulled a first aid kit out of her bag and tended to his burned palms.

“We're lucky to be alive,” Martin grumbled. “Overgrown lizard nearly fried us.”

“Careful, Martin,” she teased. “That overgrown lizard is your new king.”

“Well, I didn't vote for him.”

Leanna chuckled. She finished wrapping his hands and put an arm around his shoulder.

“All done,” she stated. “Now let's go before the King decides to test you again.”

“Yeah,” he sighed. “Really don't want to do that twice today… or ever.”

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

“After that?” Maddie asked.

Martin looked up at the sky.

“Uh, well,” he began. “After that, we went back into the tunnels, met the monster again, this guy shows up out of nowhere, now somehow small, helps hold down the strange spider creature and I stab it.” He taps his chin. “Think that covers it.”

Maddie stares.

“...oh, is that all,” she says sarcastically.

“Its… kinda all one adrenaline infused blur for me.” He shrugged. “Sorry to disappoint.”

She shakes her head.

“It's fine,” she says with a chuckle. “An envoy to Godzilla.” There's a small amount of awe in her voice. “That sounds so cool.”

“It's really not,” Martin grumbled. “He's cranky, grumpy, won't stop calling me ‘welp’-”

Godzilla growled from his spot.

“What? Why?”

“What did he say?” Maddie asked.

Martin turned to her and looked at her critically.

“He… wants me to give you one of the crests…” ----------------------------

Ctk: From this point, Maddie would get a crest and not need to do a trial because, in Godzilla's ‘words’, ‘the pup already proved her strength when she roared at the Usurper when she was nothing but a hatchling.’.

From there it would be revealed that Godzilla is smaller due to a pact he made with humans long ago, but he can return to normal size briefly if his ‘priestess’ (the titan language doesn't have a direct translation for Maddie's role, so priestess it is.) recites a phrase from Martin's book. (Meaning that big g has a transformation sequence that will be used every episode, usually after Martin spouts a pun related to the monster of the day.)

Godzilla goes on to explain that something is coming, he can feel it, and he needs to gather new envoys, because, as loath as he is to admit it, it will take more than himself to stop it.

Cue action-packed adventures of Martin, Maddie, Leanna, and Godzilla traveling the world, fighting monsters big and small and finding the supposed envoys.

… that's what I got.

This has been a stupid idea from Cody.

So long.

#legendary godzilla #Madison Russel #Star_going_supernova Inspired #90's/ early 2000 cartoon inspired #au idea #fanfic ideas

[inkwolvesandcoffee]

Imagine drinking moonshine with Forrest and (unintentionally) becoming tipsy.

TH Masterlist

- It’s no surprise Forrest knows how to hold his liquor. However, when he gets drunk, he gets absolutely ossified.

- But tonight he drinks even less than he usually does.

- Because he doesn’t want you to hurt yourself.

- He’d seen you leave the office earlier. He just came up the stairs as you left through the front door. You held it open for him, but he didn’t walk on as he usually does when it’s someone else.

- “Where you goin’?”

- “Home. I…,” you breath tapered and you swallowed hard to conceal your hurt as best as possible, “I didn’t make it. We terminated my contract and I’ve handed over my stuff.”

- His eyes flitted across your face, frantically looking for a lie that wasn’t there.

- You mustered your kindest smile. “Goodbye, Forrest.”

- You made to move past him, but he grabbed your arm like he did the night he dropped you off at the central station for the first time.

- You gave him a quizzical look.

- “Can we… during my break… coffee? You. Me.” His breath hitched and he grabbed you a little tighter. “Have a drink? After work?”

- He bit his lip and looked at you through his lashes, blue eyes luminous but shut away behind a thick wall of timidity. “At my place?”

- Knowing him enough to be certain he harbours no ill intentions towards you, you agreed.

- So here you are, seated on a worn leather couch in his apartment. The interior mixes modern luxury with rustic cabin vibes. Various wood tones are worked into decorations and bigger furniture pieces like the coffee table in front of the hearth, one of Forrest’s old weekend projects.

- The scent of cedar mixed with black tea, raspberries, and sandalwood hangs in the air while you two sit in front of the fire. In your hands, you hold the latest invention of the Bondurant brothers; pumpkin spice moonshine.

- If it isn’t the strong alcohol percentage that makes you choke, it’s the very strong presence of cinnamon. All the same, it makes for an easy drink.

- Being a lightweight, one glass is already enough to make you feel lightheaded. But one glass follows another and after the third you’re heavily leaning on the burly bear of a man next to you.

- In the meanwhile, there’s little conversation. In part because you share the language of silence, comfortable with one another without the need for words. But it’s also due to Forrest not knowing what else to talk about and not wanting to pry into what happened earlier that morning.

- Nonetheless, although he won’t admit it outright or even to himself, he’s glad you’re no longer colleagues for a very shallow reason.

- You’re no longer off-limits.

- He hates himself for using your state to push his own agenda a little bit, but he weaves his fingers through yours. You blink in surprise, but hum and snuggle up into him further while looking at your hands.

- “Can’t let you go home in this state.”

- “But I can’t stay here. I don’t wanna…” you frown, at a loss for words. It seems your brain has lost the battle war with the booze in your veins, rendering you unable to form a single coherent sentence. Doesn’t help his body is really warm and his mere presence offers the type of comfort you’ve been needing all day. “You know.”

- And he does, because he doesn’t need words to form a crystal clear explanation. “You won’t be. You sleep in my bed and I’ll sleep here.”

- “Grumpy wolf.” You chuckle at yourself. “Curled up by the fire.”

- The thought that passes through his mind at that moment?

- I’d rather be curled up next to you.

- “C’mon, time for bed.”

- “I’m not sleepy,” you protest, clutching his arm. “Stay here. At least for a little while longer.”

- He groans and then lets out a deep sigh through his nose as a smile slowly spreads on his lips. “You’re starting to talk nonsense. I’ll see if I have a toothbrush lying around too.”

- Gently he frees himself from your grip to prep his bedroom and find you your own toothbrush as well as pyjamas. He catches himself standing in front of his closet, smiling at the shirt and cardigan in his hands.

- Dreaming of how you’d look in them.

- Like you’re his.

- Woken up next to him.

- Back in the living room, he sees you’ve fallen asleep. You’ve toppled over and are basically sprawled over the couch.

- He grumbles about how you just had to fall asleep in the worst possible posture. Forrest picks you up and immediately stops his grumpy rambling when you curl up into his chest, humming contently.

- But it’s not only that which makes his heart stop.

- It’s also the prospect of having to dress you in the pyjamas he’s prepared for you. Now, of course he could put you to bed dressed as you are, but he wants you to be as comfortable as possible. And wearing jeans to bed is anything but that.

- He’s glad you’re sound asleep because you won’t be able to see how red he is while carefully manoeuvring you out of your clothes and into his shirt and cardigan. All the while, he makes sure not to touch you inappropriately, being wary about where his fingers touch you.

- He remains seated on the edge of the bed for a moment after he’s tucked you in. On the one hand, he’s overjoyed you’re with him, in his bed, safe and sound. On the other, he feels guilty since it’s because you lost your job you’re here.

- He runs a hand through your hair before he gets ready for a night on the couch.

- Come morn, you wake up to a glass of water with painkillers next to it as well as a wee note stating: “In case you need it”.

- You smile, take a painkiller, drink the water, and look down at your pyjamas. Had it been anyone else, you would have dreaded the thought at likely having been touched inappropriately. However, when it comes to Forrest, you don’t need that type of reassurance. Instinctively you know he respected you even in your unconscious state.

- In the kitchen, Forrest is busy making pancakes. The table has already been set. A pot of steaming coffee, yogurt with fresh fruits, a big mason jar filled with orange juice, and a reed basket with croissants and pains aux chocolates line the middle of the table.

- “Sleep well?” Forrest asks, briefly looking away from the pan. He’s clad in loose grey sweatpants, a matching cardigan, and a dark blue shirt portraying a dog snout. On his nose balances a pair of thick black glasses.

- “I did.” You stretch and bite your lip, only now aware of the trouble you caused last night. “Thanks for letting me stay. You didn’t have to.”

- “‘Course I did. It would’ve been irresponsible to let you go home when you’re not steady on your feet.” He gestures at the table with his spatula. “Sit. Eat.”

- “You had to sleep on the couch, though,” you mumble as you settle on the chair facing the kitchen. It’s not a bad view to wake up to, messy brown locks and broad shoulders working hard to put proper grub on the table.

- He puts a plate stacked with fluffy pancakes between the mason jar with orange juice and pot of coffee. “Dig in.”

- “Forrest?”

- “Hm?” He looks at you over the rim of his coffee cup. Normally he reads the paper during breakfast, but he gladly makes an exception for his secret favourite person.

- His secret girl.

- “Next time, sleep next to me. I was cold.”

- He almost spits out his coffee and quickly grabs the newspaper to hide his beet red face behind. Under his breath, though still crystal clear, he mumbles: “Next time.”

- And all the times to come.

Let’s end with the wee treasure I found;

Imagine doing this with him after some rounds of very steamy (and very passionate) sex🥰🤤

I went off with this one, but I have so many feels and Forrest is simply still one of my faves to write😅🥰

Tag list: @buttercup32sstuff @hecatemoon87 @potter-solomons @liliac-dreamer @vir-tual @alikaheroes @ilovemanypeople @zablife

#Tom Hardy #Facepuller #Tom Hardy imagine #Forrest Bondurant #Forrest Bondurant imagine #Lawless

[doberbutts]

Yet another example of white fans sorely lacking in any racial knowledge: a post regarding the Harfoots saying "they're all different ethnically but have the same accent? How does that even work?" and I'm wondering if they speak to literally any person of color ever at this point.

Accent is, shockingly, not determined by race but by the language(s) you learned to speak as a child. When I was in grade school, we had two Asian kids (both Chinese adoptees) in my class. One spoke identically to all the other American kids. One spoken WITH A WELSH ACCENT because his parents had immigrated to the US from WALES. And he was very proud of his Welsh upbringing and frequently threw hands whenever people asked if he was British.

I work with a latina woman from Puerto Rico who speaks with a typical American accent for the area. She came here when she was very young.

I stick out here whenever certain accent or culture things come up, less because of being black, and more because I had a VERY Pennsylvania Dutch upbringing and it shows in the way I talk at times and the occasional German word I don't know the English translation for. New England in general is not particularly racially diverse (mostly Polish, Irish, and Italian) but the black people who do live here have the same accent everyone else has for the most part.

I had a British Literature teacher, a white woman, who was born and raised in India by white people who have been living in India for generations. English was her third language which she learned in school, not from her parents, who rarely spoke English and when they did, like her, it was very obviously accented. Quite different than the German-influenced English I grew up hearing.

One of the chihuahuas' breeders is a white-passing mixed race afro-native woman from northern Canada, and her accent is only noticably different if you hear her husband or kids- who were raised in the US- speak in the same conversation as her.

A friend of mine is from Syria. He's been in the US since he was a young child. His accent is practically undetectible, in fact we (friend group) often forget his first language isn't English until he asks us what a word we said in passing means or until he brings up his citizenship status.

The color of your skin or the racial mixup within your genetics has absolutely fuckall to do with how you say words. That's determined entirely by what words and sounds and pronounciation rules you learned as your language center in your brain developed as a child. Harfoots being ethnically diverse but having the same accent is unrealistic? As unrealistic as real life, I suppose.

[mlobsters]

supernatural s10e1 black (w. jeremy carver)

this show started airing when i was 25 and i wonder how i would have received it then. anyway, was appreciating that i don't have to wait to find out what the demon!dean fallout will be. ...actually i don't think i'm up for this today. tbc

the sam that dean was expecting while he was in purgatory

so is this a padalecki injury or a sam injury? he (jared) seems pretty accident prone. i'm in a rather dismal mood, might need to push this off to day 3.

all right we're back, third time's a charm! with a worse-than-usual migraine. i think that's part of why i was feeling so irritable and shitty yesterday evening. prodromal situation

.asp made me giggle. first job doing web development stuff, i did asp back in 2000/2001.

Active Server Pages (ASP) is Microsoft's first server-side scripting language and engine for dynamic web pages. It was first released in December 1996, before being superseded in January 2002 by ASP.NET.

okay, drama

CASTIEL I can help. SAM Cas...we tried that. CASTIEL Sam...you can't blame what that demon did to your shoulder on me; you were out of... SAM I'm not, I'm not blaming anything on you. What happened, happened, and...you need to be worrying about yourself. I really shouldn't have bothered you.

cas has got the heavenly tuberculosis now too. if tumblr's search wasn't broken i'd link to my post where i think i called the... trials that? maybe

SAM Good. I'm alright. I'm just...tired, you know. Be better when we get him back...after...after I kick his butt. CASTIEL I miss him.

this is where you say "me too", sam. also

CASTIEL Well then, who wrote the note? If there's any chance...any chance at all that Dean is still... SAM Still...even remotely Dean?

and then he just hangs up? i laughed. were you raised in a barn, sam??? (i mean.) say goodbye :p

oh no. nonono. i cannot deal with dean singing badly. i really dislike this tonal whiplash that seems more common in these later seasons. big serious feelings then straight into ha ha bad singing, witty banter with the lady and crowley, extremely cheesy western standoff music and acting over foosball.

is this what crowley wants to do with dean? replace sam? definitely isn't going to be beating the simp charges if that is actually the case. please be slightly more complicated in motivation, crowley, i know you have it in you

is demon!dean's voice even lower?

she reminds me of a mix between samantha smith (mary winchester) and katie cassidy (og ruby, my fave). maybe this is the same problem i have with blond guys. all occupy the same spot in the brain

funny how parting his hair makes him look so different. it's a good look on him with it ruffled up

sam of course has a new haircut, not my favorite. kind of a weird bob in the back

i know they're committed to the classic car bit, but that yacht cas is driving must get like 5mpg. lol this site where you can report actual usage, only 2 people with similar models - one person getting around 8mpg, other 10

laughed out loud. handy they put the little hashtag viva abaddon on their message to have sam conveniently stumble upon

CROWLEY Moose. Took you long enough. Your brother and I were beginning to wonder if you'd hit another dog. You know?

ooh burn

SAM I don't know how you did this, what kind of... Black-magic stunt you pulled, but hear me --I will save my brother or die trying. CROWLEY You know what tickles me about all this? It's what's really eating you up. You don't care that he's a demon. Heck, you've been a demon. We've all been demons. No, it's that he's with me and he's having the time of his life. You can't stand the fact that he's mine.

um, ok

SAM He's not your pet. CROWLEY My pet? He's my best friend, my partner in crime. They'll write songs about us, graphic novels. “The Misadventures of Growley and Squirrel." Dean Winchester completes me, and that's what makes you lose your chickens.

tough but fair

boop boop tracking

oh nic, you thought the heavenly politics plotline was done, sweet summer child

DEAN Okay, see, the deal was we howl at the moon -- no time stamp, no expiration date. CROWLEY We've howled. We've bayed. We've done extraordinary things to triplets, all of which have been massively entertaining. I will treasure our Flickr albums forever.

porn of dean with crowley and triplets, okay. that's... a lot

CROWLEY Think of it --the king of hell, Dean Winchester by his side. Together we rule. Together we create the perfect hell. And all of this that's bloomed between us never ends. We're not ending the party. We're just moving the party. Out with the club circuit, in with the stadium tour.

all right so he's tolerating dean's hot demon summer earthly antics but really just wants dean to be his knight in hell

DEAN He traced the call. CROWLEY My bad. I guess he'll be here by morning -- the latest. DEAN You sold me out. Well, that's just lovely. CROWLEY I don't know what's going on with you. I truly don't. But I've had just about enough of it. Sold you out? Try “doing you a favor.” everything I've done for you for the past six months -- the mark, the First Blade, midwifing you back to life, offering you a seat by my side -- has been a favor, a gift, whether you see it or you don't. Take the night. Decide. You know where to find me.

midwifing mhmm.

i'm vaguely aware of some stuff that happens between sam and demon!dean but i don't know the timeline per usual. though i did sneak a look at something so i know when it ends episode-wise

feel like we (i) need a comparison chart of soulless vs moc!demonization

more karaoke? please. 😩 this little drama with the woman from the roadhouse, i guess they're trying to show facets of how he's different and how he's not? like there must be part of him still in there if he suggests they go somewhere together?

and sam's kidnapped, okay. insert me complaining about too much shit happening. there's some little guitar riffs in this scene that remind me of twilight, hard. i thought it was in the scene where edward comes racing in to save bella from getting assaulted with his fancy volvo moves, but wasn't. not worth trying to dig up i'm sure

DEAN No, you listen to me. There's no trade. There's no meet-up. There's no nothing -- except the 100% guarantee that, somewhere down the road, I will find you, and I will kill you. COLE Well, that'll be a cold comfort to your dead brother. DEAN I told him to let me go. So whatever jam he's in now, that is his problem. COLE Yeah, well, I'll be sure to pass that on to him as I'm slitting his throat. DEAN Yeah, you do that, 'cause he knows me. And he knows damn sure that if I am one thing, I am a man of my word.

i dunno. i can see how this should be fun, in theory. i am not feeling it and it feels like a pacing plus the couldn't-care-less angel stuff being wedged in issue. and/or i'm extra weary of inter(intra)brother stress

almost prolonged this to 4 days because i can't shut up and it's late

#supernatural #spnwatch #spn 10x01 #jeremy carver #demon dean

[lewvithur]

everything that seems beautiful seems so far away from here

a little fic based on the two flashback shots we got from hellbent

Word Count: 987

Something won't shut up today. As much as Lewis keeps talking with Arthur while he loads up the dishwasher, the words will never be more than surface deep. It is just small talk to entertain him. Leaning his arms on the counter, Arthur keeps his eyes locked on the man.

There is a spring in his step. His eyes crinkle the more he thinks to himself. Something has him in a twirl and he cannot stop even as the stars surround his head. And in his dizzy glee, he grins goofily and giggles into his hand.

Arthur cannot share his joy. He knows full well that he isn't responsible for Lewis' lovestruck glances.

As the bell chimes on the front door, the pit in his stomach latches onto him. Arthur knows that the one responsible has just entered.

"Hey there sweetie!" Vivi calls over the sound of Mystery yipping. The two of them walk past Arthur whose eyes do not move. The lead in his limbs will not lift. He cannot move from where he stands.

"There's my blueberry baby," Lewis says, turning away from the dishes. Arms outstretched, he walks towards her, his stride faster and more spaced out than normal. The ice cold shock running along his spine gets Arthur to turn around, his eyes following as his two friends meet together.

Vivi, with a running start, leaps into Lewis' arms. The momentum gets Lewis to spin on his feet as he adjusts his arms to seat Vivi's legs. She rests against him and kisses his cheek. She must feel his heartbeat under her arms. She has to. If Arthur was in his arms, that would be all he could think about: the beat of his heart, the purr of a lion.

Envy tinges Arthur's cheeks in pink, but shame turns his head away. The mumbles that Vivi and Lewis make while their lips audibly press turns his heart around, twisting it until it begs to stop.

A noise cuts through the affectionate display. When Arthur raises his head, he sees Lewis' mother standing in the doorway. Maybe it was her who made that noise.

"It's alright, Mrs. Pepper. I'm just here to pick up your son for a trip to the drive-in!" Vivi shouts, letting her boyfriend set her down.

"Mhmm, we're going to see The House of Empty Hands. Sounds like it's gonna be a scary one."

While the two of them talk and enthuse as Mrs. Pepper walks towards the two of them, all Arthur can hear are the thoughts in his mind that embed themselves in the wrinkles of his brain. You shouldn't be here. They don't want you. You are a rat that they are too kind to sprinkle poison on.

"Arthur." Lewis' voice, gentle and baritone, cuts through his thoughts. "You know the invitation is still open." Mystery tugs on his pants leg, pulling him back to Earth. The attempt is admirable, but Arthur cannot say that anyone wants him here.

"Yeah! We can all pile in the front of the van and scream our lungs out!" Vivi's arms hang around Lewis' large elbow, tugging in excitement.

Third wheel. Third wheel. Third wheel. Arthur's brain can't take the ceaseless drumming of those two words, rebounding in time with heavy drumsticks to skin.

"Y-you two go ahead," he squeaks. "I'm not a fan of horror and I don't think I ever will be."

Letting go, Lewis and Vivi give each other a stare, sharing a moment that Arthur cannot read for the life of him. All of these mixed signals, these shared secrets, this language that shuts him out, he doesn't know how much longer he can take the isolation.

"Alright then. We'll see you tomorrow then, Artie," Vivi says, already turning on her heels. The low tone in her voice gave a bit away. Arthur can read…. disappointment? At what? But all of that conflicts with how quickly she turns away.

With Lewis' hand in hers, he follows her, but turns to leave Arthur with a smile. Pity, wrapped in the bow of his lips that hide his teeth. Those pearly whites would greet him when he beamed with joy, when he laughed raucously, when he said how much he cared. That is a gift Arthur may never get again.

As the trio say their goodbyes and leave the Pepper Paradiso with Mystery at their feet, Arthur gives into the urge to stay in the doorway as the happy couple trot towards their parked car while the dog follows. They chatter without a care in the world.

"You better be ready for me to scream and jump into your big, strong arms when the scary bits happen," Vivi flirts, her voice salacious but loud enough to hear. If Lewis was embarrassed, he didn't show it.

"Honey, you know for a fact that I will probably being the one doing the most screaming. You'll have to hold me," he bats back at her. Arthur turns his head, but in the corner of his eyes, he sees how his arm has slung around Vivi's small shoulders.

If only he were a stronger man. He could fight the urge to stay and latch onto them like a remora on the glistening belly of a shark, only concerned with what they could stuff into their mouths. He cannot feed on love like this. All he will do is get repeatedly shanked in the chest for even hoping.

As the night shows its silvery glow above the orange sunset, Arthur knows that it is time to go. He heads towards the van, his hand wrapped around his keys until they press on his skin. But he cannot fool himself. The cut of the metal will never be Lewis' fingers. They will never cradle his calloused hands. They will never hold him up like Lewis could lift Vivi so easily. Arthur will never be her.

#mystery skulls animated #msa #msa fanfic #lewvi #lewthur #lewis pepper #vivi yukino #arthur kingsmen #msa lewis #msa vivi #msa arthur #angst #unrequited feelings #my writing

[quodekash]

i ran out of images in the first part (to no ones surprise) BUT IM HERE NOW, CONTINUING THE EPISODE

...All The Times They Didn't Kiss - AU Edition?

"you might as well submit a love request" PLSSS GUN HAS SO MUCH MORE CONFIDENCE THAN TINN COULD EVER HAVE

that's the wrong finger, buddy

HELL YES MV TIME

...well thats kinda boring

they just growl lightly at each other instead of the chinzhilla tribute

THANK YOU PORRRR

EVERYONE SAY THANK YOU POR, TOGETHER NOW

THANK YOU POR

HIS LITTLE "whee" AS HE JUMPED DOWN- BRJDFG I LOVE HIM

HIS NEURODIVERGENCE IS STRONG

i can see inside gun's brain rn

hes like 'dont freak out dont freak out dont freak out this is normal this is fine I WANT TO KISS HIM- no shhhh, calm calm calm you are calm breathe in and out, in and out, aaaaAAAAAAA-'

"it makes you feel warm as if im hugging you all the time" GERJDGN

I LOVE HOW MUCH CONFIDENCE THIS TINN HAS

soundwin standing next to each other 👀

i love the recreations of some of my favourite lines but from different voices, this is very funky

hes so... cool now. there's no other word for it.

SOUNDS SILLY LITTLE HEAD BOP GJERNDGJ I LOVE HIM TOO MUCH

TINNSOUND HEADBANGING!! GEORSGL

I LOVE SEEING TINN JUST BEING SILLY AND DANCING AROUND THE STAGE AND HAVING A GOOD TIME

hes too precious

we need to protect por at all costs

i love him so much

pls it takes me so long to watch these, im on 2/4 and its already 12:40am

Neurodivergent Bird Sit

TIW FIDGETING WITH HIS HOODIE BLANKET

this is so strange

tinn being reprimanded

por and gun standing on the side of the principal's desk

gim the principal

photjanee the concerned and awesome mother

sound standing at the desk next to tinn

win standing behind, part of the group but not really, kind of new to this, keeping a stoick expression with his arms crossed

its strange

bro if people would start randomly playing live music during class time i think most classes would celebrate

i know i would

live music is awesome

and that song is a banger

THE MOTHER SOLIDARITY OMG

WE HAD MISSED OPPORTUNITIES FOR PHOTJANEE/GIM FRIENDSHIP

I WANT TO SEE THEM GIRLBOSSING AND SLAYING AND BEING INCREDIBLE AMAZING MOTHERS AND WOMEN

PHOTJANEE WAS ALREADY ICONIC AND NOW SHES EVEN MORE ICONIC I LOVE HER SO FREAKING MUCH

"i needed to close the shop to handle you here! you keep causing trouble. i told you, didn't i? do whatever you want but dont put me in trouble" HONESTLY? GO OFF QUEEN

"wont you fight for me mum?" "i wont! im not as kind as those mums in the series!" im so sorry maam, i hate to break it to you, but you... you're a mum in one of those series

KIND PRINCIPAL, STRICT MOTHER, I LOVE THIS

CLOSING THE CLUB FOR ONE YEAR???? JEEZ DUDE, NEVER MIND ABOUT THE KIND PRINCIPAL THING

gun's very vague plan which is the exact plot of the canon series, but bc hes gun hes explaining it very haphazardly to por and its very funny

"your baby" "...why are you so eager to speak in english?" "why? i can do so. im good at it, whats your problem" first of all, iconic. second, yes youre very very good i love you youre amazing and better than most english speakers (i know he only said two words, shut up, i need por to know hes doing good). third, im desperately hoping this is somehow related to something tiwpor

im rly rooting for more canonical tiwpor in this au

maybe some handholding

perhaps a cheek kiss

possibly even a kiss kiss (PLEASE P'AU)

"love while lighting the candle is like going to school in the rain" did the quote change or was this a translation error. cos thats not what tiw said.

OHH OKAY POR SAID IT WRONG

"it's the same anyway. i just said it backward, not a big deal. it's a mix of languages, you know. im not good at thai, im not fluent" interesting (picture the fish on my icon stroking my chin) very interesting

THE OTHERS' INSTRUMENTS

i think

are those all just gun's dad's?

i mean tinn's dads

this is confusing

in this scenario is tinn's dad still an author aspiring musician?? or is he a musician? or is tinn's dad dead in this scenario but gun's isnt?? explanations pls and ty

or is that sound's electric guitar and yo's acoustic and stuff

gosh freaking darnnit im tired again, why does my body keep doing that to me

im gonna post this and go to bed and finish it like. tomorrow afternoon.

gejbsegdh i really feel like im gonna feel like im missing out but i cannot keep my eyes open

goodnight folks, i hope you all enjoyed the episode! bye byeeeee

#quodekash watches our skyy 2 despite desperately needing to sleep #soundwin #winsound #satangwinny #winnysatang #satang kittiphop #winny thanawin #tinngun #guntinn #geminifourth #gem4th #gemini norawit #fourth nattawat #my school president #my school president the series #tiwpor #tiwsonpor #markford #mark pakin #ford allan #ford arun #prom theepakon #captain passatorn #yo msp #msp yo #pat msp #msp pat #phat msp #msp phat