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rnelodyy · 3 years

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c!Dream and the rules

(/dsmp /rp, all names refer to characters, not content creators)

I think one of the most striking parts of Exile is something that I rarely see talked about, and it’s Dream’s rules. Or rather, how his rules were made to be used as justification to hurt Tommy.

The thing about exile is that, outside of the initial rule of “Don’t go back to L’Manburg”, Dream never told Tommy the rules, yet constantly operated under the assumption that Tommy already knew them, and had accepted them. The rules also changed constantly, without Tommy ever being notified until he was already in trouble.

The second time Dream told Tommy to put his armor in the hole, he didn’t tell Tommy to do that right away. Instead, the conversation went like this (slightly edited to remove stammering and unrelated dialogue).

Dream: Do you have, uh… something you wanna put on the floor here? Tommy: Yes. (drops two pieces of red concrete as Dream digs a hole) Dre-eam! You’re evil. You’re evil. Dream: Anything else, Tommy? Tommy: Nope! Dream: Oh c’mon, I know there’s something else you wanna drop down here. Tommy: (panicking slightly) No, there… (messages BBH “take this and run”, throws him the disc BBH had gifted him earlier) Um… I don’t reckon there is! (pause) Dream: Okay, are you suuuure? Tommy: YES. Dream: Alright… How ‘bout your armor, Tommy? Tommy: Well, no, this is- I actually earned this myself. Dream: I know you did! Tommy: Leave me alone. Dream: Just drop it in the hole, Tommy. Tommy: Wh- no, NO, you can’t just come and demand things from me! I’ve been exiled, I’ve done your shit, what do you mean?! Dream: (sing-song) Tommy… Tommy: What? (Dream hits Tommy with his axe, taking over half his health) Tommy: (screams, drops his armor) OKAY OKAY OKAY OKAY OKAY OKAY OKAY!

The only rule Tommy was aware of at this time was that he wasn’t allowed to go back to L’Manburg. Dream had taken his armor the night before, but there was no indication that he expected Tommy to do this constantly. Taking his armor upon initially arriving at Logstedshire made some kind of sense, allowing Tommy to keep it would run the risk of him trying to fight his way back into L’Manburg. Taking his new, very shitty armor (seriously it was an iron chestplate and a pair of golden leggings he got from a ruined portal chest) made no sense at all, so the fact that Tommy was confused and refused to cooperate at first isn’t unexpected in the slightest.

And the thing is… Dream was aware of this fact. Throughout the conversation, he never really sounded annoyed, and was actively teasing Tommy at times. This isn’t a good thing btw, it’s a sign that he was fully aware that Tommy didn’t know what he wanted from him, and that that would create a situation where Dream could “put him in his place” as it were.

If you’re a parent, and your kid does something that’s not allowed, without knowing it’s not allowed, you don’t start off with a beating. You sit them down, calmly explain the rules to them and explain why those rules are there, then send them on their way with the knowledge that they shouldn't do it again.

This interaction wasn’t an instance of Tommy acting out and Dream correcting him. This interaction was a trap. Dream set Tommy up to fail by not telling him the rules beforehand, and when Tommy offered even the slightest bit of resistance and asked why he needed to drop his armor, Dream jumped straight to beating him. It’s a powerplay, plain and simple.

This is demonstrated again with the destruction of Logstedshire. Dream got pissed that Tommy disobeyed him by having hidden chests with gear under his house, and retaliated by destroying everything Tommy had built, destroying every item he’d collected, killing his pet and only foodsource, barring him from the Nether, banning everyone except himself from visiting, and telling him to start over from scratch after a whole lecture about how Tommy betrayed him.

Again, I wanna point out some specific lines from this lecture that illustrate my point very well.

Dream: You were lying to me! You were lying to me. Tommy: No- Why was I lying?! Dream: What do you mean, why were you lying?! Tommy: I wasn’t hi- I wasn’t- Dream: You hid things in a chest knowing they were things I wouldn’t want you to have! And you hid it in a way that way I would never find it!

Except Tommy didn’t know that. The contents of the stash were all items that Tommy had obtained previously without any issue (diamonds, emeralds, iron, ender pearls, some pickaxes, and some purely sentimental items like flowers, a jukebox, and pictures of Tubbo and L’Manburg). In fact, the vast majority of them came from Tommy’s aboveground storage, which Dream had full access to, and had looked through before!

Dream also never said Tommy wasn’t allowed to hide stuff, and there was nothing to suggest he didn’t want Tommy to keep secrets from him.

There’s been a theory floating around for a while that Dream knew about Tommy’s item stash beforehand, since it was a very strange place to dig a hole (like, right in front of the house in the center of Logstedshire itself, instead of out in the plains where the TNT wouldn’t damage any structures), and Tommy had previously forgotten to cover up the entrance ladder. While Dream hadn’t looked inside the house, he would’ve definitely heard Tommy place the block back.

If this theory is correct, then this was yet another trap. Dream knew Tommy had a hidden room, and instead of just saying “hey, I don’t want you to have a hidden stash, go put this back and fill in the room” (which would’ve still been bullshit btw), he went COMPLETELY ballistic, destroyed EVERYTHING Tommy had, and while doing it, kept admonishing Tommy for betraying him, said shit like “I thought we were friends”, and even accused him of preparing to attack Dream. Again, a powerplay.

Hell, even the exile conflict itself is this! Tommy was exiled for griefing the king’s property while being a high-ranking official in L’Manburg. Except Fundy, the then-president’s son, CONSTANTLY griefed Eret’s shit after the L’Manburg war, ranging from ripping down one of their towers to “shrink” it, filling another tower with water, and multiple elaborate plots to steal the throne from under their nose. But apparently, between all of that shit and the exile-conflict, the rules were silently changed, meaning Dream could exile Tommy for breaking a couple blocks and placing some rude signs in George’s house. Even the punishment itself was changed without warning, as Tommy went from being exiled from L’Manburg to exiled from “everywhere that’s ever been touched.”

...I was originally gonna make a different point here. I may put it in the reblogs, because I still think it’s very interesting. But, in the middle of writing this essay I had to stop because it was late, then I spent the entire next day packing up because I’m in the middle of a move. It's now the next evening, I'm sat in my new room, on my camping bed, I opened this doc because I pretty much forgot what I typed, I reread it, and then I realized… This isn’t an isolated series of events. This is a pattern for Dream.

Before Tommy first joined the server, there were only three set rules: no stealing, no griefing, and no killing people. Except by that point, those rules weren’t enforced at all. In fact, Dream broke all three at once at one point, by killing George and burning his diamond armor because he didn’t feel it was fair that George got to run around in full diamond when everyone else still had iron.

Tommy joined the server, and broke the rules like everyone else. He stole shit, broke shit, killed George for funsies… and he got exiled for it. Seriously, they dumped him in an empty snowfield for breaking rules that nobody had enforced for weeks. So technically, the Exile-arc isn’t even the first time something like this has happened to him!

During the events that would eventually spark the Disc War, Sapnap stole a bunch of Tommy’s items (including the only Netherite chestplate on the server at the time), and told him he’d only give the stuff back if Tommy helped him with a conflict he had with Ponk. Long story short, Dream tried to intervene and was killed by Tommy and Sapnap, and Dream stole Tommy’s discs to force him to apologize. He then kept the discs, and the Disc War followed. Sapnap, despite being the aggressor and arguably forcing Tommy to participate in the conflict, was never punished.

This proves not only that the rules can change whenever Dream feels like it, but that they’re arbitrarily enforced. Dream refuses to punish his friends for the same crimes he endlessly fucks over Tommy for.

L’Manburg was created in part because of the fact that the rules were unevenly enforced. Tommy, Wilbur, and later Tubbo were repeatedly killed, stolen from, imprisoned, and even held hostage for very minor crimes, while the people killing, imprisoning, kidnapping and stealing from them were able to do so without impunity.

This was also the point where Dream just started making up new rules; there was no rule against having governments on the server, or making a separate area where Dream’s rules wouldn’t apply, so Dream banned governments, and used this new rule as an excuse to kill them, take their items, and tear their land to shreds.

And that’s another thing: the punishments for breaking Dream’s rules are INCREDIBLY harsh.

Kill him non-canonically one time? Your most prized possessions will now be dangled over your head and used to hurt you for the next few months.

Make a country with different laws that doesn’t infringe on anyone’s territory, has no desire to expand, is explicitly pacifistic and open to trade negotiations? You’ll be forced to fight a war you’re in no way equipped to fight, you’ll be betrayed and murdered and have your land destroyed in front of your very eyes until you literally have no choice but to surrender.

Mildly vandalize the king’s house, which nobody else has ever been punished for? You’ll be dragged into court, exiled from your home, and subjected to weeks of abuse until you believe that all of your friends hate you and you actively want to kill yourself.

Hide some stuff in a secret chest? Your only shelter will be exploded, your pet/only food source will be killed, all your items will be destroyed, you’ll be banned from the Nether, and none of your friends will be allowed to come see you.

This is all such disproportionate retribution it’s ridiculous. It’s like punishing someone for speeding by blowing up their car with a ballistic missile.

So to sum up: Dream’s rules are arbitrarily enforced, and he can just straight up make them up on the spot if he feels like it. Sometimes, he won’t tell you a rule exists until you’ve already broken it, and you’re treated as if you broke it out of malice instead of genuine ignorance. And if you do break a rule, and he decides you have to be punished, it will always be a punishment so harsh it doesn’t even ATTEMPT to fit the crime.

I don’t know about you, but that sounds pretty fucking corrupt and tyrannical to me.

When people say Tommy deserved exile, or made Dream spiral into villainy, or abused Dream somehow (seriously I’ve seen this take multiple times and every time it makes my brain melt) by breaking the rules, I would invite them to take a step back and ask themselves, why did that rule exist? Did Tommy know it existed? Was it enforced for everyone other than him as well? Does the punishment fit the crime?

Dream has a bad habit of making up rules, or enforcing old ones that were never enforced before, to punish those who threaten his power. None of the Dream Team were ever punished for anything, despite committing the same crimes as the L’Manburgians. That is, until they founded Mexican L’Manburg (i.e. went against Dream’s rule), at which point they were attacked by Dream and George was dethroned for “not being neutral enough.”

Tommy should’ve faced consequences for what he did. But those consequences should’ve come naturally, and been carried out by the people he hurt. Like, if Dream hadn’t intervened, griefing George’s house would’ve resulted in George griefing Tommy back in revenge. In fact, he DID do that, by turning Tommy’s entire house into granite and putting the Jump In The Cadillac picture on his front lawn.

These are natural, proportionate consequences. Exile was none of that. The Disc War was none of that. Everything that happened to L’Manburg was none of that.

Dream’s rules and how he enforces them are inherently corrupt and tyrannical. To pretend it’s anything but is disingenuous at best.

#dream smp #dsmp #dsmp analysis #c!dream #c!tommy #tommyinnit #dreamwastaken #i had a COMPLETELY different point that i wanted to make but then i thought about it and went w a i t #uhhh if you wanna hear my original point lemme know i guess #anyway c!dream is such an interesting character! i hate him!#little green bastard man #c!dream critical

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thesunicarusfellfor · 3 years

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Small Actions (Create Big Ripples) CC!Plat!Ranboo x GN!Reader

I've been thinking lately about this little drabble and it makes me a bit upset? Like.. I'm in this position high key but theres nothing I can do about it...

(R/R/n) stands for Ranboo's real name. Also if you're really tall.... No you're not. Shhhh. For plot purposes

You stayed away from social media as much as possible. Now, don't get me wrong, you used to love watching Youtubers play their games and happily interact with their fans.. But growing up, you never seemed to have enough money to donate when they streamed, or go to events where they were.

You had always wanted to tell them how much they've helped you through life, or shaped your personality.. Or saved you. But... They get told that every day by over hundreds of people.. So there would be no real sentiment behind it..

You'd probably just get a simple, "Aw. Happy I could help." Before turning back to their game without blinking twice.

So, you just watched silently. It hurt, you know? Wanting to thank them, or send them something to show your appreciation.. But you never seemed to be able to send it, with the thought that 'it won't really matter to them after five minutes.. You'll just be brushed over. It's pointless.'

Eventually it hurt too much to keep watching the content creators that raised you, so you just stopped and went on with your life.

It was hard, but at least you didn't have to deal with the fact that you would never be able to thank the people you watched for making your life that much better.

As time went on, while you still heard about the creators, it was just... less. Now people were non stop blabbering about these people from something called the DreamSMP?

Your sister was obsessed with it to say the least, and you always heard her mumbling about strange people like Technoblade? Or Sapnap? And apparently some people had children with inanimate objects?! Like a Samsung Fridge and a salmon?! Yeah you didn't even bother trying to understand what she was rambling about most of the times. It just spun your head in circles.

"Okay, I gotta take my mutt to the vet," Your sister and closest friend, (S/n), tilted her head towards the backseat to her dog as you sat in the passenger seat. "You think you'll be good to do the shopping for two or so hours? I'll call when I'm finished, and plus I know how you can get distracted with looking at some things."

"Yeah, I think I'll be good." You nodded slightly, going over the list in your hand of things to get for your classes, food and just some clothing for the changing seasons.

(S/n) pulled into the parking lot and looked you over briefly, "You forgot your mask didn't you?" She watched as your hands flew up to your face to feel for the fabric, but you didn't find it so you fished through the pockets of your sweater before smiling nervously at the driver. "Uuugggggggghhhh. Of course. Okay, I got a new one from the merch store that you can use, but do not damage it! I spent a whole $30 on it!"

Scoffing as you rolled your eyes, you snagged the half white and half black mask away from her, "You and your merch. Honestly, (S/n), your obsession scares me. But anyway, thanks. I won't get it damaged, I swear." You pulled the mask onto your face after giving her a smile and walked into the store as she drove off.

Sighing slightly, you walked in, sanitized your hands, and set off on your journey to find the things you needed. Surprisingly, today seemed to be a good day as you miraculously pulled the card that didn't have the busted wheel!

Humming a soft tune to yourself, you paced up and down aisles in search of (S/n)'s favourite coffee. Pausing for a moment as you scanned the shelves, you finally spotted it and made a noise of anger as you realized it was on the very top shelf. "Oh, I hate it here..." You mumbled, a phrase you had picked up from your sister who was really big on trends like that.

Grumbling to yourself, you stood on the tips of your toes, jumped up and down, even climbed the shelves a small bit, but it just seemed to brush by your fingertips every time. Apparently it had been long enough to the point where someone had wandered into the aisle as well.

"Hey... Uh.. Nice mask? You need help?" A male voice asked very hesitantly making your head turn towards him. He was t a l l and literally could tower over you if you got close enough. He had fluffy dirty blonde hair possibly? It looked a little damp so you couldn't really tell. Rain had been in the weather report, but guess it couldn't hold off long enough. Oddly enough, he was wearing dark sunglasses and the exact same mask as you?

'Maybe he's a fan of one of (S/n)'s fandoms?' You stepped back with a sheepish smile and a blush. "Oh! Yes please! Uhm.. Also, could you tell me about what these masks represent? This is my sister's... And I kinda want to make sure I'm not looking like I'm part of some gang or something."

The tall boy reached up for the coffee before pausing midway through and looking at you in surprise. "You don't know who... Oh, it's just from a Twitch Streamer.." He murmured rather softly as he got the coffee down for you.

With a cheerful "Thank you!" You placed the container in the cart. "Oh? Yeah that makes sense. My sister loves that kind of stuff. Are they... A good person?"

"I-I'd like to think so." He nodded quickly. "Are you not.. Like, a fan of content creators? Like.. Uh.. Dream or (P/F/C)?" (Past favourite creator)

"Well... I mean I used to really like (p/f/c) when I was younger. But it kind of... Saddened me, you know?"

He looked at you again and tilted his head a bit, "Saddened you? Did they do something bad?"

"No no! It's just... I try to avoid joining fandoms, even if they make me really happy while in them despite the toxicity. I really enjoy the people who create content, and I like watching them have fun... It's just.." Were you really gonna spill some personal stuff to some stranger who showed you the slightest bit of kindness? Not originally. But he kept watching you, patiently waiting for you to continue the sentence. "They'll... Never know.. How much they saved me."

"Oh.. I see. Yeah.. I've had that happen a lot. When, I watch this guy's streams," He pulled at his mask for a moment, "People always donate money and tell him how much they appreciate him for getting them through rocky times.. It's heartwarming to say the least but he does sound genuinely thankful."

"Oh that's sweet.. What does he do? Or what's he like?" You asked with a smile, although he couldn't see it, as you crouched down to get something from the sheleves. "Unless you have places to be of course!"

He looked a little surprised at first, "Ah... I got time. It's just.. Kinda nice being able to talk to people again after quarantine..." He trailed off briefly before taking something off the shelf as well and putting it in his basket, "Uh.. The streamer is a popular minecraft player. He recently hit a record during a stream and everyone lost their minds. He's a little painfully awkward at some points but he enjoys playing the games and interacting with his chat."

"Oh he sounds nice! I would definitely want to friends with someone like him!" You chuckled softly before frowning and glancing away. "Oh.. Popular.. So I'd be another comment in the flood of a chat.. Damn. I got a little excited. Oh! My bad, I'm (Y/n). Nice to meet you!" You laughed softly in an attempt to brush off the sad atmosphere you made.

"(R/r/n). But everyone just calls me Ranboo. Nice to meet you too." He sounded as if he was smiling but there was a soft sadness in his tone. "Do you not like popular streamers then?"

"No, it's just... that I had always wanted to tell them how much they've helped me through life, or shaped my personality.. Or saved me.. But... They get told that every day by over hundreds of people.. So there would be no real sentiment behind it.. I suppose it just left me feeling a bit hopeless and like a broken record of every other fan of theirs. So, I just watched silently. It hurt, you know? Wanting to thank them, or send them something to show appreciation.. But I never seemed to be able to send it, with the thought that 'it won't really matter to them after five minutes.. You'll just be brushed over. It's pointless.'.."

Ranboo seemed slightly more upset and he shifted his basket into his other hand, "I don't think it's like that at all.. I believe that streamers and creators truly cherish anyone who even interacts with their videos, and even though they know there's some people in the world who can't say anything or buy their merchandise, the creators still know that they're there. They appreciate everyone who comes along their path, whether they support them by giving them money, criticism or their attention!"

You blinked at how... Passionate your new friend was about this topic before smiling softly. "I guess... It never passed my mind.. Thank you Ranboo.. Hey, you wanna be friends and get to know each other more?"

His expression was unreadable due to the fabric covering his mouth and nose, and the glasses covering his eyes. "Oh! Sure!" He sounded quite happy, so you were guessing that you weren't being too awkward. "Here's my number, as long as you promise to never give it to anyone. Even if someone wants to get to know me, okay?"

You took out your phone and looked at him with a strange expression, but quickly nodded. 'Maybe he is just really strict about his privacy.' Once he gave you the number, you sent a quick text to him to give him your contact in return. "Great! It was wonderful meeting you, I hope we can hang out more often! After.. covid of course."

Eagerly nodding, Ranboo finished writing your contact into his phone and slipped it back into his pocket. "Oh yeah definitely! I'll see you soon, (Y/n)!"

Parting your separate ways, you looked down at the newly added contact, 🤍Ranboo🖤 (Platonic hearts), with a smile.

Maybe small actions weren't as useless as you thought...

#ranboolive #ranboo #ranboo x reader #ranboo x you #ranboo dreamsmp #ranboo dsmp #mcyt x reader #mcyt x you #reader insert #x reader

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zeta-in-de-walls · 4 years

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Okay, in the wake of the L’Manburg war, allow me to get meta for a bit.

Now obviously the war, and the SMP server in general, are just for content. The stakes are all fictional - nebulous things like freedom on a minecraft server, sentimental value placed on music discs and all that nonsense.

Bearing that in mind, I want to discuss how it played out.

Who were the best players? It’s clear who were the most powerful and dangerous as enemies - Dream, George, Sapnap and Punz. (I’m leaving aside Eret for the moment btw) They all had full netherite armour, planted TNT traps and planned betrayals and ambushes to win the war. They had the upperhand throughout. Meanwhile the other side felt weak and ill-prepared and did very little damage to any of their opponents.

But you know, being more powerful doesn’t actually make for much content on its own. What makes good content? A good narrative filled with drama, tension and excitement. In those terms, we’re looking at Tommy and Wilbur carrying the server with this war.

The second they said independence and made some grand speeches, there were stakes. Instead of the server being a somewhat peaceful building simulator, it was in a state of conflict. Alliances were created, flags were made, Hamilton and Revolutionary war references were heard, matching skins and all that were being created. Putting great significance into stuff like a patch of tilled soil, suggesting carrying sticks instead of weapons and wearing no armour but fighting with words - that’s the sort of stuff that made this whole scenario work. Without it, this dispute wouldn’t have been able to call itself a war. They even make ridiculous stuff sound convincing - just the idea of calling L’Manberg its own separate server that happens to be inside another server with the running costs still being paid by Dream. It’s crazy but it works.

And my goodness, did they have their work cut out for them.

You see, I feel like Dream and co. weren’t really playing along. They heard ‘war!’ and thought - let’s win. Let’s absolutely crush the enemy! No mercy.

Now playing the villain can be cool, sure. And it kinda worked here. But only just. Some of their actions definitely irked me.

See, there are kind of unspoken agreements in stuff like letting people prepare, not attacking too early, that sort of thing. You tell everyone that the war’s gonna take place at 7pm and sure enough it does. And there’s Dream’s server rules: No stealing and no griefing. These rules do get bent in the middle of an ongoing battle - eg battles often involve a lot of placing and breaking blocks and when you’re low on stuff, trying to run to a nearby chest to grab some last minute supplies is going to happen (and later after the battle’s done you’ll probably get yelled at a little before making up) - but generally they are upheld. Especially when others are offstream and you aren’t in the middle of something.

‘Ah but it was war - rules can be broken!’ one might argue. Yeah, no, this is entertainment. You don’t start early because you’re going to ruin the stream and make the content worse - and the whole point of the war is to make good content. Like, when WIlbur’s stream died - they asked for a pause so WIlbur could sort out technical difficulties before continuing.

Yeah so Dream and Sapnap basically broke all the rules in order to win. Fundy and Tommy put up insulting signs in different languages. Funny content. Dream and Sapnap burned Tubbo’s house to the ground. Err... okay that’s a bit excessive but we can make it work. No mercy, ha.

So Tommy asked Tubbo to prep for the war. Tubbo agreed and got to work to try and balance the already uneven odds. At this point, the war’s in a day and all of Dream’s side has full netherite and none of L’Manburg do save Eret. Time is short but that just makes it all the more exciting.

So Tubbo uses villagers and trading, stealing a frugal amount to get himself started before really getting into it and grinding for diamond armour and makes nine stacks of emeralds - enough to place some high level enchants and even the odds a little and make the fight interesting.

While Tubbo’s offline, Sapnap comes in and steals them, getting books to enchant his own set of netherite armour using Tubbo’s set up. Well then. There goes any hope of a fair fight. And they are trying, you know. They realise the armour discrepancy so they’ve been trying to get potions but even that’s a struggle - when Dream finished his apology stream he logged on to the SMP without warning and managed to kill Tubbo before he could get away while his inventory had been full of potions. (Tommy and Tubbo had been visiting Dream’s base to put a sign in it - an offer of Mellohi for peace. Nothing comes of this sign or any of the other Tommy put in other people’s houses - more potential good content there like demanding Sapnap stay neutral in return for a supply blaze powder (a ref to the drug war that preceded this conflict)). It’s not that Dream killing Tubbo is the issue - it’s more how he logged on basically without warning so Tubbo had little chance to get away as he was mostly unarmoured and ungeared.

Still, the next day Tubbo is trying to grind back up, to even up things a little. He’s only managed to get 2 end crystals and he has a few sets of plain diamond armour and a few books. So he grinds like crazy in the limited time, trading all his iron, chopping trees, carrots, bamboo, sugar, everything he has into emeralds. But he needs levels. He tries to go to the spawner which the other side has been freely using to grind up exp and they kill him when he goes near. One time, Dream kills him while he has several books on him so he has to trade back emeralds to get them again. And now he doesn’t have a good way to get experience so he can’t even the odds. Punz and Sapnap even combatlog inside the spawner so if he goes near they’d come online and kill him. And yeah, they’re stream sniping. They’ve all streamed very little, hiding all their preparations while taking advantage of the fact that the other side have all been streaming everything they’ve been doing.

‘Imagine streamsniping.’ Tommy and co. said that at one point during today’s conflict. It’s cheap - it’s not fun, it’s taking advantage - one that’s not even necessary as you’re already all OP. Dream’s side aren’t the underdog, they don’t need every single advantage to win this. Instead it’s more like rubbing salt into the wound.

And yeah, despite all the griefing that Dream side have done, not once does anyone grief anything of theirs - like the chat was totally asking for them to burn down Punz’s house. No, they just place signs and talk.

Okay, so Tommy announced the war would be at 7pm. He logs on at 6.45 to say hello and hype all his viewers up, get his music playing and give a rundown of the situation and what’s occurred since he’s last streamed. No sooner has he logged on then Tubbo gets ambushed early! They attacked prematurely!

...

It’s like there was one rule - war begins at 7pm. And instead Dream, George and Sapnap all attacked Tubbo at his base at 6.45. Tommy is ages away and can’t do anything and Fundy’s in trouble too and Tubbo just barely manages to save the gear he has managed to prep. They’re even more on the backfoot. All their strats are known anyway as they’ve been watching streams so they know all about the potions and endcrystals while Tommy’s side are in the dark about Dream’s side’s preparations. For instance, offstream they filled Tommy’s base and L’Manburg with Tnt which they set off to devastating effect.

The ‘war’ is as one-sided as you’d expect. Tommy and co. are trying to attack even though they lack arrows and food and are hopelessly outmatched but they put up a pretence of trying anyway. At no point is a single one of Dream’s side even moderately threatened (except perhaps when they ambushed Tubbo early as he tried using harming potions) and everyone knows it.

Still, Tommy and Wilbur push on - they talk, they rally etc. Finally, Eret betrays them and they’re all killed in an ambush. And they’re shocked by this twist, they react, they call Eret their downfall. (Dream’s side didn’t need to resort to such tactics to win given their obvious advantage.) and Eret being a traitor is fantastic for content anyway so it is a great part of the narrative that they all react to perfectly. Eret seems to have a good instinct for making good content as well as this sort of twist is a good addition. It works because its drama - they trusted him and they never expected him to betray them to the other side after all they’d built together.

In the end, Tommy finishes it on a high with a dramatic bow duel followed by offering the discs in exchange for freedom. And fittingly, despite have being entirely outplayed in terms of power and tactics, they win the thing they cared about - which was the independence that they started the war for. The content - not anything material. Dream’s side was far stronger and better prepared and they weren’t given so much as a chance to catch up for a pvp conflict. But L’Manberg - they got that.

Okay, so this has been long and I’ll probably rewrite something similar soon - but I wanted to highlight how in meta terms, the war was being played unfairly and its obvious that Dream’s side had different priorities - win under any means necessary rather than continue to make great content for the SMP. They’re treating it like a manhunt or something when its absolutely not and shouldn’t be. They’re lucky that Wilbur and Tommy were so good at making it work as they do all the heavy-lifting for the SMP which ensures its got a healthy lifespan.

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yurimother · 4 years

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LGBTQ Visual Novel Review - OshiRabu: Waifus Over Husbandos

If you are at all interested in Yuri or visual novels, you will have undoubtedly heard of OshiRabu: Waifus Over Husbandos. The Yuri rom-com was one of Steam’s top 20 February releases, and it hit the trending page on the platform. These accomplishments are incredible, and it is lovely to see both a visual novel and a Yuri game get so much love and recognition. However, whenever a title succeeds and manages to make an impact outside of the Yuri community, it always brings up a few questions. Mainly, does it deserve to be one of the few Yuri titles to obtain “mainstream success” and is it a positive ambassador for the genre, one which can further Yuri’s popularity and pull new consumers into it? These concerns boil down to one question, is it good? Usually, this inquiry is pretty quickly answered, with most elements of a product either being positive or negative. However, OshiRabu delivers more of a challenge. There are some fantastic parts to this game which I applaud and gush over, yet there are also several problems, both major and minor. The dichotomy between OshiRabu’s highs and lows is possibly the strongest I have ever seen in a Yuri title.

OshiRabu: Waifus Over Husbandos is the debut game of SukeraSomero, the new sister brand of the excellent Yuri studio, SukeraSparo. The plot follows Akuru Hayahoshi, an otaku with an obsession with her “husbandos” from gacha games and seriously bad luck. One day she bumps into a cute and bubbly student, Ren Furutachi. After Ren shows off her uncanny good luck to Akuru, a miscommunication sees Ren believing that Akuru confesses to her. For Ren, it is love at first sight, and she persistently negotiates her way into living with the older woman.

The rest of the game flits between comedic moments as Akuru and Ren live together. Examples include the girls shopping for a new bed, since Ren insists on sleeping next to Akuru, and Akuru creating boys’ love doujinshi with her friend Shino. There is, of course, a climax, which will not be spoiled in this review, and three possible endings, depending on two-player choices. An optional 18+ DLC expands on one of the endings and offers several explicit scenes.

There are some enjoyable aspects of this plot. For one, it is light and pleasant, never letting itself settle too much or grow stale. The situations are not hilarious but enjoyable and well suited to the with the characters’ personalities, and establishing several recurring themes and jokes, such as Shino teasing Ren and Ren accusing Akuru of cheating. There is an excessive amount of adorable fluff, which matches well with the overall tone of the game. These delightful moments cater to a variety of interests and fixations, so every reader is likely to find something they like. My personal favorite was a brief imagination sequence where Ren and Akuru have a child together, cute Yuri stories about women raising a kid are one of my weaknesses, and the reason Voltage’s Lovestruck has stolen hundreds of dollars from me.

The writing is also fantastic. The descriptive prose makes me laugh at the poor quality English translations we had a decade ago, and sometimes still unfortunately get. SukeraSomero deserves a great deal of praise for the simultaneous English, Japanese, and Chinese release. It is amazing that everyone got to experience this game together all over the world, without having to wait years for a possible license and translation. English translator Meru is one of the best in the business, and her work shines here. Her adaptation is amazing and fits the games’ modern setting and feel. I personally do not care for the amount of internet culture language included, such as Ren calling Akuru a “thot,” simply because such terminology tends to become dated quickly. However, I will defend the creative choices as accurate to Oguri Aya’s original story.

There is one more major compliment I have to give this game, and it is a big one. OshiRabu is extremely queer. While most Yuri titles exist as lesbian or lesbian adjacent content with little construction of LGBTQ identity, for example naming, displaying meaningful sexual and romantic relationships, or showing any aspect of queer culture, OshiRabu does all of these. I was floored when, early on in the story, Ren confesses to Akuru that she is a “lesbian.” The word lesbian is actually used directly in the visual novel, an unfortunate rarity for the Yuri genre. I even swapped the game into the original Japanese to confirm, and there again was the coming-out moment; the word “lesbian,” in all its glory, was planted right on the screen. This fantastic scene was not a one-off occurrence either.

Throughout OshiRabu, Ren continuously mentioned her homosexuality, which is usually juxtaposed by Akuru pondering her own sexuality, which she defines as an attraction to 2D men and nothing else. Although, her identity obviously changes because you know the women must end up together by the end. Some other excellent scenes feature queer representation. For example, at one point in the game, Akuru goes to a gay bookstore where another woman approaches her. When trying to explain that she is not interested, Akuru almost exclaims, “I’m normal,” a sentiment which she quickly realizes is hurtful and prejudice with some spectacular self-reflected narration. Moments like these offer nuanced and thoughtful presentations of LGBT culture and are the definite highlight of the game.

Sadly, not every aspect of the visual novel is as fantastic as these. In fact, many parts of it range from unfortunate to downright atrocious. First, the characters, while not awful or unlikeable, have some harmful qualities to them. Akuru is distant and introverted, which often leads to her being cold or even rude to Ren, which is never confronted or resolved. On her part, Ren is sadly the stereotypical aggressive lesbian, and frequently invades Akuru’s personal space, a topic which is again never reconciled. It is fine to have a character make problematic choices, but when their actions do not have consequences and conflicts have no resolution, it is a significant issue. The only character I unequivocally enjoyed was Shino, as she spends the whole game humorously teasing the two.

Speaking of conflicts, the final dramatic twist comes about as a result of Ren running away and refusing to communicate with Akuru. It turns out, minor spoilers, that she was testing her, which is a pathetic and ridiculous action which in real life can and should have serious repercussions or even end the partnership. Additionally, the topic of Akuru’s shared affection for Ren and her virtual husbandos, which is an immense source of stress for Ren, is not addressed in the base game, only the DLC. The extra content has its own set of problems too.

It is not uncommon for visual novels to include adult content in a separate patch so they can sell the base game on Steam. However, such adult patches are usually free, and OshiRabu’s is not, instead it sells for $4.99. This price is on top of the $24.99 base game, which means you are shelling out 30 dollars for the complete experience. An experience which, mind you. only clocks in at about 3 hours, hardly what I would call a value. It is an additional shame because the adult content is really well done. All the 18+ scenes, except for maybe the brief first one, showcase a tender loving relationship and skillfully written erotic content, although one or two metaphors did not land very well. However, not every player will want the 18+ content, and OshiRabu essentially forces them to play through it if they are going to see all the base game’s conflicts resolved.

There is also an unfortunate amount of service. While most of OshiRabu’s service is just sweet and cute moments between the characters, there is plenty of exploitative artwork designed to cater to specific players of a more perverted persuasion. Ren is usually the subject of such content, with shots featuring her panties and one extremely revealing cosplay outfit consisting of little more than two strips of cloth. Obviously, some players will enjoy these aspects of the game, but they did not work well for me, especially when I compared such clumsy service with the robust adult content.

However, this exploitative artwork, along with the rest of the game’s art, is phenomenally well crafted. Artist and character designer DSmile creates detailed and colorful illustrations that match the light comedic tone of the game. The adorable and vibrant artwork, drawn in a light watercolor style, makes my heart sing! There are also plenty of CG pieces, over 20, including the DLC, which adds six more. Given the games short length, this means you will see a new CG every ten minutes or so. The UI is also incredibly clean, easy to navigate, and blends well with the aesthetics of the art. My only complaint visually is that the sprites are entirely static. Except for different facial expressions and a few outfit changes, they are always the exact same, standing like flat mannequins against a backdrop. There is no animation or even alternative poses for them.

The voice acting is similarly high quality. Voice actors Nekomura Yuki, Kitaooji Yuki, and Waou Kirika all give fantastic performances in Japanese, and the quality of the recordings is consistently amazing. Even the adult scenes are voiced and showcase the range of talent present. The music is not nearly as good, but it does not intrude either. There are enough tracks to prevent the music from getting too dull, although the central theme and one of the tracks, “Let’s Go Out!” push this boundary a little far. Unfortunately, none of them are too memorable either, and I can guarantee that I will never be touching the BGM tab of the extras menu.

OshiRabu: Waifus Over Husbandos is a highly polished and visually impressive experience. The visual novel contains incredible artwork and is well constructed, showing the promise and talent of SukeraSparo. The stellar, although unfortunately necessary, adult DLC, and inclusion of LGBT themes are superb aspects that could have made playing this game a blast. However, a poorly constructed story, weak characters, and a high price tag compared to the amount of content offered severely detract from the game’s success. If you do not mind excessive service or are interested in lots of cute Yuri moments, pick this one up when it goes on sale.

Ratings: Story – 5 (6 with DLC) Characters – 4 Art – 9 Voice – 10 Music – 5 LGBTQ – 10 Sexual Content – 5 (9 with DLC) Final – 5

The visual novel is available on Steam and MangaGamer

#yuri #reviews #lgbt #lgbtq #lgbtq+#queer #gay #lesbian #visual novel #oshirabu #oshirabu: waifus over husbandos #girls love #gl #wlw #video games #gaming #game

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theliterarywolf · 4 years

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Since you're an author, what's your opinion on the Internet Archive getting sued by publishers for piracy?

Oof, time to raise some eyebrows on both sides of this argument.

Let me provide an Abstract of all the points I'm going to tackle here (going full-on APA here):

While I do not believe that the Internet Archive should have been brought to court regarding this case, there does need to be a conversation had in regards to literature and book piracy. When it comes to creative fiction, memoirs, and independently-funded/created works, I don't condone piracy since authors and writers from those fields are scarcely getting paid for their work as it is. However, with textbooks and the like, due to the incredibly unbalanced 'cost-to-utility' ratio of most academically backed textbooks is horrifically skewed in favor of high costs, piracy should not only be accepted but encouraged.

Now, let's delve in:

With Internet Archive jumping in to fill a niche that libraries weren't able to due to the COVID-19 pandemic, I commend them on that. However, I don't imagine that they did much on regards to preventing people from making copies of the books they got from the Archive and distributing or even selling them. That's the case where I feel that publishers have a case in feeling as though their businesses are being attacked.

... However, this sentiment is biased from the point of view that the people who I really care about being affected by this sort of piracy are the writers themselves. I have been seeing numerous cases of recent writers who are barely breaking into their works being published being told that the publishing deals have been cancelled because someone has been distributing their works on piracy sites.

That. Is. DEVASTATING. Both fiscally and spiritually.

And I know that some of you may be thinking 'oh, that's so fucked up; that can't be happening!', but here's the thing:

The Western Book Industry is FUCKED.

I've mentioned this several times before but the whole thing is a slit-throat collection of cliques and archaic, unsustainable practices that people refuse to examine in favor of just head-hunting for people who can churn out 8 volumes of the same lowest-common denominator YA book to bring in a good few years' worth of royalty checks. The average literary agent or publishing house will not care if you have a dedicated following or customer-base if they see that any version of your work is being offered for free in any shape or form.

There is no reason to pirate a fiction book. Especially, to bring a related tangent, in the case of indie books or comics -- People, come ON. In those cases ESPECIALLY there's no reason to pirate since, more often than not, funds from sales of those books are going directly back into an author's hands rather than just a cut of them.

... Now, textbooks on the other hand?! Pirate them. If you can find a safe means to do it, pirate the hell out of any textbooks you need for school. Whereas fiction is typically priced accordingly based on a writer's skill and genre, textbooks are ALWAYS overpriced for what they are.

And talk about examples of 'planned obsolescence', depending on what field a textbook is centered on, some textbooks only have lifespans of a year if not SIX MONTHS.

And it's not like how, with a fictional book or memoir, you can resell them and the person buying them gets the initial worth of the book. With textbooks it's a literal gamble on whether you'll be able to resell since, again, by the time your underclassmen are taking your class, the book may be outdated and, ten to an even, a professor won't be lenient on them using an older edition.

And then the topic of keeping a textbook for reference. Well the information is constantly being outdated so, again, you're FUCKED.

Not to mention how, with my recent semester of grad school, I've been made privy to the fact that even some DIGITAL EDITIONS of textbooks (you know, the options most professors point out as a means to SAVE money but still have convenience of easy reference) have started running on SUBSCRIPTION SERVICE PLANS.

'Thanks for giving us money so you can have a digital textbook for class! Get ready to lose access to it in three months!'

Not to mention that a lot of textbooks' content is just bloat for the sake of the textbook writers flexing their egos. It's like those recipe websites where you just want to learn how to make cinnamon rolls out of leftover mashed potatoes but you have to scroll past a three-page anti-porn diatribe because the writer's daughters stumbled upon some smut because they didn't have Child Safety Settings on their computer.

So, in the case of a predatory industry like textbooks? I am all for piracy. If this lawsuit was focused primarily on textbook publishers being upset that someone's offering easier, more affordable options then I would say that the publishers can go fuck themselves. But with fiction and creative work, there's more nuance where such piracy could be seen as wrong.

UPDATE (6/14/20)

I just read through a detailed post explaining how the Internet Archive works which does include them implementing DRM to prevent copying/reselling. So, while I still stand to my points regarding book piracy being reprehensible (aside from the glutton that is the college textbook industry), this case really is that of certain scummy Publishers trying to stranglehold any venues of reading that they can’t get their hands on directly.

#books

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scribbling-stiks · 3 years

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Puppets - XXIII - Returning

Once the sun begins to rise, so do Texas and Louisiana, who poke their heads out of the tent and start packing up their bags. Massachusetts joins them soon after, due to the noise Texas is making if Russia had to guess. Russia douses the fire and packs his remaining belongings into his bag, keeping the tomahawk within arms reach. When he exits the tent, he sees Ute and Canada are also up and about. Canada is helping the states pack their bags, and Ute is beginning to dismantle tepees.

It took only around 30 minutes to deconstruct the camp fully and pack it up. Though, Russia could've sworn there was far more to carry than what Ute has on his back. 'How many Americans have magic?' Russia thinks, baffled. He shook off the train of thought when Ute begins walking, and he hurries to keep up. Russia walks at the back of their group, but the states are trying to include him in their conversations, which he thought was sweet. He also had to admit some of the stories they tell are hilarious.

"Remember when Tex shot a flare in the house and broke a window?" Louisiana says nonchalantly.

"LOUISIANA!" Texas exclaims, his face reddening.

"I remember," Massachusetts comments, "Dad was soo f***ing mad."

"What was it that Alabama and Mississippi did that ended with the wall in pieces?" Canada prompts from in front of the states.

Texas answers, "oh yeah. Montana dared Alabama to make a human cannon. In all honesty, Idaho should've stopped them, but once 'Bama has an idea-"

"No matter how stupid," Massachusetts interjects.

"He'll follow through. He ain't the smartest of us, but he'll be damned if he's called a quitter," Texas finishes, smirking slightly.

"How does anyone do anything in that house?" Russia asks, exasperated.

"I don't know. We usually only get together on holidays. So right now is weird as it is. Even with all that, Dad and New York can get stuff done, most of the time," Massachusetts says, shaking his head fondly.

"Even if no one is purposefully causing chaos, just talking gets to insane volumes," Louisiana says.

"I have heard," Russia says, smiling.

Suddenly, Massachusetts goes pale.

"What's wrong?" Russia asks, concerned.

"New York is going to f***ing kill us," Massachusetts says, running a hand through his hair.

Texas' face falls, "he's probably worried sick. Darn, we shoulda given him more warning."

Canada sighs sympathetically and says, "We should call him as soon as we get service." Russia agrees, and feels a pang of sympathy for New York. 'He probably thinks he lost his siblings and uncle like he lost America,' Russia thinks.

"You should," Ute says, snapping Russia out of his reverie, "according to Utah and Colorado, he's panicking and trying desperately trying to contact you five."

Russia pulls out his phone to see if he has service and stops in his tracks.

"How long were we gone?" he asks, horrified.

"A day if I had to guess," Canada replies.

"According to the date, we've been gone for more than a week," Russia replies shakily, looking up to see the group had stopped.

"WHAT? Lemme see that!" Texas exclaims, rushing over to Russia.

"How?!" Massachusetts demands.

"Oh no," Louisiana mutters quietly.

Canada just stares back, frozen. Texas nearly snatches Russia's phone out of his hands, and slumps over, defeated when Russia's words are verified.

"We should keep moving. The sooner we get back to the road, the sooner you will have signal," Ute says, urging them forward again.

The once happy mood became sullen, and Russia can faintly hear Texas mumbling about "stupid magic" and "a whole week lost." Russia agrees with the sentiment, and can't imagine the chaos that must be the house of the remaining states. His pace becomes quicker, and the others do the same. The image of New York the day America was captured flashes in Russia's mind. Tomahawk in his hand, swinging at his side, he treks forward.

He briefly wonders about how his father is handling his disappearance. 'Probably not well,' Russia muses.

The sun is high in the sky, and his shadow is nearly invisible by the time they approach the road. Russia sees the rails above them, but he doesn't see a way to climb up. "Back up," Ute says, holding a wooden staff that Russia had not seen before, and Canada backs up with the states.

Ute slams the wooden staff into the dirt twice, and the ground shifts. Slabs of dirt and stone rise to create steps. Russia stares up at the stairs, and when he turns back to Ute, the staff he had been holding is gone.

"This is where I must say goodbye," Ute says, "I cannot go any further with you. The monsters here have been significantly more active, and I need to be here to control it."

"Okay, so long, partner! Thanks for the help," Texas says with a wave, ascending the stairs.

"Bye, Ute!" Louisiana says happily.

"Goodbye!" Massachusetts calls.

"Thank you for your help. Wouldn't have made it without you, eh?" Canada says with a grin.

"Thank you for your help. We are very grateful," Russia says with a slight tip of his head. He then turns and climbs the stairs, following the others. He turns around from the road to wave goodbye, only to see the steps no longer existed, and Ute was nowhere to be seen.

His hand lowers, and he turns to follow the others. They walk up the road for 20 minutes until Texas spots the car and takes off into a sprint. Russia runs with him.

Russia pulls out the keys and unlocks the doors. The states hop in, and Texas falls into a seat with an audible sigh. "Yay, a comfortable seat," he says, his eyes closed.

Massachusetts laughs. Russia helps gather bags and throw them into the back of the car and he sits back in the seat. The moment he sits down and starts the car, his phone begins ringing. Turning the phone over, he sees that it's his father. He answers immediately.

"Hello?" Russia answers.

"Russia! You're okay! What happened to you? The states contacted me and told me you were missing for 9 days!" his father yells into his phone.

"I am okay. Everyone is okay. There was some magic time thing that caused it. We thought only a day had passed," Russia says.

Soviet sighs and Russia catches something ding in the background. He hears his father groan into his hands. "You will tell me everything. For now, I am being called into a UN meeting. I will talk with you soon. Goodbye," Soviet says with a tone of finality.

"Goodbye, Papa," Russia replies before hanging up.

Opening his phone, he sees dozens of missed calls and texts from New York, and later his father, demanding to know if they were alright and where he was. He sighs and calls New York, putting the call through the Bluetooth speakers in the car. The call is picked up immediately.

"Hello? This better not be a motherf***ing joke," New York says aggressively.

"Hi, New York!" Massachusetts calls from the backseat, waving sarcastically.

"Massachusetts?! Is everyone there?" New York demands frantically.

"Yes, you can calm down now," Canada replies, trying to pacify New York. Russia winces when he hears New York choke slightly. He hears the state sniffle for a moment before pulling himself together.

"Thank f***," New York mumbles, "I thought you were gone. You're okay."

The relief in his tone is thick, and Russia tries to remedy it. "Yes. We are sorry for the lack of communication," he says.

"It ain't our fault that the cave entrance collapsed," Texas chimes from his seat.

"What?! What happened?" New York asks.

"Well, something tried to trap us in a cave with a spider monster. Then we fell off a cliff," Massachusetts says flippantly.

"There were also cameras everywhere, and some guy was watching us for entertainment," Louisiana says in disgust.

"Jesus Christ. Now I know how Dad feels," New York mumbles and asks, "how did you survive?"

"Colorado's friend Ute saved us. He also helped us find the car," Texas answers.

"I guess that pot-head does have some good ideas," New York mumbles. "Dixie would want to know about this, but he was just pulled into a nations' meeting. And there is a lot of yelling. I may have to go in there and help. I'll be calling you again later, and you betta answer!" New York says before hanging up.

Russia chuckles and sits back in relief. He is certain something else is going on behind the scenes but decides that he'll figure it out another day, probably with the help of the states and his father. For now, he'll focus on driving them to their next hotel.

Table of Contents

#rusame #countryhumans #statehumans #ch russia #ch america

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zertzertzhang · 4 years

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Stand and Deliver: My Life Turned Upside Down CH.3

A/N: This is my first time writing on Tumblr, so please bear with me! I am usually active on FFNet and AO3, but since this fandom is basically nonexistent except for here, I thought maybe I could post my works for this movie here. The story is a fanfic based on the 1988 movie ‘Stand and Deliver’ starring Edward James Olmos, taking a deeper look into the lives of the impoverished students in East LA.

Eventual Angel/OC, and warnings of racial slurs with some physical violence.

Chapter Three: Living Skills

By the time she rolled into the second week of Garfield High, Vianne was sure she saw the school at its worst. Had she been honest with herself, she would’ve thought she was beginning to get used to the rioting students. It was a surprise that she became somewhat good at blocking the excess noise from them.

Hateful stares and whispered insults about her ethnicity waned as the week dragged on. The initial weariness she felt from the people around her dropped as she kept to herself. Call it paranoia or what, she could sense the heavy atmosphere boring onto her back as she passed the lockers. It was hard imagining a whole year of silence.

Vianne never saw herself as a quiet wallflower, but the situation at hand forced her mouth shut for far too long. The need to talk to someone had been building up since the day she arrived. If this was going to stretch out any longer, she could see herself talking to random objects within her peripheral vision. As if the students needed another excuse to deepen the ostracization. In her own way, Vianne was in solitary confinement.

Wait why do I need them?!

She shook her head, angry at her own slip up. There was no need for her to make any contact with people like that. Loneliness must've been a powerful force for her, for she now wanted communication from the very people set out to destroy her life. And it tore her dignity to shreds.

Biting the fleshy pulp of her lips, Vianne exhaled. There were still two more periods before she could jump into her car and drive home. Living Skills was next on her schedule, so she had to trudge across campus to her destination. The signs pointing to her class became clear as she neared the hallway.

With five minutes before the second bell, Vianne discovered the almost empty room. It was custom for things like that to happen. Usually, people were either late or scrambling in at the last second. To her, that was a blessing. Any area could be taken for her choosing.

She spotted Ana by the side near the windows. The bespectacled young woman turned her head to look at her when she arrived at the scene. A shy smile crossed Ana’s face, and she waved. Vianne quirked her lips in an awkward attempt to smile back.

Ana was friendly, not just to her. A pang of guilt vibrated along Vianne’s chest. She felt a bit extreme in condemning everyone in the school; at least Ana made an effort to make her feel welcomed. It was because of that Vianne didn’t pull out her hair during Math 1A, so she owed it to her.

“Hey.” A soft greeting slipped from Vianne as she approached the desk.

Ana shuffled some books to the side, creating space for her. “Hi! How was your lunch?”

Vianne sighed. “I’ve had better. The heat melted my sandwich.” She left out the part where she sat by herself for two whole weeks, not wanting to sound like some loser.

Her metaphor made Ana giggle lightly. It reminded her of the bells twinkling on the front door back in Napa; Vianne thought it to be rather calming. A breath of fresh air away from the screaming students was a surprising luxury around here.

“I know a place where there's an air conditioner,” Ana said. “You can come eat with me if you’d like.”

The invitation caught Vianne off guard, prompting her to nearly drop her pencil. Ana still held her hopeful smile, like a lost puppy. That and the desperation to find cold air sold the deal.

Vianne grinned. “That'd be great. I’ll catch you after math tomorrow.” A satisfied hum left her as she leaned against the chair. It was nice to have a lunch buddy.

It didn’t take long for the starting bell to ring. Mrs. Flores entered the class with a large trunk, followed by a hoard of people behind her. Everyone fought for a seat, breaking the calm atmosphere in seconds. Both Vianne and Ana resisted the urge to roll their eyes.

Mrs. Flores was a cheery plump woman in her sixties. Her floral dress was matched with a mint green camisole, making Vianne think of daisies and dandelions in a summer field. A pair of reading glasses perched on the bridge of her nose, giving her a jolly appearance of a librarian. Viane would reckon she’d keep a hidden stash of toffee under a desk somewhere for the children.

“Settle down, settle down!” The teacher’s chirpy voice broke through the crowd. “I have an announcement to make!”

An exasperated glance was thrown at them as Mrs. Flores shuffled to the front podium. Her arms came up, hands clasping together in enthusiastic excitement.

“I’m happy to introduce you all to our project of the semester,” she began. “There will be two parts, with each section worth fifty points. This will be a partnered assignment, so I expect you all to be friendly with one another.”

Mrs. Flores gave them another knowing look, as if to warn them against their funny business. A few students avoided her gaze, fidgeting sheepishly on the chairs. To the side, Vianne looked at Ana, motioning back and forth between them. Ana caught the drift and nodded; it would be best if they could choose who they wanted to work with.

It was still too early into the school year for Vianne to be comfortable with anyone on the premises, but Ana had been the only one to show acceptance. She’d take that over anything.

“Each pair will receive a doll.”

The next instruction baffled the class. Vianne stared on with wide eyes as Mrs. Flores took out a raggedy dummy from the trunk. It was a dress-up doll, with the color of its skin ashened by years of dust coupled with torn bits of its dress.

Mrs. Flores sighed with strange contentment as she continued. “This year, the health department wants us to learn how to be responsible adults. As we are nearing senior year, the closer you are all to adulthood. And one of the graduation requirements is to pass Living Skills.”

Vianne didn’t need to hear the rest of it. Playing make-believe house was one of the projects required in Sex Ed class back in Napa, only it was to be taken during senior year. It would appear that it was happening sooner for her. Praying to whatever deity that came to mind, she hoped that she was allowed to choose partners. There was no way she was going to be stuck with a haughty, nose-picking man-child.

“The fuck ma’am?!” Another shout rang from behind. “Who needs this?!”

A wave of murmurs agreed to his outcry, with some joining in. Mrs. Flores huffed, using her index finger to push up her glasses before glaring at the mass.

“If you want me to teach sex, then the right thing for me to do is to teach you the aftermath of it, too.” A light smile danced around her lips, a brow raised along with it. The boys’ cheeks flushed bright red at the comment, while the girls took a sudden interest in their books.

Vianne felt the same sentiment, her ears tingling with warm embarrassment. Mrs. Flores was a lot of things, and bluntness was one of them.

“Can we pick partners?” one of the girls asked.

Mrs. Flores shook her head. “I’ve already made my decision last night about the pairs.”

Vianne’s stomach twisted at the revelation; she was already having a shitty time adjusting to the new school, and now she had to deal with a hotheaded student who probably hated her guts. Dred pooled down her back, soaking her in fearful anticipation.

Before them, Mrs. Flores took out a sheet of paper. Her mouth moved to speak, but was interrupted when an ear-splitting crash came from the door. It sounded like a dense mass falling onto the lockers. All eyes turned to the source of the sound, Vianne included. Another bang followed the crash, before all was silent. She sucked in a breath.

With a crack, the door flew open, revealing none other than the very boy who made fun of her days before in Math 1A. It would appear that barging into class midway was his style of rolling.His eyes drooped in lazy discontent, and there was dust all over his bomber jacket. Upon closer inspection, Vianne could make out the beginnings of a bruise forming on the corners of his left eye.

Great. She shared another class with him, too. Oh goodie. Vianne was starting to believe that she was cursed before she stepped foot in LA. Or maybe she fucked up really bad in her past life. Because no one could have this much bad luck in one month. Mrs. Flores, on the other hand, seemed way too surprised at his grandiose entrance.

“Well, well, Mr. Angel Guzman,” she tutted. “It’s a pleasure to finally see you grace my class with your presence.” Sarcasm dripped from her voice as she stared him down, not bothering with formalities.

Angel rolled his eyes with a click of his tongue. Sauntering to the nearest desk, he slumped into the seat, angling his legs wide open. Without context, one might believe him to be a gangster boss overlooking his new crew. The relaxed stance in his posture gave away nothing about his mood, but the dark look in his eyes spoke for him.

If Mrs. Flores was miffed by his disposition, she didn’t show it. “Since you’ve expressed so much excitement for this assignment, I’ll give you the honor of knowing your partner first.”

Scanning the paper, her eyes landed on the very bottom of the list, and she spoke again. “You’ll be with Miss Yang over here for the project. Now, Adeline, you’re with Thomas. Ana, you’re with Daniel, Clarise-”

Vianne didn’t take in anything else other than the first sentence. Her ears rang, and she could see her soul departing her body for the heavens. This was the final nail on the coffin, pushing her over the edge of sanity. Her worst prediction had come true; she had the most deadbeat partner she could ever find in this school.

Her instincts had her look over in his direction. Angel’s gaze caught hers as she did so, however his face still held their impassive stare. Breaking contact, he moved to pull down his beanie again, shielding his eyes; he was preparing for a nap. Vianne groaned into her hands, earning a pity glance from Ana. It was the I’m-sorry-but-you’re-kinda-screwed look.

Mrs. Flores was still speaking, thus rattling Vianne back to reality. “-come up and grab your supplies! Please make a line and wait your turn.”

Half of the class rose and made a beeline for the trunk. Ana had already gathered hers and was now sitting by Daniel, leaving her alone. Angel was leaning against the chair like he was by the beach with his hands behind his head, and that told her more than she needed to hear. Vianne pursed her lips, hoisting her body from the desk.

The teacher smiled too brightly when she came up to collect her doll. “Congratulations! It’s a girl for you!”

Handing Vianne a bottle of cleaning solution and a hair brush, Mrs. Flores patted her with a good-natured smile. It made Vianne’s soul twist in its grave. She turned around with robotic stiffness, and headed back to Angel’s seat. The young man took no notice of her arrival, continuing to stew in his state of trance. A toothpick hung out from his mouth, giving more into the lazy fashion.

Shit. I’m going to carry us both. The grim thought crossed her mind, and she winced.

“Uh, we need to fill out the form.” Vianne pointed to the paper left by the teacher, snapping her fingers to get his attention. It was a fake birth certificate for the doll; Mrs. Flores was going above and beyond for the final project. Had it been under pleasant circumstances, Vianne would’ve given her kudos for her creativity.

Angel canted his view upwards, staring at her with mild curiosity. It was only then she noticed the deep set of eyes, with equally thick brows to match. His hands refused to leave his head, but his lips parted ever so slightly. Nothing came out of them.

Right. The guy never brings pencils. Realization hit her and she slumped onto the chair next to his. This is gonna be so fun.

As she tapped her pencil onto the paper, Vianne ignored the bouncing of his legs to the side. It was taking her attention away from thinking of a name for the doll. After another few minutes of awkward silence passed, she noticed they were the only pair that had almost zero progress on the first section.

Open your mouth and get him to talk, damn it!

Scowling, Vianne turned to the young delinquent, who was actually on the urge of falling asleep this time. Vexation burned her mind, and she shoved the paper to his side.

“Come up with a name,” she said. The sudden movement jerked him from his slumber, causing him to blink several times before his eyes settled back to hers with a glare. Vianne was not about to back down from a glance alone, so she crossed her arms, huffing at the dramatic display of resistance.

“I know you understand me.” The memory from last week was still fresh in her brain cache. “So come up with a name.”

At that, Angel smirked. “You’re the smart one. What ya need me for?”

Oh the little shithead.

Vianne returned the remark with a scowl of her own. “Believe me, I’d love to work by myself given the situation. But I’m not gonna carry you across the semester.” If the brat thought he was going to get an easy A because of her, then he had another thing coming.

Her hissy fit seemed to have gotten to him; his eyes narrowed while he bit down on the toothpick. “Puta, you’re so fucking annoying.”

“What did you just call me?!”

“Figure it out, smart one.” A lopsided grin appeared on his face, though it was miles away from friendly. His eyes flashed, almost like a warning. But like that would deter her.

She was about ready to slap the paper into his face when she remembered the way Escalante would handle him when he got up all over his ass. A slight smirk painted her lips as she thought of an idea; if he was going to be an ass, then she was going to be an ass back.

“Are you simply trying to hide your illiteracy?” Vianne asked, her voice filled with over-saturated innocence.

Angel nearly swallowed his toothpick. “What?” The stare he sent her screamed a thousand red flags, but she held a hand against her legs to keep them from shivering.

“Oh, y’know…” she began. “I thought coming up with names wouldn’t be too difficult. Seems like it is for you, though.”

The muscles of his jaws clenched, darkening his guise. Angel’s nostrils flared as he looked at the piece of paper before him. Vianne could practically see the gears turn in his head. They were in a classroom, so there was nothing extreme he could do even if he was pissed. The thought of trapping him between a rock and a hard place made her feel a little better after the previous taunts.

Just when she moved to retrieve the materials back, his hands slammed on the paper. She flinched at the action, but kept her eyes glued to the desk, not raising to meet his.

“Camilla.” His raspy hum sounded quietly in the background. Had Vianne been further away, she wouldn’t have caught it.

“What?” She peered up at him, opening her mouth to ask more, but he was already looking away.

“The name,” Angel said. “It’s Camilla.” He made it sound like he was talking to a five-year-old.

Vianne breathed a sigh of relief and took the pencil. She began to fill in the required information about their ‘daughter’. He still refused to write out his part, so she relented for now.

“Camilla Guzman it is then,” she spoke to herself.

Now it was Angel’s turn to be perplexed. “Camilla Guzman?” He stopped chewing the wooden stick in his mouth for a moment.

His partner scoffed from her seat. “Well, you’re the dad, Angel. Unless you want me to have full custody.” Vianne rolled her eyes at the thought of having a daughter at her age. Ms. Lin would have a heart attack and be driven to an early grave.

When she didn’t hear anything else from him, she feared her jokes flew over his head. Vianne raised her head just in time to catch a light smirk tugging at his face. Sensing no real threat, she went back to writing.

A clap from Mrs. Flores turned both their attentions to the front podium. The teacher had gathered everyone’s eyeballs towards herself, and she cleared her throat.

“Since class is coming to an end, I’d like to make sure everyone understands their part of the assignment.” She paused for a second, before taking out another batch of files. “One ‘parent’ takes care of the doll for a week, alternating with their partners over the course of the semester. By the end of each month, I’d like a report summarizing the difficulties of parenthood. The rubric is simple; if the doll ends up in tatters, or if it becomes lost, then you will be automatically given an ‘F’. Keeping your ��children’ in pristine condition and well-clothed is the primary goal. That’s all for today. Now figure out who’s taking custody first.”

Vianne looked to Angel, and then back to their ‘daughter’. This was a tough cookie, and she wasn’t sure she trusted him with not losing the doll within the first few days.

“Rock papers,” Angel offered.

She wanted to guffaw at the suggestion, but logic told her it was a fair method. “Sure. Loser takes the kid.”

It turned out to be a horrible move on her part. No matter what kind of tricks she threw at him during the sparring, he either met her with the same level, or defeated her. If she used rock, he met her with paper. When she went for paper, he countered with scissors. At last, on the third try, she pulled a rock again, only to be faced with another rock from him.

Two loses and a tie; it was a no brainer who the kid went with for the first week. Angel sizzled with smug pride as he counted the points against her, his wicked grin broadening.

“Guess you’re not so smart after all.”

Oh fuck you. Vianne knew nothing good ever came out of that smirk. There was no guarantee he was going to show up after her week was up. For all she knew, Angel could easily ditch her for the rest of the year with the doll on her own. It wasn’t like he cared about his perfect track record. Her heart sank at the thought.

“You are coming back next week, right?” Skepticism laced her words as she eyed him.

Angel clicked his tongue, raising a brow. “Who knows?” It was the closest to an answer she would get from him. And it was not reassuring at all.

Vianne glared, hoping that by her looks alone, he would get the message. But her efforts were in vain. Angel soon reverted back to napping for the rest of the class, not wasting a second longer on her.

A/N: As per usual, shoutout to @classic80sand90smovieloves2 for encouraging and helping me get over writers block and whatnot ;)

And thank you to all my followers who happened upon this piece in the sea of posts here on tumblr :p I love y’all and hope I didn’t disappoint!

#stand and deliver #angel guzman #angel guzman imagine #fanfiction #fanfic #lou diamond phillips #edward james olmos #jaime escalante #stand and deliver headcanon #80s movie imagines #80s movies

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znts · 4 years

Note

now I'm curious who are your favourite graphic makers and why?

I could list 10+ of them but it would be a super long one so I’ll write some that I really, really love dearly and have been a huge inspiration to me throughout the years of making graphics until now.

Will put it under read more.

@gray I seriously don’t know where to start. Jay just... makes art. The kind of art that reminds you of old, 1800-1900 classic paintings you see in the museum? Their high class taste in everything (fashion, art, literature, music, literally everything) enhances the qualities in every graphic they create. And everything they make always have a meaning behind it, it’s never the “idk what to put here so I’ll just do the same thing like what I did on my prev gfx” and it tells a story in a very poetic way. Their color palettes are always so on point and there’s just something about their style that makes it theirs and theirs only.

@dearestsoul Bea and her narrative based graphics, I could never not fall for them. She makes the most beautiful, dreamiest graphics ever. Her ZNT series blew my mind the first time I saw them. Looking at her graphics just feels like I’m reading her own series of stories and her storytelling is just so good. They make me feel things even when I don’t know the fandom she’s creating content for and I have always wanted to create graphics that can make people feel that way because of her. She’s got too much power in her hands.

@micaelis Dan basically paved everyone’s way. The first time I saw her PP x ZNT crossover gifset I was completely blown away. “How can a person be this talented?” and her taste is very exquisite and it’s reflected in the details of her works. All her creations from her normal gifsets, graphics, colorings, glitch gifs and even fanmixes are all masterpieces I honestly can’t comprehend (and she makes gorgeous themes too like h o w). I’m especially in love with her Tokyo Ghoul edits, they’re out of this world.

@16kb Will forever be mesmerized by the way Rasha colors. Her style is so unique.. All of her works are extremely charming & magnificent, and she always, always nailed contrast, vibrant colors and her textures combination slaps so hard, I legit have NO idea how she does that every time. How does she manage to make her graphics & colorings look “messy” but really neat and pretty at the same time? Magic. She’s the biggest inspiration for me to be more experimental with bright colors in my graphics and I’m very, very grateful towards her for that.

@tomura I’ve said this so many times before but I’ll say it again; Fran is really on a whole another level. Impeccable taste, always executes professional work, flawless from head to toe, discovers new style every time she uploads her new work; she’s everything in one package. Always SO inspiring here and there. I’ve never wanted to learn After Effects so bad until I met her & that’s just how impactful she is. Describing her works only as gorgeous would be a huge understatement.

@svmeragi A master when it comes to applying a lot of textures and make her works look very aesthetically pleasing and artistic. The range of color palettes she uses is wide and peculiar (in a good way), very skillful at combining all the elements and make all of her creations outstanding. She’s one of my very first friends here on tumblr and we grew together as graphic makers and I am so very thankful to be able to see her significant improvements over the years.

@noxdivina Lin never ceases to amaze me with his surprises, his typography skill & taste are beyond me... One of the few consistent pale/b&w graphic makers out there that can always pull off his works really well without losing the quality of it. Refined, classic, clean, & elegant; that’s how I would describe his works. He also belongs to one of those content creators whose works make you feel things; yearning? sad? sentimental? peaceful? everything in between? Yeah, his works have these hypnotizing effects the moment you look at them.

@monsteous Sen and her uniqueness & complexities in her works. The ideas she comes up with are always refreshing and just, how is she really great working with a lot of contrast colors in one go without making it overwhelming and out of place? Most of her works look so clean and effortless but she never overlooks any small details and that just shows how observant & thorough she is with her works. Retro colours could never go wrong with her.

#answ #Anonymous #yeah i'm just here confessing my eternal love for you people so <3 accept it #i miss bea and dan so much i hope they're doing well..

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dungeonguild · 4 years

Text

for us (and what’s to come) [4/?]

11 March 2020

Mittwoch 11:08

“Do you remember that time in the corridor?”

David stops typing on his laptop, having slipped out of bed to work at his desk, trying to get some of his scripting work done for this class in film school before Matteo wakes up from his slumber and they start their day together. Some of his professors cancelled classes, while Matteo does not have to work, so they would probably spend the day between the kitchen, the room and the living room, probably with Matteo in his lap as they binge watch some show that they have started a few days back when neither of them could fall asleep.

He has not even noticed Matteo waking up, like the tell tale signs of the sheets rustling, or Matteo blindly feeling around the bed, or the light footsteps padding along the floorboard. Matteo is already wrapping his arms around David’s shoulders from behind, resting his chin on top of David’s head, pressing a kiss in his hair to greet him good morning.

He rests his hand on Matteo’s, rubbing in small circles on the back of his hand.

Matteo, who is the master of vague statements and questions.

“Which time in the corridor? Is it the one when we nearly jumped each other in the corridor outside Kiki and Carlos’ flat only to hear them actually fucking?”

That earns David a light shove on his shoulder, but Matteo is laughing, and falls into the chair at the desk next to David, resting his head on David’s shoulder as he vibrates with his giggles. He rubs his cheek against it like a cat when he steadies his breath again. David’s fingers instinctively find their way into Matteo’s hair, combing through and playing with it mindlessly as he tries to finish the paragraph he is writing with only one hand, lest the idea he has with the particular scene eludes him later. Matteo seems content to stay right there and let David continue with his work, giving David company and making his presence known through the lull of his body as he breathes in and out. If not for the fact that David knows he looks like he is thinking of something when David glances at him, it would not have been a stretch for him to assume that Matteo has fallen back to sleep - which is a tangible possibility in any circumstance.

Just as David saves and closes the document, deciding that he has other things that he prefers doing right now, Matteo speaks up, continuing the conversation that they have abandoned a few minutes ago.

“I was thinking of the time when I first saw you. At Barnim.”

If there is one thing he could not forget about that is associated with the corridors of the school that he did his abitur in, it would be this. The time when he and Matteo first locked eyes.

“Of course I do.” David replies, turning his head towards Matteo and pressing a kiss on his forehead. “I was wondering why that guy was staring at me weirdly.”

Matteo makes an offended noise and moves to pull away, but with David’s arm securely wrapped around him, it is a lost cause from the get go, and Matteo, with all his minimal acting ability, begrudgingly stays put. David sees through all of that without difficulty, only booping Matteo’s nose in response to the little theatrical pout he has plastered on his face.

“What were you thinking at that moment?” David asks, rolling away backwards on his chair, tilting his head at Matteo as he asks the question and picking up the cereal bar he has forgotten on the bedside table, splitting it in half after unwrapping the packing. He offers Matteo one half, who just opens his mouth and points at it. He rolls his eyes and walks back over to place it in Matteo’s mouth, who winks in response before starting to chew as loud as he could - like a gremlin that he is.

“I thought.” Matteo says, as he swallows the bar in record time while David has barely gotten to half of it, “I saw the hottest guy in the world. And, oh my god, he is looking back. Twice.”

That puts the whole image back into David’s head again. He remembers it well, not that he thinks he and Matteo had ever talked about this moment, as they have always been more about creating new moments together. He remembers seeing Matteo from afar shortly after switching schools, seeing him with another boy - Jonas, and how he thought the little smile beneath the messy mop of hair is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen, and thinking to himself that the last thing he needed was getting to know anyone. Matteo made the task of laying low very difficult, and the rest is history.

“I mean, anyone would look back and figure out what is going on when someone is staring at you weirdly.” David says instead, pushing Matteo’s buttons.

Without fail, Matteo takes the bait.

“Oh my god, David. Stop being so mean.” He whines. “I can’t believe I want to break up with you on an anniversary.”

“Anniversary?” David parrots. Then he connects the dots. “Was that seriously one year ago?” He wonders out loud as he stares out of the window. It is unbelievable that it was already a year when everything with Matteo, with film school, with all the good in his life still feels like yesterday, like it is a new start that would propel David forward.

“Yup, and I’m walking out!” Matteo announces as he stands up, acting as if he is going to walk out from his own place with none of his items with him - not even his phone. David hugs him and stops him regardless.

“Do you think I would let someone I thought I would be very lucky to have walk away from me when I have actually gotten him?” He says, as he turns Matteo around, seeing a secret little smile playing out on his face.

“Is that what you thought?” Matteo asks.

David smiles, deciding he has had enough of pushing Matteo’s buttons and that a heart-to-heart is probably in order.

“That, yeah.” He whispers, standing closer into Matteo’s space, his hands resting on Matteo’s hips to keep him in place. “And that I wanted to know more about him, to understand him, and understand why he sees me.”

“And then I thought that was not part of my plan, getting to know people and all that.”

“I am glad that you did not stick to your plan.” Matteo whispers back, like it is a secret just to be known by the two of them.

“I am glad that you found me and got me again and again and foiled that stupid plan.” David agrees.

David lets Matteo pull him closer, wrapping his arms around him and pressing a small kiss on David’s pulse point. David runs a hand down Matteo’s back, waiting as Matteo thinks of the next thing to say. Matteo has never been one that is good with words, always taking his time to formulate his thoughts, especially when it is something that he takes it seriously and means it wholeheartedly. His language of touch though, is as expressive as it gets, and one that David has gotten very fluent at, and he knows that Matteo is expressing how much he loves David and how much he means to him. It is not a rare sentiment, but probably one that is more intense right now than the usual.

“You’re the best thing that happened to my life. I cannot imagine where I’ll be if I never met you, or that we never talked.”

“Me neither.”

They stay standing there in each other’s arms, neither saying anything, just enveloped in each other’s warmth and scent, feeling the comfort of each other’s touch, feeling as present as they are when they are with each other, knowing they both understand without needing to explain, that the days are brighter and warmer together, that maybe their lives were destined to be entwined from the moment they locked eyes a year ago, in that corridor at their high school.

Life has changed so much in a year, with film school, with moving to a new flat, with a whole new group of friends, with Matteo. But in the sea change, Matteo has become the constant in his life, that David feels the safest, the most content, the freest, the most comfortable with. That Matteo has slowly wormed his way into David’s heart and found a home there, and David has found that, maybe Matteo is home to him.

They only break apart when Matteo’s stomach loudly protests about the lack of food being present in his system, and they move on into the kitchen, with David trying not to be useless in there, just about managing to whip up the mixture for Matteo to make the pancakes.

Later, when they are settled on the couch with Matteo lying in David’s lap as they continue with the show on stream that they have been binging, a thought from their previous conversation comes back into his mind, despite any hint of it happening having been long in the past as their intimate, soft atmosphere got replaced with their usual jokey and fun while they were screwing around in the kitchen and over food.

“But do you think this is our anniversary?” He asks, as he plays with Matteo’s hair, as the credits starts rolling for the first episode they are watching today.

“It is.”

David thinks about it, but before he can say anything, Matteo continues.

“We have many anniversaries. And today is when we first saw each other.”

David hums.

“I guess that makes sense. Everyday can be an anniversary for something.”

“We will create many more memories together.”

Matteo laces his fingers with David’s resting them on Matteo’s chest like it is the thing he treasures the most, as they focus back on the screen with the new episode starting to play.

For today, the memory is being utterly domestic.

#druck #druck fic #matteo florenzi #david schreibner #davenzi #davenzi fic #f: what's to come #jl the bitch

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boogiewrites · 4 years

Text

A Girl Walks Into A Bar 15

Characters: Declan Harp x Bella Fiore (OFC)

Summary: Modern Declan harp AU. Declan and Bella finally find personal and professional satisfaction together.

Warnings/Tags: Mild Language.Drinking. Date Night. Flirting. Music. Sexual Content.

Click on my screen name then go to Mobile Masterlist in my bio for my other works and chapters. Please leave a like, reblog or comment if you enjoyed this! It makes me want to write more of what you want if you let me know!

The week between their date and the first night of the music shows at the bar goes by quicker than either expected. Bella worked, then went to the bar after to help set up her end of this whole endeavor. The construction didn’t help matters when it came to testing a sound system, but they had the day to work out any kinks, and she suspected there would be a fair share. The rest of her time was dedicated to getting the word out about the show. She’d texted, called and messaged everyone she knew that might be interested. She put out ads online and in hard paper publishing’s, on the radio and hung flyers. She put in the footwork and the thumb work, putting blood and sweat into the success of the idea. Bella helped with building, cleaning, ordering and planning. Anything she could. They spent a lot of time together that week, but it was in a strictly professional capacity. Too tired, stressed and distracted at the end of the night to even think about moving their physical relationship closer. They were both thankful for the mutual understanding between one another. They’d both been exhausted by the time the crews left, sharing a kiss only after they were alone, which she appreciated greatly. They both had too much on their minds to think about much else except the bar and the show.

So the night of finally comes for the tired but excited entrepreneurs. A lovely sunny Saturday was quickly turning into a hot night in the newly renovated bar. Declan might’ve let Bella talk him into a bit much. Between his excitability about the idea and wanting to impress her, he’d made more changes in the past week to the bar than it’d seem in over a decade. He hoped this would be a success before, for both of their sakes but now covering the costs was another reason to worry. He did have to admit standing in thecleam and more modernized wooden dive , it looked good.

A new point of sales, the register now one touch and fast, the touch screen and metal out of place among the rest of the aged wooden bar. New temperature controlled taps finished bringing them into this century, everything cleaned and dusted and polished and up to code. She even talked him into buying snack food to sell. Small menus they’d curated and she designed were sat out on tables, a few new booths, black faux leather and new metal bar stools mixed with the old wooden ones gave it a touch of modernity but it still kept the vintage and dive feel. He’d appreciated her attention to detail during the process, not wanting to change what it was, just make things easier on him in the long run with technology and durability.

Bella trots about in heels and a tight dress, the same dress as she’d worn on her date. But this time in black, her comfort color. A sheer and flowing kimono covered with roses over a black background masked her curves and kept her flirty but professional. There was wiggle room when working in the music industry with what was considered professional and not, and Bella liked riding that line. She had a pen in her hair and a clipboard in her arms as she directed bands and their crews, turning what used to be the kitchen into a temporary green room.

Besides the physical bar, Declan hadn't had to worry about much else. He’d loved watching Bella work. Seeing her with her no nonsense expression, scolding men who weren’t performing up to her standards was really doing it for him, he admitted. He mused and polished the bar top, a nervous habit, and watched her with fondness in his hazel eyes. He felt his nerves for the night pass, replaced with a school boy like fascination as she moved around his space as if it was hers.

The stage was set, the boys tended to in the green room, some friends of hers from way back in her days of performing, and Declan’s part of the work was caught up.

“Bella! Can you come here when you get a second?” He calls out from the back room with the same casual tone he’d yelled it at her so many times over the past few days.

“Yeah just a sec!” She answers absentmindedly, checking off tasks on her thorough list. She sashays into the back to find him waiting, a smile on his face without anything in hand for her to address.

“C’mere.” He calls softly, taking her hand and pulling her behind the door to the stairs to his apartment. It was a brief moment of sanctuary he’d been craving. The hustle of the bar quieted by the door, a moment without prying eyes to decompress. “I didn’t think I’d get another chance to talk to you alone.” He took the clipboard from her hands and placed it on a stair gingerly.

“Is something wrong?” She asks with curious eyes.

“I hadn’t gotten a chance to thank you.” He answers in a warm, deep tone, leaning in to wrap his arms around her. She understood his intention with the way his mouth turned up in the corner. A soft smile she’d only seen on him with thru we’re alone. She let her guard down, having to slip out of boss mode to return the affection.

“Don’t thank me yet.” She shook her head as he leaned in for a soft kiss. “Still have to see who shows up.” She murmurs against his lips.

He could tell she was nervous, and granted, so was he. But he had total faith in her abilities after watching her all week. “Even if just a handful do I still need to thank you. For everything this week. You didn’t have to step up like you did.” A calm and reassuring tone matches his expression as she finds herself much more pliable and soft than had been since the last time she was in his arms.

“Of course I did.” She insists with a nod of her chin his way. “Not gonna let you look bad now am I?” She grins and kisses his cheek.

“I look bad standing next to you... lookin like this.” A brief but strong enough squeeze of her hips was enough to get his point across.

“Never.” The shake of her head sold her dramatic enthusiasm. ”You do look good though.” She smirks and looks him over, fingers trailing over the strong arms he was showing off with his deep side cut old Sabbath shirt and jeans that fit him suspiciously well.

“So do you.” A brief muzzle of nose to nose. “Very… sexy Stevie Nicks.” He praised.

“Just so happens to be exactly what I was going for.” She smiled proudly.

“I know there’s a lot going on tonight, but I had one more thing to ask you.” His eyes turn a bit soft and he fussed with a wild curl of her hair.

“Shoot.” She invites.

“Even if it’s super late… and we’re both too fucking tired to do anything… I’d like you to stay with me tonight.” He suggests with a sweet whisper, his posture almost sheepish.

“Like, sleep here you mean?” She clarifies.

“Yeah.” He pauses with a brief moment of questioned judgement. “Is that-?”

“No! That’s… fine that’s… that’s good. I’d like that.” She reassured him so casually he exhaled loudly in relief. “It’ll give me something else to look forward to tonight.” She beamed a killer smile, a genuinely affectionate one that makes him hum happily.

“Before I let you go… do you wanna make out?” He asked childishly, making her chuckle and wrap her arms around his neck. “I haven’t got to really kiss you all week.” He adds with more sentimental inflection.

“And I wanna thank you for not doing this or anything else in front of anyone else.” Her voice is deeper, her face relaxed. “Not that I’m like, ashamed or something I just prefer keeping work and play separate you know.”

“I assumed.”

“And I’ve went and mixed the two as much as possible haven’t I?” She grins and grazes his nose to hers.

“Fraid So.” He hums back with content, a small kiss to start and it grows hungry as it always does for them. A small moment to melt into each other, hands in hair and over needy bodies to hold off the hunger for another evening.

“Missed that.” She whispers when they part, his forehead to hers.

“So did I.” He gives her a less romantic, more playful smooch to make her smile.

“Hopefully we won’t be too exhausted to continue that after we close up tonight.” Her words were suggestive but her tone wasn’t convinced.

“One can hope.” He nods with high brows.

“Either way. We’ve got all day tomorrow together.” She happily adds with a kiss to his cheek.

“Mmm. That we do.” A few quick kisses to her cheek, jaw and neck make her give up that giggle for him. He gave her a squeeze before they parted, one last time before they were professional again. “Let’s go get em baby.” He mutters with a cheerful face before they break the seal on another little love bubble they’d created.

———

Declan, Mike and Bella Knick back celebratory shots for making it this far and to ease the pre show jitters. They all stand and look at each other, anxious glances and blinking eyes before facing the truth.

“Let’s fuckin do this.” Declan booms loudly and slaps his hands on the bar top sudden to cut the tension.

Bella smiles at his enthusiasm. “Don’t scar em off before they even get in the door ya lion. Roarin and carryin on.” She teases as she walks to the half stained glass and barred door. “Here we go.” She whispers to herself to pass from her true self to hostess before opening the door.

The bar wasn’t small by any measure, but the amount of people that showed up made it seem like it might’ve been. The speakers covering the music before the bands started cutting any awkward silence, the drinks and conversation going all mingle to create a good atmosphere. Bella stepped in to help take out orders when she could, focusing on Directing people and handling hospitality while Mike and Declan were swamped at the bar.

Among the bumping of shoulders, the dull roar of music and voices, she realizes She’d missed this. The rumble and buzz of a crowded club felt Nostalgic and comforting. The vibration of the music through her body while she moved about made her feel younger, more alive. She felt a moment of pride for her work and gratitude for having found the gem of a bar. She even felt Fond for the bad day that sent her there, and the drunken night that lead to all this.

It doesn’t take long for the tension to build between Declan and Bella. It was effortless on their part. As She was hovering and helping them, he kept getting sight of her and meeting eyes. They’d pass chest to chest, back to back behind the bar and she’d give him a wink no one could see while her tits dragged across his torso. He’d shoot her a look, and she knew exactly what it meant. An almost threat she felt like antagonizing. Both moving about the space they would pass each other, he’d give her a deep “hey baby.” In her ear when he could.

The crowd gets rowdy, as crowds do, and she ends up getting pushed around a bit and into him a few times. He was keeping work in mind but also, maybe staying near her unconsciously. He’s thankful when she gets shoved right into him so he can comfort her. “Hey, careful baby girl.” He warns with warm and sure hands to her body that make it react. Another low purr in her ear adds weight in her chest as she tried to focus on work and not the huge, sexy bartender that was trying to get in her panties. Not that he had to try very hard. His swoon inducing genuine smiles and his flexing bare arms were cause enough to distract her. She kept it together as she always did, but it certainly did add a bit of spice to the evening she was more than excited about.

“Boys are taking a break after this song Bella!” An old friend who was helping with sound and stage yells at her and she felt the butterflies arrive. They break her steamy day dreams to give her another sort of tingle and rush. She hadn’t performed for a crowd in years. She’d always loved it, but there was more money in being the person running the machines for people who were on stage. It hadn’t stopped her from fantasizing about doing it from time to time. It was a high she had yet to find a way to replicate.

The boys announce their break and give her an introduction. An old friend and very talented woman who was nice enough to do a set and let them take a breather she was generously called. The crowd is fairly disinterested, as was standard, but there were certainly a lot of them.

“I’ll be filling in the down time for you guys, with my friends tonight. We’re gonna start slow, let you get your drinks and snacks, go take a piss, all that.” her on stage presence demanding and confident she fell right back into it with a calm Demeanor. “Be sure to try to the Ale special. It’s my favorite and The Trading Post is one of the few places you can get it in the city. So go hit up that hot bartender and he’ll give ya what ya want.” She laughs with a charm that all women react to. A few ‘woos’ and Declan grins broadly, waving his distractingly thick arms.

“Nice and easy, take a break yourselves, gonna start with some Kacey Musgraves.” She says with a bow, starting with an acoustic guitar first. Slow Burn fades into Golden Hour and Declan is bewitched. He wished he could just sit and watch her, her voice was sweet but raspy, it melted him like butter with the sentimental words she sang. Every time she’d sing she’d surprise him somehow, and every time he was smitten.

“We’re going with the legend, the legs, Miss Tina Turner now. Kick it up a notch, wake the blood back up. Proud Mary.” She speaks the intro, “...gonna start this song out easy. Then we’re gonna end it rough.” And she delivers. A song most everyone knew, enjoying the soulfulness of her voice and then being taken into a double time, loud performance with her moving and dancing and singing, swinging her head and getting everyone’s attention again.

“And to wake you the fuck up the rest of the way!” She calls out, hair a mess and a sheen of sweat on her she roars right into Ace of Spades and the crowd eats it up. Her growling out and her rasp giving her the means to deliver the fast and hard song. She plays her guitar like a dream and Declan stops and stares. He’s never seen her do THAT.

“Holy shit.” He mouths with a slack jaw.

“Ya girls fuckin got it dunnit she lad?” Mike laughs with a slap to his back.

“Yes she fuckin does. God damn.” He answers in awe. “I’m gonna take a break, gotta ask her where the fuck this came from.” He mutters with open arms as her head hangs with her hair wild and waving, fingers picking and playing in a flash.

It ends with a hard note and the crowd now fully invested again gives her applause she happily takes. She hears a familiar loud voice by the front by the stairs.

“FUCK YEAH BELLAAAAA!” Declan’s large lungs scream out and she whips her hair to one side and gives him a disarming smile. She didn’t mind the support at all. She steps off stage after the other band returns and Declan is there to squeeze her so hard her feet leave the ground. “I’m buying you a drink! That was amazing! I didn’t know you could do that!”

“I haven’t in a very long time.” She responds with a beaming smile her self fulfillment clear in her eyes.

“Let’s get you sat down.” He offers over the noise of the crowd and uses his big frame to carve a way to a small booth you couldn’t see the stage from. To her surprise he sits first and pulls her in on his lap and she happily accepts. With the crowd now absorbed back into the showroom and their conversations of praise to her from strangers cease and they’re left with one another again. He motions to Mike to bring over drinks. “You were so fuckin good baby. Seriously. I mean it. Fuckin amazing.”

“Shots and an ale.” Mike says proudly. “Ya fuckin killed it out there, lass. Good on ya.” He gives her a happy nod she thanks him for.

Declan gives her a toast to the glass shot glasses that clink as they nod and throw them back. With an exaggerated exhale he wraps his arms around her, one on her hip to keep her in place, pulling her close so she puts an arm around him, face still content from the performance. The other hand rests on her bare thigh, his lap big enough for her to crawl into and bend her legs over his own. “You were so fuckin good up there baby.” he speaks in a deeper, slow tone that makes a more suggestive smile flare across her lips.

“Thank you.” she gives him a brief up and down glance. “You’d get a good uptick in sales from my little shout out?” she gives him a cheeky grin, her hand moving to push back a strand of hair that’d fallen from where he’d tied it back.

“Yes you sneaky little thing.” he gives her a happy low rumbling laugh, a tiny little pat to her ass that makes her nose wrinkle, giving in to her laugh. “What about not mixing business and personal? Huh?” he teases with his nose coming close to grazing hers.

“Eh. Me playing isn’t business.” she dismisses with a shrug. “That’s just fun. Plus it got everyone's attention didn’t it?”

“I think that was you that had all that. They were loving it.” he adds supportively, both speaking soft and low and only to each other. “I know I did. You sing like a...horny angel.” he chuckles.

The explanation makes her shoulders shake in a laugh and gently touch the side of his face. “I like that description.” she nods. “Except for that angel part…” she shrugs. “Pretty spot on actually.” she gives him a sly smile that turns into a flirtatious one that covers her whole face.

“I disagree but I am VERY intrigued.” he wiggles his eyebrows and he hears that little giggle from her that makes his chest flutter.

“I don’t think you’ll be calling me an angel after tonight.” she speaks quietly and peeks her tongue out from between her lips.

“Mmm that so?” his voice swings low, she can feel a distinct rumble in his body under hers.

“Mmm Hmm.” she nods, her hand now tracing the outlines of his sleeves as she looks him over with a hunger in her eyes. “Keep these shots in me and it’ll be especially true.” she tilts her head in support of her statement and smirks. “Or hell…” she shrugs, “Who am I kidding? With you? Stone cold sober I’d be inclined to behave sinfully.” her voice is just loud enough for him to hear when he leans close, getting a wiff of her sweet perfume and the tickle of her hair against his skin.

“I”m hearing nothing I don’t fully support.” he coos at her, eyes gazing over her face and lingering at her lips set in a seductive pose.

She lets out a sigh that surprises him, her hand moving to his chest, running back up to his shoulder and neck and back again as she bites her lip. “Maybe it’s the performance high. Or that shot on an empty stomach but…” her eyes return to meet his that are deep and dark and only make the fire in the pit of her stomach burn more intensely. “I weirdly don’t feel at all shy to admit that watching you tonight has done nothing but distract and make me realize just how fucking sexy you are.” her lip snarls ever so slightly with her delivery, her fingertips light on his bare skin as he feels a tensing between his legs. “Or how every night since our date I’ve thought about how it felt with you on me on that couch.” Her voice is so soft and demanding of him.

“Everytime I look at you I think about that couch.” He admits with a quirked brow. “Everytime you get close I have to touch you.” They share lingering glances between them, his mouth slack and taking in her soft expression for him, her biting her lip and wanting to sink her teeth into him. The sexual chemistry between them was undeniable and they didn’t have to wait long. “God I wanna kiss you so bad right now.” He whispers and she reaches up to touch his cheek.

“Then do it.” She leans in and whispers.

“But there’s people, I didn’t know if-“

“I don’t care.” She shakes her head and gives him an approving smile. “I want you too.” A breathy confession from her as her thumb rubs over his cheek bone. “Fuck what they think.” She nods her head back towards the crowd. “They don’t matter.” Her lips ghost over his as she gives him permission and an alternative sweetness he was growing to really love.

It doesn’t take him a second longer before leaning in to take her mouth against his. His arms instinctually move around her tighter, a hand on her under her shawl feeling the soft jersey stretch of the fabric of her dress. The other on her bare thigh, the heat between them searing.

She doesn’t pull away, only deepens it as his eyes roll behind their lids for the public display of affection from her. Deep rounds with teasing tongues and tense hands that roam ever so slightly they give in and forget anyone else is around them. It does eventually end but not without their foreheads together, two aroused expressions shared that told them that no matter what they would be taking this further tonight.

—————-

Counting the money in the till, still sober enough to do so after celebratory shots on the raving success the night had been. Bella, who’s seen him shut down the bar so many times does it for him. Locking up, Turning off signs, sweeping and wiping down as he counts and figures out the new POS system he’d installed. He uses his personal laptop for now to do his spreadsheets, saying they’ll get a company one soon. It looks as if they would be able to afford it with how things went. Between easily remembered amounts, he watches her. In just her dress now, shawl forgotten, laid over her purse in the back on a counter he sees her body stretch and jiggle and finds himself quickly forgetting about the money in his hands and the numbers on the screen.

Bella only had a quick conclusion on her mind. Getting everything done as fast as she could to get back to being close with Declan. An excitement in her muscles, a tension in them that was exhilarating. Finishing, she moves to the bar top, lifting herself up and plopping down on it as he finished his part of the rituals.

“Does Mike usually stay to help you with all this?” she asks, feet swinging off the edge of the bar.

“Yeah. But I told him to get lost.” he grins, laying another stack onto the counter.

“Good.” she gives the same smile back, even though they don’t look at each other. “Looks like you did pretty well tonight.” she remarks, a supportive nod of her head his way.

“WE did VERY well actually.” he lets out a soft chuckle. He puts everything with the receipts and notes into the money bag, concluding the count.

“It’s not easy moving around behind this bar.” she keeps her eyes to the ground, letting him concentrate, not knowing if he was finished or not. “Especially with more than one person. Since you’re so ...big and all.” a grin with her clear intentions spreads across her face.

He stands with his head tilted slightly, looking her up and down, an expression that was dark, giving way to a subtle smile as he moved forward. His hand drug across the bar surface, not lifting when he meets the skin of her thigh. A rather cocky smirk on his face as he moves chest to chest, both hands now on her legs, a slow rub up to her hips and back, easily slipping into a more sensual mindset.

“Am I?” he gives a sarcastic remark that makes her beam up at him, a closed mouth smile and eyes that now had the same intention as his.

“Mmm Hmm.” she nods slowly, hands moving up his arms, feeling the flex of them under her fingers. “Must be really… hard. Doing this by yourself.” her voice has dropped a few octaves, same as his. Hands now to her backside, hers in his hair as he yanked her closer, now held on the edge of the counter.

“So fuckin’ hard.” he leans in and almost groans as he watches her chest rise, any innocent intention in her eyes now gone.

“Are you?” the same cheeky response as he had earlier.

He only nods, hand moving to her face before closing the space between them, his body wasn’t going to let him waste any more time.

The kisses grow at a feverish pace, deep and indulgent. Desperate to be as close as possible, her hips even out with his, feeling the friction they craved. Her legs swinging back before wrapping around his waist, her heels hits the control panel for the speakers and music begins to play. He makes no acknowledgement, kisses traveling to her jaw and neck as she lets out a small chuckle.

“Oops.” she shrugs and he grunts in response, pulling her closer.

He shushes her, taking her mind back to where he wants it with a biting kiss, and she eagerly responds with her own noises.

“We’ve even got mood music now babe, you gonna make me wait much longer?” she whispers in his ear before taking his lobe into her mouth.

“Ungf. No.” he responded in an almost animalistic way, hands sliding under her quickly, adjusting his grip.

“You gonna fuck me on this counter or are we gonna make it upstairs?” her voice a breathy exhale against his neck as she placed little sucking kisses, feeling him tense beneath her.

“Upstairs.” he grunts again, picking her up, her letting out a tiny noise of surprise at being lifted and carried.

“Mmm. What a gentleman.” she grins between kisses, a hefty bounce as he carries her, his boot opening the door as he stomps up the stairs. She was extremely impressed with him physically already and he wasn’t even naked. The sounds of Trampled Under Foot certainly didn’t hurt the rush of feelings they were both experiencing. Her suggestive words turn quickly to eager sounds between rounds of kisses as he kicks open his door, something that made her body tense with pleasure at the witnessing of it. With another boot to the metal door, slamming it shut, anything besides the raw sexual need they both felt for each other was forgotten behind it.

They had built the emotional chemistry, then came the sexual, and that they had in spades, and now they had the time. His apartment was all exposed brick walls, the only light outside the bedroom coming from the street lamp through a window in the kitchen. Once they passed the barrier to his bedroom, she found only a single neon sign on that cast the room in a mood setting red glow. The decor was minimum, his sheets black and soft, bed unmade and clothes strewn over an old worn chair in the corner by a closet with no door. It screamed bachelor pad but she rather liked the casual, rustic, industrial aesthetic.

She takes in the red glow, the faint buzz of a vintage restored sign above his bed as he wastes no time and lays her back, feet just dangling over the sides. He moves fast and yanks his shirt over his head, eyes hungry as they watched her sit up on her knees and peel off her dress. A low rumble from his rapidly rising and falling chest as he gets his first good look at her. Almost bare except for the black bra and panties, the low light still held plenty to see as her curves were backlit in a silhouette that made him reach down and readjust himself in his tight jeans.

She reaches out and gets her hands flat on his torso to run down his belt, practically drooling at the sight and feel of him. Before she can go further he takes her by surprise and knocks her onto her back, feet kicking up in the air as he returns to the greedy kisses they’d paused before. He had to feel her before she touched him, he hoped he would last and not disappoint after the painful build up to their first time together. He gets to feel her warm olive skin give under his harsh grip she only responds in favor to. But soon she gets impatient for him.

“Mmph Declan.” A panted out and needful voice makes his eyes roll behind their shut lids.

An “Mmph?” Of his own in response, giving her room to speak as his lips move to her chest.

Her hands return to his belt and begin the metallic noises that signal something good to come. “I just want you tonight. There’ll be time for slow later...” she whines and shifts her hips under him, “no waiting just… fuck me.” Every part of his body responds to her breathy and surprisingly polite request of him.

“You sure?” A deep groan that makes her muscles deeply twitch inside her. Fingers on her bra clasp as she nods quickly and gets her hands into his undone jeans. “Whatever you want Bella.” He coos as he raises and she finishes the job, quickly but not bashfully tossing her bra across the room, watching him toe off his boots and lose the jeans.

With a bitten lip and hungry eyes she shimmy’s out of her panties, also wildly abandoned to the depths of his room. He palms himself over his tight boxer briefs and hums at the sight laid out beneath him. Every part of her was soft and silky and thick. Two muscular and hefty thighs framed a soft and chubby pair of pussy lips that her fingers disappeared into as she looked up at him.

“God baby you’re… fuck… look at you.” After the bra was tossed, and although it was a very sexy one, he was happy to admit, it’s disappearance revealed two natural and weighted breasts, even and bouncing, silver bars catching the light he thought the rest of her couldn’t also be as perfect. He was never more happy to be wrong. “You sure you don’t want any foreplay? Because FUCK I just want to bury my face between those thighs.” He rasps, hand now wrapped around himself through his boxers.

She gives him a seductive smile that makes his balls tighten, fingers in small circles, mostly hidden but he could see the light on the slick of her. “I’m sure.” She purrs, lifting the two previously hidden fingers and showing him the sticky remnants left. “I’m so fucking wet for you babe...” her long lashes bat up at him and he wants to eat her alive. He couldn’t have been happier she wasn’t being reserved or even remotely shy. She then put the fingers on display into her mouth, sucking them dry and he involuntarily releases a growl through a tight jaw. “Just fuck me already.” A playful nod of her head before sitting up and batting his hands away to finally have her eyes on him. And she was not let down.

“Fuck me…” She whispers, revealing a cock she would have written a song about. She takes both her hands to hold the heavy, uncut girth of him. Everything framed by dark thick hair. He was well over 6 inches, she could tell that much, possibly nearing 7, but what was even more impressive was how thick he was. She wanted to wrap her mouth around him and taste him, but she’d already proclaimed there’d be time later. She gets distracted, and who could blame her with a cock like his in her hands. Running over it before going to his balls which makes him emit a deep sigh.

Her silence and awe on her face clear he feels his ego rise. He’s never been insecure, for good reason, but seeing the lust burn clearly on her face filled him with a deep satisfaction. Taking himself into his hand and slowly pumping, a low and entirely confident voice purrs down at her. “Like what you see baby?” A smirk that made her want to smother him between her thighs rests on his face as she looks up at him.

“You know I fucking do.” She challenges him with snarled lips before reaching to yank his boxers off the rest of the way, scooting up the bed as he slips them off, seeing the animalistic prowl towards her before taking control of her mouth with his. His hands find her center quickly, and even though she’d proclaimed no foreplay, she didn’t fight him as his fingers explored how she was put together. Mapping out her clit and making her toes twitch before he sinks one, then two fingers into her. With a steady push behind them and an easy curve he gets to watch the first waves of pleasure pass over her face. She didn’t melt and sigh like he was used to seeing women do. Her eyes do roll back, but her lips snarl, teeth clenched as she moans for him with a tilted back head, legs splayed wide and welcoming. She was soaked, there was no denying the fact but he continues a few strokes before a third finger joins to test how she’d be able to take him. With a tiny whine, eyes returning to his with a more submissive cast to them he eats up her small moans as she adjusts. “Shit.” She swears out of nowhere fully grabbing his attention as he quickly removes his fingers and his eyes already full of apologies for her. “No, I’m fine. I forget the condoms in my bag downstairs.” She rubs her face with one hand, voice exasperated.

“Oh.” He lets out a snort of relief. “I’ve got us covered, don’t worry.” He shakes his head and she gets to see the great expanse of him reach into the bedside table and stretch above her. As it always went, he rolls it down over his length and she once again gets to marvel at him and how he can fill the tight cover.

It had been years since Bella had slept with anyone. She had plenty of toys and was no stranger to them, which helped in this particular situation, but her toys were not him. Even though not monstrous, and thank goodness for that, he would be the biggest guy she’d ever been with, and she knew there would be pain before pleasure. Luckily for both of them, she was a fan of both sensations.

“Ready baby?” He asks with a gentler turn to his low roar.

“Fuck yes.” She gives him a lusty glance that makes his heart react in a funny way, pressing forward with the winning attention his cock was demanding where it stood hard and proud and eager.

Settled between her legs, he raises to his knees to guide himself. An up and down over her thick pussy lips, glistening with wet for him she lays on her elbows to watch him, hand lowering to be helpful to spread her lips apart for him, his heavy head rubbing against her hard clit and revealing her soft pink center. As soon as he presses into her, he feels the resistance and knows he’s mentally going to have to prepare to go slow. He leans over her, still pressing as he can sense the discomfort she’s feeling. “If it hurts you-“

“Keep going.” She shushes him, fingers to his lips before pulling him flush against her, head notching in as her knees spread and fall back for him. With slow, deep kisses of intertwining tongue and moans it helps distract them for a moment, a slow push and in and out of himself.

With a few inches of progress she’s starting to relax, and is so appreciative of his patience. But she lacks that trait. “Fuck you’re so tight babe.” An almost defeated hoarse whisper escapes him as he hangs his head into her neck.

“And you’re so big.” She replies with a still happy sounding exhale. “Keeping goin, I want it all.” Her fingers dig into his back, no nails yet as she feels the pain and let it melt into pleasure as he sucks away at her breast. He fills her up so completely she feels as if he’s in her stomach when their hips finally meet again. A louder moan now, an exhale let out they didn’t know they were holding in. A slow drag out causes her to shudder beneath him. A moan that starts low and ends with a needy pitch makes his eyes roll back.

He’d imagined these sounds, and now he had them. more importantly he had her, skin to skin and nothing else between them, he had her all to himself and he felt a deep need to keep her that way. “You okay?” He asks against the bend of her neck, feeling her nod enthusiastically.

“Yes, fuck, more.” She whines, turning her head before crashing her mouth into his, hands in his hair as she gives over completely. With a masculine moan he pushes back in and causes her to interrupt the passionate kisses with an arch of her back and an open mouth. ”Oh my...fuck.” A guttural prayer from her lifted chin as her eyes fully roll back and he gets to soak up every bit of her animated reactions. He pauses again and she whines for more, her hand sliding between them to rub her clit. “Don’t stop anymore, just fuck me Declan, you feel so fucking good.” Her voice is hoarse and direct, her kisses much the same they follow, his hands now on her thigh to hold her steady, feeling them tense and shake with every pump. She was starving for his kisses, teeth tugging on his lips and growling in retort when he’d part from her. She was writhing under him, back arching and hips pushing back on him, there was nothing subtle about her like this. He felt bare with her in more than the physical way.

He met every buck of her hips and kiss of her mouth as she sought him out with growing desperation. She’d never felt so full before, physically or emotionally from sex. He was meeting her passion with his own matched, both arching and bowing against the other as the growing tension between them is fueled by their friction. With his hand gripped into the covers by her head, she raises her free hand to push the hair back from his face. She knew she wasn’t ending the night dissatisfied and found her mind wanting to focus on things besides her own pleasure for once. With guys before they were mostly there for themselves, but not Declan. He’d been there for her in every capacity thus far and she knew in bed he’d be no different. She uncovers his ruggedly handsome face. His pinked lips swollen from her assault on them, that heavy brow over shut eyes as he panted and kept the pace up with her needs and requests for more, faster, please harder. With every exhale they moaned and heaved together.

She feels a familiar build in her center. “Holy shit. I’m close already.” An almost laugh escapes her, a fully abandoned smile on her face as he opens his eyes to take in the view beneath him as he finds she’d been doing to him. She was caught off guard by him, hadn’t built up her expectations on purpose so she wouldn’t be disappointed but he was just...awesome. In the true sense of the word. Awe inspiring. With thickness she’d never had before, the pain she’d feel tomorrow was a world away, there was only right now for both of them, nothing else mattered.

Soon she couldn’t focus on anything but the growing tension between her thighs. He’s diving into his hips as she bucked up to meet him, elbow firmly planted into the mattress for traction as her fingers work quickly around her hard clit. “Yes. Just like that.” She praises through a bitten lip as she pulls her legs apart and back as far as she can, his hand moving from his hold on her thigh as he holds one of her knees back towards the bed and feels himself bottoming out inside her. He was determined to last through this, feeling her wave after wave tightening around him. “Fuck…” A groan that ends in a squeak, her mouth open and eyes not met with his. “Just like that.” She nods and her eyes stare fearlessly Into his. ”Yeah. Make me come baby. Make me fuckin’ come.” a challenging chin up at him and he feels a raw need to give her what she wants. A growl from his chest builds and she tightens at the sound alone. “That’s it Declan.” Another wicked smile and nod, her nose wrinkled in challenge to his low brow and tight jaw, hitting into her deep, causing her eyes to flutter back between rounds of her talking. “Make me come all over that big cock.” She moans, losing her composure.

“Fuck Bells.” An almost overwhelmed moan from him washes over her. He hadn’t expected her to have a mouth on her in bed but he’s wondering why he hadn’t now.

Her words give way to moans, then a more helpless voice that makes him want to end it all far too quickly begging him, “Fuck. Yes. Fuck me. Fuck me, baby.” She chants as it takes over her entire body bit by bit. Rapidly spreading from her center everything spreads like fire into her thighs and up her spine. Her stomach tenses and she draws up, shaking helplessly as it comes wave after delicious wave. Her thighs clamp around him and he’s aware of how strong she really is.

She looked him boldly in the eyes as long as she could, giving over and head tilted up and pushed into the bed as her back arched and her hips and thighs trembled. With big gulping breaths, a forced moan each exhale that followed the waves, watched her underneath him with a ravenous fascination. He was used to women going limp, to showy porn-like displays to acting meek after orgasms, but that was not his Bella.

She comes back with dark eyes and a roar. Feeling full of blood and energy pulls her mouth to his by the back of his neck before demanding, ”On your back. I wanna fucking ride you.”

He was left with no room but to obey, and he really couldn’t have been happier to switch roles for once. Women before her were submissive and delicate, but Bella was quickly making him forget any existed before her.

With a quick exchange, she leans in and kisses him with teeth and tongue, a noisy and messy exchange. She wastes no time, taking him in with a satisfying exhale and hum, a smile that told him she had only good things planned for him.

He lays in awe for a moment, feeling the weight of her grind and hit against him, an involuntary moan coming from him and sounding almost weak.

“Touch me Declan.” She commands softly, grinding down on him, putting one of his hands to her ass and the other on her chest. “I want those big hands all over me.” She shakes her head and snarls her lip, taking his fingers that rest on her chest into his mouth for a captivating moment. She grabs ahold of his headboard, hands gripped tight for traction as she really goes to work on him. That loud and satisfying skin to skin slap as she threw her wide hips and hefty ass against him. He felt himself giving over quickly. She was so tight around him, now totally soaked to her inner thighs and hot in every sense of the word. He got to watch her curvaceous body move fluidly over his, hands tracing the outline of bouncing tits to her waist to tease her hips before she demanded. “Fucking grab me.” And he sinks his calloused fingers into the soft meaty hips that had been teasing him for months. “That’s it.” She gives a wicked smile and a satisfied hum. “I wanted to make you cum but you might make me again, big boy.” She confesses, flipping her wild hair to one aide, revealing her face giving him a wink he wasn’t prepared for.

“God…” He exhales. “You keep this up and I’m gonna cum soon.” He admits with downturned brows, licking his lips.

“Good.” Is her bossy response. She moves her fingers back to her clit, that still intoxicating skin to skin slap as he grabs her ass and directs her pace as she rides him. “Fuck you feel so good. So fuckin...big.” She moans, feeling it build again as she gives direct attention to the still throbbing bud. “Fuck I’ve wanted to come on this cock for so long.” She shakes her head, eyes shut as she speaks in rolling moans and whines. She opens her eyes and leans closer, more attention grabbing eye contact he gazed up into as he felt himself getting so close. “I wanna feel you.” Words close to a whisper. “Want to feel you throbbing inside this tight little pussy.” She sneers and issues in an almost polite tone for the words being said. “Fuck me Declan.” An almost whine from her swollen lips. “I want it so fucking bad.” She groans and clenches her teeth.

He makes a decision, and luckily it’s the right one. He pulls her by the back of the neck to his lips and growls. “Fucking come for me.” Into her mouth, forehead to forehead as he plants his feet into the bed and pounds into her. Her hand trapped between them and the other pushing on the headboard she bounces on him as she pounds upward and he sends her over the edge again. “Fuuuuck.” He growls. “Fucking feel you baby girl.” He moans and sees her mouth hanging open, small gasps as she shakes above him.

“Shiiiit.” She moans as both hands clamp onto her hips and he gives her exactly what she asked for. “Yes. Yes.” She nods and takes him like she was made for him.

“You fucking want it baby girl?”

A helpless and desperate “uh huh.” From her in response.

“Fucking take it.” He growls before her hands smack to either side of his face as she kisses him hard. Through moans and roars she keeps her lips on him. She wanted to eat him whole, to sink her teeth into him and taste blood. Just wanted everything from him in the moment of hearing him curse and say her name, watching his face go from lion to lamb.

They come down together, both trembling and bodies heaving as they tried to remember how to function normally again. He moves his hands gently, up her back and her hair to hold her and kiss her properly. Deep and slow, the sounds of wet lips together becomes louder than the moans eventually. The kisses are soft and dare she admit it, sweet. The love hormones were reaping havoc on their brains as they stayed suspended, him inside her and nose to nose. She tries and loses her nerve to speak her mind, resting herself on top of him, head to his chest. He lovingly rests a hand on her head and another on her back, holding her there.

“I don’t know if I can’t move.” She lets out a soft laugh against him.

“Lemme…” He grunts, moving them both to their side, her legs still wrapped around him and now on her chest partially, her almost on her back.

“Much better.” She sighs out, feeling her hips shift back into place.

“It was.” He lets put a deep hum and she finally meets his eyes after the deed.

She nods and finds herself brave enough to give him a smile that says more than her words would let her. “Yeah. It was.” He leans in for more of her lips. He couldn’t help himself. She looked so soft after being so hard for so long. With hands in each other’s wild hair, the kisses take longer and longer pauses until they both feel sleep coming for them.

She apologizes and says she gotta get up to pee. Always pee after sex. Those are the rules. So they finally part, even though neither want to. He throws away the very full condom after watching her waddle to the bathroom with a grin.

“Don’t like it when you leave but love to watch you go.” A deep sleepy voice teases as she crawls back into bed, him on his back and holding up the covers.

“Cornball.” She snorts, But cuddles right up to him anyway. “We gonna sleep in?”

“We earned it.” He says leaning down to kiss her forehead as he speaks against it.

“I’d say we most certainly have.” She agrees and lets out a yawn, followed by a fully satisfied sigh.

“Night baby Belle.” He gives another kiss after wrapping his arms around her.

“Night Declan.” She mumbled against his chest. “You were great tonight.” She adds sleepily, lips smacking as she snuggles into him again.

“So you were you baby girl.” With it all said and done, they both felt tired down into their bones, but how could they not feel fully relaxed after the week they had, and add the night and the sex on top of it. It was the deepest and best sleep either had had in as long as they could remember. Bella felt safe and satisfied. Declan felt whole and accomplished. And both felt far more than they bargained for for the other.

Please leave a like, reblog or comment if you enjoyed this! It makes me want to write more of what you want if you let me know!

@vale0413 @littledeadgirlwalking@jaegeeeeer @phillipkopusimagines-and-stuff @mjolnir96 @xmother-mortemx @this-isnt-madness @thors-hair-extensions @divadinag

#declan harp #frontier fanfic #jason momoa frontier #Jason Momoa #declan harp fanfic #declan harp fic #declan harp x reader #declan harp x ofc #declan harp au #frontier au #frontier fic #Frontier fan fiction #frontier fandom #modern au #Frontier Modern AU #declan harp modern au

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transgamerthoughts · 4 years

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Final Fantasy 7 Remake: Thoughts and Ramblings

Surprised to dust this off but I want to collect my thoughts quickly now that credits are rolling on Remake:

In general, I enjoyed it quite a lot. As one of many players with a unique relationship to the original (I first “played” it watching a childhood friend over the course of several sleepovers before playing on my own and occasionally returning to it) I was skeptical. I’ve express some of that skepticism at Kotaku , a website I write at. Remakes and remasters sometimes fall short or deviate in strange ways. Remake forges its own path and I’m grateful for it.

SPOILERS AHEAD KIDDOS

So! Here’s some scattered thoughts. Maybe they end up on Kotaku, maybe not. And while I’m loathe to immediately rush to create content on a Sunday night, this game has my mind spinning. Here we go.

The characterizations in this game are very strong, perhaps stronger than the original’s Midgar section. Some of that is owed to a very bad localization in ‘97 (you can get insight into that from my former colleague Tim Rogers’ series here) but Remake takes a lot of effort to allow the cast to breathe. That can come from the ways in which Cloud alters his way of taking with Tifa, and it can come in the moment where Barrett is more explicitly an ideologue. It’s quite good even if the script has a flaw that we’ll talk about in a second.

That flaw is, frankly, that if you’ve not played the original then Remake is going to end up impenetrable in the final hours. This is particularly true once characters like Zack are brought into the fold and the visuals begin to mirror the original. (See: the hard cuts before Sephiroth and Clouds final duel mirroring the Omnislash moment from ‘97.) I don’t think that diminishes the character work here but I think that the more interesting meta-narrative stuff *so* damn crucial to this game that I can’t imagine what a newcomer will think.

Connected to this, I’ve seen folks disappointed that this is not a perfect remake but in this instance, I think that sentiment is misplaced. Valid, but shortsighted? You can’t make Final Fantasy VII today. Not in the way it existed in ‘97. Which isn’t to say the visuals or script but the context cannot be reproduced. New hardware, FMVs taking a forefront, an advertising campaign that positioned the game in competition with movies, and a cultural splash that the series hasn’t ever quite replicated. Because the weight of expectation hovers over Remake—folks have been obsessed with a new version since the PS3 tech demo stirred imagination at E3 2020—the game *needs* to be about that. To be a game about this moment, the moment gamers have waited decades for, Remake needs to be about itself in a very explicit way.

I can’t not see the Whispers and Arbiters of Fate as anything other than stand-ins for gamers, fans, and the culture as a whole. That’s an obvious reading but an undeniable one. The core question of Remake doesn’t really have much to do with the fictional stakes. It’s this: who owns Final Fantasy VII, and who owns the Remake? Is it the story tellers or the players? I have a cheat answer: it belongs to the characters. In unbinding themselves from player expectation, they claim ownership over the narrative now.

Aeris just flat out knows she’s in a sequel/alt-timeline thing. Her final line is about missing the surety of something as presumably ever present at the metal sky of Midgar’s plates.

I like the combat here more than FFXV, which isn’t saying a lot but worth saying. There’s more participation from the player. That’s it. I don’t think *more* active choice inherently makes a combat system better but it is the key reason this works better than XV.

Character swapping breaks things somewhat since enemy aggro is (save for using the provoke materia) focused on the player. Wish the combat design took this into consideration a bit more. It’s the one glaring flaw in the system.

Tifa is the most fun to play as in this game. It’s not even a contest. Starshower is overpowered as hell and Chi Trap rules. Love using her to increase the potency of the stagger meter when the time comes.

Fights do get occasionally Too Busy. Airbuster is a big culprit here. Too many phases for what was essentially a jobber of a boss in the original game.

Train Graveyard section is an atrocious pace killer as well. Again: “too many notes.”

I never found the Nail Bat and that was a bit of a bummer.

I tweeted out a quote from Barrett this weekend and it made the rounds. In general, for this game, Barrett works best in this revolutionary mode even if certain scenes (Shinra middle manager for instance) deploy visual language that’s dated. Of any character, he has the highest highs and lowest lows. Not surprising.

re: that tweet some folks kinda lost their shit about it(?) but I think the quote still holds. Remake does a good job of showing *individuals* within Shinra but Barrett does rightly note they are complicit to an extent in Shinra’s crimes. You can disagree with what Barrett does about it but that’s 100% true. Sorry, not sorry. (The discourse today was just a hassle frankly. Multiple things can be true at once, but I don’t think Twitter is a place where that’s ever acknowledged.) Whatever eventual regrets he might feel about methodology in ‘97′s script, he’s not wrong on this individual point. I’m interested to see where he goes as a character when it comes to all this.

Kinda related to the above, Remake arguably does a better job than ‘97 showing the alternative to Shinra. It’s the communal nature of the individual sectors. It’s the Neighborhood Watch and local leaders in Sector 7, the trio in Wall Market. Remake rejects Shinra’s autocracy and favors the various slums communes. This is made ever more clear by how little of Reeve we see in this script. Who are the leaders shaping life into a passable experience in Midgar? It’s not the Urban Planning guy with the cat robot.

Also: hey, is that Cait Sith in the plate drop cutscene? Yep! Hope you played the original or there’s just this sad cat that shows up for 4 four seconds.

Is he a Chad? Well, he’s Chad-ley...

Not sure what to think of the Wutai stuff being more explicit but it feels right for 2020 for a variety of reasons. I’ve never been too interested in FF7′s realpolitik tho. It’s not really much of an expansion so much as a background element but one that’s deployed a bit lazily.

Roche owns in a way I was not expecting. He’s a balls to the wall anime motherfucker and I kinda love him? I’m really, really surprised that (as far as I could tell) he didn’t even come back for the final bike sequence tho.

I don’t really have the energy to litigate or talk about Wall Market much. I think it’s better than the original but pandering in the sense that it’s a very safe and commodified version of queerness. I appreciate that Nomura and folks looked at the original and were like “well, we can’t do *that*” but it doesn’t quite land for me.

That said: “yes, I know, nailed it,” is a fantastic line with a fantastic read from Cloud’s English VA.

Hell House announcers rule. Hell House fight? Kinda terrible actually.

Nice shout out to Kunsel in Shinra Tower. Crisis Core is a messy game but I like Tabata’s work a lot. Even the messy stuff, which is most of it. That game’s story is bonkers but I like Zack and I actually like the idea of the Digital Mind Wave as a mechanic. If nothing else, Squeenix lost a pretty exciting designer when he left.

Less nice? This game’s tendency to pad out dungeons. The whole approach to the Sector 5 reactor comes to mind. Train fight then tunnels then sun lamps then reactor. It’s a lot. Also: all of the extra Hojo stuff. I know we’re padding out like 5 hours but some of the sections could have been abbreviated. Probably would have made the game better.

Even less nice? Zack’s English voice actor. Maybe the only voice actor I didn’t like. Really miss Rick Gomez on this one.

Conversely, Red XIII? They nailed it. 11/10. Nanaki, I love you so much.

Counterstance is an amazing move and I can’t want to carry that over into Hard Mode.

The Jenova fight fuckin’ ripped. I was a bit huffy when I learned through leaks that there was a Jenova fight (since the first fight in the original is on the boat to Costa Del Sol) but this was a great set piece. One of the moments where everything worked.

Also good: Rufus fight. Bad: losing Rufus’ speech to the party.

Not a ton more thoughts right now? Sephiroth fight was good although for all his presence in the story I think we suffer without the full Nibelheim flashback to round things out. In all really liked it. Want to play again pretty much immediately. Will write something more cogent for the site I guess? Got a few ideas. But yeah! entered as skeptic and left mostly a believer on this one.

#final fantasy vii remake #spoilers

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eternaljouska · 5 years

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Bear Hug - Hansol Vernon Chwe

Pairing: Idol!Vernon x Reader (The idol-ness doesn’t really show, though)

Genre: Fluff

Warning: nonexistent

Word Count: 1611

Note: The format is slightly different. I was planning to change it, but my friend said it’s better to keep it this way, so... yeah.

Also, @jookyunhoevercoupshoe here you go, i’m sorry, i promised to upload this yesterday, but you know what happened (?) Hope this is enough, even if the moment is too short. DON’T READ THIS WITH TOO MUCH EXPECTATION, PLEASE. THIS IS JUST A FEW SECONDS INTERACTION--5 MINUTES MAX. (Tell me if this is way below your expectation, tho, i’ll try to write something better in the future 🤧 i feel so insecure about this one, ugh)

Yes, he knows. Vernon knows it is very uncharacteristic of him to dress up like this. His fashion taste may fall into a questionable category, but that’s the way he is—free-minded, free-spirited, unbound to the lines the society draws around him. If someone knows him at all, they should be able to tell if the clothes strewn randomly on the bed are his or not, he would bet anything on that.

Or not. Surely, if he cares enough about his wellbeing, he would not involve himself in any more misleading pursuit such as that, moreover if it is initiated by the one and only Yoon Jeonghan. Just like how everything is, the bet started as something harmless, bordering foolish really, and then, the older man whined and raised the stake to make things a little more interesting. And here Vernon is: dressing up as a Teddy Bear in the middle of the crowded Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport as a consequence to his tough luck. He’s supposed to put his costume as soon as he passes through the immigration process. And mind you, it is not even a Teddy Bear onesie. It’s a full-blown mascot costume with the sponge or who knows what it is in its belly. It’s hot and heavy. And fortunately, Vernon speaks English fluently, which allows him the additional task of coming up to at least seventeen kids and giving each of them a balloon and a hug before joining his other members in their lounge.

Vernon is cautious. He asks the airport officials a few times to ascertain that it is completely okay to do what he’s about to do. He’s praying with all of his heart that it’s not, but the words that they told him were much looser than a no. Oh, good God, he’s already traumatized, and he hasn’t even exited the restroom. This is just so not him. He could see Seungkwan in it—Soonyoung or Seokmin, too, or any other member for that matter—but not him. How should he approach unknowing kids with a balloon and a hug and just leave immediately after? What if their parents question him? Oh, how he hopes he’s more than a mass of awkwardness starting to melt inside his burning costume.

“Hi! Hi? Hi,” he says and repeats several times, trying out his various friendly tones in front of the mirror of the deserted restroom. “Okay, you can do this. Hi, want a balloon and a hug? Perfect. Okay. Let’s get it, Vern.”

“Hi!” he lets out in a tone way too high for his liking, which is met with what could be a horrendous scream of an unsuspecting boy if only he’d spared him a glance on his run to the stall. “Want a—oh, right, yes, you need to go to the restroom, aha, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Yes, Vernon, great first attempt. Proud of you, yeah, haha.

His second attempt is better, and his next few ones are decent.

There’s a girl walking timidly behind her father, her short arms clutching around her father’s leg. The wetness under her eyes is still visible. When they arrive in front of Vernon, her father mouths to him that Riley, his daughter, is scared, but she wants the balloon. Vernon nods his giant head a few times and walks slowly towards the girl. “It’s okay, Riley. Teddy bear doesn’t bite. Here, have a balloon.”

The girl looks up at her father who in turn urges her forward to pick her balloon of choice. Blue. She chooses a blue balloon. “Thank you, Mr. Bear,” she whispers before hiding behind her father’s leg once again.

For a while, Vernon just strolls around the airport, past the gift shops and nearing the gate where a little girl runs towards him and squeals in all excitement, “Can I get the pink one? Can I get the pink one?”

Vernon tries to kneel down to match the girl height, but that proves difficult with the compact belly he’s supporting. “Mia,” the girl’s mother chides from several feet away, causing the girl, Mia, to drop her smile and stop bouncing on her feet.

“I’m sorry. Can I get a pink balloon, please?” she asks again, peeking from underneath her bangs. And Vernon’s heart melts at that sight, in a rate quicker than his costume makes his body does.

“Of course! Here you go. Do you care for a hug? You can get a free balloon and a free hug!”

“I love hugs!” The girl jumps into Vernon’s hug, bumping his pillowy belly, with chuckles that help him come into term with his punishment. Well, this is a lot more fun than I expected. “Bye-bye,” Mia intones as she skips back to where her mother’s standing, a wide smile showing her neat teeth still placated on her face.

After Mia, there’s a big family seemingly on their way to their vacation. There are at least four children from that family alone, Vernon has lost count, for then there are a few others coming out of nowhere and circling him, creating quite the commotion of shouts of color. And with the last yellow balloon given to a kid named Jerry—or the way he adorably pronounced it, Jewwy—Vernon’s task is completed.

Vernon sighs, pretty content about what he’s done and given for the kids, but tired nonetheless. He drags his padded soles to the restroom where he first began his mission. He knows that there are other restrooms, obviously, but for sentimental purposes, he wants to use the same one. The restroom’s sign’s starting to get clearer as he gets closer to his destination when he feels someone poking on his back.

“It’s unfair that only kids get free balloons and hugs like that, you know.”

Vernon turns around only to face a young woman of his age standing with both hands folded in front of her, looking at him with half a pout on her lips. Vernon opens his mouth to say something, but words fail him. He’s lucky his huge bear head can hide his gaping mouth.

“I know you ran out of balloons, but can I at least get the hug?” she inquires. Vernon notices her fingers that are actively pinching the skin of her elbow. She’s adopted a tough appearance—expression, tone, and stance—when she first spoke up, but now, Vernon would say that she’s almost sheepish. “Well, I mean, it’s okay if—“

Without thinking further, Vernon finds himself opening his arms widely, welcoming the young woman in front of him. Seeing that it’s Vernon who initiates the hug, he didn’t imagine he’d be surprised when she dives into his embrace, but he does. Vernon takes an involuntary step back from the impact. The young woman’s hold on him is so tight that he can still feel the squeeze despite his thick costume.

The words are you okay? are hanging on the tip of his tongue, his heart goes erratic with growing worries, but the young woman beats him to it. “I’m sorry. I just need this.”

Vernon realizes at that point that his arms are still wide open, so he brings his hands together, closing in on her. “It’s okay. As long as you are, too. Okay, I mean.”

She laughs, but Vernon catches the hint of tears in her melodic chuckle. “Hey, what’s wrong?” he says, placing his hands on her shoulder to break the hug and allow him to see her face. She has her head ducked down, too occupied with the nudging show her boot has with Vernon’s big fluffy bear foot.

Understanding that she won’t do it on her own accord, Vernon moves his hand to cup her cheeks to raise her head, which somehow erases the frown on his forehead and frees his own laughter. Her cheeks—almost her whole face—is drowning between Vernon’s paw, and it makes her look too adorable for him to handle. And she, still with her pouty lips, struggles to bat away Vernon’s paw. When Vernon lets her cheeks go, she wipes her tears away and goes on to chastise him. “What are you laughing about, huh?”

“You,” Vernon answers shortly, half-aware that his word’s going to irritate her furthermore.

“What? That’s plain cruel, Mr. Teddy Bear! You’re supposed to be a Teddy Bear, not a Baddy Bear.” She blinks several times at the end of her sentence, probably noticing how weird that sounded.

Vernon scoffs, “W-what?”

A split second after that, the two young adults laugh uncontrollably, and Vernon’s thought flies to the timid girl earlier, Riley. She had called him Mr. Bear; she’s afraid of him and called him Mr. Bear. He wonders, is that her way of showing her ambivalence between Mr. Teddy Bear and Mr. Baddy Bear?

“Can I have one last hug?” she begins after their laughter died down. “I can’t visit the airport whenever I need a free hug, you know?”

“Sure.” Vernon’s head is emptied of any coherent thoughts as he wraps her in another tight hug. This is it. She’s going to walk away from him, and soon he’ll change into his normal clothing and everything stays in their memory, awaiting the time when memory blurs and reality dissolves into the dark of forgetfulness.

“Thank you,” she whispers, very much as Riley did, and starts walking backward.

“Actually,” he half-shouts, too deep in his previous consideration to notice, “Would you like my nu—no, um, my company, yeah, my company’s contact. You know, for business inquiries.”

She chuckles, the trace of tears has long since gone away. “Sure, I’ll take that.”

Note: Leo @leojov , this is why I lowkey freaked out when you mentioned me and started talking about teddy bear.

#vernon fluff #hansol fluff #seventeen fluff #chwe hansol fluff #vernon scenarios #vernon imagines #hansol vernon chwe #hansol imagines #hansol scenarios #seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines

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wykart · 4 years

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The Prodigal Daughter

Summary: The Doctor has some unfinished business on Gallifrey. She has a purpose, and the Time Lords intend for her to fulfil it. (read on ao3)

a.k.a. local girl has a crush on the 13th Doctor, a love of cosmic/psychological horror, and a fascination with the whole Doctor = The Other thing from the wilderness years novels.

Chapter 1: The Promise

Pity, and things were just starting to get good. In retrospect, a little too good.

She’d been thrown out of her TARDIS and crashed right into the next band of wide-eyed, brilliant humans who’d been all too enthusiastic to go along with it all. Humans. They gravitate towards the weird like ions to a gravity belt, buzzing around like flies. Anything to pull them away from the collectively self-enforced misery of the day-to-day. You get the odd few – like Karl – who are more than content to meander through time, always a little lost, always holding the truth back a fraction so as to keep the fear at bay. Not her new best friends. In a way, she had them trapped, even if she hadn’t meant to do it. But, maybe she always means to do it, a little bit, deep down. (All of time and space, what d’you say?) reluctance, because they all have little lives to be getting on with, and little people that rely upon the unceasing perpetuation of those little lives. A web, intricate, all of them trapped in it. (By the way, did I mention, it also travels in time?) splendour, because it’s just a bit too close to magic. They hardly ever say no.

To be fair, she had wholly intended to die, all noble and peaceful-like. All staring out over the brief armistice on the battlefield and lamenting the guttural woes of immortality. Eyebrows had always quite enjoyed his lamenting. All her lamenting went on behind a smile and a brightened glare – fidgeting hands and bouncing feet. She liked the way she moved now, all limber and sporadic. The youth of it. It felt like old times.

She’d taken off the veil after Trenzalore, but it got boring after a while; the sadness, the age, the self-imposed exile. He made a promise to the next one along, a few rules to hold close to her hearts. Laugh hard. Run fast. Be kind. She plays the part rather well. It’s a different sort of relationship. She didn’t up and snatch some young woman away from her life to see the stars with an intimacy that only comes with that one-on-one, that face to face. It’s different, too, because they all joined her at the same time, none knowing more than the other, all of them from the same time, same place – down to the block. They’re predictable.

Things were light-hearted. Controlled little escapades, low stakes, relatively speaking – but more than enough for a few humans. This is who she had wanted herself to be, wasn’t it? This was the promise.

She’s in control, creating a narrative, sticking to the corners of the universe where nobody knew her title. She’s got rules now, too. Better rules than before. The Doctor lies, of course, but she doesn’t advertise the fact these days. Non-interference is a buzzkill, always will be, but she can appreciate the sentiment. Walking away; she isn’t used to that feeling. Maybe it’s a sign of maturity, or maybe she’s just growing cold. Like this – with her rules and her power – she can almost pretend that she really is just a traveller, can act the benefactor while she watches their wide eyes take in the sights. She can almost pretend that there’s no past reaching out from the end of the universe, gripping her neck, ready to twist her back towards home. Ready to snap.

Their influence is spreading beyond their secluded corner at the end of the universe. Maybe in the beginning they were humble about it, promising to patch over their tyranny and lead a civilisation of malevolent indifference at the end of time. Memories of the war still haunting the global subconscious, weapons locked away, gathering dust. Indifference never lasts forever. Curiosity and hunger prevail, scars whiten to a faded groove – even hers. As her species reaches out, tugging at time, twisting it around her like bonds, it is accompanied with an implacable longing for red fields under an orange sky. For a barn in the desert. She wonders if the grass has grown back yet – if it’s struggled up through the arid, fallow soil. She wonders how many survived the war, how many hate her, and how many idolise her? Which faction holds power now, after Rassilon’s usurpation? Do they call her a monster, a renegade, a prodigal daughter, or do they hold her up as some sort of cosmic hero, some sort of god? She isn’t sure which is worse.

And still, the message hangs in the back of her mind, a psychic backdrop, a drone. (Lord President, your presence is required on homeworld. Comply, or we will be forced to take action. Your weakness is known. It will be exploited. Kind regards). Always polite at least, the aristocracy.

Of course, she’s not going to do what they tell her. She’s been disobeying the wishes of the high council for over two thousand years. She isn’t about to stop now. Running is what she’s good at, and running was part of the promise. Still, she can feel them rifling through her head, sifting through her time like a pool of sand. Searching for something old, something powerful. Something she hasn’t thought about since before the war, when she was starting to get a little too cocky and the universe thought it best to bring her down a peg, or two, or all of them. Whether her negligence is a question of hasn’t or can’t is another matter altogether. There’s something older in her bones, deeper. Something that’s been running for even longer than she has. She doesn’t want them to find it.

The TARDIS lands, rougher than usual. She hopes she hasn’t broken any more chairs. The Doctor takes a moment to catch up with herself, pushing that spiralling message down as deep as it will go (it still hums, always singing). She feels displaced, and their grip is only growing tighter, pulling time up over her eyes like a murky veil. It tastes metallic red in her mouth.

A knock at the door scatters the symbols, impact throbbing in her ears. “Hey Doc!” it’s Graham. She quite likes that nickname, it suits her. Hip and – what was it that Eyebrows had said? – down with the kids. “Gave me a bit of a turn there, I almost dropped m’tea!”

She tries to shake the grogginess from her head and plasters on a smile, hair balled around her face like fuzz. “Tea!” she exclaims, shrill, hurtling out through the TARDIS doors in front of a startled and exasperated looking Graham. “I’d love me some tea, thanks very much Graham.”

“Well alright then, I’ll put the kettle on shall I?” he says with a chuckle. He sets his own half-full mug down on the dining table and calls up the narrow staircase. “Oi Ryan! The Doc’s here, get down or you’ll miss out til next Sat’day.” Picture frames line the walkway. Pictures of Graham and Grace as the Doctor knew her, and older ones. A young, rosy woman with braided hair smiling that same, motherly smile. Portraits of a young boy that must be Ryan, stifled in too-high school shirt collars and gazing off-centre into his own thoughts. “He’s havin’ an afternoon nap,” Graham informs the Doctor with a fond, knowing smirk. “Went out with his mates down the pub last night and came back in a right state. I don’t know how he does it.”

“Oh, to be young,” the Doctor muses, only half in jest. Graham barks a short laugh, because he doesn’t see her, none of them do. She’s just fine with that. Oh, to be young. It makes the running so much easier.

“Yaz should be round in a bit, she had some family lunch, extended and all. Makes me jealous just thinkin’ about that food. Do they’ave Pakistani food in space?”

The Doctor is grateful for the invitation for anecdote. “Oh yeah, plenty of em’! Especially in the 31st century when you lot really start branchin’ out. There’s one in the Taureen System just off the Braken Nebula – excellent Karahi. I’ll take you sometime, shall I?” Fast words, wide grin, teeth bared against that incessant noise thrumming against her skull. She tries not to betray her disquiet. She feels sorry for The Master.

“That sounds great Doc,” a flash of concern. That isn’t good. He must have noticed her expression. “I’ll get that tea on. Make yourself at home.” He bustles out as Ryan traipses down the stairs, one careful foot in front of the other. Climbing down a British suburban staircase with a hangover and dyspraxia is a feat of unimaginable skill, and he almost makes it look easy.

“Mornin’ Ryan,” she calls, plastering on her grin again.

He winces. “Hey, Doctor.”

“Big night?”

“Yeah.” He sighs, blinking rapidly as if the action might jerk him awake. “Long shift at work too. I’m down for an adventure, just no more space warehouses, yeah?”

“Well, guess I’ll have to cancel my plans for our space warehouse extravaganza then.” She rolls her eyes in mock-frustration. “Honestly Ryan, you keep me on my toes.”

The doorbell rings, causing Ryan to wince and hold his head again. “Shall I answer the intruder alert?” she chimes, trying for a joke. It’s an old one, overused maybe, but her head hurts far more than Ryan’s does and the joke-making centre of her brain is seeped in Time Lord threats, viscous as tar.

“That’ll be Yaz,” Ryan mumbles. “I’ll get it.” He wanders along the landing, the Doctor following absently, not really sure what to do with herself. When Ryan opens the door, Yaz’s face is almost covered by the tower of Tupperware balanced precariously in her arms.

“Hey Ryan, Doctor,” she beams. “Could you grab a couple of these, otherwise I’m gonna collapse under a pile of Nani’s cooking.” Ryan obediently scoops the top-most lot of containers from Yaz’s tower. The smell is overpowering, and steam fogs up against the plastic, softening it. The Doctor takes the next lot with a hurried grin at Yaz and carries them to the kitchen. Best not to look at her too long, Yaz is good at noticing faces and what’s going on behind them.

“Oh Yaz, you’re a gem, you are,” Graham exclaims as he waves through the parade of leftovers.

“Well I wasn’t about to leave you out was I?” she says, shunting the sparse contents of the O’Brien/Sinclair fridge to make room for her contribution. “How about we have second lunch when we get back. Just make it a long one, okay Doctor, because I am full to bursting.”

“Ooh, lunch with the fam,” The Doctor cries, a little too loudly to be passed off as mere enthusiasm. The truth is she’s having trouble hearing her own thoughts, let alone her voice. It’s like her head is being pushed underwater, deeper, deeper, to where the light doesn’t shine and the creatures are strange.

There’s a shared sheepish smile from the rest of them. Sometimes all of their faces knit together into one. Predictable. All humans look a little bit the same. She can see their time stretching out in front of them, see where it snaps off abruptly, no confetti. A straight line. A grey line. Their youth hangs about them like something tangible, and there’s so little substance to them that they’re often nothing more than pinpricks in the dark. You have to squint. The other Time Lords don’t see them at all. That simple fact is what scares her the most.

“You all good Doctor? You’re sorta just… starin’,” Ryan says, brows knotted together in concern. The other two wear the same expression. Identical. Pinpricks in the dark.

“Hmm?” she inquires, using the sound to give her more time, processing his words. They take a while to filter through. His voice is like tin; thin, rattling. “Me? Very all good, thanks Ryan. Always good, that’s me.” (Am I a good man?) She buries the question. It has a habit of cropping up at inopportune moments.

“Okay then,” Yaz claps her hands together, dispelling the tension. She’s good at that, but it’s double-edged. Yaz notices everything, and the Doctor knows that later she’ll be taken aside and bombarded with questions from PC Khan. Astute, assertive, hopelessly curious. She prides herself on attracting that sort. “What have you got planned for us today, Doctor?”

“Well, now that you mention it, I think I have some idea.” As far away from the Time Lords as possible. What sort of leisure activities could one take one’s humans to at the beginning of the universe? “It’s a surprise, though,” she blurts, when she realises that she’s been silent for too long. The sound of it is sharp, and it stabs up through the din pressing down on her (Lord President). Involuntarily, her hand rushes to her head, a wince, her feet slide and stumble beneath her as if she’s standing on ice.

“You sure you’re alright Doctor? You sure it weren’t you that drank too much last night?” Ryan smiles, half concern, half content. They have no idea what they’re dealing with. She aims to keep it that way.

“Phew, yeah I am, thanks Ryan,” she wipes her brow with the back of her hand. Mock exhaustion. The sort of exhaustion they understand. The tiredness she’s feeling now doesn’t culminate with a sheen of murky sweat on the brow – it’s deeper. It grips every nerve-end and twists. A knife in the gut, slowly spinning in. “Had a bit of a rough landing. I’ll be right with a cuppa tea in me.” She puts her hands on her hips, steadying herself. “Speakin’ of, wonder how Graham’s getting on.” It’s a forced sort of exit. Obvious. Her head hurts too much for subtlety. She wanders off towards the kitchen, past two humans with mouths open in exclamations of concern and protest held at bay. Pinpricks.

…

“Do you think she’s alright?” Ryan asks, when the Doctor is out of earshot. Alien ears though, maybe she can always hear them. He doesn’t linger on the thought.

“Probably, she did look a bit wobbly. Nothing she can’t handle though, right?” she grins. It’s transparent; for herself as much as for him. “She’s an alien, could have an alien cold or something.”

“Do you reckon humans can catch alien colds?”

“Dunno.”

Small talk is difficult. She had quite enough of it that morning surrounded by her extended family all crammed into their little apartment. It’s always the same questions delivered at varying levels of disdain coated in sweetness. Questions like; have you thought about going to university?, do you have a boyfriend yet?, and then; you’re so beautiful Yasmin, you would have no trouble finding a good man. Her mother had cast the odd look her way, a knowing smile, encouragement in her eyes. Her mother had always been supportive of her, but Yaz wondered whether that was only because she still had a chance of ending up with a man, if the right one came along. She didn’t want to believe that – her mum was great, really – but love could be conditional like that. Needless to say, she was looking forwards to a bit of escapism. She even found herself craving a bit of danger. A chase, a monster, a plot to foil.

Talking to Ryan is different. She’d been surprised at the relative ease with which they slotted back together. Primary school was a minefield, especially for a kid with dyspraxia and a tendency to wander off into his own head. The teachers didn’t understand, they thought he was just careless, and every bump and bruise was met with an exasperated cry of ‘Ryan!’ She helped him out, because even then she was a bit of a teacher’s pet. Even then she was a bit of an outcast. High school came with a promise to keep in touch, but all of a sudden there was a new place in which to be an outcast. New eyes to feel pressing upon her back, gleeful. All of a sudden, Ryan Sinclair was a far-off thing, who probably had better things to do, better friends to see. Now, once again, he’s the only real friend her age she’s got. Life is circular like that.

“So, you were down the pub last night?” Yaz asks. Small talk.

“Yeah, me and a few mates. Nothing big though, had work today.”

“Your ‘nothing big’ and my ‘nothing big’ are totally different things,” she smiles. “Tell me you didn’t end up in the park again.” That was part of the night shift, clearing out drunks from the local park when the residents complained about the noise. It wasn’t the picture of justice she’d been imagining when she’d gone for the job – just people being stupid. They did that a lot, she was coming to realise.

“What were you doin’ last night, then?”

“Sleepin’ like a responsible adult,” she grins.

“You should come out with us sometime Yaz. The gang wouldn’t mind, it’d be a good time. You don’t have to drink or nothin’ if you don’t want,” he adds, at the sight of her reproach. Although she’s sure Ryan wouldn’t press her, she figures his friends might be a little more forceful. One does not simply walk into a bar in Yorkshire and not have a pint or two.

“Thanks for the offer Ryan, I might take you up on that,” she probably won’t. She’s just trying to be polite. “Just don’t expect me to go staggerin’ through the park after and listen to your god-awful rap music.”

“That stuff’s mint, Yaz. You’ll come round to my way of thinkin’ someday.”

She scoffs, “will not.”

“How’s the family then?”

“Oh they’re alright. Didn’t have my phone though, so I couldn’t even escape with that. Sonya did though, for the whole meal.” Another eye roll, a gesture her sister often inspired in her. Even if Sonya does have a boyfriend, Yaz is definitely the family favourite. She quite likes being the favourite. It’s an easy thing to do; she can say the right things, smile the right smiles. It works on teachers, family members, even superior officers to a point. It also works on the Doctor. “I had my phone all charged up, but I got this weird call last night that drained all the battery. Probably some foreign scam or something.” But it wasn’t, she knows it wasn’t. She can still hear the bruised voices in her ears. “But still, it was okay. They’re pushy, but you know how families are.” She presses her lips together, and looks at him apologetically, because she remembers that, of course, Ryan doesn’t know how families are, not really. Not big families, anyway, and not since his mum died.

He must know what she’s thinking because he says “don’t worry ‘bout it. Besides, I think I’m about to. Graham’s tryna get me to go to a Christmas do with his family. I’ve managed to avoid it for the past few years since he married me Nan, but now he really isn’t lettin’ it go.”

“That could be nice, couldn’t it?”

“And have a bunch of stuck-up old white folks I don’t know say how sorry they are about me Nan? Don’t think so.” Silence again. Yaz doesn’t know grief the way Ryan does. She hopes she never has to. Ryan winces, bowing his head against the headache Yaz knows is still plaguing him. “I swear to you, I didn’t even drink that much last night. It hit me proper good though, I totally spaced out in the pub, look,” he points to a spot in the middle of his forehead. It’s hard to see against the darkness of his skin, but definitely there. “I fainted or something and banged my head right into the table. Felt like I got concussed ‘cause I got all spacey for a bit.”

“And you just went on with the night?” she asks, in exasperated incredulity.

“What? Nothing’s wrong with me. I did see some proper weird stuff though. Colours on the TV and this weird grating noise – you ever heard anything like that?”

“You sure no one slipped anything in your drink?” She’s heard horror stories about that sort of thing. Mostly from Sonya and her mates. They’re all underage, but that never stops them. Yaz is convinced her sister continuously breaks the law just to spite her, not even trying to hide it.

“Dunno. Nan would’ve been able to explain it, I’m sure. Plenty of people coming through A&E on a Friday night.” He pauses, just a moment, a memory, a flood of grief. “It was real weird though, not to sound like a total nutter, but I heard a voice and all this static. Somethin’ about –“

“A president.” Yaz finishes, gazing at Ryan, mind kicking into gear, whirring.

“Err… yeah, actually. How’d you know that.”

“That’s what they said on the call.” The more she thinks about it, the more she can feel the presence of it; the memory. There’s a hole where her mind has plastered over the event. It’s thin and, with trembling fingers, she starts to peel the plaster back. “It was this horrible noise, like static, you know?”

“Are you sayin’ we had the same hallucination.”

“Startin’ to think it wasn’t a hallucination, actually.” She pauses for a moment, so does he, both of them trying to pull back the plaster, see what’s behind the wall. No substance, just absence – but the scars left behind paint the picture well enough. An inverted image.

“Coincidence?” he offers, clearly not believing it himself.

“I don’t really believe in those.” After everything she’s seen, she doesn’t think she’ll ever believe in coincidences again.

“You reckon it’s alien?”

She almost wishes it is. She could use a bit of a thrill about now. “Should we ask the Doctor?”

“Wait, you don’t reckon her weirdness has got to do with this weirdness?”

“Like I said, don’t believe in coincidences.” And just as she says it, cementing it, the universe goes and proves her right. The phone rings.

…

The Doctor doesn’t hear the tone. She doesn’t hear much of anything, actually, because her ears are pounding with the sound of time twisting, space warping, cries scraping across it like – what was that human saying? – nails on a chalkboard. It was only going to get worse, she knew that. Even if she rushed to the other end of the universe, it would follow her. Maybe slowly at first, but it would come. It would never, ever stop.

She grasps the edge of the kitchen counter for balance. Good old furniture – nice and sturdy.

“Doc?” (Doc, doc, doc) it echoes out and mixes in with the noise. Someone used to call her that. The sound is something to hold onto.

“Yep, yep I’m here,” she groans, speaking underwater again. He’s not even a pinprick now, just an absence. She claws herself back.

“You sure you’re okay Doc?” he’s holding a tray laden with teacups, and those little things she likes – biscuits.

“Oh good, thanks Graham,” she murmurs, reaching a trembling hand out to the tray. She grabs a handful of biscuits and shoves them into her mouth.

“Woah there, watch the tea!” he cries, “you hungry or something? I’ll fix you something proper.” When she doesn’t answer his face folds into an inquisitive line. His face is all full of lines, it reminds her of Eyebrows. She misses those lines, sometimes. Drawn together, they formed a mask to hide behind, the grooves pressed with vitriol and imposing anger. Sharp, icy eyes. This new face is all smooth, wide dark eyes, nothing to pull back and hide behind. She thinks it’s hard for people to take it seriously; the wonder, the youth, the gold. She’d found that out in Bilehurst Cragg, and in a thousand other little ways. Pity, that change was the largest. Nobody pities angry old men. “Your phone’s ringin’, that’s all. Want to go and get it?” Graham again. She can almost see him now – a speck on the horizon.

“Phone,” she mumbles through the mass of cakey biscuits, “p h o n e,” she tries the sound out in her mouth. The sugar isn’t helping much – her tongue still tastes like blood.

“Err, yeah,” he mutters. “Listen Doc, if you ain’t well we can give it a miss this week. Or, you could rest for a bit and pop back – wonders of time travel and all that,” he laughs, forced, drawn out. He’s expecting an answering chuckle and quip. Something bubbling and bumbling to put his mind at ease. (Your weakness is known. It will be exploited).

“They’re tryin’ to undo me,” she whispers.

“What? Doc please, give me somethin’ to work with here.”

“We should get out of here. We should really, really get out of here.” Urgency keeps her sharp, all gasping words, repeating. Fear is a superpower.

“Oi, what about the tea?” Graham cries after her as she darts from the kitchen, coat flying.

“Forget the tea, Graham!” There are worse things to worry about than tea getting cold.

She leaves him standing in the kitchen, tray still clasped steadily in his arms. He’s poured himself another mug, ever the addict, and four clouds of steam waft up into his face, lines pulled up into an expression of surprise.

…

Yaz can’t help it. She’s always been a little too curious for her own good. (Hello? Hello is anyone there?). The TARDIS phone continues to chime, muffled against the wooden panel. She prises it open before Ryan can utter a noise of reprimand. The sleek black phone rattles, and the ringing is replaced with something else. It grows, warping around the tone. Static. Her stomach drops as a memory stirs. The hole behind the wall is flooded all at once. Sweet bruises, bones grinding, and a song that could almost be beautiful, the frequency just a bit too far from what a human throat could produce. (Lord President).

The lights begin to flicker. A dark shape rushes out from the hallway – the Doctor, bright to shadow by the millisecond as the lights crackle overhead. “What happened?” she asks. Snappy, and – but she couldn’t be – scared.

“I – I didn’t do anything,” Yaz defends, casting a pleading look at Ryan. “I didn’t even answer it, it just –“

“Never mind that,” she interrupts, “we need to go, right now.”

“Doctor,” Ryan says, “what’s goin’ on?”

“I’d like to know that too, actually,” Graham says, tray abandoned, out of breath.

The TV blares on suddenly, curdled colour reaching out in tendrils. The noise follows it, and the patterns on the screen swirl into something that could be mistaken for a face. It hurts to look at.

The Doctor cries out, doubling over and clutching her side. “We need,” she gasps, face contorted with pain, “into the TARDIS, now –“ she groans as Ryan’s phone buzzes in his back pocket. He pulls it out with apprehension. It burns hot, phone case melting at the corners. He drops it in alarm.

Yaz is the first one to act, though it’s difficult to think anything at all, let alone move. Each flash of the lights illuminates the scene, the next frame in a stop motion film. Her feet feel rooted, connected to something deep in the ground. She pulls them out and dashes to the Doctor’s side.

“Hey Doc, what’s that –“ Graham’s voice trails off as he blinks, pressing his eyelids together, furrowing those handy lines of his. “Lord President,” his voice sounds like his own, almost. There are more voices towing it along, some racing ahead, some lagging behind. Layered. “Your presence is required –“ he’s shaking, like his skin can’t keep up with whatever’s raging inside it. Blood trails from his nostril in a clear dark line.

“Graham!” Ryan shouts, rushing over to him and grabbing his shoulders.

“Comply, or we will be forced to take desperate measures –“ It’s coming from everywhere, without, within, propagating from each one of them like a beacon.

“Doctor!” Yaz cries, still supporting her friend as she crumples towards the floor. “We need to get everyone inside!”

“Yaz!” Ryan shouts, “I can feel it, I can –“ his eyes glaze, his arms hang limp. There’s a hint of a smile. “Kind regards.”

The Doctor’s face screws up into a darkened grimace, head pushing up against the tide raining down, veins in her neck bulging. Yaz can see a hint of that old anger, the thing she doesn’t know is there, the lines. She seems to growl it. “Leave them alone!” Again, she doubles over, head hanging. A whimper. “I’ll come, I’ll come, I will,” she pleads. Yaz doesn’t think she’s ever heard so much fear. The Doctor’s voice is dripping with it. “Let them go, I’ll come… I’ll come.”

(Lord President).

“Just SHUT UP!” she screams, protest tearing through her throat.

“Doctor, please, we need to go,” Yaz can’t keep the tremor from her voice. She’s been trained to deal with stressful situations – but this is beyond stress, it feels like she’s decomposing. “We need to go, something’s coming,” because the beat is getting louder and her heart throbs in her throat. The song is rising up like bile into her mouth, filling it with words. The world becomes a haze, and she feels nothing at all.

…

The voice at her shoulder starts up the tune, just another voice, amplifying it. Yaz’s voice. The Doctor’s knees give way to carpet. She grasps the stuff in tufts between her fingers, clawing at it like she claws at reality, at texture. They’re still searching, rifling through her mind for the thing that’s stirring there. The thing she saw in the untempered schism.

“Your weakness is known. It will be exploited,” they chorus, dissonant. They know, of course they know, her pleading promises are empty. She won’t go willingly. She’s always been terrible at being psychic, and truths held so close are hard to disguise. She wonders how long her new friends will last before the signal burns them up.

Trembling fingers grasp at her sonic, feeling the familiar sheen of Sheffield steel, reminding herself of who she is now. Just a traveller. No past, just her and some mates, larkin’ about. Calculations rattle through her head, fighting against the tide of the message, the spirals, the bloodied taste. She’s good in a tight spot.

The Doctor raises her sonic as high as the spasming muscles in her arms will allow and fires it off. A beacon of golden light, a familiar buzz, like honey against the bitterness. It flares out, a brief respite. The lights fizzle out and leave them in darkness, the faint glow of a dying bulb overhead. There’s no time to wonder how many seconds she’s got. The weight pressing down on her, stones in a river, lift so suddenly that she feels as if she could float. Mind clear as a summer sky, no tar. She smiles, something a little wicked. Outsmarted again.

Her friends stagger and she shouts. “Let’s go team, into the TARDIS, right now!” They sway, fraught with confusion. Predictable – but the pinpricks grow to sprawling tapestries behind her eyes. “Now!” she emphasises, grabbing Yaz by the arm and frantically beckoning the other two. Thankfully, they don’t ask questions. She has a feeling they’re about to, and she’s not at all looking forward to it. Just as she half pushes Graham inside the TARDIS doors, she feels the beginnings of the hum again. A nibble at the back of her mind. She doesn’t wait for it to start gnawing. She pushes past her dazed friends and half dives onto the lever, not even bothering to set a destination. Run circles around them, she thinks, you’re good at that. It will follow her, though, a parasite. Burrowing under the skin, something she can’t shake. If she stops, even for a second… Well, one thing at a time. This version likes to live in the moment. That was part of the promise.

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