#but i do recognize this song!! i just have never paid attention to its title or artist. i do like it a lot tho

[peachcitt]

🎧 !!

music ask game

the world ends with you by newgrounds death rugby

thanks for asking!!

#ask #ask game #iveofficiallygonemad #music rec #when the song first popped up i was like actually what the fuck is this #(sometimes i listen to a song once like it then forget about it until it pops up on my shuffle and then im like ??) #but i do recognize this song!! i just have never paid attention to its title or artist. i do like it a lot tho #maybe i should listen to more newgrounds death rugby

[rebrandedbard]

@greyduckgreygoose Tumblr ate your ask when I tried posting it two minutes ago. You requested prompts 5 or 6, which I choose to read as 5 and 6. Stay tuned for prompt 6 in the future. If you like this, perhaps I’ll make it more Valdo. Whump or healing—you pull the trigger, goosey. Or perhaps I’ll use prompt 6 for some Filavandrel fun. Let me know.

5. “Wait a minute. Are you jealous?”

tw: alcohol, depression

WC: 1600 even. Whoo! Even hundredth place! Two goose eggs!

A Good Man

Geralt meets Valdo Marx while taking a contract on a ferry, protecting its passengers from an unknown threat on the water. Valdo himself is an unknown threat, until the two of them get to talking, and Geralt learns a quiet truth.

Geraskier. One-sided Valdo/Jaskier

-

Valdo Marx, troubadour of Cidaris, was the last person Geralt expected to meet on the ferry from Brugge. Per Jaskier’s rambling, he’d assumed the bard stayed put, living it up in Oxenfurt or Cidaris—Geralt was never quite sure if Cidaris were his home or simply a place he’d chosen for his adopted title. He’d wondered if Jaskier were a ‘Bard of Thereabouts,’ but he was never curious enough to ask where-abouts. They both travelled so much, Jaskier could be from anywhere. Something told him that Jaskier would choose Lyria if asked; the name was lyrical.

But Geralt supposed bards were of a travelling nature after all. Besides, the ferry down the Yda was the fasted way to travel inland from Brugge to Craag An, and just beyond was the Adalatte. A straight shot through Kerack would have Marx home in Cidaris in no time at all, and people with coin to spare liked to hurry to and fro in laid-back comfort. It was a paradox Geralt often found amusing.

He paid no fare for his ride, having been hired on for protection. It would seem that, of late, people were disappearing from the ferry before reaching their final destination, reaching a much more final destination than anticipated. Drowners, probably. Sirens were less likely, but not entirely out of the realm of possibility. The channels were connected to the ocean; something could have come washing downriver. It wasn’t altogether unheard of to find displaced sirens after the summer rainstorms. If asked which he’d be more likely to meet, Geralt would have chosen sirens before Valdo Marx.

Geralt recognized him as a bard from the off: it was impossible to mistaken anything so brightly decorated. True, the man did not carry his lute about his person as Jaskier would, but he wore the uniform of satin, the season’s colors all in coordination and too impractical for the weather. It was a mark of their trade, their plumage like birds of paradise and that theatrical air.

Well, the atmosphere around Marx was less the foppish theatrics Geralt had come to expect. He did not saunter across the deck wooing a crowd, nor reciting poetry. He did not do much of anything to draw attention to himself. In fact, he was quite unlike anything that made up Geralt’s image of bards, drawing back against the bulwark, completely silent. Like a fool, Geralt presumed they would go all the way to Craag An without confrontation, but it would be a snowy day in the desert before bards acted predictably.

It was late afternoon the second day on board when he approached, the sun falling low, bringing on the evening. Geralt was keeping watch at the stern: if anything was about it would be disturbed, knocked back as the ship made headway, clawing its way onto the deck from the rear. Geralt kept to the lower main deck, closest to the water. If anything came crawling up from below, he would be in position to dispatch it. The passengers aboard had likely been warned beforehand, or else they’d heard the rumors, as they stayed on the upper deck and bow. With the lower deck abandoned, he easily read Valdo’s approach from a distance.

“White Wolf?” he asked, leaning casually a few feet away from Geralt. The question was monotone, almost disinterested, but he would not have come if there had been no reason.

There was nothing else to do and, truth be told, Geralt was bored. So he turned to Valdo and nodded. “Geralt,” he replied. He’d never quite grow used to the fanciful title, but it brought him good business. It made him recognizable, and therefore comfortable, in so much as anyone could be comfortable around a witcher. Reputations had influence.

“Valdo Marx. I’m sure you heard of me.”

Geralt hummed. There was something in his manner of speech. It was not an obnoxious flaunt of his fame: there was something resigned in it. Bitter, perhaps. It was the same tone Lambert used to say, “There was a wraith in Gulet. I’m sure you’ve already heard.” It had taken a witcher down from the school of the viper. The tone implied notoriety.

For a while, they did not speak. The only sound came from the water below lapping against the side of the ship. Geralt waited, glancing at the troubadour once more before he turned his attention back to the water. He supposed that had been it, a simple acknowledgement. People were often curious, coming to him only to confirm his identity as Jaskier’s witcher. It was a title he’d grown comfortable with more quickly than the White Wolf. It was truer, and he smiled to himself when he thought of such instances in private.

“You’re a right lucky fuck,” Valdo muttered.

Geralt looked up again from the water. He turned to examine Valdo silently, wondering what, exactly, Valdo thought he had going for him to mark him as lucky.

Valdo stared back at him, looking tired and severe. “Maybe I would have had better luck if I didn’t talk so much,” he continued. “If I didn’t sing … ”

“Bards are supposed to sing,” Geralt replied. He now wished Valdo would go back to the upper deck. Nothing aggravated him quite like people who refused to get to the point. He scented an undercurrent of hostility in the air. That, and an abundance of vodka.

Valdo produced a flask from his jerkin and gave it a swig. “Never was trying to be a bard,” he muttered. He took another sip, let it sit, then concealed the flask once more. It occurred to Geralt that the man’s leaning was not entirely owed to false causality.

Geralt knew not what to say. So he simply said, “Hm.” He heard the knuckles crack in Valdo’s tightening fist.

“Melitele’s tits. Years of poetry and songs, and you come along with your … ‘hm,’” Valdo mocked, “and that’s it. Not even a melodic hm. Just … hm.” He raked his fingers through his hair, hissing through his teeth in frustration. He was muttering something under his breath, but it was incoherent, even to a witcher’s ears. When Valdo looked up again, his eyes were red. Neither that, nor the sour note in the air were owed to the alcohol, Geralt surmised.

“He won’t love you,” Valdo said. “He can’t. He doesn’t hold on to things that way. You’re just—” he flapped a hand, searching for the word “—a fascination. You’re something shiny and new. He’ll forget about you the moment he leaves your bed.”

“Who?”

“Who the fuck do you think, witcher. Don’t mock me,” Valdo snapped, voice cracking. If he didn’t look so pathetic, if his words did not carry such weight, Geralt might have chuckled to hear Jaskier’s infamous rival croak unprofessionally. It was not flattering of bards. But there was nothing funny in what he said, nor in how he said it.

“Wait a minute,” Geralt said. He had said less than ten words to the man, none of them mocking in the slightest, and he meant to say as much.

But Valdo held up a hand to silence him. The broken man slipped down to the deck, curling against his knees, head bowed. When he spoke, he mumbled against his knees, fingers tangling in his hair. “I went to Oxenfurt for him. I chased after him for so long, watching him fall in and out of stranger’s beds for less than a wink. But all he wanted me for … he only met me on the stage. Irked if I played below standard, livid if I won. Try what you will, there’s no pleasing Jaskier.”

Geralt thought he understood him then. “Are you jealous?” he asked.

Valdo lifted his head enough to meet his eye. His cheeks were wet, shining in the fading light. “Are you Jaskier’s witcher?”

“Yes,” Geralt replied.

“Then you have your answer.”

Geralt paused a moment. He approached Valdo slowly and lowered himself to his side. They sat together in silence, hidden in the shadow of the bulwark as the sun set behind. Valdo produced the flask again, offering Geralt a sip without a word exchanged. Geralt took the flask.

“Have you kissed him?” Valdo whispered.

“No.”

“Don’t. If he never kisses you, he might not leave.”

Geralt watched as Valdo finished the last of the vodka. “Did you?” he asked.

Valdo stared across the empty deck. “No,” he replied. “But I don’t count. He sings songs about you. I only exist to him three days a year at the bardic competition.”

“He talks about you,” Geralt offered. It was a poor comfort when one knew how Jaskier talked.

Valdo sighed and tucked away the empty flask. He stood on unsteady legs, turning back toward the stairs to the upper deck. “I know. I have a rough idea what sort of man you must think I am from his gossip.”

“I don’t hold with gossip.”

“No,” Valdo chuckled. “Your kind wouldn’t.” It wasn’t an insult, but empathy. There was an understanding between them on that mark. “I wanted to find out for myself what kind of a man you were to entice him so. I hate to think I see it.”

“What do you think you see?”

“A man. One whose best friend’s first wish would be to strike death upon his rival, and knowing him, would allow that rival to approach him without preconceptions. Who would share a flask with a sobbing drunkard and listen earnestly. A good man, in short. So ... hatefully good.”

-

Send me drabble prompts!

#my fic #drabbles #witcher #the witcher #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #valdo marx #jaskier/valdo #valdo/jaskier #is there a mushed name for this? #eh whatever slashes work #a good man fic #grey's tag #I love one-sided valdo pining #ESPECIALLY if Jaskier doesn't know #Man I just love the potential dynamics Jaskier has with everyone #It's obvious that I have a favorite #should I put the titles at the top or should I leave them in the tags? #hm #I guess I'll go back and put them at the top

[ellewriteswrongs]

picking favorites (a @tsbandau drabble)

if y’all aren’t emotionally invested in @underdog-arts ‘s band au, idk what y’all are even doing /j

anyway, here’s a wholesome family drabble insp. by the band au and my (not-so) subtle obsession with remus and janus. also subbing to their patreon is the best $5 i’ve probably ever spent, no joke

“Honey, you can still pick up Ry, right?” Janus called down the hallway, carrying a basket of laundry on each hip before depositing them in the hallway to put away later. Remus was seated in their shared office catching up on emails as Janus began packing up leftover pasta into containers to take to their show scheduled that night. 

“I told you I got ‘em,” he agreed, banging the last clumps of his protein shake into his mouth with the heel of his hand. “I’m gonna’ jog to V’s and grab the van.”

Janus nodded to themself out of instinct before faltering, their brow furrowing. 

“Wait—Re, that’s like three miles,” they challenged, dumping the dirtied dishes into the sink. “Just take the fucking car.”

Remus’ snort laugh was audible from down the hallway. 

“They asked for the van!” Remus cackled. “And I, for one, do not disappoint. Apparently making my kid’s friends think they’re cool is worth a three-mile jog.”

Janus rolled their eyes, albeit fondly. This was, unfortunately, not news. 

Riley was having an…interesting phase. It wouldn’t be abnormal for kids their age if it weren’t for the fact that their parents were ridiculously competitive, and all of their parents’ friends were eager to get in on it. 

As soon as Remus attended career day in Riley’s first grade classroom, resulting in the entire class of six-year-olds marveling at the fact that their friend’s dad was a “rock star.”

Janus loved that conversation over dinner that night. 

They weren’t jealous. No, in fact, it was probably overdue for Riley to have a bit of a “Daddy’s kid” phase, considering how joined at the hip they were with Janus for multiple years now. But they wanted to win. 

Riley could make their own decisions about picking a favorite parent. As long as that decision was Janus. 

“You’ve gone so-oft,” they sing-songed, smirking as Remus appeared in the kitchen behind them, wrapping one hand around their hip and pressing a kiss to their temple. “Ry’s got you wrapped around their finger.”

Remus have a flash of his crooked grin. 

“Yeah, well…at least I know where they get that from.”

Janus rolled their eyes, trying to hide their reddening face. 

“Sap,” they grumbled fondly. “Hurry up and get on with your run before you’re late to pickup. And tell V I said hey.”

Remus gave an exasperated chuckle and affirmation, but pocketed his keys and wallet nonetheless. 

The jog to Virgil’s apartment wasn’t a particularly strenuous three miles, being downtown and all, and Remus was far from out of shape. Still, three miles was three miles—especially in the late afternoon sun. Needless to say, Virgil wasn’t thrilled to have a giant sweaty man on his doorstep, but he handed over the keys nonetheless. 

The van was old, still clinging to its axels from when Remus himself purchased it from an old neighbor and declared it the band’s “tour bus.” It was nice enough at the time, especially for the price he paid, but it certainly wasn’t still around for anything more than sentimental value. 

Mainly just Remus refusing to get rid of it. 

That, and the fact that, for whatever reason, Riley thought it was the coolest thing ever. 

The drive wasn’t long, only the sitting in traffic of other parents in minivans trying to get into the school parking lot. He…wasn’t a fan of that part of being a parent, that’s for sure. He could do without any other parents, thank you very much, but at least it was fun to see how obvious all of them were in their distaste of both him and Janus, compared to how much their kid absolutely adored them. 

A fact that was only proven when Remus eventually made it to the parking lot and exited his van, only to be met with ear-splitting squeal of “daddy!” and an armful of six-year-old. 

He can’t deny how, even after all these years, the title still makes him feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Like…he is a dad. That’s his kid! How fucking rad is that!

He happens to spot a few other parents, along with some of Riley’s friends that he recognizes, and he offers a quick wave with the hand that isn’t mussing up his kid’s hair. 

“You brought the van,” Riley points out with a toothy grin that Remus can’t help mirroring. He can’t help the knot in his throat when he spots the gap in their teeth from their first ever lost tooth—which only meant they were getting much too old and Remus would really appreciate it if they would slow the fuck down.

“I told you I would, didn’t I?” Riley nods, bouncing on Remus’ hip just a bit out of excitement. “I gotta’ warn you though, JJ’s getting pretty jealous.”

Riley laughs before sticking out their tongue and making a fart noise in Remus’s face. 

Remus is, for the thousandth time, bewildered at how Riley couldn’t possibly be more like Janus if they tried. And mostly smitten. He has the coolest kid on Earth, after all. 

“They can suck my butt!” Riley squeals and Jesus Christ, Remus is going to have a heart attack right there in the parking lot. He’s gonna’ have to grill Jan again to make sure those two aren’t secretly biologically related. 

“Hey, your words not mine, squirt,” he smirks, opening the van door and strapping them into the car seat. “And your early bedtime if you let JJ hear any of that.”

He finishes with a pinch on their nose before closing the van door and getting back in the driver’s seat. 

Riley, as soon as the radio turn on, starts protesting very aggressively to listen to “your songs, daddy! Play your songs!” 

Thankfully, he has a CD burned with some of their…cleaner songs for that exact purpose. 

Riley, for lack of a better word, was ‘singing’ along at a volume that Remus would’ve otherwise found hilarious and impressive if it wasn’t right in his ear. Still, there was a certain fondness that came with watching his kid’s excitement over his work—something that, as usual, was paired with thrashing within the confines of a car seat and headbanging their little heart out. 

Along the drive Remus made every attempt to stop the barrage of the screamo singer in the making, but all were ultimately unsuccessful. At least…until he pointed out one particular building out of a strip mall assortment. 

“Hey, you see that store right there? The one with the red sign?” He spoke up, catching Riley’s eager attention in an instant. They placed both hands on the van window to look out. 

“What is it?” They asked, squinting to try and read what was on the sign. 

“You know the snake on my leg?” Riley nodded, quieting down. “That’s where JJ took me to get it.”

They paused, seemingly putting some pieces together in their head.

“How come you only have one?” They asked, still kicking their legs against their seat. “JJ has lots, how come you don’t have lots too?”

Remus chuckled, continuing along the road as the light turned green. 

“‘Cause I don’t need another one. They’re very expensive, you know.”

“Is it ‘cause you’re a wimp?” 

Remus choked on his own spit. 

“N-no,” he choked out, laughing. “No I’m not, I just think it looks better this way.”

He didn’t bother looking into the backseat to see what Riley thought of that answer, but if the return to karaoke that followed was any indication, they were not impressed. Still, he’d probably take the teasing over the screaming, but kids are kids. 

Even as they pulled into their driveway, Remus had to strategically dodge Riley’s flailing limbs in order to un-fasten the seatbelts on their car seat and actually get them in the house. Apparently the music was not as vital to the ‘sing-along’ as he’d hoped it was when he turned the car off. 

“Alright, alright, calm those legs down before you knock my teeth out, will ya’?” Remus teased, placing Riley on his shoulders where they instantly took fistfuls of his hair to hold on. Riley toned down the velocity, but otherwise did not stop. “Careful, squirt, if you wanna’ kick so bad, I’m signing you up to play soccer.”

Riley stopped almost instantaneously, gripping Remus’ hair even tighter as they headed back inside the house, Riley’s tiny backpack slung around Remus’ forearm. 

“Nooo,” they wailed, half punctuated by laughter that echoed through the house. 

“What are we complaining about?” Janus spoke, leaning against the doorway across the room with a fond smile. 

“He said if I kick him in the teeth I have to play soccer,” Riley whined, attempting to climb down from Remus’ shoulders on their own. Janus snorted a laugh before swiftly crossing the room to collect their child and place them on their hip. 

“Wow, your daddy’s so mean,” Janus agreed, raising a challenging eyebrow as they stood in front of their husband. Remus pouted before bending down to steal a kiss.

“Gross,” Riley giggled, pressing a hand on each of their parents’ faces to separate them. 

“Gross?” Janus smirked. “Well in that case, maybe your dad was being a bit unfair.”

Riley turned to Remus to stick out their tongue at him. 

“I mean, soccer? That’s just ridiculous,” Janus continued, a mischievous glint in their eyes. “We’ll obviously have to sign you up for football instead. A punt like that has got to be put to good use.”

Riley immediately went back to their dramatized complaining, this time reaching desperately for Remus to get him to take them back from Janus—to which Remus just held up his hands in mock innocence.

“No can do, kid,” he smirked. “The punishment has to fit the crime, after all.”

Riley continued their attempts to wiggle out of Janus’ unyielding grip.

“Never!” They declared, trying a different approach of reaching over Janus’ shoulder to escape from behind. “I won’t! I won’t do it, I promise!”

Remus and Janus both knew they wouldn’t actively try to hurt either of them, but sometimes it was just more fun to assert rules when it came with shrieking laughter and climbing their parents like a jungle gym.

“Well, now you know where we stand,” Remus spoke in false authority, reaching for one of Riley’s tiny shoes and holding it up to address it as if it were in control of their legs. “I better not see you around these parts again, ya’ hear?” He added in an over-the-top western accent, gesturing to his face. 

Riley squealed with laughter as he held out his hand for a handshake and they shook it with their accused foot. 

“Alright, alright, you two,” Janus intervened with fond exasperation. “Snacks are on the counter, take it or leave it.”

Riley whipped their head around to peer into the kitchen, cheering when they spotted two plates on the kitchen counter, each with a toaster waffle piled high with blueberries. 

“Second…breakfast!” They cheered, drumroll-ing on their leg before whooping and slinking out of Janus’ grip and climbing up onto the kitchen barstools. Remus, giving a fond eye-roll at the enthusiasm, turned to drape his arms over Janus’ shoulders from behind, perching his chin on top of their head. 

“They get it from you, you know,” he mumbled, smirking at the scoff it earned him. 

“Shut up,” Janus grumbled, the smile evident in their voice. “That is all you.”

“Babe, sports are a threat in this house,” he teased. “You’re telling me that came from me?”

“Yeah, I’ll take that one,” they chided, turning around to face their husband. “As long as you’re aware that the energy, the volume—honey, that’s all you.”

Remus quirked his brow with a proud smirk. 

“Or maybe it’s the fact that they sleep for fourteen hours and we haven’t even had eight in the last six years,” he challenged knowingly. “You know, I happen to remember that back in the day…that bed was hardly even for sleeping.”

Janus snorted, their face reddening slightly.

“Is it bad to think of those as the ‘good old days’ already?”

Remus swept a piece of their hair out of their face. 

“Hell no, dude. We lived like kings back then,” he chuckled. “How ‘bout this—I’ll get Ro to take ‘em to the park or something this weekend and I’ll dick you down just like old times, ‘kay?”

Janus sputtered out a cackle, smacking Remus on the chest before covering his mouth with their hand.

“Fucking christ, they’re like two yards away,” they hissed, still laughing. “I am not going to be the one fielding questions about what getting dicked down means, oh my god.”

“You say that like they listen to anything when there’s food in front of them,” Remus countered, nodding in the direction of their kid as Janus rolled their eyes with a chuckle. 

“Now that, is from you,” they grinned, jabbing him in the side with their elbow. 

“Hey, it’s not my fault you’re serving up delicacies like toaster waffles,” Remus said, raising his hands in mock defense. 

Janus gave him a look before crossing their arms. 

“Yeah, well, you’re lucky I know you can’t go two hours without food. Go on, there’s one for you, even if it’s probably cold by now,” they teased as Remus excitedly kissed their forehead before practically running to the kitchen. He hopped up to sit on the counter, folding each toaster waffle like a blueberry-filled taco before funneling them into his mouth. 

Janus followed close behind—at a normal pace, thank you very much—and took the actual seat next to their kid, sipping at the cup of tea they had left on the counter before the two had returned home as they listened to Riley regaling their day at school.

———

Realistically, Remus probably should’ve seen it coming. He was a couple days past his previous record of days as Riley’s “favorite” and he knew he likely didn’t have much longer before Janus dethroned him again, but he certainly hadn’t expected the scene he walked in on that night. 

He had heard hushed laughter coming from one of their house’s bathrooms that evening, assuming at first that Janus was just handling Riley’s bath or something like that, but as he cleaned up the mess from their dinner and finished washing the rest of their dishes, he was surprised to find they were still in there. So obviously he had to investigate. 

He knocked on the door, rolling his eyes fondly as shushing and giggles came from within. 

“Everything good in there?” He teased, leaning against the door. “I gotta’ say, I’m a little hurt I didn’t get invited to whatever club this is that hangs out in the bathroom.”

More giggles followed by the oh-so familiar sound of Janus’ shushing. 

“I guess I’ll just have to find out for myself what all the fuss is about,” he sing-songed, slowly creaking open the door before letting out a snort laugh at the scene before him. 

Janus was seated on the edge of the bathtub, wash cloth in hand, as Riley sat on the sink counter, covered on all limbs with temporary tattoos. At least the pieces of tape that Janus had cut into circles and colored black to look like ear gauges were admittedly cute. 

“Oh, I see how it is,” he smirked from against the doorframe. 

“JJ said you’re a wimp,” Riley proudly announced. “I was right.”

Janus stuck their tongue out and made a spitting noise and…yeah, that was their kid alright. Not that Remus would have it any other way. 

#anyway.......i would die for them #my writing #tsbandau #sanders sides #ts remus #ts janus

[elmidol]

Dirt You Created [Tyki/Reader] NSFW

originally written October 23, 2013

A/N: As stated, I am going to be posting a few of my older one-shots on here from DGM. I do plan on writing some new ones rather soon here, beginning with Tyki/RC. I am scheduling a batch of them now, which will all include this A/N.

These ones are unedited and include (y/n), which I no longer use in my current writing. Nothing wrong with it; just a personal preference. I do also want to state that there may be instances of mentions of face reddening and such, which I now know is not inclusive.

Fic Warnings:  contains rape (not from Tyki; the Tyki/Reader portion is consensual); sex; canon-typical violence; slight plot; 

Title is based on the song “Whore” by In This Moment

It had been a great honor to even look upon the gentlemen and ladies who entered your masters' home. You, a lowly servant girl, had been cleaned and primmed to look presentable. Still, you were not to speak to a single soul save for when you were spoken to, and even then short, simple answers were to suffice. Perhaps that was what had sparked your interest the most. The inability to speak to the man who garnered so much attention from the gathered guests. Even the hosts, your employers, paid him special attention.

Accustomed to being treated as nothing more than furniture, you were unsurprised and only slightly affected at the sight of the mistress's daughter emerging into your room along with the attractive gentleman. Their lips were locked together, smacking noises issuing from the pair as they further entered what the young lady referred to as a 'closet' and made their way to the bed. The girl placed the man's hands on her chest, his hands groping and caressing the mounds that were hardly concealed by the front of her dress. Why, if you had had such an outfit, you thought, you would have treated it with far more respect. As it was, you averted your gaze and set about to sorting what rags you did own from your position on the floor.

It was nice to be tucked away in a corner while the two enjoyed themselves on your bed. You shuddered at the idea of such sullied sheets you would be forced to occupy. Your eyes wandered about the ground. Perhaps you would slumber there for the night. You continued your silent nature when the master's daughter slipped out from the gentleman's embrace. You did not doubt there had been a lack of penetration; such young ladies kept their virginity intact even if every other part of them were whored out. She left your room after whispering to the man that her parents would doubtless be looking for her.

The gentleman chuckled, stretching out on the mattress and watching as the door was closed behind the female with whom he had just enjoyed himself. You paid him little attention, although your eyes did dart towards a certain portion of his anatomy. You had never before seen one so large despite the many lovers the young lady had brought into your room. The task of sorting out your clothing complete, you raised your head to observe the man. He had reached behind himself, slipping his arms under the pillow that he moved around his head. He paused, his brow furrowing, and withdrew a tattered photograph.

"Please put it back," you said, your voice cracking initially from its lack of use.

The man, clearly startled by your presence, did a double-take. His eyes widened and a hue of red crossed his features. He returned the photograph to its previous position then quickly set about covering himself up. As he tugged up the zipper, you moved over to the side of the bed and took the photograph. Clutching it to your chest, you watched as the man kept his eyes trained on you. His gaze wandered up and down your body a few times before returning to your face.

Not once did he speak a single word to you. You were quite used to this as well. Most aristocrats regarded you as nothing more than the help; as though that made you less of a human. Instead he was much too preoccupied with fixing his clothing, ensuring that he looked quite presentable. The man was nearly finished with this task when two of his male friends poked their heads into the room. They teased him for his latest bounty quite a bit before the shorter of the pair caught sight of you. He shifted into the room, walking over to you and touching you, appraising you as though you were cattle.

You stood with your chin slightly raised in the air, not uttering a single word. To do so would only incur punishment; be it from this man or from your master later. It did not surprise you that there was only minimal protest from the two other gentlemen present when their companion began tugging at his belt. He undid the front of his pants and wrestled you onto your already dirtied bed. You stared up at the ceiling, aware that the two other male parties in the room were watching as your virginity was taken by force. You refused to cry, to do more than grit your teeth and wait for it to all be over.

Likewise, when after the guests had all left and you were alone with your master and his family, you said nothing as your master berated you. His daughter had used you as a scapegoat to get out of punishment yet again. She had said that she had caught you entertaining men in your room. And your sheets had been her proof. When your master had his wife shove two fingers into your opening, she withdrew them to find, indeed, a man had been inside of you.

For weeks did you struggle through their punishments. Perhaps such cruelties would have continued had it not been for strange men appearing at your master's door, stating that you were to be taken away. That you were a potential. Potential what, you hadn't the slightest idea. Nor did you particularly care. You followed them out of the home you had known for a good portion of your life.

In silence did you endure your first years within the Black Order. Training to become a better fighter, to prove that you were indeed worthy of the Innocence that had chosen you. All the built-up frustrations from the years in your former master's home and your rape, you used it all to fuel your resolve. Those in Central even commented on how you impressed them. Regularly they began to have you sent out on missions. You learned to defeat akuma, the creations of the Millennium Earl.

When news of the Noah family arrived, you were not the least bit concerned. In your mind, you would view them as nothing more than an enemy to defeat, much like the akuma. Your first encounter, however, had left you nearly dead.

You had not believed that you would ever see his face again, much less in that sort of setting. The gray-skinned gentleman's countenance was unmistakable. Your knees had buckled when he had stepped into view, the organ in his hand being consumed by the carnivorous butterflies known as Teez. He had mocked you in a lilt, stating that you were quite young to be an exorcist. Too pretty, he had said.

Gritting your teeth in the anger that consumed your heart, you had launched yourself at him in a fury. The Noah, eyes wide, had just enough time to block your attack. The mace-like Innocence that you had nearly met the side of his head on your next attack. He ducked at the right time, his hand thrusting forward. You had felt the limb enter your body--go straight through your body as though you were made up of nothing other than air. This was it, you had told yourself. I'm going to die.

The instant he had looked up into your face, however, his hand--which had been on its retreat, ready to snatch an organ--froze. You stared at him, your face quite expressionless, and your eyes were trained on his. "...you recognize me, don't you?" you asked, your voice quiet and neutral. "You don't have to stop on account of our past, Mister Mikk." His limb trembled while inside you, his face assuming a morbidly amused expression. He reminded you quite of a Jack-o-lantern. "Or would you prefer to just stand aside and watch...an akuma could do it."

Tyki straightened his posture, covering the bottom half of his face--his twisted grin--with his free hand. It took him several seconds to get himself under control. When he had, the man removed his hand from your body without stealing a single cell. "I had been told your contract was terminated for promiscuous behavior." You snorted. You pretended his words fell on deaf ears even though your heart ached at the memories they invoked. "When I told Earl Markuson of what had occurred, he had said it didn't matter."

"It doesn't," you said in a deadpan. Tyki blinked at you, his lips twitching then pressing tightly together into a frown. "Oh, I see." You rolled your eyes. "You had a shred of decency in you and were able to feel guilt."

"I--"

"You don't even know me." You cocked your head to the side, adjusting your grip on your Innocence. "And besides, Mister Mikk, we're now enemies." Your mace had met his arm with a sickening smack.

By the end of the battle, it was you who had been injured the worst. A broken arm, several lacerations on your legs. Your Innocence had been damaged, although you had managed to keep it from being destroyed. Komui had fussed over it but repaired it all the same. It would not be the last time either. On five different occasions did Tyki Mikk damage your Innocence and leave you injured. During each occurence, the man had tried to start up a conversation, met only by your silence.

This sixth incident had you baffled. Tyki Mikk had approached you wearing his human skin. He had offered to pay for an outstanding bill the hotel you were vacationing in demanded you settle. You, having no money to your name, could only watch in silence as Tyki handed the coins over to the manager. You pressed your lips tightly together and frowned. Once the bill had been paid, you turned on your heel and left without a word to the Noah. Tyki swore under his breath and hurried after you, much to your dismay.

When he caught up, his hand seized your wrist and tugged lightly so that you were forced to stop. Without looking over your shoulder, you listened to what he had to say. "I had thought you'd done it before." You were not quite sure to what he was referring for several seconds until the realization dawned on you. You snarled; as though whether or not you were a virgin made rape any less brutal! You snatched your arm away. "Look, it's...(y/n), right?"

"Nope."

Tyki made a noise of confusion that had you turning your head to look at him. A light blush came to your cheeks upon noticing how flustered he had become. He looked nothing of the suave gentleman you had seen at your former employer's estate. You put your hands on your hips, shaking your head and hating yourself for even speaking to him.

"Look...what the hell do you even want? Forgiveness? It doesn't even matter anymore."

Tyki sighed, withdrew a cigarette from his pocket, and lit it. He puffed a few times on the smoke stick while watching you. You raised a brow. "I'd been worried he had knocked you up. That it was the reason you were forced to leave."

"Oh." You rolled your eyes again. "Your friend doesn't have some bastard child out there, you don't have to worry." He was frowning again. For some reason this was beginning to annoy you. "If all it is is that you can't get over the fact you only watched, forget about it. I was nothing more than dirt to you, right?"

He started to protest then, reluctantly, admitted that this was true. You nodded. It hurt to hear the words aloud like that even if you had always known them to be true.

"Alright, so--"

"You were just so pretty. I was going to do something, but then..." His words had the effect of silencing you. Your mouth was open mid-sentence yet no words were coming out. Feeling suddenly dizzy, you moved over to the wall of a building and steadied yourself by placing your hand upon the brick.

Tyki closed the distance between himself and you. His mouth met your cheek. When you did not push him away, he grew bolder and sealed your lips with his own. This shocked you out of your reverie. You jerked backwards, earning a moan of disappointment from the Noah. All the same, Tyki backed away from you without another word. He tipped his hat to you then left.

You had switched hotels after that, hopeful that the man would not track you. When, however, you continuously received gifts during the remainder of your vacation, you were at a loss of what to think. Sometimes you cried, sobbed and screaming into your pillow, at the roses and jewelry Tyki left for you. Other times you could only stare at the items. Once or twice you managed to throw away the gifts into the garbage without a shred of emotion.

It drove your comrades absolutely insane the way the Noah would flirt with you, would leave you trinkets, roses, and invitations to parties whenever you were on missions. You had attempted several times to get it through to Tyki's thick skull--via your mace--that you were not interested--maybe a little, although you refused to admit this--in his romantic feelings. Your comrades, likewise, interjected whenever the dark-haired man would so much as speak a single word to you.

After a mission, while your comrades were at either a strip club or sleeping, you had ventured to a bar. Upon entering, you had caught sight of a familiar gentleman, who was sulking despite several women attempting to gain his attention. You wove your way past the flirtatious ladies, ignored their protests and swears, and tapped the man on the shoulder. Tyki disregarded the contact, no doubt assuming it was from one of the other women who were around.

Sighing, you said, "Hey. Mister Mikk."

His head whipped around. Tyki visibly perked up at the sight of you then, after a moment, frowned, and turned away. So he was back to sulking, was he?

"You do know Akin was teasing you, right? He and I aren't a couple."

Tyki turned again, sliding off the barstool and grabbing you by the arm and led you out of the bar. A few of the women groaned audibly, while others lived out their disappointment quietly. "Are you still mad at me, (y/n)~?" he asked, a playful lilt to his tone.

"I have...never really cared enough about you to be mad," you stated honestly. He frowned at your answer. You averted your gaze and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. "Don't get all upset, Mister Mikk. You said yourself you thought I was nothing but dirt."

"You were just a maid," he argued.

You jerked away from him as though he had burned you. And, with his words, he sort of had. "So that makes me less human? Man, I'd hate to know your thoughts on the homeless."

"That's..." He fell silent, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Okay, that's a good point. I care for the homeless."

"Just not maids?" you asked, incredulous.

Tyki smiled sheepishly at you. "I do now."

That day had been the start of several less violent meetings. After missions, regardless of who was the victor, Tyki and you would meet at a neutral location. He would deal a hand of poker that the two of you would play. From time to time the pair of you made it to ten hands before one or the other had to leave. During the games you were mostly silent, although you did speak to him on occasion.

When next Tyki deigned to kiss you, you did not pull away. Nor did you return the gesture. Since your rape, and possibly due to it, you had not been intimate with a man. His hands were gentle yet venturous, although he was careful to respect your body language; at the slightest tense of a muscle, he would back off from you. This was perhaps one of the reasons why, after nearly a year of knowing Tyki as a Noah, you returned one of his kisses.

Shyly, clumsily, you pressed your lips back against his. Tyki made a noise of startlement that preceeded a moan of delight. You allowed him to lead you to his hotel room, to begin to take off your clothes even though the actions made you feel ill; you could not help but remember the previous occasion of fornication. He, however, sat on the bed with you standing in front of him when the two of you were stark naked. His eyes ran up and down your naked body, a stream of compliments leaving his lips.

"Mister Mikk..." You swallowed, fighting off the feeling of nausea. Your eyes were glued on his erection, which had your legs tensing in apprehension.

Tyki blinked. "Oh, (y/n), you can use my first name~"

"T-Tyki... I..." You placed your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself when the world around you spun. "Oh, fuck, I feel so sick..."

The Noah released a frustrated sigh when you leaned over to the side and vomitted on the ground. "That really...killed the moment." All the same, he held back your hair and moved behind you, rubbing your back soothingly. When the contents of your stomach were emptied on the ground, you leaned back against him. You could feel proof of how turned off your throwing up had made him. His flaccid cock pressed against your thigh, where it twitched and began to enliven as you cuddled closer to him.

Tyki wrapped his arms around you, scooping you up and tucking you into bed with him. The man climbed under the covers with you. You said nothing as his hands wandered about the contours of your body. You could only look at his face, watch his eyes, which were glued on yours. He started to move closer, his lips searching for yours.

"My mouth probably tastes like vomit, Mister Mikk," you said. He groaned, raising a hand and massaging his forehead.

"You're killing me, (y/n)!"

All the same, he backed off. You later supposed that you had fallen asleep first. When you awoke, you found that during the course of the night Tyki had wrapped his arms around you as well as hooked one of his legs over yours. You attempted to wriggle out of his grasp, felt him tighten his hold, and then stopped moving. You watched the man as he slept for several minutes, slowly but surely untangling his limbs from yours.

When at last you were freed and dressed, you took the pen and complimentary notepad provided by the hotel, and wrote Tyki a short note. You placed the note where you hoped he would easily find it then snuck out of the room.

A month transpired during which time you did not see the man again. It was when your mission was complete and you were sinking into your bed to sleep that you encountered Tyki Mikk. You openly gawked as he used his ability to choose to enter your room. Startled, you chucked a candlestick at his head. Tyki ducked, held up his hands, and said:

"Hey, hey, (y/n)~ Don't be like that~"

You held your blankets up to your chin, quickly moving to hide your Innocence from view. "Make sure the door is locked." He blinked. Growling in frustration, you motioned towards the door that connected your room to your comrades'. "Lock it, would you, Mister Mikk?"

Tyki turned and did so. This gave you just enough time to stow away your mace in a location you doubted Tyki would search. With that task complete, you drew your knees to your chest and watched as the Noah closed the distance between the two of you. He climbed onto your bed, soon showering you with kisses. First on your forehead, next your eyelids, your cheeks, and finally your lips. He nipped at your bottom lip, his tongue swirling along it. Face red, you began to return the gesture.

You could feel him reaching past your covers with his ability, could feel your clothes being pulled from your body. The blankets shifted as he moved under them, his bare skin touching yours. Your hands shot up, palms flat on his chest as he shifted between your legs. Your eyes were wide. His erection brushed against your lower lips, and you swallowed hard.

"Mi-mister Mikk, I--"

He silenced you with a kiss. Pulling away for air, he said, "Tyki~"

"Tyki, I don't think--"

"That's not my strong suit either~"

You furrowed your brow, confused for a moment, your mind being preoccupied by other things, namely the way his body felt pressed to yours.

"Look, I'm an exorcist and you're a Noah--"

"--we'll worry about fighting tomorrow. I'm only aiming to destroy the Innocence~"

"You...you've broken my bones several times, and--"

His tongue thrusting forward into your mouth effectively shut you up. Tyki's fingers began to slowly explore your body as his tongue probed the contours of your mouth. You ran your tongue along his, your hands running up and down his chest before sliding towards his abdominal muscles. His fingertips ghosted over your entrance as one hand teased your breast. You shuddered, gasping loudly when his fingers found your clitoris. He rolled the nub with his thumb, which he had slickened with your juices.

"Ty-Tyki!" He groaned at the sound of his name coming from your lips. The man wrapped your legs around his waist and rocked forward. His erection slid against you, along your lips and clitoris, in a way that had your body aching. Your lips quivered and your eyelids fluttered. Again did he roll his hips into yours. This time you bucked up against him.

Tyki wiggled a single finger then a second into your entrance. He scissored you, stretching you to accomodate his size. You moved against the fingers that thrust in and out of you. Your hips rolled against his digits as they curled and uncurled. When he removed them, you released a disappointed groan. Tyki soon silenced you, practically knocked the air out of your lungs, when he thrust forward, entering you with his cock. It hurt initially. You rested your forehead against his shoulder as he adjusted his position and moved in and out of you a few times. His hands, massagining every portion of flesh they could grasp, helped to ease your pain.

The next time Tyki ventured to visit you in such a manner, you were crying in your pillow. When you saw him, you hissed with anger and rage. Your nails dug into his back, you swore at him, you whispered words of hate as he angled you onto his dick. "You killed him, you fucking bastard!" you said through grit teeth, your hands pulling at his hair.

Tyki said nothing in response, only kissed you as you abused his body. You knew that he could choose to forgo the pain, to only delight himself with your body. That he could use his ability to ensure your nails and teeth did not dig into his flesh. Yet somehow you found that he respected you too much to do so. You bit at his collarbone as you rode him, your walls clenching around his erection, which was buried so deep inside of you. The sensation of him moving within you, of his hands on you--this man who had mere hours ago murdered one of your comrades--had you hating yourself for a moment. You felt sick--you felt like you were less than dirt; a product created by the man you were fucking.

After the two of you had come down from your orgasms, you told him to leave. Tyki, after a kiss on your shoulderblade, obliged.

Such was your relationship with the Noah. The two of you fought one another, never moving in for the kill, always for the injury or insult. And each night afterwards you would comfort one another with your bodies. What made you feel as though you were more than dirt, more than a piece of furniture, however, were the gifts Tyki would leave for you. Not always materialistic objects either. At times his words would touch your heart. The way he remembered your birthday when not a one of your comrades had.

Resting your head on the man's chest, you allowed yourself to close your eyes. No doubt he would be gone by morning and a note would be left for you to read. That was how it had to be, however, lest your comrades discover what you did with your enemy.

"Mister Mikk," you whispered.

"Tyki," he said with a sigh.

You rolled your eyes, flicking your tongue out against his nipple. You heard and felt his moan from your position. "I love you too."

Tyki flipped you onto your back, his body soon engulfing yours. You could tell how happy you had made him by how thin the line between his white self and black self was as he made love to you.

#tyki mikk x reader #tyki x reader #d.gray-man #dgm #dgm fanfic

[rainydaydream-gal18]

Star Wars - Boba Fett x Reader: Eyes of Starlight

   Author’s Note:  Wow, am I late to the Boba party, or what?  Back when Mandalorian S2 was brand new, tumblr blew up with Boba Fett, and I was so down for that, except the majority of the fics I came across were smut, so I didn’t get the Boba content I was looking for.  Alas, I finally decided to write my own smut-free Boba moment.

In this, Boba is younger in this than in the Mandalorian.

Warnings: Action, a fight scene, nothing graphic in my opinion.  Reader does encounter intruders, so if that is a trigger then be cautious.

   The evening was anything but quiet, yet it was the lack of silence that made it so peaceful.  Bugs and frogs chirped a sweet song of the warm spring that had arrived.  You stood barefoot on the balcony off your room, hands resting on the railing as you enjoyed the time alone.  The moon was only a sliver, but the lack of blue light made it easier to see the sky of stars.  One in particular was twinkling many colors like a cut gemstone reflecting light.

   A pair of eyes that held a similar gleam flashed in your mind.

   You shook your head.  The one who those eyes belonged to was the last person you wanted to be reminded of.  He could be so smug at times.  Annoying.  Sometimes even condescending.  Most of the time he was gruff, but every now and then he’d wear a smirk that got under your skin even when you couldn’t see it behind helmet of his.

   He was Boba Fett, the greatest bounty hunter there was, and he was hired to protect you; a fact that he would not let you soon forget.

   You thought back to one of your earliest exchanges with him months before, when you nearly collided with him in the hall and he regarded you with a raised brow as you waited for him to step aside as most of your guards usually did.  He hadn’t moved.

   “You know, around here it’s polite to let the princess pass.”

   “Princess _________,” he sighed.  “ I’m being paid a handsome credit to protect you, not coddle you while you play palace.  Besides,” he paused, shooting you that look as you stepped to the side to let him pass, “I’m not from around here.”

   His words were absolutely infuriating.

   Sure, you realized from the very beginning that this Boba Fett was not impressed by titles, and perhaps you’d been asking for it by trying to pull rank.  It was just a test, a nudge to get a feel for this renowned bounty hunter.

   That glint in his eyes flashed across your vision again.  Even though you were in the farthest corner of the estate, it felt as if he were right there with his gaze boring into yours.  It made you feel hot despite the cool breeze that ruffled your nightgown, whether the heat was from frustration or perhaps underlying feelings you’d been denying, you weren’t sure.

   A single slide of a foot on the stone balcony a few feet away caught your attention.  You whipped your head around to get a look at what it may have been only to see a figure dressed in dark clothes with their face covered, and they stood as if they had just crawled onto the surface of the balcony, their gloved hands still grasping the railing.  You let out a scream and made a dash for your bedroom, but the intruder had reached an arm out to grab and pull you away from the door leading inside.

   You recognized the insignia on his glove.  He was part of the group Boba had been hired to protect you from.  They had launched an attempt to raid the palace and steal priceless artifacts belonging to your people to sell illegally, and they had succeeded in taking a few.  For safety, you and a few other artifacts were moved to an estate of the royal family, and Boba was assigned to protect you.

    Just as the intruder tried to put his gloved hand over your mouth to prevent a second scream, Boba burst into your palace quarters.  He immediately shot at the assailant while you sank to the stone floor, frozen in place while he faced his opponents.

   More of the intruders were climbing over the railing after scaling the estate wall.  Boba fought off several of them, but they kept coming.  At one point, he had knocked most of them down, save for one he was engaged in hand-to-hand combat with and another that sought to sneak up on him from behind.

   Sure.  He could be smug, annoying, and even act condescending.  His smirk got under your skin even when you couldn’t quite see it through his helmet.  He was Boba Fett, the greatest bounty hunter there was, and he was hired to protect you; and not a day went by that he didn’t remind you of that fact with his actions or words.

   You could not have predicted the fear that clawed at your chest at the sight of some low-life attacking him from behind while he was preoccupied by another.

   It was like your body unfroze and reacted on instinct.  Your hand snatched up a nearby blaster pistol and aimed it at the figure.  In a matter of seconds, the intruder was lying on the stone floor while Boba’s visor turned toward you.

   Your chest rose and fell with each breath as you stared wide-eyed at the floor.  You barely registered his footsteps as he crossed over to where you sat.  It was only when you felt the blaster lifted from your hands ever-so-gently that you snapped out of your stunned state.  It had surprised you, how slow and careful his movements were when grasping your shaking hand in his gloved one and helping you stand.  Considering how he carried on and bantered with you, you half-expected him to yank you to your feet in a quick, unceremonious way and tell you to pull yourself together.

   “Pull yourself together.”  Though he didn’t yank you to your feet, he spoke firmly through the visor.  “It’s over.”

   Well, alright then.  Perhaps you did know Boba fairly well by now.

   Firing back a retort would be useless at the moment.  Besides, you were too shaken up to try.  Instead, you focused on taking deep breaths until your heartbeat slowed to a steady pace.  After a few minutes passed in silence, you spoke.

   “I can’t believe they found us.  We took so many precautions...coming here without any guards even, to not draw attention...”

   “That’s why your parliament hired me. These scum pose a serious threat.”  He spoke over his shoulder as he walked through the sea of unconscious invaders.

   “I’m...I’m going inside.”

   He gave no reply and only knelt down to search one of them.  You released a sigh and walked indoors, sliding the door to the balcony shut behind you.  No tears fell.  No sobs escaped your lips.  You stared at the roomy bed in front of you that had been made by handmaids, not even feeling like collapsing into it.  You were still on edge and unsure of how to shake it off.

   Part of you wanted to head down the hall to the library and sit quietly with a warm cup of (favorite hot drink), but what felt like an invisible steel cable kept you from wandering.  You didn’t like the thought of being too far away from Boba.  Just in case.

   So you settled for pacing around the room idly, your mind running through the event over again.  You wished you had gotten a few punches in or managed to kick the trespasser where the suns don’t shine.  You’d been caught off-guard and didn’t react the way you thought you should’ve.  Even so, it was something you could learn from.

   The door slid open, and Boba stepped inside, removing his helmet and setting it down on a side table.  You were relieved that he didn’t appear injured.  “I’ve contacted authorities.  This group will be handled from here.”

   “Do you know who sent them?”

   He gazed at you for a few seconds, and at first you didn’t think he would answer.  “I have yet to figure that out.”

   “Oh.”

   He was still staring at you, and your instincts kicked in when he took a few steps toward you.  The dim yellow light of the lamps that lit your room glowed on his face and reflected in his eyes as he neared you.  Your heart thrummed so quickly, and your body may still have been feeling the effects of the event that had transpired only minutes before.  You flinched when Boba raised a gloved hand.  It wasn’t a fast or sudden movement, but when he saw your reaction, he paused nonetheless.

   Still spooked, you sharpened your tone in irritation.  “What are you looking at?”  That’s when the emotion finally crept in your voice.  Your vision blurred with the forming of tears as your face twisted in a look of frustration as you returned his gaze with a new fire.

   He didn’t look the slightest bit phased, but you noticed his expression lost some of its intensity.  Boba reached up again to take your chin between his thumb and forefinger, carefully angling your face toward the mirror on the wall to your left.  You saw the eyes that haunted you each day and the man they belonged to staring at your reflection.  Then, your gaze traveled to his gloved hand and up to your own eyes which gleamed in the lamplight.  Finally, they rested on a splotch of blood on your cheek.

   Your hand immediately reached toward it, but Boba caught your wrist with his other hand.  His gentle touch kept surprising you.  It was very different from what you’d expected.

   “Do you have supplies for this?” he asked.

   You simply gave a nod and extricated yourself from his light hold to retrieve the first aid you kept tucked under the bed.  His eyes never left you, and you caught his gaze as you walked back over with the small box.  Boba had removed his gloves by the time you found a disinfecting swab.  He took your chin between his thumb and forefinger so delicately before taking the swab and dabbing your cheek.  The sting was mild, but just enough to make you wince.

   “Hold still,” he told you.

   “You know, I am capable of doing this myself.  This isn’t exactly in the job description of you protecting me and the artifacts.”

   Boba didn’t respond, only leaned in to inspect the minor wound.  You didn’t want to allow yourself to enjoy the moment, but there was no stopping the way he flooded your senses and filled you with a sense of calm.  His masculine scent put you at ease, and the way he treated you so carefully as if you were made of glass evoked a quiet sigh from your lips.

   When he was done, there was only a trace of the scratch that needed a few days to heal.

   “There,” he stated, retracting his hands.  You immediately missed the warmth.  Even so, you maintained your composure as he leaned in once more.  “Is there anything else I can help you with, Princess?”

   “N-no.”

   “Really?”  That smirk touched the corner of his lips as he took on an almost intrigued expression.  “No complaint?  Not even a comment?”

   “Well-” you began, and he chuckled.

   “Ah, there it is.”

   “Now you won’t get to hear it.”

   “Fine by me.”

   You sighed.  “I was just going to say you should let me tend to your wounds.  There’s no way you walked away completely unscathed.”

   He paced over to where his helmet still sat on a table and knocked at it with his knuckle a few times.  “It’s called beskar.”

   “Alright then,” you tsked as you began to put the first aid supplies away.  “Your loss.  Let me know if you do need anything after all.”

   His brows perked again.  “There might be one thing.”

   You paused before tucking the first aid box under your bed.  “What’s that?”

   “I do feel a little sting,” Boba said.  “Right here.”  He gestured to his lip.  You rolled your eyes, but humored him by bringing the box back over and leaning in to get a better look.  There were a few scars, but definitely nothing fresh.

   “A sting?” you repeated, taking another step.  “I don’t see anything.”

   “Maybe you should look closer.”  His eyes gazed deeply into yours, and you found it nearly impossible to look away.  So you didn’t.

   Not until your lips were on his.  Then, you let your eyes flutter shut.

   The kiss was, like his manner toward you before, gentle.  Only after you relaxed into it did he kiss you back more firmly, his arm wrapping around you to pull you closer to his armored torso.  When he did pull away, you nearly chased his lips with your own before you remembered yourself.

   You had been the one to close the distance and kiss him.

   You kissed Boba Fett.  He had kissed you back.

   Your handmaids and some security arrived on the scene, and Boba left you in their care without a word.  Sure, he was annoying and smug sometimes.  This man had been a mystery to you for the months that you’d spent under his protection.  At first he had regarded you with similar annoyance, but perhaps things had changed.  Perhaps you had started to grow on each other through the banter.

   You hadn’t anticipated this.  You hadn’t thought that you’d care for the bounty hunter so much.  It was only after the kiss that you were finally able to accept your feelings.  They went beyond professional, even beyond mere attraction.  Did you dare to venture into the territory of love?  You weren’t quite sure about that yet.  All you knew was those eyes, his voice, and now his kiss, would haunt your dreams.

#boba fett #boba x reader #boba fett x reader #star wars boba fett x reader #boba fett reader insert #star wars reader insert #boba reader insert #star wars x reader #reader x boba fett #reader insert star wars

[scapegrace74-blog]

Do You Want To?

A/N The second prompt-inspired Metric Universe fic, this time in response to a request for Jealous Jamie/Claire by @stellarpuffin. Often we see Jamie being the jealous one, but this idea came to me fully formed. Set way back at the beginning of the Metric timeline, sometime between Breathing Underwater and Lost Kitten. Claire POV, and also just a hint of Jamie/John. Inspired by the Franz Ferdinand song and video referenced in the title, which is gloriously sexually ambiguous and can be seen here.

The entire Metric Universe is available on my AO3 page.

November 14, 2015

Village Underground, Shoreditch, London, England

"Are ye gonna bid on something?" Geillis asked as they made their way through a Tube car converted into an art installation space.

The friends stopped in front of a nine foot pastiche of rubber hoses, protrusions of oil paint and copper plating that seemed to be the artist's interpretation of what it might look like if a factory puked.

"I made my donation when I paid for my ticket," Claire replied. "Intriguing as these pieces are, if I don't mind every penny I'll end up homeless myself."

"Like I'd ever let that happen tae ye," her friend scoffed. "Let's head back tae the main buildin' then and make certain ye get yer money's worth in free food, at least."

Crisis UK's semi-annual fundraiser was a charity auction. Despite her jest, Claire was a regular contributor, having seen the physical and social toll of homelessness first-hand through her work at the hospital. The venue was a converted coal storage warehouse, renovated to the height of Functional Industrial Disrepair, and it echoed with the voices of patrons from all walks of life. Signature cocktails in hand, the two women stood to one side of the room and gossiped between morsels of finger food lifted from passing servers.

"Weeeel, if it isn't the wee fox cub," Geillis remarked with evil glee.

Muddled by several drinks downed in quick succession, Claire looked about for a stray forest animal. What she saw was nearly as unexpected. Standing out amongst the crowd of black dresses and expensive distressed jeans, Jamie Fraser's defiantly chaotic curls and trim navy blue uniform drew her eyes like a magnet. He was leaning down, listening in apparent rapt attention to a petite blonde woman with eyes take took up half her face and a crop top that started its life as a handkerchief.

"Thas' Leery Mackenzie," Geillis noted. "A more persistent flirt ye ne'er did meet, an' thas' comin' from me. Puir lad is in need of rescue."

In truth she barely knew the young fireman, besides having once been the only obstacle standing between his mangled body and the afterlife, but she found herself vaguely disappointed in his choice of company. But who was she to judge? Even heroes were entitled to an easy piece of tail now and then. After all, hadn't he dated Geillis once?

"Don't let me stop you, Duncan. I'll just stand here and hold up this derelict wall."

"Och, nah. Been there, done that. I think ye're the right woman fer the job, Beauchamp."

"Me?" she began to protest, but just then the background music ceased and a well-dressed man called for everyone to take their seats so that the auction could begin.

In addition to the art on display, a number of companies had donated services and experiences to be bid upon. Claire found herself wishing she could afford to indulge in the spa getaway package or a weekend for two in Margate. But then again, who would she take? Instead, she sipped on her drink and observed the crowd as item after item went on the block. Jamie was nowhere to be seen, but his blond friend sat in the front row, her bare shoulders glimmering under the bright lights. Who wore glitter to a charity auction, even in Shoreditch, she wondered uncharitably.

"Our next item on offer is sure to bring a smile to some lucky lady's face," the announcer intoned. "Lot 23 is an all-expenses paid night on the town with one of London Fire Brigade's bright young stars, Mister April himself, James Fraser. And here he is now. I'll start the bidding at fifty pounds."

Claire didn't know where to look first. Next to her, Geillis let out an abbreviated cry, sounding like a strangled goat. On the stage, Jamie had sauntered into the limelight, copperplate curls alight and tall, broad form neatly sheathed in navy blue. And in the front row, a glitter-strewn arm shot skyward before the auctioneer even named his starting price.

"Excellent, I have fifty pounds from the enthusiastic young lady in the front row. Do I hear sixty pounds?"

Hands were raised from elsewhere in the audience, but each time Leery answered with a higher bid.   Soon it was only the blonde tart and a slim dark-haired man with astonishingly long eyelashes who were bidding against each other.  

Claire watched to see if Jamie appeared uneasy with the idea of going on a date with another man, but he smiled easily any time the rivals outbid each other.  He wasn’t a vain man, in her estimation, but he wore his striking looks with an easy confidence that was undeniably sexy.  If you were into that sort of thing, that is.

“I have one hundred and sixty pounds from the young lady in front.  Do I hear one hundred and seventy pounds?”

The dark haired man shook his head, looking sincerely disappointed.  Claire felt a pang of sympathetic compassion.

“...once. Going twice. Final call.  I have one hundred and seventy pounds from a new bidder in the back!”

Every head swiveled around to where Claire sat, her arm raised on high.  Leery narrowed her eyes as though Claire had just cursed her lineage.  From the stage, Jamie made eye contact, instantly recognizing her. Perhaps she was deluding herself, but she felt he looked relieved.

“What happened tae livin’ on the streets?” Geillis snickered as the auctioneer recommenced the bidding.

“I’m banking on the fact that you took me in as a stray once before,” Claire retorted as she lifted her hand a second time.

When all was said and done, she ended up paying two hundred and ten pounds to go out on a date with a man she barely knew.  For reasons she couldn’t fathom, saving Jamie from Leery’s avid clutches was more important than her own ambivalence and enforced frugality.

“Ye never cease tae amaze me, Claire,” Geillis laughed after the auction concluded.  “Never in a million years would I have predicted ye had a crush on yon fox cub.”

“That’s because I don’t have a crush on him,” she denied.  “I just find the whole idea of a man, or a woman, mind you, selling himself like a piece of meat incredibly distasteful.”

“Oh, aye,” her friend grinned.  “Tis a noble deed ye’ve done, tae be sure.  An’ now that ye’ve saved him from the butcher’s block, whatever are ye tae do wit’ him?”

“I haven’t the faintest...”

“Good evenin’ tae ye, Nurse Beauchamp.  Geillis.”

The piece of meat in question stood before them, even more impressive at close range.  Just over his left shoulder she could see Leery looking on in disgust, a moue of despair painted on her ample lips.

After a few casual pleasantries, Jamie said, “Sae, Ms. Beauchamp, shall I give ye my number so we can arrange a time fer our wee outing?  I was thinking dinner an’ a show, but if ye prefer live music we could...”

“There won’t be any need to exchange numbers, Mr. Fraser.  Save your money, or better yet, donate it to the fundraiser.”

The look Leery gave her as she and a hysterical Geillis left to grab their coats was worth every penny.

#my writing #outlander

[deejadabbles]

A Thousand Songs (Atem/Yami x Reader)

Chapter Three: I Love You

One /// Two /// Three /// Four /// [Five Coming Soon]

Summary: You knew that you and your band could make it big. Not only that, but stay together while doing it; the five of you were family, after all. The only problem was that despite all your musical talents...none of you were particularly good at lyrics. After years of struggling to put out your first full album, the solution finally made himself know in chance meeting on an empty stage.

Rock Band AU, Atem x Reader, gender neutral reader.

Atem’s mind was still reeling as he parked his car in the lot of his building. It had been a normal and rather mundane day at first; he woke, made breakfast, ran his errands, then went to rehearsal. The rehearsal was particularly boring, considering he already memorized their new set of songs for the next show (good thing this was the last few days of rehearsal before the new show debuted). It was likely that very boredom that gave Atem his wistful thought as he packed away his violin. Everyone else had gone, bidding him good night or not even speaking to him as they moved on to their own plans for the night, and Atem found himself alone in the theatre. The stage had always held a bit of...glamour to Atem, and a simple walk around the grand set alone had got him daydreaming- which turned into him singing.

The young man sighed to himself as he rode the elevator up to his floor. He had thought he was singing to himself, that the theatre was empty save for himself and the janitor who was usually outside smoking that time of night. Imagine his surprise when an audience of one had ambushed him the moment his solo was done. He let out another sigh as the elevator stopped.

Atem was careful when opening his door, and the reason why made herself apparent when a delicate ‘mew’ greeted him.

“Hello, Bastet,” he greeted the gray tabby as she rubbed her chin against the door, trying as always to explore beyond the confines of the penthouse.

He scooped her up into his arms as he shut the door, then wandered to the kitchen as his mind continued to replay the odd incident at the theatre. Despite Atem’s shock, the boy- Yugi’s enthusiasm actually made Atem...consider the out-of-the-blue proposal. Him, a first chair violinist, write songs for some rock band? The idea seemed ludicrous at first glance... but, Atem would not deny his interest.

After setting Bastet down on the leather stool by the breakfast bar, Atem pulled out the black business card from his coat pocket, the title “The Dark Magicians” being the first golden text that caught his eye. The name had captured Atem’s interest from the start, though he couldn’t be sure if the name had anything to do with his favorite card from the old Duel Monsters game.

Behind the name of the band, was a circular logo (again, a bit reminiscent of the duel monster) and Atem recognized the symbols of the zodiacs, as well as some other markings he vaguely remembered seeing somewhere, but couldn’t place the meaning of in the moment. Atem then flipped the card over and saw what looked like the names of their social media accounts, but only got a brief glimpse at it before a tug on his coat got his attention.

“Mowo?”

Atem looked down and found Bastet, claws tugging at him and eyes looking expectant. He found himself chuckling and giving her a gentle scratch on the head.

“Sorry, Bastet, you must be hungry, I’ll make us some dinner.”

After finally taking off his coat (the black fabric now covered in his kitten’s fur) Atem turned on his speakers, started his playlist, and got started on dinner: a beef-based stir fry for him, and a can of Fancy Feast for the spoiled cat who wove between his legs the whole time he tried to prepare the meals. And of course, because she really was just that spoiled, Bastet got a small spoon full of his own dinner before he retired to the living room.

Atem kept his music playing as he ate, preferring to get lost in his thoughts rather than his favorite shows; and again Yugi’s proposal swam into his mind and occupied him.

The whole thought was ridiculous, he knew nothing about Yugi or his band, why was he even thinking about writing songs for them? Songwriting was just a hobby for him, it always had been. The orchestra was his career, and though his father had gotten him singing lessons when he was younger, Atem had never truly entertained the idea of making that voice and his lyrics into anything more than a personal amusement. Well, at least not seriously.

Well, and didn’t it say something that Yugi had been so drawn to Atem’s song? The young man had seemed so excited, so sure when he said that he thought Atem was the perfect match for his band. Atem believed in fate, and that had been the first time he sang publicly since he was a child...what were the chances that someone looking for a songwriter would be listening? Not only that, but be so enthralled with the song that he practically bounded down the row of seats to talk with Atem?

As he finished off the last bites of his meal, Atem picked up the card again, looking over the accounts listed on the back. There was one for Youtube and Atem figured that would be a good place to start if he wanted to see what he thought about this band.

He quickly searched the band on the app via his TV (might as well see them on the big screen) and was not surprised with what he saw at first. Their icon was the same logo from the card and they barely had a few thousand subscribers. A small-time group just trying to leave their musical mark on the world. What did surprise him was that they had almost fifty videos posted- though a quick look through their content said that most of them were “band vlogs”.

Their banner picture was nice, all of the band members in the throws of a song with multicolored lights blooming behind them. The picture displayed all five of the members, the framing purposefully showing all of them so no one was left out or hidden behind another member.

Atem of course recognized Yugi first and was intrigued to find the young man working a set of turntables. An odd addition for a rock band- though now that he thought about it, Yugi never actually said what type of band they were. Soon enough, Atem found his eyes drifting to the other members. There was an energetic looking blond pounding on the drums and a brunette woman who had some soul playing the keyboard. Then there were the two guitarists, and the lead guitar player seemed to also be the singer, mouth poised in front of the standing mic and fingers splayed across the strings in unison.

But looking at still pictures would not get Atem far in getting to know the band, so he moved on to the videos. He found a convenient playlist for their actual songs (he’d move on to the vlogs if he liked what he heard) and clicked on the oldest, their first, video.

The setting was simple enough, the five of them standing in an almost warehouse-looking venue, but the video quality wasn’t bad. The girl on the piano started out first and Atem’s found his interest instantly piqued when the notes sounded epic enough to fit in with an orchestra. The singer stepped up to the mic, guitar missing, and started a fast string of lyrics, hard-hitting and dramatic- a perfect combo with the epic-style piano. The drums and bass joined in quick enough and the moment the chorus hit the synthesized sound of the turntables cut in, an interesting contrast to the other instruments that...actually worked...it really really worked. The lead guitarist’s missing strings were deliberate, Atem noted, since the base standing on its own created a deeper sound that complimented the dramatic flair of the song.

It ended too quickly, being barely more than two minutes long, and Atem instantly found himself pressing replay to give the song another listen. This time, now that he wasn’t trying to pick out the different instruments working together, he paid more attention to the lyrics. It sounded like an ode to bad relationships, the toxic kind that made a couple who claimed to love each other fight and scream daily. The singer’s voice was good, and he was impressed with the long note held at the end of the song.

Atem considered giving the title a third listen, but decided he could always come back to it after he sampled their other songs. He moved on to the next, noting that there were a few cover songs in between the originals- though he skipped them for now. This song seemed to have the most views, and Atem figured it was for the actual “music video” style. It was much more entertaining to watch a story-driven video than the band members simply standing on a set (though he thought that was perfectly fine for the first video).

A fade from black showed a ballerina (the pianist?) on the ground, contorted into a common starting position for ballets. A sorrowful note sounded as the camera zoomed in on the ballerina, then, the moment the piano started, she was dancing. It was then that Atem realized that he knew the piano player, at least in passing, she was one of the dancers from the theatre.

The same voice from the first song started to sing, and the dancer soundlessly captured the lyrics with her graceful movements. The thing that truly made Atem stare in wonder though, was the visuals taking place beyond the dance.

As the song went on, the ballerina’s state...worsened. Her visage mirrored the hurt lyrics of the song. At first her make up ran, as if she had been crying, then holes and tears started to appear in her clothes, then bruises on her skin, until finally, half of her tutu was torn and dirty and dark spots littered her body. The pivot point of the song came, and the ballerina fell to the ground, crying, silently conveying that she didn’t want to go on.

But then the tune started to shift, slowly swelling, lifting up as one by one, hands reached out to the despairing dancer. The first gripped her shoulder in comfort, the next wiped away a stray tear, the third rubbed her back, and the fourth simply held itself out to her, a wordless urge to take the offer of help. The ballerina did, and the moment the hands lifted her up, the scene brightened, and her appearance was restored to its original beauty. The woman still had some sadness in her eyes, but the notes were hopeful as she finished her dance, ending the song on an uplifting tune.

Atem found himself simply staring at the screen as a “Thank you for watching!” text scrolled across it. The simple beauty of the video struck him. The song was about loneliness, broken hearts, the darker side of emotions, almost everything most people would feel in their lives. But, ultimately, it was about loved ones making all those things easier to bear- to accept help from those around you and becoming stronger in the process. A song about a sad truth with a hopeful ending.

Atem liked it, he liked it a lot.

He continued to watch the videos and was let down to find that there were only two more original songs by the band. The third was well done too, though Atem admitted that they didn’t capture his attention as much as the previous. It featured the band in steampunk style garb, standing on a stage as masked patrons in ballgowns danced in front of them (Atem knew he recognized said dancers as more ballerinas from the theatre), this song was more light in its beat, though he thought the lyrics alluded to the concept of liars and the masks they wore.

The final song opened with a heavy drum beat and sound effects from the turntables, the black and white camera blinking onto a shot of the drummer in some abandoned building. Water burst from the drums with every hit for even more dramatic visuals as the keyboard and guitars joined in. Then it cut to the singer leaning against a brick-walled alley, still in black and white and the voice Atem was beginning to know well followed the instruments.

He liked the lyrics already, a poetic contrast to the almost upbeat rhythm. What piqued Atem’s interest most, however, was that it was a love song, the first romantic brand of tenderness he’d heard from the band so far.

Where the light shivers offshore

Through the tides of oceans

We are shining in the rising sun

As we are floating in the blue

I am softly watching you

Though, tender as it may be, he couldn’t say it was a happy love song.

Oh boy, your eyes betray what burns inside you

Atem felt something rake at his heart, a pull, the lyrics drawing him in, chest rising with an ache.

Whatever I feel for you

You only seem to care about you

Is there any chance you could see me, too?

'Cause I love you

Is there anything I could do

Just to get some attention from you?

In the waves, I've lost every trace of you

Where are you?

At one point the camera lingered on the singer’s face, eyes pleading and hands splayed in a gesture as if to pull the viewer closer in a desperate embrace. Atem didn’t even realize he was leaning forward until he was at the edge of the seat. If he were a romantic, he might liken the vocalist to a siren, drawing him in with gravitating lyrics.

Whispers are wasted in the sand

As we were dancing in the blue

I was synchronized with you

But now the sound of love is out of tune

Atem had to actively tell himself to sit back in his seat as the chorus came again, though his eyes never left the screen, even as it flashed between all the members in various forsaken settings. It had been a long time since a song made it feel actual heartbreak, made him hang on each pleading lyric.

Not only that, but even as the song began its ending crescendo, Atem’s mind was compiling some violin chords that would slip into the song perfectly. It had been even longer since he wanted to add his own music to a song.

Atem had to give the song one more listen, this time closing his eyes and getting even more lost in the beats and words. Again he had to tell himself not to go for a third listen and moved on to the band’s cover videos. Though, he was momentarily distracted by Bastet as she hopped onto the couch, demanding cuddles and pets by shoving her tail in his face. He obliged, letting her fall asleep on his lap as he flipped through the band’s cover songs, ready to hear more from them.

Most of them featured the players standing in their venue from the first video, which made sense since recording in that simple location allowed the band to pump out videos faster. He liked the diverse array of covers, some were of pop songs, others of rock and metal, and even one rap song. The band made each cover their own, with that unique array of instruments that made Atem endeared to the band.

His favorite covers had to be the ones of Studio Killers’ “Jenny” and “Through the Fire and Flames” by DragonForce.

The metal song was the only one that had someone other than the lead guitarists singing. Atem understood why, the guitar chords were brutal- and the vocalist was playing them like an expert! Again, Atem was impressed, not just anyone could play the strings like that. Instead Yugi sang, belting his little heart out with some decent talent in singing. Atem may have had the deeper voice, but Yugi pulled off the metal style well. Atem then felt bad for not recognizing the bass player’s skill until the near end of the song, and promised to rewatch the video later to fully appreciate how well the brunette played the bass chords.

Jenny was one of the few covers that got a better video and again, Atem found himself interested and surprised, but for an entirely different reason this time. Although the song was about a lesbian crush, the couple acting out the video were two men: Yugi and the blond drummer. Atem found himself smiling when the video ended with the two men kissing in front of a sunset, Yugi having to pull down the taller boy by the collar of his shirt. The song itself was impressive as well, it was undoubtedly a rock version of the pop song, but it still had that upbeat, almost bubbly quality to the music.

That video was also the first that had the band members speaking to the viewers at the end, all five of them sitting on a couch and smiling brightly at the camera. They explained that the video was made for pride month and that they hope to someday donate all the ad revenue of the video to LGBT charities, once their videos started making money in the first place, that is. Unfortunately, (though not to his surprise) that video had the most amount of dislikes, and Atem found himself leaving a string of heart emojis in the comments just to counteract the negativity- and Atem never used heart emojis.

Before he went on to the other videos, the vlogs, Atem paused the playlist and leaned back on his couch, a string of thoughts taking him over as Bastet purred and stretched out to lay on his chest.

He liked the band.

He liked their style, their diversity and unique form, their creativity, and so far he liked the actual members too. He liked all of it a lot. If he were to ever put his original music out there, he knew it would be with a band like this.

Atem believed in fate, so, had he and Yugi met for a reason?

Atem pressed play on the first band vlog video, making his final decision as he petted the purring cat resting on his chest. So long as these more personal vlogs didn’t tarnish his view of the members, he’d speak to Yugi the next day.

#atem x reader #yami x reader #yugioh x reader #Yugioh Band AU #Atem #yami yugi #band AU #series: a thousand songs

[madamewriterofwrongs]

May and the Rainbow Kingdom

911/Buck & May

Written for @cirrius-akiyo who wanted a Buck & May friendship.

The station was unusually quiet when she walked through the front door. The trucks were still in their place, being polished and restocked by other crew members – most of whom paid her no mind or recognized her as the ‘captain’s kid’. She’d only been called that once, but she remembered the uneasy feeling and the sneer of the probationary officer’s voice. A well-practiced eyebrow raised, and her best customer service smile, ensured he never bothered her again.

Today she wasn’t here as the ‘captain’s kid’, she was here as a friend in need of help from another – older and wiser – friend. A glance at the ambulance missing from its usual station dampened her expectations slightly.

“Hey, May.” She looked up to see a familiar face waving at her from the loft and she jogged to meet him.

“Hey, Buck. I was hoping to talk to Hen, is she around?”

The blond-haired firefighter returned to his task of tidying the upper floor (the table smelt comfortingly of bleach and lemon so he was nearly done) while she knelt on the couch to watch him work.

“Sorry; she just left on a call with Chim and Bobby. Is there anything I can help you with?”

She tried to keep the dejected sigh from her voice. “How versed are you on Bioethics of Non-Existence?”

It was almost comical, the way Buck paused in his sweeping to take in her question. “I definitely recognize some of those words.”

As she suspected; May turned to collapse onto the couch with a groan. “I really needed to talk to Hen.” Not that she didn’t trust the other adults in her life – Maddie had tried to help, but she’d been out of Medicine for too long – Hen was her last hope.

“School going that well, huh?” She didn’t have to look to hear the amusement in the man’s voice.

“It’s actually pretty good.” She admitted, still slumped half-off the couch. “I just have mt midterm on Friday and I really need someone who can test me on this stuff.”

“I’m sure you’ve got a handle on it. You were always a smart kid.”

May did smile at that. It was easier to accept being called a child from someone who actually knew her as a child. Granted, she and Buck weren’t overly close, but he was always nice to her, and Bobby seemed fond of him.

“I’ve studied this stuff over and over but I just don’t feel ready” she admitted to the ceiling. Maybe Buck should clean those rafters (he was certainly tall enough). Better yet, maybe she could do it. “I either need a distraction or another month of review.”

Maybe if she hid out at the station, she could lie to her professor and say she had a medical emergency. Or maybe, she could convince him to let her take her exam tomorrow and put her out of her misery. She hated the waiting game. The more she reviewed the material, the less secure she felt in her knowledge. It just needed to be over and done with so she could start stressing about the next thing. Her English essay was due next week. It could use a third rewrite.

“I don’t know about the review.” Visions of Buck peering over top of her, pulled May out of her spiral. “But if you’re in need of a distraction, I could use a co-babysitter tonight. I’m watching Christopher while Eddie’s out on a date and I’m sure he’d love to hang out with you.”

An evening spent with her stepdad’s friend, and her stepdad’s other friend’s son was not exactly what she had in mind for a Monday night, but it was better than nothing. Besides, she liked Christopher well enough; he was a cute kid with a sensible head on his shoulders. And Buck was nice – if a little bit accident-prone for the amount of times she’d visited him in the hospital – plus it was an excuse to get out of her routine for a few hours. Maybe she could come early and ask Eddie some questions (an army medic had to have some thoughts on ethics in medicine, right?).

“Sure,” she smiled up at him. “why not?”

Which was how May found herself squished between a surprisingly calm 10-year-old, and an overly-energetic 29-year-old, splitting the difference as she scrolled through their Netflix Kids’ queue.

Christopher had insisted that they didn’t need to use the kid’s channel as he was absolutely old enough to handle all the scary movies. She remembered Harry, not too long ago, with the same attitude (along with the same nightmare he’d had for weeks about a clown in a sewer). While Buck didn’t have the same experience, he was with her decision to stick to the lighter stuff for tonight. Perhaps he was being overly cautious as he always was with the boy.

Everyone in their circle knew about how Buck had saved Christopher during the tsunami and how close the three of them had become afterwards. It was no wonder he wanted to do everything in his power to protect him – even from the CGI monsters.

As they continued to scroll, she paused on their ‘Continue Watching’ bar, to see if there was anything they wanted pick up. She wasn’t about to watch whatever they chose for their post-dinner treat; she had her textbook and laptop in her bag all charged up.

Just as she was about to continue the search for the perfect movie, her eye caught one of the titles with a half-full red bar and shot a confused glance to Buck. The man kept his eyes purposefully trained on the screen, eyes darting to hers once, as a sign that he knew what she was looking at. Still, he showed no sign of explaining himself so she moved on. For now.

They ended up settling on one of the dinosaur documentary movies, but May kept her promise to herself and reviewed through the entire 90-minute event. It was easy enough to tune out, the graphics were fine, the story was predictable, but at least the boys on either side seemed to be enjoying themselves. Every once in a while, Buck would elbow her to pull her attention back to the screen but it never held her interest for more than a few minutes. Then Christopher would do the same, asking her questions or feeding her facts about the various dinosaurs. That did help for a little while, but even that kid’s endless enthusiasm couldn’t keep back the voice in her head that told her she should be studying.

As far distractions went, this night seemed to be a bust.

When she heard the water run in the bathroom, signally the beginning of Christopher’s bedtime routine, May found herself reaching for the remote once again; if only to keep her hands occupied while she waited to say goodbye to Buck. The least she could do was thank him for his attempt to distract her – even if it had failed.

That was when she found the ‘Continue Watching’ bar once again, and her curiosity got the better of her.

“What’s True and the Rainbow Kingdom?” she asked once her companion had returned. “’Cause it doesn’t seem like something Christopher would be into.”

Buck huffed as he flopped on the couch next to her. “Okay,” he began his confession by raising his hands in surrender. “I watched an episode to see if it was something that’d be appropriate for Nia, but I kind of started watching it on my own.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really” he matched her mocking tone. “Not all the time. But I’ll admit, when I’m having a bad day, it’s nice to turn my brain off with some mindless fun.”

She wasn’t laughing at him – maybe she was, but she wouldn’t tell him that – it was that the image of this grown man, sitting at home, watching what was clearly a Sophia the First carbon copy (if the design was to be believed), was very amusing to her.

“Wow, I see how it is.” Buck lightly pushed May as she shuffled over to create more space. “I try and help and instead you mock me. Very nice.”

Even as a joke, she saw his point and the laughter turned into a smile, which morphed into an eyeroll.

“You’ve got to admit, this doesn’t exactly fit your image.”

“I have no image” he protested. “I’m allowed to like whatever I like.”

“So, you wouldn’t mind if I text my mom that” she had barely begun picking up her phone from the coffee table, when he reached the device first.

“Don’t you dare.” More laughter did make her heart feel a little lighter.

He only handed her phone back once she’d half-heartedly agreed not to text her mom this fresh blackmail material. “I bet you’d like it. It’s about a girl and a cat, and she gets these wishes from a tree, and she uses them to help others.”

“The cat gets wishes?”

“Just” Buck rolled his eyes, grabbing the remote from the cushion between them. “we’re going to watch it right now.”

Without waiting for her response, Buck tapped the first episode and shushed her failed attempt to protest.

The first scene introduced a reasonably catchy theme song with bright colours, along with the main character True and her talking black cat named Bartleby. There was something about a party and a bitchy princess and a weird walking pill they called…something Banjo? Admittedly, when the cat said something sarcastic towards the girls, she cracked a smile, but her mind was still reviewing the differences between Potter’s and Callahan’s philosophies.

The next time she tuned back into the episode, they were sitting on mushroom stools under a tree, attempting to solve a problem as a group. When they took a deep breath, May found herself exhaling with them, and her forehead ached from holding tension for so long. Admittedly, it felt nice to relax her shoulders.

Okay, so this was clearly a kids’ show and nothing else. Mining wishes from a tree and using a book to decipher what all the wishes could do, as though they were Pokémon characters.  It was ridiculous, why was she still watching this? She needed to get home to study.  

“Sure, they get to use the ‘wishopedia’ but my professor won’t let me use Wikipedia as a starting source?” she grumbled under her breath.

“What was that?” She startled when Buck smirked at her.

May tucked back into the arm of the couch with a half-hearted glare. “Nothing.”

She really should be reviewing. The more time she wasted outside of the classroom, the worse her chances of success. She shouldn’t be wasting her time watching this kids’ monstrosity. This really was a stupid show. Why would True forgive Grizelda after she was such a bitch to Bingo-Bango? She was always so positive and patient. And she only used her special powers to help people. That was pretty nice.

That theme song was pretty catchy.

Before she knew it, she was four episodes in, watching two mushroom people win a motor race after everyone got detoured by falling crystals and Grizelda being a bitch (again).

“She should just toss the Cu-Bigly over the cliff and then throw Grizelda.” At Buck’s look of amused indignation, she shrugged. “What? She deserves it for sabotaging the race. It’s not like she’d die from that height.”

A quick glance at her phone told her it was after ten and she had a class in the morning. What astonished her most, was that she hadn’t thought about her course work in an hour. For the first time since starting university, she’d let herself escape her thoughts just for a little while; and honestly, she felt lighter for it.

Still unbelievably guilty for not spending every waking moment of her life preparing for her next test or assignment – but just a little bit lighter.

“Hey, Buck?” She turned to the man barely hiding the fact that he’d begun to doze off. May smirked when he awoke with a snort. “Thanks for your help, I really needed this.”

For a moment, she saw the ‘puppy dog’ that her mom liked to call him: the puffed chest and kind smile and excited eyes. She saw what won over her, somewhat cynical, mother; it made her smile brighter.

“Glad I could help.”

Buck was scrolling mindlessly through his phone two weeks later, when it buzzed with a new text notification, and his mood instantly improved.

87%

Also I may have finished the first season of TatRK

I totally ship True and Zee

Do you want me to wait for you to catch up?

“Hey, May passed her Bioethics Mid-Term” he announced to his friends sitting in the loft; the rest, he would keep as his own reward for a job well done.

Bobby looked up from his usual place in the kitchen, buttering a pan for some dish most of them wouldn’t get to eat. “Since when did May start telling you about her exam results?”

There was no honest answer that wouldn’t make him feel embarrassed, but Buck blushed regardless. “I, uh, helped her study.”

Eddie slapped his shoulder jovially as he passed on his way to grab a bottle of water. “Is there something you want to tell us? You have a secret Bioethics degree?”

Buck brushed him off with a smile. “No, but you do what you can to help out family, right?”

His eyes met with his Captain’s and there was a fondness he only saw with May and Harry. Something he hadn’t seen for himself in a long while.

“Yeah, kid, you do.”

#cj writes things #911 fox #911 fic #evan buckley #may grant #true and the rainbow kingdom #fire fam #friendship #cirrius-akyio

[qobiin]

(he doesn’t exist now) survived by his son

pairings: lan wangji & lan sizhui, background wangxian

genre: angst, fluff | canon-compliant, post-wei wuxian’s death

warnings: grief/mourning, canon-typical mentions of violence, lwj’s punishment, the inherent agony of living without the other half of your soul

a/n #1: this is for eri, the one who got me to watch cql in the first place. happy birthday, i hope today is amazing! have 9k of dad!lwj as a treat <3 title is taken from steven universe’s “drift away” btw (:

words: 9398

summary: When Wei Wuxian falls, Lan Wangji does not throw himself after him.

part one of always come back to you 

When Wei Wuxian falls, Lan Wangji does not throw himself after him.

He has no idea why at the time.

His heart and will are in shambles. His grip on Bichen’s sheath is hard enough to turn his knuckles white. His ribbon burns against his forehead. He is unsure that he is even breathing, all his air having left him when he screamed the moment Wei Wuxian pulled away.

Still, he remains standing, horror engulfing him whole. Sect Leader Jiang is standing beside him, just as frozen as he is but he does not dare look at his soulmate’s brother. His soulmate’s murderer because Wei Wuxian only pulled out of Lan Wangji’s grasp after Sect Leader Jiang’s sword struck the cliff face. Sect Leader Jiang may have pulled the blow Lan Wangji knew was aimed for their arms, but it does not change the fact that Wei Wuxian let go.

Something urges him to not follow after Wei Wuxian and he is uncertain of what it could be at first. It feels familiar, like a sensation Lan Wangji should recognize but cannot remember anymore. Almost like the notes of a song Lan Wangji memorized when he was first starting on the guqin but is unable to pinpoint where he learned it from.

(Later, he will think it felt too much like a warm hand on his chest pushing him away from the edge, pushing him away from the place his heart broke for good.

All he knows for certain is that he also died the moment Wei Wuxian took his last breath.)

He drifts - for lack of a better word - after that. Lan Wangji only recalls Brother pulling him away from the cliff, from Nightless City and the many eyes of the cultivators he just clashed swords with. He returns to Cloud Recesses with Brother and secludes himself in the Jingshi. 

For the first night, Lan Wangji does not sleep. When he closes his eyes, all he sees is Wei Wuxian letting go again.

He is unsure of how much time passes but at some point Brother comes to him with the news that the Lanling Jin Sect are going to lead a siege on the Burial Mounds. Wei Wuxian’s corpse had not been recovered after the battle at Nightless City and Jin Guangshan is still vying for the Stygian Tiger Amulet so their logical next step is to invade the resentful land where Wei Wuxian had tried in vain to start a family all on his own.

Lan Wangji leaves on foot after curfew but that is the last thing on his mind as his body moves almost against his will. For a while, it feels as if he is wandering without a purpose.

Confusion, pain, and grief wrack his frame every second of the day but there is still a familiar sensation tugging him along. Pulling him in a direction that he is certain he should recognize but can’t.

It is not until the sun rises above the horizon that he realizes where exactly his body is trying to go.

Yiling.

Lan Wangji rides his sword the rest of the way there.

It is not as quiet as Lan Wangji expected it to be.

That bothers him. A graveyard should only be filled with the sounds of the living giving tribute, but there is only the dead around him. The dead are quiet. The Burial Mounds aren’t.

He walks anyway, ignoring the pain in his body. The familiar sensation is tugging him along again. Lan Wangji is too tired to wonder about where it may be leading him because he gave up control as soon as it had gripped onto him. It pulls and he follows. It would not have led him here without a purpose, he is certain of that at least.

In the cave Wei Wuxian used to call his home, there is nothing left of him except his notes, hand-made furniture that will no longer see any use, and a dirty red ribbon Lan Wangji falls to his knees at the sight of. He loses himself in grief for who knows how long but soon realizes that his gasping breaths are not the only ones echoing around him. He stands, ribbon tied around his wrist, and walks desperately in search of the source of those raspy breaths.

He stops in front of a broken, hollow tree trunk not far from the entrance of the cave. Something is lying in it, barely hidden from view. For a moment, Lan Wangji ponders whether he will be stumbling upon the corpse of someone he should know but can’t quite recall. He only visited the Burial Mounds once while his soulmate was still alive, after all, and he had never learned everyone’s names.

Lan Wangji glances inside and knows now why it is not as quiet as it should in the Burial Mounds. Lan Wangji suddenly understands why he did not follow Wei Wuxian in death.

Wen Yuan lives.

Wei Wuxian’s son lives.

Their son lives.

Lan Wangji does not wish to, but he turns his back on Wen Yuan’s prone form and returns to the cave.

Cultivators are gathering there, all of them from different sects.

There is no Jiang purple among them. Lan Wangji counts that as the blessing it is meant to be. He does not wish to hurt those his soulmate cared so much for.

It does not stop him from confronting the crowd by himself. Jin Guangyao appears, telling him his uncle has arrived but Lan Wangji is unafraid.

He knows what he stands for and it is not this. It is not this inane scramble for power the rest of the cultivation world is allowing to cloud their minds and judgment. It is standing between the power-hungry and the weak, unwilling to move aside and let this madness continue. 

Lan Wangji is late in his decision, much too late to make things up to Wei Wuxian, but Wen Yuan is alive. A piece of his soulmate’s heart lives on and Lan Wangji is not going to allow harm to befall that little boy anymore.

So he fights those from his own sect, raising his sword to block blows from disciples of all ages. The Sect Elders themselves have shown up for the occasion but Lan Wangji cuts them down as well. He fights until there is no one to fight anymore, staggering and using Bichen as a crutch while cultivators lay around him on the ground in various stages of unconsciousness.

Uncle had only stayed long enough to command their sect in subduing him and bringing him back to Cloud Recesses for punishment. Lan Wangji does not wish to be punished, not when he now knows he is being righteous, but he walks back to the tree trunk hiding Wen Yuan and decides he will take them both back.

Wen Yuan needs medical attention, needs Lan Wangji’s protection from the rest of the world. Lan Wangji needs to keep him safe.

Wen Yuan is hot to the touch but he fits easily hidden under the folds of Lan Wangji’s robes. His head lies against his chest, his hair tickling Lan Wangji’s skin even through two layers of cloth.

It isn’t uncomfortable in the way that certain fabrics tend to be for him. Lace and silk are two of the few fabrics Lan Wangji can stand to have wrapped around him in six layers of robes without feeling like he is about to crawl out of his skin. Wen Yuan’s hair is neither of those but having it against him does not do anything more than cause his veins to break into song and make his heart feel like it is going to beat right out of his chest trying to follow the melody racing in his blood.

(It feels like Wei Wuxian’s hair against his neck, Wei Wuxian’s teasing grin directed at him in the face of his newest prank. Like Wei Wuxian laid across his lap in the darkness of a cave, delirious with fever, and asking Lan Wangji to play some music. Feels like Wei Wuxian meeting his gaze under the heavy downpour of rain, telling Lan Wangji that if he believes the rest of the cultivation world as right then Wei Wuxian will do everything their way instead and Lan Wangji being unable to say anything while he watches his soulmate lead the Wen remnants away.)

Lan Wangji’s eyes itch but he ignores his tears, his pain, his grief. He focuses on holding Wen Yuan securely in his embrace as he rides his sword back to Cloud Recesses, finding the strength to dredge up more spiritual power than he thought he originally had.

He remembers the little boy with a thin, dirty face who burst into tears after he settled his weight on Lan Wangji’s foot. After Wen Yuan gripped his ankle, and then looked up at him with a confused look in his almond-shaped eyes. After those villagers mistook him as Wen Yuan’s father and criticized him loudly enough to evoke shame within him since Lan Wangji had no idea what to do with a crying child suddenly invading his space. After Wei Wuxian swept in like a long-awaited dream and cleared the area of onlookers. After Wei Wuxian picked up the child and smiled up at Lan Wangji as if his heart was not doing its utmost best to beat right out of his chest and into the hands of the man he loved most.

After the boy smiled up at him and called him Rich-gege when he bought him as many toys as he wanted. After he paid for a large meal that fed both him and Wei Wuxian because their collarbones were prominent enough to tell Lan Wangji all he needed to know about their financial situation and just looking at them caused his breath to stutter in his chest. And after Wei Wuxian up and left again, taking the child and Lan Wangji’s weak heart with him, only leaving Lan Wangji himself bereft and more confused than he had ever felt before.

(“The child.” Lan Wangji remembers asking when Wei Wuxian first pulled the boy from Lan Wangji’s leg.

“He’s mine. I birthed him,” Wei Wuxian had said half-jokingly and half not at the same time.

It was obvious that the boy was Wei Wuxian’s in everything but blood. That made him Lan Wangji’s by extension. Wei Wuxian had been the one to proclaim them soulmates, more than brave enough to speak the words Lan Wangji had been holding back for years by then. Even if they would never marry or become partners in the manner that Lan Wangji desperately wished for, Wei Wuxian still looked upon him and saw Lan Wangji for who he really was.

When the time came for Wei Wuxian to have children, Lan Wangji would treat them well and spoil them in Wei Wuxian’s steed. Something he was more than able to do when he met Wen Yuan, Wei Wuxian’s son.

After all, any child of Wei Wuxian’s was also a child of Lan Wangji as well.)

When Lan Wangji first reached into the tree trunk and pulled him out, Wen Yuan’s face was still dirty, thinner than before, and flushed bright red. His little body was swathed in what Lan Wangji could only call rags and he shivered even as he sweated. 

Wen Yuan still feels feverishly hot against Lan Wangji’s chest but he pushes down his panic and rides. He does not stop until he has reached the entrance of Cloud Recesses and walks briskly towards the closest healer he can find.

There he watches as Wen Yuan is washed up, dressed in a clean white robe, and given enough medicine to help ease him into a peaceful sleep. Lan Wangji’s arm pulses where his wound has reopened but his pain can wait, ensuring that the child is well and can be healed is more important. Only once Wen Yuan’s breathing has returned to normal does Lan Wangji seek out Uncle.

Fortunately, he finds Brother with their uncle in the Jingshi. They have been expecting him and finding them together makes this next part easier.

He sidesteps their questions of what he had been doing at the Burial Mounds and inhales deeply before he says, “I accept punishment. I brought a child. He is my son and innocent.”

Uncle looks like he is going to explode at the seams, fury and worry shadowing every plane of his face. Lan Wangji grips onto Bichen’s sheath, the familiar pattern and texture calming him. 

It would be easy to claim the boy as his ward and adoptive son at best, but Lan Wangji needs to hide Wen Yuan’s origins or the last piece of his soulmate’s heart will be destroyed as violently as the rest of Wei Wuxian was. Lan Wangji will allow no harm to come to their son. If all that is required to keep Wen Yuan safe is the last of Lan Wangji’s credibility to be thrown away, then Lan Wangji is prepared to claim him as his bastard son.

“His name is Lan Yuan and he is ill. I will return to his bedside and await word of my punishment.” Lan Wangji bows to both men present and leaves as quickly as he appeared, not waiting to listen to whatever protests they may have.

Wen Yuan is still asleep when Lan Wangji returns and asleep still when Lan Wangji receives his punishment. Brother stays with Wen Yuan while the punishment is dealt out. Lan Wangji did not wish to leave his son alone but knowing that Brother is with him eases him.

Brother cannot interfere with his punishment after his initial attempts were drowned under the maliciousness of the Sect Elders and Uncle’s unmoving gaze. Brother would lose a lot more than just face within the Gusu Lan Sect if he denied Lan Wangji punishment altogether. As Sect Leader, Brother must be fair and unbiased, even when confronted with familial matters. Lan Wangji refuses to be the reason his brother loses all credibility in the cultivation world. Whatever others want to say or do to Lan Wangji is his business alone.

The pain of the whip is welcoming to him. Uncle appears furious throughout it all, but even through the haze, Lan Wangji knows it is not just him Uncle is angry with. Both the whip and Uncle’s disappointment are excruciating to bear and yet Lan Wangji does not find himself regretting his actions. 

He knew what would happen at Nightless City when he decided he would protect Wei Wuxian despite how out of favor he was with the rest of the cultivation world. When he fought any cultivator that decided they wanted to harm Wei Wuxian. Lan Wangji thought Wei Wuxian was finally going to be safe. He believed himself capable of protecting what little remained of his soulmate’s efforts. Even after he failed in protecting Wei Wuxian, he found Wen Yuan and fought his own sect to keep this last speck of his soulmate’s presence safe. Despite the chaos, the grief, and the complete ruin of Wei Wuxian’s reputation, Lan Wangji knew whose side he would be on when push finally came to shove. He has known ever since he was first confronted with that mischievous smile at age fifteen. 

He had hoped that Wei Wuxian was aware of this as well but now he will never know for certain.

When the punishment is over, Brother is summoned and between him and Uncle, Lan Wangji finds himself being dragged first to the Cold Springs then back to the Jingshi between them, their gaits and grips unsteady alike. They dress his wounds as best as they can and stay with him the entire first night. Lan Wangji lies face down on his bed, sleep evading him for a long, long time while Brother and Uncle sleep propped against his bed frame and table respectfully. 

Lan Wangji withdraws from the eyes of the rest of the sect as he starts the slow healing process the healers are being forbidden from helping him with. His silence, which used to be something he took solace in, only grows as the days slowly tick by with Brother and Uncle by his side during the day. Only in the dark of night does he allow himself to hope in vain for a familiar, obnoxious voice to draw his attention away from the pain covering the expanse of his back and nestled deep within his heart.

Nothing comes except a heavy grief Lan Wangji is not prepared to handle.

Moments before Wen Yuan wakes four days later, Lan Xichen adds him to the clan registry and proclaims him as Lan Yuan, Lan Wangji’s son.

Lan Wangji is joyous even as his chest burns with the new Wen brand marring his skin and his mind struggles not to crumble under the guilt of what he revealed to his Brother the night before when he was intoxicated.

Lan Yuan doesn’t seem to notice either way as he begins to sob for his Xian-gege before his fever burns all his memories of a smiling man in black and red away.

Lan Yuan is a quiet child.

He is respectful, intelligent, and curious. He smiles more often than Lan Wangji does, but less often than Lan Wangji had expected. He does not remember anything from the time before he came to live at Cloud Recesses, only that he was hungry often and had met Lan Wangji once.

He studies diligently and accepts any praise or criticism his peers and teachers give to him. He becomes close friends with Lan Jingyi and develops a mischievous streak that none of the teachers could ever possibly trace back to Lan Yuan. Lan Wangji finds he isn’t concerned about this in the least. His son is still a child and children are allowed to have mindless fun now and again. 

When Lan Yuan calls him Father for the first time, it is seven months after he has been brought to Cloud Recesses. Nevertheless, Lan Wangji feels that same sensation that led him to his son stroke the dying embers in his heart until a new flame of fierce parental love begins to burn within him. He holds his son close and cries freely. Lan Wangji is not ashamed of loving his son so severely that being called Father for the first time brings him to tears.

It is an honor to be Lan Yuan’s father.

Despite that, whispered rumors begin to reach his ears in seclusion. 

At the next Discussion Conference that just so happens to be held by the Gusu Lan Sect, Lan Wangji comes out of seclusion briefly. Brother helps prop him up at various tables and leads him from event to event with the ever-present eyes of the cultivation world trailing after them. It is incredibly painful to do even this much, but Lan Wangji perseveres. He is the same stoic and cold Hanguang-Jun that he has always been but that does not seem to stop Sect Leader Jiang from glaring at him. 

He says nothing to Lan Wangji, but when a fussy Jin Rulan is handed to him as they are overseeing the archery competition, Sect Leader Jiang’s glare increases in intensity. It only becomes worse when the caretaker in charge of Lan Yuan for the day appears by Lan Wangji’s side with his teary son close behind her. She quickly explains that Lan Yuan would not stop crying for him and, not knowing what to do, brought him there in the hopes that Lan Wangji would be able to calm him down. Lan Wangji gives her his thanks and nods his head as she excuses herself, holding Lan Yuan close as the boy quiets. He falls asleep not long after that in Lan Wangji’s lap, tired now that he has finished crying himself out. 

Lan Wangji ignores all the eyes trained on him and merely brushes his son’s hair back absentmindedly as he looks to the archers once more. Sect Leader Jiang scoffs not far from him and Lan Wangji spares him a glance to see the annoyance and rage clear as day on his face before ignoring him for the rest of the Discussion Conference.

What Lan Wangji knows from that moment onwards is that no one would have the gall to openly say what they mean when he is near, yet still, he listens closely when he can.

They speak of Lan Yuan’s already apparent beauty and intelligence. They speak of his polite manners and soft-spoken words. They speak of how quickly he developed his golden core and how unsurprising this news was considering who his father is. They speak of his parentage and wonder who his mother could be and how beautiful she must have been to have such an attractive child with Hanguang-jun.

(They always wonder why Lan Wangji never married Lan Yuan’s other parent back when they were still alive.)

No one ever learns of Lan Yuan’s true origins in any case so Lan Wangji allows the rumors and speculations. He does, however, make a point of asking Brother to hand out mild punishments to those who have not learned how to keep their heads and voices low when he is home.

After all, gossiping is not permitted in Cloud Recesses.

A year after Lan Yuan’s arrival in Cloud Recesses, Brother becomes his Uncle.

“A-Yuan, if you continue to practice diligently with the guqin, perhaps we can acquire one for your own personal use?” Brother asks in a somewhat offhand manner that tells Lan Wangji enough of the plans his brother already has in mind for Lan Yuan’s future guqin.

Lan Yuan has been learning how to play using Wangji under the tutelage of Lan Qiren, Lan Xichen, and Lan Wangji. Many of the caretakers that watch over the younger children during the day praise him and mention his talent in passing with their Sect Leader seeing as Lan Yuan’s father is still in seclusion. Lan Wangji doesn’t mind hearing this from his brother. He is rather relieved to not have to think about the rest of the Gusu Lan Sect at the moment.

Teaching his son music and healing slowly is enough.

Raising his hands from the strings, the last notes still hanging in the air, Lan Yuan nods and smiles amiably up at Brother in response to his question. 

“Yes, Uncle,” he chimes, his young, bright voice giving nothing away.

Lan Wangji politely averts his gaze when Brother begins to cry but offers him a handkerchief and presses his arm against his, silently showing him support as he has always done since they were children. He wants to do more but he is still healing and does not know how to go about it properly so he decides that this will have to be enough instead.

Lan Yuan simply stares between them, his smile falling under the weight of his confusion until his lips curve upwards again and he asks if they can go visit the rabbits.

Brother takes him every day for two and a half weeks after that.

Two years after Lan Wangji brings his son home, Lan Yuan calls Uncle his Grandfather because that is what he is and always will be.

Maybe Uncle has never been Lan Wangji’s father by blood or name, but Lan Wangji has been under the impression for a very long time that no one has to say what is already known. Lan Qiren is not the parent his nephews needed as children, but he is the parent they had and he always did his best by them. Though strict and stubborn, he taught and raised them to the best of his abilities.

Uncle oversaw his punishment but Uncle was also the one to stamp out any complaints the Sect Elders had about Lan Wangji claiming a bastard son. Uncle was the one who ordered their sect to contain Lan Wangji and Uncle was the one who demanded alongside the Sect Elders that he be punished. Uncle dressed his wounds and changed his bandages afterward, held Lan Wangji up and helped him go where he needed to go as he healed. And Uncle was the first one to arrange Lan Yuan’s fingers over the strings of a guqin.

Most would consider Uncle cruel for less than half of the things he has done to Lan Wangji in particular and Lan Wangji does, in a sense, think the same. However, Lan Wangji still considers Uncle as the father he was never allowed to meet.

Parents are not perfect and Lan Qiren is no exception to this rule, no matter how hard he tried to emulate it for himself and for Lan Wangji and his brother when they were children. Lan Wangji knows this to be true after two years of fatherhood himself.

In the beginning, Uncle did not approve of Lan Wangji’s sudden fatherhood and knew without a doubt that Lan Yuan was not biologically his. He shared this knowledge with no one though, not even Lan Yuan himself. Lan Wangji does not know if he has truly forgiven Uncle but he does know he need not worry himself about Uncle’s behavior around Lan Yuan. After all, Lan Wangji can very well see how his son softens his uncle’s heart with the mere appearance of his smile and quiet laugh. 

By blood or not, Lan Yuan is Uncle’s grandson just as Lan Wangji and Brother are Uncle’s sons.

So when Lan Yuan says, “Yes, Grandfather,” Lan Wangji is not surprised.

Uncle sniffs in mock disdain, still caught up in the apparent scolding he was giving before about Lan Yuan climbing into Lan Wangji’s lap. After a moment, he realizes what Lan Yuan has said and immediately, his eyes water. Uncle cups Lan Yuan’s face gently, smiling in such a way that Lan Wangji thought was lost. 

He remembers that the last time he saw that smile, he was still the child that crawled into his older brother’s bed at night to sleep comfortably beside someone who would never leave him as their mother had left them. Now he is a man with a son and scars on his body, heart, and soul for the love he lost. 

It is good to see Uncle smile again.

“Stop worrying your Grandfather so much, A-Yuan. Be a good boy for your Father, Uncle, and I,” Uncle tells Lan Wangji’s son.

Lan Yuan hums and nods, smiling a grin that always knocks the breath out of Lan Wangji’s lungs when he catches a glimpse of it. Both Brother and Uncle see it but only Brother looks to Lan Wangji in sympathy as he reaches out to grasp his shoulder briefly before letting go again.

Despite the near-constant ache in his heart and soul, Lan Wangji is glad to know that those who matter are also able to see Lan Yuan’s other father in him as well.

And if later Lan Wangji realizes Lan Yuan pulled the Grandfather card simply to distract Uncle from continuing his lecture, he holds that knowledge close to his chest. Lan Yuan is his father’s son after all.

Both of them.

When the third anniversary of Lan Yuan’s appearance in Cloud Recesses is approaching, the Sect Elders pull Lan Wangji into a meeting where they ask for permission to raise Lan Yuan for him instead so he can become a “proper” Sect Heir.

Lan Wangji says no and storms out of the meeting he recognizes as another form of punishment from the Sect Elders without listening to whatever other nonsense they want to ply him with.

They do not take the hint.

What ensues is a month-long battle of wills that leaves Lan Wangji angrier and more smug each time the Sect Elders attempt to speak with him. They argue that Lan Wangji is still healing and need not concern himself with child-rearing on top of his injuries. Lan Wangji levels them with a flat look, pointedly not mentioning who gave Lan Wangji his injuries, to begin with. Brother claims their concerns are unnecessary and rather late considering how long Lan Yuan has been with Lan Wangji at Cloud Recesses already and how Lan Wangji’s injuries are mostly healed by now anyway. The Sect Elders step around their Sect Leader’s arguments with condescending ease, however, something that Lan Wangji detests to his very core.

They also claim that his grief is affecting Lan Yuan’s development. That his son could flourish under their care with no sadness for a mother he will never meet shadowing him at all hours of the day. Lan Wangji’s brows twitch at their implications, silently daring anyone to say what they actually mean before he refuses once again and strides away. Only Brother stays behind to offer the niceties Lan Wangji is certain none of the Sect Elders rightfully deserve anymore.

It does nothing to stop them from calling Lan Yuan nothing but a bastard child that could ruin their sect if he continues to remain under Lan Wangji’s care the next day. A child born out of wedlock that Lan Wangji was too ashamed to claim until he had no other choice. An unwanted child whose only redeemable qualities are the strength of his golden core, his already apparent cold beauty, and the sharp intelligence he must have inherited from Lan Wangji instead of his beggar of a mother.

Lan Wangji nearly draws Bichen, his fury so great that he regrets not hurting more of the Sect Elders, not standing by Wei Wuxian’s side, and following him until the bitter end so he would not have to deal with any of this when he had the chance. 

But then he thinks of Lan Yuan, of his bright smile, and his twinkling eyes. Thinks of what would have happened to his son if Lan Wangji had not found him and pushes down the incessant ache to be with his soulmate deep down under again.

By the time Lan Wangji has released the hold he has on the hilt of his sword, Brother stands defiantly in the middle of the hall with a vivid look of disgust on his face. He loudly and firmly proclaims that as Sect Leader, they have no authority to overrule his decision of allowing Lan Yuan to remain with his father. Familial matters such as these fall under his domain, even when concerning the Sect Heir as written in their principles. That they have broken many of the rules they adhere so much to in their persistence to remove Lan Yuan from his family. That they have disgraced both the Clan and the Gusu Lan Sect as a whole.

Whatever Brother says after that, Lan Wangji does not know because he leaves as soon as his brother has begun to speak and goes in search of his son. He finds Lan Yuan with the rabbits, burying Lan Jingyi under their fur in the same way that Lan Wangji often does to him when they come by themselves. Uncle is standing nearby, watching the children play and trying not to show his displeasure over the mere presence of the animals since they remain here in the back slopes of Cloud Recesses due to nothing but a technicality.

Lan Wangji’s stride does not falter as he approaches his son and picks him up in his arms, holding him carefully to his chest. He buries his face in Lan Yuan’s hair to ignore the questions Uncle throws at him and the startled yelp Lan Jingyi makes once he notices Lan Wangji’s presence. He focuses on his breathing as the cloud ornament adorning Lan Yuan's forehead ribbon presses into the curve of his neck and his son's soft, natural scent of ash and snow invades his senses slowly.

He stands there for however long, holding his son tight and breathing him in as he wills himself to calm. He reassures himself that A-Yuan will not be going anywhere he doesn’t want to go and slowly comes back to himself. Lan Yuan, for his part, clutches the front of Lan Wangji’s robes and grips onto his father just as tightly without asking any questions.

They do not part from one another for the rest of the night. If Lan Yuan is not in his father's lap, then he is sitting close enough for Lan Wangji to keep a firm hand on his son no matter what they may be doing. During dinner, Lan Wangji takes their food in the Jingshi instead of the dining hall and plops Lan Yuan firmly in his lap as they eat quickly and quietly.

Lan Yuan does not complain once that entire night, only speaking to ask for things like a hug, his favorite lullaby, and Lan Wangji's fingers running through his hair. Lan Wangji sings to his son as he bathes him, firmly instructing Lan Yuan to change into his sleeping robes while he bathes quickly himself. Lan Yuan is sitting on the edge of Lan Wangji's bed when he returns, dressed in his sleeping robes and kicking his feet as he holds out a comb then turning around silently after Lan Wangji has taken it.

By the time nine rolls around, Lan Wangji has successfully braided his son's hair and brushed through his own before he lies them down to sleep. Lan Yuan usually sleeps in the daybed but for tonight, Lan Wangji holds him close to his chest and hums his lullaby to him again even as they both slip into the comfort of their dreams.

The day after, Lan Wangji remains within arm's distance of his son, secluding them in the Jingshi for the day. The itchy desperation he felt the day before has not completely made its way through his system but Lan Wangji is certain it will release its hold on him soon enough. Lan Yuan doesn't complain, even though he does stare at his father in wordless observation while looking much too serious for his young face that Lan Wangji anxiously reassures himself he is not turning his son into a copy of himself.

His son's smile is like the sun breaking through the last of the reluctant clouds that follow after a storm, his laugh so content that Lan Wangji feels inexplicably warm whenever he happens to hear it. Lan Yuan is happy. His son is by his side, safe and sound. The Sect Elders cannot take Lan Yuan from him. Brother and Uncle would never allow it and it is Brother's decision whether Lan Yuan continues to stay with him or not.

For the most part, Lan Wangji is certain that he has won this round with the Sect Elders until almost a month later when Lan Yuan asks to move out of the Jingshi and into the junior disciple dorms instead.

Lan Wangji hides his sadness as best as he can and allows his son to join the other disciples for the beginning of his more serious training, a multitude of feelings he cannot quite sparse through circling within him. Education is important. His son loves learning, he excels in all of his studies and he is happy. Lan Yuan is not leaving him. Lan Yuan is going to continue with his studies, strengthen his golden core, and grow up with Lan Jingyi by his side. Lan Jingyi would never allow Lan Yuan to be harmed. They are very close friends and Lan Wangji is glad that his son has someone who he can share whatever troubles he will not bring to Lan Wangji himself.

This is good. This is what is healthy for his son's development. Even if it hurts him, this is necessary for Lan Yuan to continue being happy as he grows up.

So Lan Wangji helps his son pack up a few of the belongings he wants to take with him, reassuring him that anything he leaves behind will be kept safe for him. That Lan Yuan can return to the Jingshi whenever he needs to. He escorts his son personally to the dorms, stopping at the door to kneel and pull his son in close for another hug.

Physical contact is still an issue for Lan Wangji but he made an effort for his son. Lan Yuan needed physical comfort when he first came to Cloud Recesses considering the fact that he was still recovering from his fever and malnutrition. Lan Wangji pushed his boundaries so he could hold his son close and rock him through his nightmares, imaging just how much better Wei Wuxian might have been at all of this until that hurt too much to think about. Now Lan Wangji has gotten so used to holding his son close that he tends to crave the simple intimacy of Lan Yuan’s small form curled against his chest more often than not.

Lan Yuan pulls back enough to kiss his forehead ribbon before he steps out of the embrace entirely. "I love you, Father."

Despite his mixed emotions, Lan Wangji smiles back at his son as well as he can manage to and leans forward to kiss his forehead ribbon in return. "I love you, A-Yuan."

After that, Lan Wangji spends most of his free time with Lan Yuan by burying his son under the soft fur of rabbits that Lan Yuan’s first father gifted to him as a teenager.

He cannot guess whether Lan Yuan now remembers the man in black and red that he used to call Xian-gege, but oftentimes Lan Wangji will see Wei Wuxian in the curve of Lan Yuan’s smile, in the sound of his laughter, in the steady grip of his sword. In the softness of his hair, the pout he rarely ever allows to grace his face when he is concentrating, the warmth in his eyes when he meets Lan Wangji’s gaze.

His grief has never left him and neither has his love for Lan Yuan’s first father but he hopes that he is doing well enough being Lan Yuan’s second father. He hopes that if Wei Wuxian were to ever come looking for his son, he would be proud of Lan Wangji for taking such good care of him and raising him as well as he ever could.

Lan Wangji had never originally planned to have children and he became certain of its improbability when he met Wei Wuxian. But then A-Yuan came into his life and the rest was decided from that point on.

It surprises no one when Lan Yuan’s courtesy name becomes Lan Sizhui.

Lan Wangji wonders if that says more about him than he has ever wanted to publicly share. After a brief stint of contemplation, he decides he does not care. He isn’t ashamed. He knows the Sect Elders are still looking for any excuse they can reasonably use to take Lan Wangji's parental rights over his son away from him. He also knows that others speak of how he behaves and looks as if he has lost a wife, how painful it must have been to lose Lan Sizhui’s mother so soon, how only his son has the power to draw him out of his heavy grief. They are wrong, of course, but they are also not.

Lan Wangji lost his soulmate, not a wife or his son’s mother.

At some point though, he ponders over what kind of impact his grief is having on Lan Sizhui.

“Do you want a mother, A-Yuan?” Lan Wangji asks one summer afternoon when Lan Sizhui is almost nine and they have just finished their noon meal in the Jingshi.

Lan Sizhui is of the mind that he is much too big to be called A-Yuan anymore but he allows Lan Wangji to call him that when they are alone. Lan Wangji uses it any time he can get away with it because his son’s first father would have and that is enough reason for him.

Lan Sizhui blinks up at him, confused. “I have a mother?”

“Yes,” Lan Wangji says because it is technically true, but then thinks better of it. “No, but you can if you want one.”

After all, Lan Wangji would set aside his vow of never marrying if it meant his son could know a mother’s love. He has never been interested in women before, especially not after he met Wei Wuxian, but he would marry one to give Lan Sizhui a mother.

He will always do whatever he has to for his son, even when it is difficult for him - especially when it is difficult for him. There are very few things Lan Wangji will not do for his son and marrying out of obligation isn't one of them.

“No. I have Father, I do not need a mother,” Lan Sizhui finally replies.

Lan Wangji smiles and reaches out to pat his son’s head, his veins burning with the force of his love and adoration when Lan Sizhui smiles back up at him. “A-Yuan is a good boy.”

Lan Sizhui leans into his touch, his smile growing until Lan Wangji feels like he is looking at a mirror image of his son’s first father in the brightness of his grin.

Lan Sizhui is eleven when he learns Inquiry on the guqin.

Lan Wangji listens to him play, correcting him when he strikes a wrong chord and does not allow his son to imbue any of the notes with spiritual power. He has played Inquiry a handful of times himself these past few years. No one has ever answered him before when he did.

Or to be simply put, Wei Wuxian has never answered him before. 

Maybe Lan Sizhui honestly does not recall his Xian-gege anymore, but Lan Wangji isn't sure what he would do if Wei Wuxian were to ignore their son's questions as easily as he has ignored Lan Wangji's desperate and heartbroken ones.

No, simply playing the notes together like this is enough.

Some three years after that, Lan Wangji returns to the Jingshi after feeding the rabbits to find Lan Sizhui waiting for him on the steps.

Earlier that morning he had returned from another night hunt, his report already in Brother's hands by this point. He brought back a gift for Lan Sizhui, a new writing set since his current one was beginning to look worn and Lan Jingyi had told him that Lan Sizhui had mentioned wanting a new one. Lan Wangji had wanted to see his son immediately after arriving but Lan Sizhui was in the middle of his morning meditation at the time and would then have his lectures and sword training lessons to attend afterward. He was content with waiting until his son was free to give him his gift and kiss his forehead ribbon before returning to their regular schedules.

But as Lan Wangji approaches, he wishes he had gone to see his son earlier after all.

It takes him a moment to realize that Lan Sizhui is crying and has probably been crying for a while now if his swollen eyelids are anything to go by. The sight of this evidence alone is enough for anger to spark within Lan Wangji.

No one hurts his son.

"What happened." Lan Wangji demands, his voice searingly cold even as he tries in vain to keep it gentle for his son.

Lan Sizhui wipes the back of his hand under his eyes and stares down at his feet as he murmurs, "Hanguang-Jun."

Immediately, Lan Wangji freezes. Lan Sizhui calls him Father when they are alone or with family. He has never referred to Lan Wangji as Hanguang-Jun in private like this. His son has made it clear on multiple occasions that he heavily dislikes not being allowed to call him Father in public anymore. From time to time, he will slip up and then punish himself for it even though Lan Wangji would never try to enforce a punishment for Lan Sizhui calling him exactly what he is: his father.

Something must be terribly wrong.

"What happened." Lan Wangji repeats, even less gentle this time.

His son winces at his tone but continues to keep his gaze on his feet. Lan Wangji sighs under his breath and reaches down to pick up Lan Sizhui like he used to when he was much smaller. His son is substantially bigger at fourteen than he was as a toddler, but Lan Wangji barely acknowledges his weight while he stands back up. Lan Sizhui goes still in his embrace and remains stiff even when Lan Wangji walks into the Jingshi proper and sets his son down on the daybed he never got rid of after Lan Sizhui moved into the junior disciple dorms.

Lan Sizhui still has not met his gaze. Lan Wangji feels a terrible sensation grip his heart as his son stares dejectedly at the floor in a clear and complete silence that is too defined for Lan Wangji's taste.

"Tea?" Lan Wangji asks properly this time.

A tense moment passes before Lan Sizhui shakes his head.

"A-Yuan," Lan Wangji begins, pausing when Lan Sizhui winces. "Tell me what is wrong. Why are you crying?"

"I heard that you had returned this morning," Lan Sizhui says and it becomes Lan Wangji's turn to wince. His voice is hoarse, his pain undeniable. It hurts Lan Wangji something awful just listening to his son speak. "I was talking to Lan Jingyi about when I should come to see you and-"

Lan Wangji kneels in front of his son, his hands immediately finding Lan Sizhui's. "What happened, A-Yuan?"

Lan Sizhui winces again but attempts to speak anyway. "One of the Sect Elders... He said..."

Even though it feels as if a sword has run clear through him, Lan Wangji waits patiently for his son to continue. He has never been very patient, not exactly, but he learned how to be for Lan Sizhui. He learned a lot for the sake of his son.

"I think he thought we couldn't hear him, but he said... I-" Lan Sizhui tries again, cutting himself off with a hiccup.

Lan Wangji unfurls his son's clenched hands in his lap and looks directly into his face, relieved when Lan Sizhui finally meets his gaze. "A-Yuan."

Tears well up in the corners of his son's eyes, silently making their way down his face. The sight alone makes Lan Wangji lean in closer, holding his son's hands tight. Lan Sizhui's lips wobble, his expression on the verge of crumbling.

"You're not my father, are you?" Lan Sizhui asks, his voice as broken as Lan Wangji's heart feels.

Lan Wangji does not lie. He is incapable of lying directly. He can avoid and sidestep a question artfully, but he has never spoken an untruth. If people misunderstand his answers, that is through every fault of their own for not listening to the meaning behind his words.

"I am," Lan Wangji says simply.

If anything, this seems to make Lan Sizhui's tears increase in frequency. "No. You know what I mean. Please, tell me the truth."

Doesn't his son understand that Lan Wangji has already?

"I am your father," Lan Wangji repeats. "I am your father in everything but blood. You are my son. You are the boy I raised and love as my own because you are my own."

Lan Wangji is not good at speaking. Wei Wuxian was the one who rambled on and squeezed as many words as he could into a conversation. Wei Wuxian spoke as if he was running out of time and needed to say everything he had to say before his time was up. Lan Wangji still to this day does not know if Wei Wuxian somehow knew that he would die young, but regardless, Lan Wangji does his best to channel both what he means and what he says as he continues. Even if words are not one of his strengths, that won’t stop him from explaining everything to his son.

"Your birth parents had been dead for some time when I found you, but you were already mine, A-Yuan. I have never met either of them and yet I thank them both every day for bringing you into the world. You are not my son by blood, but you are my son in heart, soul, and everything else that truly matters. You are the shining light within your grandfather's eye and the warmth in your uncle's heart. And you are the single most important person in your father's life, A-Yuan," Lan Wangji confesses, feeling a weight he was previously unaware of lift from his shoulders as he speaks. "I love you, A-Yuan. I have always loved you. Your origins have never once conflicted with my love for you. You are my son and I will always be your father."

Lan Sizhui tips into his embrace as soon as he has finished speaking and sobs into his chest, no doubt rubbing tears and snot alike into Lan Wangji's robes. Lan Wangji doesn't mind. He kisses Lan Sizhui’s forehead ribbon and rocks him gently in his arms.

(Later, Brother will come into the Jingshi without knocking and will drop kisses across Lan Sizhui’s face. He will avoid Lan Sizhui’s forehead ribbon because only Lan Wangji has the right to touch it but Brother will silently and loudly reassure his son that he is the best nephew in the world and he loves him without fault as well. Lan Wangji will look upon this and smile in that way he only ever does with those he loves and kiss Lan Sizhui’s forehead again before Uncle sweeps into the Jingshi and joins their huddled forms right there on the floor. 

But this will come later.)

For now, Lan Wangji simply holds his son close for as long as is needed and then some.

Lan Sizhui is almost sixteen when Brother orders Lan Wangji to take the junior disciples with him on his night hunt.

It is not the junior disciples’ first night hunt by far but it is their first night hunt with Hanguang-Jun. It is also Lan Wangji’s first night hunt with his son.

The night hunt is very simple. Some low-level corpses have been appearing in the woods around a small farming village not very far away from Caiyi Town. The corpses have been dragging unsuspecting villagers into the woods never to be seen again. A night hunt such as this should be relatively educating and safe enough to expose the junior disciples to.

Lan Wangji can understand why Brother wanted the disciples to accompany him, but it does nothing to dissuade the vague fear he holds for Lan Sizhui somehow being harmed.

He leads the way to the village on his sword, standing tall and stiff. Lan Sizhui is behind him to his right, Lan Jingyi mirroring his position on Lan Wangji’s left. The other juniors fan out behind them, expressions varying from excitement to deep concentration. Lan Sizhui appears calm, the corners of his mouth barely lifted upwards as they ride. Lan Jingyi is all smiles and laughter, joking around with Lan Sizhui and the other disciples alike.

(In a way, Lan Jingyi reminds Lan Wangji greatly of Wei Wuxian but now is not the time to focus on that.)

They arrive in the village quickly and discuss the situation with many of the villagers teeming about in what constitutes as their marketplace. Lan Wangji watches as Lan Sizhui suggests they make camp seeing as the village has no inn and none of the disciples object. 

Cultivators from the Gusu Lan Sect are considered to be well-mannered and too overly polite to whine and complain as any other cultivator would. However, these are junior disciples and Lan Wangji knows how too often the young tend to forget themselves.

After all, Lan Wangji forgot himself and his place often enough once he met Wei Wuxian.

Still, the lack of protest surprises him but he does not allow it to show on his face. He quietly observes as Lan Sizhui and Lan Jingyi divide up the tasks between the disciples present and quickly have camp set up not too far into the woods where the villagers claim the corpses frequently emerge from.

By the end of the night, Lan Wangji is pleased to see his son and his son’s closest friend take charge and act as joint leaders while they successfully subdue the corpses.

It seems Lan Wangji has much to disclose in his report when they return to Cloud Recesses.

Lan Wangji fixes his son’s forehead ribbon and leans down to press a kiss on it.

“Remember to not wander,” Lan Wangji says as he pulls back.

Lan Sizhui’s face is flushed pink with mild embarrassment, less round than it was as a child but he is nineteen now and his smile is easy, remaining the same as it ever has been. “Yes, Father.”

The other juniors are watching, probably planning to poke fun at Lan Sizhui later when the revered Hanguang-jun is out of earshot. Lan Wangji isn’t worried about this, he knows that none of the juniors do this to hurt his son. If they did, Lan Jingyi would have done something about it already or come to Lan Wangji himself if he could not.

(No one would dare harm Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian’s son anyway for fear of torture, death, and then possession. Lan Wangji could not protect Lan Sizhui’s first father, but he will not fail in protecting their son.)

Everyone knows Lan Wangji loves his son more than life itself. There is no shame in showing what is already a proven fact. There is no rule against speaking truths when others are not present.

So he allows the corners of his mouth to hint at lifting upwards before his expression returns to blank calm. “I will be nearby. Use the flares only for emergencies.”

“Yes, Father,” Lan Sizhui repeats.

Lan Wangji holds his hand out and Lan Sizhui drops his qiankun pouch wordlessly into it. Another moment passes as Lan Wangji looks through the pouch and assures himself that his son will have everything he needs for the first night hunt he will lead without a senior disciple accompanying them. He nods in approval once he is done and returns the qiankun pouch to his son, patting Lan Sizhui’s head once.

“I await your report,” Lan Wangji murmurs before he steps back so his son may rejoin the other juniors behind him.

“Thank you, Father,” Lan Sizhui says with a bow, smiling as he straightens and walks until he is alongside Lan Jingyi.

When they first left Cloud Recesses that morning, Lan Wangji felt anxious for some reason. No matter what set of robes he put on or how hard he held Bichen’s sheath, he could not resolve the shaky feeling in his chest that gripped his heart painfully when he thought of Lan Sizhui. He had packed quickly once something tried to push him towards the door, relief fluttering through him when that same sensation led him straight to Cloud Recesses’ entrance where the juniors were readying to depart.

During the sword ride here, that feeling would not allow him to keep his gaze away from Lan Sizhui for too long. His son was flying calmly by his side, expression serene as the sun began to rise and they passed towns and forests alike under them. He was bright, filled with the gentle happiness of his life and quiet excitement to be in charge of a night hunt for the very first time. If Lan Wangji happened to glance at him from the corner of his eye, he could have sworn that he was seeing Lan Sizhui’s first father in his place instead.

Now they are here, on the edges of Mo Village, and Lan Wangji feels calm. Calmer than he has felt in a long time. Lan Sizhui looks back at him once, smiling and waving before the disciples round the bend in the path.

Lan Wangji watches them disappear from sight, feeling an all-too-familiar sensation caress his cheek gently before it leaves him be for the very last time.

         Deep within Mo Village, someone wakes up in a shed.

a/n #2: thanks for reading! i have more mdzs content in the works, but in the meantime, feel free to send requests or headcanons to my inbox!

#dad lan wangji #dad!lan wangji #dad lwj #dad!lwj #wangxian #lan wangji #lan sizhui #mdzs #cql #the untamed #series #f:mdzs #g:angst #g:fluff #t:oneshot #p:lan wangji&wen yuan #p:lan wangji/wei wuxian #s:acbty #m: fic

[princeasimdiya12]

I adore your talentswap backstories! I'd like you to write some headcanons for my Talentshift SDR2 au. It consists of Mechanic!Hajime, ReserveCourse!Mahiru, Photographer!Ibuki, Musician!Fuyuhiko, Yakuza!Gundham, Breeder!Chiaki, Gamer!Mikan, Nurse!Nagito, Lucky!Imposter, Imposter!Peko (impersonating non-despair Junko), Swordswoman!Sonia, Prince!Nekomaru, Coach!Teruteru, Chef!Hiyoko, TraditionalDancer!Akane, and Gymnast!Kazuichi. If not, I completely understand.

Hey anon! I’m glad you enjoyed them! ^_^ And I’d be happy to make some headcanons for your AU. But just to let you know anon, I would appreciate it if you asked me first before sending me your listed requests. I honestly don’t mind writing headcanons for talentswaps (I honestly enjoy doing that) but I would appreciate you asking me and then sending them to me. That way it doesn’t take me by surprise. 

So without further ado, here are my headcanons for your SDR2 Talentswap AU.

Peko Pekoyama as the SHSL Imposter

While Peko was adopted by the Kuzuryu Clan, she didn’t have a choice in her lifelong profession like Fuyuhiko did.

She was made to work as an infiltration agent.

As a professional imposter, Peko learned how to analyze and copy the body movements and behaviors of any potential person. 

She also was taught how to apply makeup to make her disguises as accurate as possible.

Her assignments involved abducting low level workers of rival clans and taking their place while disguised as them.

She’d then relay the rival clan’s weaknesses and business transactions towards the Kuzuryu’s so they can exploit them.

Peko was discouraged from having any personal interests or hobbies so that her infiltration and identity theft skills wouldn’t be tarnished.

This made Peko feel more like a tool and how she only existed to promote the success of the Kuzuryu Clan. 

When Fuyuhiko was scouted to go to Hope’s Peak, her superiors used their connections to grant Peko a spot with him to keep an eye on him.

She would take on Junko Enoshima’s image given that the supermodel was busy with her own personal affairs.

Although no one can recognize her while disguised, the viewer/player can recognize Peko with her thick glasses and piercing red eyes.

Hiyoko Saionji as the SHSL Chef

Hiyoko came from a family of culinary masters who amazed Japan with their creative and flavorful dishes.

There was unfortunately alot of drama within the family as they each wanted to train Hiyoko so they can pass their personal culinary training onto her.

Her grandmother managed to win and was one of the most ruthless teachers ever. 

Under her training, Hiyoko received burns, cuts and having her food thrown in her face just for making the smallest of slip ups.

Her brutal training mixed with having negative relations with her family made her bitter and aggressive towards everyone around her.

She also has a hard time trusting others to work with her in the kitchen due to multiple incidents where dishes were poisoned and nearly tarnished Hiyoko’s reputation.

Because of this, she prefers to work alone in the kitchen. When she’s assigned to work with partners or underlings, she can be best described as Gordon Ramsay if he were a sassy lost child.

She often holds a knife or a frying pan whenever she’s threatening someone she doesn’t like.

Her culinary specialties involve desserts such as wasabon and kompeito.

Ibuki Mioda as the SHSL Photographer

Throughout her childhood, Ibuki was neglected by her caregivers so she took up photography as a means of distracting herself from the loneliness of her household.

She managed to earn her success by taking high quality photos of lovers in romantic situations.

At her middle school, she made it a game for herself to see how many pictures she could get of different couples at her school without getting caught.

While developing her photos, the couples tried to chastise Ibuki for her actions but they immediately changed their minds when they saw how cool the photos looked.

Ibuki gained a reputation among her peers for her photos and now everyone wanted one too.

This resulted in Ibuki getting alot of “friends” who only wanted to hang out with her just so she could photograph them doing what they wanted while conveniently leaving out the photographer herself.

The fact that these people only cared about her talent so she can capture their memories for them gave Ibuki a sense of familiar loneliness.

Despite this, she wants to enjoy her talent as much as she can with an upbeat attitude.

Ibuki’s favorite subject to photograph are people.

She loves to people watch since the people walking around come in different shapes and sizes and are always doing something unique that you wouldn’t expect.

Sonia Nevermind as the SHSL Swordswoman

Sonia came from a family of professional swordfighters who taught her the power of the blade at an early age.

She grew up on European fairy tales and legends of powerful heroes who used their swords to fight for justice or prove their superiority against enemies who opposed them.

Her family taught her classical fencing, mordhau, the half-sword, destreza and several other fighting styles which she claims are a secret.

She earned her title after winning multiple swordfighting tournaments, many of which were held underground. 

Despite her victories, she’s actually been hospitalized due to the extreme injuries she received from sword wounds and physical attacks from her opponents.

Since these wounds have yet to diminish her fighting power, Sonia feels that it’s best to pay them no mind so she can continue her family’s legacy.

She’s never seen without her longsword which she made herself. She calls it Stjerneild because there were shooting stars on the night of making it and also since she burned herself during the process.

Sonia isn’t afraid to boast about her fighting skills and eagerly offers her girl friends the chance to learn how to use a sword.

Fuyuhiko Kuzuryu as the SHSL Light Music Club Member

Rather than becoming the next heir of his family business, Fuyuhiko wanted to pursue his dream of being an idol.

He takes his career extremely seriously and wouldn’t do stupid stunts or scandals that could jeopardize his work.

To make up for his young appearance, Fuyuhiko uses outfits that have a punk aesthetic while also incorporating black and gold color schemes to make him look older.

Alot of his songs feature themes of embracing your personal talents or how it’s better to carve your own path rather than rely on others.

He knows how to play the electric guitar and the keyboard. 

Having refused his parents’ intended career plans, he feels that he can’t screw up his career or else everything he ever worked for will be for nothing and he’d have to crawl back to them for support.

His sister Natsumi often joins him during his tours and unofficially becomes his manager and bodyguard during her visits. 

He has a hard time dealing with fanclub meetings because the fangirls would make jokes about his baby face which would drive him insane.

Akane Owari as the SHSL Traditional Dancer

Just like in canon, Akane had to take care of her younger siblings while struggling to survive her poor hometown.

While she did take different jobs to support her family, she would lose those jobs constantly because she kept getting into fights against strangers who tried to grope and harass her.

One day, while she was training by herself in an empty plaza, a woman passed by and paid close attention to her fighting form and rhythm.

She revealed herself to Akane as a traditional dance instructor and offered to train Akane to perfect her skills.

The girl wasn’t interested in doing something fancy like dancing but she changed her mind when she realized that her dancing could be used to raise money for her family. To which, she accepted.

While the instructor taught Akane the fundamentals of mai and odori techniques, the girl performed better when she used her own skills.

While frustrated, the instructor decided to rework her teaching style so Akane’s performances would be passable while also integrating her own skills.

She ended up winning multiple competitions and performances and used the prize money to move her family into a bigger and better house.

Although her reputation as an “easy waitress” would often rear its ugly head and would make Akane become agitated.

Her dancing moves incorporate alot of her old fighting techniques.

She wears a cherry red kimono with a yellow dragon etched on the side as a design.

At the end of each performance, she can be found at the snacks table eating just about everything.

Nagito Komaeda as the SHSL Nurse

Nagito lost his family when he was just a child.

Having pity on the boy, along with finding traces of frontotemporal dementia, the head doctor of the hospital he resided in decided to adopt the boy as his own.

Nagito became the doctor’s apprentice and learned of the different techniques that came with working in the medical field. 

The doctor taught him which drugs/medicines were used for what along with how to use the surgical tools properly.

He personally saw different medical cases each more mesmerizing than the last. 

He became fixated on the concept of death and how it was an integral part of life.

When he became old enough, he started to work as a nurse and partake in the same surgeries he saw as a child.

While he certainly participated in a number of cases that saved the lives of his patients, he also had a number of cases that resulted in death.

He personally requested to handle the patients that were unable to be saved so he can spend their final moments with them and capture the memory of their deaths.

There’s been word from the medical staff that he tries to comfort the dying patient and their family with speeches on how they shouldn’t be afraid of death and how the patient will move on to greater things in the next life and how the families will become stronger afterwards.

This has earned him the nickname “Angel of Death”. 

He wears mint green scrubs and carries a portable bag withhis own medical equipment.

Teruteru Hanamura as the SHSL Coach

Despite his physique, Teruteru has amazing stamina and is capable of lifting heavy objects that ordinary people would have trouble lifting on their own.

Teruteru can analyze a person’s physical stature and determine which exercise or physical activity best suits them.

He always offers massage therapy proclaiming that it’s the best way to strengthen the body and relax the mind.

There are multiple cases where the players he’s worked with have accused him of sexual harassment or groping their bodies. 

He has a complicated relationship with his family.

The younger siblings antagonize him for pursuing a career that isn’t related to their family’s restaurant business while putting more hardships on their mother.

His mom on the other hand, is more accepting of his career and asks that he focus more on what he enjoys doing in life.

Teruteru’s massages originally stemmed from how he would give massages to his mama to help alleviate her of her body aches.

He wears a dark red track suit and gold chain. Mixed with his combed over hair, it makes him look like a sleazy gangster.

Chiaki Nanami as the SHSL Animal Breeder

As the daughter of a rich family that hardly had time for her, Chiaki’s parents bought her a variety of animals to keep her company.

She found comfort with them but was heartbroken when she noticed that they became saddened and died.

She became motivated to learn from them so they could stay alive for long as possible.

Chiaki began studying different types of animals and what behaviors are ideal and which are concerning.

After school, she would venture to local animal shelters and veterinarians and offer to volunteer so she can work with different animals and examine first hand their behaviors.

She earned recognition by forming connections with the animals in her care and teaching them commands.

While she prefers the company of animals to humans, she will make an effort to help her human clients have a better relationship with their pets.

She can often be found napping alongside any of her animal friends.

Sagishi as the SHSL Lucky Student

Saigishi grew up in an orphanage having been abandoned by their family before they can remember.

They noticed that they had an unusual luck themed streak when it came to playing with the other kids.

If they were playing soccer, they would accidentally kick the ball into the window which surprisingly knocked out a janitor that was about to assault one of the orphanage workers.

If they tried to pass a love letter to another child they had a crush on, a burst of wind would fly the letter straight into the child’s face and they’d end up having a terrible accident.

If they were preparing food for an upcoming dinner, they would end up pouring too much vinegar into the meal which would spoil the dinner resulting in the staff having to order pizza for the kids.

Saigishi developed a reputation as a kid with creepy powers which both amazed and terrified their fellow orphans.

The kid realized that their luck would only benefit the people around them but would make bad things happen if they tried to use it for themselves.

At the urging of their friends, they ended up participating in the Hope’s Peak Lottery and wound up with the chance to join them as the next SHSL Lucky Student.

Sagishi was worried since something bad would eventually happen if it was the work of their luck, but they decided to take the offer knowing that they needed to make a future for themselves.

They wear a white collared shirt with old jeans. 

They still have a mullet which has a small ahoge on the top of their head.

Mikan Tsumiki as the SHSL Gamer

She still had a horrible childhood growing up where her family and classmates would bully and abuse her for a variety of reasons.

Not wanting to put up with their abuse anymore, Mikan decided to drop out of middle school and become a hikikomori.

Using her worn out computer, Mikan found comfort in playing online video games. 

She personally enjoys fighting games as she imagines her enemies as her abusers and would deliver swift justice on them by beating them up.

Mikan has a preference for playing as male characters since the female characters wearing skimpy/stripper-esque outfits bring back painful memories for her.

After sufficient online practice, Mikan gained enough confidence to try tournaments in the real world. 

But she kept this secret from her family in fear that they would use this to torment her.

When it comes to tournaments, she unleashes her pent up anger and frustrations for her past tormentors by cursing at her opponents as she beats them.

While her fandom is impressed with her gaming skills, they do question why they would call her opponents by a different name and accuses them of doing something awful to her.

When she wants to calm down after a heavy day, she likes to play relaxing games with cute animals.

Nekomaru Nidai as the SHSL Prince

During his childhood years, Nekomaru stayed in his room because of his heart condition.

He received private tutoring based on the history of his kingdom along with different world cultures.

His father and mother spared no expense in providing the best doctors and medical professionals who could ensure that their son would be physically fit.

When he started making appearances outside of the palace, there were rumors that the frail prince was placed in a secret government program that was designed to create super soldiers.

He’s often recognized for working first as a soldier under his father’s militia before becoming of it’s main generals.

Nekomaru is well versed when it comes to proper etiquette and engaging in the company of royals or high class aristocrats. 

He has a personal club made of suitors who have fallen for his image as a charming (and handsome) prince.

He also devotes alot of time to interacting with the middle class of his kingdom as he believes having a bond with his people is important for a royal to have.

The main uniform he wears is a blue military outfit with a silver sash and a black beret with a family jewel in the front.

Gundam Tanaka as the SHSL Yakuza

He inherited the throne of the Tanaka Empire at an early age due to the death of his father.

He wasn’t able to remember his father but the stories passed by his underlings and advisors describe him as a devil who was incredibly powerful but dangerous when provoked.

His mother on the other hand, remembers him as a loving man who was very attentive toward her needs.

Gundam would unintentionally embrace his father’s memory thanks to his “overlord” personality which would make him come off as overly dramatic and sinister to his enemies.

His reign as a yazuka lord involved more emphasis on spiritual affairs by bringing spiritual communities under his Empire.

He personally believes that maintaining ties with the spirits and Gods will grant the Tanaka Empire a stronger chance of survival.

While maintaining relationships with minor businesses under his control, he would also invite potential gang groups for tea ceremonies and offer them the chance to join him.

He’s been trained by his advisors in using a katana and gun making him skilled enough to handle even the most dangerous of gang members.

While he’s capable of defeating them, he vows never to take the blood of anyone weaker than him or unless he’s given no other choice.

Before entering high school, Gundam was able to have his upper and lower body tattooed with images of oni demons and spirits.

He found the Four Dark Devas when he passed by a street and saw the four hamsters foraging for food in a dumpster. 

He also expresses admiration for Sonia’s impressive swordfighting skills and has offered her an opportunity to work for his Empire if she wishes.

Kazuichi Souda as the SHSL Gymnast

Kazuichi got into gymnastics by reading alot of shonen manga.

He was impressed by how athletic and fit the heroes were so he wanted to train and be like them.

When not helping in his dad’s shop, he would try practicing parkour near the streets of his town to help him develop better flexibility.

While practicing at middle school, his teachers noticed his potential and offered him a spot in a gymnastics program.

His dad didn’t like him getting into “girly shit” like gymnastics and frequently insulted him for it. 

He would often perform for his friends which impressed them at first. But then things got troublesome when they requested him to do flips and jumps for their amusement.

It got worse when they tricked him into breaking into a second story classroom so he could steal the answers for an upcoming test.

Not wanting to be taken advantage of again, Kazuichi gave himself a radical makeover so no one would mess with him.

Along with his pink hair, his outfit consists of a black tanktop with neon green stripes and yellow shorts.

Hajime Hinata as the SHSL Mechanic

His parents rented his own shop for him to work at but they personally didn’t invest their own time to work with him.

To avoid having to think about his loneliness, Hajime placed all of his effort and thinking into his work.

He began receiving requests to repair average household appliances before moving on to bigger machines.

He’s received alot of praise for improving the appliances while also explaining to the owners on how they should best maintain their appliances so they can last longer 

The machines that he worked best with were vehicles and motorcycles.

Despite being underage, Hajime managed to practice driving on his own and learned how to drive the basic motor vehicles.

While he’s grateful for his mechanic talent, he often worries if he’s really living his life to the fullest and if there’s something missing that he needs to achieve.

His favorite invention is a hoverboard that he uses to ride around his hometown to clear his mind after a hard day’s work.

His mechanic uniform is a mechanic uniform with a design similar to that of a racecar driver. 

Mahiru Koizumi as a Reserve Course Student

While Mahiru was interested in the idea of going into Hope’s Peak, she wasn’t confident enough in her photography skills to go through with the entrance exam. 

At the insistence of her best friend Sato, Mahiru ended up in the Reserve Course so they can fight for the chance to be special.

While she didn’t mind the work provided by her classes, Mahiru took notice of how her peers had a hard time with paying for their tuition along with even getting into the Talent program. 

She also had to deal with Sato having to fight against her old rival Natsumi who was picking fights with her while trying to get recognized herself.

She became an unofficial peace keeper of her class as she would chastise her classmates for picking fights against each other or making rude remarks.

As time went on, Mahiru herself was unable to keep up with her classes since the money to pay for them was running low. 

She would later receive an e-mail from the Steering Committee offering her a chance of entering the Talent program through an unconventional method that was funded by the school.

She had to cast that thought aside when Natsumi ended up dead and Sato is all but stated to have killed her out of frustration.

Soon vengeance would claim Sato’s life with Mahiru finding her in an empty classroom and on the brink of death with her head bleading.

Before dying, Sato begs her friend to make something special with her life and not to waste it in the Reserve Course. She knows that Mahiru will do great things in her life and that she believes in her.

Casting her doubts aside and refusing to let her friend’s death be in vain, she accepted the Steering Committee’s offer by participating in the Hope Cultivation Project.

#dangan ronpa #danganronpa #talentswap #sdr2 #super danganronpa 2 #peko pekoyama #hiyoko saionji #ibuki mioda #sonia nevermind #fuyuhiko kuzuryuu #akane owari #nagito komaeda #teruteru hanamura #chiaki nanami #saigishi #mikan tsumiki #nekomaru nidai #kazuichi souda #hajime hinata #gundam tanaka #mahiru koizumi

[aliciameade]

To See The Sun With My Eyes Closed

Title: To See The Sun With My Eyes Closed Author: aliciameade Rating: M some hot and heavy kissing Pairing: Beca/Chloe Summary: Beca can't shake one thought from her mind after she meets Chloe. That all she wants is her body on her mattress. 

Inspiration via “Mattress” (Valley Girl Remix) feat. Allie X by Leland

(I don’t think I’ve ever written a mid-PP1 fic before??)

Also on AO3

~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

I know it's getting close / To when the party ends / And everybody's hooking up And I hate it when you say I'm such a good friend / And that you call me when you're up Why do I always do this to myself / I let you go with someone else When all I want's my body on your mattress / Why do I always do this to myself I let you go with someone else When all I want's my body on your mattress

~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

“I’m soooo glad that I met you.” Chloe’s words, laden with alcohol, drift across Beca’s lips. She’s been pulled close—much too close for comfort—by this girl who, for a reason that Beca can’t quite ascertain, convinced her to audition for a lame singing group that she’s now a member of. “I think that we’re going to be really fast friends.”

“Well, you saw me naked, so…” she says with a wink. She’s still not sure what happened last week and why Chloe thought it was okay to burst into Beca’s shower, apparently lured by her voice like a siren. But, it had happened and while utterly mortified at the time, the encounter that remains seared on her brain is not one of embarrassment but intrigue smeared with lust.

After all, Chloe is an extremely attractive woman and the confidence she displayed (very literally) only added to her attractiveness.

They’re so close that she thinks Chloe might kiss her. It makes her heart race to imagine the possibility. She even considers being the one to initiate it. She struggles to keep her eyes off Chloe’s lips and she thinks she just might be bold enough to try it.

But before she musters enough courage, Chloe’s running her hands down Beca’s arms, declaring her need for a drink, slapping her own ass which she shakes at Beca, and is hopping down the stairs of the amphitheater to join her friends at a keg.

The exchange leaves Beca’s heart hammering in her chest just as it had a few days ago in the shower.

She spends the entirety of the event—“aca-initiation party” is a term she overhears more than once—avoiding socialization and nursing the beer that the annoying guy from her radio station internship pressed into her hand during a bout of uncomfortable flirtation. Her eyes (and thoughts) keep drifting to her new acquaintance, Chloe, and the company she was choosing to keep.

Chloe is a social butterfly; Beca isn’t surprised by that observation at all. She seems to flirt with almost everyone she crosses paths with; she’s not surprised by that either, though she’s maybe a touch disappointed that Chloe’s unprompted closeness isn’t unique to Beca.

A tall, handsome man becomes the final recipient of Chloe’s interest for the evening and Beca tries to not let her disdain be too apparent on her face when the pair begin making out a few rows away from her post. She thinks it might be the same guy who’d also joined her (and Chloe) in the shower, but it’s hard to tell.

She tries to ignore it and focus on the other embarrassing things happening at the party, but her eyes are repeatedly drawn to Chloe and the man attached to her face.

She walks back to her dorm as soon as she sees Chloe and her date sneak off, hand-in-hand, in the direction of the dorms.

When she crawls into bed, she can’t shake the singular thought rattling around in her brain: she wishes it was Chloe’s bed she was crawling into.

~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

A cappella nerds, as it turns out, like to party.

While she’s not convinced they’re not nerds, Beca is, at least, impressed with their propensity for alcohol-fueled fun.

Not that she particularly likes fun. Or fun with these people. Well, maybe there is one specific person she’s okay with.

She finds herself at a party in the backyard of the house belonging to their rival group, the Treblemakers, on a Friday night in early October. It’s already decorated for Halloween despite it being three weeks away and it takes precisely ten minutes for Beca to become irritated by the scream of the motion-activated ghost decoration hanging in a high-traffic area. It has yet to shut up since she arrived and she’s in the middle of devising a plan to kill it when something slams into her from behind, causing her to spill most of her drink onto the grass.

“What the—” She’s about to curse out the drunk who body-slammed her when she recognizes the patterned blouse covering the arms that are wrapped around her waist. “Dude!”

“Whatcha doing?”

Beca hopes the shiver that ripples up her spine at the way Chloe’s words hum past her ear isn’t noticed. She shifts a bit in time to the music to cover it up. It’s not easy to do, given Chloe’s hold on her, and if she hadn’t been busy trying to hide the way her body reacted to Chloe’s sudden embrace, she would have thought about the consequences of doing so.

“Oh, you’re dancing!” Chloe answers for her and she changes her hold on Beca from arms wrapped around her waist to hands on Beca’s hips, though her chin remains resting on Beca’s right shoulder. “Dance with me. You never dance with me.”

“We dance every day,” she says with an irritated sigh, though she starts to relax into their position and allows Chloe to lead from behind. “Aubrey has us in rehearsal three hours a day; or do you try to block it from your memory like me?”

There’s a rumbling, restrained laugh in her ear. “You knew what you were signing up for.”

“Did I, though?” she teases, though no, she didn’t know.

She hears Chloe’s response, a noncommittal hum that makes Beca smile with its unspoken admission of agreement. She finishes what little of her drink remains and tosses the plastic cup to the ever-growing pile on the ground and puts her hands over Chloe’s for a moment before settling into their dance. 

Chloe isn’t wrong, Beca realizes. They really haven’t danced with each other, not like this. Not with Chloe’s hands tugging on Beca’s hips as if she’ll drift away and not with Beca’s ass pressing back against Chloe. 

Their conversation—spoken, at least—fades in favor of the physical, dancing to the music blasting from giant speakers adorning the back of the house. When the song ends, Beca expects Chloe to move on, to go find a guy to dance with, but instead, she urges Beca to turn around and keep dancing as the playlist mixes into the next track.

Chloe smiles at her when she does it and adds a wink when she drapes her arms over Beca’s shoulders. It prevents too much distance between them and it makes Beca smile in return. This isn’t how Beca would dance with the other Bellas; that would happen in a group, with plenty of space separating her from them, and with attention paid to people outside that group.

This, though. Chloe’s attention is acutely on Beca and Beca’s is on Chloe. There is little distance separating them. When a guy shows up behind Chloe in an attempt to get her to dance, she shifts away from him and further into Beca’s space.

Beca’s mind begins to swim, to slip toward the thoughts she’s guiltily had a few late nights alone in bed. Thoughts of what it would be like to kiss her friend, of what she looks like beneath her clothes (though the sports bras and leggings Chloe often favors do most of the work for Beca), of what she might sound like when she whimpers or moans with pleasure.

“You’re staring.”

Beca blinks quickly and pulls back a few inches. She didn’t realize how close they’d become until she could no longer focus on Chloe’s face. They’re still dancing and her mind races with what to do, how to respond to Chloe’s call-out, a look of curious amusement on her face, when she hears it:

“Becaw!”

She grimaces and feels the moment between them evaporate.

“He likes you,” Chloe whispers with a wink before she extracts herself from Beca and leaves with a wave.

“No, wait—” but she’s already gone, and instead she has— 

“Jesse.”

“Becaw!” he repeats again, proud of the unwelcome nickname he’s given her, as he moves into the space Chloe just vacated, a red solo cup in each hand.

Beca takes a noticeable step backward, though, and to his credit, he doesn’t follow and crowd her.

“It’s not enough that we spend nine hours a week together at the station; you always have to find me at these dumb aca-parties, huh?” She frowns as she says it, more at her casual use of “aca-” as a prefix than anything.

“You’re just so charming. How can I resist that face?” He smiles as he says it, pointing out her frown and, Beca thinks, he’s not a terrible person. Not by a long shot. He’s a teddy bear, really, and even a cute one with a good voice, but he just feels...vanilla. Boring. Predictable.

She immediately schools her face into as neutral of a look as she can. “Wish I could say the same.” She glances at the two cups he brought, her own hands feeling very empty with no Chloe to be touching. “Is one of those for me?”

He pulls the cups inward protectively, shooting her a look. “You literally just insulted me.”

“And you interrupted the conversation I was having.”

Something like a conversation, anyway.

“Fine,” he says with a sigh, giving in way too easily and handing a cup to her. It’s a behavior Beca knows all too well; it’s how she ended up knowing the people at this party. “I saw that guy spill your drink.”

She doesn’t comment on the fact that it was at least fifteen minutes ago that that had happened, if not longer. The beer is still cold, though, so it at least he hasn’t been holding it for fifteen-plus minutes waiting to make a move. Or whatever he’s doing. “Thanks.”

“You know, I don’t live in the house yet, because I’m a freshman, but I’m allowed to go inside.” His words are stilted.

She just stares at him.

“They have a hot tub. I mean, we. We have a hot tub. I can use it.”

“Cool,” she says with a nod. She takes another sip from her cup and glances around to find an excuse to exit this conversation.

“I could show you,” he says, pointing toward the house.

She lifts her eyebrows at that; she hadn’t expected him to be quite so bold. “I know what a hot tub looks like.”

The nerves that were already evident in his movements double and his pointing hand jerks back to run through his hair. “No? Yeah, no, of course you know what a hot tub looks like. I was just—”

Her roaming eyes finally spot Chloe, her intended excuse to exit this uncomfortable conversation, but the tall guy from her first aca-party is with her—it’s definitely the same guy that Chloe’d had with her in the shower, they’re close enough that she recognizes him—and with his hand on her waist and leaning down, it’s evident they’re about to kiss.

“Okay,” she says quickly, forcing a smile and her eyes off of that and onto Jesse.

His surprise is obvious, and she doesn’t blame him. She was shooting him down pretty directly “W—wait, really?”

She has to take a long drink of her beer, nearly half of it, to be able to respond. “Yeah, sure. Give me the grand tour.”

“Cool, yeah.” He reminds Beca of a puppy with his thinly veiled excitement. It’s flattering, at least. “Uh, shall we?” He gestures toward the house and takes a step toward her, awkwardly offering his hand like he’s not really offering it, just in case she rejects it.

She accepts it, though, and follows him across the yard and into the Treble house.

She does spare one thought toward Aubrey’s draconian rule about not hooking up with any Treblemaker, but most of her thoughts are on what’s happening between Chloe and Shower Guy behind her and how quickly she can get it out of her thoughts.

~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

She doesn’t hook up with him.

Not for his not trying. 

By her count, Beca clocks him leaning in to try to kiss her three times during the tour of the house, each time happening in an empty bedroom (poor form on his part trying it while showing her the disgusting, smelly rooms belonging to college boys). He even made an attempt at suggesting there was no need for bathing suits to enjoy the hot tub situated oddly in the main room of the house.

She considers the proposition each time, but each time, she turns away or takes a step to put space between them. It just doesn’t feel right, even as a distraction or something out of spite.

She tells him she’s tired and needs rest before tomorrow’s seven-hour rehearsal after the hot tub invitation and to his credit, he doesn’t seem irritated. She knows most guys would have accused her of leading them on by now, and maybe she did at least a little bit. But instead of calling her a bitch or a tease when she glances back before stepping out of the house to go home, he waves at her wearing a dopey smile that makes Beca feel like he was happy just to spend time with her.

Her exit through the front door, so she can walk back to her dorm, doesn’t give her a final look at the party, but it’s still going strong. She doesn’t know if Chloe and Shower Guy are still there or still kissing, and she doesn’t really want to consider the possibility.

Or worse: that they’re not at the party because they went back to someone’s room.

Again.

She walks home alone (though not alone-alone; campus is crawling with students moving between parties and dorms) and is relieved that even Kimmy Jin seems to be out at an event of her own. It’s dark when she walks in and her roommate’s stark, clinically neat side of the room is empty.

“Thank God,” she says as she kicks off her shoes and strips down to her underwear to pull an old T-shirt over her head. She throws her bathrobe on and grabs her things to wash up before crawling into bed where she will definitely not be thinking about who might be in Chloe’s bed or whose bed Chloe might be in, and will definitely not be touching herself imagining it’s her, or her bed.

She hasn’t done that yet, crossed the line of fantasizing, but she’s just drunk, jealous, and irritated enough to do it.

Whatever energy that flowed between Chloe and her while they were dancing is also largely to blame.

So when she walks into the communal bathroom down the hall, she drops her toothpaste because Chloe’s at the sink washing her face.

It feels like the water Chloe’s splashing on her face is actually being dumped on Beca’s head and all her heat and annoyance rinse away to leave her feeling both ashamed and exposed.

Chloe glances her direction at the clatter of the tube of Colgate hitting the tile and then smiles in recognition. “Hey!” She turns off the faucet and reaches for the small towel draped over her shoulder to pat her face dry.

“Hey,” Beca says after clearing her throat while she stoops to grab her toothpaste. “Thought you’d still be at the party.” She hopes her tone is even and not betraying her earlier inappropriate thoughts or coming across as accusatory.

“And I thought you’d be doing the Walk of Shame tomorrow.” Chloe’s wearing a hint of a smirk as she says it and flips her towel back onto her shoulder. “I saw you sneak off into the house with Jesse.”

Beca huffs and walks to the sink next to Chloe’s to set down her things and start her pre-bedtime routine. “He wishes.”

“I bet he does.”

She glances sideways at Chloe to see her leaning against the sink casually, facing Beca. She hides the blush that she feels on her cheeks by ducking down to wash her face.

“You’re really trying to get under Aubrey’s skin, aren’t you?” Chloe continues. “She’s already texting me about it.”

“I’m not trying to do anything,” she says as she scrubs at her face before rinsing it. “And she’s not the boss of me. I can sleep with whoever I want.”

“So you slept with him?” Chloe’s question is spoken so quickly, Beca can barely register the words.

This time, her towel masks her reaction. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

“That doesn’t mean anything.”

“So you slept with Shower Guy?” She tosses her towel onto the back of the sink and waits for an answer. 

“Shower Guy?” Chloe’s surprisingly fidgety. “Do you mean Tom?”

“If Tom is the guy you brought naked into my shower, then yes.”

Chloe glances away for a few seconds. “I didn’t sleep with him. I mean, not tonight.”

“Right,” Beca says, busying herself with her toothbrush and toothpaste.

“What do you care?” Chloe’s words are clipped and get Beca’s attention.

“What do you care if I slept with Jesse?” she counters and shoves her toothbrush into her mouth.

Chloe pushes off the sink with a nudge of her hip and drops her arms to her sides. “Who says I care?”

Beca just rolls her eyes. Their conversation is devolving into bickering, though she doesn’t know why. She does know that she wants to stop talking about Chloe sleeping with Tom and Beca sleeping with Jesse. “Good night, Chloe.”

She sees Chloe set her jaw and press her lips into a thin line before nodding. “Good night. See you at rehearsal. 9:00 am, sharp.”

She shoos Chloe away with her free hand in irritation and watches in the mirror as she grabs her personal items and walks out the door, head held high.

Beca’s shoulders slump as soon as Chloe’s gone and she stares at herself in the mirror, wondering what the hell just happened.

~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

She’s too irritated and confused by the tense words shared with Chloe to follow through with her nighttime plans.

~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

Rehearsal is grueling. 

Aubrey is on her ass the moment she walks in not more than two minutes late about her “behavior” at the party. Beca refuses to say she didn’t sleep with Jesse, on pure principle. She owes Aubrey no explanation or information about her sex life. 

She doesn’t get kicked out, which is a surprise after what happened to Kori and Mary Elise. Instead, she and the entire group are subjected to an unfairly cruel marathon rehearsal and she’s certain she’s never sweat so much in her life. 

“We are a singing group, right?” she manages to snap as she runs past Aubrey. “Why are we training for a decathlon?”

All the comment earns her is five more laps around the rehearsal space.

Chloe seems like her normal self, being everyone’s cheerleader as they work. If she’s still bothered by the exchange she and Beca had the night before, she doesn’t show it, but Beca still makes it a point to catch her when they’re finally dismissed (fifteen minutes later than scheduled).

“That was brutal,” she starts, standing next to Chloe while they pack up their stuff. She only glances her direction briefly; Chloe was in her usual rehearsal garb of a sports bra and leggings, and she had sweat just as much as Beca had. It was highly distracting.

“I tried to warn you.”

Beca doesn’t think Chloe warned her; mostly she implied Beca was irritating Aubrey, not that Aubrey would inflict an entire day of physical torture upon her because she talked to a boy at a party. Instead of saying that, though, she zips her bag, puts it over her shoulder, and turns to face her. She studiously works to keep her eyes on neutral territory. “Wanna walk back to Baker together? Unless you have somewhere you need to be.”

Chloe looks up at her, wisps of curling red hair that escaped her bun with her exertion sticking up all over in a way that is unfairly pretty, and smiles. “Sure. I definitely need a shower.”

“No shit,” Beca says with a laugh, gesturing at herself to not imply that Chloe needs a shower. Chloe is perfect.

~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

Beca’s really not surprised with herself that she’s dumping her gear and grabbing her shower stuff the second she gets back to her room after leaving Chloe at her own. Is she maybe affected by the idea that she and Chloe could possibly be showering at the same time, something that hasn’t [knowingly] occurred since the day they met?

Absolutely not.

To prove it to herself, she sits down and waits ten minutes before walking to the showers, but despite the attempt to wait it out, she hears Chloe’s voice singing a Britney Spears song (a cappella, of course) the moment she opens the door.

She irritatingly can’t help herself from claiming the stall right next to the one she knows Chloe’s in and once she’s settled under the steaming spray, she knocks on the divider between them to interrupt the new song that Beca hates that she knows.

She hears Chloe’s startled yelp and smiles. “Who sings that song?” she asks.

There’s a short laugh a few seconds later. “Taylor Swift, why?”

“Let’s keep it that way.”

There’s a gasp of offense that borders on being a shriek followed by a hard slap of a hand against the metal wall between them. “Beca Mitchell, you take that back!”

Beca laughs and grabs her shampoo. “You know I don’t mean it,” she says after a few more seconds, unable to leave Chloe in the lurch for too long.

“Meanie,” Chloe pouts.

Silence settles between them other than Chloe’s quiet humming and Beca’s nearing the end of her shower when she finally works up the nerve to bring up their tense conversation. “Um, about last night.” Chloe’s humming stops. “I’m sorry if I was weird.”

“‘Weird’ is one way of putting it.”

“This whole college thing is new to me, you know?” It’s a bad excuse, not to mention weak. Bringing up Shower Guy—Tom—had nothing to do with being new to college life and everything to do with...well, she doesn’t let herself think about that.

Chloe’s extended silence makes her think she’s not buying it, but if she doesn’t, she doesn’t push it. “Well, apology accepted. I’m sorry, too.”

“Cool.” She hears Chloe’s shower turn off and realizes she’s been so distracted with their conversation she’s failed to progress past working shampoo into her hair and hurries through the rest of it.

She’s not surprised when she finds Chloe waiting for her, sitting in a bathrobe on the bench where people wait for showers to free up when Beca exits her stall, wrapped in her own fluffy robe. Chloe looks fresh-faced and bright-eyed and Beca’s sure she looks like a drowned rat. It’s unfair, truly.

“What’s up?” Beca says as she tights the belt around her waist.

“Nothing,” Chloe shrugs. “Figured I’d wait for you.” She stands and joins Beca as they walk toward the bathroom exit.

“Doing anything fun tonight?” Beca asks, hoping her question comes across innocuous-enough after last night and their apologies.

“Yeah, I’m going out for a bit. What about you?”

Beca hums. “My roommate went home for the weekend so tonight’s agenda includes a Law & Order: SVU marathon and an entire bag of Doritos.”

They pause outside Chloe’s door. “Cool Ranch or nacho?” Chloe asks; she’s wearing a look of absolute seriousness as if Beca’s answer is of utmost importance and it stikes Beca with irrational fear.

“Uh, nacho?”

Chloe’s face screws into one of offense. “Terrible.”

“Nacho Doritos are not terrible!” Beca says, immediately on the defense of her favorite snack. “How dare you.”

“I only speak the truth,” Chloe says breezily as she reaches for her doorknob. “Enjoy your gross chips.”

“Yeah, well, enjoy your...night!” Beca’s comeback fails miserably and she can tell Chloe’s holding back laughter as she disappears into her room. “Whatever,” she grumbles to herself before turning to stalk down the hallway, mad about Chloe insulting her chips.

~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

Beca’s on her third episode of SVU when there’s a knock on her door. She groans and slides off her bed, not in the mood for some kind of prank the other students on her floor find hilarious.

“What?” she barks as she swings it open, ready to berate immaturity only to be met with surprised, wide eyes. “Oh, hey. Sorry.”

“What was that for?” Chloe asks, still looking a bit shell-shocked.

“I thought it was the ding-dong-ditchers,” she says, knowing Chloe’s been a victim of it just as much as she has. “I thought you were going out tonight?”

Chloe shrugs and holds up the blue bag of Cool Ranch Doritos she’d been hiding behind her back. “It was going to be lame.”

Beca laughs and steps aside to let her into her room. “I can’t promise you that this will be any less lame.”

“I’m willing to take my chances.” Chloe winks as she says it and strolls into Beca’s room.

She’s never been there before, never past the door, and Beca can tell she’s trying to disguise the fact that she’s checking out her room which makes a smile tug at Beca’s lips. She’s climbing on to Beca’s bed moments later to get comfortable, right in the spot Beca had been occupying because it was the most comfortable.

“Make yourself at home,” she says as she closes the door. “Want anything to drink?”

“I’ll take a beer.”

“I’m 19; I can’t keep beer in my room.” She opens her mini-fridge to survey its meager contents. “Gotta keep my nose clean this year so I can get out of here and move to LA,” she explains. “I have Coke, Dr. Pepper, and water.”

“Sometimes I forget you’re a freshman. Dr. Pepper, please.”

Beca grabs two cans of soda and joins Chloe on the bed, having to rearrange bags of chips, blankets, and pillows so they can both sit comfortably.

They settle into their viewing party after that, quiet save for the TV and the periodic crunch of chips with an occasional debate about who the criminal is or isn’t.

It’s hard for Beca to ignore their physical closeness. There’s only so much room on her small twin-sized bed and though their marathon began with a good bit of space between them, Chloe has worked her way closer with each suspenseful, violent, or upsetting moment. It began with her grabbing Beca’s forearm at an unexpected twist. A tense hostage negotiation had her gripping Beca’s thigh for dear life (she’s not sure she won’t have bruises tomorrow). And, most recently, an unexpected gunshot made Chloe leap into Beca’s side to hide her face in Beca’s shoulder and beg to be told when it was over.

Chloe hadn’t moved back into her own spot after that. She’d stayed, her arm wrapped up with Beca’s and her head on her shoulder once Beca reassured her the gory part was over. 

It’s hard to ignore the way Chloe’s knee is hiked up a little, just enough so it can rest atop Beca’s with the way she’s curled into Beca’s side.

The closeness makes Beca’s heart race and she has to focus hard on the television screen in order to keep her breathing steady. It had been somewhat easy to ignore her crush on the woman to-date; their time together has, by and large, been spent with others: the Bellas, aca-nerds at parties, other students walking around campus. Rarely are they alone and secluded; not even in their moments in the communal showers.

The moment she lets the concept that they are, by the very definition, cuddling in her bed into her psyche she has to close her eyes and think about literally anything else. Sports. The Real Housewives. Her parents’ divorce.

She keeps them closed until she feels Chloe leaning against her more heavily, her breathing deep and even and Beca looks down to see Chloe’s fallen asleep.

It’s oddly calming even if it makes her heart pick up even more. She looks like an angel, long eyelashes resting against her cheeks, soft pink lips slightly parted, but most lovely of all is the way her hand is open, fingers slightly curved in a way that’s so inviting that Beca can’t resist fitting her own between them.

Chloe stirs at the touch though it’s little more than a brief squeeze of Beca’s hand and a shift of her head and then she’s once again still.

Beca’s at a loss as to what to do so she sits quietly, letting the television episode roll into the next though paying no attention to it. Chloe is warm against her and her slow, rhythmic breathing is so comforting that eventually, Beca’s nerves settle and she finds her own eyes growing heavy.

~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

She’s disoriented when she wakes. Her room isn’t dark; a rerun of Everybody Loves Raymond is on the TV and it feels far too loud. She’s lying down and when she shifts, she’s met with resistance that for the briefest of moments strikes her with panic.

That is, until she discovers the resistance is caused by the arm draped over her waist and its owner who’s pressed closely against Beca’s back.

Then it’s panic of a different kind. The kind that makes her freeze and not move another muscle lest she wakes Chloe and bring to an end the embrace they somehow slipped into in their sleep.

~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

When she wakes again it’s early morning and though the arm is gone from her waist, she can feel it pressing against her back. The TV is dark but she doesn’t remember turning it off. She longs to drag the morning out as much as she can but she can’t ignore the need to use the restroom.

She eases away as slowly as she can until she’s standing and she can turn around to see Chloe, sound asleep in her bed. 

She sneaks out the door and is quick to return, only sparing a few extra seconds to deal with her disheveled morning appearance and rinse with a cup of mouthwash from the courtesy bottle.

To her relief, Chloe’s still there when she returns, but her sleepy eyes are open. “Morning,” she says as soon as Beca’s eyes land on her.

“Hey, good morning,” she replies and starts to cross the room and then stops when she realizes Chloe’s not making a move to get up and crawling back into bed with her, especially at this early hour, feels so very intimate. “Guess we fell asleep.”

Chloe nods and then she’s yawning, her body growing taut as she stretches and Beca can’t help but glance at how Chloe’s shirt rides up a few inches with the movement. “Come back to bed,” she says at the end of her yawn, voice squeaking in a way Beca wishes she didn’t find so cute.

It feels too casual, too normal for Chloe to say those words for how new their friendship is, to scoot backward to make more room for Beca in her small bed to further extend her invitation.

It’s that sensation of normalcy that gets her moving until she’s settling on her side, her back to Chloe again as they both get comfortable on the pillow they’re sharing.

“You’re all minty,” Chloe says after a minute or two, followed by a pinch to Beca’s side, right in the tender part, that makes her jump.

“Morning breath,” she says after swallowing.

Fingertips scrabble up her back. “Thinking about kissing me awake?”

Beca’s entire self feels like it ignites, heat rushing through her in a full-body blush. She just wasn’t wanting to make a bad first-morning impression. Such a thought hadn’t even entered her mind at the time, but it’s now the only thing she can think about.

She scoffs when she realizes she’s taking too long to reply. “What? Dude, no.”

There’s a quiet hum behind her and Chloe’s arm settles over her once again. Beca’s awake for it this time and the feeling of Chloe reaching to pull her close, intentionally holding her while they lay in bed together following that question, makes butterflies stir in her chest.

~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

Beca doesn’t understand why there are so many a cappella parties. She’d thought that after the winter break, the four groups would buckle down—whatever that means in a cappella terms—to focus on the impending semifinals, but no. It seems that as the stress of competition (not that she’s stressed about their dumb competition) increases, so does the need to release that stress.

To Beca, they’re an excuse to get free beer and hang out with Chloe in a safe (read: public), non-rehearsal environment.

By now, they’ve established a sort of routine at these parties. They arrive together. They part ways. One saves the other from an undesirable conversation when prompted with little more than a glance. They spend the rest of the night together, whether dancing, drinking, socializing, or once, swimming, until something brings the night to a close and they walk back to their dorm together.

Beca had taken notice as the weeks and months passed, that Chloe disappearing with Tom was occurring less and less frequently. It was a relief on multiple levels; not just because it meant Chloe wasn’t spending the night with Tom, but also because she wouldn’t have to spend time talking to Jesse until she found an excuse to leave. The boy had a special talent for finding Beca unaccompanied.

But above all, it meant that Beca and Chloe were spending the majority of their time together, whether rehearsing or not. And over the course of all those weeks, Beca’s noticed their dynamic changing, not by leaps and bounds daily but by tiny movements. Tiny movements that have added up to leaps and bounds, from Beca recoiling in horror the first time they met to Beca dropping everything to help, talk to, or otherwise spend time with Chloe.

And she’s noticed Chloe is quick to do just the same.

It’s confusing. She’s never connected with anyone so strongly before, and she continually finds herself wondering if what she feels is the kindred spirit of a best friend or if she wants something more.

Correction: she knows she wants Chloe; she doesn’t want to confess such a thing and lose a best friend. Not that she knows how to confess feelings anyway. She hates feelings. They’re gross. They make her feel vulnerable and weak.

Chloe makes her feel vulnerable, too. But it’s different. She maybe even feels strength in that vulnerability.

She just needs Chloe to make the first move if someone’s going to make one.

Beca thinks she’s given her ample opportunities to-date but nothing’s happened yet. It’s with that in mind that she resolves, at the pre-Spring Break bash, to open the metaphorical door so wide that if Chloe doesn’t cross its threshold, Beca will close it once and for all.

She’s terrified from the moment she makes the decision until she and Chloe are drinking shots of tequila in unison and everything melts away until the only thing that matters is simply being in Chloe’s orbit. 

Beca pulls Chloe by her hand onto the trampled grass of the Trebles’ backyard to dance, an action she knows thrills Chloe who always tells Beca how much she likes dancing with her. The liquid courage spurs Beca to pull Chloe close before they’ve even settled into the song.

“You’re in a mood,” Chloe says, the corner of her mouth turning upward.

Beca rests her arms around Chloe’s shoulders and makes eye contact with her. “You could say that.”

She sees Chloe arch an eyebrow but instead of pressing the matter, Chloe just falls into step and runs a hand through her hair in an unfairly sexy manner.

Beca considers the fact that what she’s doing could be considered throwing herself at Chloe, that is, if she didn’t hold on to that one last thread. Like letting her hands wander up and down Chloe’s back, but never below her waist. Like slipping her knee between Chloe’s thighs but not actually doing anything because, at face value, it just makes dancing close easier. Like having an extra button on her shirt undone and wearing her best bra that gives her amazing but natural-looking cleavage and her most flattering jeans.

It only takes a few seconds for Chloe’s hands to land where they always do: on Beca’s waist. 

Dancing with Chloe has come to be second nature to Beca, and she’s pretty sure Chloe would agree. She knows it helps that they work on actual choreography all the time for the Bellas, but they don’t choreograph the way they dance together at parties or in clubs. It feels like they have, though; it doesn’t require any conscious thought to know how Chloe is going to move and when. Beca doesn’t have to think about stepping to her left when Chloe is stepping to her right. 

It’s a cool evening but Beca’s warm. She’s warm from moving, warm from the way Chloe’s hands travel between her waist and her ribs, warm from the way Chloe’s eyes are on hers to stare with such intensity, she’s actually afraid to look away from them.

She’s warm from how close they are right now. She doesn’t know how many songs have passed, only that they’re so close and so aligned that she can feel Chloe’s thigh between her own, bumping her leg as they move which only makes her grow even warmer.

Chloe’s eyes slip for the quickest moment from Beca’s and she thinks maybe she glanced at her lips, or maybe even her cleavage. It was too quick to know and Beca doesn’t let on that she noticed. If Chloe wants to look, she wants her to look. She’s been inviting her to look all night. She does wet her lips after a few seconds; it’s a subconscious response but she’s aware of it happening and she catches Chloe’s gaze drift again. 

It’s difficult to be sure as Chloe’s amazingly long eyelashes are great at concealing where she’s looking when her eyes are cast down, so, running on instinct and adrenaline, Beca lets her teeth catch her bottom lip, just for a second or two.

Chloe’s eyes snap back to hers immediately and then she’s mirroring Beca, teeth pulling at her own bottom lip until it slips free and her tongue swipes over it.

Beca can’t keep her eyes off Chloe’s lips after that; she tries, glancing up now and then but Chloe’s eyes are no longer her focus. Chloe’s lips hold that now and she’s acutely aware and uncaring if Chloe notices. Maybe she wants her to notice.

She definitely wants her to notice.

She knows Chloe notices when she sees her teeth pull at her lip again the same moment her hands tighten around Beca’s waist.

They’re still dancing, but it’s an afterthought. There’s noise around them, and people, but it all sounds miles away. Her arms shift where they’ve been resting over Chloe’s shoulders; they push forward to loop around her neck. It also brings them even closer together.

Chloe’s head tilts, just a fraction, just enough for Beca to catch it. A tilt to the left. A slight lift of her chin. Enough to make Beca’s pulse start to race.

She mirrors the change and she sees Chloe’s lips twitch into the hint of a smile. It makes Beca’s hands unlock from holding her own wrists behind Chloe’s neck to push them into her hair. Chloe’s eyes flutter closed at the touch and after a few seconds of admiration, so do Beca’s.

“What are we doing?” Chloe says, little more than a mumble as Beca feels the heat of fingertips under the edge of her shirt, pressing into the bare skin of her lower back.

“Um…” Beca’s not sure she can answer that; their lips are so close that she felt the words.

“Bec?”

“Hmm?” She’s waiting for it, for the soft warmth of Chloe’s lips to follow the heat of her words when she senses Chloe pull back. Beca’s eyes flutter open to find Chloe watching her intently. It’s only then that she realizes they’ve stopped dancing.

When Chloe takes a step backward Beca feels the hot sting of rejection but Chloe’s hand catches hers before she’s out of reach and she has no choice but to follow. She doesn’t know where Chloe’s leading them; frankly, she doesn’t really care. She feels intoxicated but the tequila is long burned out of her system. This is something different, something that’s making her dizzy but not sick.

They’re walking along the hedge that runs next to the house when Chloe halts abruptly, causing Beca to stop just short of running into her. When Chloe turns, Beca expects her to say something, to explain why they’ve left the party, to repeat her question to Beca.

Instead, Chloe’s free hand plants itself in the center of Beca’s chest, against the bare skin of her boldly unbuttoned shirt, and pushes, making her stumble backward until her back hits the side of the house.

“Oh, my God,” escapes her mouth before she realizes the words could mean the action was unwelcome when it’s the exact opposite. She can’t figure out what words to use to clarify her outburst so instead, she squeezes the hand Chloe’s still holding and gives it a tug. If pulling Chloe closer now, here, after everything isn’t clear enough, then they’re both hopeless.

She pulls Chloe in until she’s so close, their chests grazing when either of them inhale and grabs Chloe’s hip with her free hand to keep her there. Even in the dark away from the lights of the party, she can see the color in Chloe’s cheeks, can see how heavy her eyes seem and Beca’s sure she must appear much the same. Her heart feels like it might pound right out of her body. She wonders if Chloe can hear it, or even feel it against her own chest.

Those dark eyes are on her own, their conversation unspoken and Beca knows Chloe finally understands what she’s been trying to make clear all night. Maybe what she’s been trying—with less conviction or confidence than tonight—to make clear for months.

The hand that had pushed her up against the house shifts down for the briefest of moments, the heel of Chloe’s hand dipping into the beginning of the valley between her breasts to make Beca’s breath catch before it moves north, fingertips dancing along Beca’s throat until they’re on the back of her neck, sneaking up into her hair.

She whimpers. Or she thinks she does; maybe it was Chloe. It could have been; her lips are parted when Beca glances down at them.

That’s when it happens.

Chloe surges forward, her lips finding Beca’s.

Beca knows for certain it’s herself she hears whimper then. The desperate force actually knocks her head back against the side of the house but there’s no pain. Nothing hurts now. Not as Chloe’s lips move against her own in a kiss Beca’s been waiting for since the day they met.

She shakes her hand loose from Chloe’s so she can use it, so she can bring it up to frame Chloe’s face. The knowledge that Chloe has wanted this—or at least wants it now—emboldens her to find a better angle and let her tongue brush Chloe’s bottom lip.

Chloe invites her in immediately and Beca shivers when Chloe’s tongue meets hers. Fingers slide further into her hair and Beca does the same, pushing through soft cinnamon curls as their kiss grows in intensity. 

Chloe’s hips press against her and it makes her shift her stance so their legs fit together like when they dance. Her fingers pull at Chloe’s waist as if she could possibly get any closer until, on sheer instinct, her hand slides down over the curve of Chloe’s ass to grab it unabashedly and pull just as she bends her knee to lift and press her thigh against Chloe.

A sharp gasp breaks the relative silence as Chloe’s mouth twists away from Beca’s. Their eyes meet and for a moment, Beca thinks she may have done something wrong until Chloe’s fingers twist so harshly into Beca’s hair that she winces as Chloe pulls her head to the side. It exposes more of her neck and Beca lets her eyes close again as Chloe’s mouth drops to it. Lips and tongue and gentle teeth move along her skin and Beca can hear herself breathing, quick and shallow breaths that match Chloe’s as Chloe accepts the rhythm of Beca’s hand against her. The thought that Chloe likes it, is basically riding her thigh, makes her already damp underwear soak through. It makes her hips move, too, and Chloe’s leg isn’t nestled closely enough to give her anything but the barest of contact.

It’s maddening but she doesn’t want to do anything that will take away the pleasure she knows she’s giving Chloe. Instead, the hand not tangled in her hair doing little more than cradling her head as she attacks Beca’s neck travels up Chloe’s side until she feels the band of a bra through the fabric of her shirt. It’s too tempting and too easy to follow it until the backs of her fingers are grazing the edge of a curve. She hesitates there, soaking in the warmth she feels and letting a moan escape her lips when Chloe’s tongue is particularly gentle and teasing against her skin.

“Touch me.” The words are whispered but they ring in Beca’s ears loudly. Chloe’s hand finds Beca’s where it’s hesitating and guides it higher until it’s pressing Beca’s hand against her breast.

This time, it’s Chloe who moans but Beca echoes it. She wonders just how far this is going to go here, now, out in the open as Chloe’s mouth is on hers again. It’s more a curiosity than a concern; she really doesn’t care who sees them. But as the palm of her hand feels the stiff peak of Chloe’s breast, she has a desperate need to migrate elsewhere. It’s a need that grows exponentially when Chloe, with none of the hesitation Beca had shown, finds Beca’s left breast to squeeze it with urgency. Most of her fingertips are on bare skin where Beca’s shirt has shifted; heat follows everywhere her those fingertips go, from the swell of Beca’s breast to her throat, to the valley of her cleavage and to her other breast.

Chloe’s mouth leaves hers again and moves right to her ear, lips on her earlobe and tongue tracing the shell and over the piercings. “God, you’re so hot,” she breathes just as she presses her thigh forward against Beca.

So desperate for the contact, it almost makes Beca’s knees buckle which settles her more heavily astride Chloe, leg pressing the thick seam of Beca’s jeans against her in a way that makes her hips buck.

Chloe’s assault of her senses stops abruptly; she doesn’t pull back, she just...stops and it takes Beca several seconds until she can open her eyes.

Once she can focus, she sees that Chloe is staring at her, eyes wild, hair mussed, lips a dark pink and shining in the dim lighting.

“Are you okay?” Chloe asks, eyes searching Beca’s for something.

The question confuses her; why wouldn’t she be okay? “Yeah,” she says after swallowing. “Are you?” she adds, enough clarity seeping in to register Chloe’s checking on her and maybe she should do the same.

Chloe nods and leans in to kiss her again but this time it’s slow, and soft, and gentle and she pulls back too soon for Beca’s liking, but she forgives her quickly.

“Do you maybe want to go?” are Chloe’s next words and Beca feels dizzy again. Thankfully, Chloe still has her pinned against the house to keep her upright.

“Go where?” she asks; she wants Chloe to mean what she hopes she means and that she’s not suggesting they go back to the party.

Chloe’s hands are back on her waist, warm where they rest beneath Beca’s shirt. “Is your roommate home?” Chloe asks. 

Beca feels the back of her head connect with the house again, falling back to look down her nose at Chloe who’s waiting for her answer with as much anticipation as Beca feels. “I don’t know,” she says after searching her memory for any conversation that she may have had about her roommate’s plans tonight and finding nothing. “Is yours?”

“I don’t know,” Chloe answers, a whine entering her voice and the fact that Chloe is perhaps as desperate as she is rattles Beca. Her mind races, thinking of possibilities like the bedrooms in the Trebles’ house (gross), staying where they are (uncomfortable and not private), or going to Chloe’s car in the dorm parking lot.

It’s not the worst solution, all things considered.

“Okay,” she says, still working on catching her breath. “Okay, let’s just go see if they’re home or not.”

Her suggestion makes Chloe melt into her for another long, deep kiss until they’re detangling from each other. Beca has to tug at the legs of her jeans to bring them down from where they’ve ridden up and she watches Chloe do the same. It makes her crack up for some reason and Chloe’s quick to follow, both of them dissolving into fits of giggles of nervous excitement.

They start walking back toward Baker Hall, Beca’s arm around Chloe’s waist, and Beca notices Chloe tugging her phone out of her pocket and open up a new text.

“Why don’t you text Kimmy Jin and ask if she’s there,” Chloe says when she notices Beca’s curiosity.

“I don’t have her number.”

Chloe tsks at her and shoots off a text to, Beca assumes, her roommate.

A minute or two pass in silence until it becomes too heavy between them and Chloe breaks it. “Nothing has to happen, you know.”

Beca turns her head to look at her, though Chloe’s facing forward. Why Chloe thinks Beca might feel like she’s being pressured into something is beyond her, especially since Beca was the one laying the physical flirtation on thick all night. “I’m here, aren’t I?” she says, as if it should be obvious.

“I know,” Chloe says. Beca notices they’re only a few blocks from their dorm and her anticipation starts to grow again. “But we’ve been drinking.”

That’s a fair consideration. People do things they regret when they’ve been drinking, things they would never do sober. And that could be true, except that in Beca’s case, “I’ve been thinking about it for a while.”

It’s Chloe’s turn to look over, and she’s wearing a bit of a smirk. “You have?”

Beca shrugs and tucks her fingertips into the front pocket of Chloe’s jeans, as though she’s making a point, though the prospect of having to talk about it in detail makes her self-conscious. “Shut up.”

“Beca.” Chloe’s voice is teasing and slow, like syrup.

“Don’t,” she says with a groan because she knows Chloe’s gearing up to tease her. “Can we just...can you just accept it and let it go?”

“Oh, I’ll happily accept it,” Chloe says with a proud toss of her hair. Then she’s rounding on Beca to stop right in front of her. “But I’m not going to let it go,” she finishes as she leans in to kiss her and Beca meets her halfway.

Beca pulls back when things are edging toward too hot and heavy for the sidewalk. “C’mon, let’s go.” She takes Chloe’s hand and leads for a few steps before catches up. “Did your roommate text you back?”

Chloe checks her phone while Beca opens the door to the lobby to let her pass first. Chloe makes a sound of excitement, a borderline squeal, and her pace picks up considerably as they stride toward the elevator. “She’s spending the night at her boyfriend’s.”

“Oh, thank God,” Beca exhales and follows Chloe into the elevator where she punches the button for their floor before turning right into the kiss she knows Chloe’s anticipating. “Mine’s probably home,” she says between kisses.

“We’d have found a place,” Chloe says, breath already quickening as their kisses grow in urgency.

“Thought about your car,” Beca says as her hands find Chloe’s ass again to tug her closer.

Chloe hums and then says, “I thought about the shower.”

Beca had somehow overlooked that particular option but the possibility, the very concept of it, moves through her like fire. “Fuck,” she says before kissing Chloe harder.

“Mmm, noted,” Chloe says with an evil smirk as she pulls away, grabbing Beca’s hand to yank her out of the elevator and down the hall toward Chloe’s room. “But I want you in my bed first.”

The End

#bechloe #bechloe fic #beca mitchell #chloe beale #pitch perfect #fanfic

[anistarrose]

the years wore on, and changed my heart (The Owl House)

AO3: archiveofourown.org/works/23366812

Summary: A Boiling Isles fairy tale about two sisters, a curse, and the demon king who did the cursing.

Characters: King, Eda Clawthorne, Lilith Clawthorne, Luz Noceda

Relationships: Eda Clawthorne & King, Eda Clawthorne & Lilith Clawthorne

you ever think of a theory so unlikely yet so sad that you feel the need to write a fic about it immediately? that's basically the origin story here. (title is from "East" by Sleeping at Last because boy oh boy does that song have some King vibes)

***

(This is the part of the tale that a few parents still tell their children, to scare them into behaving.)

Once upon a time, there lived two Witches. Two sisters, the same blood and same bile running through their hearts of stone. They loved each other, and protected each other, and even in their dreams of the future, they never left each other’s sides.

But the firey-orange-haired sister had a fierce and rebellious spirit, chafing against authority and conformity of any form. The dark-haired sister still loved her, of course, but love slowly turned to worry, and worry to fear — after all, there was no room in the Emperor’s Coven for someone who openly questioned the foundations of the coven system itself.

Once upon a time, there lived a mighty King of Demons. Fur as black as shadows, hypnotizing round eyes that shone like two twin moons, and a cold uncaring heart, drawn only to conquest and brutality.

But a King is no Emperor, and despite his might and his magic, he found himself ousted. To reclaim his usurped throne, he could not simply act alone — he needed an army of ferocious servants, loyal servants, powerful servants.

Once upon a time, the King spied a head of red hair questioning the Emperor’s authority. He donned a mask to approach her — a two-horned skull that fit neatly over his own head, concealing his royal identity — and invited her to meet him at a later date, for he believed they had many views about the Emperor in common.

The naive Witch accepted his offer, and agreed to meet him on the night of the next full moon. When she told her sister about the conversation, the dark-haired Witch begged her not to go — it’s a trap! There could be agents of the Emperor waiting for you! You could be arrested — and then how will we ever be able join the Emperor’s Coven together? Please, stay home! Don’t throw your life away!

The firey-haired witch was not swayed by her sister’s pleas, and when the night of the full moon came, she drugged her sister with an illicitly brewed potion and slipped out of their house unnoticed. The icy nighttime winds howled, as if they to were begging her to turn back, but she ventured onwards, through the forest and towards the lair of the deposed King.

The masked King cordially welcomed her inside, and invited her to sit down. He had a plan to overthrow the Emperor, he explained, but before he could trust anyone to join his rebellion, he needed to pose them a few questions:

Do you hate conforming? he asked. Do you hate the expectations this world has for you?

I do! the Witch replied. I always have! I knew you’d understand!

Would you like to be something original? he continued. Something unprecedented? Something fierce and powerful and chaotic that the world has never seen before, something that’ll shatter all their dumb expecations of what a witch or a demon should be?

Of course! the starry-eyed witch exclaimed. That’s everything I want to be!

The King smiled as he cast aside his mask, and the concentric circles within his eyes lit up one by one. Then thank you for enlisting.

Before the skull-mask even struck the rocky ground, one of its horns breaking upon impact, the curse had been cast. Like an extinguished flame, the Witch’s orange hair turned gray in the blink of an eye. Her teeth and nails sharpened into fangs and talons, while two wings sprouted from her back, and she let out a bloodcurdling scream so loud it woke her sister from her slumber back in town.

After she fled the cave, the cursed Witch’s sister found her first, and smuggled her to the house of a friend Potions track who could brew an elixir and slow the curse’s progression. But for a complete cure, they would need to beseech the Emperor’s Coven themselves for help — and the cursed Witch refused, for such was the fury that she held for the Emperor. She was too proud to let any coven brand her with their magic, even if she turned into a monster without their help — and turn into a monster she did, as the years passed by.

Some say the Owl Lady still dwells in the Boiling Isles even as her curse worsens, spreading dissent against the covens by day and feeding upon unsuspecting witches by night. Do not stay out to late, young Witchling, or she will steal you away and drink your blood.

Even more importantly, do not make trouble for your elders, or the deposed King will lure you away and curse you. Give thanks to your Emperor, for freeing us from that wretched demon’s reign of terror.

***

(This is the part of the tale that no one tells their children because the only two to ever know it were the Witch and the King, and they forgot it all as soon as it happened.)

Once upon a time, a King cast a spell, and once upon a time, a Witch fought back. As the Witch’s hair turned gray, so did the world surrounding her. As she was plunged into the void, she did not go quietly, and she dragged the King down with her.

Surrounded by darkness, the King still laughed. With each ripple of magic reflected in his eyes, the Witch transformed further, feathers bristling and fangs elongating, but the King paid little attention to the nails at his neck transforming into talons.

You’re my beast now! he roared. You’re going to help me regain my throne!

The Witch drew no circles in the air, but something dark and primal ran through her transforming heart — and with it, she tapped into the foundations of the cursing spell itself. It was a rare type of magic that she performed that day, fueled just as much by spite as it was by bile.

The King had cursed her with a spark of his demonic essence. Well, she was going to take it.

She was going to take everything he had, everything ferocious and bestial and intimidating about him. She was going to take everything except his orders.

You want to make me a demon?! she screamed. Fine! I’ll make you powerless!

The King realized, too late, what was happening. His body, made more of ichor and magic than of flesh, was losing its form, liquifying and reshaping within that blank gray void, and he screamed too as he lurched forward and his head collided with the head of the transforming Witch.

Upon impact, a bolt of pain split open two minds, and in an instant, the Witch and the King both forgot.

A mighty demon and a puny mortal walked into the deposed King’s lair that day, and a mighty demon and a puny mortal left it. Neither looked the same, nor remembered as much, as when they had entered.

The Owl Lady left first, scampering out of the cave on all fours and practically bounding into her terrified sister’s arms. She had clung to just enough of herself to hold it together, and restrain herself from lashing out at what by all means should have been her prey — but as the years passed by, her control would wane, and she would come to depend on higher and higher elixir doses to stay herself.

The deposed Demon King awakened more slowly, as the sun began to rise and turn fateful night to ordinary day. He felt tiny and out of place in this lair, dwarfed in stature by mere stalactites and startled by every shadow — but most of all, he felt confused.

What am I doing here? How did I get here?

As little as he remembered, he knew that something was wrong. He was more than this runt of a body, more than these cowardly instincts. He was important. He was a ruler. He was a King — so where were his offerings? Where was his might? Where were his powers?

He didn’t remember how, but he knew he had been humiliated. He couldn’t be seen like this, he couldn’t be recognized. He needed to hide —

Frantically pacing in tiny circles, he nearly tripped over a skull lying on the floor, one of its horns intact and the other broken. It would do nicely to hide his identity, he realized — and maybe, just maybe, strike terror in his enemies’ hearts.

For the second time in recent history and first time in recent memory, the King donned his mask. Then he set out into the surrounding forest, in search of answers and royal subjects that he would not find.

***

(This is the tale no one tells their children because it’s only just now happened, and no one knows how the story will end.)

Once upon a time, there lived two Witches, torn apart by a curse. They both thought themselves successful, and believed the other was throwing their life away. They still loved each other, of course, and would never wish grave harm upon each other — but oh, were they loath to admit it.

Once upon a time, there lived a puny, impish King. He loved dreaming of conquest, and of sacrifices made in his name, but most of all, he loved the gray-haired Witch who’d taken him in off the street. The Owl Lady was what they called her, and The Owl Lady and The Demon King had a wonderfully ominous ring to it, after all. They made a good team, especially once the Human arrived to complete their sinister triumvirate.

Sadly, the Witch was afflicted with a curse, and this upset the King and Human greatly. Though the King often spoke of ruling with a cold heart and iron fist, he hated seeing the Witch upset — and he’d never seen anything upset her more than her worsening curse, no matter how insistent she was that she was fine, and there was nothing to worry about.

When he took back his throne, the King decided, he would convene a royal panel of investigators to track down whoever did this to the Witch. Then he would throw them in the dungeon until they agreed to undo the curse, at which point he would allow them to do so, before throwing them back in an even darker, smellier dungeon for the rest of their natural life.

He decided as much within an hour of learning of the curse’s existence, and informed the Human of his plan very matter-of-factly. She patted him on the head, and told him he would make a great ruler one day — but the King was more perceptive than he seemed. He sensed the doubt in the Human’s voice, and the sadness in her eyes.

She didn’t think he could do it, and he wasn’t quite sure if he blamed her.

The King was weak, and he knew it. Even from beneath his grim mask, he could hardly inspire fear, much less inspire ferocious warriors to listen to him. He was in no position to command an army of demons.

But once upon a time, while plotting revenge against an usurper his equal in size, he made a discovery: the Witch, while only half-transformed, would obey his commands with no hesitation. Knowing not of the spell-gone-awry that had tied them together a lifetime ago, the King was surprised — but the surprise stirred familiar feelings.

Confidence. Determination. Vengeance.

The Owl Lady was the most powerful demon the King had ever met, and at first, he feared this development was too good to be true. But a ghost of a memory had already returned to haunt him, presenting itself not as a recollection, but as an idea too tempting to resist:

He would use her to take back his playground throne — a logical first step towards world domination. It would be over quickly, and the Witch wouldn’t be hurt — she didn’t seem unhappy in this cursed form, after all — and no one would be the wiser. He would do this just to prove that he could, to prove that he was still a natural-born leader. To prove that he wasn’t as weak or as puny as he looked.

But upon reaching the playground, the Witch once again did what she did best — she rebelled. The King’s vague memory had prepared him for this possibility, and he had half-consciously resolved not to make the same mistake twice, but he hadn’t expected the backup elixir to fail him. He hadn’t expected demon hunters.

Most of all, he hadn’t expected to do the unthinkable, and abdicate his newly reclaimed throne. But the King loved the Witch more than any throne or kingdom or offerings, and deep in his heart, he knew there was no other choice he could make.

He squealed with all the rage he could muster — far more than a demon his size should’ve been able to contain. It was anger with the person who’d cursed his Witch, and it was anger with himself, for using the Witch in his own selfish scheme… and against all odds, it worked. The Witch remembered — not the truth of the past, but the truth of the present.

The King was her friend. She didn’t want to hurt him.

Later that night, the Witch admitted to the King what she’d never admit to the Human — whether it was because she’d known him longer, or because he’d clearly already assumed as much, the King didn’t know. But, for whatever reason, the Witch admitted that her elixirs weren’t working anymore, and as she spoke, her confident facade cracked and split open like the King had never seen before.

He hugged her. He didn’t know what else to do. How could he feel so helpless, so powerless, yet so guilty?

She hugged him back, cradling him in her arms and tucking him just beneath her chin, but even that felt just wrong and undeserved. He’d schemed, and manipulated, and hurt his dearest friend — and if this was what it took to be the King of Demons, then he wasn’t even sure what he wanted to be, anymore.

He told her, an admission for an admission. How he’d discovered that she would listen to his orders. How he’d been so power-hungry, and desperate for the reclaiming of his playground throne, that he’d used her. How inexcusable the whole affair had been.

I’m sorry, Eda, he sobbed. I’m so, so sorry —

I know, King, the Witch murmured, running her fingers through the fur on his back. That’s why I forgive you.

#the owl house #eda the owl lady #the owl house king #edalyn clawthorne #lilith clawthorne #luz noceda #the owl house spoilers #the owl house fanfiction #rosalia writes fic

[raereview]

A Writer in Her Early Twenties Writing About Smoking Cigarettes and Feeling Inferior? …Groundbreaking

an essay I wrote in November of 2020 as I was nearing graduation from Columbia College-Chicago

You know when a bug gets stuck on its back and its little legs start flailing and it  frantically rocks back and forth trying to flip back over? That’s how I’ve been feeling recently.

I started smoking cigarettes again to calm me down because smoking weed always makes me have an unwanted existential crisis. In high school, I loved smoking cigarettes because it made me feel like an adult. I dreamed of being someone like Carrie Bradshaw; smoking cigarettes at parties and being so terribly interesting that I only had to write one column a week to pay for a lavish lifestyle. That dream was only amplified when an English teacher wrote on one of my assignments in red ink that she wanted to read my memoir one day. After that, I smoked cigarettes my friends would steal from their stepdads, while I waited impatiently to turn 18 so I could be an adult, leave my hometown, and become a real writer.

Now I’m 21 and can legally buy cigarettes in the city of Chicago. I bought a pack of American Spirits two days after the 2020 Presidential Election because my anxiety was getting high and I couldn’t. I tell myself they are better than regular cigarettes— even though it clearly says on the package they aren’t. Just holding a cigarette is sex to me (I never describe things as sex, but my first Creative Writing professor used to, and she sounded so fucking cool when she did). I always feel dizzy after the first couple hits. I can’t imagine that’s normal. I know that weed is probably better for my body, but I like that no one judges me for not inhaling correctly like they do with weed. I can let the smoke barely touch my lungs before I puff it out of my lips, and no one says a goddamn thing. And so maybe it’s just the action of smoking, but I always feel calmer by the time I put out the cigarette, leaving behind that black mark and bits of ash.

On the 13th of November, Phoebe Bridgers and Maggie Rogers released a cover of “Iris” by Goo Goo Dolls because Bridgers tweeted that she would do so if Biden won the election. I didn’t recognize the song based off the title, but after a quick google search, I remembered hearing it on the radio growing up. It’s got one of those choruses that feels like it was written to be screamed at the top of your lungs in the car with the windows rolled down. I paid $1.50 for the song on Bandcamp (the proceeds went to Fair Fight), then I grabbed my pack of cigarettes, and went out to my back porch to listen to it. I’d barely been able to get out of bed all week, but I knew the cover needed my full attention because I recently became a “stan” of Phoebe Bridgers.

For a while I felt as if Phoebe was someone I knew through a friend of a friend; we ran in the same circles, but never really crossed paths. I adore Hayley Williams and Phoebe’s vocals were on my favorite song on her new album, most of the music I listen to is indie and makes you want to cry which is how you could describe her music, and her lowercase tweets always showed up on my timeline. I knew I’d become acquainted with her eventually, I just wanted to be ready; I had a premonition she’d change my life. I wanted us to fall into each other at the perfect moment.

Sometime in late June or early July, I was laying on the futon in my sister’s spare bedroom, staring at my phone in the darkness while everyone was asleep. The quiet nights of West Texas creep me out when I’ve gone months in Chicago without a moment of silence. I don’t remember what I was initially looking for on Spotify when her solo, sophomore album Punisher came up on the “recommended” section. I hit play because it felt like Spotify was a friend trying to set me up with her for the millionth time, telling me to just trust them and to meet her. It felt like the perfect moment, spilling our guts under the covers, “What if I told you I feel like I know you, but we never met?”

By “Moon Song” and “Chinese Satellite” I was silently weeping, trying not to wake up my nephews in the next room. Punisher made me feel introspective and existential, and the record almost gave me the same floating, panic feeling that weed gives me (but it’s cool when she does it). The strings from “Graceland Too” and “Savior Complex” swam inside my bloodstream and lifted me off the futon, off the part of Texas that I suspect she writes about hating.  I was 16 when I had my first weed-induced existential crisis. My friends drove me around town in an attempt calm me down and I kept asking them if I was dead; Punisher feels like the soundtrack to that car ride. Receiving an impressive 8.7/10 on Pitchfork, the publication’s Sam Sodomsky describes her songwriting on the album as “candid, multi-dimensional, slyly psychedelic, and full of heart.” There are moments as a writer where a line makes me mad because of how well it described something I have yet to put words to, and Bridgers made me furious when she sang on the final track “I Know the End”: “When I get back I’ll lay around Then I’ll get up and lay back down Romanticize a quiet life There’s no place like my room.” It’s so simple, but it perfectly described the way I can get so anxious that I spend most of my days in bed, convincing myself I’ll never not feel this way.

That’s at least how I’d describe my recent state of constant anxiety. I know it started before the election, but constantly checking news sites seemed to amplify everything. I think the thing I have been most anxious about (personally, not politically) is the fact that I’m moving back home to my hometown after I graduate next month. I finally became an adult, but I will be graduating with my Bachelor of Arts degree in Creative Writing, and I have no job prospects and no memoir in the making. I try to remain optimistic, but the catastrophic thinking my brain does is very convincing and tells me that if I can’t find a job in my field that I’m a bad writer, and if I’m a bad writer I’ll never be understood, and if I’ll never be understood I should just quit writing now, and if I quit writing then I should just lay in bed and not go to my zoom classes. It’s a long series of pointless, self-deprecating “and if’s”, but once they start it feels like telling yourself that you’re only going to smoke a couple cigarettes, and then you end up going through a whole pack in a few days and all you’re left with is regret and a headache. So, during that week of bed-ridden anxiety, I was thankful that my new love for Bridgers was stronger than my imposter syndrome. If I was doomed to be misunderstood, I wanted to listen to a writer who I feel like I understand.

When I went outside to listen the song, I quickly remembered that it was November in Chicago and my fingers shoved themselves deeper into my jacket sleeves. I managed to peak them out just enough to light a cigarette and hit play on the song. I was sure I looked very dramatic to the men doing construction on the apartment next door: a girl in her 20’s, smoking with her headphones in, staring off into the distance. The cover initially sounds more stripped and melancholic than the original, just Bridgers light vocals and an acoustic guitar. My legs were already shivering, but all the hairs on my body stood up higher when Rogers came in and their voices molded together. I don’t know her music, but the twang in Maggie’s voice that carries the second verse was comforting to my southern roots. I took a long drag when she sang “When everything feels like the movies, yeah you bleed just to know you're alive.” If I didn’t know better, I would have thought this cover was the original.

“Iris” is a song I’ve always known all the words to, but I had never really listened to the lyrics. The song was written by Goo Goo Doll’s John Rzeznik for the movie City of Angels (1998) staring Nicholas Cage. Rzeznik told Dan MacIntosh of Songfacts that when he wrote the song he was inspired by Cage’s situation in the film and thought “Wow! What an amazing thing it must be like to love someone so much that you give up everything to be with them.” Phoebe Bridgers’ songwriting feels like it comes from the same universe as “Iris”, specifically her song “ICU”. Both songs could technically be described as love songs, but I feel that a disservice to both.

They differ from traditional love songs because write about it in a realistic way, almost as if the thesis of both is “I know everything is awful and we could hate each other one day, but I want to be with you anyways.” A line from the chorus of “Iris” almost says this exactly, but far more eloquently, “When everything's made to be broken, I just want you to know who I am,” and then verses repeat this sentiment of knowing the love could end, but wanting the love anyways. Bridgers’ songwriting in “ICU” comes at a relationship with the same approach. The verses describe things she thinks could complicate or end the relationship (the other person’s family, someone falling out of love, self-sabotage). Regardless, the refrain keeps repeating, “But I feel something when I see you”. All this to say that when Bridgers sings Rzeznik’s lyrics, they feel as if they are her own.

The Goo Goo Dolls must have also thought Phoebe would do the song justice as their twitter account replied to Bridger’s original tweet a few days after Biden was announced the projected winner, saying “We’re waiting…” with the gif of Judge Judy motioning “hurry up”. When I read or hear really good writing, I selfishly question if writing is even actually what I’m meant to be doing… if it was something that should have stayed a hobby, or a poorly constructed daydream of becoming Carrie Bradshaw. 

Recently, I wrote a paragraph about one of my favorite albums with the intention of writing a whole essay about it. However, after that I got stuck. Every time I tried starting the next sentence, I hit the backspace button until it was gone. I spent two whole days watching interviews with the artist, reading reviews of the album, listening to the whole record on repeat for hours, and I couldn’t get anything more than that paragraph. The words simply would not come to me. Moments like that, combined with rejection emails from literary magazines or hearing Bridgers sing lines that take my breath away, I wonder if I should keep fueling my love for something that will always love someone else more or if I should quit?

I listened to the cover of “Iris” on repeat until my cigarette was out. The big tree in my backyard is barren because of the new season, and so now more of my neighborhood is visible. It was around 4p.m. and the sun was already starting to set thanks to daylight savings (until I wrote that sentence, I didn’t think to consider my anxiousness and my need to stay in bed all day could also be attributed to seasonal depression). I’ve always been obsessed with sunrises and sunsets. I know I probably write about them too much: how they make the whole world “glow” orange, the transitions of the colors in the sky, how they always represent an end or a beginning. My hometown has the best sunsets and sunrises: the land is so flat you can see all the way to the horizon, there are no clunky buildings blocking your view. I thought maybe this sunset would spark inspiration in me, so turned to go toward the edge of my porch to see more of it, and for a second I looked at the windowsill I rested my lighter and cigarettes on.

Lying there was a fly stuck on its back. Before they fixed the insolation, our apartment was infested with so many flies that all summer the surfaces of my home were perpetually covered in fly guts. The fly’s little body twitched frantically as it tried to push itself over. I felt pity for the fly even though others of its kind spent the warmer months buzzing in my ear and making me want to move. As I watched the insect, I realized that my anxiety doesn’t feel like drowning or spiraling or falling. It feels like flailing— like a bug stuck on its back trying desperately to get right side up again. It’s kind of pathetic how much it feels like the end of the world. I might not be the first person to think of that, but the metaphor came to me so clearly that it took my breath away. Quickly, I used my lighter to flick the fly back onto its legs. We stared at each other for a moment. I know flies don’t have facial expressions, but I swear, it looked confused. I thought maybe it heard horror stories about me from its friends about the sweaty girl who kills them with rolled up newspaper and wondered why I helped it. Finally, it turned from me and crawled away in the opposite direction.

That fly made me like a god, but more importantly, it made me feel like a writer. I found the words again. Relating to an insect isn’t exactly Carrie Bradshaw or Phoebe Bridgers, but I was excited. I immediately ran inside and started this essay. My frozen fingers started to warm up as I typed everything out. It felt like writing and I were a married couple who had sex for the first time in months; we got our spark back. And I know writers aren’t supposed to wait for inspiration to start writing, and I know this doesn’t make me as good as Phoebe Bridgers, and I know I still don’t have any job offers, and I know I didn’t cure my anxiety but writing this felt really good.

When I wrote this essay, someone I showed it to said they “got my angst”, but not my love for writing. Maybe that’s because I don’t always love writing in the explosive, epic way I sometimes think I should? I love writing with the kind of love that I’m told is in good marriages; the love is a choice. There are days when I can’t stand a word I put on the page, but there are also the days where I find perfect metaphors for sunsets or anxiety or bugs or Phoebe Bridgers. There are days I lay in the warmth of someone else’s words as if they were the sun. There are days where I can’t stand go to class after turning an essay in because I don’t want people to associate the person on the page with the person sitting across the room from of them. However, even on days when I can’t stand writing or being a writer, I still wake up, put on my fake glasses that make me feel like an intellectual, I grab my New Yorker tote, I write silly lyrics I think of on the train, I read someone else’s work and remind myself they had 20 drafts of this I’ll never see, I reread my own work and see if any lines make me catch my breath, and I write.

I write because I still have the desire to be understood. I write to try and understand why I can’t stop loving it even when I hate it. I write because I fear one day the inferiority will be too much and I won’t wake up and choose to still love writing.

I still listen to Iris on repeat because the lyrics are as painfully relatable as they are catchy. At its core, the song is asking someone to understand. I think that’s what all I want, understanding. I want to know that someone else feels the same way I do about sunsets, or Carrie Bradshaw, or Punisher, or smoking cigarettes to look cool. If I write my truth, maybe someone will understand? Alexander Chee wrote in his How to Write an Autobiographical Novel that “To write is to sell a ticket to escape, not from the truth, but into it.” Maybe that’s why I don’t love being high because I feel like I am trying to escape the truth? Maybe that’s why I love Phoebe Bridgers’ songwriting and writing in general because it makes me feel like I am trying to escape into the truth? Maybe if I can make it to the truth, I’ll be understood? 

Maybe I’ll understand?

Sources: Bridgers, Phoebe. Lyrics to “Punisher.” Genius, 2020, genius.com/albums/Phoebe-bridgers/Punisher. Sodomsky, Sam. “Phoebe Bridgers: Punisher.” Pitchfork, Pitchfork, 22 June 2020, pitchfork.com/reviews/albums/phoebe-bridgers-punisher/. Rzeznik, John. “Goo Goo Dolls – Iris.” Genius, 7 Apr. 1998, genius.com/Goo-goo-dolls-iris-lyrics. MacIntosh, Dan. “John Rzeznik of Goo Goo Dolls.” ShieldSquare Captcha, 12 June 2013, www.songfacts.com/blog/interviews/john-rzeznik-of-goo-goo-dolls. Chee, Alexander. How to Write an Autobiographical Novel. Bloomsbury, 2019.

#personal essay #writing #phoebe bridgers #iris #writer #goo goo dolls #nonfiction #music #music writing

[fyexo]

200331 EXO's Suho Paints an Intimate 'Self-Portrait' With His New Solo EP

For much of the decade, Kim Jun-myeon has been better known by his stage name Suho. A member and the leader of K-pop boy band EXO, the singer -- whose stage name means "guardian" -- spent his twenties performing across the globe, releasing multiple hits in South Korea and selling millions of copies of albums worldwide since the band's start in 2012.

Now, he’s ready to share more of himself on his first-ever solo album, Self-Portrait.

Out Monday (March 30), the singer turns away from the dance and R&B-oriented sounds typically associated with EXO’s releases, and shows a new side to himself through six original rock-oriented songs in his new EP. Though the album embraces Suho's identity within the group, it also expands upon it, introducing new sonic elements. The 28-year-old, who writes lyrics under his pen name SH20, also shares his world view via the soft and indie rock-imbued sound, leading with the single “Let’s Love.”

With its title inspired by EXO’s catchphrase, the breezy, sweet tune is passionate, as Suho sings about a love he is racing toward but has not quite reached yet. The song is both a romantic pop-rock ballad and a message aimed at EXO’s global fan club, EXO-L.

Prior to its release, Suho spoke with Billboard to discuss what Self-Portrait means to him.

How are you feeling ahead of the release of Self-Portrait?

I’m so nervous [for the release date]. Because it’s my first solo album, and I’m doing it without the members of EXO, I’m somewhat nervous and also very excited -- somewhat like a new start. I hope that this album and the songs are things that many people will like. Not only for Korean fans, but all of my fans globally. I hope that they enjoy it.

The album is very intimate, as it’s called Self-Portrait. What inspired you to put forth this narrative for your first solo EP?

The inspiration was drawn from Vincent van Gogh’s "Self-Portrait." I first saw it in Switzerland and Paris, and for van Gogh, it probably meant a lot to him as a person. Since I’m not a painter, I wanted to paint something in my album as a self-portrait, per se, similar to how it was for van Gogh to share his own view of himself.

Van Gogh painted different self-portraits to reflect different sides to himself and changes to how he saw himself. Do you feel this album similarly does that for you as an artist?

Yeah, that’s right. I think so. Through this album, I’ve been able to explore and show different sides of me, not only what is perceived from the outside, but also what is inside of myself.

I saw the covers were based around four different variants. Do you feel there are four distinct sides to you? Or is it not as specific as that?

To be completely honest, I believe that there are probably more than four sides to me; there are many facets of my personality. With all these various sides that I have, I tried to condense it to an essence where it can be portrayed in four different self-portraits.

Do those four specific facets have any meaning to you?

When I first asked to use this concept, I didn’t have too much significance to show regarding myself, but I wanted to visually depict four different seasons, the four seasons of Suho.

Do you have a favorite season?

Spring.

Along with the four images featured on the album, you made a self-portrait of yourself featuring bunny ears, and that’s become your Twitter emoji. How do you feel about sharing that side of yourself as an extension of Self-Portrait’s promotional concept?

That, a rabbit or bunny, is my nickname from EXO-L, so that’s why it has significance to me. Whenever I’m communicating with fans, talking to EXO-L directly, that’s when the nickname pops up, but for the album, it’s not included because I want this album not only to be meant for the fans, but also for many other people who will listen to this album. So for the bunny ears drawing and emoji, it was more a signal that can be recognized by fans and EXO members.

So the album isn’t solely aimed at fans, but these sort of social media interactions are. So it sounds like it's important to you that the general public will be able to enjoy listening to Self-Portrait, beyond your already loyal EXO-L.

Yes, the songs on this album are composed of band sounds. [Editor's note: In Korean, it is common to say “band” rather than “rock music" when referring to rock-affiliated genres.] That’s a genre that international audiences are very used to, and they really enjoy. I feel like this album is one that the general public will be able to pick up and just listen to comfortably because it doesn’t have the strong beats and basses of the dance music that EXO albums usually have.

You mentioned that this is music you think the general public likes, but is it also the type of music you particularly like?

Of course. I really like Coldplay. Their music has had a big impact on me.

Regarding the single “Let’s Love,” why did you decide to make this the single for Self-Portrait?

This is my favorite song of this album. And the meaning of the title recalls the cheer EXO does before we go on stage: “Let’s Love!” Just generally, we use it as a cheer. It’s also a message I want to tell people, “Let’s love.”

In regards to that, is there a message you would like people to take away when listening to the six tracks of Self-Portrait?

To be honest, there’s not a single message on this album. But the theme that connects all these songs is the idea that everyone has scars, everyone has been hurt. But even so, shouldn’t we still love? So this is an open question I want to ask to the people who are listening to my music.

You were involved in the songwriting process, and are credited as a lyricist. Are there any verses you want people to pay particular attention to?

Track six, “For You Now.” When you live life, there are many times you just miss the opportunity to properly thank someone whenever you feel thankful for them. Sometimes you look back and always regret not being able to say, “Thank you.” So in order to express my thankfulness, even though it’s late, I want to tell them, “Thank you.” And I want people to feel the same way; even if it’s late, it’s never too late to say “Thank you.”

Do you feel you have a lot of those regrets?

Yes, there are many. Many. [Nods thoughtfully.] Sometimes a person just misses the opportunity to thank their parents as well, and so I do have these sorts of regrets.

You worked with Younha on “For You Now.” What brought about that collaboration?

I am not a personal friend of Younha, but I’ve respected and admired her work for a long time. That’s why I reached out to her and asked her if she could collaborate with me. As for the song itself, she is such a great singer. She went above my expectations in regards to how she was able to express the song, musically, lyrically, and through her expressive vocals.

There’s a song “Self-Portrait,” but it’s not the single even though it’s the album’s name. Why did you decide to go with “Let’s Love” versus “Self-Portrait” for the single?

Although it’s the album’s name, when people listened to “Let’s Love,” that’s what people enjoyed the most. The phrase is also meaningful, so I wanted to emphasize that.

Was it important for you to make it clear, through picking this song title for the single, to blend your identity as Suho the soloist and Suho the EXO member on this solo album?

I didn’t try to emphasize my identity as a member of EXO particularly while creating this album, but when I started drawing a self-portrait, EXO has been an important part of me over the past 10 years as a person. So it was very natural for this part of my identity to seep into the lyrics and the album itself.  

In general, what was your creative process like when approaching this album and its introspective nature?

For the past three months, I’ve only been listening to [rock] music, whether it’s by Korean artists or international ones, and did not listen to any dance music or R&B and jazz music to get into the mood for this album. I paid a lot of attention not only to the music, but also the way they approached their lyrics.

Also, I spent a lot of time talking to my friends to discuss what sort of story I want to express, what message I want to send across. I found areas where me and my friends would agree upon, or have the same empathetic connection. So all of these combined together went into making this album what it is.

It’s almost like method acting.

[Laughs] Yes.

You said you spoke to your friends to get their opinions on the message, but the album is called Self-Portrait, which as an artistic form doesn't typically take into account outsiders’ point of views. Was there any particular importance for you to discuss your ideas with them?

The reason why I spent time talking to my friends is because you can say that my friends know the side of me that I’m not even aware of myself. And even though it’s a self-portrait and my story, if my friends -- or just people in general -- cannot feel any connection to it, it might feel that it doesn’t have enough impact or significance. So that’s why I spent time talking to friends and others about this project.

You’ve had a lengthy career already. Why did you decide that now is the time to share this side of you with the world?

My career as a member of EXO has been almost 10 years, and I will soon be going into my thirties, so I thought it would be a great time to talk about my life in my twenties.

Earlier, you mentioned that you’re nervous about the album’s release. Is there apprehension specifically in showing these new elements of yourself?

People know me from within EXO, and people remember me and my overall image as a member of EXO. But for this album that I’m releasing, both the fans and the general public might be a little shocked to see a different side to me, a different musical genre. I really like this style of music, and I have confidence in this album’s style, but I hope my fans and the general public take some time to listen to the lyrics on the tracks -- one through six -- and I’m pretty sure that after they listen to them, they will love the songs.

You’ve released solo music before, and other members of EXO have gone on their own to release solo albums. So do you really think that this will be truly shocking to listeners to hear a new side, a new story from you?

When it comes to EXO members, usually our solo projects have revolved around balladry, R&B, or hip-hop. At our concerts, many of the solo stages are primarily those sort of performances. A lot of the members have spoken about how these are their favorite styles of music.

But I never publicly, necessarily, showed that I really like [rock] music. Since I never really shared this side of me, that’s the reason I say I’m nervous. I’ve also done musical theater and released songs exploring other genres of music, but this is the first time I’m sharing this so … I think I’m the first one, among our members, to really show something new like this, so that’s why I think fans and the general public might be shocked.

What would be your ideal reaction to this album?

Even if people don’t know Suho from EXO, I hope that people will like my song and become a fan just by listening to this album. I also would love, whether professional or amateur, bands also would enjoy this album. That would be great.

The album is coming out at the end of March, so imagining the rest of the year, what would you like 2020 to bring your way?

Oh, this is hard. I would like to communicate and connect with everyone, whether it’s my members or EXO-L or the general public. I hope it’s a 2020 where we can have many empathetic connections.  

This interview was conducted in English and Korean, and edited for clarity

source: billboard

#exo #suho #t: interview #billboard

[dailyexo]

[NEWS] Suho - 200331 Billboard: “EXO's Suho Paints an Intimate 'Self-Portrait' With His New Solo EP”

"For much of the decade, Kim Jun-myeon has been better known by his stage name Suho. A member and the leader of K-pop boy band EXO, the singer -- whose stage name means "guardian" -- spent his twenties performing across the globe, releasing multiple hits in South Korea and selling millions of copies of albums worldwide since the band's start in 2012.

Now, he’s ready to share more of himself on his first-ever solo album, Self-Portrait.

Out Monday (March 30), the singer turns away from the dance and R&B-oriented sounds typically associated with EXO’s releases, and shows a new side to himself through six original rock-oriented songs in his new EP. Though the album embraces Suho's identity within the group, it also expands upon it, introducing new sonic elements. The 28-year-old, who writes lyrics under his pen name SH20, also shares his world view via the soft and indie rock-imbued sound, leading with the single 'Let’s Love.'

With its title inspired by EXO’s catchphrase, the breezy, sweet tune is passionate, as Suho sings about a love he is racing toward but has not quite reached yet. The song is both a romantic pop-rock ballad and a message aimed at EXO’s global fan club, EXO-L.

Prior to its release, Suho spoke with Billboard to discuss what Self-Portrait means to him.

How are you feeling ahead of the release of Self-Portrait?

I’m so nervous [for the release date]. Because it’s my first solo album, and I’m doing it without the members of EXO, I’m somewhat nervous and also very excited -- somewhat like a new start. I hope that this album and the songs are things that many people will like. Not only for Korean fans, but all of my fans globally. I hope that they enjoy it.

The album is very intimate, as it’s called Self-Portrait. What inspired you to put forth this narrative for your first solo EP?

The inspiration was drawn from Vincent van Gogh’s 'Self-Portrait.' I first saw it in Switzerland and Paris, and for van Gogh, it probably meant a lot to him as a person. Since I’m not a painter, I wanted to paint something in my album as a self-portrait, per se, similar to how it was for van Gogh to share his own view of himself.

Van Gogh painted different self-portraits to reflect different sides to himself and changes to how he saw himself. Do you feel this album similarly does that for you as an artist?

Yeah, that’s right. I think so. Through this album, I’ve been able to explore and show different sides of me, not only what is perceived from the outside, but also what is inside of myself.

I saw the covers were based around four different variants. Do you feel there are four distinct sides to you? Or is it not as specific as that?

To be completely honest, I believe that there are probably more than four sides to me; there are many facets of my personality. With all these various sides that I have, I tried to condense it to an essence where it can be portrayed in four different self-portraits.

Do those four specific facets have any meaning to you?

When I first asked to use this concept, I didn’t have too much significance to show regarding myself, but I wanted to visually depict four different seasons, the four seasons of Suho.

Do you have a favorite season?

Spring.

Along with the four images featured on the album, you made a self-portrait of yourself featuring bunny ears, and that’s become your Twitter emoji. How do you feel about sharing that side of yourself as an extension of Self-Portrait’s promotional concept?

That, a rabbit or bunny, is my nickname from EXO-L, so that’s why it has significance to me. Whenever I’m communicating with fans, talking to EXO-L directly, that’s when the nickname pops up, but for the album, it’s not included because I want this album not only to be meant for the fans, but also for many other people who will listen to this album. So for the bunny ears drawing and emoji, it was more a signal that can be recognized by fans and EXO members.

So the album isn’t solely aimed at fans, but these sort of social media interactions are. So it sounds like it's important to you that the general public will be able to enjoy listening to Self-Portrait, beyond your already loyal EXO-L.

Yes, the songs on this album are composed of band sounds. [Editor's note: In Korean, it is common to say 'band' rather than 'rock music' when referring to rock-affiliated genres.] That’s a genre that international audiences are very used to, and they really enjoy. I feel like this album is one that the general public will be able to pick up and just listen to comfortably because it doesn’t have the strong beats and basses of the dance music that EXO albums usually have.

You mentioned that this is music you think the general public likes, but is it also the type of music you particularly like?

Of course. I really like Coldplay. Their music has had a big impact on me.

Regarding the single 'Let’s Love,' why did you decide to make this the single for Self-Portrait?

This is my favorite song of this album. And the meaning of the title recalls the cheer EXO does before we go on stage: 'Let’s Love!' Just generally, we use it as a cheer. It’s also a message I want to tell people, 'Let’s love.'

In regards to that, is there a message you would like people to take away when listening to the six tracks of Self-Portrait?

To be honest, there’s not a single message on this album. But the theme that connects all these songs is the idea that everyone has scars, everyone has been hurt. But even so, shouldn’t we still love? So this is an open question I want to ask to the people who are listening to my music.

You were involved in the songwriting process, and are credited as a lyricist. Are there any verses you want people to pay particular attention to?

Track six, 'For You Now.' When you live life, there are many times you just miss the opportunity to properly thank someone whenever you feel thankful for them. Sometimes you look back and always regret not being able to say, 'Thank you.' So in order to express my thankfulness, even though it’s late, I want to tell them, 'Thank you.' And I want people to feel the same way; even if it’s late, it’s never too late to say 'Thank you.'

Do you feel you have a lot of those regrets?

Yes, there are many. Many. [Nods thoughtfully.] Sometimes a person just misses the opportunity to thank their parents as well, and so I do have these sorts of regrets.

You worked with Younha on 'For You Now.' What brought about that collaboration?

I am not a personal friend of Younha, but I’ve respected and admired her work for a long time. That’s why I reached out to her and asked her if she could collaborate with me. As for the song itself, she is such a great singer. She went above my expectations in regards to how she was able to express the song, musically, lyrically, and through her expressive vocals.

There’s a song 'Self-Portrait,' but it’s not the single even though it’s the album’s name. Why did you decide to go with 'Let’s Love' versus 'Self-Portrait' for the single?

Although it’s the album’s name, when people listened to 'Let’s Love,' that’s what people enjoyed the most. The phrase is also meaningful, so I wanted to emphasize that.

Was it important for you to make it clear, through picking this song title for the single, to blend your identity as Suho the soloist and Suho the EXO member on this solo album?

I didn’t try to emphasize my identity as a member of EXO particularly while creating this album, but when I started drawing a self-portrait, EXO has been an important part of me over the past 10 years as a person. So it was very natural for this part of my identity to seep into the lyrics and the album itself.

In general, what was your creative process like when approaching this album and its introspective nature?

For the past three months, I’ve only been listening to [rock] music, whether it’s by Korean artists or international ones, and did not listen to any dance music or R&B and jazz music to get into the mood for this album. I paid a lot of attention not only to the music, but also the way they approached their lyrics.

Also, I spent a lot of time talking to my friends to discuss what sort of story I want to express, what message I want to send across. I found areas where me and my friends would agree upon, or have the same empathetic connection. So all of these combined together went into making this album what it is.

It’s almost like method acting.

[Laughs] Yes.

You said you spoke to your friends to get their opinions on the message, but the album is called Self-Portrait, which as an artistic form doesn't typically take into account outsiders’ point of views. Was there any particular importance for you to discuss your ideas with them?

The reason why I spent time talking to my friends is because you can say that my friends know the side of me that I’m not even aware of myself. And even though it’s a self-portrait and my story, if my friends -- or just people in general -- cannot feel any connection to it, it might feel that it doesn’t have enough impact or significance. So that’s why I spent time talking to friends and others about this project.

You’ve had a lengthy career already. Why did you decide that now is the time to share this side of you with the world?

My career as a member of EXO has been almost 10 years, and I will soon be going into my thirties, so I thought it would be a great time to talk about my life in my twenties.

Earlier, you mentioned that you’re nervous about the album’s release. Is there apprehension specifically in showing these new elements of yourself?

People know me from within EXO, and people remember me and my overall image as a member of EXO. But for this album that I’m releasing, both the fans and the general public might be a little shocked to see a different side to me, a different musical genre. I really like this style of music, and I have confidence in this album’s style, but I hope my fans and the general public take some time to listen to the lyrics on the tracks -- one through six -- and I’m pretty sure that after they listen to them, they will love the songs.

You’ve released solo music before, and other members of EXO have gone on their own to release solo albums. So do you really think that this will be truly shocking to listeners to hear a new side, a new story from you?

When it comes to EXO members, usually our solo projects have revolved around balladry, R&B, or hip-hop. At our concerts, many of the solo stages are primarily those sort of performances. A lot of the members have spoken about how these are their favorite styles of music.

But I never publicly, necessarily, showed that I really like [rock] music. Since I never really shared this side of me, that’s the reason I say I’m nervous. I’ve also done musical theater and released songs exploring other genres of music, but this is the first time I’m sharing this so … I think I’m the first one, among our members, to really show something new like this, so that’s why I think fans and the general public might be shocked.

What would be your ideal reaction to this album?

Even if people don’t know Suho from EXO, I hope that people will like my song and become a fan just by listening to this album. I also would love, whether professional or amateur, bands also would enjoy this album. That would be great.

The album is coming out at the end of March, so imagining the rest of the year, what would you like 2020 to bring your way?

Oh, this is hard. I would like to communicate and connect with everyone, whether it’s my members or EXO-L or the general public. I hope it’s a 2020 where we can have many empathetic connections."

Photo links: 1

Credit: Billboard.

#EXO #EXO K #Suho #200331 #exo im #exo k im #suho im #p:news #t:news #fs:billboard #album:self portrait #comeback:Obsession

[starswordartblog]

Super duper late thing for @oc-growth-and-development​ OCtober day 14, Cornered. I was super busy this week.

This can be read on its own but it’s a direct sequel to Day 4′s piece. Because tumblr is tumblr I’ll put a link to that in a reblog.

Also, content warning for religious trauma, I think? I did not base the Cavesong Cult on anything real but I think some warning is necessary for this.

Silvana didn't know why the men of the Cavesong Cult had her cornered. She was a simple village woman in the middle of her daily chores, getting some water from the river through her usual path, one familiar enough for her to navigate in her blindness.

"Miss Silvana, it's an honor to finally be in your divine presence," one of them said, voice trembling with delight.

"Um, excuse me?" She tried her best to hold back the shocked yelp she wanted to give, it would probably be rude around those important men. "I'm sorry but you must be mistaking me for someone else, I'm, I'm no holy woman, I'm but a humble villager under the grace of our God," she explained. No one had been forced to join the cult, but the people all came to accept the Cavesong God in some way. After all, His followers brought prosperity to all the villages in the area in name of their God, and had their magic as proof of His power. The more His influence spread, the more dangerous it seemed to be to invoke His wrath, and some defiant people had already paid the price, having been cursed with bad luck or illness or dried out crops.

"Oh, but you have been chosen to be so much more," the man said, getting close enough to caress her face. She recoiled from the sudden touch, and the man grabbed her by the arm. "There's no need to be afraid. You will finally be saved. You will be the next priestess."

"N-no, I..." the whimper of protest came out before she could stop it. She trembled in his strong grasp, terrified of what could happen if she upset him.

He pressed a finger to her lips. "Now, why would you deny it? God has chosen you to bless all the people in this land. If you reject your duties, surely terrible things will befall the village. You wouldn't do that to your people, would you?"

Why her? The priestess was vital to them. She would seclude herself in the holy grounds and dedicate body and mind to God and magic, securing their holy powers. Even the common people had several prayers to thank her for such an important role.

Why would they chose one this way? How could she shoulder all that? She would fail one way or the other.

But shaken by the man's words, she couldn't find it in herself to voice any more fears. She let herself be dragged away, head low to hide the fearful tears forming in her eyes.

She had never walked that far in her life, so she had no clue where they were anymore, she could only assume she had been taken to the holy grounds in the mountains, where the cult had been born. It was said it was once only a cave, but with magic, they had turned it into a mighty sanctuary, overseeing the passage between the region they oversaw and the rest of the world.

If any of the men had seen her cry, they had thankfully said nothing. She had had time to get used to their voices by then, they were four besides the men who held her, and didn't have the same grave tone as him. In fact, they sounded relaxed, complaining that the priest was getting a bit too paranoid sending so many to escort a single lady, and playfully joking about how special she was. To her humiliation she had also heard they laugh at her tripping countless times along the way, as she struggled to keep up with the hurried man pulling her along.

"Be at ease," he said, to no effect, "there will be no need for you to see or walk. You will only have to listen."

The words hadn't become any clearer or less ominous by the time they finally arrived. At first she heard their fellow holy men greet them, and felt the air change as they came indoors. Then all noise died down. The men behind her no longer cracked jokes or said anything at all, even their footsteps sounded more regular. Were they approaching the priestess' dwelling? She didn't know what to expect. Not for the first time she wondered what had happened to the priestess to start all of that.

She heard someone close a heavy door behind her, and the man who had guided her spoke.

"We have brought her, holy priest."

That actually gave her small relief. She knew the priest. Not only did he often preach in the village and lead the cult's magical effort, he had helped her personally when she needed the most, when she buried her old mother a mere year ago. Maybe with him there things could be cleared up, she was sure it had been only some big mistake.

She was pulled further into the room, her escort having adjusted himself to be at her side instead of in front as he had been so far.

She heard something in front of her move, the scratching noise of rock against rock. It grazed against her mouth, and the man finally let go of her arm to instead grab her head and press her against the stone shape.

"You will not talk," said the voice in front of her. She could barely recognize it as the priest's voice. It had no warmth, no energy, and was followed by a raspy noise.

"You will not run. You will not fight. You will not ask or beg. You will not cry. You will not harm yourself. You will not wish or desire. Should you do that, you and your village will be punished until not even rubble remains. No one will come for you. You will be proclaimed dead tonight, any sighting of you a haunt to be banished."

The stone shifted slightly, scratching her lips. Her arm ached. Her legs trembled. He continued in the same grave, monotonous voice.

"You will kneel in the depths of that cave, until your hear God's voice. You will listen, and the only words that will escape your lips will be His. You will listen to His songs, His magic. You will listen to His every whisper and secret. You will listen until you can tell all of His miracles, His cures to every ailment."

The stone pulled back. Her legs gave in, though her escort caught her by both arms this time, twice as inescapable. Once again she let herself be dragged by him, with no tears this time. She was shocked well past that.

Before walking away without a word, the man set her body to sit against some rocks, but she let it slip and fall to the floor without resistance. Without resistance was her chosen behavior for the day, and possibly her life from there on. It wasn't that part that bothered. She knew she was weak, every peasant should accept that from birth. She didn't mind bowing to higher powers, facing unfair hardships, and being dragged into pointless things. Her entire life was pointless, and it had been peaceful and lovely just like that.

This fate however, was a cruel mockery of her. Thrown into a fancy title, passed around by cruel people who expected so much of her, things she couldn't do. No humbleness, no peace, some futile turmoil where everyone would be doomed. What would happen when she failed, as she was obvious no real priestess? Who would be hurt? How many would be hurt? Why would they hurt the villagers for her mistakes, she had no family anymore and was too shy to have close friends, no one had reason to be involved in this, why not just her? She'd gladly stay with them if they didn't touch anyone else, why make her shoulder so much?

Footsteps approached, and someone wordlessly left a bowl next to her, leaving immediately after that. She recognized the smell of common fruits, freshly peeled. The fruits she grew herself in her small patch of land, the ones she'd eat at breakfast, the ones she'd serve to weary travelers in need of some hospitality.

It was the smell that belonged to a loving home, and the last straw for her. She wailed and wept into her hands, knowing they would disapprove of the noise, they'd warned her, but the guilt only made her cry more. She had worked so hard, no matter how much others looked down on her, all she wanted was an honest life, and now she had no clue what to do, if she'd ever have water to replace all those tears, if she'd ever get to cook again, if she'd ever feel a fresh morning breeze again.

The stale air of that chamber felt like poison. Back in the river they had cornered her. Here they had buried her alive. And that seemed like a long, long death.

Her screams died out into weak sobs, then even those dried out, and she was still alone. Time passed and more time passed, and she was still alone. Her stomach grumbled, and she was still alone, still with no intention of touching any food. Would they force her? Were they even real, had today been just a long nightmare? In that silence, nothing mattered, only the panic inside her mind wouldn't shut up.

"Eat."

She thought she had imagined the whisper, but the wind caught her attention. A weak breeze had blown from somewhere, and her relief was immense. Where did it come from, she assumed she was in a closed off place. She got up to her knees and ran her fingers along the wall, looking for some crack or hole.

It blew again, playing with the curls of her hair around her ear. "Eat," she heard, a little louder.

Silvana took a fruit from the bowl, understanding now the order, even if she didn't know where it came from. She hadn't heard anyone approach, nor did she feel any presence near her.

She felt once more that anguish in the pit of her stomach, that food was now something to be ordered to eat, no love, no care, hosts who didn't even bother to stay around. She clasped the fruit tightly within both her hands and held her head down.

"Please, please," she whispered, "I don't know what to do, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, please talk to me, please just tell me what to do." The weakest breeze caressed her face for a little longer and then, defying logic, twisted and picked up strength only around her arm. The pain she felt from her escort's endless grip was soothed. She touched her lips; the scratches there were also gone.

"I am God," the voice said. "Worship me, pray to me. That will be all."

It was only more orders, but Silvana held tight to the brief kindness the healing miracles had shown her.

"Thank you," she said, and murmured a simple prayer before eating. She hoped that would be enough. She hoped God did not leave her in that silence again.

Theodora risked turning on the dimmest of magical lanterns for a moment, to see the sleeping face of the human woman she had taken pity on. For weeks she had sneaked around in that endless maze of caves and tunnels, unable to escape the watch of the Cavesong Cult enough to leave the mountains. The shame of lying and hiding away burned her spirit, but it wouldn't destroy her. She wasn't throwing her pride away; that was all for the sake of surviving as the last Air Elemental left, her father's beloved Sky Gift.

The Cavesong Priest was an utter fool who had killed her father to conquer the hidden power of the mountains. Even now as it consumed his flesh he still wouldn't repent, strengthening his hold on the region and believing himself holy enough to win a miracle cure. Theodora was a miracle cure yet had no intention to serve him, but if he was desperate enough to beg for messages in the wind she'd gladly play along.

What of the new priestess, though? She was a regular human with almost no magic, what did he expect to gain from her? Maybe he just didn't want to expose himself out there in the mountains, but how would a weak woman protect him more than his subordinates? It was pointless cruelty.

Her father always told her it was a duty of Elemental Spirits to protect humans as the weaker creatures they were. Having only seem the greedy, murderous lot of them, she hadn't had the chance. The young priestess however was merely a victim. Maybe she could be just as evil and corrupted if given the right temptation, but Theodora would say the same of herself if she had looked at the weeping human without a sliver of compassion.

She was no real god, but she could hopefully do something to keep that one safe. One day they'd both escape that hell.

#oc tober #writing #writeblr #writers on tumblr #fantasy #magic #despero #the priestess of cavesong #theodora the air elemental #silvana the priestess #the cavesong cult #cavesong priest #2020