#He is too keen of a person not to be fucking some high quality though yanno what I mean

[fallout-fucker]

Hancock Headcanons (Including Goodneighbour Headcanons) Part One

Surprisingly a really good cook/baker. Will make 5 Star quality full-course meals when high as fuck. Or at least, as good as you can get in the Wasteland if you don't think mutated Brahmin tastes too different from cow. Man's is making steaks.

He also mass bakes when very stressed. There's been times Fahrenheit has walked into the office and seen the kitchenette, the coffee table, any and all of the free surfaces, really, full of trays of baked goodies. Cupcakes, cookies, brownies, special brownies, you name it. When this happens, Daisy has to organise a massive order to traders to make up for all the ingredients he buys. He always gives her extra caps for the inconvenience of Goodneighbour having less eggs and flour, etc, for sale than usual. He makes sure to never take all the stock, though, food's hard enough to come by, especially produce. His town needs it more than he and his baking sessions do.

He always gives away the goods when he's finally calmed down and the stress has eased.

He takes care in making sure the normal goodies are separate from the 'more fun' ones.

The normal goods go to the townsfolk and drifters. He goes to the kids first, though. If it's during the colder months, he'll also take the time to make hot chocolates or warm milk (Depending on what's available) for them.

Actually does his job as the fucking Mayor.

Makes sure the kids have all got blankets, coats, hats, scalves, gloves, socks and shoes, and beds somewhere warm.

He regularly checks this. Has a little checklist for all the items kiddies need. He isn't letting any kids die in his streets. As far as he's concerned, those are his kids. He knows Goodneighbour isn't exactly the most PG place, but the majority of children in Goodneighbour (Like most people in Goodneighbour) don't have parents or anybody.

He'll leave a few trays on the bar of The Third Rail for pickings. Lowkey likes to decorate it with cake stands and stuff. Makes him feel weirdly calm. He gets to just take his time with it. It's a breather from the rest of his 'Mayoral Duties'.

If he's feeling generous, he'll give away the fun goodies too to anyone that wants 'em (Within reason). But Chems and produce can be pricey so he'll sometimes give those to Daisy to sell so he's not wasting a good amount of his personal stash, especially if he made a lot of goods.

He considered giving them to Charlie at first because The Third Rail is nothing if not the place for a great time, but many people who wander into Goodneighbour are vulnerable. From experience (Both personal and second-hand), Hancock knows alcohol + easily accessible edibles/hard chems + vulnerable and desperate doesn't equal anything good. So, he decided against it.

He refuses to give them to AJ because the guy is sketchy, and he's heard about the whole 'Chems For Kids' thing. Hancock's been working discreetly on solving that issue. If he wasn't keen on drunk adults having access to edibles, you can believe he'd have a real problem with anyone tryna sneak it to kids, let alone that kinda dirty money making its way back to him, and that's if AJ didn't sneak some into his own pockets. Which he likely would.

So, that brought him to Daisy. Besides, it also makes up for the ingredients and he lets her pocket a good percentage of the profit as chems isn't usually her deal.

Once more, actually does his job as the fucking Mayor.

Like with the children, he makes sure drifters and such also have warm clothes for the Winter.

Also ensures everyone has clothes suited for Summer heat, too.

Essentially, twice a year (Autumn and Spring) he'll go around Goodneighbour with a survey to see who needs what, at least a few weeks in advance of when the seasonal weather for Autumn/Winter and Spring/Summer usually rolls in. Then, he organises a mass order to all of the trading caravans for suitable clothes, shoes, etc. Then he'll organise a day with timeslots and stuff where groups of people can go up to his office and get what they need.

Imagine a watchman at the entrance of the Statehouse, with a name list and time slots, and a queue outside of the door. In Hancock's office, it's full of cardboard boxes and tables. Him, Far, Daisy, and a few watchmen all giving out the items and checking them off.

Hancock has plans and blueprints to expand Goodneighbour so some of the apartment buildings just outside of the walls can be included in the town. Has a few trading deals on hold and watchmen guards he could use as contractors in mind for the job of converting the Pre-War buildings into livable homes when he is able to.

Unfortunately, with the Warehouse rats and Supermutants settling down just outside the gates, he had to postpone the plans to focus on other issues. All his contractors had to stay as Neighbourhood Watch guards and security just in case the mutants attack. The mutants are on his to-do list, but first is the Warehouse job and making sure people can stay warm in the attic instead of the homes he was hoping to have done before Autumn and Winter.

He predicted temporarily losing more workers in the Winter due to sickness, but didn't necessarily expect some to be rats, unfortunately. So, his options are limited when Sole meets him. Hence sending a stranger to Pickman Gallery and other things.

It's also why he doesn't mind traveling with Sole. Until Spring, his hands are mostly tied when it comes to progress.

Staying in town when he knows he can't do all of the things he needs to makes him antsy. He doesn't like sitting around and doing nothing when he knows his people are relying on him, so it helps to get away from it for a while.

#I'll reblog with the second half but I reached a limit apparently #Like in the game he basically just sits around and doesn't do anything for the town like??? #His terminal basically makes it seem like he just collects caps. #Which it is not in his character to just collect money without giving it back to his people #So massive clothing giveaways! At the very least #There's also no apartments in Goodneighbour just the hotel and people sleep in his attic??? #Why is everyone basically homeless #Surely he wouldn't stand for that realistically. I feel like Goodneighboour has at least one building for housing #But it started to get to a point where it wasn't enough #So Hancock let them into the attic as a temporary solution until he could give them better #It's better than the streets #But no one can be paying any kind of tax without housing so like. It's been a struggle for at least a little while #Hence why he relies on the businesses to bring in the caps to fund the extensions he wants #Fallout #Fallout 4 #John Hancock #Sole Survivor #SoSu #Goodneighbour #Headcanon

[conquestar]

what does your muse smell like?

For anyone with a keen sense of scent, Lucien smells . . . Distinctly not human. His natural scent is a mix of walnuts, almonds, burning metal and ozone. Basically, he smells like the stars. It isn't an unpleasant natural scent, and in some cases, it can pass as fragrance, but it's faint for humans and only becomes stronger if Lucien's body heats up.

In terms of fragrance, Lucien uses gentle earthy tones, some of which complement the scent of almonds he already carries. He isn't trying to overpower his natural scent, but more complement it. His presence is overpowering enough, he doesn't need to have a sharp scent on top of it.

what do your muse’s hands feel like? 

Lucien's hands are proportionate to his height and size, so they are bigger and warm. There are no callouses on his hands, and if touched lightly, they feel very soft. On the rare occasion, he touches someone, he would do so carefully and tenderly—like touching something fragile and/or precious. His skin, overall, feels somewhat close to a warm, slightly malleable metal. He does have veins on his hands, they are subtle, and the same colour as his skin because his blood isn't the colour of human blood—it's pale gold.

what does your muse usually eat in a day?

Lucien doesn't need to eat to survive, so he eats at fine dining places wherever and whenever it suits him. He does enjoy high-quality local cuisine, so he will lavishly enjoy that depending on where he is. He does like sweets, too. Desserts are something he will eat regularly, at least once a day. Otherwise, he eats whatever he wishes on a whim—as long as it's good.

does your muse have a good singing voice?

No. Lucien doesn't sing and has never tried. But if he did, he wouldn't sound pleasant. He does appreciate a good singer though.

does your muse have any bad habits or nervous ticks?

Lucien doesn't get nervous. He has never experienced anxiety or fear. He does have a bad habit of not giving a fuck about human lives, though, or any lives that his presence affects. He also likes a clean environment and dislikes dirt, so he keeps his surroundings obsessively clean. ( He pays and hires people to do deep cleaning, but he isn't above some minor chores. )

what does your muse usually look like / wear? 

Suits and tuxedos, mostly. Lucien wears finely pressed tailored suits. His colours of choice are on the lighter side, and he won't shy away from a pastel tie if he's feeling fancy. His main colours of choice, reserved for special occasions, are white and gold. Otherwise creamy colours and pale blue and his go-to.

is your muse affectionate? how much? how so?

Affection is a tool for Lucien. He will be genuine and affectionate if he sees that the person he's around is affected by it. He can use it to upset someone just as he can use it to soothe someone and make them trust him. He isn't overly affectionate, though. He likes to drip his affection in small, measured amounts.

He communicates affection through touches, brushes of hands. He doesn't touch others because he sees himself as too high above to have physical contact, so when he does touch someone else, it's because he sees them closer to someone worthy of a touch. Or, as said above, he is using the touch as a way to soothe them / manipulate them or such.

what position does your muse sleep in? 

Lucien doesn't sleep, but when he does rest, he lays on his back. He folds his hands on his stomach and either closes his eyes or watches the ceiling. Human beds, and comfortable, so he likes to indulge himself once in a few weeks or so.

If he's sharing said bed with a partner, he will remain turned towards them.

could you hear your muse in the hallway from another room?

Only if he wants to be heard. Most of the time, yes. He doesn't care much if he's heard or not. He has a deep, distinct voice that gets heard even if he doesn't raise it often. It has a gentle rumble to it. More than heard, Lucien's presence can be sometimes sensed—for those who are keen enough. Wherever Lucien is approaching, the world feels somewhat close to the silence before a storm. His step is light for someone his size, though, and he can sneak if he wants to, but more often than not he has no need to be sneaky. He likes to enter rooms and spaces while already being expected, in a way.

tagged by: @lured-into-wonderland

#; 👑 headcanon #; 👑 lucien lawless #[ thank you for tagging me!!! ]

[nitewrighter]

Does Hanzo ever find out what Genji went through/what he was like during Blackwatch? If so, how does he react?

I think he does eventually, like... Genji lets him know that he was in a very difficult physical and emotional place with Blackwatch, and Hanzo’s able to pick up from Mercy that “Okay no, I don’t think you understand, it was really bad”--but she’s also fairly light on the details mostly for Genji’s sake like “Hey, I’m not going to tell you any more than Genji was comfortable with telling you.” And Zenyatta hangs back for the same reasons, and also he wasn’t there so he doesn’t want to distort the details from what Genji’s told him. So the one person Hanzo can actually get the full story from... is McCree.

Also this fic references the first meeting fic so yeah!

----

“Well?” Hanzo had one elbow resting on the bar. Music was faintly playing but it blended in with the humming murmur of the other patrons. Snowflakes were buffeting the glass of the windowpanes just outside and both of them had shrugged off their heavier coats. The bar itself had a homey, lived-in quality to it. Not dirty, but with a definite age to it that seemed to lend a further brightness to the bodies gliding through it and chatting. The icy Andean wind had heightened the redness of Hanzo’s nose and cheeks well before any alcohol had. It contrasted against the cold discernment of his dark brown eyes.

“I’m gonna answer your question with a question--” McCree started.

“Which isn’t an answer--”

McCree leaned back in his bar seat, folding his arms across himself. He almost looked sagely. “Are you asking this because you genuinely think it will help you get a gauge on your shit and move forward, or are you freaking out because things are going more okay than you think you deserve and feel a need to kick yourself square in the Rocky Mountain oysters?”

“Rocky Mountain--?”

“It’s this fried--I’m talking about--” McCree sighed and sipped his whiskey, “I’m saying you’re doing... you’re doing really well, Hanzo. You’re touching base with the team, reachin’ out, you seem to be sleeping and eating better, hell, you’re clutch on missions, but now you’re asking about this, and it worries me.”

“Why should it worry you?” Hanzo’s eyes narrowed.

“Because--y’know... I care about you. You’re a part of this team and I care about you... in a..” McCree cleared his throat, “Team-y way. And... you were stuck in a dark lonely place and I ain’t itchin’ to give you the means to go back there. ”

“But you can understand that the fact that I don’t have the full story distresses me more, can you not?” said Hanzo, “As well as the fact that knowing the more the truth of it is obscured with me, the worse I can assume the situation was.”

McCree scratched at his beard, frowning. “Yeah... yeah I can understand it--but I can also understand Mercy and Zen not spillin’ the beans on Genji’s account.”

“Mm...” Hanzo glanced off and sipped his own drink.

McCree twisted his glass slowly, “Then again, sometimes I think Reyes brought me on the team to begin with because I have a pretty high success rate with the whole, ‘Beg forgiveness before asking permission’ rate.”

Ana called you a charmer, the words almost slipped out of Hanzo but he wasn’t sure how they would land, so he held them in. Instead, Hanzo only mildly gestured at the bartender to refill McCree’s glass.

“Don’t think you’re getting it just because you’re gettin’ me drunk. It ain’t exactly a pretty story,” said McCree.

“I’m prepared,” said Hanzo.

McCree studied him a few moments longer, one hand still wrapped around his glass and one corner of his mouth pulled up with indecision before he closed his eyes and exhaled. “All right,” he said, “If only to keep you from kicking your own ass over what you don’t know.”

“I want you to start at the beginning,” said Hanzo, his stare steady.

“Well t’be fair, Blackwatch was casin’ Hanamura for months, even before your old man passed--er---my condolences--”

Hanzo snorted a little. “It’s... fine,” he said a bit awkwardly. He was more disarmed than really upset at the idea that McCree may have been far better versed in the activities of the Shimada Clan than he had really anticipated.

“Gérard, that is, our UN Attaché, had this whole thing about ‘pulling everything out to the light,’---And the fella was good at it. Could sniff out paper trails and track down dirty money like no other. The initial plan was to get Genji on possession charges and drag the whole clan out behind him. Your old man’s passin’--again, condolences--threw the whole schedule off though. And then we received additional intel that the Shimada dragons might be more.... uh... what’s the word for ‘unusual’ but it’s like... more business-y unusual?”

Hanzo shrugged.

“Un... Im... Uhhh.... Anomalous! That’s the word! Might be more anomalous than we thought and ‘warranting further investigation’ or whatever,” McCree seemed to be easing into the story now, plucking up details from debriefings, “SEP and all its affiliates had been more or less shut down post-Crisis, but there were still worries about human experimentation... strange abilities, and the like. And the dragon stories had been floating around your family for decades, but only when things got destabilized did we consider they might be more than stories. Then we got word that the wheels had been set in motion that the clan would kill Genji before we could get our hands on him--Arrest mission became extraction mission, and extraction mission became rescue mission. The time frame was so sudden we had to bring the Doc along because we thought she would be our best chance at saving him--She wasn’t in Blackwatch, you understand. Wasn’t too keen on undermining the Japanese government either. But... it turns out bringing her along was the right choice.”

Hanzo seemed to be maintaining a veneer of calm, but there was an unmistakeable new undercurrent of tension in his movements and expression as he sipped his own drink.

“You know what he looked like when you left him,” said McCree, “Do you really want me to go into the details there?”

“Yes,” said Hanzo.

McCree huffed and took another gulp of whiskey. The burn of alcohol rasped the first few words of his next sentence. “So it was me, Reyes, the Doc, and a handful of Blackwatch extraction medics touching down in Hanamura that night. Apparently the Shimada clan’s forces were decentralized from the castle. We infiltrated the castle grounds. Found a handful of your security already dead. Took out one more... left his body with the others. Didn’t have time to run a full investigation, or lock anything down. Finding Genji was the top priority. And we found him. Three limbs gone. Puddle of his own blood. Looked midway between... someone had dropped him in a garbage disposal but at the same time... not right--just... gone. The limbs were gone. The wounds were too clean but still bleedin’ out.”

Hanzo’s knuckles curled in, white and shaking as he took a steadying breath. “Consumed,” Hanzo said quietly, “The dragon consumed them.”

“I can stop--” McCree started.

“Finish what you start, Cowboy,” Hanzo’s voice was steady.

McCree swallowed. “I’d seen some fucked up shit under Reyes, but this... yeah, it was new. I kind of froze up, not quite scared, but just trying to make sense of it. But then I snapped out of it as the Doc rushed to him first. I had a vantage point in case other castle security showed up. Reyes was at the opening to that big-ass balcony so he could flag down our evac. So uh, what you need to understand here is that we uh... we actually had very little solid intel as to what the Shimada dragons were capable of.”

“...but I had left the scene well before this,” said Hanzo, trying to puzzle out the timeline of his own fleeing the castle grounds.

“Yeah it... wasn’t your dragon we saw,” said McCree, “See, the Doc, she had to do this... staff... defibrillation thing? I didn’t get a good look at it but Genji, he uh...started thrashin’ and this light sprang out of him. Bright green. Never seen anything like it. He was screaming. Next thing I know he’s grabbing Mercy’s neck.”

Hanzo flinched with some alertness. “What?”

“I mean--first instinct, I’m saying to Reyes, ‘Boss, I got a shot’--like, I know the mission was asset acquisition, but light show or not I wasn’t about to let him kill Angela, but then she hollers out ‘Don’t shoot him!’ And I’m stuck there looking to Reyes like, ‘You’re gonna override that, right?’ And... and Reyes was so calm... I--I could see him doing the math. Breaking people down to resources... breaking their deaths down to trade-offs...”

“You... thought you had to shoot Genji--” Hanzo’s brow was crinkling.

“If Reyes gave me the word,” McCree shrugged, then itched at the brim of his hat, “I never thought someone would hesitate on saving the doc like he was doing right there, though. But.... then she said something to Genji. Never asked what it was, but it seemed to calm him down before he passed out.”

“And you’re saying he grabbed her neck when they first met,” Hanzo’s eyes were narrowed, “But they’re...”

“Well, he was only half-conscious and in this full-on survival mode and she had just... jammed a huge amount of biotic-whatever into his chest. He didn’t know if she was helping or trying to... y’know it was like those times you nearly punched me in the face when I was trying to wake you up from those night terrors.”

“I’m sorry for that,” said Hanzo.

“Psh. If I had a nickel for every time someone took a swing at me out of some kind of traumatic reflex...” he smiled to try and make this seem more lighthearted than it actually was, but Hanzo seemed to still be processing everything, so McCree cleared his throat. “Word of advice, though, don’t make any ‘I guess you’re into that’ jokes with the doc,” he said with a nervous laugh, “No it uh... it took them both a while. I mean, there was this thing there, definitely, but yeah, they were both neck-deep in a whole bunch of shit for a while before they really acknowledged anything.”

“Did Genji take a swing at you?” asked Hanzo.

“Not outside of a Blackwatch sparring ring,” said McCree, “But Jesus, he was scary on the training floor. Still is, sometimes.” McCree paused for a few seconds. “He was obsessed with killing you, y’know. Taking down the whole clan and killing you. Every mission where he got a sniff of you, every mission he thought you might be there and you weren’t, he’d come back snarling.” 

Hanzo blinked a few times and glanced down. He knew it made sense, given the idea of justice their family had ingrained in them, but there was still an odd sting to the idea. But I’m his brother, he thought, but then he thought, But that didn’t stop me. 

McCree seemed to take Hanzo’s silence as permission to go on. “ I’d try to distract him... try to get his head out of his ass sometimes, but a lot of the time... you see any living thing in a state like that, all you can do is give it space. Genji did give us a decent amount of intel on the Shimada clan’s bigger operations... but when it came to actually getting in there... he was always the first one on the ground. As you can imagine, it was personal for him. There were a handful of bullshit ‘stakeouts’ in Japan where Genji would ditch me... I knew Reyes wasn’t telling me the whole story, then again, it wasn’t my job to know the whole story.” McCree sipped his drink. “Doesn’t mean I didn’t know what he was doing, though.”

“...killing heads of the clan,” Hanzo said quietly.

“Can’t exactly confirm or deny that but... yeah,” said McCree. A prickle of alarm seemed to go through him. “Look, I don’t want to kick off any more brother-killing fuckery--”

“You’re not, Jesse,” Hanzo’s voice was subdued, “I was the right hand of the clan... and the destruction wrought by Genji was, if anything, a product of my own actions.”

“Also his actions--He was fucking nightmare--I mean I liked him, but he was a fucking nightmare, sometimes. Lashed out--like... you didn’t really think of him as giving a shit about you with all that seething over the Shimada clan--- but then he’d know how to say something that hurts, and he knows exactly how it hurts, and you wouldn’t know if he learned how to hurt that bad from your family or just because he was hurtin’ that bad and---” McCree seemed to catch the alarmed look in Hanzo’s eyes, then took a steadying breath before sipping his drink again, “Look... this stuff... it’s all in the past. And he is a lot better now. And he is one of my best friends. Kind of wild how someone who hurt you that deeply can be a best friend like that, but... that’s kind of how life works. Kind of how this shit works when you don’t know if you’re coming back from that next mission. We’re all fucked up here. It’s about learning to take the fucked up parts of yourself and trying to make it into something that helps the people that mean something to you. ”

“The people that mean something to me...” Hanzo repeated quietly.  He remembered McCree’s words from his second night on the watchpoint. ‘We’re all just background noise to you. You’re just here so you can stop kicking your own ass after Genji.’ Then he remembered Genji’s words. ‘Well... you’ve been traveling the world for a decade... has there... been anyone? Anyone special? Anyone you loved?’

“...I feel like I’ve let that part of me atrophy,” Hanzo said quietly. Answering Genji’s question, not McCree’s words.

“Atrophy?” McCree repeated.

“When you don’t use a muscle for a long time and... it ceases to be able to functi--”

“I know what ‘Atrophy’ means--” McCree wasn’t making eye contact, “You let... caring about other people... atrophy,” he parsed, trying to trace out Hanzo’s thought process.

“Mm,” Hanzo took a sip of his own drink, “So while I was wandering in grief, Genji was consumed by pain and rage.”

“Which... he’s told you,” said McCree. 

“Well, yes, but he didn’t go into details,” said Hanzo, “I know, this might be difficult or painful to talk about, but I really do appreciate getting a more complete picture of what happened to him after my actions.” 

McCree tilted his own glass back and forth on the bar counter, letting the whiskey rock around the interior.“I know, but...don’t heap all this on yourself. Reyes always said he wanted the cockroach motherfuckers, and he was more than happy to let Genji snap and swear and lash out and burn the house down because that suited Blackwatch’s agenda better than, I dunno, therapy? Only when we got benched after the Venice incident did he yank in Genji’s leash, because hey, it turned out having a PTSD cyborg tearin’ around the base cussin’ people out wasn’t a good look for Blackwatch.” 

Hanzo huffed a little. There was an odd comfort in that. But then he paused, running over the course of McCree’s words in his mind. “...you keep bringing up Reyes,” Hanzo said, fixing his eyes on McCree.

“Sorry--I--I know this should be about Genji,” said McCree.

“No it... it gives some perspective,” said Hanzo, “You trusted Reyes, didn’t you?”

McCree’s mouth tightened for a few seconds before he drew in a short breath through his nostrils. “Yeah... yeah, I did. He just... I mean I’d keep telling myself I was my own person, that I did things with my own style, but so did he. So like... whether it’s ‘your own style’ from fuckin’ Santa Fe or Los Angeles... is there really that much of a difference? If you still picture yourself in their boots, give or take a decade or so?”

“Hm,” Hanzo was thoughtful at this, “I imagined myself in my father’s position so long that when everything came apart and I found myself wandering the world, dodging the clan’s assassins I felt... like a stranger.” 

“Kind of liked being a stranger,” said McCree with slight shrug, “Stranger’s from nowhere. Got nothing to prove.... guess it probably hits different if you got a whole... magical crime lord prince destiny thing, huh?”

“The dragon is not magical,” said Hanzo flatly, but a smile was tugging at his lips. 

“Debatable,” said McCree, “First of all: It’s a dragon.”

Hanzo snorted and a quiet pause passed between them. Not uncomfortable, but definitely tired, letting McCree’s words and all the pain and memory that came with them drift and dissipate into the warm air of the bar.

“...I could tell you more if you want,” said McCree, after a few beats. “I do have funnier stories... wasn’t all... ‘he was fucked up.’ And--Genji did seem to be getting better-ish towards the end there, once they put him on Tracer’s strike team... but by then Overwatch itself was coming apart.” He snorted. “I guess that’s kind of a running theme with this stuff.”

“I appreciate the offer,” said Hanzo with a slight chuckle. He paused. “Tracer’s strike team?”

“Well, she and Winston probably got more stories there than I do,” said McCree, “And maybe the doc, if it’s in good faith.” He sipped his drink. “You’re welcome to run off to try and ask them about it.”

“I think... this is enough for now,” said Hanzo. After a few beats he said, “You’re not... all background noise to me.”

“What?” said McCree.

“That... you said that on the second night,” said Hanzo, “It’s... it’s not that I don’t value life, or other people--I’m just... it’s been a very long time since I’ve worked with other people, since I’ve talked to other people on a regular basis like this, since I’ve stayed in one place this long, and...”  he trailed off, then took a sip of his own drink with some resolve, “I’m afraid,” he said, letting those words sit in the air for a few seconds, “I’m afraid of lending my abilities to another organization that’s used people to hurt other people and then tossed them aside. When your only connection to other people for most of your life was this twisted blood loyalty...” Hanzo trailed off.

“I’m scared of makin’ the same mistakes too, for what it’s worth,” said McCree, “I don’t think fear like that ever goes away.”

“Redemption’s a bitch?” said Hanzo with a slight smile.

McCree broke into chuckles. “You should swear more often. I feel like that’ll help.”

“You’ve sworn plenty for the both of us, tonight,” said Hanzo crisply, sipping his own drink.

“Still, I’m gonna make it a mission to get a ‘fuck’ out of you,” said McCree and Hanzo choked and sputtered. “I didn’t mean it like that! You know what I mean!” McCree was laughing as Hanzo’s attention was split between choking and laughing and desperately looking around for a napkin after spitting his drink. The bartender swooped by with a napkin and the laughs boiled down into chuckles as Hanzo cleaned up a bit. There was another pause then, that same settling of understanding.

“Thank you,” Hanzo said after a few beats.

“You already thanked me--don’t know what’s worth thanking about saying ‘hey your brother was fucked up and so were we.’”

“Honesty. I appreciate honesty.”

McCree smiled and then shrugged.“Hey--y’know, for all the shit I give you,” McCree started and trailed off, “What I said that night about... all of us being background noise... I know that.. that wasn’t really fair. You really didn’t know any of us and, y’know, as far as the general public is concerned, we’re a whole bunch of mercenary weirdoes doing vigilante shit.” 

“And Genji was the only person here I knew, and was really...” Hanzo sighed, “I suppose, I fixed him in my mind to be my last chance at humanity--and made myself out to be a monster to all of you in pursuing that.”

“Well... you’re doing better, I can tell you that much. And... y’know folks are warming up to you.”

“Except Angela,” said Hanzo, with a weary smile. 

“She needs time on that... I wouldn’t try to force it,” said McCree, “Baby steps and all that.” 

Hanzo huffed a little.

“Hey,” McCree lifted his glass, “To baby steps and runnin’ the hell away from all our old role models.”

“Indeed,” Hanzo clinked his glass against Genji’s. Both sipped their drinks and another pause passed over them. Hanzo felt McCree’s eyes on him and looked over at him.l

“Hey just so we’re clear,” McCree’s chin was in his hand, “I didn’t accidentally kick off some huge new bloody vengeance thing by telling you all this, right?”

“You did not,” said Hanzo with a wry smile.

“Oh thank god.” 

#mchanzo #gency

[shootybangbang]

[Talking Bird] 17: In which beans are ruined

[Ao3 Link]

At the mention of Trelawney, Arthur dimly recalls a scrap of half-remembered conversation from last year, when he’d idled with the man in a Lemoyne saloon while waiting for a mark to arrive. The first flicker of your existence, passing him by unknown. Like the brief touch of a licked finger through candle flame: deceptively benign, with just a whisper of the burn to follow.

Somewhere between his first and second glass of whiskey sours, Trelawney had mentioned the burgeoning demand for opium in Chinatown. A former contact of his had recently left the high stakes poker circuit to get in on the profit, and he’d lamented the loss.

“It’s a shame,” he’d said, absently swirling the ice cubes in his emptied glass and regarding the swirling wood grain of the countertop with a pensive, faraway look. And for once, the sentiment had sounded genuine. Knowing him, the man was grieving a lost business opportunity more than anything else, but it’d been a long time since Arthur had heard him even bother to feign emotion for a stranger. “She’s not suited for smuggling in the least. Can’t say I can see this ending well.”

Less Trelawney’s gift for prophecy and more stating the obvious, now that he knows exactly who he’d been talking about. Prickly disposition, clueless when it comes to violence, and far too trusting of strangers. The cavalier attitude of someone who’d never been exposed to serious conflict and who, having since been exposed, lacks even the conviction necessary to put a bullet in the man holding her hostage.

And far too delicate besides.

When you’d pulled the blanket down your shoulders to untie your braid, Arthur had tilted his head back just enough to catch an eyeful of your backside. A pretty thing to put to paper: the wet swathe of hair draped over your shoulder, the faint shadow of your spine a dark curve flickering with the shifting of firelight. Soft, dappled lines wrapped in the body of someone who’s caused him nothing but grief in the past weeks.

The view had confirmed something he’d already been suspecting: your lack of threat to anything larger than a rat terrier.

Judging by your physique, you’d probably struggle to lift anything more than fifteen pounds. Maybe twenty, on a good day. A veritably pathetic amount of muscle tone with none of the etchings that rough living leaves behind.

Some foreign high society girl fallen on hard times, he guessed. But oddly, none of the clumsy caution people of that strata have when confronted with any sort of real work. You’d fallen into the rhythm of whittling bark off the cottonwood branches too comfortably for someone unacquainted with physical labor, handled the knife with a deftness that comes only from rote repetition.

“I knew Trelawney had connections to some gang out west, but I never thought…” You shake your head slowly, dazed by the absurdity of this new development. “Did he know? When I sold them those bonds, did he realize they were yours? And why—”

“Nah, he wouldn’t have known. I, uh… wasn’t too keen on tellin’ folk I got robbed by a woman.” He rubs the back of his neck and lets out an embarrassed huff. “Told ‘em the whole thing was a bust.”

Looking back, he may as well have told them the truth. The lie hadn’t done much to salvage his pride, and had prompted weeks of jibes at his own expense. Snide little asides from Micah, overt ridicule from Bill, and the painful ordeal of Sean.

“Gettin’ sloppy in your old age,” he’d quipped. “I’ll tell you what you need, Morgan. You need to let someone else hold the reins for a change. Someone quick on the uptake, someone young and hot-blooded and—”

“Get back to me when you’re done complimentin’ yourself,” Arthur had replied, already walking away.

“Wait, Morgan — take me with you next time you ride out! I’ll scout somethin’ out, and we can…”

Sean had been insistent as a mosquito and twice as annoying, but ultimately bearable so long as he had a beer in his hand or a pillow over his head. His own head, though he’d been sorely tempted otherwise.

No, what had really driven him to leave camp had been Dutch.

Dutch and his put-upon fatherly air, all stern mouthed disapproval and downward sloping shoulders. His pointed observations of Jack’s tattered jacket, well on its way to becoming a patchwork Ship of Theseus. Pearson’s dwindling supply of seasonings, so scarce that the stews have become bland to the point of near inedibility. The stocks of medicine running low, bandages boiled so many times that their fibers have since frayed to a cobwebbed consistency.

“I know you’re doing your best, son,” Dutch had sighed, casting a weary eye over his threadbare kingdom. “God knows you’re the only man I can depend on to get anything done around here. But folks are… well. Folks are struggling.”

Arthur’s eyes had slid momentarily towards Dutch’s tent, resting on the golden gleam of the gramophone and the crisp cotton sheets laid across the bed. An unbroken sea of white, with not a stitch out of place. And not twenty feet away, Hosea’s shabby lean-to, the older man’s bedroll bearing the same disjointed array of colors as the rest of the camp’s accoutrements.

Dutch always did have a taste for the finer things in life. A level of refinement proportionate to the depth of his ambition, which in earlier days had been tempered by kinder, simpler ideals. Feed those that need feeding. Shoot those that need shooting. Robin Hood-esque, with a western (and occasionally lethal) twist. Evelyn Miller had been a fixture even then, but in those halcyon years Dutch had not yet twisted the author’s words to the tottering worldview that he’s since constructed.

The gang’s nascent success had bred standards and attracted new followers. A ragtag flock all too eager to nourish their leader’s growing, malignant appetite for grandeur.

“Just one last score, and we’ll be clear of all this… this manmade rot.” Dutch said, gesturing in the direction of Blackwater. “But for now, we’ve got to play their game. Get our hands dirty for the time being so we can wash ourselves clean of all this when we’ve finally got the means.”

Arthur had departed under the pretense of retrieving the missing bonds (impossible) or locating some cache of similar value (near impossible), but in truth he’d done so primarily for the preservation of his own sanity. More and more these days, he’s been seeing cracks in the foundation of the man who’d given him this life, dragged him out of the gutter and set him with a previously unwavering sense of purpose. And it feels treacherous — traitorous, even — to take any of it into question.

But as always, the open road and the unabiding sky of the prairie settled him into a different mindset altogether. The cycles of flora and fauna in untouched wilderness exist completely separate from the artifices of men, with the legacies of countless tiny lives encapsulated in the fine grit of the dust to which all things return. And in that certainty comes an overwhelming comfort. Everything else seems trifling in the wake of the vast perpetuity of nature.

A few days spent wandering would do him good, he’d decided. Spend some time away from all the trappings of civilization, then rob some poor sap on the side of the road so as not to return empty-handed.

And then you’d ruined his plans entirely by literally walking into him as he’d been passing through Strawberry.

“Well,” you say, offering up a small, nervous smile. “What now?”

What now, indeed. Arthur pinches the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes. “Guess we take a visit to Trelawney’s,” he replies, already dreading the inevitable embarrassment of explaining the whole sorry situation to the man. “And if it turns out you’re tellin’ the truth, I’ll give you a ride from Rhodes to St Denis.”

You frown and furrow your brow. “Rhodes?”

“Yeah, Rhodes. Trelawney’s got a caravan there on the outskirts of town. You didn’t know?”

“You can’t take me to Rhodes,” you say automatically, as if stating the obvious. “I mean… look at me.”

“You’re a woman?” he asks stupidly.

“I’m an Oriental, you moron. And Rhodes is a fucking… it’s a fucking Raider town.”

“You’d be with me. I’ll keep you safe.”

You shake your head and set your mouth into a grim, flat line. “That’s worse. They might think we’re together. And they don’t take kindly to miscegenation.”

Your words have to them the quality of a veil being drawn back, exposing a corner of this country’s ugliness he’s not often been privy to. A familiar knot of guilt tugs at his innards, accompanied by the unpleasant, impotent sensation that surfaces each time he catches the ungracious stares of the crowd when walking into town with Tilly by his side. Each time he hears the practiced courtesy in a shopkeep’s voice drop away when the man turns away from him to address Charles. Each time he watches Lenny reread for the thousandth time the letter from his dead father, the creases in its paper worn so deep that it would have long since fallen apart were it not for the boy’s careful, reverent handling.

“You know those big plantation houses just south of Rhodes? They hire Chinese sometimes to work the fields. Cheaper than sharecropping, apparently.” The look on your face is drawn and bitter. The bite in your voice suggests something personal, the sting of an injury not yet healed. “One of the boys got involved with a white housemaid. He’d saved up for train tickets to Philadelphia, and they were… he was going to marry her there. Wanted an August wedding. The number eight’s lucky for us, you see. So August 8th, 1898… he thought it was all very romantic. Used to make this stupid joke that he wished he’d met her ten years earlier. Raiders strung him up in an oak tree a couple weeks before they were set to leave.”

Arthur’s tongue lies silent and heavy in his mouth.

You take in a deep breath that rattles with the failing determination of someone struggling not to break their composure, then look to him with a desperation so absolute that it seems almost indecent to witness. “Why don’t you just leave me here? Keep me tied up if you have to. Come back for me when you’re done with Trelawney.”

In the short span of time that he’s known you, you’ve made enough of an impression to warrant several conclusive classifications. A haughty, pampered little thing. An ineffective liar. A self-destructive fool — but not stupid. Definitely not stupid.

The sheer idiocy of your suggestion indicates a fear so deep that it’s completely severed you from your senses. Just a frightened little bird caught in a trap, scratching and clawing for the narrowest possible opening for escape.

“You’re tellin’ me to tie up a woman and leave her in the middle of nowhere? May as well just hand-deliver you to the wolves. No,” he says firmly, trying to shake off the unwanted pang of sympathy. Dutch had been right about one thing — the gang did need money, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to let this opportunity for it slip away out of misguided compassion for a woman who’d literally robbed him as he’d bled out. “I’ll tell you what we’ll do. Soon as we near Rhodes, I’ll tie you to Boadicea the same way I did when we left Strawberry.”

You blink and utter a disbelieving, “Excuse me, what?”

“Reckon they’ll treat us both a hell of a lot nicer if they think you’re a bounty. Gives me plenty excuse for keepin’ you in one piece, too.”

Your face ventures on a quick journey through the five stages of grief. The grief in question being for the loss of your dignity. The blank look shifts to a glare. You open your mouth to spit out something no doubt acerbic and very rude, but a flash of uncertainty crosses your face and you quickly bite your tongue. Then you lower your head and squeeze your eyes shut. When you finally open them again, there is a defeated resignation in them that attests to a lost mental argument.

“You better ride slow if you don’t want a repeat of this morning,” you say wearily.

Arthur shrugs. “Can’t throw up if you got nothin’ in your stomach. We’ll just skip feeding you breakfast tomorrow.”

To his relief, the atmosphere lightens to blessed, familiar hostility. You tell him to go fuck himself. That you’ll literally fight him for the apples you know he has tucked away in his saddlebags. That maybe you’ll throw up anyway purely out of spite. That he’s a miserable piece of shit who you wish—

A sudden flash of lightning illuminates the outcrop for a fraction of a second, painting everything beneath it into harsh shades of white and black. It strikes as sudden and violent as a fiery whip crack, leaving behind it the bittersweet scent of burnt grass and a curl of grey smoke like a departing ghost. Its near-simultaneous clap of thunder drowns out your last sentence with an ear splitting boom so encompassing that the vibration of it seems to rattle down to the bone. The silence that follows has in it the anticipatory hush of the void prior to Genesis. You shatter it with a quiet but appropriately placed, “Jesus Christ.”

The land outside is hedged low in the horizon, and the vastness of its sky swallows all else. It crowns as its dominating feature the movement of its anvil-shaped clouds. They shift leaden and portentous, translucent bellied and lit up by the jagged tongues of lightning darting throughout quick and sporadic as pale dragonflies. Roiling violet like the murky blood of some vast organism, pulsing membranous over the prairie with a fury of near biblical proportions. And below, the buttes with their strange eroded shapes like scattered islands in a black sea of grass. In the torrential dark, their silhouettes flash ivory with every strike of lightning only to sink back into the hushed umbra of night.

There is a muted look of awe on your face, as if witnessing for the first time the true scale of a storm. Something that before now had been glimpsed only through the gaps between high-shuttered buildings. Tempests caught in concrete snares and, not unlike the men that build them, diminished until they are but a feeble whisper of their former selves.

“It’s beautiful,” you murmur. “I never knew rain could be like this.”

With a jolt of displeasure, he finds that the soft expression on your face renders you unexpectedly pretty in the fire’s flickering light, the amber reflection of it bright as copper in your eyes. A gentle chiaroscuro, the smooth line of your cheek and shadowed hollow of your throat the anchor points to which his eye is drawn.

You shuffle a little closer to the outlook’s rain-veiled edge. The roughspun blanket, still drawn tightly around your shoulders, shifts. Arthur quickly averts his eyes, but even so is met with a sliver of bare skin that runs neck to navel. The subtle outline of a breast, the mild fishbone curve of a rib.

And all at once he’s unbearably, disastrously hard, filled with a painful but directionless longing — not just for intimacy, but for the simple reassurance of another body pressed close, skin to skin and breath to breath. A kind of tenderness he’s been deprived of for so long that the memory of it brings not warmth but the brittle cold of hoarfrost. Absence like a thick pane of ice, the things he’s lost visible just underneath.

From the periphery of his line of sight, you’re but an indistinct blur in the vague shape of a woman. How appropriate then, that you should be the focus of this formless arousal. And how infuriatingly pathetic. He hadn’t lied when he’d said you weren’t his type, and yet here he is, his cock stiffer than it’s been in months at just the suggestion of a woman’s naked body.

In desperate search of both distraction and something to obscure himself with, Arthur pulls back the front flap of his satchel and fishes out your blue notebook. He glances briefly in your direction, already anticipating your angry shout of indignation — but you’re far too occupied with watching the progression of the storm to so much as glance in his direction.

The notebook’s contents are far more legible than he’d initially assumed. Most of the foreign characters seem to be either names or places, which makes it possible for him to pick out the main thread of most sentences.

Its first half consists of what looks like a ledger. Neatly organized columns with foreign characters and numbers that he hasn’t the slightest idea how to parse. When he flips past it, a slip of paper scrawled with the same strange, flowing text flutters from the pages and alights delicately into his lap. Arthur picks it up, and as he examines it, it occurs to him that he has no idea how to orient it.

Prior to this, he’d only ever seen Chinese characters painted on the roadside food stalls accompanying railroad workers on their long trek westwards. A strange, complex syllabary. He’d once read somewhere that each word of the language had its own unique character. A sort of pictograph that, when studied, relays its meaning to those who knew how to read it.

He scrutinizes the slip of paper in his hand, but finds himself unable to pick out even the vaguest of resemblances. The corner of the paper bears a square seal of red ink, inset with an intricate consortium of straight lines. Curiosity spent for the moment, Arthur slots the document back in place.

The rest of the notebook looks to be an odd mixture of field observations and long, ornate paragraphs about various landscapes. A few pressed wildflowers, field observations of city flora and fauna, crudely drawn animals reminiscent of the scattered petroglyphs he’s found carved in long-abandoned settlements. An earmarked passage describing the wetlands bordering St Denis, full of strikethroughs and hastily added phrases squeezed into the margins. Another describing what sounds like Cotorra Springs.

“The amber fields are dotted with sprigs of larkspurs and wild flax like blue-violet stars,” Arthur reads aloud.

You turn to face him so quickly that your wet hair arcs through the air like an ink-stained brush, scattering water droplets that sizzle and hiss when they fall into the fire. Wild-eyed as a spooked horse, but frozen into a horrified silence as he licks his finger and traces the rest of the line across the page, continuing, “And even further north, viridian-blue pools from which rise plumes of white smoke, the water still and clear as glass. Hills of black obsidian —”

You scramble towards him and, while clutching the blanket around your shoulders shut with one hand, slap the notebook out of his grip with the other. It lands perilously close to the fire, but you snatch it up without giving a second thought to the nearness of the flames.

“That’s private,” you hiss, hugging the notebook to your chest the way one might accidentally smother an infant.

“Thought it was fair turnaround, seein’ as you never extended that same courtesy to me,” he retorts.

The memory of that miserable morning after surfaces in him like a bloated corpse too persistent to stay hidden. His billfold emptied, ill-gotten gains vanished, and his journal speckled with smeared, bloodied thumbprints from beginning to end. Above a sketch of a mountain wildflower he’d drawn a question mark next to, the word “crocus ?” written in an angular, jagged scrawl.

“Yeah, because I thought you were going to die!” you argue back. “Figured you probably had your next of kin listed somewhere in there!”

Next of kin. The phrase pierces through like a stitch popped out of place, and Arthur nearly flinches. It’s an unintentional blow on your part, but nevertheless he deflects the only way he knows how. When bitten, bite back.

“Oh that’s real charitable, comin’ from the dope-peddler,” he jeers. “You save this compassion for everyone you fuck over, or just me?”

A clear and unguarded expression of hurt crosses your features. The same you’d worn when he’d had to pry his shotgun out of your hands. Forlorn, helpless as a wounded prey animal. But it passes quickly into a cold disdain, your head raised high again and your eyes hard as flint.

“Do you know,” you say quietly, lip curling with contempt. “I seriously considered cutting your throat when I finally realized who you were. I should have.”

Then you blink, forehead wrinkling as you sniff at the air. You glance at the fire, where his forgotten can of beans is beginning to burn.

Arthur curses. He hastily swipes one of his discarded riding gloves from the grass and pulls it on, then grabs the can and blows on its contents, fanning away its delicate wisp of black smoke.

You retreat to the far inner corner of the outcrop and frantically page through the notebook until you find the red-sealed paper sheafed inside. With a sigh of relief, you slump against the rough granite wall, the tense set of your shoulders loosening as though some secret string stretched taut through the frame of your body had suddenly been cut loose.

A sullen silence permeates the shelter, punctuated only by the grating scratch of metal as he scrapes burnt food off the edges of the can with a spoon.

“You forgot to mention that the whole place smells like shit,” Arthur says finally. He keeps his eyes on the can, attention focused squarely on the arduous task of excavating beans.

“What?”

“Cotorra Springs. Smells like week-old shit. Especially around the pools.”

The rustle of blankets. From the corner of his eye, he watches you tentatively scoot closer. “You’ve been there?” you ask. Your voice is still deeply reproachful, but touched with genuine curiosity.

“You haven’t?”

“No. I’ve just seen pictures. And notes from people who have.”

“Huh,” he says. He scrapes another carbonized mouthful from the can. “Could’ve fooled me, the way you wrote about it.”

You raise your eyebrows. “You think so?”

“Sure.

The corner of your mouth quirks upwards in a reluctant smile that unfolds like the breaking light of a clouded dawn. “Well, that’s… that’s good to know.”

“You writin’ a book or something?” he asks.

“That’d be nice, wouldn’t it?” The smile wilts slightly, and you drop your gaze down to the notebook on your lap. “No. Just a favor for an old friend’s husband. The man fancies himself an explorer, but can barely string a sentence together. He’s paying me to pretty up his notes for him. Half of which I think are made up. There’s some bullshit in there about an enormous rainbow colored pond full of boiling water.”

Arthur laughs. “Naw, that bit’s true. I’ve seen it. It’s a hell of a thing.”

You seem skeptical. He doesn’t blame you. Even after having walked the rust-banded edge of that craterous spring himself, his memory of it still carries with it the preternatural awe of a place half-dreamed. He tells you about the slow gradation of color leading inwards from the rim. Ochre to cadmium, to turquoise, to a deep cerulean with the unreal brilliance of a painted ocean. Steam hanging like a pungent fog. Entire stretches of ground covered in a thick, boiling mud, bubbling ominous as something out of Dante’s Inferno. A constant gurgling of earth and water, as if he were treading upon some living thing in the midst of an infernal digestion.

Halfway through his description, you flip the notebook to a clean page and ask him for a pencil, then begin scribbling down his words with an unceasing, determined hand. This bemuses him. That anyone might find his drivel meaningful enough to commit to paper is a new experience altogether. It’s an odd feeling, but not at all an unpleasant one.

That is, until you begin peppering his narrative with so many questions that it takes the better part of an hour to accommodate them.

What kind of plants grew there?

“Bunch of disgusting slippery shit around the edge. Algae or something. Other than that, can’t think of a single thing that’d lay roots in boiling water and sulfur.”

Did the mud boil like roiling water, or was it more the viscosity of a slow simmering stew?

“More like wet cement, really.”

Were there animals?

“No. Nothing there for ‘em.”

Birds?

“Didn’t see any.”

Insects?

“A shit ton of gnats, but not much else.”

How wide were the prismatic bands around the crater? What was the geology like? Did the surrounding forest taper off gradually in the vicinity of the spring, or was the loss of vegetation sudden and absolute as a drawn border?

“Give me your notebook.” he says, having finally reached the point of exasperation. “Easier if I just draw it for you.”

To his faint surprise, you hand it over without hesitation. He sketches out what he’s able to recall, all the while acutely aware of the madness of the situation. Fucking illustrating an account of his own wanderings for the woman who robbed him while they both sit in varying states of undress. Scribbling out a messy landscape in the same notebook whose contents he’d derided just a little while ago. Focusing all his attention on Cotorra Springs so as to ward away the unfortunate possibility of another inopportune erection.

The mediocre drawing he finally manages to scratch out would have disappointed him under any other occasion. Instead, he feels a warm flood of relief at its conclusion. If this doesn’t shut you up, then nothing will.

Nothing will, it seems. To his immense chagrin, the drawing sparks another round of questions. After silently admiring his work just long enough to spark hope of your satiety, you ask him about the species of the trees. Had he explored the nearby forest? Were there flowers? What season had he visited in? Was the acrid smell of sulfur present even here?

“Look,” Arthur says wearily. “You clearly come from money. Why don’t you just hire someone out to take you sometime?”

You snort at the suggestion. The corner of your mouth lifts upwards into something that’s only nominally a smile, and more the type of grimace that accompanies an old wound. “The only two men I’d trust enough to take me out into the middle of nowhere are dead. And with the money I owe, I can’t… I can’t just… you know what?” you say abruptly. “It’s getting late and I’m fucking exhausted. I’m going to sleep.”

And with that, you tug the blanket tight around your shoulders and huddle against the ground like a felled shrimp. You lay with your back to him, the words left unsaid hanging over you both like an unripe fruit of a question.

Arthur fetches his bedroll and unfurls it close to the fire. A battered pillow emerges from the worn tarp as he spreads it flat. After a moment of contemplation, he picks up the pillow and tosses it in your direction. It hits you square on the head.

Immediately, you sit up and snarl at him. “What the fuck is wrong with — oh.” You pick up the pillow and grasp it tight, as if at any moment he might change his mind and demand it back. Your small “thank you” is puzzled and uncertain.

“I’m gonna put out the fire,” he says. “You try to slit my throat in the dark, I’ll wring your neck.”

But the threat comes out empty and toothless, and judging by the renewed sarcasm in your voice when you tell him you’ll keep it in mind, you seem fully aware of it.

Arthur douses the flames by kicking dirt over the embers, which glow dim and vermillion for minutes afterwards, fading slow to dull, crumbling ash when the heat finally bleeds out of them. The pleasant smell of smoke lingers inside the shelter for a good while longer, but even that dissipates eventually, leaving just petrichor and the crisp, clean scent of early autumn rain.

The worst of the storm has shifted westwards. Water drips in a steady stream from the outer edge of the overhang, churning the ground below to a soup of mud. The cloud cover is still dense, but it’s thinned enough that moonlight gleams through the feathery underbelly in a pale and spattered mottle. With it, he can make out the dim outline of your body, the rise and fall of your chest in a slow, steady rhythm he sorely doubts you’d have the patience to feign.

He lies awake there in the dark for a long while, shuffling through a jumble of discordant emotion. It’s as if the pieces of several sets of puzzles have been mixed together and jammed into an incomprehensible mess, so hopelessly and thoroughly muddled that he can no longer tell where one thing starts and another ends. He sorts his way through it until the rain weakens to a grey drizzle and the drip of rainwater turns from the unbroken stream of a faucet to a series of droplets beating out an abstruse morse code against the ground.

In the end, he’s only able to definitively place a single solid sentiment. Pity.

———

Couple notes:

Arthur's understanding of Chinese is incorrect, but aligns with the assumptions a lot of Western scholars during that time period had regarding it. There was a big tendency to treat it like Japanese, which despite using some of the same characters, uses a completely different structure.

Cotorra Springs seems to be based off Yellowstone. The big boiling rainbow spring is actually real: it's called the Grand Prismatic Spring and seriously does look like something out of a fever dream. Yellowstone also does smell like sulfur in some places, but it’s not so much like week old shit as it is the potent fart of someone who’s eaten far too many deviled eggs.

No algae grows in the spring. It's actually cyanobacteria, but there's no reason Arthur would know this. It does look pretty gross up close.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan/reader #arthur morgan/oc #fic #red dead redemption #rdr2 #my work #talking bird

[fanfoolishness]

in the long night (Hawke x Varric)

Written for @oneshallop and also up on AO3.  They requested Hawke and Varric on the Deep Roads expedition with some early hints of pining.  I hope it fits the bill!  2836 words, Hawke, Varric, Act 1 of DA2.

***

It was dark.

Varric almost roared with laughter at the thought.  Of course it was dark.  It was the Deep fucking Roads, wasn’t it?  

Sure, maybe in old dwarven tales these tunnels were supposed to be awash with red-gold, welcoming light, but every kid in Hightown’s dwarven quarter knew the Deep Roads had been overrun centuries ago.  There were still some intact corridors here and there where you could see the magma channels lighting the way as they’d been intended… but there were far more lonely and dangerous areas, where the magma had long ago been freed in cave-ins and cooled into just another kind of rock. Those corridors sat empty in the long-forgotten dark.

The thing was, though, it wasn’t pitch black, at least not where they’d set up camp for the night.  They had the torches and the campfire made of magelight to thank for that.  The orange-yellow of torchlight, the blue-white of mage-fire, they cast deep and disturbing shadows in the dark.  It disquieted him.  He almost wondered if it wouldn’t be better to let the lights go out, except that was complete crazy talk.

He hunkered down, trying to find a comfortable way to sit.  He could sit on this broken lump of rock, but then there was no back support.  Sit on the ground and that would take care of his back, but then his ass would start aching.  He decided on the floor, groaning under his breath.  

This lead of Bartrand’s better pan out , he thought sourly.  He cast a glance over his shoulder, where Bartrand and his crew had taken over most of the lower level.  Their torches lit the place up a little more, but the murmuring echoes of the mercs he’d hired were weird and distorted in the high open ceilings.  He tried to ignore the sound and the way it made his spine tingle.

A rustle at his side.  He nearly reached a hand toward Bianca, but this sound was familiar, somehow.  Safe.  He followed it to the source and saw the elder Hawke slipping out of her tent to tend to the fire, her hair mussed, her robes rumpled.  

“Trouble sleeping?” Varric asked.

A startled look crossed her face, followed by a shrug once she realized it was only him.  Shadows pooled along her cheekbones, dark semicircles cupping her keen eyes.  “I could ask the same of you.  Isn’t your bigshot brother paying for extra guards?  No need to keep watch, I thought.”

Varric chuckled, letting discomfiting thoughts about the long tunneling dark fade away.  This was a good distraction.  “You really think Bartrand managed to convince quality muscle to come along with us?  Oh, Hawke, he talks a big game, but I wouldn’t trust him farther than I can throw him.”

Her eyebrows leapt up somewhere in the vicinity of her hairline.  “You do realize this doesn’t exactly inspire confidence in the expedition.  Or in the Tethras name.”

Varric waved her protestation away.  “Bartrand not having an ounce of charm in his body is his problem.  I, fortunately, do not suffer from the same issue.  Ergo, I was able to find some decent people for this thing.  Such as yourself, partner.”

She let out one of those sharp-edged laughs he was beginning to know well.  “You do have quite the silver tongue, dwarf, I’ll give you that.”  She bent over the fire, concentrating.  It flared up before her, dancing bright blue-white against the shadows.

“Thanks,” said Varric.  

“I can’t stand it being so dark down here in the lower levels,” she said, leaning against a chunk of paving stone that had been torn from the main floor.  “It’s unnatural.”  Then she glanced at him.  “Er, I mean, for humans,” she said clumsily.

Varric held up his hands.  “Believe you me, Hawke, I’ll moan and complain about the Deep Roads as much as any human.  Dwarves get some things right, sure -- they know what they’re doing when it comes to smithing and bullshitting -- but living underground forever, it’ll never play right for me.”

“You were born on the surface, then?” Hawke asked curiously.  

“Born and raised,” said Varric.  “Family had a nasty fall from grace in Orzammar when Bartrand was a little kid.  They were forced to run from their fuckups down here up to the surface.  My dad died not long after I was born, and my mother never recovered from the move.  Not sure if Bartrand ever did, either.”  He gazed into the fire.  Silver-white sparks leapt from its flames.

“Oh,” said Hawke, first looking taken aback, then her face softening.  “I’m sorry -- I didn’t realize.”  She could be startlingly empathetic when she wanted to be, he’d noticed.

She sighed, shaking her head.  “Family.  Dreadfully inconvenient, aren’t they?”  Then again, she was just as likely to laugh the big stuff away, just another joke.  He liked that about her.  Liked it in himself, too.

He chuckled.  “You realize Carver is literally five feet away, right?”

She glanced over at her sleeping brother.  He’d said he felt claustrophobic, setting up a tent in a closed tunnel, and had instead opted to sleep out in the open.  She watched his chest rise and fall for a few beats.

“Carver’s different,” she said, “despite the way we fight.  It’s our fighting, right?  That’s the important bit.”  She flashed Varric a too-tight grin.

Varric thought of Bartrand, all family name and getting ahead, all Brother, you have to take this seriously or they’ll eat you alive.   He thought of just how often he’d been an absolute shit of a little brother, and how much Bartrand had really deserved it (completely, most of the time).

“There’s something to that, I suppose,” he said cautiously.  “But Bartrand really is an ass.”

“So’s Carver,” Hawke laughed in that bright, airy way of hers.  For a moment, though, her face slipped into genuine fondness. “That’s part of his charm.”

Varric snorted.  “That’s one word for it.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” said Hawke in mock-offended tones.  “As the eldest sibling, I’m the only one permitted to say such dreadful things about my own brother.  Which I have before, and which I’ll do again, thank you very much.”

Varric shifted positions, sitting up on top of his chunk of rock, seeing if that would help his aching back.  Eh.  Not much difference.  

A thought struck him, one he knew he shouldn’t say.  You never talk about the other twin that way.   But that was something private, wasn’t it, something he’d only gleaned from weeks of dropped references in casual conversation with the Hawke siblings.  At first he’d wondered if Bethany was a cousin back in Fereldan; a distant relative long-forgotten.  It’d taken an overheard conversation between Hawke and her mother for Varric to figure it out, and an aside with Aveline, plied with more than a little ale, to confirm it..  

He stuffed the information back down, watching the firelight flicker in her eyes.  If she wanted to tell him about Bethany, she’d do it, and it didn’t gain him any advantage anyway, knowing the blow she and Carver had suffered.  He held his tongue.

“You’ve gone quiet,” she observed.  “You never did say what you were doing out here.  Something nefarious, I’m certain.”

“Oh, you know me,” said Varric loftily.  “I’m just here for the scenery.”

Hawke giggled, loudly enough that Carter grumbled and rolled over before lapsing into a loud snore.  She stifled her laugh, just barely.

“Ah, yes.  Creepy empty caverns, moldering ruins, the endless dark.  You really know how to show a girl a good time,” she teased.

He shivered.  Or was he blushing?  He wasn’t sure.  Something squirmed in the pit of his stomach.

“Where better than the ass end of Thedas for a little romance?” he asked, in a voice that felt a good deal less smooth than he’d meant it.

Hawke wiped a tear away.  “This is why I like traveling with you.  You’re right.  If Bartrand had been doing the talking, Carver and I would never have thrown in our lot with you.”  She let out a long breath.  “Ah, thanks for that.  I’ve been feeling rather uneasy down here, to be honest.  A good laugh’s a bit of a relief.”

“Varric Tethras, at your service,” he said cheerfully.  Funny, though, that little bit of disappointment threading through his words.  Why was he thinking of Bianca now?  He shook his head.  “Well, Hawke, you’re not the only one with the creeps down here.  I thought maybe keeping an eye on camp would make things feel more normal, but turns out the place is damn spooky no matter where you sit.”

She nodded.  “I could see my fire fading through the gap in the front of my tent.  Didn’t feel right to let it go out.  So I’m keeping an eye on it, for now at least.”

“Seems like you’re getting better at them to me,” said Varric.  He didn’t know much about magic, but he’d long noticed that Anders was the one running around throwing fireballs while Hawke was much more likely to somehow conjure up a miniature earthquake.  

“That’s sweet of you to say,” said Hawke. “Anders is much better at elemental magic than I am, but since he’s still up surface-side, I figured now was a good time to practice.  It wasn’t my father’s strength, either, as far as I know.  Or maybe he thought it’d be harder to hide fireball lessons out back of our farm.”  She shrugged.  “But I’m learning things, much as I can with the Chantry breathing down my neck.”

“Maybe it’s for the best Anders isn’t here.  I gather he’s spent way more time in the Deep Roads than any sane person would ever want to,” said Varric.  He could just hear Blondie’s complaints starting up in the back of his mind.

“It’s one reason why I didn’t ask him to come with us,” said Hawke cheerily.  “Felt sorry for the poor fellow.  I’m sure he’s enjoying the sunshine from Darktown.  ...come to think of it, it’s not that far off from being down here, is it?”

Varric laughed.  “Good point.  Though sometimes I swear you can see the sun through holes in the walls there… and it smells better here.”

“Do you miss it?  Not Darktown, obviously.  Kirkwall,” said Hawke.  “It’s been… what, a good three weeks now?  It’s the longest I’ve seen you away from the city.”

Varric considered.  He’d gone on long journeys before, been away from Kirkwall for weeks, even occasionally, months at a time on Guild business, especially after their mother died.  Bianca flitted through his thoughts again, Bianca and intrigue and furtive meetings in shitty towns.  But none of that felt right to bring up here, not to Hawke with the fire’s reflection in her darkened eyes.  

“I miss the Hanged Man,” he said honestly.  “Every time I try to lay down for bed here, I just think back to my bed back in the inn, and think ‘Tethras!  You’ve gone insane.’”  

“Ugh, you and me both,” said Hawke.  “I think I’ve got bruises on bruises from all these rocks.  Hopefully we’re not down here too much longer.”

“We can always dream,” said Varric, but the words felt hollow in the dark, and he drew his coat closer around himself.

Hawke nodded, but she seemed pensive.  “I suppose,” she said.  She shifted, sinking deeper into her robes.  “Hmph.  Well, as long as we aren’t sleeping, care to join me in a snack?”

“Depends,” he said cautiously.  He’d had her cooking before.  Carver’s was far and away the better meal.  

“I’ve been saving these.  For a special occasion, as it were.”  She rummaged in the pack beside her.  “I figured the special occasion would be for when I absolutely couldn’t tolerate another bite of Lowtown hardtack, but what d’you know, sharing it with a friend sounds all right, too.”

“You actually have something good in there?” Varric asked in surprise.  The perishable stuff had all gone a few days ago, and he’d started his grumbling about the salted pork that morning, right on cue.  

Hawke pulled free a waxed paper bundle, tightly wrapped.  “I may have tried a spell of stasis on these,” she said.  “I’m still working on the technique, but I think I’ve got it down for little things like this.”  She unwrapped the bundle and a tiny flash of light dissipated from the contents, the spell breaking at its maker’s touch.

“Chocolate almond biscuits, from Camille’s in Hightown,” she whispered, looking downright conspiratorial.  “It was the end of the night, that last night in Kirkwall.  The bakery was just about to close, but I saw them packing these up off the cart outside.  The baker’s girl told me they were getting a bit stale, but did I want to buy them anyway, half price?  Carver ate his straight away -- didn’t see the point in them getting staler -- but I wanted to save them.  Don’t know why.”  

Two biscuits sat in their waxed wrapping, delicate golden squares worked with scrolled lustrous chocolate, stamped with the Kirkwall crest.  He’d passed them up a hundred times, sweet sugary nonsense meant for nobles with more money than sense.  Bartrand would have scoffed.  But they smelled amazing.

“Aw, come on, Hawke,” tried Varric.  “They’re yours.  You should have them.”

“A good biscuit’s better shared, or at least it’s what my father used to say.  Probably so as to keep his children from fighting amongst themselves for the last one, but it’s a nice sentiment regardless,” said Hawke.  She shoved the biscuits at him.  “Go on, then.”

“All right, all right.  If you insist.  Only because you’re a powerful mage and I don’t want to get on your bad side.”  He reached out and took the top biscuit. It was a solid thing, sturdy in the hand.  The chocolate beneath his thumb tip began to melt, soft and silky against his skin.

“Cheers, Varric.”  Hawke took up the other biscuit and nudged it against his, then took a bite.  “Mmm,” she hummed, closing her eyes.  “Just as I’d hoped it would be.”

Varric bit into his biscuit.  It snapped satisfyingly against his teeth.  He tasted buttery almonds first, then a deep, complex sweetness tempered by smooth bitter chocolate.  He paused, savoring it.  “Damn.  No wonder they charge an arm and a leg for these.”

“Worth every copper,” Hawke agreed, a silly grin spreading over her face as she finished her biscuit.  Varric finished his a moment later, regretfully licking the last of the chocolate from his fingertips.

“Thanks, Hawke.  You didn’t have to do that.”

“Oh, I know,” she said, her eyes twinkling.  

The fire rolled and flared, almost a living thing, fighting against the shadows.  He half thought he could see a pattern to it, a heartbeat, a touch of Hawke herself within the flames.

Silence grew between them, a comfortable, familiar thing like the weight of a good blanket.  Or the taste of secret chocolate in the dark.  It felt good, until it was broken by a yawn Hawke tried to hide.  

“You should get some rest,” Varric said softly.  “The fire’s a good one, Hawke.  You don’t need to worry.”

“Hmm, but I worry all the time,” she chuckled, yawning again.  “But don’t tell anyone.  It’s a secret.”

He felt a pang, though he wasn’t sure why.  “Dwarf’s honor,” said Varric.  “Assuming you put stock in such things.”

“In yours?  Of course I do,” she said.  She gave him a tired smile.  “All right, then.  I’ll get some sleep if you promise to do the same.  It wouldn’t do for us to be too tired to carry back our fabulous treasure.”

“Imagine if we’d have to leave it behind due to exhaustion.  It’d be a crying shame.  We’d never live it down,” said Varric.  “All right, you’ve convinced me.”  

He got to his feet, his back and ass aching as predicted.  He reached out a hand to Hawke and she gripped it, hard, her calloused hand small but steely against his own as he helped her up.  “Thanks, Varric.”

“No problem.  See you in the morning, Hawke,” he said.

“If you can call it that,” she said.  “But I’ll see you then.”  She slipped back into her tent, and Varric returned to his.

He stretched out on his bedroll, staring up at the ceiling.  The blue magelight -- Hawke’s light -- seeped in through the cracks of his tent flaps.  He watched its delicate choreography through drowsy eyes.

They had this.  He knew it now in his bones.  Bartrand had his team and his map, and that was all well and good, but Varric had Hawke and her people, and he’d put the money on them every time.  No matter what they found on this crazy expedition, they’d be ready.

He smiled tiredly.  Yeah.  He had Hawke.

The tent was still and quiet.  His eyes fell shut; his breathing slowed.  He drifted off to sleep in the long night of the Deep Roads, still tasting chocolate.

#hawke x varric #hightown funk 2020 #hightown funk #varric x hawke #dragon age 2 #varric tethras

[seasonofthewicth]

A Groovy Kind of Love - Chapter 9

AN: a slightly longer one today guys, got myself all emotional with the rowaelin here and i hope it gets you too

masterlist - ao3

------ 

“He was friendly when he first came in,” Chaol’s normally subdued tone was full of energy as he spun his tale, eyes wide with excitement as he looked towards Aelin. “But then so quickly he goes completely crazy, shouting and ranting so loud in my face that Maeve has to come in and see what the problem is.”

Yrene laughed fondly at her husband as she rested a hand on his shoulder where she sat across the wooden staff room table from Aelin, “You could hear it all the way down the corridor.”

Aelin laughed as she took in Chaol’s wide eyed expression and Dorian’s restrained laughter, Yrene’s gentle grin and Nehemia’s cool smirk.

Her first parent-teacher conference at the new school was this evening, and to her absolute delight, her friends were busy spinning their horror stories. Admittedly, she was nervous for the event, and even though it wasn’t her first time it was always an unnerving experience at a new school. It was her opportunity to introduce herself to the parents as Miss Galathynius and show them who she was, what she had, and to prove to them that she was the best choice for their children.

Realistically, she knew she had no reason to be nervous, her class were a great group of children, they all tried hard and engaged enthusiastically with her lessons, but meeting their parents for the first time was important. Making her first impression as an educator was important, and she knew that people sometimes unfairly judged her. At her previous school she knew some of the parents had made some unfair and incorrect assumptions about her but she had tried not to let it bother her. Had tried to brush off their barely hidden insults about her styles of teaching and even her choices of clothing. She couldn’t change peoples’ opinions but she could try to change their lasting impressions of herself.

Dorian had assured her that the majority of the parents at the school were great, most were pretty chilled out as long as their child wasn’t falling too far behind, which Aelin knew hers weren’t. That said, it was Dorian who had prompted the story time session in the break room, wordlessly picking up on her nervousness and launching into every horror story he could remember from his years teaching.

Since their ill-fated affair he had cemented his place in her life as one of her closest friends, rivalling only Lysandra in level of familiarity and they had spent an increasing amount of time together. From coffee runs to lounging around the loft watching movies she enjoyed every moment they spent together and she was comfortable that there was no remaining awkwardness from their brief tangle.

She hadn’t told anyone the outcome of their date yet, she hadn’t had much time to catch up with Lysandra since, and it wasn’t something she was particularly keen to tell her roommates. As much as she loved them there were times that their typical guy nature made her hesitant to share, and her failure to sleep with her date was not something she felt like sharing with them.

She was especially reluctant to share that piece of information with Rowan, he had told her to forget about their moment in the kitchen, and she had tried. It just hadn’t worked out quite as she had planned. But she was resolved, she would get over him, and if having him think she was dating Dorian told him she was, she wasn’t complaining.

“It took five minutes for us to even figure out what he was yelling about.” Chaol continued, flashing her an exasperated look.

“Which was?” Aelin asked, already grinning in anticipation of whatever ridiculous answer Chaol could give.

In her experience Chaol was a by-the-book teacher. She liked him, he was pretty smart, straightforward and an involved and ambitious teacher, she couldn’t imagine him doing anything deserving of being shouted at by a parent.

“Chaol had, completely unreasonably,” Dorian drawled sarcastically, tossing his unstarted apple between his palms, “decided to offer his students a quiz for the last class of the week instead of one more hour of curriculum teaching.”

Yrene sketched a mocking gasp and Nehemia held a hand to her chest as she rolled her eyes at the story.

“Could you imagine such a thing?” She laughed, eyes dancing with mirth as she grinned over to Aelin.

Aelin shook her head in mock horror at Chaol, unable to fully hide her smile as she laughed along.

“How could you?” She asked, half laughing at the absurdity of the parent’s rage and half at Chaol’s over the top attempt at a dejected expression. “You aren’t actually making me feel any better about later, by the way.”

Yrene reached over to squeeze her shoulder, “You don’t need us to do that, they will all love you I’m sure.”

Aelin needed more of Yrene’s optimism in her life and admittedly the woman’s kind smile was infectious. She was also right, why wouldn’t they love her?

------

The documentary on the television hadn’t fully captured Rowan’s attention, it was something about an animal in the rainforest and he had missed the part where it’s name was given, but it would do for a lazy afternoon while the rest of his roommates were at work. The afternoons were one of his favourite times of the day, he had the loft to himself to read or watch or listen to whatever he wanted in the usually shared spaces rather than his ordinarily messy and somewhat cramped bedroom.

Being the only one of his roommates to not work in the daytimes had its ups and downs, the freedom and space was a definite pro, but sometimes it could be lonely sitting around the loft on his own, and the days Lorcan was off with him after working a shift were often ones he enjoyed the most. His friend had a sarcastic and wicked sense of humour that worked well with Rowan’s relatively blunt demeanor. He’d never tell him that though.

Of everyone in the loft he had known Lorcan for the shortest amount of time. Technically, but he didn’t count the years of Aelin being in his periphery as knowing her. They had met through Fenrys, and Rowan wasn’t convinced that even Fenrys knew how he had come to be friends with the surly male, their personalities weren’t ones Rowan would have expected to be friends, but years later Lorcan had managed to cement himself as one of Rowan’s closest friends.

He checked the time on his phone as the sound of the loft front door caught his attention, none of his roommates should be at the loft at this time.

Seconds later Aedion came into view, already shucking off his tie before launching himself onto the couch next to Rowan with a deep sigh. Rowan slowly turned his head towards his best friend, waiting for him to reopen his eyes before raising his eyebrows.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” He began. “But why are you here?”

Aedion laughed before rolling forwards to sit upright on the sofa.

“Turned in the final piece for one of our biggest accounts this morning so we all got the afternoon off.”

“Nice,” Rowan nodded, Aedion probably worked the hardest of all of them in the loft. He worked for a marketing firm that had a bunch of high profile clients and he spent many nights in the office working overtime. Rowan shared those unpopular hours, but was grateful he didn’t have the early mornings too. “What are you doing for the rest of the day then?”

Aedion shrugged. “Thought I could spend some quality time with you my friend. Maybe find out what you wanted to talk to me about the other day.”

Aedion’s smirk was predatory, and Rowan felt like a deer in the headlights. He opened his mouth then closed it again.

He had been more than lucky to have gotten away with it for so long, he was surprised Aedion had managed the few days of Rowan saying nothing before giving in and straight up asking.

Since Aelin’s date with Dorian the man’s presence had become a regular feature of the loft, each visit reducing Rowan’s desire to admit any of his feelings about Aelin to anyone, let alone Aelin herself. He had tried to avoid being in the room when they were snuggling on the couch or had quickly changed the topic when he had come up in conversation.

Message received. He was at least glad that Aelin seemed happy, and it was his own fault that it wasn’t with him. He had told her to forget it ever happened and she had. Why Aedion wanted to make him talk about it now was anyone’s guess, he just wanted to deal with it alone. Preferably by not thinking about it, or at least trying not to.

“Oh nothing,” He brushed it off. “It doesn’t matter now.”

Aedion raised a golden eyebrow, unimpressed with Rowan’s clear denial and he winced internally. He should have known better than to assume Aedion would have been satisfied with that.

“Are you sure?” Aedion’s question was all too innocent. “You sure it wasn’t about anyone in particular?”

Rowan gritted his teeth, knowing he was just going to have to let this play out.

Aedion took a moment, pretending to ponder his next words and letting Rowan stew in his anticipation. “Not even my darling cousin?”

Rowan felt his cheeks begin to burn as he chewed on the inside of his lip. Aedion was a smug son of a bitch, smiling at Rowan like a cat who got the cream.

Rowan took a deep breath in. “Don’t fucking tell anyone, okay.”

Aedion’s expression dropped into something slightly more serious.

“Pinky swear,” Aedion grinned at him and Rowan flashed him a glare.

“I’m definitely not saying anything if you’re not being serious.”

Aedion cleared his throat, making a show of sobering his expression. “I’m serious, okay, now go.”

“So you clearly know something went down between me and Aelin,” That was as good a place to start as any he supposed. “How did you even find out about that?”

“Lysandra.” Aedion’s voice was almost dopey as he said the woman’s name. Gross, even though he was happy for his friend it was gross.

“Nice to know you and your girlfriend have nothing better to do than gossip about me.” Rowan frowned.

“Believe me, we have better things to do,” Aedion’s grin took over his whole face. “It’s just when we’re done we move on to pitying you…”

“I said be serious.” Rowan said bluntly, embarrassed enough as it was.

“Sorry, sorry.” Aedion held his hands up. “Continue.”

“There isn’t much more to be said.” He paused, realising the almost uncomfortable truth in his own words. “She’s moved past it anyway, like I told her too, so that’s it. We’re good, no danger of that.”

The look Aedion gave him was pure pity and Rowan looked away fast.

“Ro,” His friend’s voice was soft as he said his name, but he struggled for anything more, clearly reading Rowan better than he ever wanted to be read.

Rowan shrugged. “It’s fine, we’re all good.”

Aedion opened his mouth to speak but Rowan interrupted before he could get a word out.

“You need to tell her about you and Lysandra.” He could only see the secret ending in disaster, and now he was involved. He owed it to Aedion to keep the secret, but the guilt of keeping it from Aelin was eating away at him.

Aedion sighed, “I know. We will, soon. It’s just, when? You know?”

“You need to do it soon.” Rowan told him, feeling somewhat like a parent scolding a child. “You’re only going to upset her, and keeping it all a secret longer is just going to make it worse.”

Aedion looked down to the couch they sat on, avoiding Rowan’s eyes.

“I know.” He sighed.

“I don’t want her to get hurt.” It was as much as Rowan was willing to admit out loud.

“I don’t either.” Aedion’s tone was defensive and Rowan sighed.

“Now,” He began, pushing off the couch and standing above his friend. “I have a shift at the bar, you coming?”

Aedion half-smiled up at him. “Alright, but I’m not paying for any of my drinks.”

Rowan scoffed, “When do you ever?”

Aedion rose to his feet, shrugging, “Just making sure.”

Rowan rolled his eyes, feeling as Aedion always made him feel, relaxed and amused with the usual hint of mild irritation.

------

The evening had passed relatively quickly, all of the parents she had met so far had been lovely and were well engaged in their children’s lives and education which Aelin always appreciated. She only had one parent left to meet, the father of her student Evangeline, a bubbly young girl who Aelin adored. The young girl was inquisitive and tried hard with anything Aelin threw at them, a perfect student in Aelin’s eyes.

A knock on her classroom door sounded and she jumped to her feet, calling out for them to come in as she rose. The man who came through her doorway was striking, his golden hair shone and his green eyes were bright. He was dressed in a sharp grey suit, his white shirt unbuttoned at the collar and his tie was missing.

He held a hand out for her to shake and she caught a brief glance of a tattoo on his wrist, one that looked almost like a snake, peeking past his expensive looking watch.

“Archer Finn,” His voice was low and smooth, as he flashed her a polished smile.

“Aelin Galathynius,” She shook his hand firmly and smiled widely. “Please, take a seat.”

The man slid smoothly into the seat opposite her, and she forced her mind to focus on the task at hand, and reminded herself that this was one of her student’s fathers. No sign of a ring, her unhelpful mind added.

“Thank you, Miss Galathynius,” He folded his hands in his lap. “I’ve been waiting for an opportunity to speak with you about Evangeline’s progress.”

Aelin grinned. “As have I, Evangeline is a fantastic student, the passion she displays in the classroom is phenomenal. Her artwork-- she displays a level of true talent.”

“Yes,” His tone was clipped. “That is what I have been hoping to talk to you about.”

Aelin felt her smile freeze.

“Evangeline will not be participating in any art activities from this point onwards, I don’t believe they are of any value. To put it bluntly, they’re a complete waste of time.”

Aelin was frozen, paused in a state of shock at the man’s words.

“I unfortunately have to disagree--”

He held a hand up to stop her and she recoiled.

“Please, Miss Galathynius,” He huffed out a condescending laugh and Aelin felt her blood begin to boil. “As her father I believe I know what is best for Evangeline.”

“And what is that?” She asked dryly.

Archer Finn seemed to take a moment, raking his eyes from her head to her toe before meeting her gaze again. She could tell the look hadn’t been one of appreciation and she bristled.

“What Evangeline needs is a teacher who takes her education seriously, someone who understands that painting her pretty pictures is a waste of time.” The sarcasm in his voice had her clenching her jaw, but she tried to rein in her temper, remembering that she was still new to the school.

“Mr Finn, I--”

He held a hand to her face again and stood, buttoning his suit jacket as he did, and Aelin slowly rose out of her chair.

“Mr Finn, I have a masters degree in children’s education, I know the value of creativity in learning.” Aelin could hardly keep her voice steady as she spoke, barely concealing the anger the man in front of her had managed to unleash inside her in such a short space of time.

The man seemed to sneer at her words, looking down his nose at her as he frowned.

“You may well have, and I’m sure it was worth every penny to you.” He smirked at her, crushing her with only a handful of words. “Either way, Evangeline will be seeing a private tutor during your creative hours.”

The scorn in his voice burned her, hitting her in a deep part of her soul that wasn’t often exposed. She knew she was right, knew that she knew what Evangeline needed, knew that her methods of teaching had merit and worth. This sad excuse for a father was blind and arrogant if he thought he knew better than Aelin, but she was trapped. What more could she say to change his mind?

In her silence he had crossed the room to pause by the door before turning back to look at her where she stood dumbfounded behind her desk, clenching her fists at her sides and trying to compose herself.

“I’m glad we had this chat, Miss Galathynius.” With that he was gone, taking his smug and condescending atmosphere with him.

Her breath rushed out of her in a gust, burning her throat as she held back the tears that threatened to fall. She couldn’t believe him, Mr Finn. The audacity he had to walk into her classroom and speak to her like that.

She dropped back into her seat, resting both of her hands against the cool wood of her desk and focussing on all the knots and whorls in the wood, breathing deeply in and out as she centred her thoughts. She almost couldn’t believe how her evening had ended up and she let out a brief snort at the idea that maybe her story could now beat Chaol’s from this morning.

A knock at her door snapped her to attention, if Mr Finn had come back for another go at her she wouldn’t be able to bite her tongue this time. Her fears were sedated when a familiar head of dark curls poked around the door frame.

Dorian’s smile was bright and easy as he walked towards her, perching on the front of one of her student's desks.

“So?” He asked as he crossed his ankles in front of himself, the portrait of a male completely at ease.

Aelin only shook her head, unable to sum up her final visit in a few words.

“Have you ever taught Evangeline Finn?” She managed, hating how destroyed she sounded even to her own ears.

Dorian barely managed to cover his wince.

“Ah,” He sighed. “You met Archer Finn. How bad was it?”

She looked at the floor, holding back the flood that wanted to break through, she refused to cry in school over a parent, no matter how much he had riled her up.

“Bad,” She managed but her voice betrayed her, letting a crack rip through the word.

Dorian was around the desk and at her side within a second, resting a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“What did he say?” Dorian asked, his tone gentle as if not to startle her.

Aelin sniffed. “Oh you know, the usual, dismissing my teaching and belittling my degree.”

She let out a self-deprecating laugh as she looked to Dorian whose brow creased at her words.

“Don’t listen to him. You know he’s not right.” She knew his words were earnest, but they couldn’t keep the doubt at bay and she shrugged out of his hold.

“I don’t know,” She looked away.

“Come on,” Dorian tried. “Let’s get a drink or something, take your mind off it.”

“Thanks, Dorian. But I think I just want to go home and be alone.”

Dorian’s mouth twisted as he considered it, probably weighing up whether or not to try again. Eventually he relented.

“Text me if you need anything, okay? I’m here for you.”

She lightly squeezed his hand before rising to pack up her things. His offer hadn’t tempted her, she did want to be alone, but maybe a drink wouldn’t be such a bad idea.

------

The bar was relatively busy, a few customers every so often had him drifting in and out of conversation with Aedion. Lorcan had joined Aedion at the bar not long after they arrived, grumbling about something or other that Rowan soon avoided, turning back to another customer after dropping off Lorcan’s pint.

A brief lull allowed him to drift back to his friends, wiping down a few spills along the bar as he went.

“It’s the fucking worst, all right.” The dark-haired giant complained, words muffled by the strong hand he ran down his face.

Rowan turned to Aedion for explanation who merely shrugged before lifting his empty glass to Rowan. He grabbed it and turned to refill it as Lorcan spoke again.

“I didn’t sign up for any of this, stupid regulations and reforms.”

Lorcan was clearly in a talking mood tonight. Rowan met Aedion’s eyes, a silent challenge, begging the blond man to speak first but Aedion just leaned back in his seat, taking a large gulp of his beer. Rowan flicked him the middle finger before turning to Lorcan.

“What is?”

Lorcan turned the force of his glare to Rowan who shifted against the unexpected heat.

“My stupid boss.”

“What about them?” Aedion finally joined in.

Lorcan sighed, a frustrated sound as if explaining it would be hard work. Rowan grinned a sharp flash of teeth at Aedion who rolled his eyes at their friend’s dramatics.

“I don’t want to talk about it. I want to drink.” Lorcan finished his drink in a final swig, placing the glass before Rowan ceremoniously.

Rowan scooped it up, sketching a mocking salute at his friend. “That, we can do.”

As he turned he spotted Fenrys making his way over from the door and he grabbed another glass to fill as the golden-haired man took his seat. He dumped the drinks in front of his friends with little finesse as Fenrys spoke.

“Why is Aelin sitting in the corner on her own?”

Aelin?

“Aelin’s here?” Aedion asked as the four of them turned to look where Fenrys had pointed.

Sure enough, Aelin was tucked away in a booth in the corner of the room. He hadn’t noticed her come in and Rowan could see the glum expression on her face even from a distance.

“Is she okay?” He managed.

“She doesn’t look okay.”

The three of them swivelled to look at Lorcan, matching looks of disbelief across each of their faces.

“Has she said anything to any of you?” Fenrys asked. “Anything to Lysandra?” With a look to Aedion who shook his head.

“Should we go over?” Aedion asked, an unsure twist to his mouth.

“If she wanted to sit with us she’d be here.” Lorcan said bluntly.

“Shut up, asshole.” Rowan narrowed his eyes. “I’ll take her a drink.”

-------

The glass of wine was cool in his hand as he made his way across the bar, skirting round tables of customers as he went.

“Hey,” His voice was soft as he reached Aelin’s booth, lingering by the edge of the table as she looked up at him.

His heart jolted at the expression she wore. Her beautiful blue eyes were wide and red-rimmed, her plush pink lips twisted into a pout. She swallowed before speaking and the hurt in her voice tore his heart again.

“Oh. Didn’t think you’d notice me here.” Her voice was quiet as he dropped into the seat opposite her and pushed the glass towards her.

“It’s kind of my job to notice who needs a drink,” He said equally quietly, leaning forwards and pressing his arms against the table between them. He had hoped his words would bring a smile but Aelin pursed her lips, debating, before reaching towards the glass and taking a sip.

At least there was that.

“You don’t-- I mean, you don’t have to answer... If you don’t want to, but,” He didn’t usually stumble over his words so much. “Are you okay?”

Aelin’s refusal to meet his eyes pretty much answered his question, but he still waited for her to speak.

She blew out a breath, the air teasing the fair strands of hair around her face as she looked towards the ceiling then back down to him.

“Not really.” She said as she looked away from him again.

He spared a glance over to the bar where his friends sat, watching him and Aelin, each with expressions of concern. Even Lorcan for all his grumbling before Rowan came over.

“What happened?” He asked as gently as he could.

Aelin took a sip of her wine, glancing around the bar and spotting their friends who quickly jumped back into their own conversation before resting her gaze back on him.

She shrugged, putting her glass back on the table before speaking.

“One of my student’s parents basically told me I’m a shit teacher today.”

“Aelin no,” The words left him in a rush, utterly raw in his desperation to reassure her. “Aelin, you have to know you’re not a shit teacher.”

She looked up at him through her eyelashes, her pout still standing strong.

“What did they say?”

“Just that my degree is worthless and that I don’t know what’s best for the kids.”

Asshole. Fucking asshole.

If he ever saw the asshole who had said those cruel words to Aelin he’d-- He didn’t know what he’d do but it would hurt.

“Aelin, don’t listen to them. That’s not true.”

“It’s not?” Her question, in combination with her soft sniffle shattered him.

He reached out to lightly grasp one of her hands in his, gently toying with her delicate fingers.

“Of course not Aelin. You’re an incredible teacher.”

She drew her hand back to take another sip of her wine.

“How would you know?” She asked. “You’ve never seen me teach.”

“I don’t need to Aelin. I know you, and you’re everything a good teacher should be. Kind, caring, patient, passionate-”

“Okay,” She interrupted.

“I’m serious Aelin, promise me you won’t believe a word that asshole said.”

She scoffed, looking away from him yet again.

“Aelin?”

“Okay, I promise.” Her tone was resigned, but at least she had agreed. He didn’t know how much help he had managed to be, but he hoped at least a small part of her had listened.

“What are you doing sitting alone anyway? You can always come to us with things like this.” He knew without a doubt that the others would agree.

She brushed a strand of hair away from her face, and Rowan’s fingers itched to follow the motion but he held his hands together, now under the table. She shrugged as a faint blush crossed her cheeks and Rowan fought the warmth blooming inside him at the sight.

“Come and drink with us.” He said, nodding his head towards where the others were sitting at the bar. “Salvaterre’s miserable too so you won’t be alone.”

At that, Aelin’s lips twitched as the hint of a smile ghosted across her face, it was the closest he had seen all night and he’d take it.

“Why?” Her voice was quiet.

“Other than the usual?” He joked and she finally cracked a real smile, small but still there, and the relief that flooded through him was like lightning. “I think it’s something about his work or his boss, I don’t really know.”

He slid himself out of the booth and held a hand out to her, his final request, if she really didn’t want to join them he could accept that, but he knew he’d still keep an eye on her for the rest of the night.

Thankfully she stood, grabbing her things and leading the way over to their friends, and he sent a silent prayer of thanks to the gods. Over her head he saw Aedion flash him a thankful smile. She flopped onto a stool next to Fenrys as Rowan slid back behind the bar.

“So,” She turned to Lorcan, barely missing a beat. “What are you crying about now?”

Lorcan didn’t hesitate before lunging into his story, his own subtle way of making sure Aelin was alright and not dwelling on her issues.

“My new boss is an asshole. Turns up in Rifthold fresh out of headquarters in somewhere called Perranth, and thinks everyone should just bow down or something. Now, first of all, I’ve never even heard of Perranth,” He paused to take a bitter swig of his beer.

“Me neither,” Fenrys chimed in.

“It’s in Terrasen,” Aelin said after a sip of her own wine. The heaviness from before didn’t weigh on her face anymore and Rowan turned to serve another customer, hiding his smile. “I think I went once when I was a kid.”

Lorcan frowned at her but Rowan could tell it lacked it’s usual heat.

“Whatever,” Lorcan continued. “The point is, I’ve worked here for years, I know Rifthold and how things are done. Captain Lochan has been here all of five minutes and apparently knows all the improvements we need to make.”

The curl of Lorcan’s lips as he hissed his boss’ name prompted a small laugh, the guy must be a total hardass to have Lorcan so riled.

“What’s wrong with the improvements?” Aelin asked and Lorcan sighed.

“Nothing is wrong with the improvements,” He muttered and Aelin finally laughed, the tinkling sound washing over Rowan and settling into his bones.

“So what’s the problem?” Aedion asked after a moment, the question that they were all thinking and Lorcan shot him a glare, this time not lacking any heat.

“The problem is the Captain. So controlling and everything has to be done in exactly their way, constantly on me about my reports as well.” He rolled his eyes, clearly over talking about his boss and Rowan couldn't help from poking the bear one last time.

“Why don’t you invite the Captain here? I don’t know any problem a free beer couldn’t solve.”

“Absolutely not.” Lorcan said, shaking his head.

“Well I, for one, want to meet the famous Captain Lochan.” Fenrys grinned. “Especially if it would annoy you so much.”

“Don’t.” Lorcan said, a hair’s width below a growl.

“Why not?” Aedion joined in and Rowan watched the smile settling on Aelin’s lips at their friends’ antics.

He shook himself, laughing along as Lorcan slugged Aedion in the shoulder.

“Maybe find something to take your mind off it?” Fenrys suggested and Rowan knew where he was going would be fun. “Get a pet or something?”

“Just watch me, boyo.” Lorcan bared his teeth around the grin threatening to take over his own face. His pretend displeasure only just winning the battle.

The smile on Aelin’s face struck him again in its beauty, and he forced his attention away from her and back to the idiots now suggesting outlandish animals Lorcan could bring home as a pet.

He bit his lip as Aelin suggested a lion in response to Aedion’s tiger and thanked the gods again that she was smiling.

------

tags:

@jesstargaryenqueen

@maybekindasortaace

@slytheringalathynius

@http-itsrebecca

@morganofthewildfire

@in-love-with-caramel-macchiato

@fictional-horan

@tottenhamboys20

@dressedindustandshadows

@sleeping-and-books

@perseusannabeth

@ireallyshouldsleeprn

@superspiritfestival

@aelinfeyreeleven945tbln

@spyofthenightcourt

@jlinez

@queen-of-glass

@booknerdproblems

@sjmships

@elriel4life

@bamchickawowow

@woollycat22

@claralady

@illyrianwitchling​​

@SHINYA-HIIRAGI

hmu if any tags don’t work

#rowaelin #rowan whitethorn #aelin ashryver galathynius #rowan x aelin #throne of glass #throne of glass fanfic #rowaelin au #dorian havilliard #chaol westfall #yrene towers #nehemia ytger #aedion ashryver #lorcan salvaterre #poor lysandra seems to be the only one not in this chapter? #throne of glass fic #rowaelin fic #a groovy kind of love #my writing #my fics #this was soft okay #rowaelin fluff #whoops i forgot fenrys #fenrys moonbeam

[coll2mitts]

#28 Hairspray (2007)

Welcome to Hairspray, where a well-intentioned, woke, white teenage girl singlehandedly ends segregation in 1960s Baltimore.

Y’know, after watching Cry-Baby, I wasn’t super keen on revisiting Hairspray, but I figured it deserved a fair shot.  I hadn’t seen the original since I was in high school, so I booted up HBO Max and settled in for a long night of old-timey dance moves and racial inequality.  Guys... the 1988 version of Hairspray is flippin’ great.

The cast is just to die for.  Ricki Lake, who I only knew as a talk show host in my childhood, is a great Tracy Turnblad.  My favorite devious sea witch Divine is her mother, and Jerry Stiller is her father.  Goddamn Debbie Harry and Sunny Bono are her rival’s parents, and Amber Von Tussle is motherfucking Colleen Fitzpatrick.  As someone who has a vested interest in all famous Colleens, I was stoked to see that Hairspray was Vitamin C’s first acting gig.

FUN FACT: According to Wikipedia (which is never wrong), Graduation (Friends Forever) charts on iTunes at the end of every school year.  Colleen is also the VP of music at Nickelodeon, so she’s doing just fine.

Anyway, the original Hairspray is campy, edgy and hilarious.  If I were Miss Soft Crab 1945, I too would bring it up every chance I got.  The story really boils down to two horny teenage girls trying to claw their way to the top, but the charm of Tracy is she’s trying to pull everyone else up with her.  The way they handle segregation and racial inequality is over-the-top ridiculous, but somehow more realistic than its updated counterpart (put a pin in this).  I mean, a racist white woman shoved a bomb in her hair to own the libs and it gloriously explodes on her head.  I haven’t seen the musical adaptation of Hairspray, so my opinions of how true it is to its source material won’t be explored here, but the 2007 movie adaptation, to me, left a lot to be desired.

Hairspray might be the most popular in a recent trend of non-musical movies being adapted for Broadway.  I remember back in the 90s when Beauty and the Beast hit the stage - it was so successful Disney now has the movie-to-Broadway pipeline on speed dial.  But now we’re getting a shitload of movies with no musical elements being fast tracked to Broadway, like Kinky Boots, Bend it Like Beckham, Mean Girls, Beetlejuice, Heathers, Waitress, Legally Blonde, fucking Groundhog Day with music written by Tim Minchin, just, so goddamn many of them.  I love musicals, but to say I didn’t want to see The Heathers threaten Veronica in 3-part harmony would be an understatement, so I’m immediately skeptical to the quality of this content and hesitant to consume it.  Unfortunately for me, Hairspray is one of the few who had their *corny* musical adaptation also committed to film, and it is a neutered, earnest, high school choir translation of the original and it made my teeth hurt.

The two positives I’ll give the remake are the sets/costumes are great, and the cast serve their roles well, although I will never be OK with someone wearing a fat suit as a costume.  The songs are... fine.  Again, this era of music is not my favorite, so I’m never going to get excited over “It Takes Two” or “I Can Hear the Bells”.  It’s just the tone is so different from the original, and by the end of the movie I was exhausted and very glad it was over.  Writing about it now has required several breaks and side-tangents and I can’t even get to the fucking synopsis of the movie... ugh let’s just do this.

Tracy Turnblad is a “pleasantly plump” teenage girl living in 1960s Baltimore whose sunny disposition makes her oblivious to the reality of murky situation she is living in.  We’re quickly introduced to her obsession, “The Corny Collins Show”, which features a number of far-out teens that love to dance, including multi-year winner of Miss Teenage Hairspray and miss Pitch Perfect herself Amber Von Tussel.  Her mother, Velma, played by Michelle Pfeiffer, is the station manager at WYZT, and uses her power to keep Amber featured front and center.  

After a girl on the show gets knocked up, an audition is held to replace her.  While Tracy’s mother Edna, regrettably played by John Travolta in a fat suit, is afraid that Tracy’s weight will prevent her from landing the gig, her father, puzzlingly played by like a 60-something Christopher Walken, is generally supportive.  True to Edna’s feeling, Tracy is fat shamed by Amber and Velma and doesn’t make the cut.

After getting detention for skipping class for an audition that didn’t pan out, Tracy makes friends with a bunch of black students who are all excellent dancers.  Turns out her new friend Seaweed is the son of Motormouth Maybelle, the sometimes-host of "The Corny Collins Show”, played by Queen Latifah.  Velma, in addition to being a massive bitch, also segregates the station’s black talent from the main show, only to be featured one night a month on “Negro Day”.  While Tracy is boogying down, Link, Amber’s boyfriend and one of the stars of TCCS, peeps at her ass and tells her if she shook her rump in front of Corny at the Hop, he’d have no choice but to put her on the show.

In the original movie, Tracy Turnblad fucks.  She moves in on Link and devours him whole, with no mind given to her size.  She is a kind of bratty, confident young teenager that isn’t afraid to reach out and grab what she wants.  Tracy in the 2007 version is the most innocent cinnamon roll that has ever been baked.  Link gives her one compliment and she drifts into fantasies of marrying him.  Part of me is annoyed by this, but the other part of me appreciates misguided optimism played as humor.

At the Corny Collins hop, Tracy steals borrows Seaweed’s dance move and lands a place on TCCS council.  After declaring she wants every day to be Negro Day, the head of the station declares he wants that “chubby communist girl” off the show.  Corny, played by a dreamy James Marsden, sticks his neck out for Tracy and furthermore, says the show should be integrated.  As Tracy’s popularity skyrockets, the station shows more leeway to her size and her look, but to maintain some semblance of control, Velma works to completely edge out Negro Day.

Meanwhile, Link is clued into how fun it is in detention, and him, Tracy, and Penny all dance their way to Motormouth Maybelle’s record store for a potluck.  When Seaweed introduces his new white friends to his mother, Penny delivers my favorite line of the whole movie, “I’m very pleased and scared to be here.”  Amber rats out Tracy’s activities to her mother, and Edna arrives to Motormouth’s with the intention of dragging Tracy home until she realizes that black people are OK because they eat brisket.

After Edna shoves a bunch of food in her face, the gang finds out that Negro Day on “The Corny Collins Show” has been cancelled.  Tracy has the great idea to protest the television station, and all the black people are like, “Why didn’t we think of that?”  Link decides to bow out of the march because there’ll be talent agents at the Miss Hairspray Pageant, and he doesn’t want to give up his big shot at fame and glory to fight for a entire race of people’s basic rights.

The next day, Tracy and her mom are the only white people in a sea of black people to march to the station.  Queen Latifah sings a very earnest song about the resilience of her community, because this is the Serious Portion TM of the musical.  Tracy assaults a police officer without giving any mind to what it would do for all the black people she’s marching with, and runs away to let them handle the consequences.  The movie doesn’t show any police brutality because Reasons, and a bunch of protestors are arrested and immediately bailed out by Tracy’s Dad.  Tracy eventually ends up back at Motormouth Maybelle’s record shop so she can hide there without considering how dangerous it would be for Motormouth to harbor a fugitive of the law.  

The next day is the Miss Teen Hairspray competition broadcast at WYZT, and with Tracy being wanted by the police, they have to sneak her into the station.  She bum-rushes the set to sing a song with a now-enlightened Link about not stopping progress, while also inviting Motormouth Maybelle’s daughter, Little Inez, on stage to dance.  Everybody calls-in to vote for her because the only racist people in Baltimore run the television station, and Little Inez is crowned Miss Teen Hairspray.  Amber is like fine with it even though her mom isn’t, and everyone dances and sings to celebrate that “The Corny Collins” show is now integrated!  Meanwhile, I’m left wondering why Amanda Bynes was forced to wear a dress that she can’t move her legs in, even though they knew she would participate in the show’s closing dance number.  The end.

Oh, and there’s also a whole B plot where Velma tries to fuck Tracy’s dad and Tracy’s mom finds out and gets upset for like 30 seconds.  This is immediately resolved by a song and dance number among a bunch of laundry.

This movie is fine and competent or whatever, but for some reason it just rubs me the entirely wrong way.  Tracy constantly says that the 1960s are changing for people who are different, implying that an overweight white teen also knows what it’s like to be discriminated against in the same way black people are.  The movie does roll its eyes at some of her most tone-deaf “I’m an overenthusiastic ally” moments, like “I wish every day was Negro Day!” and “This is afro-tastic!”, but it also goes out of its way to talk about how much Tracy has helped the black community.  Like, by doing what?  Being fat and on TV?  That being said, she does use her privilege to feature black dancers on a major television broadcast, so by the end of the movie she becomes the person everyone says she is.  Also, I’m a dumb, overweight, white, middle-aged woman, so I’m not the right person to get all indignant about a well-intentioned feel-good Broadway musical.

Final thoughts: If you love bright colors, cheese, and sincere, glossy reflections of the 1960s civil rights movement written by a bunch of white dudes, this movie is for you.

#100 best musical movies of all time rotten tomatoes #unwarranted opinion

[silverhandy]

Verbatim

read on ao3!

Summary:  Having climbed all the way up from Heywood’s slums to Miyabi, one of the most high end casinos in Night City, Santiago "Sanny" Garcia thought himself a lucky man, right until the point when his employer, an Arasaka board member with a gambling business on the side, caught him stealing and offered an impossible ultimatum. Forced to pay off his debt or die trying, Sanny has to renew some old friendships and form some new ones to keep himself afloat.

On top of everything, when his cyberware starts malfunctioning, there’s only one person on his long contact list that he can call.

“Where’s your Trauma platinum when you need it, pendejo?”

“Kicking a man when he’s down? Never expected that from you” Sanny groaned, burying his face in a pillow. He’d give anything for the world to stop spinning, just for a second. Faced with a heavy silence, he cracked one eye open to see Maria’s disgruntled expression on the holo. “It got revoked, okay? I’m literally begging here.”

“You're not,” she replied, the frown still not leaving her face. Sanny could swear at least some part of her was enjoying it. “At least not yet.”

“C’mon, hermana. I’m-” before he could finish that sentence, he was cut off by another wave of nausea strong arming its way through him. He barely had the chance to haul himself over the edge of the bed to vomit into the bucket he put there, anything to avoid ruining his ridiculously expensive, silk sheets.

Sanny could practically feel Maria’s judging stare on him as she got a front row seat on her brother puking his brains out. He understood her, in a way - their last conversation wasn’t exactly a pleasant one. Maybe he went a little overboard with his bragging. Still, she was his only sibling that still kept in touch with him, all the rest a step away from declaring him a total stranger.

As he wiped his mouth, desperate to get rid of the bitter taste of bile, he entertained the thought of apologizing to her. Was that his new low? At the mercy of his older sister? Certainly not a position he thought he’d find himself in, not after he decided to say goodbye to Heywood for good. She had every right to resent him just as the rest of the family did, but despite it all, they still kept in contact. A sporadic, passive aggressive contact, but a contact nevertheless.

She let out a heavy sigh. “Fine. You’re lucky my day freed up, otherwise you’d have to call some other sorry fucker. Text me the address, I’ll be there in an hour, maybe two.”

“Two hours? You for real?”

“Don’t push your luck, Santiago.”

                                                              ***

“That ripperdoc of yours, how reliable is he?”

“He knows his stuff. Just bear in mind he doesn’t usually take on corpos.”

“Not a corpo.” Sanny mumbled, resting his forehead on the cold glass of the passenger's window.

“You sure as hell look like one” she replied, not taking her eyes off the road.

“When in Rome, do as Romans do…”

The car hit a bump, making Sanny smack his head against the glass. An explosion of pain followed as an array of angrily white stars danced in front of his vision, sprinkled with not less alarming system failure warnings. If he didn’t know better, he’d say Maria did that on purpose, but she wasn’t responsible for the state of the neighborhood's roads. Not directly, at least.

“We’re here.” Maria’s voice snapped him out of his stupor. Some time must’ve passed because when he opened his eyes they were parked on the edge of a wide, busy street, various shops, and nightclubs drawing customers in with their loud neons and whatever else they had to offer. Luckily for Sanny, they didn’t have to walk all the way through it, loud sounds and aggressively bright lights coming at him from all directions, mercilessly aggravating his headache before they turned the corner and walked through the gate leading to a small, crumpled backyard. Maria led him down another set of stairs to an unlabeled basement, one of those places you needed to know were there to find them.

“Hey Vik!'' she said as she passed the gate to the underground clinic, walking in as if she owned the place. Sanny followed behind, his usual confidence shrinking. If what Maria said was true, there was a real chance that the ripperdoc would turn him away and he doubted he had the resolve to drag himself to another one. Suddenly Fukuzawa’s offer of a bullet to the head seemed much more appealing.

When the ripperdoc turned his head towards them, a warm smile appeared on his face as his eyes landed on Maria. Tossing the screwdriver he’d been holding aside, he got up to greet her, though Sanny could tell he was eyeing him over her shoulder as well. He couldn’t blame him - he probably looked like a breathing trainwreck.

“Hey, good to see you.” the ripper said to Maria. “So you must be Sanny?” he asked, suddenly shifting his attention to the younger man, extending a muscular arm towards him. The ripper was built like a fucking truck and Mal could feel his mouth go dry, and only partially because he must be severely dehydrated at this point. Suddenly regretting that he didn’t at least take a shower before Maria came to pick him up, he took a step forward to shake the man’s hand.

“That’s me.” Sanny smiled nervously, his paled face twitching with the effort.

“Viktor Vector’s the name. Heard a lot about you.”

“Oh yeah?” Sanny could hear his voice cracking, mind racing at all the things Maria could possibly say about him while in her ripper’s chair. There were many and only a few made Sanny proud of himself.

“I’ll leave you boys to chat. Don’t want no part in this.” Maria said, a crooked smile on her face. “I’ll wait in the car. Vik, feel free to add this to my tab.”

“Sure thing, sweetheart.”

And just like that, she left him there. Great.

“Alright, let’s get you seated, don’t want you to crack your head open if you fall.” Sanny heard Viktor say. Too busy trying to keep down the few sips of water he got before leaving the apartment, he didn’t even notice how his silhouette started to sway to the side, only stopped by the ripperdoc’s strong arm on his shoulder, steadying him and gently ushering him in the direction of the chair.

Looking back, the whole thing couldn’t have happened to him at a worse time, shortly after he got dropped from the Trauma Team health plan, his regular ripper bidding him farewell with an apologetic smile, even taking a step further to wish him luck. So much for the Hippocratic oath. Sanny watched silently as Viktor kicked himself a chair and sat down to fire up the monitors, typing away at the beat up keyboard until eventually, he reached out a hand.

“Your personal link, please.”

“‘f course” Sunny mumbled, handing him the cable and watching as the doc jacked it into the port, on the first try even. Must be the practice, Sanny thought and allowed his head to rest on the headboard, the blue leather cracking slightly as Viktor started running diagnostics on his cyberware.

“That’s an impressive set you got there”

If he wasn’t feeling so damn miserable, he'd smirk. Impressive was an understatement, with his array of the state of the art cyberware, from behavioral boosters to those refining his fine motor skills to a point he was practically a magician with a deck of cards. Or a lockpick, but he was yet to get desperate enough to give that career path a try.

“My job has its perks.”

“You a croupier at Miyabi?” it seemed that Viktor was rather keen on small talk, a quality that Sanny didn’t quite share, but hesitantly welcomed.

“Figured it out from my tech or did my sister tell you?”

“Bit of both, I suppose.”

Jacked and insightful. What more could Sanny possibly want?  Then again, it wasn’t a time in his life for romantic pursuits, both this specific moment, lying sick on the ripperdoc’s chair and in a broader sense, when he had a figurative gun to his head, a literal one soon to follow if he doesn’t resolve the mess he got himself into.

“Other than dizziness, anything else bothering you?

“Uh,” Sanny turned his head to look at the other man. There were many things bothering him and most had little to do with his current physical condition. “I haven't been able to keep anything down for a few days now. Not even the damn pills for the headache. Running self diagnostics didn’t spit out anything useful either.”

Viktor’s brows furrowed as he shot the younger man a glance from behind his shades. Disapproval? Concern?

“It’s been this bad and you’re only now seeing a ripper?”

“Maria told you where I work but didn’t share why I’m visiting a back alley doctor? How considerate.”

“You guys don’t get along too well, huh?” Sanny frowned at the direction this conversation was going, but there was nothing he could do but enjoy the ride.

“It’s...an on and off thing between us.” he just mumbled, desperate to avoid Viktor’s gaze. Lucky for Sanny, the ripper’s attention seemed to be entirely on the monitors in front of him.

“Just remember, kid,” Viktor said, finally turning to look at Sanny’s face. “she cares about you a lot. Wouldn’t bring you here if she didn’t.”

Sanny just hummed in response. Deep down, he knew the ripper was right, but the whole exchange only made him even more curious about what exactly Maria had been saying about him. It couldn’t be half as bad as he thought he deserved because not only had Viktor not kicked him out of the chair, but was even nice to him. Go figure.

“Alright then,” Viktor said, unplugging the younger man’s personal link. “had to do some cleaning in your CPU, you should be up and running in a few hours. Take this before going to bed for the night,” a strip of pills was placed in his hand “and in the future, watch what you plug your personal link into. I know you guys working in high end casinos get a fancy firewall as part of the package, but it’s not foolproof.

“It sure ain’t, doc. Thanks for the advice,” Sanny smiled, motioning to get up from the chair. “and everything else.”

Whatever Viktor did, the effect was immediate; the clinic was no longer swaying and his stomach didn’t threaten to twist itself inside out every time he moved his head. He still felt like he was experiencing a crescendo of the worst hangover of his life, but it was nothing that couldn’t be managed with a shower and a fresh change of clothes. Who knows, he might even get bold and eat something, though he still wasn’t sure about that one.

“Don’t mention it, I don’t often get the chance to tinker with Miyabi tech. And if you’re open to some more pieces of advice, you should be thanking your sister, not me.”

“I’ll make sure to do just that.”

“Should you run into more trouble with software, my clinic’s always open. I’ll send you the number, so don’t hesitate to give me a call.”

Did he just…? No fucking way, Sanny thought as he walked up the stairs, leaving the clinic behind.

                                                            ***

“So...how’re the Valentinos treatin’ you?”

“Actually, I…puta madre!” she shouted, blasting her hand against the car’s horn as she slammed the brakes to make her disdain loud and clear to the driver who tried to cut her off at the intersection. A litany of insults from the would-be culprit followed, another sound in a cacophony of Heywood’s streets. Maria shook her head, dark locks of her hair shaking with the movement like a swarm of angry bees. “I left.”

“And here I was thinking the position of the family’s black sheep was already taken.”

“Don’t ever think you’re the special one just because you shuffle cards for the big guys.”

“Oh, I could never. So what do you do now?”

“Independent. It took a while, but a friend got me hooked up with some reliable fixers.”

“A “friend”? Don’t tell me that on top of everything, you got yourself a man. Or a woman?”

Maria shot him a warning glare. “It’s nothing like that. Jackie just helped me get back on my feet, introduced me to some people. I’ve been fending for myself since then.”

“And how’s that working out for you?”

“Way better than for you. The hell did you do to piss off your corporate overlords?”

“All I can say for now is that you can leave Heywood, but Heywood never leaves you. Took one too many risks and all it did was land me before the one and only Akio Fukuzawa, who apparently doesn’t take kindly to humbled employees when his eddies are missing.”

“And yet here you are, still alive.”

“What can I say? I’m a charming guy.”

They spent the rest of the car ride in silence, Maria’s eyes fixed on the road, maroon painted nails tapping on the steering wheel in the rhythm of whatever was playing on the radio while Sanny pretended to be mesmerized by whatever they were passing on their way, in reality pulling up his comms interface to scroll through all the text messages he sent to fixers before the damn virus made it impossible to see straight. Almost all of them were left on read and unanswered. Sanny presumed they were bound to remain so. He didn’t have the reputation necessary to land any of the bigger contracts and no time to build it up before Fukuzawa’s minions showed up on his doorstep.

They parked in front of his building, mere centimeters away from bumping into a lampost. Sanny choked down a sigh. There was no escaping it now.

“Thanks, hermana. I owe you one,” he uttered, motioning to get out of the car. Just as he pushed the door open, his comms chimed with a text message from an unknown number. Getting out of the car, he waved to dismiss it, thinking it must be another of those spam chains that’d been flooding his inbox from time to time, but froze halfway through when his eyes landed on the text. The contract was vague on details, but the reward was crystal clear. Sanny could almost feel his jaw dropping as he looked at the impressive number of zeros that followed the first digit. It should be enough. More than enough to pay Fukuzawa off, even if, as per the fixer’s demand, he’ll have to cut the amount in half and share with a partner. He was so dumbfounded he didn’t hear Maria’s reply, or if she replied at all, but when he turned back one last time, she was eying him from head to toe suspiciously. Then she just shook her head slightly as if shushing away a thought.

“And Sanny?” she said, rolling down her window and shooting him a glare from behind her shades. “don’t you dare fuck my ripperdoc.”

#cyberpunk 2077 #cyberpunk #cp2077 #cp77 #cyberpunk oc #Viktor Vector #cyberpunk fic #my writing #moxwrites2077

[crazygalore]

MICHAEL CORLEONE ( THE GODFATHER TRILOGY ) NSFW ALPHABET

Disclaimer: My portrayal of Michael Corleone is almost exclusively movie-based. I have read the book and respect it for what it represents, but I have a preference for movie Michael, since I first watched the film, and only read the book years later. That being said, I will selectively borrow elements from the novel here and there, if and when I see fit.

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

After having lost all hope of ever finding love again after having suffered through countless tragedies and betrayals, it is safe to assume that Michael treats you right in all aspects of your life together. So, after sex, he will draw you a hot bath and gently help you wash up and dry off afterwards. Then, he will tenderly tuck you into bed, bring you any snacks and beverages you may be craving, and afterwards he will lay down next to you and hold you against him until you fall asleep with your head on his chest.

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He’s survived all of these years by keeping his eyes open and his mind clear, so he is quite fond of his keen and sharp gaze. He’s a bit of a sapiosexual, so while he thinks you are the sexiest and most attractive person in this world, it was your mind and your spirit that made him fall in love with you in the beginning. So, to this very day, having a stimulating conversation with you amps up his libido like nothing else.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

He’s a traditionalist at heart, so he prefers finishing deep inside of you, although he will mark you with his seed if that was something you enjoyed. You would have to ask him to do it, though.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He loves seeing you wear his clothes - especially his shirts - because he thinks of it as a reinforcement of his claim on you. Although he is not one of those overly jealous or extremely possessive partners, the sight of you enveloped in his garments always manages to reassure him that you are his and his alone, to love and cherish until the day he dies. 

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Surprisingly, Michael has only slept with three women in the past - namely a former girlfriend and his two former wives. But although his experience is relatively limited, he’s been doing it long enough to know exactly how to drive his partner insane with desire and pleasure.

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

Usually it’s either missionary or doggy style, depending on the mood. On one hand, he likes being able to hold you in his arms and look into your eyes as he pounds into you - but on the other hand, the sight of your pretty ass and his girth disappearing inside of you drives him absolutely bonkers. Once in a while, however, when he is particularly exhausted, Michael will just sit back and relax as you ride him to completion. 

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

Normally, he is very passionate and serious in bed, because making love to you is one of the few times when he can show you his more vulnerable and romantic side. That being said, realistically speaking sex is a very accident-prone activity in general, and some mishaps are funnier than others - and he is comfortable enough around you to crack an apologetic smile when that happens. 

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

With a military background and his current position as a don, Michael is a very clean and tidy person, and he keeps himself well groomed and trimmed down there. It is not his habit to shave completely, however, unless you expressed your preference for it.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

Michael is a man hardened by the lifestyle he had no choice but embrace. He has learned to guard his heart, smother his conscience and use his reason to make educated and oftentimes ruthless decisions for the sake of his family’s safety and prosperity. But you are his sanctuary, and in your arms he feels loved, chrished and nurtured - and he feels the need to reciprocate your gestures of affection and show you his vulnerable and romantic side. So sex with Michael is always an intimate, passionate and intense experience.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

He doesn’t do it that often - if at all. When it happens, it’s always in the shower, and he sees it as nothing more but instant gratification for his body’s biological functions - nothing more. It only ever happens if you two happen to be away from each other, for example during his solo business trips.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

A food kink, because nothing gets him going quite like licking whipped cream and frosting off your gorgeous body. Light bondage and domination - but nothing too extreme, as his intention is simply to bring you pleasure and not to demean you. Edging, orgasm denial and mild spanking, but nothing more hardcore than that. As previously stated, he loves seeing you wearing his shirts, and he has fucked you countless times while you were still garbed in them. Also a mild and barely there breeding kink.

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

He’s a very private individual, so only in the comfort and safety of your home, usually in your bedroom or your shared bathroom. If he is 100% sure nobody will accidentally walk in on you too, he will definitely fuck you on the kitchen counter, and put that food kink of his to good use.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

As a sapiosexual ( a person who finds intelligence to be a sexually attractive quality in others ), having a long and stimulating debate with you is an instant turn-on. Other than that, you are gorgeous and you are all his, and your very presence fills him with desire. So, as long as the two of you are alone, without the risk of being interrupted, he’s game. But if you’re ever not feeling like it, he won’t pressure you into having sex with him, nor will he act grumpy because of it. You are his beloved, and he respect and adores you at all times.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He will never harm or demean you in any way. So anything too extreme and damaging is out of the question, no matter how much you might beg him to change his mind.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

The sight of you, kneeling before him, with your pretty lips wrapped around his girth is heaven for Michael. There are things that you can do with your wicked tongue that drive him completely crazy with need, and he oftentimes finds himself thrusting against your talented mouth. That being said, he reciprocates the gesture every single time, and he is very skilled at it. With a flick of his tongue in the right spot, and a well placed suckle, he can bring you to completion in no time - and he usually isn’t satisfied unless he’s given you several earth-shattering orgasms using only his mouth and deft fingers.

P = Pace (Are they fats and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

Depending on the mood, Michael can be slow and sensual, or fast and rough - but it is always a passionate exchange fuelled by your love and perpetual desire for one another. Sex with Michael is much more than a mere carnal act, but rather a complete fusion of your bodies and souls into one.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

He’s a busy man with a tight schedule, so once in a while you two simply have to make do with a quick hard fuck.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

He’s game for experimenting within reason. As long as none of you ends up being hurt or humiliated, he’s willing to give it a try.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

Depending on how tired or well-rested he is, it spans from quickies to extended lovemaking sessions that last all night long. He rarely cums before you do, and usually that happens if you teased him too much beforehand. Even then, he will either recover and fuck you until reach orgasm as well, or he will use his mouth and fingers on you until you are satisfied. 

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

He’s not opposed to toys, but he’s an old school kinda guy, so you would pretty much have to talk him into incorporating them into your guys’ sex life. Be warned, though, he will most probably use them to edge you until you are practically crying for release.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

It depends on his mood, really. Sometimes he likes to give you exactly what you want, when you want it - and sometimes he can be a complete and utter tease, to the point he drives it drives you completely nuts.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

He’s relatively quiet, with a couple of low grunts and moans sprinkled in-between laboured breaths. However, he usually cums with a long groan he usually muffles against your neck or shoulder.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice) X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

Well, you know what they say: Tiny man, huge “ego “. And Michael is the perect embodiment of this phrase. The boy is hung and he knows how to it to bring you maximum satisfaction, 100% guaranteed, no returns. 

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

His sex drive is not actually that high, but he very rarely refuses you if you initiate it. Once you get him going, however, he is relentless.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Usually he stays up a little longer to admire your slumbering form, as it has a calming effect on him. He will eventually fall asleep with you in his arms, once that brilliant and busy mind of his runs out of fuel.

#michael corleone x reader #michael corleone imagine #the godfather x reader #the godfather fanfic #the godfather imagine #lemon #lime #my writing

[ryewi]

a game for two pt.2 (M) - jjk

Summary: Seven days on a school trip to the seaside. Seven days with your best friends, alcohol, freedom and a mischevious Jeon Jungkook who just wouldn’t leave you alone. Sounds fun, right?

Genre: schooltrip!au, classmate!au, smut, fluff, drama, tba

Words: 7,8k 

Warnings: penetrative sex, protected sex, dirty talk, name-calling, choking, spanking, mention of overstimulation, orgasm denial, oral (fem receiving), fingering

Early A/N: well here’s the anticipated part two! hope you enjoy!

“You what?!” Marie screamed, eyes nearly popping out of her head.  

Currently, you were in your hotel room, sitting on your bed as your best friends surrounded you like hungry hyenas. They were drunk, wide grins on their faces while they listened to your words. Marie was the soberest out of them, hence her words and actions were the clearest. She was interrogating you as if you were a criminal and you felt somewhat uneasy.

"We...messed around“ You whispered, head tilting downwards to look at the colorful blanket. It proved to be a better object to look at than their curious eyes.

“So, you fucked?” Marie pressed, leaning closer to you. Jackie was behind Marie, looking attentively as if she was watching her favorite drama. April on the other hand, was laying down and with hooded eyes tried paying attention to what you were saying,

“No!” You snapped; tone almost too defensive. Marie’s expression showed that she wasn’t satisfied with your answer. Why was it so hard to believe your words?

“You guys used my misfortune and emotional pain as time to shuffle behind closed doors, I’m kind of hurt” April butted in, averting the attention of the conversation to herself. She had her eyebrows up and lips in a thin line.

“Oh come on! She probably had the best fuck of her life with the Jeon Jungkook. You could never April” Jackie proclaimed and a quiet ‘ooh' from others followed in suit. She rose up and extended her arm for a high five to which you and Marie gladly replied. “Now spill the tea!”  

“Sorry to disappoint, but we didn’t fuck. Jungkook only had me grind on to his thigh to completion” You confessed, shrugging your shoulders as if to say ‘that’s all there is’. Doubt and disbelief in the eyes of your best friends was more than obvious.  

“And what did you do for him?” Marie questioned; brows furrowed. Have you maybe forgotten about Jungkook, or has the impossible happened and he didn’t ask for it? Confusion washed over her face and you watched her expression change a thousand times in one second.

“Look, if a certain somebody hadn’t called and whined into the phone, I would’ve had the best fuck of my life that all of you keep talking about” Directing a sharp look towards April, you coughed. The female turned to look at you, faking offense.  

In the upcoming moment of silence, you caught the way Jackie was checking you out. Her eyes spent the most time inspecting the collar of your jacket. Feeling uncomfortable, you tried zipping the fly back up, fearing that it had gotten loose after a while. Jackie was fast to react, standing up and on wobbly legs approaching you. Her fingers worked fast, uncovering the numerous purple bruises in a quick second.

“Oh my god” She said, hand waving to call the other two over fast. When they looked over Jackie’s shoulder, another series of gasps sounded through the room. The silence that occurred right after began rising tension and you audibly gulped before speaking up.

“Guys?” They inspected the marks that went all the way down to your breasts, occasionally touching the tender, purple flesh. It was as if they’ve either never seen a hickey or something was incredibly wrong. Either way, you felt concerned.

“He marked you” April spoke up, eyes coming up to meet yours.

“Yeah, and?” You asked, finally pushing them away and managing to zip the jacket back up.

“Jeon Jungkook never marks girls” They answered in unison.

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

Jungkook was still laying down on his bed, one arm behind his head, eyes locked on the ceiling. The room grew quiet and calm after you left, leaving the man alone with his thoughts for a while. He didn’t know what the rest of the class was doing, or when his roommates will be back – he didn’t care enough. The only thing Jungkook cared and wished for, was you. What were you doing? Were you having fun? Were you thinking about coming back?

Jungkook craved your presence. He wasn’t wishing for your body, lips, or the way you moaned his name. Jungkook wished to have his hands around your body, to hold tight and lull you to sleep.  

“The machine’s working yeah?”

“Yeah, but it won’t be working for much longer”

The memory elicited a laugh from Jungkook. A soft smile stayed on his lips as he imagined the way you looked at him afterward. At that moment, all of your attention was on him. Jungkook’s heart swelled with a tingling feeling of happiness.

Suddenly, a knock was heard from outside. To Jungkook, in his dreamy state, every sound seemed distant. Yet, he stood up and walked towards the door, opening them to check just in case. Outside, stood William, Jungkook’s best friend but also roommate. Willam wore a worried expression on his face, and Jungkook moved aside so the other could enter.

No words were exchanged between the two until Jungkook sighed and threw himself back onto the bed.

“It’s her, right?” Was the first thing that William said. Jungkook didn’t expect such a straightforward question. He gulped and propped himself up on strong forearms so he could look the other in the eyes. The lights were off, but neither made an effort to turn them on.

“Why did you come back early?” Jungkook asked back, not keen on answering the previous question. He looked behind, catching a quick glimpse of the fire through an open window.

“Your girl came back a while ago and you didn’t so I had to check up on you” William replied, shoulders shrugging as he finished the sentence. Jungkook appreciated his best friend’s concern but felt bad because he made the other worry.

“It’s okay, I stayed here intentionally” Jungkook laid back on the bed, taking a deep breath and biting his lips.

“Did something happen between you two?” William asked, catching Jungkook off guard. Now, William probably wasn’t hinting on sexual interaction, but the guilty is always skeptical of the very thing. Should he tell what happened? Would you be okay with that? Would you want anyone else to know?

“No,” Jungkook answered, the indifference in his tone surprising, “it’s just that hard not to think about her”. He cared about your privacy, hence deciding that it’s probably better to keep quiet this time. William hummed along to what his best friend was saying, although he didn’t believe Jungkook’s words completely.  

“She’s so tender, William. She’s like an ice rose, so beautiful, yet so easy to break” Jungkook spoke, imagining your precious body in his arms. “She’s the kindest and most cheerful person I’ve ever seen” Jungkook suddenly remembered many moments that proved your great qualities. Like that one time, you picked up a bee from a sidewalk and carried it to a nearby flower. Or when you ran out of the line to help an elderly woman after her supermarket bag ripped.

He went on and on about you, his chest becoming lighter as he spoke. William listened intently, humming along and smiling at how soft Jeon Jungkook was.

“Man listen, ask her out on a date” He said. At that, Jungkook had to sit up and look at his best friend with an alert expression. Although the room was dark, he was still able to see the serious look on William’s face. The man is evidently not going to take no for an answer.

“I-” Jungkook began, but the other cut him off once again.  

“You choose to stare at her from a distance like some fucking creep. Also, after every encounter, you run away to reminisce. That’s bullshit Jungkook, where’s it going to get you, man?” William said, voice strong and authoritative. When it came to honesty, he spared no details and that’s probably why Jungkook was so fond of him.

“Just fucking swallow your pride for once, Jungkook, she deserves that much at least”

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

The visits to museums, lakes, memorial parks or places similar to such, didn’t allow you to explore the cities you were in. There was never enough time and the whole tour was in a constant hurry. Today though, the situation was different. The guides have blessed you not with one, but two hours to explore the unknown city all by yourselves. Everyone was visibly excited, happy to finally have some free time with their best friends.

“We will meet here at 16:00 sharp, understood?” Mrs. Montero yelled, her voice an uncomfortable noise to your ears. Instead of investigating the city, she’d probably go to a nice restaurant with the rest of the form teachers. The class eagerly anticipated a picture of her expensive meal in the group chat.

A loud ‘yes Mrs.’ was the answer of your class and just a second later, everyone scattered in different directions. Such a big crowd of students was confusing and you chaotically looked around, trying to spot your best friends. How and why do you always lose them?

“Looking for someone in particular?” Marie threw her hand around your shoulder, wide smile on her face. Her appearance was a surprise, and Marie laughed at the way you flinched.

“Yeah, you and the rest of the cult” Was your reply, eyes continuing to wander around, searching for Jackie and April. Marie turned you around in a swift motion, the two of you now facing a completely opposite direction. April was making her way towards you, iPhone in hand as she seemed to type a message. Jackie on the other hand, was far away, talking to one of your male classmates.

“Is that William?” You questioned, head turning to look at Marie. Her attention wasn’t on you, rather on the pair that were now exceptionally close to each other. She had her jaw relaxed and tongue prodding her cheek.

Ever since last year, Marie had the biggest crush on William. If asked, the female would claim that she doesn’t like him anymore, although that was far from the truth. She’d occasionally mention his shiny black curls and chocolate eyes, her eyes staying on the man for a second too long whenever he passed by. Your best friend liked tall and well-built men, and William delivered just that. She truly wasn’t to blame.

“Shouldn’t you be talking to him?” You asked, a cheeky smile on your lips.  

“Me? Ridiculous. Why would I? He doesn’t interest me anymore” Marie answered, attention finally averting to you. Her pupils constricted upon falling onto your form, giving her feelings away.

Not saying anything else, you wondered what they could be talking about. You supposed that Jackie will tell you once back, and you silently anticipated her quick return.  

One thing that also piqued your interest was where’s Jungkook. William and Jungkook are best friends, usually inseparable, yet the other half was nowhere to be seen. Now that it was paid a piece of thought, you hadn’t seen Jungkook since yesterday. Normally, you’d feel his eyes whenever, but today that wasn’t the case. It was either because the lectures today had been interesting and immersive, or he was avoiding you.

Just an assumption that Jungkook began avoiding you, didn’t sit well in you.

“Guys!” Jackie’s voice sounded from behind. It appeared closer and closer with each passing second and you supposed that she’s running towards you. Her tone was cheerful and loud, indicating that the news she carried were good ones.

“William asked if we’re interested in hanging out with their group” Jackie continued, now in a crouching position as she tried to stabilize her breathing. The group looked between each other, then back at William who was heading somewhere, steps slow and head shaking.

“He specifically asked if we could bring Marie with us” Oh this fucker. That was a game-winning move. William knew how to play and get what he wanted.  

“We are going!” Marie exclaimed and with her chin held up high, walked ahead of others. Then, abruptly stopping, she turned around, confusion in her eyes as she spoke: “But where to?”

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

You weren’t sure if he’d show up, but then, how could he not?

Marie entered the restaurant first, hips swaying left and right as she tried locating the five frenzied men. It wasn’t a hard task, for she had always been great at finding the curly boy at any given circumstance. Besides William, sat Felix and Yongliang and on the other side, Jungkook and Jesse. All men turned around and waved, smiles on their faces.  

You dared to look at Jungkook, but it surprised you when you noticed him already looking back. Jungkook’s eyes never let go of yours, they were clear, warm even. Instead of smirking like he usually does, Jungkook showcased a beautiful pearly smile. He looked different.

Much to Jungkook’s surprise, but also luck, you sat right beside him. There were quite a few things you wanted and hoped to address if there was a chance.

Once everyone was seated, the waitress approached and took the group order with a smile on her face. It wasn’t easy to decide on the types of food all of you wanted to try, because everything seemed delicious. The drinks though, were pretty easy to pick, most of them being alcoholic beverages and juices that were served immediately.  

Noticing that the table was swallowed by noise as others began discussing an intriguing topic, you turned to face Jungkook again. His dreamy state hasn’t changed, big deer-like eyes meeting yours instantly.

“You’re being way too obvious” Whispering through teeth, you pretended to be looking at the beautiful decorations of the restaurant. The words seemed to strike Jungkook with incredible force, throwing him out of balance and making him confused for a moment. Way too obvious? Was he?  

Regaining his posture quick and raising one eyebrow, Jungkook directed an intrigued look to you. “Am I now?” He questioned, only hoping that your statement wasn’t implying on what he thought it was.

“Mhm” You nodded and smiled. Just as you were about to say something else, William threw an amazing joke, making the whole table laugh. Jackie took the chance, and replied with another joke, the laughter becoming that much louder. The more you listened, the more you wanted to record this moment. The only problem being-

“Shit! I forgot my phone!” You exclaimed; a bit too loud for your liking. Everyone turned around and silence swallowed the whole corner up. You hated situations in which the attention was completely on you as they led to quick and thoughtless reactions.

“Sorry guys I uh, have to head back to the bus, I forgot my phone I- you come with me” Without much thought or even reason, you pulled Jungkook up and began heading out. If the boy had any complaints, you didn’t manage to hear them.  

Walking on what you supposed was the road back to the bus, your hand still held Jungkook’s wrist. No words nor glances were exchanged, but a thousand thoughts rushed through your troubled mind. Why have you impulsively brought Jungkook with you? Why wasn’t he complaining? But more importantly, was this the right way back?

Jungkook followed in suit, his thoughts clear. If he were to describe his state of mind right now, it would’ve been heavenly. The man watched your legs furiously stop forwards; head hung low as if you were pulling some big weight. You looked irritated and his heart screamed at him to relieve you.

“Hey?” Jungkook spoke up and stopped in his tracks. His halt had you losing balance and tripping over your own feet, body beginning to fall. Thankfully, Jungkook reacted fast and pulled you back into his strong chest. His hold felt strong and safe. Like a place you’d run towards to find solace.  

The two of you looked at each other for a few long seconds. Jungkook had the chance to witness the way your gaze changed. It seemed to shift from annoyed and troubled to calm the more you looked at him. Jungkook didn’t know why, but he silently wished to be the reason behind that change.

“What’s troubling you?” The male asked, voice soft and quiet. You could smell the cherry bubblegum as Jungkook spoke, his breath fanning over your face.

“Many things” For all you know, you could’ve walked to a completely another side of the city. Without any input from Jungkook, how would you have known? Your tired legs began to hurt so you looked around for a bench to rest. Fortunately, there was one just a few meters away, and you broke free from Jungkook’s hold just to run towards it.

“Well, I’m here to listen if you’re willing to talk” Jungkook said once he caught up and sat beside you. The silence that enrolled allowed your thoughts to fight with each other, mind suddenly having trouble with processing all of the information. Jungkook watched your posture, shoulders tense and back bent, wondering if a hug would make you feel better.  

“Are we even heading in the right direction?” A pitiful laugh ended your question. Jungkook shrugged with his shoulders but was quick to take his phone out and check the map. After tapping a few times, he turned the device around, showing you it’s screen. There was a smile on Jungkook’s face as he spoke.

“We aren’t, but we aren’t far away from the right path” The sticker at the bottom of the screen said that there were 20 minutes of walking to your destination. Sighing and nodding, you thanked him and looked away.

A certain question has been troubling you recently. You silently hoped that you’ll have enough confidence to ask it when the time’s right. Somehow, this moment seemed like the perfect chance and you wondered if it was worth taking.

“Jungkook?” You whispered. Fuck it. Curiosity killed the cat anyway.

“Yes?” Jungkook replied, sitting just a tad bit closer than before. He couldn’t hear you well enough. The way you voiced out his name was as if it was dangerous to do so, as if it was prohibited. The man didn’t like it one bit.  

“Last night, what did it mean?” That wasn’t what you wanted to ask. You repeated a different question inside of your head a thousand times, yet still managed to mess it up. Did you even want to hear the answer to this question?  

“It means that you owe me an orgasm” That wasn’t what Jungkook wanted to reply with, either. Just after the words left his lips, did he realize how horrible they sounded. Jungkook hoped that you weren’t getting the wrong idea, but it was hard not to when it came to words like these.

“Oh. Deal” Although his answer was disappointing, you refused to let it show. What you replied with might’ve as well been an empty promise, a white lie or plain meaningless words. Either way, you still felt somewhat indifferent. Jungkook on the other hand, felt his heart skip a beat. It meant that you’d be in his arms again, no matter for how long.  

Sitting for a few more minutes on the bench, you noticed how comfortable Jungkook’s presence felt. As if Jungkook was someone you’ve known your whole life. It was a pleasant surprise, one that lifted the corners of your lips upwards in a shy smile.

Suddenly, the sound of a stomach rumbling filled the tight space around you. Missing lunch is taking its toll, ruining the atmosphere and probably embarrassing you in front of the other.

Not long after, a noise of tin foil was heard. Turning around, you watched Jungkook rummage through his black backpack. The male pulled out what looked like a sandwich wrapped in foil, immediately handing it over to you. Unsure about the situation, you proceeded to hold it, breathing in the beautiful smell it gave off.

Jungkook proceeded to take another sandwich out and zip the bag back up. He looked at you with an unreadable expression upon seeing the first one intact.

“Won’t you eat it? I thought you’d be hungry since we’re missing lunch right now” Jungkook spoke, getting ready to take the first bite.

“Oh, this is for me? Thank you!” You chirped happily. The sandwich was so good that it was comparable to the ones mom makes at home. There was enough of everything you liked and the beautiful buns were melting in your mouth. You ate with a satisfied heart and hummed at the beautiful taste, all while Jungkook’s heart grew bigger with each bite.

“These are heavenly! Did your mom make them?” Asking with mouth full, for a moment you forgot about manners. Once realizing the mistake, you turned around and put a hand over your lips, heat rushing to your cheeks. That was unflattering.

“I made them!” Jungkook exclaimed, happiness and excitement seeping from his words. The other never looked this happy before. A compliment from you gave him enough confidence to apply for a chef straight away. That’s how proud he felt.

The surprised look on your face was enough evidence of shock. Pointing at him and mouthing ‘really’, you only got another confirmation from Jungkook. Hell, you’d sign up to get these sandwiches every morning if it were possible.

Once finished, Jungkook prepared to throw the foil balls in the trash as if he were playing basketball. Murmuring ‘this one’s for you’, Jungkook tossed the first one and missed. “That was intentional” He said.

“Wow fuck you, Jeon” You exclaimed with a smile, watching how the other’s expression turned pouty. The man tried once again, but upon missing for the second time, ended up giving up. Jungkook threw the trash normally, grabbed your hand and walked forwards.

“Let’s go get that phone of yours”

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Back at the hotel, when dinner was over, students began heading towards their rooms to prepare for the disco. April picked the first thing that she looked at (which surprisingly ended up being an extremely tight dress), while Marie and Jackie took more time. Unfortunately for them, you weren’t feeling well after eating, a sudden stomach ache preventing you from going. Of course, they nagged at you for a bit, told you the sickness will go away after a couple of shots, or perhaps after you meet Jungkook.

That made you laugh.

Because you’ll be meeting him anyway tonight.

“You sure you’ll be okay on your own?” April asked, crouching beside you. She reached out into her bag and handed you a CD. The group carried a few movies, but with how little time everyone spent at the hotel, there was little to no chance to watch them. Thankfully, someone will finally have time to spare for a movie now, or at least April thought so.

Reassuring her that everything will be okay, you sat up on the bed, ready to bid goodbyes. April gave you a quick kiss on the cheek, before joining Marie and Jackie who only waved from the entrance. With a smile, you waved back, wishing them lots of fun.

Immediately after the door closed, you jumped up from the bed and began rummaging through your luggage. Although there were many cute outfits you wished to wear, none of them could do tonight. Less is more this time.

Somewhere at the bottom of the carriage, an oversized caramel hoodie came into view. A voice inside of your head seemed to scream ‘perfect’. Picking it up and pulling it on, you noticed that the hem reached the middle of your thighs. Were shorts necessary underneath this? Fuck it.

Looking at the reflection in the mirror, you swirled in a circle, satisfied with the way you dressed. Glancing around for anything that might’ve been forgotten, your eyes fell on the movie CD. It still laid unopened exactly where it had been left, and for some unknown reason, you picked it up and carried it out.

Pushing the card underneath the mat once the entrance was locked, you headed towards Jungkook’s room. Thankfully, it was right next to yours so it didn’t take too long to reach.  

Knocking a few times, you wished for Jungkook to open fast. Yet, when the door finally opened, it wasn’t Jungkook who you met eyes with. It was William, his face as shocked as the one he was currently looking at. William was evidently heading out, all dressed up, and you only struck bad luck. The boy wore a black shirt with top buttons unbuttoned, and black pants, probably aiming to blend in with the environment of the disco.

“Uh, yes?” William spoke up, after what looked like forever of silence. What exactly was he asking? You didn’t know. Although it took you another eternity to answer, the other was, fortunately, a patient man. He leaned on the doorframe with crossed arms and listened, eyes firmly locked on your face.  

“Hi,” You answered, an awkward smile lingering on your lips, “is Jungkook there?”

“Yes, would you like me to call him?” William replied, thumb pointing back inside. You nodded, whispering a quick ‘yes please’, after which the man was immediately turning around and walking away. There was loud shuffling from inside and soon, Jungkook was before you, a white towel wrapped around his waist.

There was just enough time to inspect how the god before you looked. His honey skin glowed, almost reflecting the light from above. Droplets of water fell from the wet locks, then traveled the long distance over his torso. Jungkook’s abs appeared much more prominent than before, muscles firm and tight. His v line peeked from under the towel, teasingly calling out for you.  

“You’re here! Welcome!” Jungkook exclaimed, holding the cloth with one and waving with the other hand. Waving back, you glanced over Jungkook’s shoulder, noticing the way William shook his head while looking at his best friend.

“I think I’d die of boredom alone, you’re a life savior” Jungkook added, voice intentionally louder than before. The look you were given told you to play along, probably to throw William off whatever he was thinking about. Thankfully, picking up the cues has never been hard for you.

“I even brought a movie!” Chirping, you lifted the hand that held the said object. As you did so, the hoodie rose up to expose your naked thigh. Jungkook gasped and took a step closer – shielding you from William’s gaze.

“You have Netflix here” The man said, voice calm and collected, but there was still a small smile on the corner of his lips. William knew exactly what he was talking about.

“No! We-” Jumping in defense, you were about to deny any of his suggestions. Unfortunately, William began making his way out before you had any chance to speak up. He walked past Jungkook, giving him a certain type of look and whispering something that sounded like ‘please just not on my bed’. Jungkook smirked at that.

“Whatever, see you” With that, William walked through the door. For the first time, his eyes trailed your whole body. Rising his eyebrows and looking at Jungkook, William watched how Jungkook’s facial expression changed. The other frowned and immediately pulled you inside, away from any unwanted glances.

Once inside, Jungkook’s lips immediately landed on yours. Both of his hands came up to your cheeks, holding tight as if you were going to disappear. Jungkook was kissing you passionately, as if it was his last kiss. Swarmed by emotion, your arms locked behind his neck, allowing more contact that both of you craved.

When your lips parted for a quick moment, you stood quiet before the other, taking in how breathtaking Jungkook was. Dark brown locks, although parted, fell over his forehead in beautiful waves. Reaching upwards, you moved the strands away from his eyes hurriedly. Jungkook’s irises shined; pupils big with a clear reflection of you in them. The man wasn’t doing anything, but your heart skipped a few beats.

Jungkook smiled, hand lowering to take yours, as he began walking towards the bedroom. He closed the door behind and sat down on one of the beds. Jungkook was quick to pull you onto his lap, fingers creeping underneath your hoodie and caressing each patch of skin available.  

Noticing the CD still in your grasp, Jungkook retrieved one of his hands and leaned in to place it on the bedside table. Instead of pulling back, the man rested his chin into the crook of your neck. Your chests were pressed together, the quiet beat the two hearts made was a soothing noise.

Then, as if Jungkook finally remembered the reason behind your visit, he gripped the hem of the caramel hoodie and spoke, voice low and strong.

“You’re walking around in underwear only, princess?” Gosh, the pet name. They never appealed to you as much, but it’s only because they weren’t from Jungkook. Now that his lips whisper and burn them into your skin with every sensitive touch, you find them as charming as ever.

“Only for you” You leaned forward and whispered the words into Jungkook’s ears. He visibly shivered.

“Yeah? Only for me? What else is for me?” The man smirked, fingers back on their old path They spread such warmth that for a moment, you thought your skin was burning. The temperature was just enough to rise beautiful tension to a higher level. The moans you made was music for Jungkook’s lips and he wished for you to never stop. His fingers lifted the hem of your hoodie up, and in an instance, it was thrown on the floor.

“Tonight, everything’s for you” Neither of you expected such a statement. Slight surprise was evident on both faces, and time stopped for a little while. It was as if you’ve leaked nation’s top secret. The moment was beginning to get awkward fast, and if it wasn’t for Jungkook’s upcoming move, you’d visibly cringe.

He pressed you harder into his chest, scared that you’ll disappear. There were so many things he could’ve replied to you with, but kept silent. If he asked for your heart, how would you have replied?  

Jungkook swallowed his unspoken words and flipped you over. A sigh escaped your lips as you clung on to his shoulders for support. The man retouched all the bruises he made, restarting the healing process and reminding you once again of who you belonged to. The red patches turned purple again, the sensation of his tongue on your skin oh so sinful.

Without waiting for the other to ask, you reached behind and unclasped the bra, throwing it away in an unknown direction. Jungkook gasped, lips immediately latching onto one of your nipples, while he worked the other with his long fingers. He pinched and pulled on it with little force, already accustomed to the things that made you whine.

Jungkook was impatient, but more so eager to explore the places he wasn’t able to last time. Therefore, his lips continued kissing down your body, coming close to the place where you wanted him the most. The light kisses Jungkook delivered to your stomach tickled. He laughed upon witnessing you trying to shy away, intentionally continuing his ministrations.

The man then hooked his point fingers inside of your underwear and lifted his gaze to meet yours. That was his silent ask for consent and you were extremely surprised about how much he cared. Jungkook too, couldn’t remember when was the last time he was so careful with someone.  

When you gave him a quick nod, the cotton was off and away from your skin. Jungkook took one quick moment to take the sight in. You admired the way the other looked too; broad, muscular shoulders, prominent collarbones you were yet to leave marks on and a beautiful torso that ended with a (still) half-covered v-line.  

Finally, the temptation was deemed too much, as you sat up to untie Jungkook’s towel, watching it fall to the ground. Jungkook’s expression turned surprised while looking downwards, seeing that you’ve gotten your peek before he planned. Sparing a quick glance, your eyes widened in surprise.

Jungkook had a beautiful dick. It was just the right length and probably thicker than what would be considered average. A prominent vein ran down the full expanse of it, and you reached out to run a finger over it. Just as you were about to wrap a full hand around his cock, Jungkook took it into his and pushed you back onto the bed. He was quick to hold both of your wrists up above your head.

“They stay here, alright?” Somehow, Jungkook’s voice became even lower, a slight rasp evident. You loved to tease and rebel, but the way the man was looking at you served as a warning that it wouldn’t be a good idea. Being a good girl for Jungkook sounded much better anyway.

The feeling of his lips on your womanhood was indescribable. Electricity ran through your whole body, shock after shock whenever his tongue passed your clit. His two fingers came up to open your outer lips, tongue prodding deeper than before, wet sounds filling the small space around. It was random figures his muscle trailed, once it were eights, then tight circles or flat lines.

When his fingers came into play, prodding into your entrance, you thought you’d lose it. He tested the waters first, pushing one finger, noticing how you’d contract and coat his digit with sticky arousal. When the second finger came in, Jungkook hissed. You were extremely tight and the stretch was another burning sensation.

“You’re so tight, baby. Does it hurt?” Jungkook checked, fingers stilling.

“It’s only been a while, don’t worry” You reassured him, head falling back after the actions of his fingers were resumed. Jungkook’s fingers sped up, they worked fast, sloppy and wet sounds becoming louder and more arousing. The high began to form in your stomach, coming closer to exploding with each thrust of the digits inside of you.  

Through the tightening of your walls and ragged breathing, Jungkook managed to catch on. One second, one push was enough to push you over and you were so close-

Jungkook pulled his fingers out, much to your dismay. A scream of desperation was ripped out of your throat, a disappointed look on your face, to which Jungkook chuckled. He climbed up, bringing his glistening fingers to your lips. Obeying, you parted your lips and sucked on his fingers, tasting the salty arousal. Jungkook didn’t allow you to think about the taste for long, for his lips were on your fast.  

Fortunately, and surprisingly, Jungkook slid down again, hands prying your thighs further apart. Although you were denied of your high, one touch of his tongue was enough to bring it roaring back in an instant. In just a couple of flat licks, the coil snapped and exploded into a powerful orgasm.

Your shaking hands moved from their previous position, flying to Jungkook's head to steady yourself. A scream echoed through the room, probably even sounding through the walls. Jungkook seemed to love the reaction, working his tongue through your high with a smirk on his face. When the oversensitivity hit, you shied away from Jungkook, sitting up and pushing his head away.

“You moved your hands, sweetheart” Jungkook noted, eyebrows raising in a warning manner. For a moment, you felt nervous, unsure of what the other would do. But this was Jungkook, the man that proved a thousand times that whatever he did was to make you feel good.

“Should we do something about it?” He asked, eyes never once leaving yours. In this position, Jungkook looked quite intimidating. He obviously liked being in charge in the bedroom, which woke up the bratty need inside of you. This was a game for two.

Putting your hands on his shoulders and pushing him back swiftly, you climbed onto Jungkook's thighs, straddling them. The man looked surprised, but was interested in playing along. He tried sitting up, unfortunately with no success. Jungkook could use his hands to lift you up from his thighs but decided not to. He wanted to explore all sides of you, and this one was proving to be quite intriguing.

Your right hand traveled lower, soon in contact with his cock. Jungkook's breath hitched upon the first contact of your warm hands with his skin. A loud and long moan made its way to your ears, Jungkook's head thrown backwards, neck completely exposed.

Taking the chance, you dipped downwards, lips latching on to his exposed and prominent collarbone. If this man was allowed to leave a bunch of bruises on your neck, you were allowed to give one back. It will be easy to cover, but something told you Jungkook won't even try to do so.

Once the purple mark was on his skin, you proceeded to slide off Jungkook's lap and kneel on the ground between his legs. Jungkook rose up, wondering what you're doing. Then, he leaned towards you and lifted your body up. You were thrown back on the bed, a confused look in your eyes, but a wide smile on your lips.

“Next time okay? I don't think I'll last if your mouth comes anywhere close to my dick” Jungkook's voice was sincere, but there was a teasing smile on his lips.  

The man pulled away from you for a moment, rushing over to his bag and pulling out a foil packet. It was ripped in an instant, the sound too loud in a quiet room. Jungkook managed to roll it on his cock quick, already positioned between your legs. He looked at you for a moment, trying to find any kind of uncertainty, doubt or even regret. Fortunately, there was none. Throwing one of your legs over his shoulder, Jungkook positioned himself at your entrance.

“Please tell me if it hurts” With that, he bent down and kissed you. His kiss served as a distraction from the sudden stretch of your walls. The pain was bearable, pleasure already beginning to replace it. The tightness of your walls that gripped his shaft made Jungkook close his eyes and breathe heavily. He was giving you time to adjust, holding back from immediately pounding you into the bed.

Once buried to the hilt, Jungkook smiled. Your eyes were glassy, but there was a smile on your features as well. Jungkook grew accustomed to the warmth around his member, but the need to move was beginning to grow. Giving him a curt nod, the man lowered his hands to your hips and pulled out.  

A ruthless pace was set from the very beginning. Jungkook wasn't showing any mercy, his cock driving in and out from your walls with great speed. He was hitting just the right spots, his hips rolling in the most alluring way. Your hands were spread on the bed, gripping whatever they could find because Jungkook was pounding you with such force that the bed moved with every thrust. Whimpers kept spilling through your open lips, creating a beautiful melody for him.

“Yeah? Is this cock is making you feel good?” Jungkook asked. Not trusting your voice, you nodded furiously, head thrown backwards and back aching from the bed.  

Jungkook was having none of it. His hand came up to your face, gripping your jaw and forcing you to look at him. The hold was extremely tight, fingerprints becoming embedded in your skin.

“You’re going to answer me when I ask you something, baby” Despite his sharp thrusts, Jungkook's voice was clean. Clean, rough and dominant.  

His other hand latched around your leg and found its way to your clit, rubbing quick circles. Jungkook made the mistake of looking downwards, immediately noticing how your heat swallowed him. His cock was glistening with your juices, a new layer coating it with every entrance. With every move, Jungkook felt the sloppy walls contract, hugging him just as tight as before.

Aided by a sudden confidence boost, you grabbed the hand that was on your jaw and moved it towards your exposed neck. Jungkook smirked, fingers enveloping your throat and applying slight pressure immediately. The action made you lightheaded, eyes abruptly rolling back. Your breathing was quickening, hips going out of control as the stimulation from both his cock and fingers became too much.

“Who’s making you feel this good?” Jungkook questioned.

“You!” You screamed, voice broken and raspy. The sensation was so good, you were so close, and electricity just kept sprouting throughout your body. His fingers on your clit sped up, just awaiting that one moment for you to unfold.

“Who?” He repeated, timing the question with your upcoming orgasm perfectly.

“Jungkook!” Your body rose one last time, the grip on your neck tightening just a little bit as stars flashed before your eyes. Jungkook was still pounding into you, enjoying the feeling of your walls spasming around him.  

Not long after, he pulled out quickly, fingers coming to wrap around his base. The man was preventing himself from cumming, and although you weren’t sure if you could go on, there was will to at least try.

Jungkook waited for you to calm down, for your chest to stop heaving and vision to come back. Once he deemed you woke enough and ready to continue, Jungkook flipped you over, ordering to hold on all fours. Standing on hands and knees, you spread your legs, waiting for what’s to come.

He didn't wait for long, his cock pushing through and immediately hitting the right spot. The pace hasn’t changed, and you noted that Jungkook was a fan of rough and fast sex. His balls slapped your clitoris with every thrust, awakening a completely new sensation.  

“Fuck, this ass, holy shit” It wasn’t surprising to hear and feel a sharp slap to you behind right after his words. The hit stung, but it stung in the most pleasurable way. Wiggling your butt at him earned you another slap.

“Baby likes spanks? What a dirty girl you are” Jungkook said, palms soothing the red marks on your flesh before striking again. With each blow, your body jerked forward, eyes closing to stop the unreasonable tears from escaping. The count reached ten before Jungkook was done. Reddened cheeks underneath him became Jungkook’s favorite sight instantly.

Soon, the wet sounds and the feeling of your pussy were building Jungkook's high too. His hand came up to the side of your head, pushing it carefully but with great force into the mattress. Your ass was now perched up, back ached even more than before as you took Jungkook's shaft deeper.

“Maybe you're not my baby, but my filthy little girl” Jungkook noted. You felt that this man was holding back on his vocabulary when you wanted nothing less than the worst.

“A bitch” You breathed out, barely audible, but oh he heard you.

“I guess you are” He confirmed, now feeling a bit more confident. “My. Little. Bitch.” With each spoken word, Jungkook pushed in, only to pull back awfully slow. You felt his cock twitch slightly inside of you.

“O-only for y-you” You groaned, wanting to boost the man further.

“Only for me. Should I let my little bitch cum? Or is she not satisfied yet?” Jungkook's love for dirty talk was showing incredibly fast. The man had an incredibly foul mouth and the words although sinful, sounded oh so beautiful.

“P-please let me cu-cum” Whining, you reached behind to rub your clit. Alas, Jungkook was having none of it. His hand found yours and pushed it behind your back.  

“Whores don't deserve to touch their pussies” The man suddenly leaned down over you, his voice right beside your ear. “Only. My. Cock. Understood?” Each word was punctuated by a hard thrust, and upon the last one, your arm and legs gave up and you screamed. Jungkook was quick to hold you, but his orgasm wasn't any less further away. With you in his arms, both of you fell down on the mattress. Quiet moans of your name echoed through the room. The pulsating of his cock as he filled the condom up with cum prolonged your high and the feeling of bliss for just a bit longer.

Once the highs were over, Jungkook pulled out carefully, oversensitivity hitting the both of you. He took the condom off, tied it and put it in an empty box of cookies before throwing it away. The sound of water running in the bathroom only lasted for a couple of seconds before it disappeared. Jungkook came out and hurriedly walked towards you, holding a towel that dripped water down on the parquet floor. You laid on the side, exhausted on his bed. Although your eyes were closed, you felt the dip in the mattress as Jungkook sat down.  

You felt a warm towel being dragged all over your body. The feeling was beautiful, tired muscles finally relaxing. Jungkook washed every detail of your skin thoroughly before reaching down to your womanhood. He made sure to clean you up well from any remains of arousal before proceeding to dress you up.

Truthfully, this wasn’t expected from Jungkook. His hands held you cautiously, putting a clean pair of his boxers on you, before sitting you up to help with the hoodie. Your eyes were half-open, barely seeing anything as Jungkook managed to get your head and hands through the holes of the soft garment. Once done, Jungkook cleaned himself up quickly, putting on boxers and baggy grey pants, then laid next to you.  

No words were spoken between the two of you. Silence wasn’t awkward, but rather pregnant. Jungkook was an arm length away, maintaining the distance. He wasn’t sure what was going through your head, just like you weren’t aware of his own thoughts.  

Something made you look in Jungkook’s direction. Upon turning around, you witnessed Jungkook’s beautiful side profile. He had a thoughtful look on his face, a frown playing on his lips.  

Jungkook noticed you looking, though. When your eyes met, it was a collision. Two different worlds clashing together and merging into one. Suddenly, you crawled closer to him, Jungkook extending his arm for you to lay on. Your head was positioned on Jungkook’s shoulder, hand spread on his chest and body leaning to his side. His breathing became quicker, and it was possible to hear his heartbeat. Jungkook was about to speak but sighed instead and only tightened the arm that was around your body.

What seemed like an eternity later, your eyes caught on to the clock that peacefully ticked above the entrance? It showed 00:30, turning to 00:31 after a blink. Letting out a puff of air, you sat up, much to Jungkook’s dismay. You were about to leave when Jungkook’s hand grasped your wrist.

The look on his face after you turned around was of pure panic. Jungkook looked desperate, eyes tired and entreating a silent plea. You waited for him to say anything, the anticipation now more uncomfortable than the silence.

His voice was toned in a way you’ve never heard before as he said the following words,

“Please stay a little bit longer”

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AN: Oh my god. Now when I wrote the first part I didn’t expect it to ‘blow up’ and holy shit did it surprise me. Seeing so many people like something I’ve written is still unreal. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. I took my time writing this part, just to make sure that I’m satisfied with how it turned out and hopefully, you are too.

Somehow, I cut this part from 9k to 7,8k words, realizing that 1,2k more words might be a tad bit too much. Don’t worry, no important parts were deleted (just my unnecessary over-description hah)!

#jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jungkook drama #jungkook scenario #jungkook fanfiction #jungkook imagine #bts #bts smut #bts fluff #bts angst #bts drama #bts scenario #bts fanfiction #bts imagine #kpop #kpop smut #kpop scenario #kpop drama #kpop fanfiction #kpop imagine #namjoon #kim namjoon #seokjin #kim seokjin #yoongi #min yoongi #hoseok

[cloakedandsoaked]

Wants and Needs

[This is straight-up porn. Don’t read it if you don’t want to read porn. Contains lots of blood, a wee bit of self-harm, consensual non-consent, and probably other things I haven’t thought to warn for.]

As Dantalion threw his head back, lines of fire cutting down each side of him, his last remaining thought flickered in wonder at how he had managed to find himself here. For ‘here’ he most certainly was, covered in sweat and ichor, with a demon he'd just met leaning over him in an unfamiliar bed, to which he was tightly bound. And then the thought was gone, banished with all the others to wherever thoughts disappear to in the throes of ecstasy.

If it had stuck around, it might have elucidated for us the circumstances that had led Dantalion to this peculiar state of affairs. Indeed, it might have told first of the deep itch that had taken hold in his bones some time over the past few days, an itch to which he was all too accustomed. It came in times of stress, in times of boredom, and, sometimes, at least as far as the duke himself could tell, for no particular reason at all.

In the past, he would have ignored such an itch. Or, failing that, he might have tried to scratch it himself, though that usually didn't take very well or for very long -- and it seemed to upset Sahar, which he had no real inclination to do.

But now….

Well, he had been trying to allow himself as much of what he wanted as possible. In the aftermath of his emotional experiments, giving in to desire seemed to help quiet the hollowness, at least for a time.

And what he desired was for someone to hurt him. Properly.

Not enough, of course, to render him unfit for duty; he was needy, not insane. He just wanted someone to, y'know. Rough him up a bit. Take the edge off that grasping, cloying thirst beneath his skin that cried out for some kind of stimulation.

One of the downsides to using his physical form as a sensory muffler was that he sometimes felt too muffled, almost claustrophobic under the smothering blanket burrito of his flesh. And since he wasn't going to leave that flesh unless absolutely necessary, sometimes -- just sometimes -- he needed something to reach between the bars of his self-made prison and touch him for real.

Or, at least, as close to 'real' as it was going to get.

He'd had Sahar set up the appointment for him, even allowing her to select the practitioner. Someone discreet, secure. (Obscenely well-paid, as should be obvious.) Thankfully, she had a shortlist ready and waiting, as it had been for years. It was an old argument of theirs, and, until now, she had never convinced him to book.

With only half an hour 'til the appointment, Dantalion had quite nearly bunnied out, despite the fact that he would lose his deposit. However, he found his mind turning to Asmodeus, and his resolve pulled through. Asmodeus would be disappointed by the idea that he couldn't even visit a professional dominant without turning coward. He took a deep breath, centered himself, and flipped the switch on his nervousness.

That's right, this is supposed to be good, isn't it? The hollowness was back, and with it, the itch, and with the itch, an unsettling but not unfamiliar sort of desire. Yes, this is how it's supposed to be. No more nights spent trying to clench himself together, or worse, trying to find fulfillment in his own claws, but unable to escape his bullet train of a mind even as he bled a pool onto the floor. Straightening his back, he had left his office with a new confidence.

And that confidence held, even through the consultation. Of course, he and Master Rodger (Really? Tal had thought, ‘Rodger’ of all things?) had communicated by email the day before, so both of them knew at least some of what to expect.

Well, Tal didn't expect Master Rodger to have easily a metre on him (Not even counting the horns, stars!); that part was a surprise. And not at all an unwelcome one, Tal noted vaguely in the part of his mind that wasn't focused on maintaining his social mask. Although he knew his mask was going to slip at some point in the evening, and, indeed, that was part of the point, it didn't do to be anything less than a perfect gentlebeing outside of the scene. Manners mattered.

It helped that Master Rodger (For real, that has to be a work name, Dantalion kept thinking. And of course it was.) was warm and open, exactly the sort of person to make one want to reflect those qualities back. It rang a bell of familiarity in Tal's mind; it carried an essence of similarity to the seeping heat of Asmodeus, but much less intense, and without the sense of nervousness and... almost… violation? that always came along with it.

(Then again, he hadn't seen Asmodeus except in picture form since his experiments with the switch method, and next time, the experience might be totally different. It was hard to say. He rather hoped so! That was part of the purpose of the whole affair, after all.)

They discussed the usual necessities. Safewords, limits, aftercare, any other concerns. They settled on the classic traffic light system for safewords; no surprise there. Most of Tal's limits had been outlined in their online communication, but he reinforced a few. I'm in charge of my breathing. I'm in charge of my eye contact. Master Rodger made a point of reminding him of a limit or two of his own, including 'no kisses on the mouth', one Tal actually took quite a bit of comfort in. It wouldn't have been something he'd have listed, himself, but it was certainly not something he enjoyed most of the time.

It did, admittedly, get a bit awkward when Dantalion had to show him (for it was a tricky subject) exactly how he liked and didn't like his hair and scalp to be touched. No amount of warmth and openness could save him there. He felt as if he were on display in a way far more scandalous than was typically possible for the amount of clothing he still had on. The sensation was, if he were honest with himself, a little bit exciting, though that didn't cut through the social ticklishness of the moment.

And then they were ready, and all at once, the nervousness from before sprang again like a tiger to devour him from the inside. In what way, he wasn't sure, but he must have revealed it as they made their way to the back room, for Master Rodger laid a paw in the middle of his back (which was honestly about as low as he could reach with his paw without bending; Stars, but he's tall!), and rubbed a calming circle there. "Just like we talked about, right? Is this okay?"

Tal first tensed at the contact, then relaxed into it. Taking a deep breath, he steadied himself. "First time jitters. It's fine. I'm a high-strung personality. But then again, that's why I'm here." He was babbling, and he realised it. Rather than continue, he nodded at Master Rodger, who opened the door for him.

"Five minutes, and we'll start. You can put your clothes on the chair by the door on the right." It was a solid acknowledgement of Tal's stated preference that he begin the scene already in the nude, and he appreciated it. Master Rodger gave him a once-over, and then corrected: "Make it three; I really don't want you sitting in there fretting a mess."

Tal smiled sheepishly, and went on in.

Four minutes later, he was turned over one comically long thigh, face and torso resting on the edge of the great, black bed, bum in the air.

Not all went so smoothly. Only a few minutes of spanking with some sort of implement (he couldn't see what, but he knew it wasn't a paw) had him flushed and squirming, and not with the response he had most hoped to have. This would have to be rectified. "Excuse me, sir?" he ground out, tense with the sensations and his own pride.

"Yes, kitten?" He stopped what he was doing, keen to listen to whatever it was that had made Dantalion speak up now, when he had been so seemingly reserved.

Tal sighed and shifted against the thick leg that bore him up. "I mean no offense, but this is really… doing more to turn me on than to hurt me." He pinked further in embarrassment, as if the evidence of his cock was not enough to humiliate him. Dantalion was clearly more than a little pent up.

"Already asking for more, eh? Greedy." He ran a single claw up Tal's spine, with just enough pressure to be felt. "I like it."

Tal shuddered at the implication on his skin, and his ears pricked as he heard a rustling noise. The anticipation was almost overwhelming as he waited, breathless, for the dom's next move. He wasn't expecting gentleness. 

However, that's exactly what he received; a velveted paw soothed small circles on his arse, coaxing out the too-small sting that had gathered there. Dantalion made a strangled noise between a sigh and a growl, and ground his hips up into the Master's leg.

"You have permission to ask me for 'more' any time you like. Understood, kitten?"

Dantalion twisted his face into the bed until his neck was crooked and only his mouth peeked out. This is torture! Fuck, it can't have even been fifteen minutes yet. "Yes, sir," he sighed, unsure whether either of them had really understood the point of this whole endeavor.

Crack!

Tal arched off the bed, more in shock than pain, though the pain hit him a half-second later, and he welcomed it with a soft moan as he collapsed back down. The moan was cut off with another stroke, followed by three in rapid succession. "Fuck," he hissed, hands scrambling to find purchase on the tight-laid bedsheets.

"Color?"

"Green, sir!" Tal's eyes ghosted closed as another short rain of blows fell with an unrelenting sting that had him panting again in seconds. This time, it was the proper kind of panting; the last thing on his mind was his cock. He spat a few choice swears into the bed, only just managing to 'be good' and stay in place on Master Rodger's knee. Not that he wanted to get away; far from it! But much longer, he knew, and his body would cease to obey him as he gave into the sensation. Tal was a writher.

Seeming to sense this, Master Rodger put a heavy paw between Tal's shoulders, not pushing, but steadying, guiding him back into place. The contact appeared to seep some of the rising tension from Tal's frame, and Master Rodger purred a few words of praise at the quick response.

Tal whimpered lightly at the regard, and was rewarded with a new rhythm of slaps, slow but unceasing and a little heavier than before. His mind began to fog with the first strands of that most pleasant of dizzinesses, and he knew he had to act quickly if he wanted to ask: "Sir, please," he breathed.

"Mn?"

"What in the name of good glorious fuck are you hitting me with?" he asked, voice giddy and a little awestruck. He wasn't gone yet, but he was too far gone to worry about sounding as easy as he truly was, which was a mercy.

Master Rodger chuckled softly, but didn't cease in his work. "Tawse. You said it was a favorite, mn?"

The answer surprised Tal, almost enough to bring him out of his happy place and into a realm more intellectual. Instead, he burst out giggling. He'd never had a tawse used on him over the knee before; it was just impractical for people with an average arm and thigh length to use with any real efficiency. Gods, did Sahar hit the mark with this one.

"Yes, sir," he eventually remembered to reply through the laughter.

"You're making me wonder if I'm hitting you hard enough, there, kitten." The Master's voice was light, but contained a genuine query.

"More please, sir!" Tal chirruped, despite the fact that his tremulous body had already begun to imitate the vibrations of a washing machine on spin.

---------------------------------------------

And now, some fifty minutes later, Dantalion had lost his last thought to the claws of Master Rodger. His back was an utter ruin, stuck to the bedsheets with thick, black ichor. He had been flipped at some point, though he didn't have the presence of mind to remember how long ago. Everything was pain and the way his body gloried in it, trembling between the impulse to flee the aversion, and a hunger for more of the sensation lying beneath.

Every few moments, the former would win out, and, whimpering, he would recoil from the agony of claws ripping at the skin over his ribs. But then would come a hushed, encouraging word from the Master, perhaps a soft kiss to the jaw or a tug of hair, and the battle would shift once more in his favor.

This addling metre went on for some time, each pass pulling Dantalion deeper into the whistling throb of his flesh, a flesh which felt more expansive with each shuddered breath. He was crying in earnest, now, whether or not he realised it, and the ends of his hair were coated in the same blood that soaked the bed. Bloody too were his lips, which he had bitten nearly through in places, struggling to process the sensations happening in his body.

Master Rodger would rouse him to reality occasionally, just long enough to get a color from him (always a confident 'green'), but otherwise, Tal was lost.

Lost until he felt an unexpected sensation amidst the singing of his nerves.

He jerked his head up, and looked down through gummy eyelashes to see a rather intense-looking Master Rodger between his legs, one paw stroking Tal's cock. He hadn't even noticed he was hard again (or, perhaps, still), and wasn't that something? The absurdity of the situation overcame him, and he leveled a thoroughly poleaxed look at the dom, tear-reddened eyes awash with bewilderment at the change in circumstance.

Master Rodger took the reaction in his stride, pausing to soothe at Tal's lower belly, which had been left untouched by the methodical mauling of before. "You're okay, kitten. It's alright. You've done so well for me. I'm going to give you a little reward; does that sound good?"

It would be a lie to say the words didn't go directly to Tal's cock, nearly bypassing his mind altogether, as it was still quite muddled. But he managed to nod and mumble something that must have been an understandable affirmative, for Master Rodger resumed stroking him. (Lost to him for the moment was the fact that this had always been part of their plan; the pawjob wasn't meant to have been a surprise.)

The changeover in sensation was its own kind of violence, disrupting the settled flow of back-and-forth between too much and just enough that had categorised the previous stage of the scene for Dantalion. Now, there was no 'too much'; though the tacky sheets clung to the wounds of his back as if with tar, and his whole torso clamoured at him every time he tensed, none of it compared to the incandescence of a laceration in progress. And the pleasure he now felt was of a totally different stripe, tapping into a need less potent, but which he was still all too eager to have filled.

Speaking of being filled -- When Master Rodger was certain he had navigated the change, he allowed Dantalion a moment of respite while he fiddled around with something off to the side. Tal heard the tell-tale click of a lube pump (for what he now realised must be the second time, though the first had been lost in the fog), and had only a second to prepare before something chilled slicked at his entrance.

He tensed automatically, and before he could loosen again, Master Rodger was on the case. "Shh-shh, relax your body for me. Nice and easy. That's a good kitten." He placed a gentle kiss inside Tal's thigh, and his cock twitched in response, both to the praise and the kiss.

The Master slid a wedged cushion beneath his arse, propping him up for better access. It put a strain on his back and legs, and made him feel even more vulnerable than the restraints themselves. Too, it forced his balance backward onto his upper back, pressing his wounds all the more heavily into the bed.

However, something soon distracted him from all of that. A cool pressure captured his attention as the Master began sliding something into him. He had a silent thought of thanksgiving that the dom had listened and furthermore believed him when he had outlined that he required no preparation; the one-two-three fingers game was aggravating at the best of times for one who controlled the tension and dimensions of his own arsehole, and downright torturous at the worst, when all he wanted was a solid pounding. Now was quickly turning into one of the latter times, so it was especially lovely to just get on with things. (Besides, he was pretty sure that that precise configuration of prep was mostly for bad fanfiction, anyway.)

Master Rodger did seem to be taking his time, though. Dantalion wiggled mutinously, fighting for purchase against his restraints. The wedge kept him too off balance to do anything of use, however. "Please."

The Master resumed his pacifying noises, but also the stroking of Tal's cock, which at least put an end to the squirming. And, soon enough, the toy was inserted to its full length. "Sir, please," Tal huffed, kicking one of his legs down against the bed with the little range of motion he had. The not-quite-burn of the stretch inside him was tantalising, but nowhere near the spark-like bursts of pleasure that would come with active thrusting. He did have to give the Master credit, though; the 'little' reward was not nearly as small as he had implied.

"That's beautiful," Master Rodger reckoned. "Keep begging, kitten. Let me know how much you need it."

"Need it." Tal echoed, still too drunk on himself to look for new words. "Please, sir! Please-please-please." In vain he tried to grind down on the toy, and his failure brought to him a mind-clearing sort of panic. "Fuck, sir, please! Fuck me, I can't--" He cut off with a gasp as the toy was pulled out quickly and rammed home again with force. 

And it didn't stop there; the Master set a dazzling rhythm with both toy and paw which immediately had Tal arching his ravaged back. Nor did the begging stop but for the brief moment of the gasp; Dantalion resumed pleading as soon as he caught his breath, babblish and inane though it soon turned. Nor did the panic stop, for now there seemed to him something he needed more than he had needed the toy, something hidden in the glowing heat that built in his lower body.

After a few minutes, that heat coalesced into something real and attainable -- the prize was in reach -- and Tal's begging turned to hoarse moans. Then everything went silent except for the slicking sounds of the Master's ministrations, and Dantalion came white strands upon his own stomach. He held his breath for a few short seconds, then slumped, panting and sated.

Master Rodger trilled his approval in soft, sweet words, and removed the toy. Still (and his eye took on an evil gleam), he had no plan to stop stroking Tal's cock. A fact which Tal realised all too quickly, as the sensations morphed from pleasure to acute aversion. "Oh, no," he murmured.

"Oh, yes, kitten," the Master replied lightly. "Hang on tight."

"Oh, no." He was already so wrung out! What did this fucker expect from him?! "Fuck-- No, no, no, no, no!" Tal writhed, trying in earnest to escape the Master's hands, both of which were working him with a fervor. The tears were back in an instant as he thrashed about, seeking relief. He twisted his face into the side of his arm and bit deeply -- anything to distract from the shock of overstimulation.

"Color!" Master Rodger demanded.

It took about five seconds for Dantalion to wage the war on himself, to persuade himself to accept what it was he truly wanted in this moment. "Gree-hee-heen!" he then sobbed, stripped of the pretense that this was anything other than exactly what he had asked for and needed. The admission hurt nearly as much as, or perhaps more than, the electric sensation between his legs. His pride was broken as he lay keening and twisting atop the bed.

But, as all things do, it eventually ended. There was a sensory stillness in the aftermath that couldn't be stirred even by the damage to his torso; it was as if thick cotton had been shoved into the ears of his skin. He vaguely noted that the Master was speaking to him in a kind and mellow voice as he undid the restraints and massaged at the corresponding joints. What words were said, he did not perceive and likely couldn't comprehend if he did.

However, he knew that he had explained as much in their orientation. There was no harm now in drifting. He gave a casual thumbs up, turned onto his side, and curled into the fetal position -- where he stayed for nearly half an hour. Everything was so soft in this place, so fuzzy and self-contained. It couldn’t even be called a ‘happy place’, because happiness required more awareness than Tal could currently muster, or would desire to. But it was peaceful, and that was all he had truly wanted.

Eventually he did get up, though. As his sensory processing came back up to snuff, he was more inclined to move, to speak, to listen. For a while, Master Rodger held him, and they chatted about the ups and downs of the scene while drinking water. When they were both sure of Tal's steadiness, the Master helped dress his wounds, at least insofar as they really required it. Just something to keep the blood in until they healed of their own accord. Tal gave it two days. Four, max, for a couple of the nastiest ones.

When all was said and done, Dantalion returned to his office feeling like a new demon. Now he could really concentrate on work. But first he would have to order three very special gift baskets: one for Master Rodger, one for Asmodeus, and (the reason he would be ordering them himself and not delegating,) one especially nice one for Sahar.

#tales from the library #sahar #master rodger #(not sure why i'm tagging for him but who knows.) #(he MIGHT come back)

[bigskydreaming]

This thread twitter. com /snarkybatbrat /status /129796110968136499 isn't new but this is what we deserve. I hope dc sees the hate they're getting and does at least something to change their plans for him. The did for Tim. But of course, Tim is white and has fans on high places.

Hmm, I’m getting a this thread doesn’t exist notification even when I take out the spaces, but I’m guessing its to do with the Flamebird talk elsewhere on that person’s feed? Cool, cool. Honestly, anything and everything other than what they’re actually doing with Damian is what we deserve, lol. Like, the bar is too low. There is no bar in Ba-Sing-Se.

Sigh, to be perfectly honest, this and the other Big Two of my Big Three Schrodinger’s Plot Twists, like.....just have me more impatient than anything else. The three things I’m most antsy about seeing the resolution to - 

- not because I intend to like, give a fuck about their resolution and will almost certainly view it as unworthy of the trees they are printed on, may the ghosts of those trees haunt DC forever, like, I’m talking poltergeist dryads and Phantom Ents lumbering through the halls of DC while middle management flees shrieking before them - 

But like, there are three specific things I want to see hurry up and get resolved already, so I can know precisely what SPECIFIC resolution it is I’m ignoring as I proceed to headcanon “Okay but what if instead of [crap] it was this [actual quality] and if over here with [just the worst idea ever] it was actually [idea unsullied by proximity to King, Lobdell, Tynion, and the rest of the Legion of Ick] and also if only [DC NOOOOO] had instead been [DC YESSSSS] like, whew, what a world [where DC comics are things I want to read instead of just set on fire with my mind] instead of, y’know [a world where DC comics are things I want to just set on fire with my mind instead of read].

Anyway, my big three of the ‘mo are:

1) Literally Everything To Do With Damian Just Stop, Leave the Poor Kid Alone, Puberty Is Hard Enough Already

2) Bea. I don’t trust them with Bea, solicits do not make me any more keen to trust them with Bea, just. What are you going to do to Bea. I know you’re going to do something, DC, because you’re DC, you can’t just let a perfectly good character who has a perfectly good and even healthy relationship with the character who might FINALLY be getting back to a state where he’s in a perfectly good place to actually BENEFIT from such a relationship, like. Exist. Let alone reciprocate ‘lol like what would that even be like wow weird who even said that, quick, somebody fire them, I don’t like their vibe.’ I know you have some insidious plot in mind, SOME brainiac over there had to have said somewhere along the way “hey wouldn’t it be cool if now we like had BEA get amnesia and forget about Ric because SYMBOLISM” and because you don’t hire editors competent enough to yell THAT’S NOT WHAT SYMBOLISM IS, YOU COLOSSAL TWIT, NOW GO STAND IN THE CORNER AND THINK ABOUT WHAT YOU’VE DONE.....oh god, that’s it, isn’t it? That’s what’s going to happen to Bea, I bet. I said ‘quick imagine you’re DC, think like them, what would they do’ and I reached down to my asshole and pulled out the worst thing I could think of and I just fucking prophesied, didn’t I? Well fucking fantastic. Thanks a lot. Now I feel complicit.

But yeah, basically. Like. Bea is LITERALLY (one of the rare times I’m actually using that word right) the ONLY consistently good thing about this entire story arc, so of course someone was probably like mmmm, how can we ruin that though. So its not a matter of IF I’m gonna wanna smite them, its more I’m kinda just waiting til I know what specifically it is I wanna smite them FOR. Will it be they kill Bea, so brb, gotta smite them? Will it be they reveal Bea’s actually an agent of the Court all along, so brb, gotta smite them? Will it be that Bea pulls off her energy mask and reveals she’s actually, idk, Lady Shiva because why the fuck not at this point, as she cackles FOOL, IT WAS ME, THE WHOLE TIME and Dick’s like oh nooooo gross, you’re my sister’s mom, and then she pulls off another energy mask and goes HAHAHA, IMBECILE, ITS ME, PERPETUA, ITS A DOUBLE PLOT TWIST, and Dick’s like wait, who? And she’s like dude. Its me. Perpetua. Dark creator goddess of the whole multiverse? The entire past two years of the entire DC comics line has basically all been about me, me, me? Where have you been, living under a rock? And Dick’s like no, just with amnesia, and she’s like aww, nuts. I did not think this all the way through.

And then I smite them.

I mean, ultimately it makes very little difference I suppose, but I like to be specific about what it is I’m ignoring. It just feels more pointed, and pointed means stabby, and I’m all about stabbing DC at the moment, so. Pointed it is!

3) And finally, the resolution of the Ric Grayson arc all in all, or rather, just specifically in terms of “Will at least ONE person apologize to Dick and center HIM in his own storyline that he was the biggest victim of?” or will it be more like “Welcooooooooooome, to the start of our latest annual Dick Grayson Apology Tour, first stop, the siblings he just beat up while brainwashed and already feels absolutely terrible about having been used as a tool to inflict pain on while having absolutely no ability to do anything about it, what a dick that guy is, am I right?”

Again, not that it’ll make a ton of difference in the whole Ignoring On Account of All The Suck thing, but it does help inform what flavor of pettiness and peeves I sprinkle atop all my Hahaha You Guys Are Just The Worst posts from that point on.

*Shrugs* What can I say? I just hate going store bought if I can help it. Its that little individualized touch of spite that really gives a grudge some zest, y’know?

[nelllraiser]

alligator tears | nic & nell

TIMING: the day after squidward was revealed. LOCATION: the white crest...zoo ? PARTIES: @nelllraiser and @bountybossier SUMMARY: nic and nell come clean to one another about a few things, and absolutely no one cries. (including the muns)

The last place Nicodemus thought he'd be in less than 24 hours after ritualistically murdering someone was folded into the clown car sized sidecar of Nell's motorcycle. His truck was out of the question. August Trudeau's blood was all over the passenger seat and he was going to need a lot more bleach than what he had on hand and he couldn't even bear to fucking consider what they had done. He was crushing it down deep inside himself, into one of those dark corners where everything else too weak and too palpable went. So, Nell's sidecar it was. At least the helmet was of human proportion. Even if small pieces of dog hair kept fluttering up from somewhere, tickling his nose and compelling him to sneeze. He looked up at her and raised his voice over the wind. "When did you get a dog? You always had one?"

Nell really didn’t understand how Nic had ended up in her sidecar that was meant for Greg rather than...in his truck or something but- if this was what he wanted to do...she wasn’t going to say no. Nevertheless, she was a little amused as the sneezes kept coming, though she felt somewhat bad she hadn’t had time to clean up all the dog hair. “Oh- yeah- I don’t know- I got him a few months ago. His name is Greg! He’s really cute, though.” For a moment she paused, wondering if this was a good time to tell him about the other three demon dogs that she often had around in the form of hellhounds, but figured that might be a bit too much. After all, the zoo was meant to help him relax after he’d experienced all the stuff that was in his worrying online messages. “But enough about dogs. Are you ready for...gators?” she yelled back with a grin as she pulled into the parking lot of the zoo.

“Your dog has a person name,” Nicodemus mused, loud and slightly entertained. As entertained as a man in the process of numbing everything inside him could be. “Sounds like a fuckin’ dog accountant.” He tried to shuffle in the sidecar but the slight fear of accidentally dislodging himself entirely kept him immobile. The promise of alligators did work to soothe him some. He hated home and just about everything there, except for the alligators. They couldn’t be bothered to give a damn unless bothered. An existence worth envying. When they pulled into the parking lot and he saw the sign, he brightened some. When he first met Nell, nearly busting up one of his bounties, he didn’t expect...this. Meeting Nell was a good thing, in the same way meeting Alain or Erin was. Most folks in town, really. And it terrified an unknown part of him. A ghost of a smile came and went as he pried himself out of the sidecar with maximum effort and minimal grunting. “You better fuckin’ believe it,” he muttered as he straightened himself out, aches and all. Although his eyes were on the sign, he spoke to Nell. “...Thanks for this. Before I forget to say it.”

Nell chuckled a bit herself, glad to see that he at least seemed somewhat more grounded than he had online. At least...for now. “Hey! Greg is a very successful accountant. I’ll have you know he found a piece of wood in the yard the other day, and now he’s been promoted to assistant branch manager.” Nell waited for her horrible joke to land as if she were a dog waiting for a ball to be thrown, eager to please. It was better left unacknowledged, but she’d certainly fallen into the old trap of latching onto someone in hopes she might be able to gain their approval. But even beyond that- she liked Nic, and she wanted to help him through whatever it was that was going on. “Also- I didn’t name him. I’m much better at naming dogs.” She was pretty sure Scooby, Scrappy, and Shaggy were proof of that. Another, somewhat snarkier smile took her as he unfolded himself from the sidecar, glad she had already snapped a picture of him looking ridiculous in it. But it morphed once again into a more genuine one, and she glowed under his appreciation. “Don’t even mention it. It’s just a trip to the zoo. And I’m- well- I mean-” As always, she was shit when it came to baring her own emotions to the light of day. “I want to um- help. You know?” As she headed for the entrance, she took out her phone, having already bought the tickets online. “I’m glad the sun came out for it, though.”

The hunter’s eyes slid over to look at her, the life nearly gone from them. Nicodemus couldn’t find it in himself to complain. A bad joke was better than listening to ocean song and torn flesh. By quite a few fucking miles. “Bet he bought himself a fancy fuckin’ tie for that promotion,” he said slowly, as if trying to acclimate his tongue to speaking anything other than praises for what the hell was in the water at the lake. “Took himself to a five-star restaurant and got the best damn kibble they could offer.” It felt...normal. Whatever this was that they were doing. Almost too normal for him and he wondered if when he blinked, the sun might die again and Nell would be gone. He’d be back at the water, chanting words he didn’t understand and surrounded by strangers. He had been keen to throw himself back into the fire, even if it meant carrying in the dull butter knife he felt like he currently existed as. As soon as he pulled back into the Traveler, he had tried to pick up the knife he had tossed onto his passenger seat. But he couldn’t. Could barely wrap his fingers around it. Then, standing between Nell and the zoo, they hurt from where he had punched a crater into the drywall of his hotel room hours earlier. “Figured. You’d probably name a dog somethin’ like Rot Gut, right?” He shook his head and followed behind her. He had never been to a zoo before. He knew werewolves and ahuizotls before he even knew that things such as normal dogs and river otters existed. “I get it and you...are. Helpin’.” He said, recognizing enough how difficult the more...emotive side of things could be. As their tickets were scanned and they were waved in, he took in a deep breath. The place was large. Or, he thought it was. He didn’t have zoo standards to measure by. “...I don’t know where to start.”

Nell’s smile dropped a fraction of an inch when she saw that emptiness behind his eyes, having seen...something similar in another’s gaze before, and it lit a fire of worry in her stomach. Maybe she’d have to keep a closer eye on Nic. After all, she’d kept Evan’s ghost around for a reason, right? To make sure she didn’t lose any more people she cared about. To make sure to remind herself not to let them get hurt. Nevertheless, she carried on with their banter, wondering if it might ease things. “Oh no- he went all out with the surf and turf. Kibble? That’s for peasants. I do have a picture of him in a tie, though…” she said, half asking if he wanted to see it without actually saying so much as that. Something about Nic continued to seem far off, like the world was slightly out of focus for him. Then again, it very well might be if his sleep patterns had still been struggling, and he’d been ending up in strange places after his sleepwalks. She wanted to ask about them, but wasn’t today also supposed to be an escape from all that? So for now, she stayed silent on the matter. “What? No! I’d name it Nic,” she shot back in her teasing tone. “Because he’s hairy, and likes to chase anything that moves.” She swore her heart grew three sizes that day as Nic did his best to return an semi-emotional phrase, and just like that her smile was back in full force. “Then I’m...glad.” Her eagerness was also quick to return as she bounced a little on her heels, watching his expression and reaction to the zoo. “Well do you wanna go straight to gators- or explore first? Do you have any other favorite animals?”

The sun hovered over them and he couldn’t quite bring himself to look at it. His night vision had been so attuned to the lack of light for days on end that the sudden reappearance of the sun had him squinting. Nicodemus reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out the lone Excedrin he had tucked away. It wasn’t Nell’s potion but it was something to get him through the day. The hunter rolled it between his fingers before he dry swallowed it. “Sounds like one of those fancy dogs that got standards now. Need that high quality dirt or they won’t even raise a leg,” he said as he expelled air through his nose. “Is the tie from before or after his promotion? I wanna see.” The back of his hand still burned something fierce and he made sure to tighten the white bandage around it, looking like a boxer half-ready for a fight. The thought almost made him laugh. If he hadn’t looked ready for a fight before, he sure as hell did now. He didn’t think that he and Nell would find any bounties at the zoo. Even if they did, he wasn’t in the mood. Both of them were fighters. A few hours of rest might not kill them. Just for a few minutes, they could just talk and walk and not think about tomorrow’s bruises. He rasped a laugh at the idea of having a dog named after him. “You’d do a dog dirty like that? Hell, be better off stickin’ with Rot Gut or Greg.” As tired and rundown as he was, as much as the skin around his bones felt stretched beyond limits, he pushed through it to smile for Nell. No matter how small. He didn’t have to look hard to know that she was worried about him. That made exactly one of them and she didn’t need that weight on her. Something like care urged him to prevent that and he nodded. He mulled over her question as he continued to walk in no particular direction. “Y’know...Guess I saw so many gators that I just kinda stuck to them, but...they got any, uh, red pandas here? Or somethin’. Always hear about ‘em…”

Nell was very much a night crawler, just as her sisters were, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t also happy to see the sun. Mostly because of her garden. Sure— she didn’t entirely know what she was going to do with the possibly ridiculous amount of UV lamps she’d bought during the darkness, but at least her plants would be happier with the natural light. Watching as the little pill passed his mouth, she bit the inside of her cheek. Did he not want to take the potion? He had said he hadn’t tried it yet. Was there something wrong with it? “Did the potion uh- not work?” She didn’t want to be overbearing, but she also didn’t want him feeling like there was a man pounding an anvil inside his head during all hours of the day. Despite that, she pulled her phone out perhaps a bit too quickly as she retrieved the picture of Greg, holding it up for his consideration, the new grin also showing a hint of pride in its depths. “This is him! And it’s after his promotion, of course. Directly after. He has a name plaque and everything, now.” Nell made a mental note to remind herself that the picture she’d shown Nic had been of Greg as a Golden Retriever. Greg often liked to switch dog breeds which...would obviously raise some questions with people who didn’t know he was a demon if she didn’t keep up appearances. “I like to think Rot Gut and Nic have a pretty similar ring to them,” she offered with a shrug of her shoulders, a glint of amusement in her eye as she looked up to him. At least he smiled, though. That was something, right? The next time she spoke, it was with a seriousness that was so extreme, it almost made her words comical. “Red pandas are, quite literally, some of the cutest creatures in the world. We’re going to see them now,” she finished before reaching out to grab his forearm in an attempt to drag him towards the appropriate exhibit. 

Nicodemus glanced over at Nell, the pill leaving a bad aftertaste in his mouth. He considered whether or not he should have stayed back. But he’d promised Nell and he didn’t want to be alone. A thought that rang alarm in the hollow of his chest. “No. It ain’t that. There’s nothin’ wrong with it,” he said with a shake of his head. The fact that he hadn’t tried it yet seemed to bother her. “It’s like, uh, I’ve been runnin’ on instinct the last few days. It’s, uh, instinct to go for the pills…” He trailed off as she pulled up a picture of the dog with a person name and leaned forward to look. “I’ll drink it when I get back. Y’know, that dog looks more fuckin’ professional than I ever have. Good on him for gettin’ a job and shit,” he muttered, almost grumbly. He wasn’t a dog person. Wasn’t much of any kind of animal person, save for the critters he spent time with in the swamps. But if Greg was Nell’s dog, maybe he wasn’t so bad. “Probably gonna get you to start doin’ his taxes, you know.” It was easier to talk about dog taxes and not the way the sun made his eyes hurt or the pain that still seared the back of his hand. Or maybe it was the memory of it that seared. He felt like his insides were rotting out. Either due to lack of any proper nutrition or because his body had been puppeteered by a goddamn squid. It was a toss up. He huffed. “Yeah, you ain’t wrong.” Then she was deadly serious and he was being pulled full force, animals and exhibits just sideline blurs. Cute wasn’t a word he would use to describe anything in a serious manner. Facetiously, yes, absolutely. But then there was a red panda tumbling off a log less than five feet in front of him and his eyes started to get watery, his throat tight. “Yeah, they’re...alright,” he said, voice light as he finally found it and looked between Nell and the pandas. “They’re bigger than I thought they’d be...”

Nell nodded along with his words, as if trying to also convince herself that there was nothing wrong with the potion. Instinct made sense, right? “Is that ‘cause of the uh- troubled sleep and stuff?” She’d never been all that accomplished at more emotional talks, but...she wanted to help, even if she was shit at it. Seeing Nic so downtrodden- it was like watching your father cry for the first time, realizing that a man you built up to be unbreakable and ever-strong was only human in the way everyone else was. Today was meant to be happy but— maybe they needed to work past all the heavier things in order to break through to the lighter times. Thankfully, it seemed they still had managed to hold onto a smidgen of the silly talk. “He’s already making more money than me which- is not exactly something to sneeze at, thank you. I’m thinking I’ll ask him to set me up with a trust fund, soon. Then I can just live off that for the rest of my life.” Did Nell know how trust funds worked? No. Did she particularly care? Absolutely not. The red pandas, as always, were utterly adorable, and Nell watched them with a growing smile of her own. How was it that such a silly little creature could make her mind go silent for a few, long moments? Make her forget everything that was going wrong in White Crest, her life, her family. Parts of it were quick to come crashing back as she picked up on the change in Nic’s tone, concern gripping her features once again. “I- they are, aren’t they? I wish I could- pick one up and put it in my pocket.” What the hell was she saying? No doubt these words were spurred on by her uncertainty when it came to what emotion was entering his voice. 

His gaze cut sideways at Nell and he nodded. “Yeah,” he said slowly. He wasn’t much for words but he couldn’t weigh the benefits of trusting anything else over his mouth. Trust didn’t come easy to Nicodemus or most people like him. But trusting Nell, in that moment, did. “I, uh, get these headaches. Hunters got these...senses, y’know? Mine ain’t all...really right. Haven’t been since I left home. And then all this other shit…” He raised a hand vaguely before it fell to his side again. Being in White Crest had pulled more words out of him than most other places. So used to the cut and dry exchange of just pure business. Talking to Nell was like pulling something not yet dead out of the dirt. Dusting it off. Showing it the sun again. He tried to warm up but he couldn’t. It would take time. It would take work. One of which was never guaranteed. What was guaranteed was that he could laugh, even just a breath of one, at dog nonsense. It was something slim, just enough to grab onto. “Gonna be a trust fund kid, huh? Start wearing cardigans and boat shoes when you ain’t even got a yacht?” His voice was coming back to him. It didn’t sound like a stranger’s the more he spoke. The red pandas tumbled over each other. Stretched out lazily in the newly returned sun. Unbothered. Unfettered to the world and its issues. They didn’t care how the sun came back, just that it did. He reckoned most of the town was the same way. And if he hadn’t been compelled, he might have been the same way. But he did care and that care caught like a fish hook in his neck. He would pull it out. One day. Maybe soon. He looked over at Nell with a slow blink. Met her concerned eyes with his bloodshot ones. Cracked but not broken. “What’s stoppin’ you? Greg could use a business partner.” He glanced at the map, blinked the slight glaze from his eyes. “D’you wanna go to the, uh, gators? I’ll tell you what happened.”

Nell nodded with Nic’s words before saying, “No, yeah I just-” The answer he’d given wasn’t really the one she’d been looking for, having told her mom about the Hunter headaches when she’d made the little potion. But she didn’t want to push Nic just yet as she decided to bite her tongue. “Yeah,” she simply finished, wanting to let him have this moment before the rain clouds that seemed to be gathering over their conversation decided to pour down. Though the sun was still bright about them, she couldn't help but feel a shadow had still been cast, though it was unseen to them, only felt in their words and movements. Greg was much easier to talk about anyway. “That’s the plan. He won’t want for a single thing in his entire life. I’m planning on getting him a nice couple of polos as soon as I get home. The yacht’s in the mail.” she said wryly, faking indignance at the exposure of her obvious lack of boat. The red pandas were too cute to ignore for long, and Nell turned back to them with a softer grin, watching them carelessly move about their enclosure. Sure, some might consider them to be held within a cage, but at least it kept them safe....didn’t it? There were times Nell wished she could put her own friends in safe places such as this, even though she abhorred whenever anyone tried to do it to her. The small smile grew as Nic spoke of a potential red panda escapade. “I don’t know— wouldn’t you rather have one of the gators? I feel like they’d notice if we took two animals.” With that she led the way to the alligators exhibit, glad to find them sunning themselves in the new sun. “You don’t- you know you don’t have to tell me,” she said, not wanting him to feel pressured. “But I just- if you want to...I’m glad to be...here for it...for you.”

“I’ll take it when I get back,” Nicodemus said as he shifted on his feet. His eyes felt both dry and wet, his muscles ached beyond anything, but he kept standing. Kept awake and breathing. “Promise, Nell.” As much of a side-eye as he gave most magic and their sometimes loose or deliberate connection with demons, he trusted Nell. If she wanted to kill him through some kind of witchcraft or wizardry, she would have done it. The conversation shifted back to the dog and he cracked a smile, let the light come through for even a moment. “Hell, gonna pay his way into Harvard and everythin’? That’s the real American, y’know,” he chuckled, just as amused as he had been when she first showed him the dog. “Can’t believe a fuckin’ dog’s gonna have a yacht before I do…” His voice devolved into a messy, grumbled garble of disgruntled sound. She looked happy, looking at the pandas and the simplicity they had. They had been through a hell of a lot over the last couple months, hadn’t they? Shit from the sea, town madness, the usual violence. She had quite literally forced her way into his self, headfirst into a dumpster of all things, but he hadn’t shut it on her. And he was...glad for it. More than that, but he didn’t have the word for it and hell if he’d say it. “You got a point. Don’t know shit about raisin’ a panda,” he admitted. “But gators? Reckon we got a better chance with that one. Get ‘em a tie too.” He scoffed and walked by her. Adjusted the bandage he had wrapped around his hand. The skin felt tender but he didn’t wince as it rubbed against wounded skin. When they came to the front of the gator exhibit, he breathed easier. It was such a strange thing to be comforted by creatures that inspired little to no comfort in others. But he did. They had been there for him at a time when nothing was. And now Nell was there, with him, and that hit him square in the chest. “Nah, want to,” he said as he looked at her. “Not wantin’ to keep it up here.” He tapped at his head. Now that it was his again, he would do as he wanted. Hell, they were both bad at this, weren’t they? He about started laughing, if only to keep from crying. It didn’t last long and he took in a heavy, shaking breath. “I wasn’t, uh, myself, y’know? Somethin’ crawled up inside my head and just took over. Somethin’ with the lake and the sun, fuck if I know. It’s gone now,” he said quietly. Didn’t acknowledge the strange hole it left. “But it--I hurt people, Nell. I didn’t want to. But I’m me now and that shit don’t just...leave.” He paused and took a moment to settle into the bench. He looked at the ground. “It’s me now though. It is. And I’m...Glad. That you’re here.” He wound his hands together, looked at her. “That, uh, we’re here. It’s a lot to put on you, I get that, but I can’t...just keep it locked up top. Much as I want to.”

Nell was more than content with the promise, even though she was trying her best not to be like Bea in moments like these. She knew how infuriating someone looking over your shoulder could be, but this was different...right? Either way, she was glad to hear the words come from Nic, and she simply nodded in return, giving him a small, “Thank you.” It would help put her at least a portion of her mind at rest, one less thing to worry about when it came to those she cared for...even if she didn’t remember making the active decision to care for Nic. Yes, she’d wanted his approval, his time, his lessons, but everything else that had come along with those? The little thread that seemed to connect her to him just as it connected her to other people she’d met after moving back to White Crest? It was there, and she knew it. Somewhere along the way he’d gone from fascination and prestige to becoming fleshed out into a real person, not just something for her to seek the attention of, but someone she wanted to give to in return. She played with dropping the conversation of Greg once more, but decided to keep it. Maybe it’d bring balance to this, and a sense of normalcy when everything was decidedly...abnormal. “Any Ivy League will do. But I know Harvard has definitely been eyeing him. You know he’d be a legacy there. After all, I graduated from there back in ‘78. He’s just a red-blooded, American lad.” Her smile was still present while she continued on. “A tie to match Greg’s. Business partners, indeed.” Watching as he fixed the bandage, she told herself not to nag anymore, knowing he was a grown man and could most likely take care of himself, even if she wanted to offer some sort of healing salve from her mom. Then it was time for silence to fall over her, not wanting to interrupt as Nic went on with whatever it was he needed to tell her. If he needed to get it out, she was going to let him do it unimpeded. As each word fell, her heart sank, knowing perhaps a little too well the feeling of having a hand in pain you wanted no part of. Of course, it had never been against her will. “It...possessed you?” was the first thing she asked, her natural curiosity and need to help already trying to figure everything out. If she really wanted to help Nic, she first had to understand. And whoever it was that had put Nic through this would certainly pay, whether it be with their blood, life, or both. “It wasn’t you,” was her next, reflexive response. “You didn’t choose that. You know that, right?” She didn’t hesitate to sit herself next to him face etched with concern as she watched. “It sucks, though.” What else could she say? Sorry? Nell knew from experience that the empty words didn’t do shit to erase anything, to make the thoughts do away. “It fucking sucks, and you don’t deserve it. To have to think about it- to be saddled with...the knowledge. The memories.” He was glad she was here? Already she could feel a warmth blossoming in her heart despite the heavy topic, wondering when he’d become such an important figure in her life. “I’m glad, too. That I’m here...with you.” Her head shook without hesitation. “No- that’s what...friends are for, isn’t it?” Were they friends now? It didn’t feel like exactly the right word, but what else would they be? “That’s what I’m for. To be here with you or for you or...whatever you might need. You know- if it helps...keeping busy always made me feel better. And- and-” she teetered on the edge of her next words, uncertain whether she should reveal all her to Nic just yet. But she trusted him, that much she knew. Perhaps more than she’d come to realize. “I could maybe help. Make sure it doesn’t come after you again.”

He had given her his word and didn’t say much after it. It would be enough. Giving his word meant something different in White Crest. Nicodemus didn’t give it away freely or easily, never quite had before. It wasn’t weighted in money or reward. There wasn’t a price point that needed to be reached before he gave it. Words like that didn’t apply to promising Nell. It was weighted in blood and for once, for him, blood meant something. It was a struggle to acknowledge it and his hands wound, calloused fingers caged together. A fear rose up in him, fingers wrapped around bone as it settled against his spine. Rested its head on his weary shoulders and waited. Everything meant something different in White Crest. He was a stranger in a strangeland. Or he had been. He wasn’t anymore. He couldn’t call himself that when he made a simple promise to Penelope Vural. Strangers didn’t do that. Flitting across the state lines, chasing after creatures from dusk until dawn. More a phantom than a man. People knew his name, knew him enough to tell when things weren’t right. Being made tangible was painful. Regrowing flesh and blood and bone to become solid again. Such things exhausted but also revealed. Sitting by Nell, speaking with her, laughing about dogs in ties. It was as human as human could be. As human as he likely had ever been in forty years of existence. “‘78, huh? Dog’ll write one hell of a tell-all book about this.” His eyes traced the grooves in the cemented pathway underneath his boots. A worm was making its way along, inch by inch. Nicodemus traced the lines of his uncovered palm absently, face neutral and eyes half-open. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “It did. Didn’t sleep, woke up in weird fuckin’ places. Time was...I dunno, it just wasn’t.” He picked his head up by a fraction and looked at her as she spoke. He knew it wasn’t him, but what he was made it a hell of a lot easier for the...squid, demon, whatever the fuck, to get the job started. It was what it was but he didn’t make anything feel...less than what it did. He made room for her as she sat, his side pressed against the armrest. “I do, yeah. Wouldn’t have done any of it otherwise.” Except for killing Karen when Jeff came near under fire. That he still would have done. Most likely. He huffed a laugh through his nose. If it had been Nell, he would have done it too. “Yeah, shit fuckin’ sucks, but it’s, uh, done now,” he said as he sat back up and looked at the gators that floated in the murky water. “Just gotta...fuckin’ carry it now. All I can do, y’know?” Carry it. Find a space atop everything else and strap it in. Keep walking. Keep running. He couldn’t help the deep furrowing of his brow or the confusion that came in at his eyes. Out of some nervous reaction or complete social uncertainty, he started to laugh. A quiet, faint sound. Strained. “Partners ain’t cuttin’ it anymore, huh? We friends now?” His voice trembled in the hollows. Echoed louder in his ears than it should have. “You, uh, too. Here for you and all that shit.” The hunter leaned forward and turned his head away slightly, eyes obscured. His chest compressed. The movements of his fingers against his palm increased until he finally clenched them together. He shook his head. Glanced up. His vision watered down. He took in a heavy breath before he looked at her again. “How’d you mean, Nell?”

Nell should know that a Hunter didn’t make promises lightly, after all she didn’t these days, either— not with all the fae running around White Crest. But beyond that it meant even more coming from Nic, a man she hadn’t even known a few months ago, a guiding force in the form of a person she hadn’t even known she’d been looking for, even if the craving for it had been there. And it had been long for her as well, hadn’t it? Travelling the world didn’t exactly make for long term friendships. She’d barely been in places more than a week before having to set off again. Even before that, people had been few and far between, not many willing to stick around for the storm that was Penelope Vural. So even though she wasn't entirely sure when or where it had come from, she wasn’t going to let this go. “I hope he does,” she added in a softer tone, emotion unexpectedly gripping the funnier portion of their conversation as well, apparently taking no prisoners today. “It’ll just add even more onto the money pile.” One of the gators lumbered into the water, as if taking a break from the heat of the sun for a moment piling against another of the large reptiles, blissfully unaware of the unfolding conversation happening outside its exhibit. “Yeah. Yeah,” she echoed almost to herself, knowing that the only way out was forward. “At least you don’t...have to carry it alone though, right?” The words were tentative, hoping she wasn’t overstepping her bounds as she offered to shoulder some of the burden, to make sure he didn’t get crushed beneath the weight of it all. In the quietness of the moment, her self-conscious nature when it came to friends and the like was quick to find her, the usual fire that colored her words dimmed by the gravity of this all, making it impossible for it to outshine some of her insecurities. “I mean- I just- if you want to be friends,” she seemed to backtrack for a moment, as if worried she was about to be denied or rejected. For a beautiful minute the fears were wiped aside in the confirmation that they’d have one another in the coming weeks, months, maybe even years if she was so incredibly lucky. However just as quickly as it had come, it departed, and her eyes fell to her hands, now restless in her lap as that same fear of abandonment began to metastasize, wondering whether he’d accept the proposal of friendship, but toss it aside in the next breath once she revealed her actual nature. “I can help because- well- you might have already suspected-” she started, as if gearing herself up. Why could she face down a Pricolici without so much as blinking an eye, but it was things like this that made her feel small and helpless? “I’m um- you know- well- magic. I can do magic.” And then, a little quieter, “A witch.”

“Nah, I ‘spose I don’t.” Nicodemus said, confusion twined loosely around his voice. He had resigned himself to going it alone. Any legacy he made would be his own. No family name attached. No burdens. Wishful thinking. That shit didn’t leave. He could leave, wander, but that never did. But it didn’t have to be heavy. He had to be realistic about these kinda things. The slightest step above nihilism. What was that? Progress? Hell, there must have been something in White Crest’s water. He looked out at the alligators. “Sure I do,” he muttered quickly, as if it were the easiest thing. Comparatively, it was. “Ain’t sayin’ no.” The hesitation from Nell kept his eyes forward. Didn’t want to risk her cutting herself off. Whatever it was, he understood. It was never easy to gut yourself and show it. Easier to gut others than take honesty to yourself. Magic. His brow twitched. “Huh.” Was all he said for a moment. It made sense. The stake that had conveniently appeared when they dealt with Lugosi. The karkinoid she had...yeeted herself through, in her words. It wasn’t something he personally liked to deal with. Superstition, or maybe just that thin line between magic and something demonic. Habitual thinking that he couldn’t quite shake. While the ‘demons’ his grandfather had him gift a quick death to hadn’t all been demons as the books knew them, the thought still hovered over him. He couldn’t stop that slight lurch in his gut. The hunter stopped looking at the alligators. Instead, he looked at Nell. “A witch,” he repeated. And she was telling him, a hunter, that. The gravity wasn’t lost on him. It pressed down. She trusted him. Him. Not even when he hardly trusted himself. “Yeah...Yeah, that makes a hell of a lot of sense. I’d appreciate it.” A cold wind passed over, through the spaces between his fingers. He shifted slightly. Angled himself toward Nell, his expression serious. “I can help you too. If anyone--” He paused to take in a breath. It shook. Goddamn it. That blood shiver from before returned. His gaze hardened. Caring was new to him, but if he could liken it to something... “If anyone tries to hurt you, Nell.” Anyone like me. He huffed out a breath and looked away. He started to fidget. “New to this fuckin’ shit,” he said, not elaborating on what this fuckin’ shit was. She was important to him. It was simple as that. “But I wanna try.”

The confusion in Nic’s voice tugged painfully at Nell’s heartstrings, recognizing that tone of voice when she herself had used it on occasions. Just how isolated did Nic feel if the concept of people being there for him was so foreign? But maybe his acceptance of her words was hope blossoming before her very eyes. Next was his confirmation of being friends, and a grin nearly as bright as the recently reappeared sun broke over her face. To think that not only she’d gained a friend, but he had as well. Even though the road might have been lonely, it didn’t mean one had to be utterly alone on it. “Friends it is, then.” Nell released the breath she’d been holding, waiting for Nic to say something about her revelation when it came to being a witch. Relief was quick to wash over when he seemed to accept the news with little fanfare or condemnation, honestly relieved that his reaction seemed at least neutral. That was much better than negative. “Perfect,” she simply said, glad to hear that she’d get to help protect her friend. “We can get started right after the zoo. They won’t come near you again if I can help it.” What she hadn’t been expecting was Nic’s nearly echoing words, offering her shelter and safety should she need it, too. And so in that moment, the realization that he cared enough to offer her such a gift was overwhelming, her throat tightening as it was her turn to focus on the alligators, and try not to be embarrassingly emotional. “Thank you, Nic.” They were simple words, but the only ones she could think to say. “Seriously...thank you.” But perhaps the words on their own were more effective than any others that could have been flowery or polished. After all, the two little words held what she most wanted to convey to Nic in those moments. Gratitude for all he was offering her, and all he’d already given her. “We’ve got each other, now. And we can figure it out together.”

#chatzy #ch:Nicodemus #alligator tears #wickedswriting

[mitchsmarners]

but i don’t dance

chapters: prologue of ? word count: 1,767 pairing: eddie kaspbrak & richie tozier (reddie)   summary:  eddie kaspbrak has the best times in the country for track and field, set up for a scholarship and great future. that doesn’t make high school suck any less. especially after getting outed to the public, and having to watch his team mates all turn on him. then one day, eddie kaspbrak stumbles into the music room after school, and the cute new theater kid decided to change his life.

Chapter Warnings: homophobia, slurs, f slur, q slur, mentions of child abuse,

Chapter Preview: Scratch that. It could be so much fucking worse. Eddie didn’t even turn to look over his shoulder as he took off at a run. Despite the situation, he was grinning to himself as he ran. It was always a mistake to give Eddie the chance for a head start. Ambush him and he was yours, but you’d never be able to catch up to him if he was already running.

It was something Eddie did well, running. Physically and metaphorically. Eddie Kaspbrak was always running from something.

Read on under the cut or on AO3.

Eddie pulled his hood up, despite the weather getting warmer and being slightly uncomfortable to be walking around the thick school pride hoodie. But like hell he was going to prancing around the school in his size-too-small track shorts and no shirt. Which were, of course, the option he’d been left with when his co-called team mates had stolen his clothes from his locker while he was changing and run off with them.

Eddie always tried to keep from shower around his team mates ever since The Incident early that November, just before his birthday. He’d wait around outside doing extra (unnecessary) stretches or talking to the coach, then go into the change rooms once he was sure that all the other guys had left. Which is what he’d thought he’d done that day, but apparently they’d stowed away where Eddie couldn’t see them and waited for him to get into the showers.

They could have done worse, Eddie told himself as he moved quickly out of the school. They have done worse. This is nothing. He continued to give himself the up speech, he was shaking and crying not to cry from pure embarrassment. Sure, he’d been through worse- harsh words and physical attacks, but something about this almost felt like a much more personal attack. Words he could shrug off, and physical wounds could heal, but Eddie would always have had to walk home half naked because the people who used to be his closest friends had stolen all his clothes.

“Hey, faggy!”

Ohhhh no. Scratch that. It could be so much fucking worse. Eddie didn’t even turn to look over his shoulder as he took off at a run. Despite the situation, he was grinning to himself as he ran. It was always a mistake to give Eddie the chance for a head start. Ambush him and he was yours, but you’d never be able to catch up to him if he was already running.

It was something Eddie did well, running. Physically and metaphorically. Eddie Kaspbrak was always running from something.

Eddie made his way through the halls, still smiling, as he listened to the shouts of his team mates running after them, shoes hitting the floor. Two pairs? Three? More than would ever be needed to take him down- if they’d ever be able to reach him. But even Eddie had to admit that he’d get tired soon enough, maybe sooner than the others with his extra exercise after practice.

When he was sure that his chasers couldn’t see him, he took a sharp left and rushed into the first room he reached. He exhaled hard, pressing himself up against the door and letting his eyes closed. His breathing was labored, from breaking into a sprint just after his cool down, and it took him longer to realize he wasn’t alone than he’d like to admit.

Eddie let out a high pitched gasp of surprise when he opened his eyes and noticed the person sitting on the piano bench across the room, smacking his head against the music room door in his haste to move backwards but not being able to. The other boy was staring at him, a little gaped faced, and Eddie realized he knew him.

Richie Tozier hadn’t been living in Derry for very long, coming in just after Christmas break. He’d missed the Infamous Downfall of Edward Kaspbrak, but no doubt he’d heard all about it. He was the newest of Went and Maggie’s foster kids, living in the big house down on Neibolt street. Stanley Uris, as one of the members of baseball team, had been there during the big reveal and was Richie’s brother now, so he’d no doubt filled him on anything that would have been important to know.

As for Richie himself, Eddie knew very little of him. He was cute, in a nerdy way, with big head of black curls and thick rimmed glasses. His teeth had a certain straightness to them that had implied braces at one point, and there was an explosion of freckles that covered his cheeks and nose. His outfits were loud and demanded attention when he’d first started at Derry High, but in the months since he’d begun to settle in he’d tamed down to neutral coloured sweaters and jeans.

If rumours were to be believed, Richie Tozier had his eyes on lead in the end of year musical, and nobody had cared enough to tell him he was playing with fire. Or if they had- Richie wasn’t good at listening to advice.

“Uh, hi?” Richie said, glancing around the room as though it held some sort of answers for him. “This is kind of a closed practice and- are you fucking naked under that?”

Eddie startled, both at the question and at Richie’s voice. He realized that this was first time he’d heard the boy talk, since his... special welcome back in January. Richie Tozier was made himself known quickly; loud, vulgar and spot light demanding. He hadn’t been the kind of person to stand for any bullshit- for the first week or so, until the students at Derry High knocked him into submission. Eddie hadn’t heard much from Richie since- not unlike Went and Maggie’s other kids, who knew it was best to keep a low profile if they didn’t want to be that days entertainment.

Eddie felt a little bad for wishing that just once- they’d be the entertainment, so he wouldn’t have to be.

“Uh, no,” Eddie said, readjusting the hood that had fallen down during his chase. He also tugged subconsciously at the hem of his sweater, though he knew it couldn’t make it go down any lower. That the entirety of his thighs were visible. He’d been fighting to get new track shorts since the season had begun, and he was really at risk of showing a bunch of parents and younger siblings illegal parts of him if they didn’t come in soon. “No, I have my track shorts on but they’re... short.”

Richie raised one eyebrow and Eddie thought that he’d gotten more personality out of the other boy during this small interaction than he’d gotten in three months of classes with him. “Whatever you say, naked kid. But I’ve got to get back to practicing so if you could maybe fuck off...?”

Richie didn’t turn back to the piano though, and Eddie didn’t leave. He just looked at Richie for a moment, frowning. “My name’s Eddie-”

“I know who you are, Eddie Kaspbrak.” Richie said blankly, but with a hint of a smirk on his lips. “It’s not a big school. You’re the reason I knew better than to tell anybody I was bi.”

Eddie felt a rough chuckle fall out of his mouth. “Glad I could help.”

Richie broke into a toothy grin then, waggling his eyebrows. “Nah, I’m kidding. This isn’t my first rodeo. I’ve been to fair share of high schools. My transfer scripts are probably longer than the Declaration of Independence by now.”

Eddie raised his eyebrows back at Richie, making moves across the room and jumping up to sit upon the grand piano sitting within it. Richie made a squawking noise in distress, but turned around in the chair to keep looking at Eddie. His eyes dropped to the widely exposed thighs for a moment before his cheeks turned pink and he looked up to meet Eddie’s gaze.

Eddie smiled sweetly at him. “What are you practicing for?” Richie continued to look blankly at him so Eddie sighed. “You said this was a closed practice so...”

“Oh!” Richie said, blinking heavily. “Yeah, yeah it is. The auditions for the musical are next Thursday and I’m trying to get my act together.”

“Oh.” Eddie repeated Richie’s original surprised response, but sounding much more somber. “I’m not sure if anybody has ever told you, but Greta Keene and Michael Johnson have had the leads in all the plays since like... fourth grade so-”

“I heard.” Richie said with a nod. “But have you ever thought that maybe that was because nobody ever went up against them?”

He had a point, Richie Tozier did. For as long as Eddie could remember, things just were a certain way. That included Greta and Michael being the leads in all plays were able to a part of. There were other drama kids, of course, but none of them ever went out for the leads; always choosing smaller leads. Last spring, nobody had even signed up and the pair of them had gotten the parts without even needing to audition.

“Look,” Richie said, sounding suddenly so serious that Eddie couldn’t help but stare at him. “I love music, and acting, and all of that stuff. I’ve always wanted to be part of a play, even if high school plays are stupid and low quality. And this... the first time I’ve thought I’d be around at a school long enough to bother auditioning.”

Eddie frowned. He realized then that he didn’t know much about Richie Tozier at all. He remembered when Went and Maggie took in Beverly Marsh, her entire story had been town wise news by the end of her first day. She’d only come from one town over, and the original story had been plastered all over local television when it had happened. But Richie? Eddie didn’t even know where he’d moved from, let alone what had happened to his parents and why he was in foster care.

“I’m not throwing away my only shot just because some self entitled kids from the suburbs think they’re entitled to the leads just because nobody has ever dared to question them.” Richie finished with a firm nod, before turning back to the piano and putting in a tune that Eddie vaguely recognized from when he forced to take music class but in junior high.

“You’re right.” Eddie said simply, shrugging up one shoulder. “Things are too status quo around here sometimes. Shake it up. And even if you don’t get it, I think I’d like to see Greta and Michael sweat it out. Just... be careful. People around here don’t like change.”

“You shouldn’t be so nice to me.” Richie said, shaking his head and changing the tune to something a little darker, a little more foreboding. Eddie’s arm erupted into goosebumps. “What would hanging out with the freaky foster kid do for your pretty boy jock reputation?”

Eddie laughed. “Trust me. My reputation is beyond saving. Might as well sit back and enjoy the chaos.”

Richie Tozier narrowed his eyes, but he also grinned.

#reddie #reddie fic #my writing #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #bidd #:DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD

[beyondthetemples-ooc]

Oh, great HEAVENS and HELLS and All the Skies ABOVE!

I sang my heart out. And I actually really LIKED the way my voice is sounding! I’ve been teaching myself to sing with More Emphasis on Where Notes Change (cleaning up my pitch especially), but ALSO a lot on EXPRESSION. Bright and happy, warm crescendos for a Happy Moment, and the longer, smoother lullaby sort of legato for the sadder, dismal songs. Sweeter note swings for adoration and mournful keening in a song of loss. I’m learning how to stay not only On Key, but how to Adjust my Tones within that pitch to express more emotion!

And I’m learning, mind you I’m using technical training I received in choir and show choir and senior choir and music theory classes, I’m learning the difference between Purely Scientific Breath Support, and a PASSIONATE all-in huff of the diaphragm!! Theoretically I knew how to RECOGNIZE it, but actually capturing that Feeling was something I always struggled with.

I’ve done a lot of work in the past few years to Unlock my Emotions. I’m getting better at letting them out into the world verbally, and I’m getting better at doing that vocally as well.

Something magical happened. Long story short? Someone enthusiastically, sincerely, 100% honestly COMPLIMENTED my singing!

Last week, Wednesday I think?, I had gone out for a walk. I intended it to take 45 minutes, maybe an hour. Just, enough to get some exercise. But as I was walking, I was singing. And I found something in myself, I can’t quite put a name to it. But that fear of others hearing me? It just.... wasn’t there, as anything more than the faintest shadow faded by the bright light of... some kind of CONFIDENCE!

Now, mind you, I was singing along to songs from Tarja’s Into the Raw album, which I only half-know. (I’m learning them quickly, but I don’t listen to music as much as I used to... hmm. I think I’m in the midst of changing that, actually.) But my point is, I haven’t listened to it many times (Serene aside), and I have sung it even fewer. I wasn’t entirely certain where all of the notes fall, the keys change. But I was singing along as best I could. Not quite a full-on belt, but a sweet lullaby sort of singing to myself, really.

I introduced her to Ghost Love Score. Which she wound up ENJOYING! Hahaaaa, score one for the symphonic metal group. 

So between her and the other neighbor listening with her, I found out that I have to look into Electric Light Orchestra and Mannheim Steamroller, both of which are names I’ve seen, but not musicians I’ve heard. (I still have to give them a listen, whoops. Tomorrow, maybe...)

Anyways, singing came up, turns out she’s quite a trained singer, and I said I could sing this song, if she liked. So I started singing along a bit. Conversation drifted and it petered out; I wasn’t positioned so they could hear me very well over the speakers, anyways. But she did say I have a nice voice.

At some point she decided to sing a karaoke song. No, sing isn’t right-- she PERFORMED it!

I forget exactly what I said; she performed it so WELL, and I gushed With Specific Things I Loved (as I tend to do because it’s good to let people know Exactly What You Noticed), and she said something like “You know something about music!” And we started talking about our choir experiences, the music in our lives. And at one point, she decided she had to play something for me to sing.

So I requested the song I’d been working on, Serene. And she played it. And I sang.

I sang my HEART out! Despite being a bit out of breath from walking uphill (and a few of my notes slipping Too High), and missing a couple lines, I had the capacity to PUSH for those soprano notes, and softened for the bridge, I was swaying, my head dancing a bit, and I was SMILING so, so much! I sang with PASSION, with DELIGHT, and my voice came out so WELL! It sounded like ME, not Tarja or Simone or Floor or Dianne, but ME! Fully ME.

Her response? “I have to get a mic behind you.” She said she loved that my voice had that opera quality, and though I know I’m no classically-trained opera singer, it was just so REFRESHING and RELIEVING and ENERGIZING to hear someone that actually APPRECIATES that!

I’ve spent so many years living with a family that called my music “that crap”, that told me not to sing, that made fun of me for singing with the opera-influenced style that I think brings out the best in my voice. The one year I was with my mother, she was never home, so I was often singing to myself... Sure, in the time I’ve been back with them, both of my younger siblings have complimented my voice. My little brother said he could sing as well as me, and my little sister has told me she likes hearing my voice when I’m singing. But it’s hard to let two little positive comments . After she called Within Temptation “crap”, and got angry that I played it while cleaning, I started wearing headphones, but I still sang along. At least, I did until she berated me for using headphones while I was doing the dishes, because “The whole point of headphones is to not hear the music”. When I would be on the long drive to visit my mother with my siblings, my oldest younger sister would often snap at me to stop singing along with whatever I was listening to. When you’re young and self-conscious, little things like, peppered constantly over your life, that destroy your confidence.

But especially through working with my mother and my organization, I’ve been getting that confidence back, and finding my voice. Quite literally, I’ve used my actual speaking voice more in the past three years than I probably have my entire LIFE. Talking with my siblings, talking with my mentors, voice-chatting with friends... Just, gaining strength in my actual vocal muscles that I never had before. My speaking voice has changed DRAMATICALLY; it used to be higher, further forward, and a whole lot less steady. Certainly less expressive of anything but an underlying sense of worry or tension or questioning or dead cynicism.

So what I’m trying to say is, hearing someone so DELIGHTED by my singing, actually WANT to magnify my voice, just to hear me “free my soul”, which she said exactly because I was a touch hesitant, telling her I wasn’t really warmed up so it might not sound “as good”, but she was adamant that I so it. And I’m so, so glad she was so determined. So reassuring. So delighted!

Employing gloves I’ve been carrying and a separate microphone, she pulled up a karaoke version of Whisper for me to sing. I didn’t perform that one quite as well as Serene, for some reason? Though I NAILED a few of the notes, and I absolutely KILLED the soaring vocalizations after Certain Choruses (the one right before the guitar solo, and the ones in the final verses of the song that I added Some Personal Flair to because I just FELT it). It took me awhile to find My Voice in that song; I think it’s the key, I don’t do nearly as well with alto notes.

Although I seem to have found my “chest voice” with SOME kind of strength tonight, whew! That’s another thing I’ve been working on; I sing quite well in the s2 range, and I can go quite high and still sound refined, but once we start sinking into the alto ranges, I start having trouble with pitch and projection.

But anyways, we talked quite a bit after that, I wound up making a friend, and my confidence in my voice is now shining brighter than ever. I can’t express how much of a gift it is to have someone who’s far more educated in music than me (in a musical profession!) say that she LOVED my VOICE, even though the operatic style isn’t exactly “in style”, you know? It was AMAZING. She said I was welcome to karaoke party with her any time, and she walked me home. 

So tonight, even though it was 1 and 2 and 3 a.m, I sang to the fullest extent of my abilities. The first song I sang was Ghost Love Score, and at first I was timidly shying away from Going All Out because Wow Some of Those Notes are High and require a LOUD and POWERFUL voice to prettify! But by 3 songs in, I was like “FUCK it, it’s my BIRTHDAY, this is my treat to myself, and if they’re awake to hear it, that’s their problem.” 

So I sang the FUCK out of Phantom of the Opera, Sancta Terra, Sound of Silence, Over the Hills and Far Away, Bless the Child, Supremacy, Paradise (What About Us), and Serene, just to round off another triumphant session of singing.~

Difficult ranges and notes that swan-dive and slides and staccato exhalations I struggled most with, but for the most part? Oh my stars. I was SO PROUD of my voice! (The first few videos I was watching were vocal coaches reacting to my singing idols, and some of the things she said? Even if I don’t know exactly where the larynx is, the stuff about the soft palate and note slides and starting high notes strongly... I’ve got some of it down! And it’s quite a glowy feeling when a professional singer compliments a sound that you just made Very Successfully.

I can’t claim I sounded as good as Tarja or Simone; of course not! There were plenty of places I added my own style. My notes aren’t as clean or QUITE so strong in some places. But there were also places I absolutely SHINED, and I would actually be flattered to find out someone heard me tomorrow, because that means I’m really getting good at projecting a strong, solid sound!!

#rhs music #digital mirrorbooking #rhs personal posts

[storytellerofuntoldlegends]

Dance With Me?

A/N: The other day I got an ask about this universe, and it sparked my creativity! So here’s another installment, and a new fusion that I’m super excited to introduce to y’all! Also I really love writing in this universe, it gives me a chance to show how much multishipper trash I am. Enjoy!

Masterpost

Warnings (let me know if there’s anything I should add!): Deceit, implied/refrenced NSFW (blink and you’ll miss it), flirting, self-deprecation, anxious thoughts

Through fusion, Roman had come to realize something. He was completely, totally, utterly in love. And not just with one person, either. He was in love with all of them: Logan, Patton, and Virgil. Whether he was part of Amor with Patton, or if he was just himself, he loved them all dearly. The only problem was, he didn’t quite know what to do about it. So far, all he had been doing was fusing and deflecting. Unfortunately, the only one he had been fusing with was Patton, and not that he didn’t love Patton, but he was curious as to what it would be like fusing with the others. But Virgil seemed rather averse to fusing, and Logan was, well, Logan. So Roman was left moping, wandering around the mindscape and unsure of what to do.

An agonized, frustrated sigh came from Logan’s room. Roman paused by his door, unsure if he heard correctly. His hand hovered by the door, uncertain if he should knock or not. He lowered his hands, and fidgeted with his princely attire, before raising his hand once again to knock.

“Roman, do come in. I can practically hear you internally debating on whether or not you should knock,” Logan’s voice came, before he even had the chance to knock. Roman chuckled to himself, and opened the door to Logan’s room. Logan was sitting at his desk, notes strewn all over. He had clearly been running his hands through his hair, as it was a ruffled mess. Which honestly, was quite an adorable look on the logical side.

“What’s the matter, specs? You seem a little… frazzled,” Roman commented, walking over and plopping himself on top of Logan’s desk. Papers fluttered off of the desk, earning Roman an exasperated glare from Logan.

“This whole fusion thing has me a bit… frustrated. I wish to learn more, but Virgil isn’t too keen on fusing, and I feel like I’m invading Amor’s privacy,” Logan sighed. A smile crept over Roman’s face, and he hopped off of Logan’s desk, holding out a hand to him.

“Dance with me?” he asked softly, a warm and inviting look in his eyes. Logan flushed slightly, fidgeting with his glasses.

“I… Roman, what-” Logan stuttered. Roman reached out and took Logan’s hand, pulling him up to his feet and causing a small yelp to escape his lips.

“You’re so cute when you’re flustered,” Roman teased, guiding Logan to the center of the room.

“Roman, I hardly see how this will help. Besides, I’m not a dancer,” Logan protested. Roman simply smiled, and snapped his fingers. Soft classical music began to play, and Logan’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“How did you do that, this is my room,” Logan frowned.

“Guess you subconsciously want to dance,” Roman shrugged. He took Logan’s other hand, and brought it up to rest on his shoulder. He kept his other hand clasped with Logan’s, while his now free hand rested on Logan’s lower back. Roman began to gently sway to the music, taking Logan along with him.

“I still don’t see how this is going to help,” Logan huffed.

“You’re too uptight! I think you need to loosen up a bit,” Roman replied, grinning cheekily. He tugged Logan closer to him, gently twirling the both of them. Logan clung to Roman, thrown a bit off balance by the sudden movement.

“A little warning, next time?” Logan muttered.

“Oh? So you wouldn’t object to doing it again?” Roman teased. Logan rolled his eyes.

“You are insufferable,” Logan replied, though a small smile had slipped onto his face. Roman chuckled warmly, the sound reverberating in his chest. Logan began to slowly move along with Roman, instead of being tugged along by him, and Roman’s heart swelled at the realization. Roman pulled him closer still, pleasantly surprised when Logan melted into the touch and willingly moved closer.

A soft glow slowly began to envelop the two of them, and soon the light had grown to fill the whole room. When the light cleared, the room had changed drastically, and Roman and Logan were no longer there. Instead there was just one man, still swaying and twirling to the soft classical music. The fusion opened his eyes, suddenly realizing he wasn’t two people anymore. He glanced around, taking in the room around him. It now resembled a mad scientist’s laboratory, with lab tables cluttered with beakers and various scientific instruments. There was one table in the center that was free of clutter, and just beyond that was a large mirror hanging on the wall. The fusion rushed over to it, eager to take in his appearance. He wore a white lab coat over a dark blue dress shirt, black dress pants, and brown dress shoes. He also wore a deep red tie, and a pair of red lab goggles were propped up on his head.

“Oh, hel-lo there,” he murmured appreciatively. He turned from side to side, taking in his full appearance. After a moment or two of examining his reflection, he stepped away from the mirror and looked around his lab.

“Well, first day of being me, what should I do?” he wondered aloud, rubbing his hands together excitedly. He stepped over to one of the lab tables, but suddenly froze in his tracks, his face lighting up.

“Wait, I need to tell the others!” he cried, darting to the door and rushing out into the hallway. His excited demeanor quickly deflated when at first glance, no one was out in the hallway. However, once he turned around, he saw a lone figure wearing headphones walking down the hall.

“Virgil!” the fusion cried out. The side in question jumped, tearing his headphones off and turning to glare at him.

“Roman, what the- wait,” Virgil frowned, squinting at the man in front of him. The fusion merely smirked expectantly at him.

“Oh for fuck’s sake. How on earth did Roman convince Logan to fuse?” Virgil scoffed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I- actually, I believe this was an accident. Logan was frustrated, Roman was flirtatious, they danced, and bam! I’m here, gracing you with my glorious presence,” he explained, hands gesturing wildly.

“Wonderful. You got a name?” Virgil muttered. The fusion’s eyes grew wide, and a contemplative look came over his face.

“Hmm… I believe my name is… Favian! Yes, truly a fitting name! After all, it means ‘man of wisdom’ and ‘brave’, which fits me quite well,” he proudly proclaimed.

“Well Favian, it’s good to meet you, I guess,” Virgil said, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

“It is quite wonderful to meet you as well, Virgil,” Favian replied, his tone cool and… sultry?

“I- uh, yeah. You know, I bet you wanna meet Patton- er, well I guess you technically already know him cause Roman and Logan know him but-”

“Well I see that there’s not a new fusion,” a cold voice interrupted from behind Virgil, causing him to jump and let out a shout of surprise. He whirled around and scowled at Deceit.

“If everyone could stop giving me a heart attack today, that would be fantastic,” Virgil huffed. Deceit opened his mouth to retort something, but Favian leapt in front of Virgil and stared him down.

“Not another word, Deceit,” Favian growled, and tried to summon Roman’s sword. However, what he instead got was a small silver object with a glowing blue light at the end. He frowned, inspecting the object in his hand.

“Is that-”

“It’s a sonic screwdriver!” Favian exclaimed, cutting Virgil off. He tossed the sonic up, watching it flip in midair before he caught it again. Deceit frowned, and tried once again to say something, but Favian cut him off again.

“I was expecting maybe a high-tech or sci-fi sword of some sort, but this is so much better! I’m just like the Doctor! Which means Virgil is my lovely companion, and you… hmm. Not a Dalek or Cyberman, both of those things are far too methodical, and you, my good sir, do not follow any sort of logic,” Favian rambled, twirling the sonic between his fingers as he talked.

“Don’t shut up,” Deceit hissed.

“Gladly. Perhaps a weeping angel? You’re certainly creepy enough…” he continued, trailing off when Deceit growled at him.

“You’re not annoying, and this fusion will last. After all, Logan and Roman are so similar and get along so well,” Deceit snapped. Favian’s brow furrowed, and he glared at Deceit.

“Oh no you don’t, I know what you’re trying to do. You’re trying to make me unstable, like you did to Amor! But it’s not going to work, because I like being me, fiend!” Favian declared, jabbing his finger into Deceit’s face. However, doing so caused him to unintentionally poke his scaly cheek. Deceit jumped back, hissing at the lab coat-clad fusion. Favian looked surprised for a moment, but then raised an eyebrow, grinning.

“Your scales are not quite the texture I expected… what do you do to keep them so smooth? Is there moisturizer for scales? Are there other snake-like qualities you have? Open your mouth for me, would you?” Favian rambled, creeping closer to him. Deceit started to edge away, looking quite like a startled cat.

“I- uh- have very important things to do,” Deceit squeaked. Virgil smirked at Deceit’s sudden attitude change, earning a glare from the snake-like side.

“Well, ordinarily I would let you go, but everything you say is a lie, Deceit. Which means you don’t have anything better to do,” Favian replied before Deceit could say anything else. Virgil let out a slight chuckle at that, and Favian beamed.

“Do keep laughing, don’t help me!” Deceit hissed.

“Whatever you say, Deceit,” Virgil laughed, giving an exaggerated shrug. Deceit growled in frustration, and with a snap of his fingers, he was gone.

“Aww, I wanted to see if he had fangs or a forked tongue! I also was curious about something else, did you know that snakes have a double-”

“Don’t finish that sentence!” Virgil exclaimed.

“But I just want to know if Deceit has-” “No, I know where this is going, stop it. He may be an asshole-”

“Understatement,” Favian muttered.

“But that doesn’t mean we need to invade his privacy, alright dude?” Virgil scolded, raising an eyebrow expectantly. Favian let out a long sigh.

“Fiiine, I’ll leave him alone. But I wanted to do something exciting! Something science-y, something adventurous!” Favian exclaimed. Virgil huffed out a laugh, shaking his head.

“Not everything has to be an adventure, you know. Sometimes it’s nice to just… I don’t know, chill or whatever,” Virgil pointed out with a soft smile. Favian was silent for a moment, pondering over what Virgil had said. He twirled his sonic between his fingers, watching its movements before glancing back at Virgil. The anxious side still had that rare soft smile on his face, and the sight of it made Favian’s heart rate accelerate.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?” Virgil demanded, the smile slipping off of his face and a scowl replacing it. Favian deflated slightly, ceasing his fiddling with his sonic and tucking it into his lab coat pocket.

“My apologies. I’m afraid I got distracted,” he admitted sheepishly.

“Nah it’s cool, you just kinda freaked me out for a sec there,” Virgil replied, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a half smile.

“Why don’t you smile more?” Favian blurted. Virgil froze, and instantly the fusion was mortified at the words that had escaped his mouth.

“I… um-”

“I’m sorry, just ignore me. That was a foolish thing to say, I wasn’t thinking. I’ll leave you alone now, it’s clear I have only been a bother,” Favian cut Virgil off, and turned to walk back into his room. However, he was halted by a hand on his arm. He turned back around to see Virgil with a conflicted expression on his face.

“Hey, I get it. Logan’s curiosity combined with Roman’s lack of a filter can cause a bit of an issue. That doesn’t make you an idiot. And… to answer your question…” Virgil pauses for a moment, taking a shaky breath. “I’m Anxiety, Favian. Positivity is pretty hard to come by.”

“Don’t let Patton hear you talk like that,” Favian muttered. Virgil let out a light chuckle, and a small smile slipped onto Favian’s face at the sound.

“Hey now, that wasn’t a laugh or anything relating to a smile. That was just me… breathing,” Virgil snarked when he saw Favian’s smile.

“Oh? Well, such erratic breathing habits cannot be healthy… perhaps some tests are in order?” he asked with a teasing lilt. Virgil rolled his eyes.

“Nothing stops you, huh? I think I’ll pass, Favian. But one last thing,” Virgil said, his tone turning serious.

“Yes?” Favian replied, his voice trembling slightly.

“You’re not an idiot, or a fool, or anything like that. Sure, you blurt things out and are a little eccentric, but you’re clever and witty too. You got Deceit to go away by talking him to death so that he couldn’t get a word in edgewise. I know I wouldn’t have been able to think of that,” Virgil said, his voice firm yet comforting. Favian’s eyes widened, and his cheeks flushed slightly.

“Thank you, Virgil,” he said softly. He stepped forward, almost involuntarily, and reached out to place a hand on Virgil’s shoulder. A blush crept onto Virgil’s face, but he didn’t break away from the contact.

“You’re- uh- you’re welcome,” Virgil breathed. Their faces were now mere inches apart, and Favian leaned in to place a kiss on Virgil’s cheek. It was a brief brush of the lips against Virgil’s face, but the action made Virgil’s blush grow deeper nonetheless.

“Thank you,” Favian whispered again, then pulled away from Virgil. He spun on his heel, walking back to his room and leaving Virgil standing in the hall.

Virgil watched Favian walk back into his room. Part of him wanted to rush over and demand answers, but the rest of him was too busy replaying that moment over and over again in his head. Favian had kissed him. Well, not really kiss him, more of a feather-light touch of his lips on Virgil’s cheek, but he had kissed him. What did that mean? Did Logan like Virgil? Did Roman like Virgil? Did both of them like him? And why was there a part of Virgil that wondered what it would be like if Favian kissed him again, really kissed him?

The anxious side buried his face in his hands with a groan. In any case, he had to talk to someone about this. So Virgil brought his face up from his hands, and turned to walk down the hall. Time to find his best friend.

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#sanders sides #logince #(sorta) #LAMP #CALM #LAMP/CALM #roman sanders #logan sanders #virgil sanders #patton sanders #ts deceit #deceit sanders #logince fusion #fusion au #sage writes