#and by the end of the season she's weary as all hell

[usedpidemo]

Mistakes were made, but not you (Le sserafim Yunjin)

“Why? Why weren’t you there? I needed you and you weren’t there!”

While Yunjin lashes out at you, grabbing at your shirt and using you as a proxy for the world and its ill-timed misfortunes, you can’t help but wonder if your presence would have changed the situation for the better.

Probably not. It’s one of those events that has to happen for character growth. 

—————

Tonight is supposed to be a night of celebration—a commemoration to the achievements, accomplishments, and accolades of the past year. The numbers and statistics never lie. They love her work, they love her artistry. They love her for what she sells and what she represents. But truth be told, Huh Yunjin couldn’t care less about what they think.

Thunderous cheers and colorful lightsticks representing different fandoms brighten the arena as the five Le sserafim members climb up the stairs to claim their award. Minutes ago, they pulled off the performance of a lifetime—an eight minute masterclass that represents everything the group stands for. You could see the exhaustion in their faces; barely mustering the strength to smile and wave to the crowd shouting for them. 

For the most part, the acceptance speech is nothing notable. Going through the motions, thanking the fans, the staff, the company, promising to do better in the future—it’s about as cookie cutter as it gets. As Yunjin tries her hardest to keep her tears from falling while she talks, the other four can only focus on her with varying weary looks. Chaewon looks especially worried; it’s her responsibility and burden to look after every single one of them. 

From the audience’s viewpoint, it’s seen as a non-issue, but the five girls recognize deep down it’s anything but. The only noteworthy thing is how suddenly quick they are on their feet heading backstage. It’s funny how everyone chases fame: to be in the moment, the spotlight. It’s funnier, Yunjin thinks, that she’d rather be anywhere else.

Unfortunately for her and the other artists attending, they’d have to wait a little longer. There’s backstage interviews and other idol obligations to do before they are finally let go. It’s not even worth all that lost time—that one award they receive ends up being their lone win for the night.

—————

Yunjin storms into your hotel room without a word with a fierce expression on her face. She doesn’t have to say it; she’s thankful she doesn’t have to spend another minute in front of the cameras, another minute being an idol—at least for the night.

In a sea of anger and auburn, Yunjin walks past you without acknowledging you at least once. She hastily drops off her purse on the coffee table before charging straight to her room and slamming the door. It’s easy to chalk up her frustrations on the monotony of the awards season—the countless hours of practice specifically for one event, the hours spent in the makeup room, the hours of interviews and fanservice—but you know she never acts like this. Rain or shine, hell or high water, she’ll walk around with a pleasant smile on her face.

Tonight simply isn’t one of those nights. You saw the whole ordeal happen in real time, and you’re already regretting the decision not to be there. At times, watching her on screen was tough. You can tell she was visibly uncomfortable, more clingy to her members than usual, when it’s normally the other way around. Admittedly, you have to give her props for holding herself back from crying when she has every right to. It’s a cold winter night, but that’s not the reason she’s trembling and shaking. It should be a night of celebration; instead, her sullen expression resembles the aftermath of complete, utter humiliation and defeat.

And it may as well be. You look through your phone; you find the messages from friends and acquaintances telling you the exact same thing; it might as well be considered spam. 

> Yo did you see what happened to Yunjin?

> Is Yunjin okay?!

> Yunjin fell! Fuck MNET!

> BRO YUNJIN FELL FROM THE STAGE WHAT THE FUUUUCK—

> Don’t tell her but I actually laughed when she slipped XD hope she alright tho!

Of course you know. It’s all caught on camera and in living color for the whole world to see. Even if it was cut from the YouTube edit, which is highly unlikely, it’s already out there on the internet spreading like wildfire. Numerous reposts with tens of thousands of likes, multiple articles immediately written after the incident—her name and her moment will remain immortalized in K-pop history for all the wrong reasons. It has the internet making jokes, it has the internet writing thinkpieces, it has the internet creating needless fanwars—it has the internet buzzing. 

You want to throw your phone from where your room is located—all the way up on the 27th floor—and pray it lands directly on a hater’s head. 

Sure enough, when you try to enter her room, it’s locked shut. The door won’t budge. All this awkward, quiet tension between you is terrifying, and sleeping her feelings off isn’t going to help anyone, not during these trying times. She needs comfort right now more than anything else. 

You give the door a respectful knock, only to be met with silence. Trying again and again leads you nowhere. Calling her name does you zero favors. Each futile attempt cuts away at your heart, little by little. Yunjin would rather isolate herself from the world than open up to anyone with no exceptions. Obviously, you have nothing to do with what happened (that is on the production team more than anyone) but you bear the responsibility and burden of being Yunjin’s partner, always there for her during the good times and the bad.

Now is not the time to give up or sulk. She needs comfort and love more than anything. She needs a shoulder to cry on. She needs a special voice to reassure her that everything will be okay.

Rummaging through her purse, you find one of her countless hairpins. It’s the oldest trick in the book—one that she always used to get you with guaranteed success. Already bent and straightened, perfectly shaped for picking—it’s as if she wanted you to reach her. You remember the disaster that was teaching you how to pick locks; dozens destroyed, to the dismay of her apartment doors, but she knew you’d need it at some point, and tried to help you to the best of her ability.

The lock comes undone. It’s a miracle, but it’s short-lived. What welcomes you as you enter her bedroom turns your uncertainty into shock and utter disbelief.

It’s imagery you only see in nightmares. Her bedroom completely ravaged and in utter ruin. Pillows, clothes, and objects scattered throughout the room. Yunjin is curled up against the wall with a blanket draped over her, concealing everything but her eyes. Bloodshot red from spilling her heart out. Around her feet lay two opened half empty bottles of alcohol and a spilled over wine glass. It takes everything not to drop to your knees or yell out “fuck” from the depth of your lungs.

Instead, it only comes out as an airy whimper, with your throat choked up seeing the sorry state your girlfriend’s in.   

Every little step you take may as well be tiptoed. Carefully treading into uncharted territory, who knows what you’ll end up meeting. The next words you pick will be the most important ones you’ll ever say. It isn’t as simple as telling her everything will be fine—that mistakes happen, life moves on, and this will be a memory she can laugh at a few years from now. She believes she’s ruined not only her career, but also her members, when anyone with common sense thinks otherwise.

With a deep breath and a gulp of your throat, you run through all the options. You pray you make the best choice.

“Jen Jen,” you mumble, crouching down in front of her, frowning. Try as you might, you can’t bring yourself to smile. You reach your hand out to peek through the curtain; she aggressively slaps down your palm. It’s as dire as you believe it looks. She sees the world crashing down before her. 

Watching her cry and hide herself away plucks away at your heartstrings. You don’t want to see her looking this sorry, this deflated. If her members—the people she’s closest with—couldn’t get through her, then how much less can you? Even so, you have to keep trying. Not as a fan nor an acquaintance, but as her partner.

Again, you’ll have to pick your way through another lock. This time, her heart. And it’s more delicate than any physical door. 

She’s drowning in her tears to realize the tug on her wrists. Little by little, you pull them apart. Yunjin’s bloodshot eyes glare right into yours, but she does nothing. Slowly, you curl your arms around hers, reaching around her back. For a moment, she appears vulnerable. Open. You press yourself close to her—

And then she hits you square in the face. 

Yunjin assaults you with a relentless barrage of fists, with one jab directly clocking your lips. They’re not the playful ones you’re used to. The kind that’s usually thrown after a serious argument, and you’ve only experienced a handful of squabbles. She sends you staggering back to the floor, violently screeching and attacking you. “Fuck you! Leave me alone!” she yells, punching you repeatedly with no sense of direction, only rage. You try to lift a hand in self-defense, only to be sent knocking down, to the point where you just give up and allow her to rip through you.

Looking into her eyes, having turned from grim to cruel, she looks as if you were there. As if you were the stage director. As if you were the one who pressed the button on the control panel. Her punches, aimless as they are, fucking hurt. You’re on the floor, defenseless, but you deserve it. You weren’t there when you should have been. The one award show you opt not to attend happens to be the one that ends up sideways. Of course she’ll pinpoint the cause back to you. That’s blind passion. That’s love.

She grabs you by the collar of your shirt, screaming right in your face, “Why? Why weren’t you there? I needed you and you weren’t there!” Angry as she is, you can tell she’s trying to restrain herself. She wants to humiliate you, but she also doesn’t want to smash your head through the marble floor. You have this ragged but innocent look on your face. The stubborn kind that would tell her that you won’t give up on her. That you’d happily take all the beating just to see her smile again. 

As it turns out, all she really needs is an outlet to air out her emotions. She has moved past her tears, and she has stopped beating you down, but everything else still remains. The glare. The dour frown. The fingers gripped to your collar. The room is silent, with the only sound filling the air is your low, airy hush of “Sorry.” Your hand rubs against her arm, conveying a message of reassurance that everything’s going to be okay.

Yunjin freezes. Unsure of how she feels, unsure of what to do. The moment stretches beyond the perception of time. You end up getting caught unprepared by what happens.

She doesn’t apologize for throwing you to the floor and verbally and physically assaulting you. You don’t really mind. A kiss is more than enough of an apology. Even more when it’s passionate, humming into your mouth before letting her tongue slip right between your lips, and her hands now pressed to your cheek. Lovemaking is how she speaks to you. Her lips do most of the talking. 

Her body does the rest.

Yunjin pushes you down to the floor. You watch her shed her leather jacket, in awe of her radiant beauty.  Her skin is porcelain, gleaming from the bedroom light. She’s a star, and shines like one. The reverence soon turns to amusement, mostly at how nonchalant she’s behaving. Minutes ago, she was hostile, out of control, threatening to turn you into a ruined mess. Instead, she’s about to leave you a ruined heap, but in a different way. 

She notices. She always does. Knows you like a book. She grins.

“You know I can’t be mad at you,” she says, lifting an eyebrow as she straddles on your lap. Smirking playfully, she’s making you double take and wonder if this was an elaborate ploy or if she was really upset. And if it’s the former, then you’d really feel betrayed and manipulated. “Sorry dear,” she adds, accompanied by a peck on your lips. “I know it’s not your fault nor mine, it’s just that we prepared so much and—”

“Don’t worry,” you interrupt, placing a hand on her bare shoulder, “I should have been there. I mean, what are the chances the one time I’m not there, this shit—”

“Shhh.” Yunjin plants a finger on your lips. “Babe shouldn’t worry about his Jen Jen’s performance. At least I looked cool falling, right?” she asks, both sweet and playful.

“Sure you did,” you chuckle, almost sucking on her fingertip as she points it directly at your lip. “Definitely the coolest fall I’ve ever seen. Will never be replicated. Ever. And I mean that.”

She laughs, heartily, even though she knows you’re flat out lying. “Yeah, because they won’t do stage designs like that ever again.” Then she kisses you again; she kisses you as if your lips are her lifeline. “I swear I’m gonna tell management not to do elevated stages when we go on tour!”

This is the Yunjin you know and love; the one that everyone knows her for. Laughs at her own jokes and her own mistakes, and smiles through it all. You’re amazed at how joined to the hip you both are when the cameras aren’t on. When you’re the only ones in the room—when she can truly be herself and not a fragmented version tailored to the public. You both have this special connection together that only you two can understand.

Her smile is so radiant, distracting even, that you recognize too little too late how tense you’re feeling.

“Jen Jen,” you tell her, looking down at her legs. She has a hand between her skirt, and her underwear is already partially down.

“What is it?”

“Can we take this somewhere else,” you tell her, flustered by your own request. There’s no skirting around the thought that you’d rather take her anywhere except for a cold floor in a messy bedroom. She hasn’t realized it yet, but you know Yunjin well; she would never let your imprints stick anywhere in her bedroom, hotel or her apartment, let alone make a mess. That, and for as much as you love the sight of her on top of you, you want to keep things on even footing—for now.

The expression she makes is priceless; it's all part of the charm. She rolls her eyes, scoffing at the thought, as if the very suggestion offends her. She takes a moment to let the notion sink in. “The audacity,” she thinks to herself, the idea seemingly harder to digest if anything else.

“You’re so unserious,” she comments, in the most blunt tone possible, it may as well be condescending. Her thighs press deeper into your jeans to further prove a point. If that’s what she wants., then you’re fine with that. It’s probably a better idea than yours, too. “You shitting me right now?”

“It couldn’t have hurt to ask.”

“Well it wouldn’t have hurt you to be here sooner,” she retorts, grinning, like those words are your biggest mistake. “Then maybe I would absolutely consider it.”

In reality, there’s nothing to consider, because you end up rolling on top of her after she first pounces on top of you. It’s how she usually greets you after a busy day: jumping straight into your arms, then it’s on to the bedroom.

But not tonight. You don’t make that far, just the table by the foyer, the chair she usually reads in, nearly tripping over the coffee table and landing somewhere more comfortable for you both in the living room. In your wake you leave behind a trail of clothes, yours and hers entangled together—mostly yours. It doesn’t take much to undress Yunjin when she’s dressed for the occasion, and by the time she’s halfway unbuttoning through your shirt, she’s on her knees, completely naked. 

She kisses you, leaves strawberry marked lips on your tummy, looking so wanton, so needy. Your eyes follow along as she continues down to your pants, before looking up to you with doe-eyed curiosity. She’s got an edge to her, they say, which really just means, “she’s really fucking hot.” Everything about her, from the attitude to the wardrobe screams fierce, someone who knows what they’re doing and doesn’t care about what others say. 

But behind closed doors, she’s more like the other girl you know. Someone she tends to look after. She looks vulnerable. It’s cute to watch her act like someone she’s not.

It’s impossible not to help yourself, to stroke your own ego, even at Yunjin’s expense. There’s no hiding that devilish grin; it’s way too obvious. Nodding, you brush your hand through her autumn colored locks as she undoes your jeans, reminding her who she really belongs to. 

“Fuck—oh God—” you moan, allowing Yunjin to do what she does best: use her lips to praise your cock. No preamble, no foreplay—just immediately taking you straight into her mouth. You were already hard, so it doesn’t take much effort for her to swallow you up. Both of you using your pent up frustration and impatience after weeks where it seemed as if you were worlds apart. 

Leaning back against the wall, you can only imagine how Yunjin looks taking it. Your hand firmly grips the back of her head, while she rubs her fingers along the length of your shaft. She forces out every curse and word of appreciation out of you with a deep tone, it’s almost concerning. 

“Slow down,” you mutter, knowing full well she won’t listen. Not for anything. Not for you. She wants this as much as you do. 

At first glance, it doesn’t really show—not in the playful, satisfied hums while she blows you nor in the slow, deliberate pump of her fingers around your base. It’s a little too leisurely for someone to act desperate. Then you peek through the curtain of sensory overload, and that’s when everything becomes clear. The furrow of her eyebrows, the fixated attention on your cock, the spread of spit and precum all over your erection. 

Maybe she does have a point after all.

She catches you staring, catches you slipping. Her eyes flutter open, then shut. In a flash, she goes from sipping on your cock to choking on it. Forcing you deep in her throat without your input. It leaves your head spinning, back at square one, with no control of Yunjin nor yourself, clinging your hands to the walls for support. 

“Jen Jen, shit—” you mouth, but it's near silent in comparison to the sloppy sound she makes gagging. It’s as if she’s laughing at you for looking so helpless against her.

The sensation of her slick mouth burns. Her ever increasing tempo and lack of care or comfort relentlessly pluck away at your resolve and restraint. Her eyes water as she violently pushes her own boundaries, her own limits. Stains gradually pile around her lips and chin, a mixture of her spit, seed, and lipstick. You have her hair wrapped around the print of your fingers, holding loose strands away from her gleaming face. Despite your best efforts, you aren’t able to see her beyond blurry little flashes and brief snapshots. Deep down, you’re set ablaze, with nothing to extinguish you. You look to the ceiling, to the side, anywhere but beneath you, trying to find some reprieve from the agony and tension pulling at your loins.

You end up finding it down there, where you want it the least.

Yunjin has you right where she wants you to be—tightly sealed between her strawberry lips as you helplessly cry out her name in a sea of curses and praise. Anticipating the moment you finally break, she zealously works around her gag reflex to keep you deep in her throat. It doesn’t help that she has your balls around her hand, rubbing away and humming in satisfaction at the big hot load that she’ll receive soon. At points, she’s pouting at the fact that you refuse to surrender yourself entirely to her, that you’re still fighting.

It’s a losing effort that ultimately delays the inevitable.

An echoed shout, a wide drop of your jaw, and right there, lightning strikes—you come undone. Yunjin welcomes you with an open mouth; your thick hot load spills down her throat without a single wasted drop. You’re left wide-eyed, shuddering, panting as your orgasm washes over you. Even so, she continues to squeeze away at your balls without remorse, pumping your cock to unload more cum down her thirsty, needy maw. 

Yunjin can’t hold in her delight and laughter after she licks your underside for any leftovers. You cushion back against the wall, your energy completely drained as she laps her lips and chin clean. Just like that, any remnant of what transpired hours ago, completely forgotten. It’s not a healthy coping mechanism—not in the slightest—but if it works, it works. 

That’s one department where Yunjin won’t let you down. 

“I wasn’t ready,” you huff, palming a hand on your thumping chest, cumbrously catching your breath. You mindlessly stare at the living room light, struggling to gather yourself. “Shit, Jen Jen, that was—”

“And we’re only getting started,” she interjects, quickly rising to her feet, pushing you upright. The grin on her face doubles down on the intent. “I’m not going to bed in a dour mood tonight, and you’re gonna help me feel better.”

God, she’s so damn good at this whole setting the mood thing.

You’re no different than anyone else, folding so easily as her fingers map out your body. Continuous circles around every part that belongs to her: from your hair, to your shoulders, arms, chest, down to your tummy, around your back, and everything else in between. Yunjin demands everything about you, her fiery gaze keeping you in tow. You’re tensing up, letting out these strained gasps, watching her watchful eyes dictate your every little move, reminding you who’s carrying the stick in the relationship.

She has you by the balls, quite literally—pumping you back to hardness—and she’s enjoying every moment of it. Teasing you with her flattering mien, she has every intention to leave you more tired and spent tonight than any day she’s worked in her life.

Then, a phone rings. It’s not the hotel landline, but from the pile around your legs. Suddenly, a lightbulb appears over Yunjin’s head, and the smirk on her lips is anything but subtle. 

“Would you look at that,” she teases, her grin growing an extra inch wider, and her ironclad grip loosens. Still, you have no room to breathe when she crouches down to dig your rumbling phone out of the pocket of your pants. She makes it a point to act shocked in response to the incoming caller, then shows her to you.

Kim Chaewon.

It’s an open secret within the group—how important of a piece she is between you two, the perfect reprieve and voice of reason when the other isn’t around. You’ve gotten tangled up with both Chaewon and Yunjin a few times, under the same guise of stress relief. In a way, they’ve grown closer together thanks to you. But the rather scornful frown she has tells you otherwise. As if she’s going to lose the one last thing keeping her head straight. Forget that Chaewon is respectful of your relationship; if she gets in the way between her and your dick, she’ll cut her down, and that goes for anyone else too, friendship be damned.

“Be a good boy and take care of the call, will you?” she asks, tone playful, handing the phone over to you. You have no say, other than to follow her command. In the process, you feel your groin tense up. You look down and find your cock sandwiched between her heavenly thighs, choking up from the new sensation of her creamy skin. 

When you try to look away, she redirects your eyes back to hers. Her palm meets your chin. Hard. She curls her lips, expressing disdain and reinforcing her control. There’s your first and last warning. 

You’ve never struggled so much just opening your own phone. It’s not that Yunjin just hacked into it; her imprints are everywhere. The very lockscreen is her kissing you, your face cropped out of frame and your homescreen is a candid photo of her more bold outfits.  If not for the texts from the other members and loved ones, you’d look like the creepiest, most obsessive stalker ever. You can feed tabloids and news outlets day-to-day information, down to the most intricate details. She’s a huge part of you, and it’s gonna eventually ruin you—

“Hurry up, dipshit.” 

Yunjin’s stern tone snaps you from your daze. Hard to maintain a steady head when she’s slowly choking you out and she’s thrusting your cock in and out of her legs, still sore from her blowjob and while you’re still reeling from your orgasm. She’s perfectly built for fucking for hours on end; you’re surprised you hasn’t caught on after so long.

“Hello?” Chaewon’s voice pulls your focus away, but only briefly. Almost instinctively, Yunjin’s legs press tighter against your hard cock in response. She raises her eyebrows, shaking her head, demanding you answer the call. No context clues, no verbal cues, just wing it. 

“He-ey, Chae.” Your voice comes out gruff, airy. A brief glimpse down and you find the growing stain on Yunjin’s thighs. Your cock entering and exiting the comfort of her legs. She doesn’t appear satisfied, not even a little. 

“Is Yunjin there with you? She’s been gone after we got back to our rooms. She's not been herself after—you know—and we’ve been trying to comfort her to no avail.”

“Yeah, she’s here with me—” you say, looking directly at her, and she nods, still stiff and sour. She leans forward, her tongue pressing against your skin, mumbling something incomprehensible on your neck. Somewhere along the lines of “If you tell her, I’m going to fucking kill you,” and she sounds like she means it.

Try to suppress your gasps and whine, you can’t hold yourself back. It affects your inflection, from gravelly and small to high-pitched and nasally. You’re one wrong move away from meeting disaster, and Yunjin is the one goading you to your own pitfall. She revels running you around in circles, leading you like sheep to a shepard. You can’t think straight from all this built up pressure. “She’s good! She’s doing just fine—”

Out of nowhere, she moans. Loud. Her tone is so obvious, it can’t be anyone but her. Any sort of illusion or pretense is immediately dashed, right then and there. You almost drop your phone, barely managing to save it with a glint of clarity.

You don’t hear from Chaewon for a bit, letting you indulge in Yunjin’s seductive motions. Your body is the perfect outlet for her pleasure: kissing and marking around her neck, her fingers tracing your arms to your chest, and your cock comfortably snug between her sculpted legs. You regain some semblance of control by pumping away between her warmth, but it’s hollow; she lets her thighs press down while you thrust quicker and quicker. At first, she’d been the one bringing all the friction, until your hips begin to glide involuntarily, the wetness dripping from her thighs and around your cock making the transition near-flawless. 

Soon, the room fills with the sound of her moans, till it becomes oh-so clear you’re fucking her. The call remains active, but you still hear nothing from Chaewon’s side. The phone in your hand is what’s holding you back, but even you feel your control slip away again; against Yunjin’s demand to pretend everything’s normal, when there’s nothing normal about the position you’re in. The only thing unusual is the fact that Chaewon isn’t there to watch, preferably while pleasuring herself.

“Shit, Yunjin, you feel so fucking good—” you sputter, clutching Yunjin’s nape as she curses and whines against your shoulder. Suddenly, you hear Chaewon again, but you’ve practically stopped caring. She’d understand.

“Yeah, well, I don’t blame her for going to you. I’d do the same right now, but I gotta take care of the girls as the leader.” Chaewon sounds so diplomatic about the matter, it’s almost surprising. “Just—” she pauses when Yunjin loudly kisses you, cooing and moaning about how big you are in the direction of your phone. “Please tell her to come back here by morning, all right?”

“Sure—thing.” Your tone jumps on the second word, as your cock hits a particularly deep stroke that teases the outline of her cunt. 

“Oh, and Kkura said hi, by the way.” 

You’re amazed at how understanding she is.

“Okay.” You look down and you see Yunjin adjust your cock around the entrance of her pussy with her hand, impatient and done with the teasing. All the possible replies to maintain normalcy and your best response ends up being a simple, hurried “Hi.”

“Bye.” 

You drop your phone right as Chaewon hangs up the call. Yunjin immediately kisses you straight in the lips, sliding her tongue between your lips. She lets out this strained whine when you grab her ass, lightly pushing her away. Miraculously, she doesn’t fight back or lash out. 

“Don’t you wanna cum right in my pussy?”

“No, Jen Jen. Let me finish right in your thighs.”  

Yunjin flashes this sad, deflated frown, but she ultimately concedes. She’s this multifaceted character only you might ever hope to understand. She's a perfectionist and wants things her way, but she’s also soft and vulnerable. You feel guilty making this rather huge request, but she reassures you by pressing your cock comfortably between her legs. Your worries soon disappear when the friction of her heat keeps your hips moving. The sight of your dick moving in-and-out keeps you preoccupied. 

Even she forgets about her disappointment too, hypnotized by the continuous rhythm of your cock. She pulls your head in, moans all these profanities of varying tones in your ear. The way you both pull each other’s bodies apart, your expressions twisting in pleasure, demanding more—you might as well be in bed, and not breaking your knees and backs against the living room wall. 

You’re not sure what’s going to break first—your legs, your back, your hips, or your cock.

“Oh—fuck—Yunjin,” you groan, losing yourself in her asphyxiating heat of her skin, on the verge of another climax. You have one hand marking her ass as you both grind into each other’s bodies. God, you’re both made for one another. Drowning in her tightness, you thrust deep between her legs. Same spot, same stroke, same result. You remember where and how well you’ve fucked her, it’s almost muscle memory to you. It drives Yunjin crazy. 

She senses your incoming orgasm and shouts. The need for you to cum isn’t a request, but a full demand. Something to be expected. Her voice hits those familiar high notes that aren’t far off from her usual recordings, and she firmly clings to you. As if you ever had any other thought than to finish on her pencilike legs. You let yourself succumb to the sensation, let all the pent up pressure set itself off while you bask in that delirious high.

The way Yunjin clenches her thighs around your cock, she may as well have snapped it off.

You both mirror each other’s expressions; eyes completely shut, jaw completely agape, resting in each other’s bodies. The only difference being that Yunjin is way, way louder than you. Your mind goes completely blank, with nothing but her name drawn out from the curve of your lips. Your back is aching; your knees are tingling, ready to fail at any time. Nothing registers for you except her voice, her endless moan that rings in your ear. It’s only after her legs involuntarily slacken their grip that you fall.

To the floor, that is.

And you stay down—a minute, maybe several, completely shaken up and your head still riding that high. Somewhere in limbo. One hand gripped to her waist, the other on her leg. You forget to breathe. Your brain doesn’t register the concept of exhaling, only taking in air. The world around you appears to pause completely. 

And then your phone beeps. Still dazed, you completely ignore it.

Yunjin brings you back to life. She has one hand gripped against the wall, the other on your hair—which you now just realize—gasping for much needed air. She can’t muster up the strength to open her eyes, so you assess the damage. It’s as disastrous as it looks: a huge splatter of cum around her legs, dripping down to her feet. To the floor. To your pants. 

You don’t say a word; you don’t really have anything meaningful or productive to add. The simple question of whether or not she feels better, but you know she’ll say it won’t be enough. That she wants your cum right in her pussy, no matter how spent or sore you are. Maybe you can quietly weave your way out of a nightlong bedroom session.

So you look at your phone, removing yourself from the situation. There’s two new messages, both from the same person—Chaewon. Nothing noteworthy, just the reminder to send Yunjin back early in the morning. The idol life never really stops.

Yunjin calls out to you, abruptly intercepting your attention. “Hey.”

You look up and find her looking down at the details, slowly gathering her bearings. She runs a finger on a sticky patch on her skin, then tastes your seed with her tongue. “What’s up?”

She ignores you for a moment to gather more cum to lap, then stares directly at you. “We should have done this in front of a mirror.”

You pause. It’s hard to believe Yunjin telling you this, when she’s been the biggest skeptic. She’d rather have it in bed, on the table—anywhere that won’t allow her to see herself. The uncanny image of a prim, desirable idol bent over while someone uses her.

With that in mind, you chuckle. “We do it all the time. Give it a break.” 

—————

You both end up doing it anyway.

It’s two in the morning, and you vividly have Chaewon’s request at the back of your mind. The group’s flight back home is in six hours, and Yunjin has to be there with them for breakfast. It’s not like you’ll be away long term; she has three days-off after today. Days when you can spend all the time in the world together to your heart’s content. But fuck, Yunjin is so goddamn insatiable, she can’t go at least three hours without your cock somehow around her. You don’t end up getting sleep, because she’s so needy for your cock she can’t help but stroke it or blow it back to hardness. 

Your suggestion? A late night coffee run that ends in predictable fashion: you, fucking Yunjin from behind in the comfort of a cafe restroom. 

Yunjin’s outfit barely qualifies as casual; if anything, it’s her performance fit (a sports bra and a short skirt) from earlier, topped only by the leather jacket she went to your room with. Yet none of that matters when they’re pooled on the floor, with your hand squeezing her bare breast and the other pressed on her shapely ass. And there’s your hard cock, pounding away at her soaked cunt like it’s second nature—which it is—and it’s quite the motivating sight. Watching it appear and disappear in her pussy, hearing her hushed pleas, echoed cries, and every lewd sound in between.

The cafe across your hotel is completely empty, which is to be expected. You can count the number of working staff on one hand, and most of them are fast asleep or busy on their phone. You’re not making any excuses for fucking Yunjin at a place like this; you’re merely laying out the scene. 

You can blame Yunjin for your precarious position. Any attempt to make some small talk she makes it about you. About missing your cock so much, about how she wants you to fill her pussy up and make her feel better. As if two orgasms wasn’t enough. You wouldn’t be surprised if she asked you to fuck her right then and there, in front of the cafe where everyone can see. You end up agreeing to a compromise, but it’s merely delaying the inevitable. The door is locked shut, nobody’s around to hear, and no one really cares.

If only it were that simple.

“Fuck—so—fucking—big!” cries out Yunjin, as if you were in the privacy of your hotel room and not in front of a public restroom. She gives it to you again, praises you in both murmurs and screams, her hands glued on the edges of the sink, eyes fluttering open and closed with her jaw agape on the surface. It’s as filthy as you imagined, if not more. Only you can see the full extent of the damage you’re making, and it is breathtaking. 

She beckons you to fuck her harder, give her more, tells you not to stop. The idea never crosses your mind. When she yells and mewls, she’s making sure each one is louder than the last. You can tell she has nothing to lose. If she’s going down, she’ll drag you down with her. 

“You’re so fucking tight, Jen Jen,” you groan out, looking at your entangled bodies in the mirror, at her arched back, at the curvature of her ass, at your cock spearing her hard. You puncture each of your next three words with increasing emphasis. “So—fucking—tight.”

As the sex dissolves into deeper madness, so does your restraint. You’re fucking her through the sink, pounding away with reckless abandon, with zero care for comfort. Thoughtless, impulsive drops of ‘tight,’ ‘fuck,’ and even a single ‘slut’ bomb—words that can get you cancelled on-air. Yunjin shudders, letting out this drawn out ‘yes’ in response, as if admitting the truth—to your utter surprise (sarcasm). Her core clenches against your cock, stretching her out. So wet, so needy—

It’s a strange thing to believe, but this is Yunjin’s first orgasm of the night. Her lands lay flat on the sink, and her mouth lolls wide, screaming your name like you’re the most important person in the world. The intense heat, the suffocating pulse of her cunt, drowning your cock—

Fuck, it’s too much for your already aching cock. And her thighs and lips were brutal in their own right. 

Moments after hers, your very own climax follows. You’ve already struggled holding back twice; whatever amount of resolve you had left is non-existent. Moving from her chest at some point, the hand on her hair yanks harder. Pushing your hips as far as they can go, wishing your cock can somehow enter her womb—you ignore the possibility that you might be hurting her. 

‘Hurts so good’ exists for a reason.

The remnants of your orgasm continue to leave Yunjin in shambles. A brief look at the aftermath, and the first impression is that you didn’t fuck her hard enough. Your hot cum spilling from her splayed, ruined hole, her clothes on the other side of the restroom, and your pants receiving some of her hot slick. Yunjin remains bent on the sink, huffing through her own climax, your hand deeply imprinted on her ass, and marks, scratches, and rosy patches on her back—vestiges of hours gone by. 

You remain like this for a little while longer: cuddling up against her frame while she rests on the sink, softly kissing around her ear, brushing strands of loose red hair. She’s gorgeous, there’s no denying that. When she performs, when she’s being herself, when she’s getting pounded hard—but she looks best when she’s calm, when she’s at her softest, at her most vulnerable. When you’re all alone and you both have nothing to hide. At the end of the day, you both need each other. For everything.

—————

You and Yunjin might as well be strangers. 

It’s as if the past seven hours happened in a different timeline. Both of you casually lounge in the still lifeless cafe, drinking the nonexistent traces of your iced coffee. You scroll through social media; Yunjin still dominates the trends and new reposts of the viral accident pop-up like they’re produced from a factory. She’s doing the same, reading through all the comments. Some memes, some praising her professionalism, some simply to get that verified ad revenue. 

This will be completely forgotten in a week. Yunjin’s career will come out unscathed. People move on. She will, too.

Yet you still remain awkward with her, completely undecided on the words that she really needs right now. She needs you more than just your body. 

“Jen Jen,” you whisper, before you freeze up at her anxious gaze. She waits for a follow-up, a sentence, anything. It never comes. 

She frowns. She’s not mad, only disappointed.

The sun begins to rise over the city, signaling the start of a new day. Knowing this, Yunjin adjusts her jacket and rises from her seat. You never told her once.

She walks through the door, and steps outside—but not before turning and taking one last concerned look at you. You quietly mouth ‘Love you,’ and surprisingly, she smiles. The Yunjin you know and love.

‘Love ya.’ 

—————

(A/N: againsorryfornotpostingmuchlatelyohgodivebeensobusy—

Ginger/red hair Yunjin didn't grow on me at first. Then the Good Bones teaser dropped. The strut. The attitude. The fact they allowed her to walk around in her bra and panties. What the fuck. I've been so down bad for her lately, and so are you. Looking forward to their new music! Thank you for reading!)

#smut #kpop smut #le sserafim #yunjin #huh yunjin

[thisblogisaboutabook]

Rainy Season

Azriel x Reader

An angsty little one shot. Azriel’s mate is tired of being at the bottom of his list of priorities.

Update: Due to popular demand, this is being made into a series!

Part 2

The air’s getting heavy and we both know why

There was a time when an evening like this brought solace to my weary soul.

Azriel’s hand wrapped around my waist, caressing my stomach, pressing soft kisses to the juncture of my neck and shoulder. His hair tickling against my sensitive skin as we hid under blankets absorbing the incessant melody of drip, drop, drip, drop and the echoing pitter patter of rain drops hitting the roof. His warmth seeping right through to the coldest depths of my soul.

I’d turn around, pressing my bare breasts against his muscled chest. Our breath hitching as his sunburst eyes of brown, amber, and gold bore into mine, his soft lips whispering promises of forever.

Say that this storm is just passing through

But Azriel wasn’t here. He hadn’t been for 6 days, 23 hours, and 50 minutes now. It would have been laughable, comparing the past to now, if it weren’t so damned sad. In the beginning there’d been long, doting love notes with risqué quips regarding his intentions upon coming home, little gifts that he couldn’t resist bringing back from his travels, and the stolen hours where he’d sneak in a visit during the intermittent downtime on his missions. As a realist, I knew that it was not sustainable long-term but relished in it as the gift it was. Newly formed, passionate love that exceeded anything I had ever imagined upon finding my cauldron-blessed mate.

As the years went on I understood when the love notes became briefs and the thoughtful gifts became pecks on the cheek as he hurried through the door to exchange his leathers for clean ones, wipe down his weapons, and rest before his next mission. But time went on, as is inevitable, and distant were the memories of stolen moments away from missions, the desperate caress of his hands roaming my body as if he couldn’t quite believe I was fully corporeal before him - needing to touch me to reassure him that this was real. Now the touches were detached, perfunctory, another task on his never-ending to-do list.

Drop after drop we’re destroying this house and eachother.

The boiling point had been simmering for a while, left on the fire with reassurances of “Things are just busy right now”, “It’ll slow down soon”, “I would stay if I could, love. You know I would. I have no choice.”

But we both knew all too well that there was always a choice. There were times when Rhys let it slip that Azriel had volunteered for missions that his other spies were perfectly suited for, times when all I wanted in the world was to be curled up and listening to the rain with my mate.

Missions became tasks with the Valkyries, “chaperoning” Cassian and Nesta, and emotionally supporting the lovely doe-eyed fawn - Elain - who was the delicate cherry blossom of spring opposite of my wild summertime storm.

It wasn’t her fault. The trauma inflicted upon her, the loss of autonomy that came with being thrown into the cauldron and having her mortality stripped away without her say. The powers she never asked for overwhelming her senses. Hell, maybe it wasn’t Azriel’s fault for responding to the traumas of his past and the need to overcompensate for every ounce of blood he’s drawn by saving anything and everything that needed rescuing.

The problem lay with the fact that where Elain is a “seer”, my ability to “sense” when things are amiss was strong and Azriel’s intentions with her were becoming blurred. Feelings of lust had become more frequent down the bond along with flutters of joy and adoration. When it began I thought maybe things would look up in our relationship - he was missing me, fisting his cock to fantasies of taking me over and over when he returned home - but he only became more distant. He’d return more often than not smelling of jasmine and honey. The strength of the scent coating him correlating with the increase in enamored feelings slipping through the bond.

Six days ago when I’d asked him to skip out on training with Cassian and Nesta and whatever it was he and Elain would do - that was when the thunder clapped and the sky opened. “I can’t just stay home and cater to you all the time. I have duties to this court. Why can’t you find a hobby to occupy your time? Nesta reads and trains with the Valkyries, Feyre paints, Elain gardens and she evens bakes! Why can’t you be more like-“

He caught himself too late, immediately reaching out to place a gentle hand on my shoulder and apologize but it was too late for that.

Please, make it stop

It wasn’t that I wasn’t a forgiving or understanding person. i appreciated his dedication to his court and family and those in need but…

“Why can’t I be more like what? You can stop mid-sentence but you already said it all.” I looked down, shaking my head as silver lined my eyes. Gods, I hate that I’m an angry crier. “You want to know why I can’t be more like Elain in your eyes, Azriel? Because I exist in your fucking blind spot! I have been helping Feyre AT the studio, volunteering at a food pantry in Velaris, and teaching self-defense classes to women and children at the park but you wouldn’t know because you never ask me what I’ve been up to while you’re gone.”

He started to speak but I wasn’t finished. “The reason I cannot be more like Elain, or Feyre, or Nesta is because I’m none of them. I am ME. And you know what? I like me. I don’t want to be anybody else.” Trying and failing miserably to hold my head high I pathetically fell to my knees, shuddering as tears of rage flowed freely.

Warmth enveloped me as Azriel knelt down to soothe my quaking form. I let him if only because I didn’t have the composure to tell him otherwise as he began pressing kisses to my forehead. “I’m so sorry. I have been a terrible mate. I love all that you are- I- I’ll stop with Elain. She’s doing much better and Nuala and Cerridwen can keep an eye on her, so can Rhys and Cassian, and her sisters. It will be okay.”

That consolation attempt only drove the blade of bitterness deeper into my heart. Elain had so many in her corner and who did I have anymore? My chronically absent mate? The family I left behind to move to Velaris with Azriel? There was nobody close by.

“I think you should leave.” I sobbed out.

Azriel ignored the shaky command, continuing to hold me. Fuck - is this what it took for him to notice me? Breaking my heart so he could stitch it back up again?

“Azriel.” I stated firmly.

He met my eyes.

“You should leave.”

His look grew puzzled. “I thought you wanted me to stay - to spend time together? Please, Y/N. Let me make this better.”

“I need space. Give me one week.”

“But-“

“One. Week.”

Azriel’s shoulders slumped, head hanging low for several minutes before realizing that my decision was firm.

“I love you.” He said before heading out the door.

——————

Like clockwork as 7 days, 0 hours, and 1 minute were up, the front door to our home opened and Azriel’s footsteps padded in behind me, my gaze remaining fixated on the rain falling outside the window. A lump formed in my throat as I avoided turning to meet his gaze.

So dance one more dance and tell one more lie.

Azriel stepped around me, wordlessly extending a hand, patiently waiting as I avoided his gaze a moment longer before taking it. His shadows began humming faintly, increasing their melody and reaching a crescendo as Azriel began dancing with me through the room.

Say that you love me even if it’s not true

I let myself melt into the warmth of his chest. The thick air remained heavy upon my soul but I could have this. I could let myself enjoy this moment.

We wordlessly danced through the room in the soft glow of the fae lights.

We made our way through the hall into our shared bed that had become so neglected.

“I love you, Y/N.” he murmured as he laid me down, stripped bare underneath him.

“I love you too, Azriel.”

——————

Wish I could just say it and words were enough to keep you from being the one giving up.

The middle of the night left me restless as he lay soundly asleep beside me. My senses tugged me toward his bag that he’d discarded at the entryway. I brought out his dirty clothes from the week only to be greeted with the fresh scent of jasmine and honey.

Like the sky letting go for no reason

I packed my essentials and voyaged out into the pouring rain. Its patter on my skin washing away the salty tears streaming down my face. Following my senses to where the love was true back to my Summer Court home, my family. As free as a summer storm.

It's just the rainy season.

—————————————

A/n - I know there are plenty of Azriel x Reader and Elain fics out there. It was rainy and dreary here yesterday and this song was in my head for the first time in like 10 years so…. I wrote this.

#sarah j maas #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #azriel #a court of silver flames #a court of frost and starlight #a court of mist and fury #a court of wings and ruin #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader #azriel x elain #elain archeron #rainy season #inspired by Hunter Hayes #inspired by a song #azriel angst #angst #azriel one shot #acotar oneshot

[vixstarria]

'Erotic misadventures'

Hello, I wrote this for an April Fools challenge, and now it is your problem.

Challenge terms: The challenge is simple - write something spicy that uses the worst possible terms for body parts, sex acts, and so on!

AO3 link

So I've always had this headcanon that Tav and Astarion perform readings of really bad erotica for the group at camp. This is a depiction of one such evening.

All origin characters.

18+, humor, banter. Is this actually smut? I don't know. I hope not.

Content warnings: ...Yes.

Approx. 1,800 words

It was, without a shadow of a doubt, the best piece of fiction they’d ever come across.

Meticulously handwritten in a tidy script, the text filled a sizeable journal. “Her Highness’s Erotic Misadventures” read the title. “Thank you for beta reading, Harpy Quinn”, it said at the bottom of the title page, whatever that meant. 

Despite both of them having a professional interest in lewd literature, neither Astarion nor Tav had ever come across this piece before - they doubted it had ever been published. They doubted it could ever be published, for that matter. However, it must have gone through many hands privately - on flipping through the journal it was discovered that the end contained a multitude of little gushing reviews in other people’s writing.

The author must have been one strange individual, with even weirder friends. How embarrassing.

The gang had called it a day and were gathered around the campfire. Astarion and Tav had been taking turns reading from the manuscript, to their companions’ amusement (and, in Gale’s case, vexation).

Despite being seasoned experts in the genre, Wyll and Shadowheart were visibly perturbed (albeit also intrigued) by the piece. Karlach hung on to every word, and even Lae’zel had stopped tending to her weapons to listen to the strange tale spun by the anonymous author. Volo, whose unwarranted presence continued to be tolerated, although no one could quite pinpoint why, was silent, furiously scribbling notes in his own journal. And as for Gale, well…

“This is deplorable,” said Gale, weary disappointment and disdain in his voice. “The only reason I am still here is because none of you can be trusted with the pot.”

 Astarion ignored him and continued to pace around the fire, reading aloud from the journal.

As the title suggested, the story depicted a series of obscene misfortunes which had befallen a hapless princess and her loyal knight. After several chapters of delving into the princess’s tragic and salacious backstory in (frankly bewildering) detail, the narrative had at last moved forward to a scene in which the princess’s knight came to her rescue after she had been kidnapped and taken away to a cave by a dragon. The knight faced the said dragon (who had then taken a dragonborn form for some reason) and its two harpy henchwomen.

“‘Its weak spot is its bussy’, the princess cried out from the cave,” read Astarion. “What in the hells is a ‘bussy’..?” he asked, lifting his head to seek counsel from his companions. 

Everyone around the fire just shook their heads, equally perplexed. 

“Hmm… Well, it seems our hero doesn’t know that word either...” Astarion continued reading.

“‘Puzzled, the paladin took a shot in the dark, cramming her manhood-’ Wait, what? I could have sworn...” Astarion shuffled through the pages. “…Oh she’s got both sets. How convenient… Anyway. …‘Cramming her manhood into the dragonborn’s meatgrinder’.” Astarion frowned again, sitting down next to Karlach.  

“Is the ‘meatgrinder’ the dragonborn’s mouth, or..?” asked Shadowheart.  

“I… think so? There’s not many contextual clues here, it just says that the ‘meatgrinder swirled around her pork sword, stunning her and nearly making her forsake her oath of propriety’.” 

“Well keep going, we’ll figure it out,” Karlach said, impatiently.

“The two harpies swarmed the stunned paladin. A hand deftly shed the paladin’s breastplate, exposing her pearls, whilst another grabbed her by the neck, clawed fingers shredding the remnants of her clothing, as two hands groped and teased her milkbags. She felt a hand creep up the back of her thigh while another hand pulled on her hair, as another crept to her moistening oyster-” Astarion stopped, with an exasperated sigh. “How many hands do these bloody things have?! I’m losing focus.” 

“And the mention of pearls…” Wyll said, thoughtfully. “It’s peculiar, you would think a pearl would be inside the… never mind”.  

 “Shadowheart, could you and Tav assist us with a visual, perchance,” asked Astarion. “I can’t be the only one who can’t keep track.”

“Perhaps I could also be of assis-” started Wyll.  

“Perhaps you could sit right back down,” Astarion warned with a glower. “I'll step in if needed. Where was I..? Ah yes, the err… the milkbags. So there’s definitely two hands there.”  

Both Tav and Shadowheart giggled as Shadowheart stood to join Tav by the fire and reached around Tav to lightly place her hands over the other woman’s breasts.

“Nice,” said Karlach. 

“The harpy pinched her pearls, and pulled her into a deep, ravishing kiss,” Astarion read, looking up expectantly at Tav and Shadowheart.

“Uh… That is not in the book, soldier,” said Karlach, reading over Astarion’s shoulder.  

“Spoilsport,” muttered Astarion. “I was just trying to set the mood before moving forward - the author’s pace is almost too relentless even for me. But fine.” 

Astarion cleared his throat and continued. 

“Then one of the harpies used her hands to pry open the paladin’s clam.” He looked up again. “Well come on, Shadowheart, pry open Tav’s clam.” 

Shadowheart simply laughed and returned to her spot across the fire. 

“If you’re not sure how - we could show you later tonight, if you like,” Astarion called out after her. 

“I’m sure I could give you some pointers on dealing with clams, Astarion,” retorted Shadowheart. 

“Is that so..?” he purred. “Interesting… What about you, Karlach, are you adept with clams?” 

“You know I haven’t had any clams in a decade, fangs!” Karlach groaned. “But before that… They used to just fling themselves at me, already opened, yeah.” 

“Fascinating. Lae’zel?” 

“There are a number of women who have survived bedding me,” the githyanki responded, deadpan. 

“I am… in equal parts concerned and aroused at the thought,” Astarion mulled over her words. 

“I wish anyone could survive bedding me,” grumbled Karlach. 

“There there, darling…” Astarion reached out to carefully pat her on a horn. “Now we all know Gale doesn’t know the first thing about clams…” 

“I’ll have you know, in my ethereal relations with my goddess, our connection was so profound that not only have I experienced her ‘clam’, I have interconnected with it on such a sublime and intimate level, been woven so deeply into it to myself have become part of the clam.” 

Gale’s outburst failed to have the effect he had desired, as the group struggled to contain themselves, wheezing and huffing for air. 

“Thank you, Gale, I don’t believe I’ll be able to get that image out of my mind anytime soon,” Astarion continued, trying to maintain his composure. “Wyll..? How fare you with prying clams open?” 

“Well…” The warlock began, with a smile. “I find, that the best way to go about it is to allow the clam to open of its own accord, from heat. From it getting sufficiently… steamy, if I may. I would never simply invade one with my blade.” 

Astarion was about to say something but just chortled instead. 

“Wyll, you rapscallion, every time I think I have you figured out-” 

“What happens next with the harpies?” Came an impatient call from Lae’zel. 

“Yes, give me that, you’re taking too long,” said Tav, snatching the journal back from Astarion. She continued to pace around the fire as she recited: 

“The dragonborn stood before the browbeaten paladin, reveling in her anguish. Even had the harpies not had a firm grasp on the paladin and her unmentionables, she would not have known how to approach the dragonborn ��� the loathsome creature was covered in impenetrable scales. Its mouth sported rows upon rows of sharp teeth – the only reason it allowed the paladin’s mutton machete out unscathed must have been because it had worse yet torments in mind for it.

The creature turned its back on the paladin, to roar tauntingly at the princess somewhere in the cave. 

‘Behold, as I turn your valiant saviour into naught but a pathetic cumdumpster!’

As it turned its back, the paladin glimpsed a narrow, pink orifice beneath its tail.” 

Karlach and Wyll gasped in unison.  

“The bussy!” Lae’zel hissed in a hushed whisper. 

“The paladin drew on the last of her divine power to throw the harpies off, smiting them unconscious, and plunged her hand into the dragonborn’s puckered hole.” 

“I am going to be sick,” moaned Gale. 

“The dragonborn cackled and flexed their beef ring, tightening its grasp on the paladin’s hand. The paladin reeled in horror, as the dragonborn’s poop chute seemed to suck the paladin’s hand further in, like fleshy quicksand, whilst threatening to snap her wrist.”

A tear of anguish slid down Gale’s cheek.

“It cannot be! Was the bussy a trap?!” came an outcry from Lae’zel.

“No! It could not end this way. Her entire life and all her training had been preparing her for this,” Tav read. “What in the hells, really?” she muttered, before continuing. “In that moment, she knew that the only way out - was through. The paladin took a deep breath and PLUNGED her arm deeper into the dragonborn’s vile cavity,” Tav exclaimed, throwing her own fist in the the air, to the sound of Astarion’s uncontrollable giggling and everyone else’s gasps.

“The dragonborn yelped and tried to expel the paladin’s arm from their pulsating dirtbox, to no avail. The paladin was now elbow deep in the mud dungeon. The two continued to wrestle, the paladin’s arm pumping deeper and deeper into the dragonborn’s dank portal.”

“I fear I may need to tap out soon,” warned Wyll.

“Weakling!” Lae’zel and Shadowheart said in unison, before glaring at one another.

No one, including Karlach herself, could tell whether she was laughing or crying.

“At last, the dragonborn seemed to accept its fate, quivering and taking the paladin’s arm nearly shoulder-deep. The creature grunted and groaned, before stilling, only to unleash an earth-shaking roar, finally forcefully expunging the paladin’s arm in a spray of gooey, milky spunk, as it collapsed on the ground, convulsing, clearly too incapacitated to be of any further threat.”

“Supper is ready,” wept Gale. 

“Shall I take over while you eat?” Astarion asked, to Gale’s immediate renewed protestation.

“That’s alright, I think we should take some mercy on Gale and pause here for the day,” said Tav. “Although let me peek ahead, perhaps it’s tame enough.” She took the journal and flipped forward a few pages. “Oh my…” came a surprised murmur from Tav. “You’ll never guess what happens to the princess and her knight… This may be a problem if we want to continue to visualise this masterpiece properly.” 

“Oh? Dare I ask..?” Astarion was giddy with anticipation. 

“Well… There are now… Five… Six… No, seven! Seven dwarves, who have appeared in the cave.” 

“Goodness gracious,” lamented Astarion. “We will never keep track of all the body parts… Perhaps if Withers steps in to help..? Would you prefer to be the princess or the knight, darling? You can choose, I’ll take the other role.” 

“I am going to use that journal for kindling tomorrow,” said Gale. 

“NO!” came a collective shout from the rest of the group. 

~~~~~

Sorry about the psychic damage, come check out my other work if you dare.

~~~~~

Tagging the usual plus some people who I think might also be doing / were interested in this:

@littleenglishfangirl @something-pithy @darlingxdragon @tallymonster @tragedybunny @spunky-89 @acourtofpenandpaper @yoonshope @lariatbunny @whiskeyskin @spacebarbarianweird @brabblesblog @littlejuicebox @icybluepenguin @snowfolly @pursuitseternal @comatosebunny09 @kittenintheden @bardic-inspo @tavyliasin

#BG3AprilFoolishness #bg3 #bg3 fanfiction #fanfic challenge #april fools #writing challenge #baldur's gate 3 #comedy smut #astarion #tav #karlach #gale #shadowheart #lae'zel #wyll #smut

[sarahmadisonxoxo]

Steve Harrington has trained himself in the art of saying goodbye before a relationship actually ends. Whether that be friends, potential partners, or anyone besides maybe Dustin and the rest of his six kids.

The change is subtle. Steve had been through it so many times that he stopped noticing the moment he started pulling away from people. The moment his thoughts would start lying to his heart. Slowly. Gradually pulling itself away until the inevitable fact of being left alone happened.

His own parents hadn’t wanted him. Wasn’t that supposed to be one of the strongest bonds people could share? One between a parent and child. Something about blood being thicker than water. If he’d been broken enough for his own parents to reject him... why would anyone ever want him?

He’d been desperate to prove the hateful voices in his head wrong. Willing to do almost anything to feel important. To feel like he fit in somewhere. He’d gone so far as to change his entire personality... taking on the persona of the respected and ever-beloved King Steve. Going on with the idea that he’d permanently lock that broken child somewhere deep in his memories to never see the light again. His younger self would be locked away, but at least he’d be safe.

There had been a moment, with Nancy, when he’d felt safe to be a little less like King Steve and more like Steve. She was a good person. Nancy wasn’t only beautiful, but she was brave, compassionate, and easily one of the smartest people he’d ever known. Nancy accepted people for who they were. It was the answer to his prayers. His manifestations coming true. Finally, he was being given someone that could accept him... even for the broken parts.

‘ Bullshit’

The word hit like a final nail in his coffin. Shattering his heart in a way that he hadn’t figured out how to fix.

It worked easier this way... handing out pieces of himself. He didn’t have to give the most vulnerable pieces, instead handing out the parts he didn’t mind losing.

Robin had been one of the first people in a long time he gave a larger part of himself to. After she’d opened up to him on a gross bathroom floor at the Starcourt Mall. Nearly dying with him at the hands of the Russians. It felt safe to trust her... Robin was his soulmate with a capital P for platonic. Their friendship helped him start piecing himself together. Slowly, but progress was progress.

During his days at working at Starcourt he purposely struck out with dates. It was easier for the world to assume he was hitting a rough patch than to let them know he was ready to give up on love.

Enough time with Robin had him ready to start again... He actually tried to get dates, and let it just appear that he was getting his game back.

Countless dates... none of them made him want to risk his heart again. Lovely women. The issue sat solely on his own shoulders...

Eddie Munson pinned him to a wall with a broken bottle at his throat.

Vecna happened.

According to Eddie... Nancy hadn’t hesitated to jump in Lovers Lake to save him.

The world was practically ending again... running back to Nancy felt safe. Easy. Familiar. If only he’d known how stupid he’d feel when he came to realize Nancy just couldn’t love him. She never would.

Surprisingly Nancy’s rejection didn’t break him again, sure it hurt like hell. It struck him hard, but he survived it.

Days turned into Months. Seasons changed, Spring to Fall then Winter.

“ Weary travelers.. it appears your Royal Carriage awaits and I wouldn’t want to delay the King’s plans. We will pick up next week” Eddie’s eyes looked up from the table to Steve, leaning against the doorframe, returning his gaze back to the table. Amusement burst on his face at the annoyed groans and mutters of the kids.

“ They are all yours... your grace.” Eddie’s gaze once again flickered up toward Steve.

“ Steve... My name is Steve man. “

“ Steve, you are free to take your kids”

“ Thank you..” Steve chuckled.

“ Anytime..”

Steve ignored how his heart jumped due to Eddie’s smile, being under his gaze. If there was anything he didn’t need it was to fall for someone else..

Only he was afraid he was too late...man this one was going to sting.  

#steddie #steve harrington #steve stranger things #steve x eddie #eddie munson #nancy wheeler #robin buckley #steve/eddie #stranger things

[theorphicangel]

𝐌𝐲 𝐍𝐞𝐰 𝐃𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦 | 𝐋𝐞𝐯𝐢 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦! 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 | chapter one

summary: You had a dream...one simple dream. And it wasn't asking for much. 'Much' being the act of escaping from the one place that you've known for the past eighteen years of your life and possibly committing the worst act of betrayal on your own poor, sweet and loving mother?

But him? All he's ever dreamt of is having an island with nobody but his own bullshit to deal with and a shitload of money.

That was a simple dream.

So how the hell did he end up in a deal with a stranger who has nothing but a shit ton of hair and a creepy frog?

tags: strangers to lovers, tangled!au, thug!levi Ackerman, lost princess, sfw

Crossposted to ao3

prologue | chapter two

You think you’re going to lose your mind.

No, you don’t just ‘think’. You know you’re going to lose your mind.

These four walls offer you absolutely nothing. Staring blankly at you, they remain mute. Refusing to speak to you or offer any kind of salvage.

There’s absolutely no where to paint. In every corner you look, an idea has already been created and transformed into color. Never did you think that there would be a limit put on your creativity.

The best thing you can do is retouch where you can, whilst searching for a single space or gap in which you can fill, no matter how small. Your eyes dart all over the coated walls searching, looking, wanting for a break. Something. Anything at all.

Slumping your shoulders, you silently surrender and let the colorful walls of your tower win. This time at least, you’re too stubborn to give up yet.

Glancing around the room you instead search for another activity to do, desperate to cure your restless mind.

Yet you’ve come to meet disappointment for a second time today with most of the tasks on your list already completed. You can practically see your reflection on the kitchen floor as well as the laundry already being done, on the counter are the cookies you’ve baked to pass the time, there’s the pile of books on the ground opened to their last page.

You’ve finished them so many times you think you could recite it all line for line.

The set of chess lay unfinished on the table next to the new dress that you were sewing for yourself. Hell, even your new pet avoids giving you company.

You don’t even want to think about brushing your hair…again.

Squinting your eyes towards the antique clock in the corner of the tower, it informs you that it was only 8am. And mother wouldn’t be back for a while.

A weary sigh leaves your throat, waltzing through the room. You only perk up at seeing your journal lay open on a chair, your thoughts unfinished as boredom grew the better of you.

Immediately, you head towards the only entrance to get inside the tower and take a seat on the mini balcony. You rest your back against one side, spreading out your legs.

Taking in the landscape ahead of you, all of your racing thoughts and ideas slowly come to a rest.

You’d like to think mother nature is your best friend. She never fails to surprise you with her forest of trees that greet you everyday or her sky that’s filled with beautiful species of birds, ones that you never knew existed.

Despite waking up to the same scenario everyday, she always offers something new to you. You watch intently for the first sign of seasons change whether it’s spotting the first brown leaf or predicting which flowers will bloom, you’re never bored.

It’s certainly a distraction that you are always on the brink of freedom. The horizons that seem to spread for miles await you, waiting patiently to be explored.

Those are the only details that change in your life. The rest remains the same.

Flicking through the pages of your journal, there’s an influx of words. Some days emotions rush over you, your thoughts struggling to keep up as you fill up every line. But some days, you’re empty with not much to say.

You flick to a brand new page, pen in your hand at the ready to write down your thoughts. A soft breeze brushes past you and it has a warm touch. Mother nature emphasizes the arrival of summer, providing you with solace as you struggle to find your words.

It’s your birthday tomorrow. You’re not really sure how to feel about it.

You feel sad about it but you’re not sure why. Normally, you would feel excitement, particularly regarding the floating lights. And normally it’s with that thought that your stomach churns with impatience.

But instead there’s a feeling of sorrow, no– it’s not that. You scribble over your last sentence in your journal, searching for another accurate word to identify your emotions.

It’s almost a sense of…dissatisfaction with…everything.

It’s going to be your 18th. A day you had been looking forward to for years, ever since you were little. After living a life so restricted and sheltered from the world, the heavy gift of freedom was upon you and it was…scary.

Now, you would be able to do whatever you wanted when you wanted. Now, you could finally explore the world whenever you wanted and when you wanted.

You could experience all the new sights, sounds and tastes of the world. A part of you was indefinitely scared but another part of you couldn’t wait to take it greedily with your own two hands.

Well, with Mother’s permission.

For years you have dreamt of exploring past these walls, experiencing the true world. Not just through Mother’s words but through your own eyes. Most of all, what you really wanted was the freedom to experience the floating lights.

Those lights which shine brightly in the dark night sky each and every time on your birthday without fail.

An unknown gift from the world to you. You have no idea what the true purpose of the lights are but somehow, it feels like they mean something to you.

You can vividly picture your younger self, tiptoeing out of bed, hastily passing your mother’s bedroom. Even then you knew how to avoid certain creaks on the stairs.

Able to reach the balcony when you were on your tiptoes, you could finally experience the lights of the world. There seemed to be millions and millions, filling the usually dark night sky. Illuminating your face and your eyes, to this day you’ve never seen anything brighter.

They carry a sense of beauty that you envy. Perhaps it’s the way that they all stick together and float together, or perhaps the freedom they have to rise higher and higher into the oblivion until the simple human eye cannot see them anymore.

In a way, that’s how you wish to be. That was your true dream. To leave this tower with the freedom to go and see the lights for yourself.

No permission needed from anyone.

Which is why for your 18th you’ve taken the decision to go and fulfill your dream. Sure, from the view of the tower it is pretty magnificent but it’s hard to obtain a full grasp of the experience.

To be able to fulfill this you would inevitably need the consent from your mother first. After she’s the only person you know to have ever set foot into the real world. You had figured that you would need a guide and who else would be perfect enough than someone whom you trust and who had known you for the entirety of your life?

The question though… is how would you go about asking her?

The outside world has always been a sensitive topic for her, never hesitating in sharing her horrible and terrifying experiences with you. However this would nonetheless make her the perfect guide to show you the world for the very first time.

But surely for your 18th she’d finally let you see the world for yourself?

Placing your pen down, you shut your journal and disappeared back inside the tower to again look at your antique clock.

It’s only half eight.

She’d definitely be back by eleven.

Which gives you plenty of time to prepare your own speech to persuade her.

—

“Let down your hair!”

A moment of stillness was felt as Mother Gothel’s voice echoed throughout the forest, her gravelly voice seeming to bounce off the tough barks of the trees that stood as silent spectators around her.

For a split second, a wound of fear grew in the pit of her stomach. A fear that you had left.

But not a moment later she quickly reprimanded herself and pushed away the impulsive thoughts. It wasn’t like you’d ever survive for that long anyway. Not without her.

A smirk soon latched itself onto her lips, quickly fading as soon as she saw the rope of your hair being thrown down. Taking a handful, she latched on professionally, securing her feet in a hook of your hair and slowly she was being lifted up, higher and higher.

She glimpsed over at the view, a light blue sky with a few clouds rolling in. Misplaced across the sky. Her eyes wandered over the view without a second thought and quite frankly bored of the scenery, yet she knew she had no right to complain as it was necessary to conceal herself away.

Once she had settled down inside a long exhale of air escaped from her lungs and in a high pitched tone she exclaimed aloud to you.

“My, my, my dear, how on earth are you able to do this day in and day out without fail? Why must it be exhaustive, no?”

An innocent smile reached your lips after a series of drawn out pants. “It’s nothing Mother.”

The palm of her hand reached the top of your head, patting your hair playfully. “Then I don’t know why it takes so long.”

Her cloak is immediately disposed of, hung up on the hook before she marches right past you. After a few hours of deliberation, you’ve decided that it’s best to address the topic straight away, as soon as she returns home so that you don’t lose your confidence to ask later on.

But before you can introduce the topic of the conversation, she’s instead standing by the antique oval mirror. You follow her apprehensively as her hands stretch and poke at her skin, inspecting every inch of her face. Joining her side, you’re intimidated, deeply unsure of how to grab her attention.

“So…Mother.” you begin, hands clasped around your back as your fingers fiddle with each other in an array of nerves. “I wanted to ask–

“Do you know what I see?” She cuts off unexpectedly, wrapping an arm around you. “I see a strong, young, brave, confident and of course beautiful woman.” Her grip around you is tight and for a moment you get a burst of confidence that fills your body.

“Oh, you’re here too!”

And in that same moment it is quickly lost.

Not missing the way your face fell, she pokes at your side with her finger.

“Darling I’m just teasing, will you stop taking things so seriously?” She returns to the mirror, inspecting herself all over again.

Fiddling with your hair, you impose a fake laugh to cure the mood. “As I was saying mother I was wondering if–” Suddenly waving her hand around, you pause in the midst of your sentence.

“Mother’s feeling a little run-down sweetheart, won’t you sing for me first?”

“Yes Mother.”

You’re quick to grab a chair and a hairbrush, rushing back to her and pulling her along to sit. Giving her the hairbrush, you’re haste to grab a stool and sit yourself upon it. Quickly closing your eyes you sing– no mumble through the song as fast as you could.”

“Power gleam and glow let your power shine…”

“Wait, wait, wait!”

Ignoring her, you continue throughout the song before coming to an abrupt end. “...what once was mine.”

Your mother’s voice was stern as she said your name, confused as to why you rushed the process.

You turn around on your stool to face her, finally getting her attention.

“As I was saying Mother, tomorrow is my birthday.”

“Already?” she responded, “Why of course it isn’t, you had one last year. I remember it precisely.”

You chuckle nervously, hands now twiddling with a lock of your hair as you mumble.

“They happen every year mother, you know, and I was wondering, well it was more of a spontaneous idea-”

Your name is once again said with a sharp tone.

“You know how I feel about the mumbling, bla-bla-bla, spit it out for me darling.”

You nod, chuckling half heartedly despite her not even looking right at you. With a sigh you decide it’s best to just say it straight out. “It’s my birthday tomorrow and I’m turning eighteen.”

“Eighteen?” she raised a brow.

You nod timidly. “By now I think I’m mature enough now to see the world for myself.”

“The world?”

“I just mean in the sense that I was already thinking about the gifts that I would like to see.”

“Which is?”

You had already begun to climb onto the mantlepiece in front of her. There were purple curtains which covered the painted walls. Adrenaline ran through the course of your body but if you weren’t able to contain your excitement it could all go terribly wrong.

“Mother, you know how badly I’ve dreamt every year for one thing. And one thing only. I’ve been spending my life in this tower, watching and waiting for it. The one thing I want the most…”

Drawing back the purple curtains, you reveal the full picture of the lights, shining brightly against the night’s sky.

“The floating lights.” you say, your own eyes drawn to your painting, almost in awe that you managed to draw it completely from your own memory. “I want to see them, in person.”

There was a long pause as your mother observed your own drawing. You watched anxiously, your hands balled up in fists as she squinted at your painting. Without much more than a sigh, she turned away and disappointment immediately filled your bones.

“You want to go outside?” Mother strolled over to the entrance of the tower and slammed the wooden window shutters with a loud slam.

“Look at you, as fragile as a flower.” Her hands trailed over you as you joined her on the floor. Her touch was soft and gentle as well as her tone of voice towards you. “You know why we stay up in this tower.

“I know but–” you interjected.

“That’s right!” She moves along stroking a handful of your hair. “To keep you safe and sound dear.”

“I guess I always knew this day was coming, knew that someday you’d want to go and flee the nest. Soon but not yet–”

“But-”

You were stopped again with a finger placed over your mouth, “Shhh trust me pet, Mother knows best.”

“It’s a scary world out there my dear, it’s not all sunshine and rainbows. You haven’t seen it for yourself but there’s ruffians and thugs, there’s poison ivy to watch out for and quicksand!” She noted, counting off everything on her fingers.

“There’s cannibals and snakes and terrible diseases, I mean, remember the plague?”

You swallow thickly, hanging onto her every word.

“There's large bugs and men, men with pointy teeth, who want nothing more than to use you and trick an innocent flower like you my dear.”

You look down at the floor, no more words to say in defense. You were completely clueless. Anything that she did say had to be true. After all she was the only person that you knew who had seen the world for itself.

She swiftly took a seat in her chair, “But hey what do I know? I’m just your poor mother, I only changed and nursed and bathed you. So you can go ahead and leave me, I deserve it. I deserve to waste here and die alone!”

“Mother I didn’t –”

She looks over at you, eyes observing you up and down, not letting you finish.

“Where do I begin with you? You probably won’t even survive for long enough out there without me. You’re sloppy and underdressed, immature and not to mention clumsy. Without me you won’t have much to live for, god they’ll eat you up alive! Gullible, naive, ditzy and hmm…a bit vague, what more can I say?”

Looking down at your feet, any source of confidence in you had now been washed away entirely. She was right. You’re a fool if you’d think you’d last out there. You can barely copy with a spider in your room, how would you ever imagine dealing with all of…that?

Sensing your deflation your mother heads over to you, her arms outstretched. She pauses a little bit away from you, so you can step towards her. Embracing you, her eyes meet yours intensely filled with nothing but love.

“I just love you very much dear, all I ever want to protect you. Do you hear that? I love you very much.”

“I love you more.”

“And I love you most.” she finishes.

Enveloping you into a hug, there’s only a slight break before she says your name again and meets your eyes again however this time, there’s an emotion in her eyes which you can’t quite grasp. All you do feel is unease from her stare.

“Yes?”

“Don’t ever ask to leave this tower again.”

Her tone was sharp like a knife with the tip laced with venom, piercing through your gut. Her past words about you had already pierced through your heart and this was just the finisher.

You guess you won’t be achieving that dream anytime soon. Despite feeling deflated, you understood. The world was a dangerous place. And after all, Mother just wanted to protect you from the cruel dangers of the world.

Here, with her, was in fact the safest place to be.

reblogs + comments much appreciated! :)

#angel writes #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman #levi x reader #levi attack on titan #attack on titan #levi x you #aot x reader #levi x reader fluff #levi snk #snk levi #levi #levi ackermann x reader #attack on titan levi #levi aot

[makalauriels]

As much as I’ve enjoyed all the confusion and outrage over Sauron’s identity from all sides, like I’ve said here, I think it’s time I throw my hat into the Sauron guessing ring!

Because we all need as much of the fun kind of speculation we can get.

Anyway I don’t think Sauron is any of the characters we’ve seen so far. In fact, I don’t think we’ll see Sauron on screen until season 2! If we’re lucky, we’ll see/hear him at the very end of the season finale as a kind of hook, but right now we will not know for certain he’s here.

Based on the info we get from episode 2, which I will elaborate on below, I suspect that Sauron is already in Eregion and already amongst the jewelsmiths.

Who would tell you this? Which thrall??

This is not found in any recorded document (or Doylishly, not in any of Tolkien’s writings). Maybe dear old Uncle Maedhros told you this tale.

But that's not it, isn't it? A certain Lord of Gifts has been whispering in your ear, hasn't he?

Why spring? When 20 or even 30 years is nothing to the elves and you certainly do not have the manpower for such an ambitious building project on such short notice.

And damningly, why is this proposed forge in the shape of Sauron’s sigil?!

Spoilers for future events under the cut:

Sauron already being in Eregion but going unnoticed by the people who canonically don’t trust him (Elrond, Gil-galad, Galadriel), because it’s Celebrimbor who is approaching people for this project and making them think it's his own idea, would be delicious drama because it would hurt everyone involved.

Celebrimbor - For… obvious banner related reasons.

Elrond - For aiding evil in the course of duty and letting his admiration and trust blind him. For bringing doom unto the dwarves in the form of 7 rings.

Gil-galad - Because he has unwittingly aided that which has come to destroy his kingdom. Suspicious and politically astute Gil-galad who is already aware that trouble is on the horizon and is doing his best to keep it at bay without alarming his subjects. Except by helping Celebrimbor whom he trusts for counsel, Gil-galad has doomed his kingdom by trusting bad advice. And this would be particularly terrible for a Gil-galad, son of Orodreth, who is most well-known for dooming his kingdom of Nargothrond (founded by Finrod from the prologue) by believing in terrible advice. All Gil-galad’s nightmares are coming true all at once.

Galadriel - Because from episode 1 we see her hunting Sauron across the far corners of Middle-earth. She’s spent so long away from home and has pushed herself and her followers to their limits, alienating everyone around her in the process, because she knows he’s out there. But all this hard work was for nothing, because the call is coming from inside the house and she wasn’t there to stop him.

Everything they are doing, all the missions and goals they have set for themselves? All of this will come to nothing. The road to hell will be paved with their good intentions.

Because… well… They’re Noldor.

Tears unnumbered ye shall shed; and the Valar will fence Valinor against you, and shut you out, so that not even the echo of your lamentation shall pass over the mountains. On the House of Fëanor the wrath of the Valar lieth from the West unto the uttermost East, and upon all that will follow them it shall be laid also. Their Oath shall drive them, and yet betray them, and ever snatch away the very treasures that they have sworn to pursue. To evil end shall all things turn that they begin well; and by treason of kin unto kin, and the fear of treason, shall this come to pass. The Dispossessed shall they be for ever.

Ye have spilled the blood of your kindred unrighteously and have stained the land of Aman. For blood ye shall render blood, and beyond Aman ye shall dwell in Death’s shadow. For though Eru appointed to you to die not in Eä, and no sickness may assail you, yet slain ye may be, and slain ye shall be: by weapon and by torment and by grief; and your houseless spirits shall come then to Mandos. There long shall ye abide and yearn for your bodies, and find little pity though all whom ye have slain should entreat for you. And those that endure in Middle-earth and come not to Mandos shall grow weary of the world as with a great burden, and shall wane, and become as shadows of regret before the younger race that cometh after. The Valar have spoken.

—Quenta Silmarillion, “Of the Flight of the Noldor”

#Rings of Power #lord of the rings on prime #lotrop #amazon lotr #Tolkien #Jrr Tolkien #Silmarillion #Lord of the Rings #Long post #Spoiler #Spoilers #If they do this they will be sexiest fanfiction authors out there #Because what is a Second Age fanfic without a ton of pain #Sauron #Galadriel #Elrond #gil galad #Gilgalad

[abruisedmuse]

ACOTAR TV NEWS

I encourage yall to take this with a grain of salt. According to Deuxmoi, which is a celebrity gossip podcast, they heard some ACOTAR news. I don't listen to this podcast apparently theyre know for not just gossip but having it accurate. This news could be correct.

Deuxmoi heard from someone who has a friend at Hulu that said up to episode 4 has been written. There is no cast yet. They are expected to start filming late this year/early next year. Budget has reportedly been cut in half. Someone else said the show runner is being a nightmare to work with. That they won't let the show writers to write or turn in drafts for the script.

They go on to criticize sjm of this behavior because these people know what they're doing and even though they understand her being defensive she's working with a group of writers and it's now a team sport.

And no??

This is her world. Her characters that mean the world to her. Look at how many adaptations have sucked because either the writer wasn't involved at all or was but the writing team took over and the original writer was there for creative control. Henry left the Witcher cause they're not sticking to the story. Game of Thrones ended in such a disaster people refuse to acknowledge the final season. PJO, Shadow Hunters, Divergent, Breaking Dawn, etc. Hell even Bridgerton is on the line with Julia basically only there for making sure things are period accurate.

I was extremely weary about an Acotar show. But if SJM is being this much of a terror to make sure the fandom. The book fandom who have loved it for years gets the show of dreams (pun intended). Then, I am fully excited. Go off Queen! Stand your ground, channel your Aelin/Nesta energy and don't let those show writers win. I wonder if this is what happened to TOG show all those years ago

You can listen to the podcast on Spotify, or Apple podcasts. The bit about SJM being a nightmare can be found on this tiktok

#acotar #feysand #nessian #elucien #feyre archeron #Rhysand #nesta archeron #cassian #elain archeron #acotar tv show #Hulu #sarah j maas #Azriel #gwynriel #gwyn berdara #tamlin #Emerie #Mor #amren #Prythian

[momentaryescape]

Place In Me

Sam Winchester x Reader Warnings: None Word Count: 2.8k This is part two to Slip Away Authors Note: Almost two months later part 2 is complete :)

“It’s been a while.” You can hear the nerves in his voice. 

“Yeah, it has.” It was quiet for a minute. “What do you need Sam?”

“I need to talk to you. Preferably in person” His voice weary. 

“I don't think that's a good idea, Sam.” You mumbled. 

“Please y/n. I really need to see you.”

“Sam I left almost years ago. How do you plan on seeing me if you have no idea where I am?” 

“Pennsylvania?” You stayed quiet at his answer. “You always said that if you got away from California you wanted to go north, but you also loved the east. You wanted a place with seasons, where you can raise a family if you ever had kids. You said Pennsylvania was the only place that would feel right.” You could tell he was smiling. Remember the night under the stars talking about where your future will lead. 

“I'm surprised you remember.” 

“We were best friends. Hell, I thought maybe we would end up in the same place. I remember wanting to take on everything with you” 

”Sure you did, Sam. That's why you dropped everything for Jess. blew me off time and time again. Skipped my birthday just because “Jess needs me” when all she was doing was isolating you from me. Convincing you that she was all you needed.” You wanted to be happy, but you could still feel the stab in your chest thinking about why your futures were no longer allied.  

“Y/n” Sam's tone shifted. 

“No Sam, I don't think I can do this.” You managed to gain confidence with your words. 

“Hold on. I never meant you any harm. I got no legs to stand on. I was just dancing in the dark. And I know it’s not fair. I fucked up and I don’t deserve you. But now with my eyes wide open, it was heaven in your arms, I see that I miss you. And a lot has happened, these last few years. I see all that I tried not to. You don’t have to give me a chance, but 10 minutes is all I ask. Please.”

”Fine. 10 minutes.” You felt bad for trying to push him away. But you knew in your heart you wouldn’t be able to hate him. You needed him. You felt complete with him. And you felt stupid for letting yourself get attached. 

~~~

You sat at the coffee shop near your house. Nerves of seeing Sam for the first time in years radiate through your body. Hearing the bell chime on the door your head shoots up. Your eyes land on him. 

He looks similar to the last time you saw him. His hair was different, longer than the last time you had seen him. His shoulders were broader. But what stood out most was his jacket. It was the same one you had given him for Christmas as freshman. All these years and he still had it. 

Sam looks around looking for you before seeing you sitting at a table near the windows of the coffee shop. He smiles, a gesture you return. He makes his way to the table stopping next to it was you stand up. 

“Hi.” You look up at him giving another small smile.

“Hey y/n. It's been a while.” It felt nice seeing him. You could feel the piece of you that you had lost making its way back in place.

Stepping closer you wrap your arms around him. He freezes for a second before wrapping his arms around your shoulders. You feel him squeeze you. If you could, you would stay frozen in this moment forever. You pull away after a minute before the two of you sit down. You pass him one of the cups.

“I didn't know what you would want but I ordered you the same thing you got back in school.” It wasn't hard to remember what he got. It was slightly different from yours. 

“Thank’s.” He gave you the same warm smile you cherished the memories of. “You look great.”

“I could say the same about you. You look the same as you did in college. I mean your hair might be a little longer, and you have more muscle now.” You both laugh thinking of the two of you in college.

“God that feels like a lifetime ago. Everything was so simple then. Before stuff went to shit.” He stiffened a little towards the end of what he was saying.

“Yeah…things were different back then. We were just kids trying to find ourselves for the first time. Looking out on the unknown.” You felt a wave of sadness flood when you remember what that unknown was. It was Jess. You thought you guys had it all figured out. The two of you against the world. 

“I missed you y/n. And I know why you left. I can't blame you. And after Jess died I learned so much from people I thought were my friends too. Turns out the only true friend I had was you. And I blew it. I was going to ask her to marry me. God, I was stupid.” You can't tell what he’s feeling. He seems pissed, hurt, and sad all at once. 

You had felt your heart shatter when he said he wanted to marry her. You knew you didn't have a chance. You had kept all your feelings bottled inside. The fear of fucking your friendship up. You would rather see him happy with someone else than lose him as a friend.

“You were in love. Nobody can blame you.” He laughed at that. Making you shoot him a confused look.

“That's the thing. I loved her, I did, But I wasn't in love with her.” 

“Then why marry her?” He didn't respond.

How was he supposed to answer that? “I loved you and didn't learn that you loved me too until I had fucked everything up. Oh and you would think I'm crazy if you learned about my past, and it's not like I could hide it from you. You saw how keeping things from you had blown up in my face every time.”

“It was safer. She wasn’t the love of my life but I knew I could be happy.” He finally stated. 

“I get that. Sometimes life is easier if we don't get what we want.”

Falling out of that conversation into one about what you guys had done over the past 7 years. You had finished law school and worked at a firm downtown. And you loved your job but you had fallen out of love with your job the past few months. 

Sam said he worked with his brother as an exterminator. You found that hard to believe. Sam Winchester, the boy who got a full-ride scholarship to Stanford, was an exterminator. Sam loved the thought of helping others, it was weird he went from pre-law to bug killer. You kno-knew Sam. Knew his tells. And you felt like he was lying about being an exterminator, but maybe it was just that you found it hard to believe.

~~~

After around an hour at the coffee shop, you had both made your way to your apartment. You sat across from each other, still talking about random topics. 

“You know what I find hard to believe Sam?” He looks at you cocking his head a little as to ask what. “That Sam Winchester, one of the smartest people I've ever known, is an exterminator. I think it would be easier to believe you hunt ghosts for a living.” 

He laughed. “So you think, me playing Ghostbusters for a living is more plausible than me killing bugs?”

You look at him with the most serious look you can muster before giving him a simple “Yes”.

“What if I told you that I really did hunt ghosts for a living?”

“I would say now you’re just trying to impress me.” You both laugh.

“So…Did you come all the way here for me or were you already around?” You didn't know which you wanted his answer to be.

“You. I came for you.” Your cheeks flushed. “This past year had been Hell. Literally. And I saw my brother deal with something similar a few months back, and I saw him happy, and I wanted that.” You felt so many emotions, you looked away from him trying to decipher what he meant about you and wanting happiness. 

“Sam I-” He cuts you off. 

“Hold on, I know that that's a lot, but I need you to hear me out.” You look back at him. “I never meant to start a war. I was just dead wrong. I know we’ve been in this before. Now with my eyes wide open, I tore you right apart.” Sam was crying, and you felt tears pricking at your eyes too.

You stood from your seat and walked to him wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into your embrace. His arms wrap around your waist pulling you unto his lap so you were closer. You too sat like that even after you had stopped crying.

Sam thought back to after Jess died. He wished he could have been with you. Dean tried to help, but he wasn't you. You had always known what to do. And when the nightmares started all he wanted to do was call you. He just wanted what you guys had before everything had happened. It was a constant battle in his head of if he should find you, maybe Bobby or Dean could help, but what would he tell you? He didn’t want you to think he was crazy, but he wanted to tell you the truth. The whole truth, who he really was. He wanted to stop lying to you. But keeping you out had kept you safe from his world.

Maybe it was for the best you two were apart. You were safe that way.

“Y/n I'm sorry” he finally spoke.

“For what? Sam, you didn't do anything.”

“I- Nothing I should go.” He shifts so you are standing too so he can leave.

“Sam what's wrong?”

“Nothing…but it's getting late, I should probably head out.” You look out the windows of your living room realizing the sun had started to set.

“Oh, yeah you’re right. Um…It was nice seeing you again Sam.” You pull him in for a hug before he says goodbye. 

“Hey, call me in the morning?” Stepping back you look at him.

“Yeah” Sam gave you another small hug before leaving.

~~~

“I just want to tell her Dean. I had to lie to her, because if I told her the truth then she won’t want to talk, she’ll think I'm crazy. I mean she made a crack about me being a ghost hunter. I mean she’s not that far off. But I can’t just tell her that. And it's stupid but I want her in my life again, and I don't want to have to lie every time she asks me about my personal life. Not to mention why would an exterminator constantly be on the road in an impala?” 

“Sammy if you tell her you're exposing her to a whole new can of worms. She will know that the scary stories she hears aren't all make-believe. It's your call Sam, but you need to figure it out. If you want to fix things with her you have to be ready for the day you tell her, because she will eventually find out whether you like it or not. The question is do you want to be the one that tells her.” Sam stayed quiet after that. He tried finding ways to tell you. He wanted to tell you face to face, but he didn't want to see the look on your face when he did. 

~~~

It had been a week since you had seen Sam. You hadn’t heard from him since the morning after the two of you met up. You had reached out only to get nothing in response. It hurt, you didn’t know if it was something you had done, or if he had realized he was better off without you. You were lost in thought when you almost missed the knocking on your door.

Opening your door Sam standing there. He was leaning against the doorframe, the lack of sleep and the smell of alcohol still lingering on him. In the nicest way, he looked like shit. His hair was a mess and the bags under his eyes were prominent. 

“Sam? Are you okay?” It was late, the sun had gone down not long ago.

“I'm Sorry” His voice was low, barely audible.

“What” 

“I’m sorry that I let you down. I...I’m so apathetic it's pathetic, but I need you now” You open your door more inviting him in. He walks in but doesn't move far, he just stands there. You didn’t know what to do. 

After a few moments, you wrap your arms around him pulling him into a hug. His body relaxes into your arms.

“Sam what's wrong.” 

“Suns gone, but you always liked this time of day. No words left to play on, How many chances does it take? Now with my eyes wide open, I'm nothing but a fake.” You pull away looking up at him.

“Sam you’re not a fake. I mean yeah we've had issues in our past, but you’re one of the best people around. I don’t know what happened, or what’s making you feel like this.  But I’m here.”

“I lied. And it feels like all I'm doing is lying every time we talk, every time I think about you, god even being around you I’m lying.”

“Lied? What? What the hell are you talking about?”

“That's the thing. If I tell you’ll think I'm crazy, but if I don't I’ll keep up this lie.”

“Listen, I don't know what the hell you’re talking about, but you need to tell me. That or you can leave and we can pretend we never saw each other. But I can't do this Sam. I won't do this.”

‘Did you ever hear how Jess died?”

“Yeah, but what does that have to do with this?”

“She didn’t die in a house fire. My brother Dean and I had gone to find my dad, and when we got back I was exhausted, so I went into my room. When I looked up from my bed Jess was there. She was on fire, burning on the ceiling.”

“Sam that's impossible.”

“No, it's not. Dean saw it too And it's not the first time something like this has happened. Our mother died the same way. After she died our father began hunting those kinds of things. The supernatural. All the things you were told were make-believe, the monster under your bed, the ones hiding in your closet. I was raised hunting the things that stories are written about. And I know that this makes me sound crazy. But I would rather tell you the truth and let you in than keep you out.”

“I knew you weren't an exterminator.” You laughed

“What?” 

“When I asked you what you did for a living you said, you were an exterminator. And I called your bluff, you really are a Ghostbuster. I mean that is if you hunt ghosts”

“I do hunt ghosts."

“Also, next time, come up with a better thing than you kill bugs for a living. I mean yes, technically you do kill things, but what exterminator has no home base and drives around in a car from state to state?”

“You would be surprised how many people believe that. Seriously though, how are you so relaxed about this?”

“Oh don't get me wrong, my brain is still trying to wrap around it, but at the same time, It doesn't fully come as a shock. The little things you would do that at the time seemed weird. And why you never talked about your childhood. You grew up knowing things most people never know. The things you have seen in your life are things I will never fully understand, but I want to learn so that I can try.”

“You want to learn?”

“Yes. I’m tired of the life I live, I help people doing the job I do, but I want to help more. A million people can do my job. How many can do yours?”  

Sam looked at you with admiration in his eyes. He couldn't leave this life, he lived (and sometimes died) for it. If you wanted to join he wouldn't stop you, it was safer for you to learn with him if you were serious. 

He moved next to you, pulling you into his arms, your head resting on his chest. The two of you stayed in the moment, never wanting it to end. “Don’t you move. Can't we just stay? Can we start over? Don’t fade away. ‘Cause you’ll always have a place in me.”

You looked up at him. “You’ll always have a place in me”

#sam winchester #jared paladecki #supernatural fluff #fluff #supernatural #sam #winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x you #sam winchecter ff #sam winchester fic #sam winchester smut #samwinchester #sam winchester fluff

[fishfingersandjellybabies]

I love the Brood AU. It has its heart wrenching moments as well at its super sweet moments. Since the holidays are upon us once again, how do you think the kids handled they’re first holiday season at the Kent’s and without Bruce? I know canonically Bruce is Jewish, so how do you think the Kent’s approached the Jewish Holidays? I don’t mean for you to write angst, but my mom had a minor stroke in August and she’s doing better now, but the holidays don’t really feel the same (we basically skipped thanksgiving and Christmas feels more like a chore right now than something exciting) and I’m thinking for the kids in this AU they’re probably feeling that same bland weariness. On a lighter note, in comparison, what is that first holiday season with Bruce back like?

Oh honey, I feel you. Between my worsening mental health and dealing with my mum’s cancer scare, my holiday feelings are all screwed up. I hope things get better for you! 💜

Their first holiday season without Bruce is rough. I don’t think I ever said the exact when of Bruce dropping the kids with Clark, but I think the holidays is when Dick finally can’t be the strong eldest anymore and has his breakdown about Bruce never coming home.

Clark also struggles because he wants to make the holidays perfect for these kids but he doesn’t know what to do or how and he’s grieving himself. Ma, Pa and Lois really come to the rescue that year, and Clark has a vivid memory sitting in a quiet living room, lit only by a tree, surrounded by sleeping kiddos and family. It’s a bittersweet memory.

And they celebrate whatever in the Clark-Bat household. Kids learn about a new holiday at school? Cool, let’s do it. Whatever. They use the holidays as ‘together’ time, not necessarily religious time. Ma, Pa, Lois, Alfred and Leaguers all come through the farm this time of year, that’s why the kids all love it.

When Bruce comes BACK Clark’s house is DECKED in mistletoe by the elder kids, because they’re annoying as hell. Dick and Jason just worry about showing up, while Cass, Tim and Damian stress about getting Bruce the perfect gifts. Jon pouts a lot of the time because he doesn’t know how to feel, he didn’t invite Bruce to their festivities. Kon just tries to keep the peace between everyone and everything.

But it ends in a similar way as Clark’s bittersweet night under the tree. Only now, Bruce sits next to him, Damian and Jon cocooned between them fast asleep, big kids on the floor, and everything seems right in the world for once.

#asks #anon #superbat #the brood au

[uchiha-7thsingularity]

Fire on Fire (Rime x MC)

Wanted to do a songfic. Tried my best. Guess this is an early valentine's day fic. Might do one for that day. And one for felix with the song "You're so beautiful" but I am busy with exams. Wanted to try this writing prompt out. Might write for arcana later and my oc's origin.

Shooting stars miles away glisten the skyline. 

The black void???…

….umbra??……

…Twilight abyss?

In the dusk of midnight, a hollow stillness consumes the dimly lit halls of Black Thorne, gentle strides headed straight for the estates outdoors.

*thump* 

~creak 

(...) 

Pleased as ever by the fresh midnight breeze wafting his unnerved soul, rime proceeds to escort himself to the edge of the pond lily. Head forward and shoulders straight, his white-tipped nose twitches, as his brow furrows on the nightmare he had moments beforehand. 

White ashes fell from the crimson sky, bloody mournfall shattered, the undead corpses wailing all around. His fingers were numb. Heart beating rapidly in his eardrums like open gunfire across the battlefield. Breath sinking inside his clamped, dry throat waiting to break apart at any waking second. 

For five years. Rime wasn't kidding about crawling through nine levels of hell to escape to his past life…waiting for him. Or, so he assumed. In all honesty, the life before himself was a shitshow, since YOU appeared in his stead. Gaining his relic by sheer luck. Seeing his old pals (what's left of them) gather to lay their lives for a mere wannabe; try hard. A payaso! Worst. If nothing else to be stolen of his existence. Watching Felix (his ex-lover, friend, and colleague) dove head first into a full-on companionship with a past image of the man he used to strive to be. Chimed under his cold breath, "Mother always said I'm to romantic for my own good will."  For his household. For his found family. For his felix. Personally, for himself. 

Blossoms flourished in the greenhouse with a polished elegant color palette of warm tones in the spring season. Water droplets pitter-pattered against the stone floor and whiffs of lavender stealing the breath of an undead man. In a heartbeat, rime strided onto the floating stones toward the white-pillared done towering above the pond's clear surface. He slowly sucked in a breath, his long lashes fluttering at the greenery before him. The area felt like a solitude of peace.

Still; uplifting.

Calm; quiet.

Contentis ; is never-ending.

In conclusion, nothing precious in the end….story of his life. His ears drooped, flicking at the noises of nature surrounding him and the cursed manor. "Now fucking what?", his voice slithers upon death ears. Soft clicks skip across the pond's watery path toward him with a hollow echo. His fluffy ears flick leaving him to roll his shoulders back and straighten for his unwanted associate.

In retrospect, you had woken from a nap earlier to be relieved of exhaustion. So, to put it simply you were passing time wandering the foyers to look upon the paintings and statues to induce sleep.  Therefore, passing a closed covered window you peeked past the curtain only to admire a night sky. Instead of stars your vision glossed over the shadow inside the dome hanging his weary head. By the time you recognized your intentions you faced the one person who despised you for good reasons. Not enough to excuse his violent outbursts. Or snarky comments. Hardly to abandon his morals behind of favorable intentions.

Unsure you walk up behind his sluggish figure to vaguely see his dreadful, tensed expression. He truly seemed haunted by something. Not saying a word you lean against the railing of the dome….laying your gaze to rime's clenched fists around the wooden barrier. Whispers of every splinter of wood cracked underneath his pale fingertips. "You're dancing in the movies," gently coaxing him to avert his anguish. Tucking a strand of hair back you whistle, "My mother once said that to me. I asked her what it meant. She told me I left reality for a fantasy. And I needed to learn to balance the two not as one world, or separate, except as a result of my desires." Rime tilts his head, adopting an agitated statue. His fingers release the wooden balustrade in a huff. "Then I saw you…and I knew instantly." 

Your weird inquiries vexes his cold-hearted soul, needless to say he abides to the honey-suckle voice, shoulders slacking bit by bit. His pierced gaze fixed on you with his arms crossed covering his scar. Brows furrowed at your calm tone, "I didn't come back to life to be patronized by you,"bitterness seeped from him while tapping his foot. By a whim you step toward him slowly, his eyes immediately locks onto your gaze on him….and only him.

Stepping back again, the two of you avert your gaze somewhere else, aware of each other's motives. "You're honestly right, rime. Maybe it's 'cause I got a little bit older, maybe it's all that I've been through till now."

Slowly you step towards his awakened spirit again with the courage to face him head on no matter his tenacious insults.

"I like to think it's how you sometimes lean on my shoulder when it's just us two," his scent tickles my nose while he leans a bit closer, "And how I see myself with you."

His mind reels from your intoxicating scent. Afraid to say a word his toes curl in anticipation to hear his name roll off your tongue. For the recent times you've dared to notice his moods. Cook meals with him to catch him up on the starsworns' chaotic intentions the past few months. Advised him to act on his own terms, rather than strain himself to comfort those around him daily by putting a fake persona. Heart fluttered, but still you take his breath away and steal the things he once knew by heart. He wants to hate you. Needs to be rid of your sweet smile. Your contagious laughter. Your generous offers to redeem himself. But at what cost will come with that. "There you go again MC, saving me from out the cold. Sticking your nose where it doesn't belong." Snickering as you puff your tinted cheeks raw from the chilled air.

"Fire on fire would normally kill us. Normally, their right….in our favor we're the embodiment of self-destruction." Slowly, but surely rime conjures a black flame in his right palm to pull you in closer by the waist. If it wasn't hatred he felt, it was desire. But this much desire unnerved him to the bone. More than his nightmares. 

Dead and buried he was lost. The resurrection changed nothing. (Together with you, I felt like a winner…of course the others think I'm out of control and say I'm a sinner.) He doesn't blame them. But he won't let anyone ruin the beautiful symphony you've shown to him by healing him in the past moments shared in secret. After his myriad attempts to scorch you to ashes. Now he doesn't know what he needs to be himself once more. Of course, your awed expression leaves him to wonder.

He hummed, "Enough with the jokes. We should head inside." Quickly nodding, you offer a soft smile while heading to the warm, secure vine manor. Not far behind, his chest ached with an familiar feeling. It wrecked him to see you walk away from him. Even if you were only just going a little ways ahead of him. Cynical and malicious voices carried on in the back of his mind as he washed the doubt away.

One day….when he was ready to confront his inner demons, regrets, and sorrows….would he chase the feelings guiding him to you. 'Cause, when you unfold him bit by bit; he will hopefully wait to hear your thoughts of him. In his trek, a whisper escapes low in his throat, "I want to look into your passionate eyes. And you look into my burning eyes." The wind picks up, as does his train of thought. (You are perfection. My only direction, MC. Fire on Fire….could not lay a flame on us.)

#fictif #last legacy #rime solano varela #rime varela #last legacy rime #rime fictif #gender neutral mc #nightmare #Fire on Fire song by Sam smith #Song lyrics writing prompt

[goddesspharo]

fruit emojis asks: 🍒🍌🍈

fruit emoji asks! (I keep wondering how they chose which fruit corresponded to which question!)

🍒 What’s your favorite character dynamic to write? (Can be romantic or platonic, specific or general!)

Idiots in love who don't know it! More specifically, I love antagonistic relationships with an undercurrent of something more. A key example of this was Amy/Dan when Veep was good (so...not the last few seasons). I wish I could've written a line as good as "Amy, the gates of hell have opened and you are my plus one!" because that is ultimately the dynamic I strive for 90% of the time. The enemies to lovers trope is a classic for a reason! (The enemies to enemies who-are-boning to enemies-with-feelings to enemies-who-were-maybe-never-really-enemies trope is obviously the greatest sub-genre of said trope). Another key dynamic is awesome ladies and the himbos they feel begrudging affection towards! Sad sack dudes fighting injustice while being sad! (Basically, The X-Files?!??!?) I love it all! One dynamic that I love so much that I don't think I have enough perspective to write it is the dead girl haunting a narrative trope. (Jackie Taylor, you will always be my number one! Like Lilly Kane and Laura Palmer before you! The Solaris of it all!) I keep toying with the idea of it in different things but the legwork needed to translate what's in my head to something halfway decent feels like too much!

🍌 In your opinion, what’s the funniest joke/reference/pun you’ve made in a fic?

I probably conflate a lot of humor with banter because like...no one's telling knock knock jokes here so it's more like the dynamic of the thing is funny or it's not. That said, the end bit in that's what narcissists do cracks me up if for no other reason than because you could throw the line "It's called operant conditioning, dickhead" into Top Gun: Maverick without feeling out of place. (I also think that the Batman/Vampire references re: Robert Pattinson's Bruce Wayne are hilarious every time I write or read them but I'm dumb like that.)

🍈 Who’s your blorbo and what are some of your favorite headcanons/ideas about them that repeatedly show up in your fics? Free pass to rant about blorbo opinions.

When did we start calling them blorbos? That has to be a tumblr specific thing, right? Or I'm just An Old? Didn't they used to be referred to as Flavors of the Week/Month/Year/Embarrassingly-Extended-Period-of-Time? Apparently all I write anymore is TGM fic (let me stopppppppp) so I guess it would be Hangman? Although I almost never write in his perspective - stay tuned! maybe! this new thing might not see the light of day - so maybe it's Phoenix? I don't know, I think Hangman is a handsome idiot who deflects that he is a marshmallow encased in spectacular abs by being a jackass. And Phoenix has had to grind for every rung she has climbed and applies that well-earned weariness/caution to her relationships outside of the Navy so the only thing she can easily commit to is her lack of commitment.

I think it's almost MORE interesting to have a "blorbo" and have no canon for them. After all, fic is excuse to let your favorite characters be chameleons. If you frame something right, you can get away with a lot of differing ideas so I find that I am more flexible with "headcanons" for characters I love (re: backgrounds; not necessarily the fundamentals of what I think make the character who they are) and can't stop writing than I am for drive-by peripheral characters, to be honest. For instance, I decided while writing we're busy still saying please that Halo was a new age weirdo who was super into burning sage and healing crystals (cue Breaking Bad Hank's "it's not a rock, it's a mineral") and that tiny bit of characterization has popped up here and there ever since.

#ask me things #we can pretend there is a thought process behind any of this

[sgkophie]

I'm new here and don't know exactly how to send a head canon? But I was thinking something along the lines of Georgie and Carlos moving in together and being absolutely domestic! Even they'd be surprised by how fast and easy it is, and even their family would notice. The Leclerc Brothers would give them hell, ofc.

This is the PERFECT way to do it, Anon!

Basically you send a fun prompt, and I give you a little "here's how the characters would react" scenario!! I'm going to bullet these and keep it easy.... you guys are sending in so many requests, I can't keep up!

1K Follower Celebration goes on until next weekend!! You can find that post HERE for a list of prompts and fun asks!

At the end of the 2022 season, Georgia was finally the world champion she deserved to be!

As much as she was happy the season was ending, she knew this meant she wouldn't be seeing Carlos very much over the next few months. between all of their work at the factory preparing for the next season, they'd only have a select weekends together

Little did she know, Carlos had already realized that this would simply not be acceptable

after Abu Dhabi he asked Charles to go apartment hunting with him in Monaco

Charles at first was a little taken aback... he felt like 6 months of dating was too soon, but as he watched Carlos and Georgia over the last month, he knew they were ready

Carlos found the CUTEST apartment for the two of them

it was the end of year driver's gala where Carlos popped the moving in together question

at first Georgia was weary... but when she saw the apartment, saw how perfect it was for the two of them, she knew she was the luckiest girl on the planet to have found someone as caring as Carlos

❤️❤️❤️

#sgkophiecelebrates1k

[himi-wiz]

what are your thoughts on the current status of the bsd manga? any ideas on how it'll progress from here, what you like or dislike?

Absolutely none!

No really, at the moment I'm too consumed by One Piece nostalgia (and now Blue Lock) screaming at me to be overly concerned about BSD, BSD has always been more of a casual investment I enjoy for its own and fanart but never actively desire to seek out more. Besides the novels, I like books.

I'm really more of the Bungou aspect of Bungou Stray Dogs as a literature fan * and so my interest has always been a more subtle interest in observing what Asagiri has to say about the human nature and condition than giving absolute judgements on anything.

* Despite interest, have not finished reading a lot of works. Tbf Japanese Literature has a fairly passive tone that I get fed up with for my poor attention span. Others... Yeah aside from CAP being a literal punishment to read I don't have excuses besides I have work + uni and I am lazy.

What I can say is the current manga focus is a lot more on well the two primary black-white duos against each other + Fyodor, Aya and Bram and Fukuchi playing God or whatever. All these exchanges showcase how much would they put out to reach each other and watch how things click into place, the last touches to the final stage curtains.

I don't have as much anticipation on finding out how things end but I would say it's a risky move for Studio Bones to release BSD this early when the manga hasn't finished so it means the anime would adapt the season finale first before the manga.

Asagiri is supervising so I don't doubt it would be okay but I am mildly concerned as to how enjoyable it is to immerse and believe in the narrative. I'll bet he'll pull it off anyways but I hope it's something that wraps the story up well and not leave more questions than not. Admittedly I find Fukuchi off putting power scale wise when he appeared seemingly nowhere with 1. a fairly deep connection to Fukuzawa and the ADA, 2. he's this all powerful might hero that everyone looks to but no mention of him until hunting dogs arrival and 3. we find out he just decided this cause of action and is our twist villain suddenly. What?

Edit after anime ending:

So... That was a thing.

I don't know if I liked it or not but I guess quite a bit of stuff resolved.

I still don't like Fukuchi. No matter how beautiful your whole reason to save the world was, that's just bullshit to drag the entire world into your shitty plan and then dump it all your ex sweetheart pick up the pieces and be the "good guy" you wanted him to be by sacrificing yourself.

Teruko deserves so much better, she wasn't even able to be happy finishing what she needed to do. Damn.

Anyways moving on, rest of the gays are... Gay (happy).

Aya is safe and alive, Bram is now her guardian Knight accompanying the hero of justice! Though her looking up to her father is bittersweet. Also knowing irl Ms Aya Kodo's whole strained relationship with father and living under his shadow but still desiring his affections is man, twisted.

Kenji and Tecchou is okay whoo!! So is Kyouka and Lucy

Where Jouno. What the hell Jouno. Is he okay?? Whyy???

Where the hell is Yosano, Kouyou and Mori (and Higuchi) too I don't know if Mori's disappearance is something I like, I'm scared what-

I hope Manga can explain that. I'm weary of being wary of Asagiri but dammit Asagiri whyyy

That's all I suppose.

#bsd anime spoilers #bsd #bsd analysis #sort of. #ask #anon ask #tw cursing #bsd fukuchi

[artificialqueens]

🎁 Lonely This Christmas (Bitney) for Cheetah - Lita

SECRET QUEEN 2022 by @artificiallita, for @opalescent-cheetah

A/N: When I got the list of tropes etc to possibly explore from Cheetah, one thing that really stuck out to me was the idea of exploring aromanticism or atypical relationship dynamics - and if anyone knows my writing, you know that I've never exactly written 'normal' Bitney (I can only apologise to all victims of the San Junipero AU lmao) so this was super super fun. Loosely inspired by V pointing out that I write Bianca in the Femme Fatale AU as somewhere on the aromantic spectrum, although she herself might not have found the words for it yet, I wanted to explore that a little more while also writing some silly festive fluff (a month late lmao.) 

Cheetah, I hope you enjoy this <3<3 Hope your holiday season was magical, and thank you for inspiring this fic since I had a ton of fun with it. Much love!!

(Full A/N restored! -V)

*****

“We’re sorry, the person you are trying to reach is unable to take your call. Please leave a voicemail after the-”

“Fuck…” Courtney ends the fourth attempted call, and drops her phone into her lap. Her head sinks into her hands. It’s the middle of the fucking night in Australia - of course her mum isn’t answering her phone, she’s probably asleep. So is Kim. So is…well, it’s more likely that Vanity is shitfaced and in the middle of a club with no service, but either way she’s unreachable. Stupid fucking New York and its stupid fucking shitty winters. 

It had been snowing heavily when she woke up that morning, and hadn’t stopped all day. She’d gotten the news via a Twitter notification in the cab to the airport - all flights bound for NYC were being diverted, and all scheduled to leave it had been grounded. She’d hoped for a miracle, but the odds of one occurring had dwindled into the single digits as she’d arrived in the airport to be told her flight was delayed by five hours. It had been outright cancelled twenty minutes ago. 

 She’s sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of her suitcase, staring down a never ending line of closing check-in desks - the departure boards above them, bright red CANCELLED labels next to every listed flight, feel like they’re mocking her. Adore was right, she’d left it too late. Court makes a mental note to listen to her roommate more often. Adore had fucked off home for the holidays a week ago, of course - blissfully unaware of the current mayhem in JFK Airport and probably stoned halfway to a coma with her mom. Lucky cunt. 

What kind of idiot waits until December 23rd to fly halfway across the world back home for Christmas? Well, her and by the looks of things a couple of hundred other idiots, pacing and yelling into cell phones and arguing with the poor arseholes at the customer service desk, as if they could do anything about the bloody weather. Courtney is trying to summon the willpower to brave the cold and shuffle out to the waiting line of taxis, where it looks like half the population of the city are lined up with pointlessly packed bags and weary faces and screaming kids. It’s already Christmas Eve in Sydney. 

Courtney feels her eyes welling up. Between work, and fighting to get the time off work to get home at all, and packing and shopping and everything else, the stress has been melting her head for weeks. And now this. Horrible, crushing defeat - falling at the last hurdle with no solution in sight. Maybe she could swim to Australia? It’s starting to get dark; the snow still falling down in sheets and wind blowing with such force it feels like it’s shaking the wall she’s leaning against. Fuck this for a laugh.  

“Hey stranger.”

A familiar abrasive voice. Followed up by a slightly-too-hard nudge with the toe of a sneaker. Courtney looks up, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. 

Bianca’s dark hair is spilling out of her ponytail, LV holdall slung over one shoulder as she stands in front of her in sweatpants and a parka. She looks a hell of a lot more zen than most other people waiting around; face unflinching and almost entirely unbothered.

“I don’t know what you’re waiting for, this shit isn’t going anywhere any time soon,” Bianca continues, gesturing to the window with her head. Courtney cracks half a smile. 

“I don’t know either,” Courtney shrugs. “If I leave, I have to accept that I’m fucked and I don’t want to do that yet.

“‘Fucked’ is a strong word,” Bianca says with a snort of a laugh. She offers Courtney a hand, pulling her up off of the floor. 

Bianca was the intimidating, take-no-shit head bartender of the club that Court worked as a shot girl in; it seemed like she’d made it her life’s mission to make everyone who came into contact with her think she was a total cunt. However, there was an element of trying too hard that Courtney had always plainly seen through - Bianca being a closet softie wasn’t anything close to a shock. She’d been the one that took the GM to task when he’d tried to refuse to give Court time off to go home over Christmas, and probably the only reason that Court wasn’t there right now, in a miniskirt and fishnets trying to upsell high-end tequila to groups of drunk Wall Street cunts on their office night out. 

She’d also been the subject of a long-unrequited crush that Courtney had been harbouring since she started working there two years ago. Not because she didn’t care, or because she didn’t like her. Court had woken up in her bed a few too many times for that to be the case. But Bea doesn’t shit where she eats. Like she’d said the last time she’d rebuffed Courtney’s suggestion to go for brunch the last time they’d gotten too drunk and woken up naked and spooning. 

It was confusing, and at times a little frustrating - but that didn’t change the little spark of happiness that Courtney had felt cracking through the misery when Bianca appeared, or the way that watching her eyes light up when she laughs makes Court melt. She’d let the silly crush be a silly crush if it meant she got to keep Bianca around. 

“So, what’s your plan exactly? Sit here and feel sorry for yourself until the snow melts?” 

“Something like that.” 

“Well, I’m going home like a normal person - I drove here, do you want a ride? 

Courtney nods a little hesitantly. 

“Actually,” Bianca says, noticing the uncertainty on Courtney’s face. “I could probably use the company, do you wanna come hang out at my place? Saves you sitting around feeling like shit by yourself.”

“Yeah,” Courtney says, a smile creeping onto her lips. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

******

“Hold on a fucking second,” Courtney lifts her head up from Bea’s lap. 

She’d gotten to Bianca’s apartment and originally sat at a respectful distance on the other side of the couch - they’d chatted idle shit for a while, bitching about work and people they knew and how much Christmas sucks as a holiday. All the stress and chaos and planning, and spending money you don’t really have on people you don’t really like. And then Courtney had cried a little about not making it home - actually, she’d had what most people would describe as a mental breakdown. She hadn’t seen her family since last bloody Christmas, missing god knows how many birthdays and milestones. She and Vanity had been planning their New Year night out for a month. She was homesick - a state she practically lived in, but that was so much worse now that she’d been touching distance from getting there and then couldn’t. Bianca had gotten a little closer, pulling into a hug and letting Court leave a wet patch of tears on her sweatshirt. 

Then they’d ordered takeout and opened a bottle of wine - finished that and then started on a second. Bianca’s studio apartment is warm and homey, and Bianca’s presence is warmer. And now they’re here. Bianca has a hand tangled in Courtney’s blonde hair, there’s Hallmark garbage playing on the TV, and Court wishes every night could be like this. Fuck, Courtney thinks she’s in love. 

Bianca has her other arm around Courtney’s shoulders, their legs tangled under a blanket as glow from the streetlights creep through the curtains. She’s never seen Bianca this soft; this tender. Her eyes are a little glassy, but she looks so content, and so fucking beautiful in the soft light. 

“What?” Bianca tilts her head. 

“You were at the fucking airport too - and you’ve not complained once about not getting home. I get that I'm being a drama queen about this, but that’s weird. 

“Because I don’t really care,” Bianca shrugs. “I’m missing the annual family argument and my grandma asking me a hundred weird judgy questions about why I don’t have a boyfriend yet - big fucking deal. I don’t have to deal with them, and the situation is out of my control so I don’t get in shit for not coming, it’s a win-win.”  

Courtney is stunned into silence for a second. 

“What? Some people have a shitty relationship with their family, this is news to you?” Bianca laughs, clearly noticing the look on Courtney’s face. 

“No - I just…I don’t know. I just never thought about it with you - you’ve got your shit together, you’re happy. Well, ish. Didn’t think you had all of this like…internal angst,” Courtney says, and then hiccups. She reaches for her glass. 

“It’s not angst - this isn’t ‘mommy and daddy don’t love me because I’m a queer’ shit - it’s just…I don’t know. It’s nothing. We’re not close - we never have been. And I’m happier on my own.” Bianca says, her shoulders hunching a little bit.  And then: “That new start fucking sucks, right? Magnolia or whatever her name is.”

“Hey, don’t change the subject! We were having a moment - you were being vulnerable! This is progress!” 

“Cunt,” Bianca protests with a chuckle. “What more do you fucking want from me? We’re not friends until I’ve told you the ins and outs of all of my inner turmoil? Because there’s not much there.” 

“I’m just saying, you’re a bit…I dunno, cold? You try to pretend that you’re all big and scary, but you’re not - and you keep pretending anyway."

“Your point?”  

“My point is I really fucking like you, and it’s like you-”

“Bitch, you think you’ve been subtle about that?” Bianca laughs. “I know. I know you really like me. And I’m sorry if I’ve given you the impression that I don’t…I don’t know, like you or value you as a friend and want you in my life. It’s not that - it’s just fucking complicated.”

“Complicated how?” Courtney sits up, her brow furrowing. “Because at this point, it feels more like being led on. You’re so nice to me, you make me so happy - and then you make me feel like a crazy person for thinking there’s something there and wanting more.”

Shit, Courtney feels more strongly about this than she’d realised. Bianca flinches. 

“Because I don’t like it when there’s more,” Bianca says with an exhausted sigh. “I’m terrible at relationships - I always have been." 

“But I don’t mind that, I’d-” “Trust me Court, you really, really would. I don’t talk to anyone that I’ve ever dated any more. It sucks, it makes me feel like shit - it probably makes them feel worse. I don't do it on purpose, but I don't think I feel the way that people are meant to feel about this kind of stuff. It's just hard and confusing and stressful - and then it ends, and I’m by myself again, so I might as well be by myself because I’m choosing to be. Not because I’m a shitty girlfriend.” 

She puts her head in her hands. Courtney feels a quiet pang of guilt - in the first instance because this is the closest thing to upset she’s ever seen Bianca, and equally because she’s thrown off the balance of what was a fucking amazing time. Bianca had made her forget about Christmas, or missing her fucking family - about any of the sadness she’d been carrying when she came in. She’d made everything feel better, and then Courtney screwed it up as a thank-you. 

She remembered a few of the exes. Raja and Katya and Dela - all completely unalike in every imaginable way. Courtney remembered being horribly jealous of them when they came into the bar, watching how happy they seemed to make Bianca from a distance and hating it. And she always remembered it going downhill; Bianca casually complaining about how they’d been fighting over nothing, or how whatever-her-name-was hadn’t spoken to her in days.  And Bianca had always mentioned that it ended completely off the cuff - completely unbothered. Or so she seemed. 

“Bea, I’m sorry…” 

Courtney frowns. “Bianca, I’m…” she pauses to think. A lot of what Bianca just said sounds a little familiar. “Do you think it’s possible that you might be aromantic?"

“The fuck does that mean?” Bianca furrows her brows.

“It’s like, kind of similar to asexuality-” “I know I’m not that,” Bianca says, accompanied by a little snort of a laugh. “I think you do too.”

“Yeah, I do,” Courtney can’t help but let a little exhale of a laugh escape. “But it’s a lack of romantic attraction. So instead of not being into sex, the idea of being with someone or needing a relationship to feel fulfilled doesn’t do anything for you.”

“So you’re telling me I’m some kind of fucking weirdo who doesn’t know how to love people?” Bianca says, accompanied by a confused, slightly embarrassed chuckle. 

“No, that’s not what I’m saying - because clearly you do. You care about people - you just don’t need to date them to prove that.” 

“Huh,” Bianca nods.

“Look, that’s something you need to figure out for yourself - but I don’t mind either way. I just thought this whole time that you didn’t want to go out with me because you didn’t like me.”

“Not even close,” Bianca looks at the floor, smiling. “This doesn’t mean that I don’t care about you, or I don’t want you in my life. Actually, it means I want you in my life so badly that I don’t want to risk screwing that up by dating you - since I’ve never had a relationship that I haven’t screwed up.”

Courtney bites her lip. Secretly, she thinks she’s been imagining a future in which Bianca gets over herself and then they spend the rest of their lives together. And secretly, she’s always known that’s infantile and stupid and impossible. This feels final; but the sting of the rejection isn’t there like she thought it would be. Maybe because it’s not really a rejection. 

“Anyway, it’s not like I’ve not tried a hundred fucking times to help you get over it,”Bianca continues.

“How exactly?” Courtney laughs, perplexed.

“Valentina, Aja, Joslyn, Shea - any girl at work mentions anything about being into girls, and the first thing I do is throw them at you. I’ve been trying so fucking hard to set you up with literally anyone else for the last year. You didn’t just think you’re that irresistible to every single sapphic-leaning woman you’ve ever met?”

“Well, I don’t want to say yes, but…” 

“Fuck off,” Bianca laughs, Courtney tossing her hair. Then: “I’m sorry, Court.”

“You don’t need to be sorry either,” Courtney says, picking herself up a little and smiling. “I think I saw this coming. Or, some variation on this conversation happening at least. I’ll get over it.” 

“Look, compromise - we can go back to cuddling and watching sappy movies, and then after tonight, you move on and find someone to pine over that isn't me. And I'll still be there for you, as a friend. Okay?”

“Okay.” 

Courtney nestles herself in Bianca’s lap again. Bianca smiles softly, gently pressing a kiss to Courtney’s forehead. Courtney feels a flutter of butterflies in her stomach. She likes this  - even if she knows it won’t last. After tonight, they’d part ways again; back to an occasional lingering glance across the bar, or a hand hovering over a waist on a night out. But why should she wake up right now? 

******

“Bea- fuck, what time is it?”

Courtney says groggily, lifting her head off of the couch cushion. She’s still wearing the sweatpants and cropped Gerri Halliwell tee she’d put on yesterday morning. Bianca is standing in front of her, fully dressed with a Starbucks cup in each hand. She hands one to Court - almond latte, extra shot and chestnut praline syrup. The fact that Bea had remembered her coffee order makes her melt. 

“Six-thirty. Get up and get your shit together.” “Why?” Courtney asks, her voice dry as she rubs the sleep out of her eyes.

“Some of the snow cleared overnight - there’s a flight from LaGuardia to Toronto at ten am, you can get a connection to Sydney from there and be home by the 26th. I know it’s not perfect, but it’s something.” 

“Bianca, you didn’t have to…” 

“Yeah, but I did. Come on, let’s get you home to your family.”

Courtney stands up, pulling Bianca into a tight hug, her eyes moist. And then she stops, pulling back a little. 

“What about you?” 

Bianca gives a tight-lipped smile. 

“I’ll be fine.” 

#rpdr fanfiction #courtney act #bianca del rio #bitney #lesbian au #fluff #aromantic character #christmas #holiday fic #secret queen 2022 #aq fandom exchange #for cheetah #lita

[airyairyaucontraire]

I've never read much about the costuming for M*A*S*H so my thoughts about it are informed only by observation. I've got a semi-baked concept that sitcom costuming in particular is somewhat akin to cartoon costuming - the characters don't wear exactly the same outfit all the time, but they often have a type of outfit or garment that recurs and keeps their look consistent (eg Eleanor's tops and sweaters with rainbow designs in The Good Place), and I was thinking about that today (I've been rewatching the whole series over the past few weeks, as you may have noticed).

Obviously most of the cast is in some variation of army uniform most of the time, and the most attention-getting part of the wardrobe for years was Klinger's outfits. Even after he mostly gives up on cross-dressing and costumes, he still makes himself visually different a lot of the time by wearing a Toledo Mud Hens jersey and baseball cap (I have however read that it was actually a Texas Rangers cap because they couldn't find a real Mud Hens one and the Rangers cap was at least the right colours with a T on the front). I also like how he never gets rid of some of his feminine clothing - he keeps on wearing a bright pink plush dressing gown, and there was a scene in the episode "Give 'Em Hell, Hawkeye" where he goes to get a bottle out of his footlocker and first takes out what looks like pink lingerie, implying either that he still wears it sometimes or at least that he wants to hold onto it for sentimental value.

You can also see character development reflected in Margaret's wardrobe; as she becomes less of an antagonist/martinet and more of a tough friend, she wears more soft and casual-looking sweaters and cardigans, and the black turtleneck she often wore in early seasons falls out of rotation (which I regret because she looked terrific in it). She also has a range of happi coats/kimono-style jackets that are her casual.party-wear equivalent of the boys' ubiquitous Hawaiian shirts. Margaret's hair and make-up have never reflected the supposed period of the show but it's particularly noticeable when she wears teeshirts that she's either not wearing a bra or just a soft-cupped type that I'm not sure existed in the 50s.

Father Mulcahy's wardrobe never changes appreciably because Mulcahy doesn't need to change; he begins as a good, kind, helpful person and remains a good, kind, helpful person whose convictions aren't altered by his experiences except to make him increasingly broad-minded in his compassion. He sports a black turtleneck and a dirty white Panama hat with his fatigues and silver crucifix throughout, and we sometimes see him in Loyola sweats to reinforce his athleticism (also to make him look soft and cuddly).

Henry Blake (mayherestinpeace) of course was seldom in correct uniform, wearing his fishing vest and hat as much as possible, so you always knew he wanted to be elsewhere doing something recreational, not professional; Colonel Potter is much more regulation in his dress but likes to wear his cavalry hat (and sometimes an odd cowboy hat that appears to be made of cardboard) and occasionally breaks out a glorious item like his brown and white horsie cardigan. His variations from uniform represent what he loves (horsies) but not a lack of commitment to his role. He's kept his earlier uniforms going back to WWI, as he represents continuity, pride in service but a growing weariness and grief at the futile repeating cycle of wars to end wars.

There is really no need to say anything about Frank Burns.

Major Winchester wears his uniform the most formally and neatly of any of the officers, because he's a gentleman who maintains Standards regardless of where he is. I think he expresses his individuality more in his personal effects, like his red velvet pillow and fine china tea-set.

Everyone seems to have a different bathrobe or dressing-gown, some of them very grubby-looking (Colonel Potter's in particular is so cruddy it's hard to see the point of having a shower and then putting it back on). Hawkeye's stands out not only because of its rich red colour (or purple if he's writing his will) but because it's not a civilian dressing-gown, it's a convalescent robe issued to patients, creating an association with being ill or wounded, all the time. He obviously loves his Hawaiian shirts and his straw cowboy hat.

BJ, I think, is actually the person other than Klinger who messes with his uniform the most. He wears a jacket with the sleeves cut off, he wears bright red braces, he wears an assortment of henley tops of which the pink one is only the most alluring, he has an extremely silly straw hat for party time, and of course much of the time he wears high-top Chuck Taylor sneakers instead of army boots. Hawkeye is the person who complains the most verbally about being in the army but BJ seems to be registering his protest visually through the clothes he wears (in addition to his cheesy moustache). I also like his comfy grey sweatshirt with the sleeves hacked off, and he is the most enjoyable member of the male cast to see with his shirt off. I find him pleasingly chaotic and choose to believe this is how he dresses in his time off at home too.

that's all I have about that at the moment

#m*a*s*h

[im-smart-i-swear]

Do you think Shiro will ever meet the Funky Guys?? What would their reaction towards each other would be?

oh, they definetly meet eachother! i have a few ideas on how this happens(some more serious than others), but it definetly happens after the war is over(im not sure how excatly stuff goes down but galra lost and allura lives... and haggar is alive too cause Buddy and the others deserve to yell at her)

first im gonna quickly explain how they get off that planet: so basically Eenek(the galran kid)'s parent(dad?) thought they died in a "terrible accident" years ago, but after the war ended he went there in hopes he'll recover the body. he WAS NOT expecting to find his child alive and taken care of by a bunch of strange people who look susiciously like that black paladin guy.... but he agrees to take them all out of here and lets them live on his ship!(im skipping over so much stuff here) he knows who they are and doesnt give a shit cause they saved Eenek.

when Shiro and The Guys meet, theyve been living a relatively normal life for like a year or two already, hiding their origins and trying to assimilate into society. theyre doing great! ....... shiro isnt.

he feels out of place, hes been trough hell and really didnt expect to live trough it all, but he did and he has a long life ahead of him, so he should be happy, right? everyone else is moving on, his friends all have someone to lean on, but adam's dead and we never see shiros family(maybe they appear in the last two seasons? i havent watched them), so hes alone. hes stuck in the past, hes stuck as The Black Paladin Of Voltron, but no one needs voltron anymore except for parades and signing autographs.

and then, somehow, shiro meets these other versions of him, and they all moved on and made a new life for themselves..... he envies them, but he also wants to learn how they did it. he knows theyre not really him, and hes happy for them, he really is, they achieved something he cant - but its definetly bittersweet.

they all react diffrently to meeting shiro(oh god this is gonna be so long)

tashi feels like hes not living up to shiros greatness. he saved the universe, for fucks sake! if they have the same genes, then why cant he be such a good leader? what is wrong with him? is he broken?(he isnt!!! hes just fucking stupid sometimes) but he also sees how much shiro struggles and wants to help(maybe he sees him as family?)..... even if its awkward

soup knows exactly what shit shiro's been trough and she has a lot of respect for him. she treats him a bit like an old friend. shiro was a bit weary of her at first beacuse she can be very menacing, but its really comforting to both of them to finally have someone whos been trough the same hell. and of course she showed him her rock collection

buddy wants to hate shiro. he(they? ive been playing w/ the idea of buddy using they/he) spent years distancing themself from voltron as a whole and painstakingly building a new life, and now the manifestation of their past is just standing there- buddy doesnt really see shiro as a person(oh, the irony), just as a ghost, a shadow of what they used to be, and it feels awful.

i havent really talked about pal(placeholder name why is naming characters so hard) yet but he i think he feels similiar to both soup and buddy, since he remembers a lot from his time with the galra but also was an early 'prototype', so seeing the thing he was supposed to be makes him uneasy. hes overall shy and nervous so i think in the beggining he just silently stared at shiro for a really long time.

the fact taks(placeholder name, goddamnit) is trans makes her very uncomfortable with shiro. hes nice and friendly, especially to her and the other kids(taka, eenek and to a lesser extent pal, who is a lot younger than the other adults), but he is who she thought she was for a while(like buddy!) and its not great for her gender dysphoria. also, seeing someone so similiar to her family and yet so other doesnt help

taka(placeholder name-) grew up listening to buddys stories about voltron and he heavily idolises shiro. for him being a clone is cool - who wouldnt want to be related to the great Takashi Shirogane? shiro sees this 11 year old kid who has his whole life ahead of him and it reminds him why he became a paladin in the first place - so kids like taka will have happier lives, so they dont have to go trough what he had to. i think its safe to say taka aquired a cool new uncle that day

jesus fuck this was a lot, and im pretty sure theres more somewhere in my brain, but thats enough for now

thanks for the ask! you really opened pandora's box with this one!

#ask #my funky guys #pal my sweet boy im sorry i havent talked about you yet #or eenek #buddy and shiro very slowly growing to respect and even like eachother #theyre like...... estranged cousins #if that makes sense #also have i mentioned buddy(maybe) becomes the red paladin? #yeahhhh dont worry about it #thats a story for another day #tashis name was a placeholder too but it fits well narratively #he feels like a copy #a bit like buddy but not really #its complicated