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buckyownsmylife · 3 years

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daddy issues - chapter x

The one where Ransom doesn’t feel ready to become a father, but he should have thought about it before sleeping with a complete stranger.

When Ransom’s latest one night stand lets him know that he’s going to become a father, he finds himself looking for the qualities he never believed to have so he can become the parent he never got to witness as a child.

for general warnings and author’s notes, please go to the fic’s masterlist.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

I looked over at the man driving beside me, a feeling of comfort and gratitude suddenly washing over me. Over the last five weeks, Ransom had truly been the partner I had always hoped to have a baby with, even if we weren’t together in the way I originally would have wanted to be with my child’s father.

It almost didn’t matter though, because he was always around. Whenever I needed something, even if it was the middle of the night, he didn’t seem to mind that we lived on opposite ends of the city. He would drop by with my favorite junk food and leave without complaining.

I’d even started to let him sleep on the couch when I figured it was too late for him to drive back by himself. He never tried to make a move again, which was so relieving to me, especially since my pregnancy hormones were begging me to climb him like a tree. But also now that we got to spend actual time together, I’d come to learn he was a very interesting man. Sure, very immature in a lot of ways, but it almost added to his charm, somehow.

It didn’t help my goal of containing my attraction.

We’d gone to two doctor’s appointments and he truly was doing his very best to show me he was here for me - or maybe he just really was excited about having a child. If there was something I’d come to realize in our talks, it was that Ransom didn’t have a particularly loving childhood, so it warmed my heart to see how invested he was in making sure our kid wouldn’t go through the same things that he did.

“Hey,” I called out for his attention, reaching over his lap to squeeze his thigh. “Thanks for doing this with me.” His eyes were a bit wide when they met mine, but his smile mirrored my own.

“Thank you for inviting me. Can’t believe you trust me enough to want to introduce me to your parents.” That made me chuckle. His honesty was overwhelming most times, but it was also one of the traits I liked the most about him, now that I’d become used to it. If there was one thing I could be completely sure of, it was that Ransom Drysdale would not hide how he was really feeling to please anyone. And somehow, that calmed me down.

“Honestly,” I responded, excited with this opportunity to tease him. “Me too.” The insulted gasp that he released had me giggling right away, risking a glance to the side to check that he had actually understood that I was only teasing him. The way the corners of his mouth turned up let me know that he did.

“Okay,” he conceded, nodding but keeping his eyes on the road ahead. We were almost in my childhood neighborhood, I could recognize it even with my eyes closed. There was no logical reason for it, just an instinctive, deep calling, that made me feel at ease around the streets I hadn’t walked for so long. “I guess I deserved that.”

It was silent then, as he slowly drove us to the cul-de-sac my parents had lived in for the last thirty years. Nothing had really changed, and that showed a lot of the people who inhabited it. If Ransom was nervous at the prospect of meeting the grandparents of his future child, he didn’t show. Or well, I didn’t realize it.

“Hey!” I tried to match my parent’s excitement as they almost ran out of the house to meet us by the car, the second we’d stopped in front of the place I had grown up in. I barely had the time to prepare - I’d hoped I would have gotten a few more words in with Ransom, decide what we would say - but it warmed my heart to imagine them by the window, excitedly waiting for us to arrive.

“Oh my, you’re so big already!” My mom exaggerated, prompting me to roll my eyes as I noticed Ransom and my father shaking hands, our luggage already in my companion’s hands. “You really should have told us sooner,” she chastised, but I was prepared for that.

“Mom, c’mon. You know I had a lot to figure out, I didn’t want to let you guys know about a baby that I still had a high risk of losing, and on top of that, I had tons of classes to prepare.” My mom nodded, her eyes never straying from where her hand rested on my belly. I knew she understood it, she was just having a hard time grasping the concept of her baby having a baby.

“Shall we go inside?” Ransom followed closely, dropping the bags at the entrance when my father approached to give me his own inspection. I chuckled lightly at his furrowed brows until finally, he seemed satisfied with what he found and embraced me against his comfortable chest.

“Good to see you, kiddo. And I’m glad you’ve brought Ransom here for us to meet! We’ve prepared the room for you guys, would you like to go upstairs and rest? We can always catch up tomorrow.” Surprise had me blinking a couple of times, taking a second too long to understand what my father meant.

“The room?” I asked, right when Ransom confirmed it, “For us?” He didn’t sound as confused as me, but maybe a bit hopeful even, and it only made the situation even harder to comprehend.

“Yeah,” my mother confirmed, a patient smile on her lips. “We figured, you’re bringing a guy home for the first time and pregnant… It’s obviously pretty serious.” I was at a loss of words, mouth hanging open as I realized my parents were completely okay with the idea of me sleeping with a man I wasn’t married to under their roof, but what happened next really threw me on a loop entirely.

I felt Ransom’s arms around my shoulder, it was what prompted me to turn to the side and look up at him, but instead of finding him at his usual height, I was shocked with a kiss being deposited on my unexpecting lips, instinctively prompting me to close my eyes.

“Thank you so much.” That was all he had to offer after releasing my lips, and it wasn’t even directed at me. “For the reception, for understanding. I’m excited to talk to you more tomorrow, but for now, I think it’s better for the baby if I take this one to bed.”

Ransom’s P.O.V.

“Why on Earth would you do that?” I barely believed she managed to wait until we were both inside the bedroom, with the door locked, until she spit it out. I was almost certain she would confess the truth right there, laughing in my face at the prospect of actually being in a relationship with me.

“There’s nothing we can do about it,” I feigned nonchalance, shrugging and making a point not to look directly at her as I began to get settled, opening my suitcase and pretending to look for something.

“There was so much we could do about it! Practically anything other than pretend to be together when we aren’t!” Her exasperation irritated me. What was so bad about dating me? Why didn’t she want to be associated to me, the father of her child?

But I chose to take a deep breath, just like the therapist I’d been secretly seeing had taught me. I didn’t want to screw this up, I reminded myself, and I tried to see things from her perspective, instead of immediately focusing on my own feelings of insecurity.

“I’m sorry,” I immediately recognized it, and by the way she looked immediately disarmed, it was probably the right way to start. “I just figured it would be the easier way to go about this, considering what you’ve told me about your parents. I know they weren’t going to be excited about you being a single mother, even though I’m clearly more than excited to be a co-parent regardless of our relationship, and of course, I didn’t intend to lie, but when the opportunity appeared… I just figured we’d take the easier route.”

She didn’t seem to know what to say, and I could see by her expression that it made sense to her too, now that I’d explained. She didn’t want her parents’ interference, and she wanted this trip to go as smoothly as possible. It truly was the simpler way to deal with it.

“I can go downstairs and explain the real situation, if you want me to!” I offered, knowing now she’d be completely reassured of my intentions. “Really, it’s no bother. I’m sure they can fix the guest room for me.”

I turned around to leave, but her hand seized my wrist quickly. “Let’s not bother them, right?” It was impossible to stop the smile from appearing on my face when I turned around to look at her again, finding us much closer than we’d been before. Instinctively, without even thinking, I laced our fingers together, chuckling lowly at her cuteness.

“Right.” The moment felt heavy with something unspoken. I could still feel her lips on mine from when I kissed her earlier to sell the ruse to her parents. I hadn’t planned it, but it felt right for the moment.

It felt right at that moment, but I didn’t want to screw this up. So I put on my most charming smile, the same one that always prompted her to roll her eyes but giggle at me, and question, “Can I keep kissing you, then?” I put a stray lock of her hair behind her ear, my fingers running over her jaw when I found myself unable to pull away. “It’ll make it more believable.”

She narrowed her eyes at me, looking cute as ever with all of her suspicion, but ended up giggling and nodding. It allowed me to finally relax, and so I took the opportunity to look around the room we were in, taking notice of the posters on the wall, the little mementos, and picture frames on the shelves.

“So this is your childhood bedroom? This is hot.” I knew she had rolled her eyes at me, and I was glad we were now at a stage in our relationship where I could say stuff like that without her immediately kicking me out.

“Are you always hard?” For the first time that night, I hesitated. The truth was, and what I wanted to say was that it only happened when she was around, but I didn’t. I knew my silence could make her think I was some sort of creep, but it was better than admitting the truth.

I always wanted her, in one way or another.

“Are you sleepy?” I asked, an effort to change the subject, yet again resorting to messing with my luggage in search of something I didn’t need. “Did the trip tire you out?” Silence followed my question, and I understood she was thinking about it, even if I didn’t know what exactly she needed to think.

I grew tired of pretending to be busy, so I just turned around and faced her as I wanted for an answer, taking advantage of this time to admire just how beautiful she looked, particularly now that her belly had started showing. I don’t think anyone should look that good, not after a five-hour drive, and a burning sensation settled deep in my stomach - I couldn’t tell if it was desire or resentment, fear of ever having to stand back and watch her fall in love with someone who wasn’t me.

“Not really…” Her answer snapped me out of my thoughts, reminding me of what I’d asked. “It’s still so early…” Her eyes were on the night sky behind me, visible through the window of her childhood bedroom, and I shifted from one foot to the other as I waited for her to say something more, but nothing came.

“Well, what do you want to do?” I thought she’d take her time figuring something out - she’d taken so long to decide if she was tired or not - but instead, she surprised me with an immediate response, and an immediate response that almost gave me a heart attack.

“I want to suck your cock.”

It was my turn to not know what to say.

“W-what?” But she seemed decided. Instead of explaining, or offering any sort of insistence, she just shortened the distance between us, hand immediately curling on the edge of my pants as soon as it was within reach.

“Take this off.” I only lost five seconds in hesitation, perusing her eyes, trying to see if this was some sort of joke or test. When it became clear the only way I’d ever find out would be by jumping in head first, I decided to say fuck it.

My hands made quick work of my belt before unzipping my pants, letting it fall down my ankle, and she didn’t even give me the time to step out of it and kick it to the side before she sank down to her knees, taking my boxers with her.

She wasted no time wrapping her lips around the head of my member, already hard from my ever-present infatuation with her, not giving me the opportunity to protest the uncomfortable position she had put herself in. All thoughts of complaints or negotiations flew out of the window and into the night sky the second she started sucking, slowly but surely making her way to take more and more of my cock until her lips were grazing my navel.

My knees buckled and I had to hold the back of her head just to keep myself up, have something to hold onto to stay grounded. My eyes rolled back at the choking, slurping sounds coming out of her, and I silently asked God to allow me to cum this time. I didn’t think I’d survive if she decided to change her mind.

Her mouth felt good - so good. I couldn’t help but praise her. “Oh, fuck,” the curse fell out of my mouth easily when I looked down to find her staring up at me, mischief clear in her eyes. “Y-you’re very good at this.”

She kept on bobbing her head up and down my dick, giving me the sloppiest, most perfect blowjob I’d ever gotten, before pulling away with a pop and teasing, “Oh, yeah? You like it that much?”

Then the situation became overwhelming. My cock twitched inside her mouth, but I didn’t want it to end. I didn’t want to cum and have to face her regret, I didn’t want to feel guilty for relenting and allowing myself to have this. So I tried to hold back, knuckles brushing her cheeks as I focused on controlling my breathing.

But of course, she’d never let me win.

“You know…” her sultry tone warned me that she wanted me to break, even before her hand curled around my member and began to pump it. “... I thought it was really hot when you were acting all jealous and possessive that night at the bar.”

I inhaled sharply, not only because of the implications of her admission but also because she’d enveloped my balls with her warm mouth as she waited for my reactions. “R-really?” As much as I hated hearing myself trip over words because of another person, I couldn’t hate her for the effect that she had on me.

“Yeah…” she moaned against my skin, sending the reverberations across my body. “I couldn’t let you know though, otherwise you wouldn’t learn… But you learned now, didn’t you?”

Her response was a moan, perhaps louder than I should have released, as I pulled on her hair in an effort to keep her away from my dick. “C’mon, Ransom!” She teased, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Let go for me!”

When I shook my head, a pout appeared on her beautiful lips, and I just had to lean down to kiss it away. “Didn’t you like it?” She questioned when we parted, and I almost laughed, squeezing the back of her neck in a playful gesture.

“Oh, baby… Of course I did.” Biting my lip, I felt like I had to add, had to make her acknowledge it, “You’ve made me very, very happy.” When she leaned her head to the side, I already knew what she was going to ask.

“Then why don’t you want to cum?” That was a question I was dreading to answer, mainly because of course I wanted to cum, I just didn’t want to do it in her mouth. But if I had any chance whatsoever of getting what I truly desired, I’d have to voice it to her.

“Hell yeah!” I reassured her, making her laugh at my enthusiasm. “But not like this. Can… Will you let me touch you?” Time seemed to stand still as I waited for her answer, her eyes searching mine for something I couldn’t tell until she pushed me away and rose to her feet, walking towards her own luggage.

“No.” The word almost physically hurt me, and I deflated, falling down on the bed as I ran a hand over my hair, thinking about what the hell this would mean to us now. But then she was back, standing in front of me, a condom wrapper being waved right before my eyes. “I wanna ride you.”

I never wanted to fuck anyone this badly before. She got rid of her clothes just as eagerly as I took off my shirt, sending it flying somewhere across the room, and when she climbed on my lap, I had already put on the contraceptive. By the way she immediately sank down on my dick, it was clear that she was grateful for my speed.

“Oh, fuck,” I groaned against her shoulder, still able to hug her to me despite the small belly separating our chests. The build-up from the last time I almost had her, not to mention from minutes ago when her mouth was still around me had the fire in my stomach burning brightly in no time, as I sat back and watched her fuck herself on me.

“Y-you take me so well.” It came out louder than I intended, and she let go of her breasts to pull me to a kiss in an effort to silence me.

“Shhh…” She whispered, fingers running over my strands as she reminded me, “you have to be quiet, honey.” The nickname took me by surprise, my hands flying up to grip her hips as I took back the control she had so easily usurped from me. “Ransom!”

The way she moaned my name… I could get off just to her voice alone, and that’s what brought me to my release. Somehow, despite barely being aware of anything other than the way my cock throbbed inside of her cunt, I was able to make her cum, and watching her throw her head back and silently scream almost paralyzed me.

“Wait,” she commanded when I tried to lay her down. “Don’t pull out.” I melted against her, falling back on the bed and adjusting us so I could cuddle her to me while abiding to her wishes.

I think she was barely awake when I spoke again, not thinking at all as the words fell from my lips. “Does this mean we’re dating now?” And suddenly, her body wasn’t comfortably relaxed against mine. No, she jolted awake, sitting up and letting my limp cock slip from her while she clutched the sheets over her.

“What? Why?” I wanted to be angry. I wanted to be defensive, and disappointed, and overall hurt from her skepticism, but I knew I couldn’t. Not right now, not when I had a goal in mind and I was so close to it.

“Why not? We’re practically a couple anyway, you even brought me to your parent’s place! Now that we’ve brought sex to the table, what’s the difference between this and an actual relationship?” A long silence followed my words, a silence that felt heavy, suffocating even. Her eyes never left mine as she pondered over what I’d said, and in the quiet of the night, I could hear my heartbeat in my ears.

“Ransom, I don’t want to be your girlfriend.” I felt my heart breaking in a million pieces at her words, too stupefied to argue anything else. I suddenly was extremely aware of just how naked I was, and how uncomfortably the used condom was now sticking to me.

“I’m sorry, I just… I don’t really know you,” she continued, and despite how kind her eyes looked, I still felt like she didn’t understand just how badly she was hurting me. “We’ve never even been on an actual date.”

Surprisingly, that was the sentence that brought hope back to me. Even as she continued, “This was just… a one-time thing,” I didn’t feel deflated anymore, only excited. I knew she wanted me. It was just a matter of showing her that, getting her to admit it. And she had just told me how to do that.

“A one-time thing, huh?” I smirked, pulling her back into my arms, appreciating the surprise that took over her features at the response she certainly didn’t expect to get. “Like the night we made her?”

She chuckled against my chest as my hand fell over her belly. I was certain it was a girl, just as she was certain it was a boy. We had decided not to know, at least not now, and although most of the time the curiosity was eating me alive, I knew I was right.

“Yeah,” the mother of my child whispered against my skin. “Just like that night.” And with her hand covering mine, I slept soundly in a way I couldn’t remember ever doing before. I knew I would do whatever it took to keep her right here, in bed with me. Forever.

#my series #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale fanfiction #ransom drysdale series #ransom drysdale x you #ransom drysdale writing #ransom drysdale reader #ransom drysdale reader insert #ransom drysdale reader inserts

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fishoutofcamelot · 2 years

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👀 i would like you to do the opposite of shut up about the ninjago au, it sounds cool and i'm getting weirdly invested in it for someone who knows nothing about ninjago

Well, ask and ye shall receive!

I'm gonna take this opportunity to discuss an aspect of the AU that I haven't talked much about yet: Arthur.

See, for every year in Ninjago, only a week passes in Camelot. So while Merlin has experienced five years of separation, from the Round Table's perspective he's only been gone for a little over a month.

Not to mention that Merlin has done a lot of growing in this time. He's become more confident, more skeptical of destiny and more critical of authority, has worked through a lot of his self-loathing, and has finally gotten the opportunity to flourish in an environment where he doesn't have to fear persecution. Merlin has unlearned a lot of his "I'm just a servant" mentality, too. So while he's still the same Merlin, he's also different in a lot of way his friends won't be expecting.

At first the Round Table thinks Morgana's spell killed him, and she's in no rush to inform them otherwise. Something something "Your misery will destroy you far better than any spell I could cast." You get the idea. So for a few weeks, they're all mourning and miserable, and Arthur's trying to reconcile the fact that Merlin only 'died' because he took a hit meant for Arthur. So uh. Big oof there. I'm still figuring out how each character's grieving/coping process would look, but obviously it's gonna be angsty no matter how it plays out.

A few weeks later (or in Merlin's case, years), they receive information that the spell Morgana cast didn't kill Merlin but rather banished him to a distant realm. So now they've mobilized with renewed hope that he might still be alive out there.

Unfortunately, their only available ways to reach Ninjago are: A) find Morgana and have her banish the rest of them too; or B) find a dragon to teleport them there. I think you can guess which option they take, although Arthur is pointedly not comfortable with the fact that the Great Dragon is still alive. He almost flat-out refuses Kilgharrah's help, but once the rest of the Round Table convince him that the only way to bring Merlin home is to work together, Arthur very reluctantly agrees to a truce with the dragon.

Because of the potential that he may never return, Arthur doesn't want a large band of knights accompanying him. Instead he just takes Gwaine - or rather, Gwaine comes along regardless of what Arthur wants - and tells everyone else to look after Camelot in his absence.

Of course, Gwen has just lost Merlin and has recently lost Lancelot as well. She can't stand the thought of losing Arthur too. So if he and Merlin end up stranded in another realm for the rest of their lives, then she intends to be stranded right along with them. She's ride-or-die like that.

And of course, Elyan has a similar sentiment too. He sees Merlin as something of a brother, as family - not to mention that Elyan has no intention of abandoning his sister again. She's ride-or-die for Merlin, and Elyan is ride-or-die for her.

And so an away team is formed: Arthur, Gwen, Gwaine, and Elyan. And Kilgharrah, who's basically their getaway driver.

Anyway there's a lot of angst and plot that happens when the away team finally arrives in Ninjago, but I don't wanna spoil too much so I'll just narrow down to the parts that are important for this infodump:

Arthur and Lloyd don't get along at first. Like, at all. Being a chosen one himself, Lloyd always took to heart Merlin's stories about the Once and Future King. He looked up to this man Merlin so greatly admired, even saw Arthur as an inspiration, and he hoped to one day make Merlin just as proud of him as he is of Arthur. But then they actually meet each other, and it's...messy. There's a lot of mutual contempt, to say the least

I'm actually rather fond of this line that Lloyd says to Arthur in the middle of a big argument - "I always wondered what Merlin saw in you. And I had hoped that if I ever met you in person, I'd get to see it too. But this? This is just disappointing."

Arthur and Lloyd DO learn to get along and put aside their differences (and uncanny similarities), but it's less of an "enemies to friends" situation and more of a "this is our get-along shirt" kind of situation

Unfortunately, The Away Team quickly learns that this fic has a policy that non-magical realms can't be accessed by magical means. And since events such as the Purge and the more recent departure of Emrys have caused the magic in Camelot to die out quite severely, Camelot practically registers as a non-magical realm itself. It will be nearly impossible to go back through magic. Not even the dragons are capable of teleporting there. Which means that Arthur, Gwaine, Gwen, Elyan, and to a lesser extent Kilgharrah are now stranded here too. Yayyy

Merlin is happy to reunite with Gwen, Elyan, and Gwaine, and although he's been without them for five years he doesn't hesitate to try and rebuild old friendships. It isn't a simple or smooth process by any stretch of the imagination, but all parties are mutually willing to put in the work to have a close relationship with each other. And at the end of the day, isn't that what love is all about?

Of course, Merlin and Arthur are a bit...trickier. The combined efforts of a somewhat unusual magic reveal, Arthur's lingering biases, Merlin's newfound confidence in himself and his magic, and several other smaller details, has led to things being...frosty...between them. To say the least. So with Arthur trapped in Ninjago right alongside Merlin, their character arcs now involve them trying to make amends and redefining their friendship in a way that isn't as unhealthy as it used to be in Camelot

I've got a LOT of fun ideas for how Gwen, Gwaine, and Elyan would fit into this new world and the character arcs they would go through, but for the sake of brevity we can save that talk for another day. For now I wanna bring your attention to a fun lil bit of dialogue I have planned for when Merlin and Arthur finally reunite

Merlin: Now hang on. You're the king. If you're here, then who's leading Camelot?

Arthur: Don't worry about it! I left Agravaine in charge :)

Merlin:

Merlin: YOU DID WHAT

Anyway, thanks for the ask! <3 You have no clue how much it means to me that people are willing to listen to me rant about a show they've never seen

#fun news: i told myself that i would start writing the au once i got to season 3 in my ninjago rewatch #and. well. guess what happened last night #definitely wont get the usual viewership my fics tend to get but im okay with that. im having fun and thats all i care about #im trying to get better at adopting that mindset with my writing #bbcm #ninjago au #ask #fish post

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cienie-isengardu · 3 years

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axelzp replied to “The Bad Batch”:

I think most people take issue with Omega and TBB due to concerns over whitewashing. Also, what do you have against the explanation of the biochips? Personally, I always thought it fit Palpatine's controlling nature better than the idea of clones just getting a command from some random guy in a hood, telling them to kill the Jedi.

First off, I apologize it took me so long to answer. I tried to explain my reasoning in a short and coherent way as possible, but apparently the years of frustration about this issue needed more space to be properly addressed. So, in advance, sorry for text length.

From all TCW changes done to star wars, the chip-in-brain is one of my top 3 reasons to dislike the whole TV show, despite many of its good moments. I understand why authors chose this sub-plot that allows them to separate the visibly individual "good" clones (thus making them more likeable for the audience / marketing) from the “bad” that kill the Jedi but frankly, I find it a cheap and kinda problematic excuse. Clones were victims regardless of which version people will accept but I really despite the idea that Jedi were their beloved generals and commanders - so beloved that clones actually had nightmares about killing them waaay before Palpatine ultimately won which undermines the whole point of Order 66.

Jedi could never expect clones to shoot them in the back because they were used to their unquestioned obedience from the start of war. It was common knowledge, repeatedly mentioned in sources like “Jedi Trial” that clones were “bred to war, bred to discipline, bred to obey without question the orders of the powers that paid for their services”. Clones were made that way by genetic manipulations and years of intensive training; an indoctrination that makes clone troopers believe they have obey, no matter what cost.

Some sources, like Clone Wars Adventures’ “Orders” outright show us the mindset of clones:

and We’ve got nothing but each other ad our orders.

Because of that worldbuilding, I prefer Legends take on clone obedience and the Jedi approach to the problem than what TCW created. I talked about it more here, but the general sense is that I feel cheated by the idea of chips that turn people into some “programmed” machines because in such way, TCW erased the Jedi & Republic part in abuse & enslavement of clone troopers, while at the same time giving an unrealistic idea that Jedi were so liked / respected when most of clones did not have any special bond with them. And this is less about if Jedi were good military leaders or not and more that as generals/commanders they didn’t interact that much with common troopers. Because the chain of command doesn’t work like that. I’m willing to buy the close(r) bond between Anakin & 501st because frankly Darth Vader himself from the start was built as someone with better relationships with common troopers / “normal” officers than with most of the high ranking officers presented on screen. I’m pretty sure some other Jedi were caring and liking clones (and vice versa) but it is impossible for generals to know and be so close to all of their troopers.

Above everything else, Legends created an interesting situation in which the Jedi Council / Order knew clones would follow orders no matter if those were right or not and were aware how dangerous it could be yet they still didn’t do anything about it, because the obedience of clones were beneficial for them. Jedi not only took for granted their obedience, they mistook it for respect.

Which really speaks a lot about Jedi's own moral failing and/or lack of understanding the difference between those two terms.

In the Legends sources, there was no need for chips, really, when from the start Kaminoans tinkered with clone genome, created the effective system of “proper” education to mold clones into obedient soldiers and Republic wasn’t really interested to undo the damage done by such indoctrination.

Before TCW brought the chips and “nightmares haunting clones” there were officially established Contingency Orders for the Grand Army of the Republic: Order Initiation, Orders 1 Through 150. A guideline for unexpected and/or critical situations, so the Great Army of Republic [GAR] would know how to proceed - especially when troopers were given contradictory orders. The orders (also known as Clone Protocols) weren’t secret and there is a big chance that Jedi knew it, if someone bothered to learn the manual. The whole formula of Order 66 was described as:

"In the event of Jedi officers acting against the interests of the Republic, and after receiving specific orders verified as coming directly from the Supreme Commander (Chancellor), GAR commanders will remove those officers by lethal force, and command of the GAR will revert to the Supreme Commander (Chancellor) until a new command structure is established."

And here how the scene played in the RotS novelisation:

That concealed compartment held a secure comlink, which was frequency-locked to a channel reserved for the commander in chief.

Kenobi nodded and spoke to his mount, and the great beast overleapt the clone commander on its way down into the battle.

Cody withdrew the comlink from his armor and triggered it.

A holoscan appeared on the palm of his gauntlet: a hooded man.

"It is time," the holoscan said. "Execute Order Sixty-Six."

Cody responded as he had been trained since before he'd even awakened in his creche-school. "It will be done, my lord."

The holoscan vanished. Cody stuck the comlink back into its concealed recess and frowned down toward where Kenobi rode his dragonmount into selflessly heroic battle.

Cody was a clone. He would execute the order faithfully, without hesitation or regret. But he was also human enough to mutter glumly, "Would it have been too much to ask for the order to have come through before I gave him back the bloody lightsaber. . . ?"

The order is given once. Its wave-front spreads to clone commanders on Kashyyyk and Felucia, Mygeeto and Tellanroaeg and every battlefront, every military installation, every hospital and rehab center and spaceport cantina in the galaxy.

So there is really no “random hooded guy” calling clones to kill Jedi but Chancellor himself using an appropriately secured military channel with confirmation of his identity to issue a legal order in a critical situation (an opportunity created by the Jedi Council themselves who went into the Senate building to kill Palpatine). So why the clones shouldn’t listen, when the order came directly from the Supreme Commander of the Great Army of the Republic?

Of course, the movie (and novel based on it) alone has this weird addition like “yes my Lord'', what I personally consider as the cinematic way to show the switch from Chancellor Palpatine to Emperor Darth Sidious. Still, I’m willing to give some benefit of doubt about the modification made by Kaminoans and if Order 66 could trigger anything hidden in clone subconscious. But even if there was something, it didn’t erase their personalities or changed the way clones behaved like it happened in The Clone Wars and The Bad Batch.

One way or another, the Order 66 worked out because clones “have no malice, no hatred, not the slightest ill intent that might give warning. They are only following orders”. Which I guess comes down to how clone troopers were presented - or maybe rather how they were seen by other characters in the Legends. As more detached, combat pragmatic, toned down, to some degree isolated from the outside world, less individual. Regardless of what Jedi or Republic citizens thought about clones, it did not make them any less human beings.

And here comes the paradox of The Clone Wars. The TV show made great effort to humanize clones by presenting them as very individual, outstanding people which in itself is a great thing. The names, the tattos, the different paintings of armours, visible variety of behaviour. All great to make the audience see clones as human beings, to get emotionally invested into them, because the more likeable clones were the better for marketing the story (and the cynical part of me thinks it really comes down to making money, isn’t it?)

But this effort became also the trap and the inhibitor chips is the excuse to make such loved, caring and brave characters into the detached clones gunning down the Jedi in Revenge of the Sith.

The things that irks me a lot about this situation is the feeling like fans started care for clones because they were made into different type of characters than what they were (similar like Anakin’s movie characterization was thrown out of the window, to make him more suitable for fans who wanted the badass typical male hero instead of introverted, conflicted and traumatized young man). The clones get the visible individuality to make them the heroes we should root for, but then there is the “magical” switch that will cut down their heroic deeds because now they are “bad” and stormtroopers can’t have any personality. Which is just… frustrating.

Don’t get me wrong, I adore how clone troopers get more visible individuality (even if sometimes if felt too exaggerated), but the “not standing out from the group” was something that kept clones alive on Kamino and I can see why it was used as coping mechanism (the safe option) during the war. I regret that The Clone Wars didn’t show the transition from AotC nameless troopers into such individuals and how much it happened thanks to Jedi, what may help to build the feeling of supposed strong bond between Jedi and troopers. Because frankly, when we met TCW!clones, they already have names, different colors and marks on armor plates and helmets and for all we know, they could create their own “culture” without Jedi influence.

The final part of why I hate the chip-in-brain sub-plot is how it changed clones. Because even if that was a means to force clones into killing Jedi & ensure that Order 66 will be carried on no matter what, it shouldn’t change them into bullies toward their own brothers. But now in The Bad Batch, the clones don’t speak between themselves, are aggressive toward others and generally act like assholes for no real reason. And yeah, I get this may be a cinematic metaphor for a change from “good” republic soldiers into “bad” imperial stormtroopers and most likely something along the way “Republic/Jedi gave you individuality, Empire takes that away” but frankly, Republic did not give anything to clones. It did not acknowledge their human right, didn’t have any plan for their future, didn’t pay for their service or more expensive medical treatment for that matter, did not teach them they could - should - make their own choices.

Now clones are cheering for the Empire because inhibitor chips! They are assholes, because inhibitor chips! They shoot their *beloved* Jedi generals because of the chips!

And in a way, I get this resolution, the chips make it clear clones were victims. But even without them, they were victims from the start. Except now clones are “programmed” while in Legends the senate (a power paying for their life) officially and legally renamed Republic into Empire and clones were glad for still having a purpose in life. The war ended (thus their usefulness), but they were still needed - still wanted - instead of being put down or closed at Kamino or whatever. I can see why the uncertainty of the future made clones cheering up for the Empire. And frankly, I personally prefer them not caring for the political change (because why should they? It never was their job to *judge* the rightness of their superiors) instead of being “programmed” like some droids and playing the role of fodder to kill for the “good guys”.

Dunno, if I explained properly my issue with inhibitor chips, it just feels to me as not really convincing and a too risky concept in the bigger picture of the things and the fact that Jedi just like that ignored this suspicion matter of Tup and Fives and biochips doesn’t help either. Like I said, I understand why the chips were introduced to the story, as the excuse in the change of clone troopers’ behaviour but at the end of day, Legends worldbuilding will always make more sense to me. I don’t need overly done differentiation of clones to care for them as an individual human beings (and it kinda seems to me like that, clones suddenly became fan favorite when every looks or act differently but not when the AotC literally presented them as an army created to blindly obey Jedi/Republic) and I don’t blame them for sticking with Empire because what better option they had, considering their upbringing and the pathological system in which they lived all their life?

Dunno, I’m biased and may just have allergy to TCW in general.

As for Omega, I’m not really surprised about this concern, especially after seeing TBB’s version of padawan Kanan (that if not for A) some basic knowledge about his backstory and B) Depa Billaba calling him by name, I would probably never have figured out who he was supposed to be). But for Omega alone, I don’t mind her look, because I’m used to Legends!Jango’s biological family in which his mother and sister were both blond haired women and frankly, some “defective” clones (including Rex?) apparently could be blond too, so it seems like Jango’s genome has a recessive gene somewhere for that color of hair. I try to hold my judgment about Omega and her appearance until the full backstory will be revealed because there is still a chance that Fett’s DNA was mixed with someone else's (still I hope Omega is not force sensitive…). I mean, Hunter has heightened senses while Wrecker has almost supernatural strength and both traits seem to be not really human, so who knows what Kaminoans really did with them.

I understand people’s emotional response to Disney’s approach to characters and their visual look, especially since it isn’t the first screw up in New Canon (the models for characters in general and New Mandalorians especially). I’m totally okay with people’s criticism of that matter and demanding from Disney more diversity and respecting the already established ethnicity of certain groups. I’m aware I may not be sensitive enough to that matter as some other people (even more with barely watching TV shows to have any current and up-to-date comparison to trends in cartoons) and I’m pretty sure more qualified / invested fans already wrote or will be writing soon great metas about that. But the thing that irks me is hearing people saying that Omega *can’t* be Jango’s clone - I don’t like this sort of exclusion based on someone’s look alone. She may not look like Fett or other (male) clones but it is not something Omega chose for herself and does not erase her connection to the rest of the Bad Batch. Being angry at Disney/creators for her look is a different matter I don’t have any problem with.

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lockefanfic · 4 years

Text

Business Trip: Pt 34 - Nostalgia

Author’s Note: Happy Nayeon Day everyone ;)

---

And so you do your best to hold on as her small, tight little body writhes and quivers on the bed, burying yourself completely inside her so you could both feel every ounce of pleasure that her orgasm had to give. Her fingers dig almost painfully into your forearm; but the pain from her nails only heightened the feel of her pussy pulsating around your cock.

When she finally comes down from her high her body is a quivering, mewling mess on the bed - but the fire in her eyes is undiminished, and the conviction and determination that were always at the core of her personality takes over.

“Baby,” she says, her voice low but firm, “I want you to take me.”

“Hmm?” you ask as you bend to nuzzle the side of her face. You knew what she meant, knew what she wanted you to do - but you had to hear her say it.

“I want you to be the first.”

“The first to what, Nayeon?”

There is silence for a few moments as Nayeon reaches up to your neck, bringing you close for a brief, passionate kiss before bringing her lips to your ear.

“I want you to be the first to fuck my ass.”

---

A chorus of hushed whispers washed over the room as Nayeon’s video finished playing. Jeongyeon was the first to speak up.

“Who are those girls? What was Irene doing with them?”

“Kidnapping them, probably,” Seolhyun quips, a stern look on her face as she crosses her arms. “More recruits for all her bullshit.”

“They didn’t seem like they were going with her against their will - it’s almost like Irene was helping them escape from that YG building,” Tzuyu notes.

“Those four girls were part of YG’s Blackpink division,” Nayeon explains. “They were essentially YG’s corporate espionage division, similar to what Red Velvet does for SM. Intel has dried up on them since this video - they’ve basically disappeared.”

“Probably because they’re dead in a ditch somewhere after Irene got what she needed from them,” Seolhyun replies, still on edge about Irene. You decide to ignore her anger for now, hoping the young woman could at least channel it into something useful.

“Regardless of Blackpink’s current whereabouts, our next course of action is clear. We have the evidence we need to put Irene away. The only matter now is finding her and arresting her - is that correct, detectives?” you ask.

“Yes,” Jihyo answers from her seat at the front of the conference table, “but finding her is the hard part. After our mission at SM HQ she must know we’re on to her, so she’s likely gone to ground. We each need to reach out to any sources we may have that can help us track Irene down.”

“What about Momo?” Jeongyeon asks, turning to you, “Maybe she has leads on Irene? It seemed like they were working on something big when they rescued us. I think they were closing in on her.”

“Yup. And those two members of Red Velvet that we just saw get captured are now on Momo’s team as well. Maybe they know something that can help us - and I’d like to know how they managed to escape YG,” you add.

“Okay, get in touch with her and find out what they know,” Jihyo says with a nod. “The rest of us can work any other leads we have. Maybe we can comb through the data we retrieved one more time to find any possible Red Velvet safehouse locations or schedule data. We can meet again on Monday morning and form an action plan.”

Your assembled team rises from their seats and leaves the conference room, each of you spending the rest of the day doing everything you could to track down Red Velvet’s leader.

---

Summer in Seoul was being a bit like being in an inescapable oven.

Air conditioning was almost a necessity, what with temperatures averaging around 35 degrees and flirting with nearly 40. Despite this, you decided to leave the artificially cooled interior of JYP’s Seoul office to hopefully enjoy some quiet time to yourself on the roof.

The office was almost empty now, most of the staff running off to enjoy their Friday night. You were happy to find the rooftop completely empty, and you grabbed a seat in one of the folding chairs in the small, shaded picnic area by the hot tub - remembering, briefly, the intimate encounter you’d had with Seolhyun there not so long ago. The memory brings a smile to your face, and you quickly found yourself reminiscing about the way she’d gone down on you, and the steamy shower sex you’d had soon thereafter.

Your eyes involuntarily close as you lean back in the folding chair, raising your feet to rest on the chair opposite. You’d brought a file of Irene-related documents with you to the roof to study, but you were happy to take a short break - and maybe a nap - in the late afternoon sunlight.

“You never were any good at studying,” comes a female voice, one that you knew all too well.

You open your eyes to find Nayeon standing over you. Had you fallen asleep? You shake your head and rub your eyes in an attempt to gather your wits and focus on the young woman’s pretty features as she takes a seat in one of the other folding chairs. She is wearing a simple white sundress, one that is just slightly translucent, if the hint of a dark bra beneath its clean white fabric is any indication.

“Oh, hey,” you answer, still shaking off the cobwebs of sleep, and unable to really say anything more. You sit up in the folding chair and lower your feet to the floor.

“Sorry, I must’ve dozed off there for a second.”

“No problem. But really, it’s me that should be apologizing.”

Nayeon’s face is blank, and her features don’t give any indication as to her thoughts or intentions.

“For what?”

“You know for what,” she answers quickly, “For leaving you yesterday, during the mission.”

The image of Nayeon standing in that alleyway, as she debated with herself whether she should leave you there to fall into the clutches of SM, flashes before your mind. The image of her finally making up her mind and running away came to mind soon after, although that image was significantly less pleasant to remember.

“You don’t have to apologize. I ordered you to run. It was important that we get the data, otherwise the whole thing would’ve been in vain. Momo ended up rescuing Jeongyeon and I anyway - all’s well that ends well.”

“But you didn’t know that at the time,” Nayeon answers, “and for all you and I knew I was leaving you there to be captured - and probably tortured, or worse.”

You look away from her for a moment, unable to meet her gaze. It was true that her running away left you and Jeongyeon to an uncertain fate - one you were lucky to escape.

“What good would it have done? If you’d stayed you would’ve been captured right along with us. There were almost a dozen of them and only three of us. They would’ve overpowered us eventually.”

There is quiet for a few moments as Nayeon weighs your words in her mind. She fiddles with her fingers in her lap, trying to find voice and words to the emotions inside her.

“I would at least have known I didn’t run away when you needed me. I would have known that I stayed when you needed me - like she did.”

The image of Jeongyeon standing next to you, a fierce look in her eyes and a length of wood in her hands, ready to go down swinging, comes back to you. She also had the chance to run, right along with Nayeon; but instead she’d picked up a weapon and made a stand next to you.

“That’s irrelevant,” you tell Nayeon, “what happened happened. We have the data and Jeongyeon and I are okay. That’s all that matters.”

“No,” Nayeon snaps, “no, that’s not all that matters. I ran away. And I spent the rest of the day thinking I’d made the biggest mistake of my life. It wasn’t until Jihyo got that call from you last night that I found out you were okay. I thought you could have been dead.”

The girl looks away, the strong front she had put up slowly beginning to show cracks. Her lip quivers slightly. The two of you sit there in silence for a moment, pondering the weight of Nayeon’s words.

“When Jihyo recruited me for this and I found out you were involved, I jumped at the opportunity,” she begins, her voice a little weaker now. “I still had feelings for you, but I wasn’t sure if they were for real. I thought if I saw you again I’d know for sure.”

Nayeon takes a breath, as if to compose herself. She looks back out at the empty rooftop, unable or unwilling to meet your gaze.

“And when I found out you were sleeping with all these other girls and acting like an asshole, fucking them in front of me - I thought all those feelings for you disappeared. When that girl showed up wearing that blue hoodie I bought you - I wanted to strangle you.”

She quickly swipes at the corner of her eyes - ostensibly to remove some bit of dust, but in reality to wipe away the beginnings of a tear.

“But last night convinced me otherwise. Thinking I’d left you there, and that I might never see you again - it convinced me I still love you.”

“Nayeon, I-”

“I don’t care that you’re fucking all these other girls. I don’t care about the way we broke up, or why. I just care about you. We shouldn’t have broken up. We should still be together.”

She looks at you now, and despite the tear that has finally broken free of her eyes and has slowly begun to fall down her left cheek, she still looks defiant, proud, just the way she always was.

“We can be together again,” she says softly.

Silence reigns for a moment as you gather your thoughts; you would have been lying if you’d said that Nayeon’s reappearance in your life hadn’t rekindled feelings for her. You’d always thought that the reason for your breakup and the way that you did it had left things so unresolved… and you’d spent many long nights since wondering what could have been.

“Nayeon…” you begin, unable to really find the words to say anything more.

“You don’t have to say anything,” she states. “At least until after we get Irene.”

“I understand,” you answer.

Apparently satisfied with the conversation, Nayeon gives you a soft nod before quickly wiping away the remnants of the tear from her cheek. She smiles softly - a smile that seems forced, as though it took all of her strength not to simply break down in front of you. Standing up, she begins to walk away.

“Nayeon,” you say, her name a gasp upon your lips. She turns around with an almost imperceptible sigh, as though she were hoping you would stop her.

“Do you… like, want to get super drunk or something?”

Nayeon laughs, and although she tries to suppress it the way someone does when they don’t quite want to laugh, she nonetheless lets the soft, musical sound of her giggle escape her mouth.

“Yes,” she answers, “yes I do.”

---

“I got 34% on that econ midterm, and I have no one but you to blame.”

“Oh please. Cramming doesn’t work. Scanning five chapters of a textbook the night before your exam isn’t going to magically turn you into an A student. You should have studied each chapter the week it was assigned, and not five chapters the night before the midterm. The night before the midterm is for a final review of all the major concepts.”

“If I recall correctly you had a lot to do with keeping me up the night before the midterm.”

“Psh. As great as the sex was, saying I kept you up ‘all night’ is a bit of an exaggeration.”

“You wanted it three times. Then a fourth time as we were heading to campus.”

“My point still stands. You had plenty of time for studying in between sessions.”

“Awfully hard to study when your girlfriend ties you up to a chair and fucks your brains out. You slapped me a couple of times, too.”

“Pain brings the brain to full alertness. I wanted to make sure you were alert and ready to study.”

“I’m not complaining. The first time was fun. So was watching you walk around naked in the room afterwards.”

“I wasn’t just walking around the room. Sometimes I was sitting. Or lying down.”

“On top of my textbook. Which was hot as fuck, but not conducive to effective studying.”

“I’m pretty sure I was nicer to look at than your textbook.”

“I don’t doubt that. I’m just saying that the time between sessions would have been helpful for some last minute review, had you not distracted me the way you did.”

“It’s not my fault you’re easily distracted.”

“The second time, you literally bent over the kitchen counter and shook your ass at me.”

“I didn’t say anything - it was you that decided to get up from your studying and come fuck me. I was just minding my own business, happily making us dinner and ensuring you had the energy for your studies. It was you that interrupted me.”

“You looked over your shoulder at me with your ‘fuck me’ look and licked your lips. If that’s not asking for it, I don’t know what was.”

“I wasn’t asking for anything. I was just tasting the food I made, to ensure it was delicious and nutritious enough for my boyfriend.”

“And the ass shaking?”

“I was dancing. We were playing music at the time, if you’ll recall. Music can aid the brain with memory retention.”

“You had a hand between your legs. You did all your cooking with your left hand. Dancing gets you that hot and bothered?”

“I wanted to improve my dexterity with my off hand.”

“You were wet as hell when I got to you.”

“Is it so wrong to say that my boyfriend made me wet?”

“I think it was the thought of me fucking you over the kitchen counter that made you that wet, and you couldn’t help but touch yourself. Still think you weren’t asking for it?”

“You’re crazy. I don’t ask for sex. I get it.”

“Oh, you definitely got it. And the third time - giving me that blowjob under the desk while I was studying, what do you call that?”

“I was cleaning under the table to ensure your feet weren’t injured by sharp or pointy objects while you studied. Safety first.”

“And so not only do you cook naked - you clean naked too?”

“It ensures clothing doesn’t get in the way or distract me from my chores.”

“And the blowjob in the car on the way to campus?”

“It was to ensure you were in the right mindset for the midterm. Orgasm releases endorphins to the brain which can improve examination outcomes.”

“So four orgasms provide the recommended daily dose of endorphins, is that correct?”

“That’s correct. For males, at least. It’s seven for women in the same time frame - you only gave me six, unfortunately. I had to get the seventh on my own.”

“The picture you sent me of your wet fingertips just minutes before the midterm is enough proof.”

“I was trying to provide visual support.”

“You were insatiable, Nayeon.”

“Were?”

“Am?”

“Am. I have to admit, I liked the way we tied each other up when we fucked. That was hot as fuck. But that night before your midterm - I was left wanting a little bit more, to be honest.”

“Four times in twelve hours wasn’t enough?”

“No, the number of times was enough.”

“So? What more could you have wanted?”

“Remind me again - where did you cum?”

“On your back once, after you tied me up. Inside you, in the kitchen. And in your mouth twice.”

“Hmm.”

“Hmm?”

“If only there was another place you could cum.”

Nayeon finishes her beer in one long gulp. She slams the glass on the table and licks her lips with the same ‘fuck me’ look she wore in that room years ago. She gathers her purse and jacket and leaves the table. You quickly drop some bills down to pay for your meal and rush after her.

---

Sleeping with Nayeon was dangerous, to say the least, given your history together and your current circumstances. Sex with exes always made things so complicated.

But when she dragged you into her hotel room and your lips and bodies crashed together, you made no effort to resist. She was so familiar, her body so well known to your lips and fingers, that all thought of stopping fled quickly out the window. You’d spent so many long nights since your breakup wondering what could have been - and more than a few nights reminiscing about her body.

The years were kind to Nayeon - when you were in school she was a little too thin, a little less curvy - but nature and long hours in the gym had sculpted her body further, and now she was a fully grown woman, curves and delicious skin and toned muscle all coming together to create a goddess in the prime of her life.

You raise your head from between her spread legs, your tongue and chin dripping with her juices. You lick the delicious honey from your lips, savoring her taste as you kiss a path back up her slim, firm body, delighting in her tight stomach and cute, round breasts. You reach her neck and give her a quick peck there before you give her a deep kiss, Nayeon’s tongue sliding into your mouth to taste herself.

“You always ate me so well,” she says, her cheeks flushed from recent orgasm.

“You always tasted so fucking good,” you answer.

“Fuck me now,” she hisses, and you are quick to oblige, positioning yourself between her spread thighs, reaching down and aiming the tip of your stiff cock at her dripping folds. You swirl it around the slick flesh, delighting in the soft moans that leave the girl’s lips as your tip slides around her clit.

“Stop teasing. I need it. Fuck me, please.”

You grin devilishly as you press your tip against her opening - but your grin turns into a gentle sigh as the feeling of slipping into Nayeon’s slick, hot pussy overwhelms your senses.

She felt exactly the way she did back then - tight, wet, hot - and it was all a little too much to handle. When you fill her completely you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, and you open eyes you didn’t know you’d closed. Your vision is filled with Nayeon’s beautiful face, her cheeks flushed pink, her eyes and lips and nose overwritten with pleasure at being filled for the first time.

“Oh god,” she gasps, “oh god, I missed you so much.”

She grasps the back of your neck with her hand and brings you close for a kiss - one that is desperate, and full of need.

“I’ve missed you too, Nayeon.”

“Fuck me now,” she hisses, “fuck me like you used to.”

You eagerly follow her demands, and you slowly begin to pump in and out of Nayeon’s slick, tight pussy, her body tightening around your cock with every thrust in and out, lathering your length with juices that glisten in the low light. The sound of her sighs and gasps quickly rise in volume, a beautiful backdrop to the sounds of your wet shaft penetrating her slick pussy again and again.

You quickly find your rhythm, and you almost lose yourself in the feeling of her; you knew it was partially nostalgia - you felt like a university student again, enjoying himself and his girlfriend, not yet having to worry about corporate espionage or physical danger - no, there was only pleasure here, and indulging in it. For long minutes you fuck Im Nayeon, losing yourself in the feel of her body beneath yours, her limbs wrapped around you and your ears filled with her gasps and moans.

The sounds were amazing, but it is the sight of her beneath you - the girl you’d long that was the one that got away - fed your desire more than any drug could have. You increase your rhythm, and the words that spill from Nayeon’s lips tell you she welcomed it.

“Oh god… yes… fuck me, baby. I’m yours.”

You decide to surprise her, slipping out of her needy pussy for a moment to turn her on to her left side. Straddling her left leg and raising her right leg so that it is on your right shoulder, you slip into her again, sliding easily inside her body and filling her completely, the position allowing you to get even deeper inside her.

“Oh god!” she gasps, her mouth frozen open in a soundless “o”, her eyes rolling to the back of her head. You take a moment to let her adjust to the newfound depth of your cock - but her pussy is too wet and hot and slick to fight the temptation much longer, and soon you find yourself sliding in and out of her, fucking her with a hard, strong rhythm.

Nayeon’s body bounces deliciously with every entrance and exit of your cock sending impacts that rock her form from head to toe. Her breasts, now stacked on top of each other due to being on her side, bounce hypnotically - you grab her right mound, squeezing softly and delighting in the feel of her stiff nipple in your palm.

“Oh god… I missed this… I missed… mm, your cock inside me! Oh… oh god, I’m cumming!”

When Nayeon orgasms it takes every effort on your part not to simply join her in bliss - her pussy tightening deliciously around you made it all to easy to pump inside her and fill her with cum that she would have been happy to be filled with; but you knew you had to hold on, had to give her what she asked for earlier that night.

“Baby,” she says, her voice low but firm, “I want you to take me.”

“Hmm?” you ask as you bend to nuzzle the side of her face. You knew what she meant, knew what she wanted you to do - but you had to hear her say it.

“I want you to be the first.”

“The first to what, Nayeon?”

There is silence for a few moments as Nayeon reaches up to your neck, bringing you close for a brief, passionate kiss before bringing her lips to your ear.

“I want you to be the first to fuck my ass.”

When you raise your head you find a newfound determination in her eyes - that ‘fuck me’ look, magnified a thousandfold. Before it was sexy - now it was downright lustful.

Nayeon turns her body so that she is lying face down on her stomach, spreading her legs to allow you between them. When she looks back at you there is nothing but need and lust in her eyes.

Your cock is already slick and wet with her juices, but you take a moment regardless to spit into your palm and stroke your rock hard shaft, ensuring it is lubricated enough for what was to come. You feel your heart beating fast and hard - the anticipation made your skin tingle.

When Nayeon reaches behind her and spreads apart the cheeks of her ass, revealing her small, tight asshole - you had to remind yourself to breathe. It takes some effort, but you soon place the very tip of your glistening cock at her entrance, and you take a moment to spit one more time, the saliva landing right where your bodies met. Using your right hand to guide your shaft, you tease her ass with your tip, lubricating it as much as you could.

“Enough,” Nayeon hisses, her face half pressed into the mattress, “fuck me now. Fuck my ass, baby. I want you to take every part of me. I want you to fuck my ass.”

You push forward, and while it takes some effort, you finally enter Im Nayeon’s ass.

Her body tries to fight you every step of the way, but soon the tight ring of her ass gives way to the unyielding flesh of your cock, and eventually your tip is fully inside her. Nayeon lets out a pained gasp into the mattress, and you watch as she grits her teeth as more of you enters her.

“Are you okay, Nayeon? We can-”

“No, don’t stop. Keep going. I can handle it.”

You continue to push forward, your hands caressing her back and shoulders in an attempt to ease her into it. Her tightness is almost overwhelming, her ass a tight ring of muscle that squeezes every inch of your shaft as it enters her. It might have taken a minute, it might have taken an hour - but eventually you are fully inside her, buried to the hilt inside Nayeon’s ass.

“Oh god,” she gasps at the feel of being filled, “oh god, I feel so full.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yes… yes, I want this. I want you in my ass. Now fuck me.”

You withdraw your cock for the first time - and when you look down and watch every inch of your shaft appear from between the round cheeks of her ass - it is almost overwhelming. But just as wonderful is the feeling of entering her again, and finding your soft, steady rhythm as you begin to fuck Nayeon’s ass.

“Oh, oh god,” Nayeon says, repeating that mantra, “oh god, keep going like that.”

Satisfied that you’d found a rhythm that didn’t cause her unnecessary pain, you continue to pump in and out of her, relishing every entry and exit into and out of her young, firm body, her ass clenched tightly around every inch of you as it penetrates her again and again.

Nayeon is the first to raise the stakes.

“Get on your knees,” she says. You bury yourself fully inside her, drawing out a gasp of pleasure from her lips before raise yourself to your knees. Taking care to keep you fully inside her, she gets on her own knees before you, until you are both kneeling on the bed with you behind her. The newfound intimacy of this position was welcome, and you wrap both your hands around her slim torso, cupping her small, perfect breasts in each of your hands.

“Fuck me like this,” she says softly, “fuck my ass like this.”

You resume pumping in and out of her, the position allowing you easier access to her butt - but you are surprised to find that she is rocking back and forth on her own, driving herself back to meet each of your thrusts. For long minutes you continue to fuck, your shaft drilling in and out of Nayeon’s tight, hot ass, her body pounding back against you with each thrust. Your hands roam her tight, sweaty little body, sometimes squeezing a breast, sometimes clenched around her waist or shoulders - anything to grasp her in your arms, tighten your grip on her as though you never wanted to let her go and lose the delicious pleasure that her body was giving you.

Nayeon breaks free from your grasp, eventually, leaning forward with her arms. She continues to push herself back onto your cock as you thrust forward - every thrust, every feel of her tight ass clenched around your shaft driving you closer and closer to orgasm. You look down, watching your wet cock slide in and out of her hole - and you think you might pass out.

“Oh, fuck, Nayeon - that’s so fucking hot.”

“You like it?” she says, the words a breathy hiss, “you like fucking me like this? Fucking my ass like this?”

“Fuck yes, Nayeon… Oh! Fuck… fuck, you feel so good. I’m not gonna last very long.”

“Mmmmm oh god… Just cum when you want to… just cum for me… cum inside me… cum inside my ass. I want you… to be the first… to fill my ass with cum.”

You are almost ashamed to admit it, ashamed that her first anal sex experience might be too short - but her body was too overwhelming, too wonderful to fight. It was all too much - the residual feelings from your past relationship, her reappearance into your life, her beauty and sexiness and utter physical perfection, the fact that she wanted you to be the first to claim her ass - all too fucking much to resist.

“Fuck, Nayeon, I’m cumming!” you hiss, and Nayeon’s only reply is a breathy moan that turns into a plea.

“Yes… cum inside… my ass!”

You bury yourself as deep as you can inside her, your hands clenching tightly around her waist and hips as you finally lose control and tumble willingly over the edge into pure bliss, your shaft pulsating as it sends stream after stream of thick, hot semen inside Nayeon’s clenching ass, the white cum painting her rectum with white.

It might have taken you hours to recover from the stars that dazzle your vision and the feeling of lightheadedness as your orgasm overtakes each of your senses. You are only vaguely aware of slipping out Nayeon’s body, and the needy, high pitched whine that escapes her lips when you finally leave her. A trail of thick white cum soon emerges from her hole, a trickle that becomes a stream that flows down her thighs and onto the bedsheets.

There are no more words that could possibly be said between you, and so you fall into a tangle of exhausted limbs and sweaty bodies, your arms entangled with one another. You find her cheek, bring her face to yours, and the kiss that you share makes you feel like you’d found something you’d long thought was lost.

---

Nayeon was right - she was still insatiable.

The shower you shared when you both awoke only turned into one after you’d fucked again - when she dropped to her knees and took you into her mouth you didn’t think you’d ever get around to actually cleaning yourselves. But after you’d picked her up from the shower floor and fucked her against the cool tile, you both finally managed to achieve some semblance of cleanliness - even if the sight of her wet body as she rubbed a bar of soap all over herself, your own cum still dripping from her pussy, made it difficult to concentrate on actually cleaning yourself.

You’re the first out of the shower, and you collapse onto the bed while Nayeon finishes drying her hair in the washroom. You grab your phone off the nightstand and scroll through your messages.

The first few texts were from Jeongyeon - memes, mostly, and one or two messages telling you she was bored, and had nothing to do; it was far too late to respond to them now, however, and you felt some momentary guilt at having missed what was obviously an invitation from her to meet up.

Sana came next - in the form of a few suggestive photos of herself in various skimpy outfits, all seemingly from a clothing store’s dressing room; in each one she was leaning forward, giving you a good look at the tight cleavage she was so fond of showing you. “Maybe these would look better on your hotel room floor,” she said in a follow up message that was far from subtle.

A single text from Mina surprised you and brought a smile to your lips - “I’m getting promoted to head of legal affairs at JYP,” she’d said, “so I get my choice of post. Save me a spot on your team.”

The last message came from Momo - a simple address of a meeting place she’d chosen. You’d asked her the night before if she and her team were willing to meet to discuss the next stage in the operations against Irene. Her response was just an address and a time to be there - a far cry from the long, cutesy texts she used to send you all the time.

You allow yourself a moment of sadness at that last thought, but it is one that quickly flees your mind when Nayeon re-emerges from the bathroom. She is naked, of course, her skin still flushed and glistening from her shower, her hair still damp and falling around her head in thin, wavy strands.

In her hands is a shiny object, something you were quite familiar with long ago, something you never thought you’d see again - a red leather collar, to which was attached a length of silver chain.

She doesn’t speak a word - not when she gets on the bed, not when she straddles you, not when she places soft kisses on your body that start on your stomach and begin to trace a path up your body, until she places a soft kiss upon your lips.

She straightens, sitting atop your lap in all of her naked glory, water dripping deliciously down her perfect round breasts and her flat stomach. She undoes the clasp of the collar with long, dainty fingers, and places it around her neck. When it is sufficiently tightened, she gathers the chain in her hands, finding the end of it with her left hand. She bends once more to kiss you, her left hand tracing a path along your right arm. When she reaches your hand, she pushes the phone in it away with her own hand.

The phone falls over the side of the bed - and Nayeon replaces it with the end of the silver chain. She bends her head, kissing your cheek, before bringing her lips to your ear.

“How would you like to take me, master?”

#kpop fanfiction #kpop fanfic #kpop smut #male reader #pov smut #twice nayeon #im nayeon #twice

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alienisticxo · 3 years

Text

X Angel - Chapter 3

Elon Musk x Reader

{Authors Note} I am considering taking requests, so if you have anything Elon-y that you’d like me to write, feel free to send them in my asks <3

I hope you continue to enjoy! You can also find this on AO3 and Wattpad. xo

Warnings: None

My security team immediately took one step closer to me as though this were some sort of communicated threat. But a strikingly cool grin crossed Elon’s lips— one that told he clearly didn’t care what anyone else thought about the matter.

“You can’t try the merchandise before you buy, sorry,” Jett retorted with no actual indication of being sorry.

“That’s not it,” he assured with a light laugh. “I’d like to see her without being under so much pressure.”

I eyed Elon then, a metallic eyebrow arched. While I was very much everyone’s golden child, cash cow, etc., no one had ever made an attempt at considering my own feelings in any situation. I was only to do as I was told. My thoughts or emotions were the least of everyone and anyone’s concerns, even though I had very much capitalized off of their fear of my denying their requests. At the end of the day, I was just another toy to play with, and that had all become very clear, very quickly. Coming to terms with the fact that they seemed to have fooled me more than I thought I was fooling them was going to be another story altogether. Still, to hear Elon say something like that surprised me-- almost making me as skeptical as everyone else suddenly was. What would the real reason be? On another hand, I was in disbelief that he might also be as kind as I hoped he would be on top of it all.

“Mr. Musk,” began one of the men who remained at the table nervously, “Please don’t make this difficult.”

They were clearly afraid of saying the wrong thing to him, walking on eggshells so to speak. To keep from risking the successful purchase of myself, however, they must’ve felt they had to confront him regardless of their fear.

“I’m not making anything difficult,” he said plainly, beginning to approach me then. “These beings are far more intelligent than we are, clearly capable of mimicking human emotion. You’re all poking and prodding her and she’s programmed quite authentically. She looks…” he paused, his hand lightly motioning toward me as he kept a polite distance. “Well, she looks nervous.”

I immediately checked my facial expression and posture, loosening up the best I could without giving away that he was correct. He had been watching me the entire time without saying a word, studying me to a tee without catching anyone’s attention. So much so, even I hadn’t noticed him standing in the corner until he made his presence known. I should’ve expected he'd been doing so the moment my eyes landed on him, but I had been so preoccupied in my own thoughts about the entire ordeal. Now I still couldn’t shake the shock of his way of treating me… like a person.

The man sighed through his nostrils, clearly exasperated at the request. But the other men paused and exchanged thoughtful glances, seeming to begin to understand where Elon was coming from.

“Hm… I suppose you’re right,” one said, causing the original man to clench his jaw.

“No dice,” said Jett flatly.

The man who’d examined me’s eyes seemed to light up then, and he turned to Jett, suddenly yearning to oblige Elon. I decided it was because of Jett’s insistence on not allowing it, so he himself wouldn’t appear to be the ‘bad guy.’ However, the others seemed genuinely curious themselves once he’d mentioned the notion.

“Perhaps if not alone with one of us, we can put her behind a glass of some sort,” one spoke up convincingly. “See how she acts without any outside influence whatsoever. Either way, it’s very important. We can’t expect someone to be with her twenty-four-seven on Earth to make sure she's still the bright and shining star we all know and love. It would be impossible.”

Elon breathed a laugh then, shaking his head as he reached a hand into his jacket, revealing a holographic card only seconds later.

Jett’s eyes shone like crystals in the sun the moment they set on the translucent object, his attention quickly caught and his interest extremely piqued. He pretended to mull over Elon’s offer with a hum.

“I guess we could cut a deal, Musk,” he said, feigning contemplation. “How much we talkin’?”

How fast his voice grew gravely and intrigued again. I wondered how much he was making off of my purchase as I stood like a statue, only able to watch what was happening from what felt like miles away. I wasn’t sure of his intentions, but I felt compelled to allow him the request. I hoped it was for something important. Maybe even something that could help me get out of the situation I now found myself in. At the very least, I just wanted the opportunity that so many dreamt of- to have time with him, no matter what it was about.

“However much you’d like,” was all he said. “But I’d like to see her for myself in a more natural situation— a one on one setting.”

I bit my tongue before gathering enough courage to speak confidently in a room full of intimidating people, unsure of whether or not my tactics would still work.

Here goes.

“There’s no need for that. Let Mr. Musk do as he wants, Jett,” I demanded, holding my hand out in a gesture to push the card Elon held down. “Or I walk from Astra before you have a chance to sign me away at all.”

I didn’t mean to backhandedly mention their signing me away, but I couldn’t help it. It must’ve worked in my favor, as Jett’s nostrils flared, and if looks could kill, I wouldn’t have needed to walk. I would’ve dropped dead right there. Cybernetic stars didn’t demand much of anything, ever. But I certainly had a tendency to threaten to cut all functions when I didn’t get what I was after, and Astra needed me far too much.

Or at least, they did.

Who were they going to replace me with?

But I digress…

My human requests and reactions were a major part of what made me so lifelike to everyone I deal with. It was unheard of among the others and they just weren’t sure if I was bluffing or not. That was what made me the only one like me. The special one, the star I was. It was what purchased my penthouse with the idyllic view and each one of my Tesla’s; what kept me living in the lap of luxury and able to help those I needed to help. Though of course, I always had to play my cards right, using my demands only in opportune moments. That was what kept me afloat with Astra as well.

A.I. was just tricky that way, and while no one knew for sure, Jett knew better with me. I was tempted to use this strategy in the situation I was dealing with now. But I knew better, too. No one would want me if I opposed it altogether, and I’d be left to the crime ridden outskirts like a few before me had been, too. It was obvious I was no longer an asset to the label.

Jett pushed past Elon then, clearly fuming over my interference with his under-the-table payment.

“Five minutes,” was all Jett said as he approached the doors to leave the room, not turning back to look at anyone.

There was a brief smirk on Elon’s lips before he nodded for the other men to follow Jett, who quite willingly did so, and before too long, I was alone with the only man I’d ever admired.

I knew I was supposed to be more at ease with the sudden lack of eyes prying into my entirety, but my nerves continued to get the better of me. How could they not when standing next to someone as awe inspiring as Elon Musk? Maybe to any other person who didn’t care, it would’ve been easy, a relief. But I found myself trying my best to keep my composure even though I’d pushed for the request.

Not sure what I was expecting, I remained silent, my metallic fingernails clicking against each other in front of me. I felt like a child who was waiting for punishment. But the silence wasn’t as awkward as I was waiting for it to become. That was clearly his doing and not mine, as he was cool as ever. I waited for him to speak first, my voice too caught in my throat, anyway.

He turned towards the beautiful view before us, looking out over it into the night sky. The bright lights cast the same glow they had when he stood beside the window, but slightly dimmer, adding a sultry shadow to his features that I damned myself for noticing. He exhaled audibly, but not dramatically, eyes scanning over the skyline.

“It’s nice here, isn’t it?” He asked.

Small talk. Odd.

“Yeah,” I responded quietly. “One of the reasons I wa-“

I caught myself, noticing his green eyes glance in my direction without facing towards me completely. Pausing a moment to feign an error, I started speaking again, facing out over the view myself, then. “One of the reasons I love it here so much.”

He either suspected it was an error, or wasn’t concerned as he continued the conversation with no reservations.

“Earth isn’t so terrible,” he said. “Sure, we’ve fucked it up pretty badly, but it could be worse.”

I smiled. He was absolutely correct.

“Aren’t you headed for Mars, anyway?” I piped up next, unable to conceal my admiration.

“You’ve heard about that, huh?” He asked, turning to face me then.

I discreetly stiffened up again as he studied my features, the slightest furrow in his brow. I could tell he was trying to figure me out; figure out who could’ve pieced me together. What kind of rival company he might be up against without even knowing it. A.I. lifeforms were lifelike, damn near realistic, but it hadn’t advanced to the point I exhibited yet. Most people didn’t think twice, just saw how phenomenal I was— the walking, talking, cybernetic pop star that everyone wanted to be just like.

Elon was far, far more intelligent than that.

“You’re synonymous with space travel,” I responded a bit flatly, as though I was simply pulling the information from a database in my mind instead of revealing I just knew about him. “Mars was your first target. NASA pushed for X, and here you are now.”

He lifted a brow, an almost amused expression on his features as he let me speak.

“Why are you here? Buying a pop star hardly seems like your forte,” I continued, not wanting to sound as confused and even a little hurt at the notion as I was.

His response was a chuckle. He was certainly amused now.

“You’ve got a point there. I’m here to figure you out, Miss {Y/L/N},” he said, wobbling his head to one side a bit. “You’ve been all the talk back on Earth. The latest and greatest A.I. creation. You’re scaring people, to be quite frank, and I’m interested in.. picking your brain, so to speak.”

My face fell. Something about that gave me an uneasy feeling. I hadn’t exactly put together that I was feared while everyone I encountered adored me for all that I was. Or.. All they thought I was. The last thing I wanted was to scare people-- It wasn’t even the last thing, it wasn’t a thing I wanted at all. I knew I was something of a puppet to pertain to the masses in order to get messages across, but being completely frightening wasn’t on my to-do list.

“Scaring people?” was all I could manage, the slightest twinge of hurt in my voice.

“You move, speak, act and react as though you are a human being. No company, and certainly no one, has been able to package all of this kind of complex engineering into a real, walking, talking cybernetic human form. At least, not without it looking completely fake. Other cybernetic celebrities, while convincing enough to the untrained eye, haven’t been able to hold a candle to your authenticity,” his expression was serious as he held my gaze. “You must realize the kind of trouble that could put humanity into.”

He paused, thinking for a moment.

“More trouble than we’re already in,” he finished then.

All at once, I was lost for words. What I had expected to be making an impact in a monetary way was only frightening people in other places. I wondered if Xian’s felt the same way, or if they just turned a blind eye to the fact that I was the way I was. Perhaps they felt as though Planet X had simply had it all under control with the advanced technology they were known for. I had questions, of course. Who wouldn’t? But I had to keep my own front up. I responded the only way I knew how.

“I’m sorry to break it to you, but I’m just here to be a star,” I forced a smile.

He breathed another quiet laugh then, his eyes dropping before looking back out at the view for a moment. He picked up on my programming side holding my guard up at the question. “Of course you are,” he said quietly.

I suddenly felt crushed. I didn’t want him to dislike me, or feel as though I was a threat to mankind or anyone who may have crossed my path. I also didn’t want him to feel as though I were nothing more than another dumb pop star that was so well-known around celebrity culture. A million things ran through my mind at once, but I couldn’t voice any of them. I was caught between what I should say and what would happen if I did. While I didn’t know him from anyone, I felt quite obligated to be honest with him. It seemed as though so far, while only a few sentences in, he had been nothing but honest with me. There was something about him that I couldn’t put my finger on; something I couldn’t get past. The desire to let him in was overwhelming, but I pushed it away, chalking it up to the grave admiration I felt for him and nothing more. I didn’t know him, after all.

His hands were in his pockets, but after a few more seconds of silence hanging between us, his eyes met mine again before averting to my neck. Looking as though he wanted to say something, I studied him with a fervent curiosity. He lifted a finger quickly then with an inhale, softly gesturing towards my hair.

“May I?” He asked gently.

I knew then what he was after. He wanted to check for an indication of a company himself, knowing where they usually hide their numbers and letters in etching rather than stamping it on in ink. I wondered if that was the only reason he wanted to get me alone in the first place, and tried not to feel the faint pang of hurt in my chest.

While the idea was clever, he wouldn’t find what he was looking for, and I knew this all too well. Still, playing ball as I knew I had to, I obliged.

“Of course,” I nodded once, tilting my head a bit to allow him more access to the area he was to begin searching.

With careful hands, he moved my hair, his fingers gliding under my ear and to the nape of my neck, delicately feeling for any indication of an etching. I could hear his hand brush against the cold metal of my body, and instead of the previous hurt, a sudden, surprising pang of longing struck me as I deeply wished I could feel the warmth of his fingers.

My brow furrowed just slightly while I sat with the unforgivable thought as he continued his hunt. His cologne seemed to emanate around me, and the scent alone relaxed me without my noticing at first. There was something kind about his hesitance, his desire to treat me as not something that simply made people made money, but someone, with feelings and opinions. The notion was something I’d have to get used to, but not unwelcome in the least. I couldn’t help but notice he was certainly attractive, even more so up close than I’d casually noticed in photos, and his consideration for me alone spoke volumes— asking my permission, the gentle touch he used when I allowed it; it was admirable in and of itself. Cybernetic beings were seldom cared for in such a way. He seemed to treat me as an equal.

“Hm,” he finally contemplated, taking me back out of my thoughts once more. “I don’t feel anything,” he thought aloud.

“Sometimes I wonder if I didn’t just create myself,” I joked, my voice airy as I tried to keep the mood light.

But he wasn’t laughing as he carefully removed his hand and let my {H/C} hair fall back into place. I’m fact, his countenance read quite grave as our eyes met once more.

“It’s troubling,” was all he said as the doors swung back open, slightly startling us both.

#elon musk #elon musk x reader #elon musk fanfiction #fanfiction #elon musk fanfic #spacex #tesla #cyberpunk #fanfic #darklydreaming #x angel #futurism #grimes #slow burn #fanfic writer #writers

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ohdearhiddles · 4 years

Text

SUMMARY: You and Tom are friends with benefits, but no one knows that. He teaches you to play a game, but wants you to lose so he can take you away. Tom gets his way.

TITLE: Lace and Gravel

WORD COUNT: 3024 ((!!! so long))

AUTHOR NOTES/WARNINGS: smut ahead!! please only read if you are 18 and above!! rough/public sex and language warning!! i think that’s it? i haven’t written smut in a couple years so YIKES to me if this really sucks guys but i couldn’t help myself :)

Tom’s hand gripped your hip as he pulled your backside towards him. You felt his growing erection hiding beneath the fabric of his jeans press into the small of your back as his lips ghosted over the nape of your neck. The room was silent, all the noises around you had drowned out, and the only thing either of you could hear were the heavy breaths being exchanged in the midst of silence. Your hand was resting on the table in front of you while the other was caught in Tom’s grip.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” you whispered, practically breathless from the arousal growing within you.

“And why shouldn’t we?” He practically growled at you, his fingers moving from your hip to brushing his fingertips along your outer thigh.

Of course, Tom knew you were right. You definitely should not be doing this, but that wasn’t going to stop him from getting what he wanted. It’s not like you were going to stop him. You wouldn’t dare, not when he was already so turned on.

Tom and you had met a few months ago at a mutual friend’s party. At the time you had most definitely been somebody else’s date, but just one suggestive glance from Tom that night was enough for you to ditch your date to dance with the tall gentleman. Ever since that day, your friend group had considered the two of you to be good friends. Now, how good of friends, they would never know. If any of them had found out about the little affair, it would be more than just the usual gossip.

You had been quite adamant with Tom to keep your relationship, if you could even call it that, under wraps. At first, he completely agreed. However, as the two of you kept running into each other, finding a way to keep the growing sexual frustrations and longing glances at bay was becoming increasingly difficult, which was why the two of you were now in this slightly obscene situation.

Tom’s grip tightened as he ushered you to lean forward over the table. His body was practically molded against yours, hands now encapsulating yours as he pulled back your right hand with his before quickly jolting it forwards. A harsh clack resonated within the room and you were brought back into the reality of the situation. The feeling of Tom’s warmth left you as he took a step back, a subtle smirk on his lips as his eyes fell onto yours.

“Hiddleston, I thought you were going to teach her how to play billiards, not teach her how to lose,” a distant voice called as you were still mentally getting over the thoughts running through your head. You glanced over at the table to see a young man you had never met before pull the 8 ball out of the pocket in the far left corner. Indeed, Tom had just cost you the game when it had only just begun. Something in your mind told you that his goal was to ensure that no one wanted you to take part in the game in the first place just so he could drag you away unnoticed.

That part of your mind, of course, was completely correct in guessing Tom’s tactics. Judging by the look of feigned innocence and his hands in his air as a gesture of surrender, you knew that the playful attitude was much more than just getting you to lose. You shook your head, mentally noting that he liked to play dirty.

As you walked away from the scene, you felt Tom’s eyes bore into your back. This only made you put a little more sway in your steps, hips shaking in a way that would most certainly get more than his attention on you. When you reached the pub’s bar, you politely requested for a Black Velvet before turning to see Tom making his way towards you. His expression was determined in a way that you knew all too well, and as your cocktail made its way into your hand, so did Tom. And oh, how easily he always fell right into the palm of your hand.

He sat down, making a request for a simple bourbon. Your eyes followed his fingers as they tapped away on the counter. Your drink made its way to your lips as you watched him turn slightly towards you, his own drink pressed to his lips. You bit your lip, wanting to taste that bourbon on his lips. Eyes wandering up and down your body, Tom’s lips curled into a smirk, “Quite the show you put on there.”

“I have no idea what you mean,” you responded quickly, taking another long sip from your glass.

Tom let out a laugh, grinning as he spoke, “All the men in this bar had their eyes on your ass when you decided to put on that tiny show.”

You didn’t give a direct answer; in fact, you barely answered at all. A subtle grin behind the clear glass was all Tom saw in response to what he said. He knew that you put on a show for him, and now he was well aware that you knew that you would draw more than just his attention. Your eyes met his just to see lust begin to swirl within them like an uncontrollable whirlpool of intense sexual frustration within his usual gentlemanly behavior.

The two of you didn’t exchange any more words, instead, you both watched as everyone around you buzzed about, drunkenly laughing at anything said. Patience was key. After everyone had seen Tom practically dry hump you over a pool table, whether they realized that that was exactly his intention, it would be far too obvious for you two to slip away unnoticed regardless of how large the crowd was. Slowly but surely, people stopped approaching Tom, and your drink was nearing empty. The tall gentleman’s glass had already been emptied long ago by the time you finished yours, but he still held the glass as if it was full. His other hand tapped on the side lightly, a symbol of increasing tension within his body.

Without so much as a glance your way, he stood up and walked towards the side exit of the bar. A few seconds passed and you decided to walk out the front door. The chill air met your bare arms as the door shut behind you. From a short distance you could hear the sound of an engine roaring to life before Tom’s car rounded the corner. The window rolled down as he approached your shivering form, “Need a ride, darling?”

His voice was smooth and seductive as he spoke. Your imagination ran wild with just the small phrase. The offer was implying much more than an onlooker would be able to grasp, which was why his words were perfect.

“Please,” you responded, opening the car door to take a seat. As the tinted window rolled back up, Tom’s hand made its way to your thigh. The car ride was silent as he drove, and you took the opportunity to take a quick glance at your reflection in the overhead mirror, hoping you didn’t look as much of a hot mess as you felt. Your cheeks were burning from arousal, a sure blush creeping on your face from anticipation.

As you pushed the mirror back up, you felt Tom’s hand slide your dress up to the uppermost parts of your thighs, revealing a pair of black lace underwear. Your eyes traveled from his hand to his eyes where he was glancing back and forth from the road to your revealed undergarments. Tom shifted in his seat as he attempted to pay attention to where he was going, but his growing arousal was causing him to pick up the speed.

Although he knew he shouldn’t tempt himself further, Tom couldn’t resist pulling your thigh towards him, spreading your legs ever so slightly so he could access the space between them freely. Your bottom lip was caught between your teeth as his fingers grazed over the fabric separating his cool skin from your heat. A soft moan of desire escaped your lips as his fingers danced over the material, rubbing slow circles on top of your clit. The lace fabric was pushed aside and the cool air circulating the car made you squirm. Tom’s middle finger ran along the outermost lips of your heat. His eyes widened as he pressed the finger into your warmth, his tongue running along his lips.

“So wet for me already, baby?” He spoke as his finger pumped in and out.

You responded with a gasp as a second finger joined the first, curling up to apply pressure on your most sensitive point. Your moans only grew as he continued the joyous torture, but it seemed more torturous for him than it was for you. As you felt your high approaching you attempted to bring your own hand to help stimulate yourself. Tom caught sight of your attempts to relieve yourself and pulled his hand away immediately. The empty feeling made you squirm in your seat, a whimper escaping your lips.

Tom only clicked his tongue at you as his hand gripped your thigh, “I didn’t say you could touch yourself, did I?”

Your eyes widened at his words, and you attempted to close your legs to apply some friction to your pulsing core. Tom’s grip was firm, though, and he wasn’t allowing any of it. He wanted you to writhe in your seat, he wanted to hear you beg for him to touch you.

“Please,” you whimpered, tugging at his fingers that were oh so very close to your aching core. You watched as his jaw clenched, the sound of your plea causing his erection to twitch within the confines of his pants. Reaching over, you placed your palm to the growing bulge, pressing down. His hips bucked up towards the feeling of your hand, yearning for your fingers to wrap around his member. Tom hissed, slamming on the brake as he pulled over on the side of the road.

You frantically looked around to see that the two of you were surrounded by trees, and suddenly it was clear what his intentions were. He had taken the backroads towards your home for this very reason. Tom undid his seatbelt before stepping out of the vehicle. He opened your door swiftly, reaching over to undo your own seatbelt before pulling you from the car.

You stood before him, the wetness between your legs only growing as his eyes met yours. He grinned before taking a step back, “Take them off.”

Not knowing what he was talking about, you shook your head. His eyebrows furrowed at your dismissal of the command. So, he tried again.

“Take them off,” his voice was deep, demanding, and overall the sexiest thing you had ever heard. You nodded this time, hiking your dress up to reveal the lace panties once more. He bit his lip as he watched you pull them down your legs until they were on the gravel at your feet.

“Now, bend over for me,” he spoke again, eyes following your every movement. You turned your back to him and pressed your chest up against the back of the car. Tom’s fingers brushed against your lips, applying pressure to the aching nerves that were readily exposed to him.

“So, so beautiful,” he whispered as his fingers pressed into your warmth for the second time that night. His fingers immediately curled, causing pleasure to course through your body. This continued only for a few seconds until his hands left you empty once again. The sound of his belt being undone and his zipper being pulled down could be heard from your position.

Tom grasped your forearms and folded them on your back, pinning you to the car completely. Your wrists were held in one of his hands as he pulled you back quickly, filling your pussy to brim with his cock. The sensation made you scream from how quickly it had happened. Tom’s hand let go of your wrists, bringing it to your face to cover your mouth before pulling out just enough so that his cock teased your entrance ever so slightly before sinking himself balls deep once again. He repeated this action three more times, each time causing your eyes to roll back and a muffled moan to echo in the darkness.

“So tight for me,” he grunted as he released his hold on your mouth, gripping your hips with all his might as he began to roughly thrust in and out of your core.

“Tom,” you moaned, “Fuck.”

The mixture of his skin coming into contact with yours along with the squelching sound of your wet folds being repeatedly pounded upon resonated all around your connected bodies. Part of you feared that an innocent person would drive at any moment, but the other part of you yearned for this public display to never end. The risk of being caught made you moan even louder as if you were daring someone to come see, daring them to watch this man dominate your entire being.

“Moan for me, baby,” he growled.

Tom pulled your body up, arching your back so that you were still partially bent over. He groaned at the feeling of your tight body wrapped around his throbbing cock, each thrust bringing him closer to his peak. The hand that once covered your mouth minutes ago, now rested between your thighs, slapping the skin right above your clit. The sensation caused another moan to escape you. At the sound, Tom pulled himself out of you.

His hands found your hips as he pulled your body up to sit on the car. Without even a second to waste, his cock was nestled deep within you once again. You leaned your body onto the cool metal, arching your back as Tom hunched over you to press a sloppy kiss to your revealed cleavage. The new angle allowed Tom’s cock to press firmly to your sweetest spot, his hard thrusts sending newfound waves of pleasure through your body.

“Fuck, yes, right there,” you moaned, your fingers gripping Tom’s shoulders to keep him in his place. “I want to cum, please make me cum.”

Your desperate pleas spurred the remaining energy in him on. His thrusts became faster, plunging deep inside of you while you writhed beneath him in pleasure. Beads of sweat were accumulating on his forehead as you watched his hand reach down towards where the two of you were connected. “Cum for me, baby. I can feel you clenching around me.”

The mixed sensation of his thumb rubbing against your clit and the feeling of his erection moving within you caused your legs to shake. You silently thanked him for not allowing you to stand anymore or else you surely would have collapsed by now. Your walls tightened around him as you reached your orgasm, curses and moans spilling from your lips as Tom continued to thrust deeply into you. His own string of curses fell from his mouth at the feeling of your convulsing pussy clenching around him. Tom’s eyes screwed shut as he felt his own high approaching quickly.

Your hands grabbed at his hair as you spoke, “Cum in me, please. I want your cum in me.”

It only took a few seconds for him to sink himself deep within you, shooting his seed as he moaned deeply into the crook of your neck. The both of you breathed heavily, letting the euphoria settle for a bit before Tom decided to pull out. As his cum began to trickle out from your heat, he used his fingers to scoop it up before pressing it deep within you. Your head fell back at the sensation as he teasingly curled his fingers to touch your sensitive point before pulling away. His other hand still gripped your hips, not allowing you to get up just yet.

When your eyes met his, he smirked, “Keep that in there.”

You bit your lip at the command, nodding meekly as if you hadn’t just had sex right off of a public road. As you hopped off the edge of the car, Tom fixed his outfit. Your underwear still laid on the gravel where you had left it, but as you picked it up, he pulled it away with a tsk.

“No, darling,” he smiled suggestively, tossing the material into the back of his car as he motioned for you to get in.

Your eyes widened at his request, “But I still need to walk up to my apartment and it’s a little breezy outside.”

Not only that, but you were quite worried that Tom’s seed would begin to drip out of you if you weren’t wearing anything; however, the glint in his eyes showed that he knew that already. He softly spanked your backside, grinning mischievously, “I’m well aware, darling.”

“So you’re just going to make me walk with no underwear on?” You questioned daringly.

Tom hummed in response as you finally sat in the passenger’s seat. He shut the door quickly before making his way around to the other side. As you sat there, he began driving once again. It was almost as if nothing had happened for him.

The rest of the drive was quiet, and Tom kept his hands to himself for the most part, and when you reached the apartment complex, you were surprised to see that he had parked the car in the garage. You glanced at him questioningly, but he was already out of the car and opening your door like he had at the side of the road. His hand pressed against the small of your back as he led you towards the elevator, a smirk plastered on his lips.

“Why are you walking me?” You finally asked as the two of you entered the elevator. He pressed the button to your floor before turning to you and speaking.

“I haven’t given you that ride yet.”

#tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston imagine #tom hiddleston imagines #tom hiddleston smut #tom hiddleston x you #ohdearhiddles imagines #ohdearhiddles imagine #hiddleston imagine #smut imagine #tom hiddleston drabble #tom hiddleston one shot

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stonefreeak · 4 years

Text

Wheee! Another update is here! I hope y’all will continue to enjoy this fic as we move forward!

When the news breaks that the case against Mas Amedda and Former-Chancellor Palpatine for corruption charges will go to court breaks, it explodes across the holonet like a supernova.

The recent arrests and trials of Senators from all over the Republic, the arrests-in-absence of Senators formerly of the Republic and currently of the Separatists have been making headlines for weeks, but before now there has been nothing about Mas Amedda or Palpatine themselves.

If there had been nothing to substantiate the claims, the investigation would have ended now with no charges being brought forward against them. The investigation would only have caught these other people, and so far only sent other people to trial. So for this too to come a trial... Well, clearly that means that there is a case against them. There is evidence to be found.

The people start to wonder how far the corruption goes, how big a web it has woven, and how many of the already arrested and sentenced Senators have testimonies against Amedda and Palpatine.

News anchors argue and debate each other into exhaustion regarding what this means not just for Amedda and Palpatine themselves, but for the Republic and Senate at large. If the two who were the most powerful beings in the Republic are found guilty on corruption charges... Does that mean that the Separatist worlds who chose to try and leave the Republic in protest are right?

Or does it mean that someone, Count Dooku perhaps, saw an opportunity to gain power by playing on the corruption they saw in the Senate rather than work towards eliminating those issues from the inside?

~~~~

Obi-Wan doesn't have much time to spend watching the holonet, but what little he sees is enough to exhaust him. He's unsurprised, but he's also worried. He doesn't know what the investigation has found—as he shouldn't, per due process—but he knows the possible ramifications of a guilty verdict.

Yes, the Republic is under new leadership, certainly, but many, if not most, senators remain unchanged. How many of them were in Palpatine or Amedda's pockets? How will this affect the peace discussions and reintegration of returning separatist worlds?

How, exactly will the neutral systems—if there truly can be such a thing in a conflict like this—react? Will some of them finally take a stance beyond "we will not fight"?

He shakes his head and moves out of his chair, to sit down on the floor instead.

He moves into his most favoured meditation position, and tries to clear his mind. He'll need to work through his emotions and thoughts one by one, lest he gets overwhelmed.

He's needed more meditation than he's needed since childhood after his near-death experience. His connection to the force has been shaken, and he's been shaken. It takes him far more effort than usual to calm down.

Perhaps he'll speak to one of the Temple's mind healers when he gets the chance. It is usually a good thing to do after you've faced your death in such a stark way, he knows that.

Still. He's so busy. It feels almost wrong to take any sort of time off between all of his responsibilities.

Hah, no doubt Master Yoda would hit him in the shin if he heard that, and then give him a long-winded lecture on the impossibility of helping others if you do not care for yourself.

"There is no emotion, there is peace. There is no ignorance, there is knowledge. There is no passion, there is serenity. There is no chaos, there is harmony. There is no death, there is the Force," he mutters the mantra over and over as he sinks deeper into meditation. Blast and the others will keep watch, and Obi-Wan has it on good authority that Waxer and Boil's treatments are over and they're back on duty as well. He has good men at his back.

There is no need to worry.

~~~~

Anakin stares at the newsreel, uncomprehending.

Mister Palpatine has been arrested, awaiting trial.

It's as if all of his thoughts need to force their way through stone to make sense. He's... blank.

This can't be!

There's no way Palpatine is guilty! The investigation is probably just arresting him and Amedda and setting a trial date due to outside pressure. That's it. Of course.

The trial will just prove Palpatine innocent. They just have to do it. Perhaps there's some doubt in his position due to corruption among his aides. That has to be it.

Palpatine wouldn't do something like this. Anakin knows he wouldn't.

He paces back and forth in his rooms, unable to settle down. He's close to bursting with frustration and agitation and he can't hope to meditate on his emotions as Obi-Wan would tell him to when he's this upset. Meditation is for calmer mindsets.

Perhaps he can talk to Obi-Wan... Or Padmé.

Or maybe both of them?

That... That would be good. That's what he needs right now.

He picks up his comm and sends a group message to them. Byt the Force how he hopes they'll agree. There's no way he can deal with this alone. Palpatine has been his friend and mentor since he was a child... This is just too much to deal with.

Obi-Wan said it was his duty to start the investigation due to the Vote of No-Confidence, but there's no way he thought it would find anything. He can't have. Palpatine is one of the only politicians worth trusting in the Senate.

Surely Obi-Wan knows that?

He's always allowed Anakin to go visit Palpatine, even when he was a child, so he couldn't have thought anything was suspicious. The same goes for the Council for that matter!

They would have stepped in and refused Palpatine's requests for Anakin to visit if they thought he was corrupt. The Council hates politics outside the Order, and they always speak of the need to root out corruption.

They must have found Palpatine trustworthy then, and he's done his best since he became chancellor—no matter what Senator Mandai thinks.

It'll... It'll be fine.

Anakin swallows harshly and clenches his fists in his hair. He just needs to talk to Padmé and Obi-Wan.

He's too ashamed to face Palpatine—Obi-Wan got him into this situation, and Anakin has always vouched for him with the former chancellor—even though he knows his friend probably could use the support. Palpatine is strong, he can no doubt manage until Anakin gets a grip on himself.

~~~~

Padmé watches the news as they break. Former Chancellor Palpatine has been arrested and placed on house arrest pending the trial.

She presses her lips together and fights down the fear and anxiety she feels at the news. She knows Palpatine used the occupation of Naboo to further his career, so in a way she's not... She's not surprised that the investigation has found something...

But at the same time... Using an existing tragedy that you cannot make undone anyway is not the same as actively corrupting the system. Padmé should know, her own career has been helped by her hard work in disaster zones. So even though she knows that Palpatine used her—used Naboo—the thought that he may be entirely corrupt...

It feels foreign. It feels wrong.

It's as if there's an itch in the back of her head, as if there's a voice whispering to her to tread carefully, to doubt everything, because who knows who's truly to be trusted?

Her head hurts.

Her heart hurts when she considers how conflicted and hurt Anakin must feel right now. As if her husband needs more on his plate. One of his dearest friends possibly being a criminal of a terrible degree won't be a devastating blow to him.

She picks up her comm and looks at it, wondering if she should send him a message. He probably needs her, right now.

They never should have married.

At least then that would be one less thing weighing on him. At least then there might be a chance for them, for the dream of a happy ending.

She chokes back a sob. She must be strong.

Anakin will need her to.

~~~~

Bail listens intently to the report, drumming his fingers against the top of his desk. So the corruption stems as far as this, does it?

He glances down at the files and notes Miss Marili gave him just before the explosion in the Senate Office Building. He's still going through them to verify their validity, but so far everything checks out, and her own notes and thoughts are very astute.

Bail has always known, taught as such at his mother's knee, that if you want to truly know what goes on in an institution, you ask the aides and the lower-ranks—those who fade into the background. After all, who thinks of what the secretary overhears when they walk inside with documents? Or even what they can piece together they remain at their station by who comes and goes. Miss Marili, currently the aide of Senator Jacks of Belazura and the former aide of Senator Larr of Saram, is an excellent example.

Her information is very interesting indeed, and dates back decades.

Bail wonders just what it was that caught her eye, what sent her looking in the first place... But he's yet to hear that story from her. He's also curious as to why she came to him rather than Senator Jacks, but it's possible that it's due to his position as a Core World Senator.

And possibly his known friendliness with the Jedi—definitely important considering the content of her research.

Still, Bail can't make any moves as of yet. The information may check out for now, but who knows if she's hidden some falsehoods that could prove damaging within it. After all, she is an unknown factor, and Bail knows very little about her.

In fact, how Bail does not even know how she ended up as Senator Larr's aide in the first place, considering how young she must have been at the time. Perhaps her family moved to Saram at some point. That could, of course, be how Senator Larr found her in the first place since a Twi'lek family taking up residence rather than just going on holiday there would likely draw attention. Aside from the native human population few make Saram their permanent home despite its popularity as a vacation planet, as far as Bail knows.

Regardless, her mysterious past and everything else together makes for quite the puzzle.

Perhaps she'll trust him with the truth at a later time—though no doubt will he need to prove himself first.

All in all, the political situation on Coruscant is growing increasingly complex, even when you don't take the currently ongoing civil war into consideration.

~~~~

So those cretins think they've found something on him, do they?

Well, they'll certainly see about that.

Palpatine has made damn sure that anything more than slightly frowned upon will fall entirely on Amedda. The fool was always set up to take the fall should something go wrong and Palpatine's plot was derailed—as it has been.

At most Palpatine himself will receive a slap on the wrist and an admonishment to hire better staff.

Even so, he suffers the utter humiliation of being stranded on Coruscant, wearing a prisoner's bracelet to ensure he cannot leave the planet. They'll all suffer for this humiliation, the lot of them. Palpatine will grind Kenobi's skull to dust for daring to set this farce in motion.

Blasted Jedi.

He'll bathe in their blood and relish in every single second of it.

—

(Supreme Chancellor Obi-Wan Kenobi masterpost)

#Supreme Chancellor Obi Wan Kenobi #my writing #star wars #obi wan kenobi #padme amidala #anakin skywalker #bail organa #palpatine #update

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juleswolverton-hyde · 4 years

Text

The Words upon the Window Pane | Chanyeol

Genre: Smut, Angst (only a wee bit), PwP

Pairing: Auhor!Chanyeol x Reader

Warnings: Top!/Dom!Chanyeol, fingering, unprotected wall sex (ALWAYS do it safely, lads and lasses!), subtle dom/sub themes, swearing/cussing, dirty talk, love bites

Summary: The relation between Logic and Passion is often difficult for artists and certainly so when the involved parties dabble in words. Because language has the power to conceal the truth, to say what otherwise might not be said.

The words upon the window pane.

However, one night, a mouth is brave enough to at last utter them.

And to bring about unexpected consequences.

Author’s Note: The title is derived from the play of the same name by W.B. Yeats, who is, as you may or may not know, one of my favourite poets and greatest inspirations as of late. Furthermore, this is the first EXO smut piece to be written by this wee birdy, which hopefully shall not disappoint more experienced EXO-Ls.

All in all, I hope you enjoy the work of a feather.

Making a living as an author is not easy, especially when starting out and having only a single book to one’s name. However, Voice is not merely a literary tool to use in order to be heard, since it can also realistically become audible when speaking. All in all, it remains a fluent phenomenon and so it is of great benefit to storytellers to have mastery over it. To provide experiences that ignite vivid imagery thanks to simply creating an ambience with sound when not craftily doing the same on the page. Such is the talent of the author rapidly grown popular online due to a deep voice and funny personality, thousands of women drooling over the tailored experiences provided to them on multiple platforms.

But none of them has ever gotten the real deal, their sensual emotions remaining one-sided whereas those of a newbie novelist are answered.

Sometimes.

The relationship started after the romance department of the same publishing house contracting the famous erotic writer took a bold chance by offering a contract to an unknown name having just completed a manuscript about an innocent coffee shop romance. During the meeting with the assigned editor, icy pale locks wandered into the modern cafeteria and toward the table where a conversation about the next steps towards actual publishing took place, sitting down wordlessly and merely observing. Withal, basalt irises blatantly ignored rapidly flushing rosy cheeks on the adjacent seat, focused intently on the ones across the table that tried to maintain a steady composure.

Yet it crumbled bit by bit as genuine interest was shown during a spontaneous proposal to drink coffee together sometime after the editor held a brief round of introductions at the end of the important chat, which had gained an unintentional third participant. Piece by stiff piece got chipped away over warm beverages thereafter, talking about upcoming manuscripts and the professional giving a newbie a couple of tips to not stumble and, perhaps, fall without hopes of getting up.

And were entirely smoothed out among the sheets after the daring kiss when goodbye came on the first proper dinner date, Chanyeol leaning in without hesitance to rapidly turn a chaste caress of the cheek into sin once having been escorted safely to the front door of one’s own roof.

To make a heart fall for one which is unbound, according to the rumours spoken by the female tongues which all supposedly possess a sensual experience of sorts concerning the novelist. Notwithstanding, one can talk but not say anything, let alone the truth. Withal, the gossip has expanded while being in a strange type of relationship, always being the first to propose something to do and bleached smooth strands simply agreeing if the busy schedule allows it, of course. Spontaneous proposals for a movie night or trying out a new café are one-sided, the first time drinking coffee together being the sole occasion on which it came from the distant beloved. However, during the opportunities to be together, it never fails to feel genuine.

Sincere in spite of the mouths believing it is merely about sex, warning to get out now before it is too late.

The logical ship has left the safe haven.

It is too late.

Regardless of bravely sailing in an individual sea, the doubt can never be kept at bay since it lurks as a kraken in the darker waters coming up on the journey every now and again. After all, the fans of the deep voice catering supposedly “exclusive” experiences for them would loathe the fact their imaginary lover actually has a girlfriend. Moreover, the serpents roaming the office keep telling tales that steadily grow arms and legs, each limb stemming from the period in which minds were apart.

Those spans of time increase in frequency.

Lunch grows lonelier.

Days are spent in isolation.

Reassuring words do not hold significance on the floor of the publishing house nor on those of one of our apartments on a lucky night.

No acknowledgement.

All there is, is vagueness.

Just something.

Something.

Undefinable.

Certainly not pretty or comforting.

Empty. Yes, that is the best way to describe it.

Hollow, lonely, one-sided.

Unrequited.

And it takes away the hunger at the dinner table beneath the luxurious roof, the expensive wine and home-cooked meal using high-quality ingredients holding as much inherent value as a shilling in the gutter. So the fork is put down, the bite laboriously swallowed and focus averted from the porcelain plate presenting little yet seeming too stacked.

‘Baby, are you alright?’ Head cocked to the side in wonder, Chanyeol stops mid-bite, sensing something is off.

Something.

Always something is off.

Right now, it finds a voice in a lowly muttered remark as disappointed fingers shove the still full plate and cutlery away as far as possible. The stomach can live with the stone in it, like the heart slowly freezing itself thanks to the vicious tales of betrayal can continue to exist in ice. After all, even this week’s audio consisting of ‘’sexy’’ unboxing ramblings and testing out toys sent by mistresses somewhere else is but a mere drop in the overflowing bucket. ‘I’m not hungry.’

The limit has been reached.

End of the line.

Of this.

Us.

If there even ever has been a happy chronicling couple.

‘You’ve barely eaten.’ The unsuspecting fork picks up a perfectly grilled asparagus, endeavouring the feed a soul starved of happiness. A perfectly useless attempt at making things right for the culprit knows very well what goes on behind the scenes that are enacted every time at the workplace, the little faked though credible moments of two youngsters being solely friends but perhaps a bit more. No one knows for sure, but they do assume. Gossip has a way of being heard, even when feigning to ignore it in favour of personal fantasies. ‘At least have a few more vegetables.’

‘Did it...’ A wry smile carves itself on a face which is on the edge of tears, remembering every word said at the collective coffee machine in the cafeteria alongside the lovesick comments on every digital upload and equally sensual reaction to a novel novel. How can the detailed storyteller not notice the burning water droplets searing their way to the lash line?

Begging.

Begging to fall.

To be noticed.

Because they have had to hide so bloody long in loneliness.

Denied.

A significant detail.

‘Did it mean anything?’ God forbid that the words spilt between the sheets, on dates and in secrecy in the coffee corner did not hold any meaning. Withal, knowing how writers are for the craft is part of one’s own personality, there are no better tricksters. Words can be made pretty, cunningly serving to conceal the ugly truth.

‘What? Did what mean anything? Babe, what are you on about?’ The uncomprehending gravely worried furrowed brows relax, raven irises softening as they discover the tale of the Ice Queen’s heart and damnably igniting the thawing process. Looks can kill, as is the word on the street, and the big pale wolf knows it judging by the gentle smile only reserved for his foolish mistress. ‘You’ve been listening to gossip again. Look, I’ll say it again and I still mean it. I love you, Y/N. Only you. You ought to know that by now.’

The supposedly well-meaning palm resting between the abandoned dishes is not lovingly covered, digits remaining apart instead of entwining in blissful union. Instead, the chair is pushed back as the napkin that formerly rested on the lap is viciously thrown onto the table surface. Voice is barely controlled, dangerously close to cracking yet forced to maintain steady fury. ‘Don’t fucking lie to me! I know this means nothing.’

‘Means nothing? This means nothing?’ The actions are fiercely mimicked, the pleading tone in speech overruling the fabricated calm demeanour. ‘It does, babe. It really does.’

‘Yeah, right. As if you haven’t said that to one of those horny dolls who gladly listen to their fantasy boyfriend or read about all the wonderful things you’d do to them. What did you call them again? Your honeys?’ There is no stopping the jeering guided by the incomparable ache rendering every nerve paralyzed, an alternative ego who feels betrayed rising with every second of the outburst.

In the end, she, too, is one of many.

I am nothing.

‘Babe, please-’ Agonizingly following footsteps attempt to reason, begging to stay for a proper vis-á-vis to resolve this “problem” while making their way to the hallway.

Evidently without success. ‘Oh, piss off. I’m sure you had others in the time I was gone.’ The searing tears on lashes in the wee hall finally stream down the cheeks, lost in bittersweet memories of a time ruled by naivety. When every touch was so certain of love, felt protective and was believed to be sincere.

Notwithstanding, that was then.

This is now.

‘It really meant something to me, you know? I fucking gave myself to you because I stupidly trusted you, Chan! You were my first.’ A shake of the head brings about enough steadiness to remain coherent in speech, to at least keep a total breakdown at bay a little longer. The battle is almost won, a little bit more perseverance needs to be put in before all might become actually well. ‘But I could’ve, no, should’ve known better. So fuck off and leave me alone.’

Just as a hand reaches towards the knob of the front door, a firm palm wraps painfully around the left wrist. Once that power was loved, but now it is just that: hurt.

And it wants… needs to be left behind.

To make it pay for the solitude.

The agony needs to face the consequences.

‘No.’

The pain in the shape of the man who was believed to make up the world.

Stupid.

We both only have our stories to speak honestly in because they are the sole place where it is possible to be true.

Funny how a broken heart ignites a sense of creativity to exploit and there is a sudden haste to make use of it. Or so the mind wants this to be the reason behind the futile struggle for freedom for the real reason is the simple need to get away before breaking the character of the hard-headed sneering Ice Queen and leave oneself in fragments on the battlefield. ‘Let. Me. Go.’

A vicious tug makes feet stumble away from the entryway and slam into the wall opposite the stairs, Chanyeol’s face mere inches away and obsidian irises burning with sorrowful rage that has grown from incomprehension. All acting halts at once, alarmed breath coming out ragged as the powerful gentleman is sought frantically on a quietly raging beautiful expression. ‘I won’t. Not until you finally listen to me and know who you belong to, young lady.’

Slender digits clad in a chic ink-black jacket roughly push aside underwear, unapologetically disappearing beneath the skirt to exert sexual dominance as lips powerfully nullify all chances at protest. ‘This is mine. Only mine. All I can think about these days, so much so I can’t even write without giving you a role in my novel.’

The possessive growling fuels the heat below, slowly reducing the hurtful stretch, as all vocabulary is lost in the marks left behind on the throat by stark white teeth. Miraculously, the ability to resist the temptation remains although it falters and starts to stutter in the strong secure warmth of a familiar palm at the end of the spine. ‘I- I don’t be- believe you.’

‘Who do you think is more credible?’ A rough mind-boggling thrust goes paired with the branding being interrupted to snarl against a slightly open mouth, dominant despite oddly affectionately resting foreheads against one another and chuckling as haphazard fluttery palms rest on broad shoulders. ‘The man who loves you or some women you don’t even know?’

In spite of being barely able to respond, a piece of hateful Logic remains and is capable of jeering and mocking the question that should have served to set things right. ‘But y- you could’ve fucked.’

‘I didn’t. Listen to me, young lady.’ The hand that formerly rested on the small of the lower back rises to envelop the throat, forcing a lock of gazes while enchantingly cutting off access to air. ‘Ever since we met, I’ve been yours. I’d never give anyone else a role in my novels because nobody inspires me like you do.’

‘D- Don’t stop.’ There is too much deliria to persist in protesting, each movement beneath fabric erasing the thought of resisting the platinum wolf as soon as it arises. Instead, it gives rise to memories of beautiful naive nights that make up the horror and delight of an insane mistress of letters, both inside the pages and outside.

Throwing the heart back into bittersweet love.

‘Ah, there she is. There’s the helpless little slut I know.’ With an ashamedly wet noise, slim fingers undo the bodily connection that had been greedily gone along with, leading to an inevitable displeased whine that evokes a lovely dark chuckle.

A nudge of the nose asks to follow the focus of the seemingly only sane mind, see what the writer wants to be noticed without resorting to loathsome spoon-feeding. It is all in the details, that is where the heart of the tale lies. ‘See that?’

Lashes flutter innocently as gaze wanders lower and lower to restricting dusk-shaded denim, wordlessly remarking on the considerable outlined shape that the idiotic heart and persona meant to have walked out the door greatly want to exploit. ‘Only you do that to me, Y/N.’ An almost sweet peck on the forehead turns attention upward briefly before receiving another on the lips, after which a command makes hands act in too enthusiastic desirable greed. ‘Undo the zipper.’

It takes little time nor effort to force down sturdy and elastic fabric to bare burning desire to the chill air in the hallway. And it takes even less than that very same moment to be pinned against the wall once again, thighs supported by iron hands promising to never let go, and directly connect in body and soul.

Willingly.

Beautifully.

‘Fuck, every time is like the first. I remember our, grm, hrm, first night. How you begged me to go harder-’ the speed accelerates, snarls growing more and more savage with every advance as behaviour, too, becomes wonderfully harsher, ‘rough you up. All the while acting like an innocent doe, turning me on. Mewling, pinned to the bed, forced to take me. God, I love it when you’re like that. Helpless. Powerless. Submissive.’

Every word is accentuated by an animalistic thrust, a sweet kiss on the side of the neck contrasting with the teeth leaving behind plum marks of possession at equal intervals. A low rumble of delight at platinum locks being pulled on vibrates in the buff chest lovingly keeping the spine against the wall, rejoicing in the flowing waterfall of mere meek noises.

Exactly as we were during the first night.

Loving now as we had before.

Honestly.

Snarling sweet nothings against skin while erasing every thought in the chase for the satisfaction of primal desire. When tears of analyzed sadness turned into those of unadulterated pleasure. ‘Crying as you take my cock deep inside that dripping little pussy.’

‘Cha- Chanyeol-’ There are no words to break through the haze of bittersweet nostalgia, leaving the sentence unfinished. It does not matter for all focus is turned towards reaching temporary enlightenment as fast as possible in the most savage manner.

‘Cum on that cock, baby. Cream that fucking cock.’

Any sense of resistance that somehow managed to linger, loathing Logic deeming the act wrong in every aspect and begging for liberation, is erased in an instant as the command is pressed onto firm lips.

It is wonderful.

Incredibly gorgeous.

Having Chanyeol wrap his storytelling palm around the throat once more as the other presses bodies together until there cannot possibly be any distance left. Wolfish grunts fall from cushiony lips, chanting maddening “mine, mine, mine”s, while sprinting during the final bit of the primitive race, soon reaching the white light found between shivering thighs.

Who are crying silently in a paradoxical mixture that cannot be kept alive consisting of sensual delight, heartbroken self-hatred and rage directed towards loved pale locks.

Tears to, fortunately, be noticed once reason returns enough to no longer be under the influence of the desirable beast beneath the skin. Henceforth, it is the incredible author who affectionately wipes away the droplets running over the cheeks as onyx irises soften in comprehension of pain. ‘Hey, don’t cry, Y/N. Remember what I promised you?’

A head shake shows ignorance because there have been a great number of promises until now, which is acknowledged by the low chuckle that never fails to allow the usual guard to be let down and now disrupts the quiet panting betraying a sliver of glad exhaustion. The simple sound never fails to make the chest puff a little in pride and veins to bask in a loving warmth, even after being frozen in place without hopes of crumbling thanks to the vivid rumours floating around the office. ‘I know I have promised you a lot, but one thing is that I’d never make you cry because I’d never dare to break your heart. I genuinely love you, seriously am head over heels for you. Can you believe me when I say that?’

It is hard to respond negatively when bodies are still one and foolishly trusted palms envelop the cheeks, resulting in wavering speech on the verge of cracking. Withal, a little bit of strength is gathered from the tight grip on defined biceps engraved with ink. ‘I wa- want to, but... the gossip...’

‘Listen.’ A long tender kiss muffles the sobs aching to be released alongside the gasp at the sudden hollow feeling when the physical spell is lifted. Another one asks for focus on talking things over instead of paying attention on the faint sound of liquid dripping onto the hallway tiles. ‘You crying makes me want to cry because it hurts me to see you like this. It really does, babe. And people will always talk, but, perhaps, it might help if we go public? I have an interview soon.’

‘People will think I’m only dating you for your money.’ No matter if a statement will be made, the way of thought lies outside the influence of words. Authors know this first and foremost for each sentence that is penned down fails to fully convey what might be going on in vivid imagination and thus fails to be entirely understood.

A bittersweet smile tugs on the corners of the mouth as messy snow white locks fall obscure the sight of lips drawn into a stern line speaking melancholically, mocking oneself. ‘I wouldn’t mind if you’d do.’

With more fierceness than expected, an answer to the rhetorical assumption bursts from a panicked mouth uncensored, clutching the soft fabric of clothes as if not doing so will induce an unbridgeable abyss. ‘But I don’t!’

‘I know that, Y/N. I know.’ Thumbs start to caress the sides of the face, somberly smoothing the anxious sorrow in self-reflection. ‘You know I hate losing, be it games or bets, but- but I- I-‘ Breaths grow short as tears start to brim in the corner of beautiful almond-shaped eyes. Hands fall away from the cheeks to wrap around the middle, the waist caught in a sturdy grip. Foreheads rest against each other and the arms of a claimed mistress wrap around the neck, fingertips playing with the pale strands at the back. ‘I would scorn myself if I’d lose you.’

‘You’ll lose readers if we go public.’ After all, not everyone enjoys a real life romance and certainly not those imagining one individual as their partner while he is, in truth, already faithfully bonded to another woman.

‘Doesn’t matter, I don’t care. If they’re true fans, they’ll be happy for us.’ Chanyeol’s voice has renovated its ocean deep steadiness, tiny lights appearing out of nowhere to illuminate a sudden bright cheery idea in a nightly gaze creating a bit of distance. ‘You know what? I’ll buy you a ring and a matching one for myself so everyone can see you’re mine.’ A palm shows itself from behind the small of the back to grab the left wrist and trace over the second-to-last digit. ‘To wear on this finger.’

‘You’d do that?’

‘Yes.’ The breathless chuckle is strangely melancholic yet delighted, the curious combination taking over demeanour entirely. ‘Yes, of course. Anything to keep you with me.’ The mere embrace suddenly turns into an inescapable hug, broad shoulders blocking out the world that wants to be temporarily forgotten. ‘I want you with me, only you. Please, stay with me. Here.’ The nose often kissed in the morning or cheekily out of sight of the publishing house staff nuzzles the side of the neck, whispering against the warm skin. ‘I want you to move in.’

‘Is that a wish or a command? I’m my own person, you know?’ The weak attempt at humour is seemingly appreciated, Chan tangibly chuckling before sighing in relief when being kissed on the top of the head.

‘There she is, there’s my good clever girl.’ Foreheads come to rest against each other once more in the air scented by whatever remains of dinner, perspiration and our perfumes combined, creating a weird musky howbeit fruity undertone. The chin is lifted by a curled finger after calmly being put to rest against the wall instead of being fully at the mercy of the writer’s engraved arms. ‘But you know very well what I mean, young lady.’

‘I do,’ fingertips bashfully run over the side of the storyteller’s neck, leaving behind a growling trail of anticipating goosebumps before rising to comb through pale strands, ‘sir.’

‘Don’t.’

A peck.

‘Tease.’

A kiss.

‘Me like that.’

Lip caught between teeth.

And freed once having clearly asserted dominance. ‘I��m yours.’ Although the inquiring peck on the cheek does not partake in the sensual teasing but is severe in character. ‘And you’re mine?’

Catching on to the need for credibility, the erotic novelist acknowledges it while sweetly yet sincerely murmuring. ‘Entirely yours. Not just in stories or audios, in real life as well. As long as possible, until we no longer breathe. This I promise.’

And thus this part of our tale ends, the fragment of the middle part leading to the end.

Of that which ink cannot fully capture on paper, in sounds or on skin.

Withal, it is not necessary because we have each other for inspiration and retellings.

Musing.

In love.

In medias res.

#ksmutclub #EXO #EXO smut #EXO x Reader #Chanyeol #Park Chanyeol #LOEY

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crownonymous · 4 years

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Harry Potter Analysis Essays: General Worldbuilding

Because we all fucking know Rowling didn’t create this world with any sense of nuance or deep thought so here we fucking are, doing the work ourselves. Do keep in mind, though, that I haven’t touched a single Harry Potter book in almost a decade; all of these are mostly inferences, headcanons, and references pulled from other magic systems and worldbuilding tools found in other media.

This post will detail basic worldbuilding with the intent of fleshing out the Harry Potter universe. List of topics for easy navigation: Technology, Commerce, Education, Religion. Warnings for: gun mention (technology); death mention (religion)

The term “witch” will be used to describe practitioners of magic in this analysis regardless of sex or gender, because witch has always been a gender neutral term and I will never forgive Rowling for pulling the whole witch and wizard bullshit. Now. The analysis.

TECHNOLOGY

There are no phones in Hogwarts. There are no computers in Hogwarts. There are no guns in Hogwarts. And considering that witches from other schools (Durmstrang, Beauxbatons) don’t have these as well, it’s safe to assume that this is the norm for the witch community. There HAS to be a reason for this. Instead of a plot hole, let’s think of this as an obstacle for the magic world. There are no guns, no computers, no phones in Hogwarts not because of lack of thought, but of actual impossibility.

One way or another, complicated electronics and technology don’t work. The most complicated piece of technology that I can think of in canon are the train, the Weasley’s car, and the bus. I might be missing a few things, but that’s all that stands out to me. That’s how little magical technology plays a part in the canon storyline. That’s how little technology is talked about in the universe. Which, to me, is a fucking tragedy.

Address the kind of elitist view witches have in regards to their magic, especially in comparison to muggles. We, as actual people living in the real world, have seen this kind of behaviour many times before. Refusing to acknowledge the advancements made by other countries and cultures because we perceive our own to be superior, or we view that advancement as petty and useless. Remember the people who dunked on the first photograph of a black hole because it was blurry? It’s like that, but with a bigger population who all basically have the same “muggle technology? big pass” attitude. Arthur fucking Weasley didn’t understand how a train terminal worked and part of that is ignorance and the witchy upbringing.

Witches aren’t taught to appreciate muggle technology. Or really, muggle anything. And this lack of understanding and knowledge kind of drove home the superiority complex thing which again, further discourages muggle understanding, and the cycle continues on.

That’s the ideological reason for why there’s practically no muggle technology found in the magical world. Now, what about a different reason? What if the magical world does, indeed, have technology, but in a different way than how muggles perceive technology.

Take the internet for example. We have a wide collection of knowledge that we can access with a phone and wifi. What’s the witch equivalent of that? There are printed books of course, but what about something else? The pensieve is magical technology that can store memories, which is basically home videos and photos. What about several different pensieves connected to each other? Witches can store their memories inside their pensieves, connect it to other witches, and form a network of knowledge so that anyone can essentially dunk their heads in water and live through a step-by-step process on how to make a fucking cake. That counts as technology that intrinsically ties to magic.

So in theory, witches can invent technology tailored to and for them. Medicine that seeks out magical energy to ease the pain of curses and hexes. Bottles that can be filled up with raw, unfiltered magic to be used as bombs or accelerants for other forms of magic. Blank portraits hung in witch homes, where inhabitants can magic a picture of someone onto each other’s canvases to serve as video calls. So many fucking opportunities that weren’t taken.

But why not use muggle technology? It’s already been invented. Is elitism really so prevalent that witches would rather look like fucking idiots using quills and inkwells instead of a fucking pencil? Maybe there’s a reason for that too.

Forgive me for scientific inaccuracies but let’s suppose that witch magic can materialise as energy, able to be detected on the electro-magnetic spectrum. Basically, magic has the same effect on electronics as an EMP would. It shorts out wiring, makes electronic lights flicker, fucks up complicated pieces of technology just by being in magical presence. So, by that logic, if a witch holds a phone, their magical energy would make that goddamn phone go bust. Or worse, explode. And can you imagine what that kind of energy would do to firearms? There have been cases of firearms accidentally discharging because they were dropped. What will happen if the nature and construction of firearms react negatively to fucking magic? Yeah. There’s your reason as to why people didn’t just shoot each other in the head. Complicated technology and magic don’t mix.

But the Weasley car has fairly complicated technology. So, how does that work? In comes witch inventors whose passion and job is basically finding ways to make muggle technology work with the natural witch portable always-on EMP aura. In the PJO universe, Demigods don’t use phones very often because the waves make them more easily detectable. Same concept, but a little more violent. Arthur works for the Ministry which explains why he would have access to a car that doesn’t explode to fiery bits when it comes in contact with a witch’s magic. In fact, that car probably does what muggles did when inventing guns that can fire continuously. In the gun’s case, the recoil from the first shot is used to create energy for the second shot. Not a gun person so I don’t know how to explain it in more detail, but that’s basically it.

That “harnessing recoil” thing can be applied to the car as well. Instead of being shot dead with the all natural witch EMP, the car uses that constant discharge as fuel. Which presents a different challenge for magical inventors: create technology that doesn’t clash with natural magic. One way is to use pre-existing magical tools like the pensieve and improve upon it. Another is the recoil thing, which is finding ways where the constant ambient magic doesn’t disrupt the technology in question.

This is the same reason I use for every fantasy AU I have to explain why characters don’t just shoot each other. And it works for the Harry Potter universe as well.

COMMERCE

You expect me to believe that the ONLY jobs are magical-related? Fuck that noise. There are bakers and architects and taxi drivers and teachers and authors and inventors and clerks and construction workers and hairdressers historians. Remember kids, the job itself doesn’t have to be magic, you just have to be creative with the application. There’s nothing magical about being a taxi driver. You have a vehicle, you pick people up, and you drop them off. The magic comes from how you do it.

Instead of trying to make the job magical (like Aurors, which are basically magic police officers) how about we focus instead on finding ways to apply magic to the job? Back to the taxi driver, how does a taxi driver compete with magical methods like apparition, the floo network, and straight up flight? Please remember that apparating is dangerous and that the floo network has to be connected with the Ministry to work (at least in Britain) and flight is, well, flight.

Taxi drivers in the magical world have to compete with that, so how do they do it? They can take the knight bus route, which is make travel speedy so witches can go from point a to point b relatively quick. Another is to make the ride as comfortable as possible. You have magic, pull a Tardis in the cab and make it so passengers open the door and find themselves in a goddamn hotel suite so they can relax during their commute.

Have your bakers make figures out of fondant and marshmallows that come to live as the candles are blown out. Imagine those little birthday cakes with cars and mermaids and other stuff on top. Now imagine those things coming to life as you blow out the candles. They’re like chocolate frogs without the stupid nonsensical time constraint. Can you imagine what it’ll be like if you have a cake topper that’s a car that can actually move around? Maybe zip through the air around you? Dunno bout y’all but I want that.

And how would trade between witch communities go? No matter how much you try to convince me, I refuse to fucking believe that the sickle/galleon thing is universal across ALL witching communities. Fucking impossible. So there has to be different witch currencies out there with their own exchange rate compared to the sickle/galleon system as well as their respective muggle currency in relation to where they are.

Because of the fact that muggle exchange rates will ALWAYS be present because of the numerous muggleborn and half-blood witches who don’t want to yeet an entire part of their life away just because they can levi someone’s corpus, there IS muggle trade. I refuse to fucking believe that the extent of witch and muggle commerce begins and ends with the exchange of currency. There HAS to be goods and/or services exchanged. Otherwise, how would witch banks even acquire muggle currency in the first place? Do they fucking steal it from the unsuspecting public? No, they gain muggle currency through trade.

Just because witches can make chocolate frogs and moving pictures on cards, doesn’t mean that it’s what they HAVE to make. Witches can easily make things that they can sell in the muggle world that have no magic. Notebooks, kitchen implements, etc. With magic, manufacturing these will be incredibly easy and could break the muggle economy. So I think only banks have clearance to sell witch-made mundane objects to muggles for the purpose of getting muggle currency so they can exchange that with magic currency. There are plenty of muggleborn and half-blood witches that may need muggle currency when they return to the muggle world, so the demand is reasonably high.

Basically, my point is, witch communities trade with each other because that’s what we as humans do. We find something we’re good at, find someone else who’s good at what we suck shit at doing, and we fucking trade. If, for example, British witches are good at making magical confectionery, they can then trade those confectioneries for things like self-writing quills or magical blankets that keep you at your preferred temperature. My point is that there is trade and communication between different witch communities that allow them to better their respective communities whilst simultaneously learning from others.

EDUCATION

Put aside the Hogwarts sorting thing because THAT shitshow deserves its own post. For now, we’ll just take a look at the education system itself. Particularly how the magic education system mirrors our own real world “muggle” system. We will ask and answer this question: Why do these schools exist?

To teach children how to use and control magic, obviously. But why? Why is it so important to enroll every magic user into a witching school and why is it important for these children to get their magic under control? And if learning how to control magic is so important, is tuition still necessary? While we’re at it, we also have to ask: What happens to the children who don’t get taught? Rowling can try to convince me that every witch child was brought under a magic school like Hogwarts as soon as their magic manifested all she wants but that’s fucking impossible.

You mean to tell me that there are no children who were homeschooled? You mean to tell me that there weren’t witch children who bounced from foster home to foster home so often that no matter how much they tried to be located, these children were never picked up? You mean to tell me that there weren’t any children who didn’t want to go to a strange magical boarding school? The fuck are they going to do? Arrest children for non-compliance with magic laws of a magic world that the child wants nothing to do with?

If the answer to that question is “no”, then what do they do with children who have no wish to learn anything about their magical powers? Are they excommunicated from the witch community? Do they send a witch guardian to follow the child around like an underpaid bodyguard with the added difficulty modifier of having to stay undetected? I think that in order to use magic, one must have either focus, or an extreme emotional reaction. The magic we see in Hogwarts is controlled; the students want to cast the spells they’re casting and are in the right headspace to do so. The magic we see Harry do when he traps Dudley behind glass is emotional; his magic reacts to his current mental space and altered reality because of Harry. So an untrained witch who suddenly experiences an emotional outburst could potentially cause trouble, which is why it is best to at least inform them about their situation so they can be aware.

If the answer is “yes” however, that begets the question of WHY untrained witches need to be found and contained if they can’t (or won’t) control their powers. Thankfully, canon answers this one for us with the introduction of Obscurials. Obscurials (or Obscuros but I like Obscurial better so that’s what we’ll use) are the manifestation of a witch’s energy when they repress it, whether by their own volition or by the coercion of their environment. And as we all know, Obscurials are dangerous if left unchecked, because their magic is wild and untamed and capable of causing mass destruction not only to muggles, but to witches as well. So in the interest of protecting both muggles and witches from rogue Obscurials in unfavourable environments, it’s more practical to yeet as many students into witch schools as possible. Or at least get them to a mentor who can teach them if they don’t want to go to magic boarding school.

I really, really, want to talk more about Obscurials and how/why trauma does and doesn’t make Obscurials but we’re not focusing on that today.

We’re focusing on the magic education system.

We’ve now understood and established why education young witches on their powers and the practical applications of it is so important. In order to avoid damage to both witch and muggle society, people with magical talents should be taught how to control their powers so they aren’t a danger to themselves and to others. That’s all fine and dandy. But what do the schools actually teach?

Hogwarts has a fucking crisis every damn year so it isn’t the best example but it’s all we’ve got, so let’s look at it.

We have classes about the magical creatures that exist in the world, some benign and some actively malicious. We have classes on different kinds of magic and their applications (more on this in a different essay) in day-to-day witch life. We have self-defense classes against potentially harmful entities, whether they be another witch or something else. We have classes about different forms of magical practise including but not limited to: arithmancy, divination and herbology.

With this in mind, we can infer that there are multiple kinds of magical practise that range from potion-making to cursing someone to speak only in riddles for a week. We can also infer that the magical world is fucking dangerous. There are animals that can rip you apart without a moment’s notice, and there is an actual literal fucking spell that is a straight up fucking insta-kill if it hits you. If a young witch is caught unawares and unprepared, they will likely die.

And as we’ve learned, if a witch with uncontrolled powers experiences extreme duress, their magic reacts and lashes out at anything and everything. If the witch is powerful enough, they could straight up nuke several buildings (and everyone in em) out of existence.

So, the reason magical schools exist, and the reason why young witches are pressured to attend them, is to protect both the muggle world and the magic world.

But again, Hogwarts has a fucking goddamn crisis every year so other witching cultures might handle wayward witches differently. But we’ll never know because the canon worldbuilding fucking su-

RELIGION

To be fair, witches can be a part of many religions around the world. Some might be Jewish, others Catholic, maybe there are witches who are even Wiccan or Pagan or polytheistic. All of these options are possible and plausible. We also have a few canon examples of real life and “muggle” religions practised by the characters. Fat Friar was Roman Catholic during his lifetime, and because Christmas is celebrated in canon, it’s safe to assume that there are witches who are Christian and that the magic world has at least a passing knowledge of these religions.

All of these religions are also, coincidentally, religions that normal people, that MUGGLES, are a part of. Why is that important? There are half-blood and muggleborn witches, and they might worship the same God(s) their muggle parent(s) do. But there are also pureblood witches who very likely don’t know a lick about most of these religions. There are also pureblood families who might worship their own God(s) and thus, would shun away religions that muggles also participate in. Witches have also existed for as long as humans existed. And witch history (real life witch history) is brimming with hatred and violence and distrust towards witches from normal people. From muggles. So it would make sense for witches (especially pureblood witches) to have their own religion.

The problem now, is that we literally have nothing about that supposed religion. Coupled with the fact that there are literally witches everywhere, a universal religion to witches cannot be applied. We must also consider other cultures removed from Britain where the canon takes place. There are cultures all over the world whose magical practises tie in closely with their religion. I am not an expert on theology. So for the purposes of this analysis, we will focus on the supposed “non-muggle” religion likely practised by pureblood old-timey British witches.

Not that non-pureblood witches can’t practise it, but the world moves on and the stigma against muggles is slowly dwindling. With the rise of half-blood and muggle-born witches, it’s likely that more modern religions are adopted by these new witches. So it’s safe to say that these religions practised by pure-blood families are slowly phasing out. Which would also lead to the whole “blood purity” plot point. The old, traditionalist witches want to be more selective with newer witches so they can preserve their own culture and religion. *cough* parallels *cough*

Onto possible religions that would make sense with the barebone canon universe.

How about the Deathly Hallows?

It’s a story about three brothers, the personification of Death, and the cycle of life. It’s also a story about the values represented by the different Hallows, and a warning about the importance of temperance and how easily these values could be corrupted. In the context of the magic world, temperance is something that is SORELY needed, but unfortunately never fucking seen. Let’s review.

The Elder Wand: asked for by the oldest brother, the strongest wand in existence, a symbol of power. it is strength, it is action, it is decisiveness. In relation to a real-life religion, the Elder Wand is like the flaming sword in the Bible, used as a deterrent to ward away any who would dare try to step inside Paradise. In the HP universe, the Elder Wand can easily be seen as protection from evil, as a way for a witch to protect themselves and the people they hold dear to their hearts. As the strongest wand in existence, the wielder would have immeasurable power and of course, with great power comes great temptation. Temptation which the First Brother in the story succumbed to, and is thus met an untimely and gruesome end. It is a moral about how power in the wrong hands leads to an unfortunate end, and how witches should be proud of their gifts, but they should never be arrogant about it. Homeboi would have lived if he kept his mouth shut about having the most powerful wand in existence.

The Resurrection Stone: asked for by the second brother, a way to bring the dead from their graves, a memory and love for the past. it is grief, it is remembrance, it is guidance. There are several religions around the world that place emphasis on respecting and honouring the dead like Dia de Los Muertos. When we lose someone, especially someone important to us, we mourn, we grieve, we feel as though the world is ending. We are lost. The Stone offers consolation, an opportunity to see those we have lost so that we might move on. It’s a way for us to look back at the past, at the people we have lost, parents and grandparents, teachers and mentors, and ask for their guidance and wisdom. But it’s also a call for us not to stare, not to linger, and not to miss the past so much that we lose sight of the present. The second brother did not understand that moral, and so he misused the stone, preferring to live in the past rather than cherish the life he has which led to his demise.

The Invisibility Cloak: asked for by the third brother, something that could elude Death yet was ultimately surrendered, a reminder that life is short and fleeting. it is longevity, it is acceptance, it is sacrifice. Again, I’m not a theological expert and thus, failed to find a fitting real world religion to compare this particular section, but maybe we can look to nature instead. Death comes for all of us. It’s an unfortunate truth. It takes our family, it takes our friends, and it will inevitably take us. As the third and final brother, the story of the Cloak teaches us to accept that inevitability, and to live life to the fullest because of it. The third brother did not keep the Cloak for himself, he gave it to his son, so that his son may also live a long and fulfilling life. The third brother tried to pave the way for those that will come after him, and that’s ultimately what the Cloak tries to teach. One must try to live life with as few regrets as possible, so that when the time comes, one can pass the Cloak to someone else, pass down knowledge and experience and love, and greet Death as an old friend.

The three stories of the Deathly Hallows are fundamentally good. When you have Power, don’t abuse it. It is important to love and cherish the past, but you must live in the present. Death is inevitable, so make the most out of your time while you have it. At its core, the Deathly Hallows would make a good religion, especially for witches.

And of course, the bit about how one becomes the Master of Death should they come into possession of all three Hallows. In a sense, becoming the Master of Death is finally and wholeheartedly understanding the meaning and lessons the Three Hallows are trying to teach. Accepting responsibility for one’s powers and not abusing it, learning from and cherishing the past but living in the present, and of course doing your best to pave the road for those that will come after you. Understanding these three fundamental things preserves the values exemplified by the Three Witch Brothers and is basically Enlightenment for this supposed religion. All of this essentially boils down to “appreciate life and don’t be a dick” which is a good code to live by.

But, like any other religion, these tenets and values can easily be corrupted and perverted. Ancient pureblood families can so easily twist these morals to benefit them and their agenda. The First story can be interpreted as the Brother being too weak to be worthy of the Wand. The love shown in the Second story can be viewed as weakness. The Third Brother giving the cloak to his son in the third story can be used to dissuade altruism.

Religion in real life is complicated. Religion in a fictional universe can be complicated too. And this is only one small region of the universe. Who knows what kind of stories and lore and possible religions other parts of the world may have.

In conclusion, I spent four (almost five) goddamn hours of my one human life tilling at land that isn’t fucking arable, but I have a fucking shovel and I’m prepared to dig deeper into this godsforsaken fandom. I was given a skeleton made of wet tissue paper and I turned that shit into a skeleton made of sturdier materials that will support the weight of heavier ideas. Ideas like what actual combat between two witches who can mold reality like fucking play-doh would look like. You think it’s the boring glorified laser tag team battle we get in the movies? Fuck that, I’m going to give you more. Want an analysis on the Hogwarts Houses that isn’t “good, bad, smart, miscellaneous”? It’s on its fucking way.

This is just bare fucking bones. I’ll be writing more essays in the future and I’m bringing in the heavy shit. So go get comfortable because I’m not done picking this world apart yet.

#ref #crowsas analysis #hp #harry potter #hp analysis #fandom ref

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redstreakfox · 5 years

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HAPPY MAO-LLOWEEN

To celebrate this glorious day of spooks and terrors, I’m posting my secret halloween submission for @shapeshiftinterest ! They wanted a story about Rufus and Reggie trying to get candy from the Pure Heart citizens. I ended up mixing a few of their ideas into one story since I loved them so much. I really hope you enjoy it! :) and a shout out to @maomaosmother for organizing this whole event, it’s been a lot of fun to watch. You can read the fic here at AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21258122

Or down below the tag:

Any con artist worth their salt will tell you the number one rule is to always conduct yourself as if you’re being watched. It’s always meant as a formality, an adage passed around to remind oneself that even the smallest slip up could land you broke and in the nearest jail cell. Or, in rarer cases, crawling through a sewer after being pummeled by a five year old. Tonight, to Rufus’ annoyance, that thieving proverb was going to be taken far, far too literally than he would have liked.

Looking high up above the arching gate that leads into Pure Heart Valley’s kingdom, he saw the crown jewel he knew he’d never be able to have. Not even if he planned the largest heist of his career over the course of eight-and-eighty years did he think he’d have the slightest sliver of a chance in stealing it. It didn’t matter anyway, though. The Ruby Pure Heart wasn’t the focus of tonight’s current plan.

Thank god, too.

Staring back at him, from its place perched up on the mountaintop, was the visage of a ghastly jack-o-lantern; a hellish fire burning through its eyes and an upturned grin carved entirely out of malice. It was a ghoulish, frightening image projected across the entire surface of the heart shaped ruby, an homage meant to accentuate the ongoing Halloween festivities. And no matter where Rufus stood, whether there at the gate’s entrance or from the miles and miles back that he and Reggie had travelled through to arrive here, it was as if those fire haunted eyes were following him closely all the same.

Most likely the work of that peacocking king and his damned chameleon sorceress.

Nevertheless, he had a twofold scheme to accomplish that night and thus had no intention of letting any harvest season horrors deter him from it. He held out a hand in front of Reggie to stop him and then pointed it further to his left, indicating for the raccoon to follow him into a more discrete section of the woods that rung the outside of the kingdom’s walls. Settling into the shadowed underbrush, the fox pulled out from behind him a large burlap sack.

“So, what’s the plan again Rufus?” the raccoon asked, threading his fingers together as he watched the conniving fox dive arms deep into the sack. From out of it, Rufus retrieved a matching bag and handed it to his companion.

“This Hallow’s Eve, my furry friend, we’ll be engaging in a rousing rendition of trick-or-treat,” Rufus grinned. “Tricks for them. Treats for us. Tricks especially for that blasted sheriff and his snivelling cohorts.”

“But, won’t they recognize us? They didn’t seem to like us too much last time.”

“Reggie, you mean the world to me but this is why I come up with the plans. Remember when I told you to start practicing different voices? To see if you could mimic a certain one? Well, look around you.”

The raccoon began swiveling his head in every direction he could, puzzled at what he was meant to find other than dirt and trees. The fox merely rolled his eyes.

“I didn’t mean literally, Reg. It’s Halloween, the day when adults and youth alike hide themselves behind all sorts of masks and costumes to procure as much candy as they can,” he said, reaching once more inside his bag to fetch a pair of what seemed to be deflated skins; one as black as midnight while the other shone moonlit white overlayed here and there with patterns of brown. “And I believe maybe it’s time we start cashing in on the fun as well.”

The second con-artist rule, one that works well in many professions, is to always learn from your adversaries. Rufus could admit that when it came to Pure Heart Valley he had grown too complacent. The arrival of two new sheriffs were variables he hadn’t anticipated. Their use of pressed nylon suits to pretend to be other people was a tactic Rufus had anticipated even less.

He still woke up in a rush every now and then from the memory. The cat’s mocking smile appearing out of that tiny blue body, the nightmarish drill that had ripped through his partner’s head before Rufus had any idea what was happening. Reg, meanwhile, thought the entire ordeal had been hilarious in hindsight. Easy for him to say when he wasn’t the one who watched…

Regardless, it was a plan that (unfortunately) had worked near flawlessly, and it was a plan that Rufus now conspired to use himself. It was easy enough once he knew what to do. Finding the suit maker had been the first step, all it took was finding any talented tailor that practiced just even the smallest amount of magic, an occurrence that was fairly common in this day and age. The more difficult task came in collecting samples of who they needed the suits to resemble.

Pure Heart Valley was known for being a monster magnet. It was why the valley had needed a protective shield in the first place. Whether it was just a badly located area or the work of the Ruby Pure Heart attracting the creatures itself, the kingdom faced its fair share of attacks on a regular basis. It was during one of these episodes that Rufus saw an opportunity.

While he had Reg sneak into the city itself to steal what he needed from a handful of citizens distracted by the monster fight, Rufus, in turn, went to forage for hairs throughout the then empty sheriff’s department. To his excitement, it wasn’t the only valuable item he came across in his search.

“We’re going to have our fill of candy and our fill of revenge, getting those do-gooders the same way they got us,” the fox said, handing the badger suit over to Reg. “We’ll put these outfits on and mess around Pure Heart tonight as the sheriffs, using their authority to snag all the sweets and running their names through the mud in the process.”

Reggie looked at tentatively at the white nylon in his paws. “How do these even work? I’m like way too small for this to fit me.”

“Reg, both you and that badger somehow fit inside your tiny body, remember? They obviously work through magic. This isn’t some sort of cartoon show,” Rufus said. “Now help me fit inside of this.”

It was a while later, after a good half hour of struggling and stretching and preening, that the two bandits stood there wholly transformed into new people. With their appearance now in order, the pair set about preparing a decoy treat bag, filling it with a sizeable amount of pine straw and leaves found strewn about the forest floor. Once that was finished, Rufus slung the decoy over his shoulder while Reggie kept the empty one close to him.

Rufus, nodding, then led the two of them past the thinning line of trees and out into the open space just before the kingdom’s gated entrance. The fox, turning his head down to look at the raccoon before remembering that that night he would be needing to look up instead, threw his arms out wide in a grand gesture, “And now, let the show begin.”

Spinning back around, the disguised fox threw his weight against the wooden doors and pushed them open, revealing the warm glow of quaint rows of shops newly masqueraded in all sorts of Halloween decorations. The main fountain, the centerpiece of the starting plaza, ran blood red that night thanks to artificial coloring. Sweetypies of all shapes and sizes milled about the area, the ebb and flow of their mild-mannered chit-chat flowing around the two visitors in a steady hum.

The third rule to remember is that anyone who falls for a ruse once could always be made to do so again, and luckily for Rufus, this was a kingdom full of rubes he once had tied around his fingers not just once, or twice, but for three consecutive years. Or at least, it would have been three had two certain sheriffs and their shrieking bat brat not interfered with schemes they had no business meddling in.

Now, however, he had the chance to reclaim it all once more, even if just for a few fleeting hours. And for a night of sweets, what better place to start than in the baking district?

Muttons… Mittens? ...the yellow bakery mouse, whatever her name was, had been a personal favorite of Rufus’ during their Takes-giving day outings. Her offerings were never known for being on the expensive end, always usually an assortment of foods she had baked that morning, but Rufus never really cared when their taste more than made up for a lack of dollar amounts. And tonight, he planned to go straight to the source.

It was only two firm knocks before she answered her door, standing there dressed as a sunflower, a wooden spoon in one hand and a mixing bowl in the other as she stirred its contents.

“Oh, Sheriff Mao Mao, Badgerclops, I’m surprised to see you two not in costume. Where is your little deputy, Adorabat?” she asked.

“That little nuisance is probably eating out of a garbage can somewhere,” Rufus responded, trying to imitate a gruffer tone of voice. From the quizzing look the mouse suddenly gave him, he figured his voice, his response, or both was throwing her off. Unfortunately, being the sole plan maker, he hadn’t had the time to practice with his voice like he had intended. At least the nylon suits seemed to be properly working.

“Are you all right, Sheriff? You aren’t really sounding like yourself,” Muffins said, her stirring hand paused. Rufus simply stood there, mouth hung open and eyes wide as he wondered if attempting another response would only make things more suspicious. Thankfully, however, a large white badger stepped out in front of him.

“No need to worry, Muffins. This idiot’s been sick all morning. Probably from all of the doorknobs around town he’s been licking,” Reggie responded. Rufus looked up dumbfounded at the back of his partner’s head, astounded both at Reggie’s unusual quick thinking and how well his voice matched that of the badger’s. He had even managed to remember her name.

Thank goodness at least one of them was able to pull this off.

Rufus leaned around the side of the large body in front of him and offered the bakery mouse a weak smile. Her expression seemed to soften at that, her hand going back to stirring.

“Well, I’m sorry to hear that sheriff, I think. What brings the two of you to my shop tonight? Here to try my new spider cookies? Some pumpkin cobbler?” Muffins asked.

“Oh, we’re here to steal-,”

Rufus stepped in front of Reggie and made a sudden show of coughing, both to play up being sick and to cut off his partner from talking. “Seize, we’re here to seize a certain portion of your baked assets, my dear, for inspection. We’ve heard rumors of residents getting sick from some of the treats that have been passed around tonight and we’ve been making the rounds to see who’s responsible.”

“‘My dear’?” Muffins quoted him with a frown. “Well, I can assure you, sheriff, everything I’ve made today, tomorrow, forever, is done with the utmost care. Not a single person has ever been dissatisfied with anything coming out of my shop.”

Rufus leaned in, bringing his face closer to hers, “Then you should have nothing to worry about, hm?” He then stepped past her, ignoring her cries for him to stay outside. Reggie, following closely behind, locked the door behind him as Muffins tried to step through.

She hammered her fists against the door to no avail. Meanwhile, the two con men went to task raiding through her pantry and collecting as many baked goods as they wanted while still leaving plenty of room in Reggie’s sack for more of that night’s offerings. Upon opening the door, they found the little mouse seething on the other side of it.

“Sorry for the wait, my dear, we’ll have these tested out and get the results back to you as soon as we can,” Rufus said. The words had barely passed his lips before a sudden movement caught his eye. The fox ducked just in time to avoid the bowl Bakery Mouse had thrown at him.

“You will be sorry!” Muffins yelled at them. “Just wait till I call… till I call-”

“Who? Us?” the disguised fox asked as a laugh escaped him. “Sorry, citizen, the sheriff’s department has received your complaint and we’re afraid there’s nothing that can be done. Now, do try and keep yourself from causing a scene, won’t you? You’ll frighten the children,” Rufus said, stepping around the angry mouse and out onto the street again.

“Disorderly conduct is an arrestable offense, and we’ve got plenty of cell space!” Reggie yelled back towards her as he ran to catch up with Rufus, his voice still a perfect imitation.

The next couple of hours followed that near exact pattern. The two tricksters would come across a group of trick or treaters or residents passing out candy and whisk away their sugary confections under threat of legal action, sowing discord amongst the townsfolk when they could. Pretty soon, Reggie found his bag near full with only just enough room for potentially one more victim.

“This should do wonderfully for now, Reg,” Rufus said, lifting the bag as high as he could to test its weight. “That sheriff and his partner look like a fool now to half the town and we’ve got enough sweets here to topple a dentistry empire,” he grinned. He expected to hear a gleeful response from his partner, but when none came, he looked up to find Reggie staring dead faced out past the fox. “Reg?” Rufus asked.

“I can’t believe Muffins just gave you a free cobbler like that!” he heard a voice scream from somewhere yards behind him. He recognized that shrill voice, could picture the small blue bat it belonged to, and its sudden presence caused the fox to freeze right where he stood.

“More like she threw it at him, Adorabat,” he heard another voice chime, this one belonging to the real badger and not the fake one Rufus stood next to.

A growl cut through the air, “She’s just lucky I clean myself as much as I do! This could stain my fur if I let it sit long enough!” the growl said, morphing into a voice.

And there he was, the person Rufus had been hoping to avoid that night more than anyone.

“Oh yeah, I’m sure you’re just gonna hate licking cobbler off yourself for the rest of the night,” he heard the badger reply to the cat, their voices sounding even closer. They were definitely headed towards them. “What’s up with tonight anyway? Everyone’s been acting real weird around us, like we attacked them or something.”

Suddenly, Rufus heard Little Blue gasp, “Look, it’s us!” And then, out of nowhere, the little bat was there hovering just in front of his face. Instead of her normal wings, however, she wore costumed sleeves that resembled those of a fairy instead. Around the top of her head rung a thin silver loop of metal. A thin line of that same metal stretched out and away from the loop, and attached to its end was a white cardboard speech bubble pointed at the bat with the words ‘Hey, listen!’ printed across it. “Aw, well, it’s you two at least,” she said.

“Adorabat! You can’t just fly up to strangers like tha-... oh, wow, it actually is us dude,” the badger said, their voices now merely feet away. Rufus, finally mustering up the courage, turned around to meet them.

The badger, for his costume, was sporting a forest green tunic with a matching pointed green cloth hat, a plastic sword held haphazardly in his left paw. The cat, meanwhile, ignoring the splotches of cobbler, wore a short red wig with a shiny jewel affixed upon the middle of his forehead. The rest of his attire seemed like it was meant to be worn by one who would be found out wandering the desert. On top of his left paw was seen the imprint of a glowing yellow triangle.

The feline paused for a second at seeing his own self standing across from him, and then an open mouthed grin burst forth that lit up the entirety of his smug face.

“Ha! I knew the king couldn’t be right! See? There are people here that like me. Even enough to dress up like me,” the cat said, his chest puffed out to be as big as his ego. Then, his stance faltered, his expression shifting into one of hesitation, “Enough to dress up... too much like me, actually.”

“I don’t know man, I think it’s kinda neat,” the badger chuckled. Reggie, for his part, began playfully mirroring his twin’s movements as best he could, even going so far as to throw out a similar laugh.

“Ahhh, wait, never mind. It’s officially creepy now,” the real badger said, his good eye gone wide at hearing his own voice thrown back at him. Internally, it was all Rufus could do to keep himself from taking a swipe at his partner in frustration.

“All right, just who exactly are you-,” the cat began when a new timbre voice, appearing from out of nowhere, suddenly cut him off.

“Oh, sheriffs!”

‘For the love of god, no. Please, anyone but him,’ Rufus inwardly swore.

From out of a nearby side street emerged the carefully curated image of a regal street urchin. Careful rips and artistically placed smudges marked his dirty clothes, giving off the appearance of someone who spent most of their time living out on the streets rather than inside a home. The effort was wasted, however, as, under that ridiculous get up, it was still obviously Pure Heart Valley’s king. His perfectly coiffed mane and authoritative voice was a dead give away, not to mention that only feet away from him was his avian servant; a creature that followed the king more closely than his own proper shadow could.

“Your Grace,” the cat said, his attention now diverted to the newcomer, “what are you wearing?”

“Are you supposed to be some sort of smelly clown?” the bat confusedly asked.

“Oh, goodness no! I’m around the three of you enough for that as it is,” the lion frowned. “As you are all well aware, tonight is another year of Pure Heart Valley’s wonderful Hallow’s Eve festivities. As such, I am observing the time honored tradition of costuming myself as someone I am never able to be. To put myself into another’s slippers as one might say,” he chuckled. “Quite. And so for this year’s engagement, I have decided to become… you,” he finished with a bow.

“Me?” the bat asked incredulously.

The primly lion rolled his eyes and sighed, “No, child, not you, specifically. You, as in, all of you,” he said, waving his arms out in a sweeping gesture. “I have decided to let you all enjoy mine presence this night as someone that I know I mean the world to, as someone that whom without I would be nothing. Yes, I have dressed and paraded myself around tonight as the prototypical image of one of my many loyal subjects. To see what you all see, to live as you all do. I even walked myself down from the palace without being carried, see?”

The group turned their gaze over to the lion’s expressionless servant, and while it was true that on this night he was without the king’s usual recliner, he was instead found to be towing a bag that had to be at least ten times bigger in size than the bird himself. And from its opening, if one looked hard enough, could be seen what appeared to be more candy than any one person should ever have the right to own. Unless, of course, that one person just happened to be a certain wily fox.

Rufus could already feel the drool pooling in his mouth at the sight of it.

“Do you really think we all dress like tha-”

“Ah bup bup!” the king said, waving a hand in front of the badger’s face to silence him. “I did not come here to find you three and squander my time with useless jibber jabber. It has come to my attention that you all have been skulking around town and hoarding up all the candy you could find for some sort of poisonous investigation. Naturally, I have come to preemptively bring you mine own as my safety is of the utmost importance. I expect you to deliver my candy back to me first when you have finished, of course.”

“Investigation? We haven’t been conducting any investigation,” the cat said. “This is,” he wrinkled his nose, “our night off.”

“Yeah!” the blue bat said, flitting around before landing on one of the badger’s shoulders. “And we haven’t gotten no candy neither,” she said.

“Everytime we try, the Sweetypies just start yelling at us,” the badger chimed in.

“Well, then how do you explain that?” the king asked, pointing an accusing finger at Rufus and Reggie who had been both hoping to silently slip away at any moment.

The cat then struck up a steady, measured pace towards Rufus. The look on his face turned the fox’s blood to ice as it coursed through him. His heartbeat seemed to stop, and for a moment he wasn’t sure if it was ever going to start again. The cat grabbed a handful of the silken cape the fox wore and brought his face inches from his own.

“Ok, whoever you two are. I want answers, now! What kind of mischief have you been causing in my jurisdiction tonight?” the sheriff asked, his tone carrying an obvious threat underneath.

Rufus had hoped it wouldn’t have to come to this, but thankfully he had prepared for this situation just in case. Swiftly, he reached as far as he could into the bottom of his bag until his fingers wrapped around one of the small metal balls he had lifted from the sheriff’s headquarters.

“Reggie, now!” the fox cried. He pulled the item out from his sack and threw it as hard as he could directly at the ground in front of him. A sudden explosion sounded, and in seconds the courtyard they had all been congregating in was filled with a blinding smoke. The cat, in his confusion, loosened his grip on Rufus’ collar, allowing him to wriggle free of his captor’s grasp.

“Please tell me this isn’t going to mess up my mane!” the lion shouted.

“My smoke bombs! How?” the cat yelled out in between coughs.

“Dude, I told you we didn’t take them!”

“I can’t see! I can’t see!” the bat cried.

This was exactly the outcome Rufus had been hoping for...

Rule number four: always have an escape plan.

In the surrounding chaos of the situation, the two con artists swapped bags and broke off running in different directions. Rufus carrying the real bag instead of the decoy was only part one in his attempts to confuse his potential pursuers. The fox raced down as many dark alleyways as he could, and when he finally thought he had some time, he paused in the shadows of a run down looking avenue.

Quickly, he tore out of his sheriff costume and took a deep breath of fresh air for what felt like the first time that night. He reached inside the freshly discarded skin and pulled out another one (it looked like a crocodile from what he could tell.)

Now that he had been caught, it was time to become someone new again to truly confuse those do-gooders. He slipped his second disguise on as fast as he could and tentatively crept his way out onto a crowded well lit street, swirling amongst the kingdom’s residents like just another grain of sand along the beach.

Running like a criminal would only rouse new suspicions against him. He needed to blend in with everyone else.

Rufus strolled around the city streets as innocently as he could, taking his time as he meandered about on his way to a designated meeting point. He had elected to take the long way around in getting there, hopefully giving Reg, who also should have changed outfits, enough time to find it and be there waiting.

It was a half hour later when Rufus saw it in the distance, a small public garden nestled in a secluded area of the city, and as expected, he saw someone standing there to greet him. The small pink rhino, sitting among a plot of tulips, warily looked up towards him. For some reason, he was bedecked in what appeared to be surgeon’s scrubs.

“I don’t have time to ask you where you got that, Reg, but I will commend you on the decision. It’s a nice little touch,” Rufus said. “Though, I will say I’m surprised you decided to be that annoying pink gremlin.”

The fox gasped as the rhino pulled out a shimmering scalpel from god knows where and pointed it at him.

“That’s professor-doctor-surgeon gremlin to you, Gary,” the rhino snarled. “And what’s up with your voice?” he asked, frown quickly morphing into a malignant smile, “Oh, you’re probably here for one of my patented throat surgeries, ain’t ya? You know the drill, no questions or insurance needed.”

Rufus had to hand it to him, Reggie was keeping in line with his role like a class actor, but the night was being wasted and he no time to sit and dwell on it.

“Look, let’s just swap bags and be done. That sheriff is still probably scouring every nook and cranny for us and I just want this whole thing to be done and over with,” the fox said. He reached over and grabbed the rhino’s nearby sack, pausing as he tried to pull it. Was the decoy always this heavy?

After gaining some momentum, the fox managed to sling the bag over his shoulder and made his way casually out of the garden.

“Hey! You can’t just take that! I need that for my medical practice!” the pink rhino yelled in his direction.

“Yes, yes, we get it Reg. Now remember, eastern gates, twenty minutes,” the fox called back to him.

From here, Rufus wanted to stay hidden until he made it out of the city. Sneaking down another alley, he changed costumes for a third and final time, a frog creature whose arms seemed too short for clapping. He followed down a multitude of side paths and lanes just barely wide enough for him to walk down, all while keeping himself within viewing distance of the kingdom’s most outer wall. He knew that as long as he continued this way he’d eventually find the eastern exit and avoid any unwanted attention.

He breathed a sigh of relief some fifteen minutes later once he finally found them. He didn’t know whether it was by luck or by fate that the gates stood there unguarded, its keepers had more than likely been too seduced by the call of that night’s tempered horrors and left. Rufus raced through the doors and out into the smothering darkness of the woods beyond.

He had just passed the first few pine trees when he ran into someone blocking his path, toppling them both over to the ground in the process.

“Rufus, buddy!” a familiar voice greeted the fox. Looking over, he saw his raccoon partner sprawled out on the ground near him, already out of costume and back to his normal appearance. The fox jumped up quickly and tore out of his own disguise, happy to once again see the orange fur underneath.

“Reggie, old pal! We did it!” he cried, scooping the raccoon up and into an uncharacteristic hug. “I knew we could outwit that imbecile sheriff if given another chance,” he smiled as he set his beaming partner back down on his own two feet. “Now tell me, where’s the candy?”

“What do you mean? Don’t you have it?” Reggie asked. “I never saw you at The Garden and so I came straight here after changing. I’ve been waiting out here for like an hour.”

Rufus looked at the raccoon as if he had lost his mind. “But we did meet,” the fox said. “You were there on time and we swapped bags, you were that disgusting pink fellow. We talked and everything,” the fox hesitated, thinking. “You did go to the garden, right?”

“Yeah, The Garden, that little cafe we always visited every Takes-giving,” Reggie smiled.

Rufus’ stomach dropped out from under him.

“Reg, no, I meant an actual garden, we-,” the fox paused and looked at the sack he had brought. “But, if that wasn’t you, then that means…” Rufus thought back to the scalpel that had been waved in his face and shuddered. “So then, what is this?” he asked. He reached down and pulled open the bag only to be greeted by jar upon jar of pristine, premium grade mayo.

In that moment, Rufus felt as if his brain was going to short circuit from anger. He turned to Reggie’s decoy bag and kicked it, knocking it over and spilling out a mass of spruce leaves and pinecones. “What is wrong with the people here!” the fox shouted out directionless into the night air.

“Rufus, hold on,” the raccoon implored, sidling up next to the fox and tugging at the bottom of his shirt. The fox took a few deep breaths, letting his expression relax before addressing his friend. He never wanted the raccoon to believe that his anger was ever directed at him, even if at times he was the cause of it. He cared about him too much for that.

“Yes, Reggie?”

“We still have this,” the raccoon smiled. He lifted his baseball cap to reveal a small pouch underneath. He grabbed it and tossed it to the fox who caught it. He could hear a myriad of candy wrappers rustling around inside, the smell of sweetness permeating neatly around the cloth.

He looked at it with surprise and then turned to his cohort.

“Reg, when did you-?”

“It was during all that smoke,” the raccoon said, proud of his witty thinking. “Before we traded bags I grabbed a few handfuls and stuck it in this pouch. It’s like you always told me, remember? Rule number five: ‘it’s always better to leave a heist with something rather than risk taking nothing.’”

The fox couldn’t even begin to hide his glee. “Oh, Reggie!” he exclaimed his bushy tail wagging around him. “I’m so proud that I could just about kiss you.”

The raccoon chuckled and playfully bumped the fox’s leg with his fist, “Just make sure to share some with me, Rufus.”

The fox smiled, “Reggie, I’d share the entire world with you if I could.” Bending over, he placed a paw on the top of Reggie’s head and teasingly ruffled his hair. “Now, how about we start heading home, hm? I’ll even let you have first pick of the treats.”

And then, finally, there was rule number six: through thick and thin, always have your partner’s back and treat them like the gift that they are.

#mao mao #mmhoph #shapeshiftinterest #badgerclops #adorabat #Fic #fanfic #halloween #rufus #reggie

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storiansmane · 5 years

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Grantaire’s Modernized Rant

This is a rewrite of one of Grantaire’s drunken speeches from Les Misérables, in Chapter IV of Book Four–Les Amis de L’ABC, which has been modernized not only into current speech but also do to with current issues. I put quite a bit of effort into it, so enjoy!

~~<><><>~~

Grantaire, extremely drunk, had started ranting at the top of his lungs from the corner of the pub which he had taken over with his volume, shouting: "I'm bored!! I need alcohol, life fucking SUCKS!! It's all so POINTLESS and cheap and short and definitely hates me!! People always talk about wanting happiness, but I mean, how selfish and vain is that!? Hell, it was once said that "all is vanity", and I agree, even if that might not even be a real quote! If you have nothing else, at least you can think about how great you are! People use it to make everything seem so much more important than it is. A kitchen is a 'laboratory', a boxer is a 'pugilist', a doctor is an 'apothecary', even bugs have super extra Latin names!! It can be some good and some bad, I guess. The good is stupid, the verbal and mental equivalent of a participation award. 'You're alive, congratulations!!' The bad becomes too much and people can't stand to be around you. I'm annoyed with one and exhausted with the other. People don't take anything seriously anymore, entitlement leads to making a mockery and a joke of everything! Rich people complain about paying high taxes, happy people write songs about depression and loss and heartache; anything can be 'memed', no matter how serious! Go, then, and enjoy your quote-unquote 'edgy' humor! No one has any respect or integrity anymore. People in relationships cheat on each other, fights over stupid politics ruin friendships, it is our own fault that people die by their own hand! It's too bad I'm stupid, or I'd quote all kinds of ancient wisdom and facts and evidence to prove my point, but I don't know anything. I've always been too much of a smart-ass; when I was put in the most prestigious schools and classes, all I did was fuck around. What's the point of putting so much importance into those things, anyway? Being part of them doesn't make one person any better than another. So even if I'm stupid but privileged, I am fundamentally the same as an intelligent but unfortunate person. It's so fucked, everyone wants to be perfect and have all the best qualities. Every one of those good qualities can be made into bad ones by perspective! Frugality is underneath just greediness, generosity is just attention-seeking in disguise; bravery is an excuse to brag and the pious are also the bigoted. So which are we SUPPOSED to say and understand? Do we applaud the victor or the loser, the Allies or the Nazi's? You'd prefer the victor, right? Great, then I suppose we'll all applaud the corrupt officer who was VICTORIOUS over the unarmed teenager, as well! There's your positivity, but also insanity. That officer did what he did because of human prejudice, just as the Protestant burned the Pagan at the stake because of his prejudice against that which was different. History repeats itself, especially the grimmest generalities. The battle at Palmito Ranch mirrors the battle at Yorktown, the internment of Japanese-Americans inspires the imprisonment of immigrants. I don't see the cause for celebration of victory. You're arrogant for winning and weak for losing. Can nothing be one thing without also exhibiting traits of the other? I'm so done with the human race in general. You expect me to 'help people in need'; what people, then? Should I feed the hungry? What about the homeless, then? Which is more deserving of my help? It's a debate which could go on forever, senseless from the beginning! Our politicians are the reincarnations of the tyrannical emperors of the past, taken straight from our history textbooks. What does one have to do, anyway, to be considered important enough to make it into one of those books? I brush my teeth every day, but I can guarantee you that I'll never learn about the inventor of the toothbrush in my history class. No, instead I'll learn about some of the most horrible men who've ever lived and have done nothing to affect my life. And why? To avoid the repetition of history? Regardless of man's actions, such an outcome seems inevitable in every sense. Not to buy into stereotypes, but the liberal young hopefuls who put so much stock into these dated ideas will find themselves just as stuck. I mention stereotypes with the utmost authority, of course! They make up everything we think about our society on a daily basis! Your clothing, your speech, your actions, and your whereabouts decide for you what kind of person you must be to a thousand strangers a day, easily. Even those who claim to be non-judgemental, their opinions are affected by such stereotypes even if they deny it. Such assumptions are what our society functions on. And it can be beneficial in some situations, of course! A first-impression can warn one of a dangerous person, one to be cautious of, absolutely! It can give one a whole host of necessary information for dealing with a person in a social situation, yes, but can also cause one to miss out on a potentially vital opportunity which now will never be known. And the only thing which MOST PEOPLE will care about is, oh no, FOMO!! Yet this behavior and thinking will never change, no matter a person's intent to block it. It is human nature. You who claim not to judge books by their covers, might you be the uninformed while you claim your superiority to the cautious? And now that you consider that, SURPRISE, what I have just suggested is yet ANOTHER assumption! Even one made about yourself is one which makes you question what you know about your opinions, further proving my point. So what really is different between you and he who judges others by first visual or interactive impression all the same? Dammit, people, I'm telling you!! NOTHING IS DIFFERENT!! The whole human race has an eternal, genetic superiority complex and proves it every day! The other races of the earth are considered lesser races simply because we have taken over what is theirs and made it our own. I do not claim to be immune to such judgment and arrogance! I can acknowledge my faults, that I rely heavily on appearances when I need to! So why not crucify me now!? Where is my judge, jury, executioner!? Oh, so it is you, Louison. Hey, didn't see you there." So Grantaire, far drunker now (if that's possible), caught the girl as she passed just trying to bus the tables, and turned his ridiculous and never-ending rant on her. Bossuet leaned over and tried to clamp a hand over Grantaire's mouth to shut him up, but this started Grantaire off on an even worse rant: "Ugh, GET OFF ME! You're not gonna shut me up or calm me down, not while I'm speaking the truth to the masses, to anyone who will be smart enough to listen! I'm fine, you don't need to do that. I'm just sad. What do you want me to say? Humans are horrible, they just completely suck. Butterflies are great, but humans are failures. God fucked up with this one. You want to see something really screwed up, there's nothing more so than your average joe on the street. Like me. I'm depressed and a hypochondriac and I'm pissed for no reason and I'm sleepy and I'm bored and I'm exhausted and I'm STUPID! FUCK IT ALL!" "Then shut up, please!!" Bossuet tried again to silence him, as he'd been in the middle of trying to have a conversation about work with his friend, in the background as Grantaire threw his tantrum.

#Les Miserables #original writing #Victor Hugo #Grantaire #Les Amis de l'abc #incorrect quotes #Bossuet #ranting #drunk ranting #this was probably pointless and a waste of my time but I had fun doing it #velvet inkspills

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vesperlionheart · 5 years

Text

All of You

@alyseb630 I’ve finally gotten around to that Itasaku request and I’m not sure how it turned out, or if it’s what you like, but hopefully you’ll enjoy it!

Itachi wasn’t often frustrated, but after his promotion to ANBU captain, he had found the pressure everything his superiors had warned him it would be. And that was fine. The safety and protection of his precious village wouldn’t be easy. He was proud to be the one bearing the brunt of the responsibility. At least this way he spared someone else the headache.

Things grew easier later on in the year when he found synchronicity in a mixture of friends and strangers alike; all soon grew into a second family at a rate he would have previous thought impossible. Shisui would always be there, closer than a brother, but there were new faces and distant face on the team he was lucky to discover, like the sensor Hyuga Neji and medic Haruno Sakura. He hadn’t expected them all to grow so close, but almost a year later the headaches were gone and life flowed on like a stream.

Until they didn’t.

He read another report and frowned when his team roster was denied.

“What’s the meaning of this?” he calmly ask Tsunade. “We would be ideal for this mission.”

“You can do this without a medic,” the blond answered easily, barely looking his way.

Itachi knew she was right, but it didn’t make sense.

“In spite of our reputation, Uchiha can not predict the future. It is wise to travel with a medic.”

“Hyuga has first year medic training, and he’s more competent than the trained medics on other teams.”

“He is our sensor, not our medic.”

“You’ll be fine. Don’t complain.”

Itachi shifted from one foot to the other awkwardly, uncomfortable with rebuffing authority. “Is there a reason you are not addressing with me why Sakura Haruno has requested a leave of absence from my team?”

Tsunade finally looked up. “I never said she requested anything.”

“That is not an answer, Hokage sama.”

Tsunade glared openly, but didn’t reach for her drink, so Itachi knew he wasn’t in the worst of troubles. “Listen, you’re competent. You’ll get the mission done. Sakura’s business is her own. You’re dismissed, Uchiha. Get packing, you have twenty one hours before departure. Don’t waste them.”

There would be nothing more to gain and he knew it, so Itachi bent at the waist and promptly excused himself with all the dignity befitting an Uchiha.

In his twenty one hours before setting out he didn’t divert from any of his pre mission rituals, though there was a tugging in his heart that only hurt more and more as hours slipped by.

When the rest of his team departed, he carried a regret in his chest he couldn’t understand until three weeks later when they returned. His quick-call team roster had been updated by the Hokage and Sakura’s name had been permanently removed. He checked the other rosters, even the ones he shouldn’t, and couldn’t find her name anywhere.

But she was still working at the hospital.

It wouldn’t be the most curious thing he could possibly do, but Itachi made an appointment for a post mission check up and requested her services specifically, pulling the clan card when someone else tried to see him.

“I will only be treated by a clan approved medic,” he told the older doctor who came in with a clip board and an attitude.

“But Haruno san is still seeing her other patients!” the doctor protested.

“I will wait.” Itachi was not willing to take no for an answer, even if it took him hours.

And it did.

But eventually swept into the examination room in her lab coat and messy hair, half pinned up to stay out of her face. Her smile stretched into something that reached her eyes when she saw him and it was like all the hours and days he had spent upset with her unexplained absence broke up and faded away.

“Itachi, you’re looking alright.” She closed the door behind her and left her clipboard on the end table. “Let me see your eyes for. I want to make sure my work wasn’t undone.”

“It wasn’t, Itachi mumbled, bending forward and activating his eyes upon her request.

She slipped her fingers into his hair and he felt the pads of her fingertips warm as her medical chakra seeped into his brain, probing the lines of his optic nerves. She swelled through him and he was content to drown. All too soon she pulled away and reached for the clip board again.

“Your chakra is…different,” Itachi remarked, surprised with the observation.

His words caused her to frown. “A bad different?”

“No, just…different. Heavier.”

“That’s interesting. None of my other patients were able to tell when I examined them earlier. I can’t even tell. Well, regardless, I think I’m still able to do my job well enough to see you are in perfect health. Ah, it warms my heart to see a patient following his doctor’s orders. You haven’t been pushing your Sharingan.”

“You told me not to.”

“Does that stop Kakashi?”

Itachi considered the question and then chuckled. “He’s an old dog. Don’t blame him if he can’t learn new tricks.”

His joke made her laugh and his whole belly filled with warmth.

“You look perfect so far, Itachi, what are you really concerned with?”

“Why were you taken off my team?”

There was a reaction, but she hid it like a pro. If he hadn’t made it a habit to study her so intently for months on end, he would have missed it. She shrugged and offered him a sympathetic smile that was too plastic to be true.

“I’m sorry, that decision was out of my hands. I’ve recommended a medic to act in my stead, but I guess you don’t need one these days. I haven’t seen many of you stop in.”

“I had to find out from the Hokage. If it was in your power to do so, I would have appreciated you telling me in person. I…” Itachi bowed his head, but didn’t lower his voice. “I thought I would have earned that right as your friend.”

Sakura cursed under her breath, and when he looked up through his bangs he saw the frustrated flush of color on her cheeks. “Please don’t. I’m sorry….I…I just couldn’t go with you. It’s not something I can help anymore.”

“I understand that. I’m not upset that you’re off our team, Sakura. As your captain and your friend, I know I’ll need to let members go when the time comes. I just wished you had felt comfortable talking to me about it.”

She swallowed and nodded. “I should have let you know, I’m sorry.”

His voice was softer for her. “I’m not upset.”

“But you’re hurt, and that’s worse,” she said, face screwing up in frustration. “Damn, I didn’t-I hadn’t thought it would matter.”

“You’re one of my closest friends,” Itachi said honestly.

He hadn’t expected it to be true, but after working so closely together for almost a year, he knew it was one of the most true statements of his life. He couldn’t imagine going back to a time before Sakura, or Neji, or Hana, or anyone from the dream team. But especially Sakura. She had done the most to break up his stiff exterior and expose the softest parts of his personality and it was such a relief to find a friend he could be that vulnerable around and still feel safe.

“Itachi, I’m sorry. I didn’t think. I was stupid,” Sakura sighed, bowing her head to him, shoulders sagging. “I was a bad friend.”

“I know we work together, but we’re not just colleges. Be more honest with me next time.” When she glanced up Itachi took the opportunity to poke her forehead. “Everyone needs time off, now and then. Do you know when you will be ready to return to active duty?”

She rubbed her forehead, hating how he always used her Yin seal’s rhombus as a bullseye. “Maybe in six-seven months?” she admitted under her breath. “I’m not sure.”

“Is there something I can do to help speed up the process?”

He might have been mistaken, but he thought she almost laughed. Her eyes widened a fraction before she caught herself and shook her head with a privet smile. “Sorry, that part is out of my hands, and there is also the possibility of it taking longer.”

“That is fine, but please don’t fall off the face of the earth and forget the rest of your team. You’ll check in every so often, won’t you?”

“Of course.”

He hadn’t known it to be a lie when she said it, but that became a bit more obvious when the next two weeks dragged on without hide nor hair of his former teammate. He hadn’t been the only one to notice, too.

“I haven’t seen her recently either, but I know she’s regular at the hospital,” Sasuke told him over dinner one night.

The pair ate regularly, but didn’t speak so plainly unless there was something to speak about. The exception to this was when their parents were out. Itachi hadn’t wanted his mother hearing his question and getting any ideas.

“I thought the original team seven would have meals regularly.”

“We do,” Sasuke said. “Sakura has just been too busy to attend.”

“For how long?”

Sasuke glanced up through his bangs at his brother and his stare was full of annoyance. “Just a few weeks. Why all the inquiries? She stand you up for a date or something?”

Itachi flushed. “We were not romantically affiliated. She is merely a…friend.”

“Then ask her what’s up. If you care, put it out there and see what she says.” Sasuke waved his chopsticks in the air and then pointed them at Itachi. “But leave her alone if she wants you too.”

Itachi’s gut rolled. “Do you know something?”

Sasuke ignored his brother and reached for more pepper strips to pick out of the stir fry. It was an odd thing to have his precious younger brother deny him something, but it convinced Itachi that his concern regarding Haruno were founded. Something was going on.

And a small part of his consciousness hated him for it, but he made another appointment for a ‘pain in his left eye’ and requested the usual specialist. Like last time it was almost an hour later before she arrived and this time he noticed the genjutsu.

“Sakura, what’s wrong?” he asked before she could put her clipboard down.

“I thought that you were the person with something wrong. When did the pain in your left eye start bothering you?” Sakura asked, deflecting easily.

She reached for his head, ready to run her fingers through his hair in the usual procedure, but he caught her wrist before she could.

“Is it something you really can’t share with anyone?” He caught her eye and held her gaze. “Or is it just me you need to hide from?”

“Itachi, is there really a reason for this visit or are you just here to pester me?” She started to bristle. “I said I needed some time off.”

“You said you wouldn’t fall off the face of the earth, but Neji and Hana both miss you, and Shisui hasn’t seen you in months. We all feel your absence and we care about you. We’re family, remember?”

And she did. He could tell she remembered the exact words by the reaction on her face. Those had been her words months and months ago when the rain was cold and the mud heavy on their backs. She hadn’t run off ahead of them like a proper medic should, and because of that most of them were still alive, but she was heavily wounded and manic with reservoir chakra running through her body.

‘You’re my f-cking family so shut up, captain,’ she had screamed in his face before lifting him onto her back to carry over her shoulder.

It hadn’t been the first time she called them family or referred to them as such. She went through hell for them. Itachi was having a hard time believing she was choosing to shut them all out of her own free will.

“Sakura?”

With a pained sigh, she backed up, dropping her wrists at her side. Angling slightly, she fit her hands over her hips and moved the ends of her lab coat back to stand fully. “I should have known better. You’ll be able to see through the genjutsu if you activate your Sharingan.”

“And that’s what you want me to do?” Itachi asked, almost hesitating.

Sakura forced herself to grin. “You won’t blab to anyone so I guess it’s okay. Just don’t think the worst of me, okay?”

“I could never.”

Her smile eased into something more natural. “Yeah, I know.”

Itachi pushed chakra into his eyes and felt them pinwheel open, bleeding red and exposing the truth of the world. At first it wasn’t obvious, but he saw the changes soon enough. Sakura was radiant in new way, with healthy skin and a pretty flush high on her cheeks, but it was the swell of her stomach that finally drew his eye.

“You,” he gasped, sliding off the examination table. He knelt down in front of her, eyes level with the baby bump. “You’re pregnant?”

“No more missions for me, not for a while. Sorry I didn’t tell you, but it’s a bit more complicated than just a simple pregnancy.” Her face pinched and he watched the rest of her body ripple with new anxiety. “Please don’t think the worse of me.”

His heart felt heavy, but he refused to let it show. “I didn’t know you were seeing someone. The missions you couldn’t take…that all makes sense now.”

“It’s not so straightforward. Here, get back up on the table. Listen from the beginning. I’m not supposed to tell anyone new without the parents consent, but I think they’ll be okay if it’s you.”

“Parents?” Itachi echoed. “As in….more than one?”

“The child isn’t mine, I’m just carrying it.”

“I don’t understand.” He glanced down at her bump again and them up at her face. “Not yours?”

“The parents are friends of mine and I’ve been their doctor through the last seven messy miscarriages. The parents have a rare non-complementary chakra situation that makes it dangerous for the mother to carry their child to term.”

He bussed with a new fear. Sakura faced a danger he couldn’t protect her from. “If it’s dangerous then why is the burden yours? Are you safe?”

“I’m fine,” Sakura insisted. “It’s only dangerous to those without flawless chakra control, and that’s been the one thing I’ve always been excellent at since my academy days. Technically it’s an A ranked mission, but I don’t see it that way.”

“So you’re not in any danger?” Itachi asked, still sounding worried.

“No, there have been a few close calls, but I’m doing just fine. I’m cutting back on work though, which is why I’ve been terrible about getting to these appointments on time.”

“I’ve never minded that,” Itachi said, watching her with new eyes.

She seemed radiant with the glow of a pregnant woman. The feel of her chakra thickening during her last examination suddenly made sense. He remembered hearing about how some mothers produced more chakra during the first and second trimester of their pregnancy to accommodate the new life. For clans with rich bloodlines it was a bigger deal. If Sakura’s chakra felt the way it did, Itachi didn’t doubt the child she was carrying would one day be extraordinary.

Sakura turned back around and found a chair to ease herself into. She sighed as the rigid frame of her body went slack. “But I’ll admit, it hasn’t been as easy as I first assumed. You would think with all the babies I’ve delivered I would be a bit wiser about it all. Nah, the cravings still catch me off guard. Why dango and grilled squid? Why?” she laughed.

“Are you being taken care of by anyone else?” Itachi asked. “Your old teammates, do they know?”

Sakura nodded. “I knew I’d have to tell Sasuke because of the Sharingan, and I suppose I should have factored you into the equation as well. I didn’t know you’d be this persistent, captain.”

Itachi quirked a single brow. “You were the one who first called me family. You signed up for this. Don’t complain when family comes to check up on you.”

“I’m thankful, really. Still, I need to ask you to keep this to yourself. The family doesn’t want this being public knowledge for both their sake and mine. Once I start to really show, I plan on going with them on a retreat until the baby is born. I’ll come back with some ‘injuries’ to explain my recovery.”

“No one worth the time of day would think any less of you if they knew the truth. You shouldn’t feel the need to hide anything, but I’ll respect your wishes no matter what they are,” Itachi answered.

Sakura smiled and it was enough to melt his heart. He felt like there was warm honey inside his chest whenever she looked at him like that. He had always felt a little soft for Sakura, and told himself that was normal for ‘family’ and teammates. He felt close to all his precious people and Sakura was no different. He realized how stupid that sounded when she looked at him like that, resting her fingers over the swell of her stomach and smiling with a motherly glow. There was a word for it, but he dared not ruminate on it.

“Thank you, Itachi,” Sakura sighed. “I’m glad I could tell you. Don’t mind me if I rest in here for another hot minute before going back out on my feet.”

“Take all the time you need,” Itachi instead. “You know how clan brats can be.”

Sakura laughed and it was a sound Itachi wanted to spent the rest of his life working for.

When he showed up on her doorstep the next day she answered in a fuzzy robe over her pjs, enough to hide the bump without a genjutsu. Her hair was a mess around her face, and judging from the bleariness of her eyes he had caught her just after waking up from a nap.

“Itachi?” she asked. She yawned and ran a hand through her hair. “What are you doing here. It’s my day off.”

“I know, and I hope you were able to rest. I brought you something,” he said, producing a pair of packages.

The first was wrapped in brown paper and smelled strong enough for her to know what it was before he pulled the paper back. The grilled squid was still warm. Underneath the squid he carried a plastic canister of fresh dango from the cart seller she adored.

“What?” she breathed, eyes wide as she swallowed audibly. “What is this?”

“Hopefully a help. You mentioned the cravings.”

Sakura blinked and then leaned out into the hallway, seeing no one, she tugged Itachi in and then closed the door behind them. “Yeah, I did, but what does that have to do with you showing up knowing exactly what I wanted? It’s not your kid, Itachi.”

“It’s not yours either, but you’re still dealing with it. Let me help.” Itachi lifted the paper back and the smell almost made Sakura melt in wanting. He grinned at her reaction.

“Itachi,” Sakura groaned. “I’m going to be gross and hormonal. You don’t want to be around for that, trust me.”

“I’d like the choice, if that’s alright with you and the family. If it’s you, Sakura, I want to be around for all of it.” He spoke with the clearest voice, leaving no room for doubt.

“It sounds like something a boyfriend would say,” Sakura joked, swallowing down the lump in her throat.

“I’d like to be that too if you’re alright with it,” he said without hesitation.

Sakura flushed and covered her face with her hands. “Itachi!”

He left the food on the counter and reached for her wrists, pulling them away from her face enough so he could see the way her eyes watered. “All of it,” he insisted with a whisper of his voice. “All of you, I want to be there for everything you deem worth sharing. And next time,” one of his hands reached to touch the swell of her belly, “I hope you’ll share this with me too.”

Sakura cursed softly under her breath and then bowed her head. Itachi held his breath, waiting for her next words, praying he hadn’t been too aggressive in his advances. She lifted her eyes enough to meet his and sighed.

“Then kiss me already, you idiot.”

Happily, Itachi obliged.

#ItaSaku #uchiha itachi #Haruno Sakura #Sakura is such a bamf in a dress #drabble for a friend #non massacre AU #but they're still ninja #haven't done anything with ninja in a while #I've been stuck on fantasy AUs #pregnancy

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