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missgeniality · 3 years

Text

A Work Of Art (m)

“In our life there is a single color, as on an artist’s palette, which provides the meaning of life and art. It is the color of love.” - Marc Chagall

➺ Banner: The lovely @dee-ehn 💕

➺ Pairing: Jimin x Female Reader

➺ Genre: PWP, Smut, Slightest Angst

➺ Rating: 18+

➺ Word Count: 7.3k

➺ Summary: You surprise Jimin with his Filter outfit; and then some.

➺ Warnings: tongues get tired in this fic, dom!jimin, we talk about spit, some biting, jimin loves praise, lingerie n stuff, nipple play, oral sex (m&f receiving), we talk more about spit, some bondage is involved, degrading names, blindfolds, spanking (maybe too much, don’t look @ me), light choking, light face-fucking, cum eating, we talk even more about spit, hickeys galore, some edging?, unprotected sex (don’t do it kids, not even for Jimin)

➺ Author’s Note: (repost bc tags, you know how it is) huge s/o to @ilikemesometaetaes for making time to beta read this monstrosity 💜 thank youuuu! Also thanks to @honeiibeehobi, @kithtaehyung for helping me with the many many details & @ppersonnafor hyping up this idea or else it would have never seen the light of day ;_; lol i will come back to edit this cuz this didnt let me focus on my paper due tonight so if you see a spelling mistake or tense error umm no you didnt 👀

do let me know your thoughts!! the smallest feedback goes a long way! 💛💛

This is the first part of my Dress Down series, find more at it’s masterlist!

Y/N: soooooo, I did a thing. JM: is the dishwasher flooding our kitchen again? Y/N: -_- i’ll give you two more guesses. JM: oh no. you picked up a dog from the street again. Y/N: come onn!! JM: y/n, last time you picked one up, HE HAD AN OWNER Y/N: you’re down to your last try, or else i’m taking this off. JM: … JM: so its something you have on? 😏 Y/N: pic_210124.jpg JM: holy shit JM: wait wait fuck JM: keep the door unlocked.

“You like?”

The bob in his Adam’s apple wordlessly conveys the answer you’re looking for.

A crisp, white, button down shirt, tucked into black trousers, topped off with a panama hat that matches your top half is the view Jimin comes home to. Your dress pays homage to Jimin’s Filter outfit - actually, the exact one - the one that showcased his immaculate dance moves, the one that exposes his delicious collarbones, the one that brings the irresistible urge to bite your way up his neck - the one he eventually rids.

If you had to pick a color, he is a flustered orange, bright and blushing, turned on by the indecent implication of your very decent outfit.

You’re on the counter, one leg crossed over the other, accentuating the swell of your ass. Landing on the pads of your feet, you take a few steps towards the man with the unhinged jaw.

“Babe.” a mellow croak - Jimin can’t get a whole sentence out without saliva pooling and obstructing his speech. “You, in my clothes… fuck.”

Chuckling at his very obvious loss of words, you give him a twirl, allowing him to fully soak in your outfit.

“Was waiting for you.”

Three long strides and you were in his arms, a pair of lips desperate to invade your space and claim you. An Angel on your shoulder tells you to give in; after all, this is the end result - what you both want.

However, the Devil on the other side, no no no. It wants you to make him suffer. To get revenge for all the times you were taken control of. It remembers all the days he turned you on with shoot photographs and all the nights he brought you to the brink only to stop you from tipping over with a cocky smirk and a cheeky wink.

The Devil was created from the moments when you thought you would actually erupt, begging for release, only to be shoved aside with a single growl of ‘don’t you fucking dare.’

Your desire to please him effectively silenced the Devil and kept it at bay. But no more. All those times built up and gave your Devil the power to force its way against your will to restrain it, causing it to rise to the surface.

You will have the upper hand.

So you push him away, keeping him at an arm’s length for your safety to have him on his toes. Forlorn eyes meet your steely ones, and you physically stop yourself from giving in to his puppy gaze - those eyes can turn icy and sultry when nailing you into the bed like his rent depended on it.

“Sit there. I have a-” You turn to switch on some music, “-small present for you.”

“If the small present isn’t me folding you in half and fucking you till sunrise,” He sits with visible reluctance, irises slowly transforming into magma orbs, “I don’t want it.”

“Well, we’ll see… Depends on how you behave.”

On a normal day, this comment would have lit your ass on fire, pronto.

Today isn’t a normal day at all.

You stride on, every noiseless step you take leaving a wreckage of nerves behind, ignoring the smoldering gaze he has locked on you- you are unsure whether he is deciding your punishment or simply admiring how his clothes fit on your body.

You stand on the side, drinking him in.

From your viewpoint, this is ridiculous. Those cursed jeans, vacuumed onto his thighs, ensure your eyes don’t miss a single ridge. His legs are spread out, beckoning you to have a seat, and the Angel once again begs for some reprieve. He knows what he’s doing; knows you inside and out- knows you couldn’t miss a chance to ride him like this. The wicked smirk flashing back at you is confirmation.

But you stymy that thought at its root. Walking behind, you wrap your arms around him to faintly buss his cheek.

“Sooo I was watching Filter…”

Jimin hums against your feeble touch. He wants more. The soft wind of your breath routing through his jeweled ear sends a wave of goosebumps down his spine. From behind, you run your hands over his sinewy biceps, taut in restraint - holding themselves back against the suffering you are putting him through.

“You do know how fucking hot you looked, right?” You playfully let your tongue toy with the hanging ornament, the briefest of flicks causing Jimin’s shoulders to push back, trying to connect with your bosom.

With a crooked finger under his jaw, you bring him to meet your eyes- eyes that are adorned with layered shadows of deep maroons, a variety of colors blending into your skin tone, eyelashes piqued up and ready to reach the clouds.

“So pretty…” He whispers out as you place your hat on its rightful throne - Jimin’s head.

A lone digit traces the lines of art you etched for him, appreciating every single stroke you put in to make a memorable time. Warm merigold rays bloom in your chest in response to his gaze, with him looking at you like you invented the sky. Pupils are dilated, and the only reason you can see each other is because of the practically nonexistent distance between you.

His eyes pick up on your tapering resolve to keep him in line. A light quiver of need passing your lips as you hopelessly vie for dominance is what most likely gives you away.

Grabbing you by the neck, he pulls you into a deep kiss, plunging his tongue into you with reckless abandon like he was a nomad all this while and your mouth has finally claimed him home. Your neck strains at the awkward angle and surely even his is hurting, but the pressure of his hand is unrelenting.

His tongue searches and searches, desperately looking for a part in you he has not yet explored. You’d think the years of togetherness would have diminished this fiery attraction but no, he comes onto you like he has a mission to prove - to validate his love for you, to plead you to be his. You would happily accept this shower of affection, returning it with due interest.

With great difficulty you part, a string of spit still connecting your lips because he has not let you move far enough. “Uh-uh. Be good.” You pout a little, breaking character.

“You’re here. In my clothes. A walking dream. How the fuck am I to be good?” He pulls you back in to continue what you cut short but you break the line of spit and his intention with a hand wedged between your faces.

“I asked you a question, Mister.” Back on your cocky nature, you graze your lips against oh-so-lightly, barely giving him anything to feel, but the tingling on his skin shows he can feel it all.

The adoration moves into a competition, “You tell me, sweetness - how did I look?”

It’s always the praise. He loves it when you struggle to tell him his dick was crafted by the heavens when you’re choking on it, but he still makes you do it. You stutter and stumble your words when his lips smack against your cunt, devouvering and digging for the treasure of your cum, but he forces you to tell him. When you sit on his dick, your brain has no sense of diction or direction, only chasing the high at his mercy, but he makes you scream it out loud, letting everyone beyond the pearly gates know, between moans and wails, that only he can break you down this way.

“This shirt, sweetie.” Your nose trails the path between his collar and the ends of his hair, basking in the sweet vanilla scent, “You’re all covered. Why, pray tell,” You dig your teeth into the point where his shoulder meets his neck, “does this sole patch of skin turn me on so bad?”

He sucks in an inhale through his clenched teeth, his stunning visage devoid of any virtue. His head is thrown back, hat toppling over in the movement and giving you a larger canvas to mark, an opportunity you happily grasp. The mellifluous tones he is producing is recorded in your mind for lonelier nights to come.

“And the red suit? Fuck, your corseted waist?” At the corner of your eye you see his fingers clenching into a fist, your lush voice making it harder and harder for him to breathe.

You slowly stride forward, painfully slow, letting him notice every single muscle of your body curving to his unspoken command, undoing one button at a time until your torso is revealed- and shows the true purpose of your scarlet eye makeup.

A deep burgundy camisole, ribbed at the waist to accentuate the way your hips flow has Jimin salivating to no end. The strappy number, with carmine ribbons flowing into your yet to be removed bottom half- a deed Jimin intends on rectifying very, very soon- calls to him sinfully. The lingerie twists and ties in incomprehensible ways, but the amount of cleavage it gives you is ungodly.

If they weren’t already, Jimin’s eyes are now wide open.

Time comes to a standstill as he checks out your whole figure, taking in every embroidered pattern on the lingerie and every embellishment on your breasts. Before, you were already a five-star meal, but now? An emperor’s feast.

The little flower right on top of your nipple has Jimin’s attention. His thumb comes up to trace the bedecked rose, following the stitched line of stem that takes him to the peak, then drawing over petal by petal. Each time he reaches close to your hardened nub, he abstains from crossing over it, making your nipple hardens imperceptibly under the presentiment of any relief and the disappointment when nothing arrives. His other hand, sitting on your waist, coaxes you to straddle him while he plays gardner on your bust.

“Jimin…” Your nipple, finally finding solace under his thumb, is not faring too well under the attention. Your plan of teasing him is slipping through your fingers like sand.

“Tell me baby, what do you want?” His finger is now tracing the seams of your lingerie cups, admiring the way they frame your ample bosom. Things are progressing too slow for your liking, and you come clean with your ignoble intentions.

“Please, I just want to suck you off.”

A wad of spit lands directly into your cleavage, followed by two thick fingers penetrating the lubed entrance.

“Nope.” His fingers continue to shallowly fuck your cleavage. Neither of you are being touched in the erogenous zone, but why does it feel so good? Your valley is inundated with his dribble, coating your ensemble and shifting shades to a deep cerise. Every pump of his nimble fingers between your breasts is like a promise of what your pussy is going to go through. Will he fuck you hard and fast with your voice echoing across the room, making every neighbor privy of your sexual escapedes? Will he be slow and gentle, penetrate you with utmost care, soft gasps and whines only sounded to the two of you? You can never guess.

In the aphrodisiac moment, you forgot that you were supposed to take charge.

“Please, please, please! I did so much,” You take the guilt route. If Jimin was anything, he was a just and fair man. “Can’t I get that much?”

Jimin’s gaze has not left your wet cleavage. A flit of his eye makes contact with yours and goes back to the fucking - that is enough language for you to understand his needs. You bend low, and spit out a fat glob onto your chest to add to the mess he has already made. The groan that leaves him is ungodly, and he licks the spit you unloaded onto yourself, spreading it all over your expensive wear. He slurps like you released sweetened water to a parched traveller, your bosom holding all the sweetness to itself.

Gathering your thoughts is more difficult than you could ever imagine. The cloth over your nipples is completely soaked, bitten into and sticking to your skin thanks to the vacuum Jimin pulled on them. Your back has had a workout, every vertebrae bent to its maximum possibility. Chiropractors are so last year, you just have your boyfriend ravish your breasts.

“Once I’m done, you can do whatever you want.”

All of your five brain cells had to be put in action to form that sentence. The moment the words left your lips, the pressure your breasts were on had been released, but you could still feel lips against you, stretching into a snarky smirk.

“Whatever?” His grip on your waist tightens, seating you more firmly onto his taut thighs.

Whatever. That stupidly amazing word.

“Saying ‘whatever’ always lands you in trouble. Have you forgotten?” His damp lips are tracing your collarbones, nibbles whenever he felt appropriate. How does he expect you to form a damned sentence like this, the Devil on your shoulder indignantly asks. The Angel on the other has gone back in time to fetch memories filed under the term ‘whatever’, strictly saved for your quality alone-time.

The first time you told him to do ‘whatever he wants’ was fairly early into your relationship. Sex was as vanilla as the ice cream tastebud-less people liked, and none of you ever pushed it too far. A happy, drunken night with a loose-lipped confession from him.

“God, the things I want to do to you…” he had muffled into your hair, maybe not even intended for your ears to pick up.

A cheeky giggle had bubbled out of your tipsy self. “Like what, tie me up?”

If Jimin then were a color, he was a pantone pink. Blushed cheeks from the alcohol and the realization that you had caught him, airbrushed with a depth you weren’t able to put in place that early in the relationship. Wide-eyed horror was shown in its place, possibly exaggerated to add to the denial he had landed himself in.

“No no, of course, I don’t mean it like that, what ar-”

“Why not?”

The animal that awoke after confirming with you fifteen times was a force to be reckoned with. Your bra had turned into rope, wrists bound behind as he roughly squished your helpless cheeks.

“You will tell me when to stop, right?” His tongue peeked lightly, brushing your top lip, taking the perspiration away.

“Uhmf-yufh!”

“God, you’re gonna regret this baby.”

But it was exactly the opposite. You got the railing of a lifetime, heard the filthiest words that could leave the lips of such a courteous man - a side you had not expected at all. You couldn’t possibly recollect every single move he made, but what you can recollect with excruciating detail is every feeling you felt that night. It was filled with lust, with revelations of the new ways your body could bend, a night of puppetry where Jimin played you like the master your body craved. The following day was Jimin taking care of you, big puppy eyes wondering whether he took it too far. In his daze of letting go of control, he couldn’t take in your lidded stare, heaving with satisfaction - so you made sure he could witness them when he took you the next time that morning.

The other time the wretched word was mentioned was during an argument. You’re not jealous of Jimin on stage - it’s his career and you were one of the girls offering one of their kidneys to be able to catch a glimpse of him.

But your workspace? That’s where you draw the line.

She was a random worker. Some third-floor low-lying soul. You were eighth-floor premium material (the floors didn’t decide shit, but no one can tell you what skyscraper semantics you can craft in your brain). A lifeless party that even Jimin’s colorful locks couldn’t color up.

This random worker was very enamored by Jimin (as she should, the man is a whole nine-course meal). Supportive fans are not what get you jealous either.

But the limit is when placed her scrawny fingers on Jimin’s hand, drawing the glass in his grip to her lips and took a sip from it. If her lashes were fanned they could blow a man away (which is probably more than what her puny mouth could possibly do). The fume exiting your ears could have been in bright red for all you care, because every office member had been rightfully annoyed.

The whole car ride back was filled with your drunken blabbers about the different ways you could skin her. The actual victim beside you was not making a nearly big enough deal out of it, intending to let you get rid of your temper.

“She fucking knew!” Your normally clean disposition had taken its leave after the fuming temper took real estate in your brain, and you aimlessly threw your heel at some corner of the house - hungover self shall have to deal with this angry mess you’ve made. Wait, you’re an angry mess too.. “The gall she had, I should jus-”

You march towards the door, in hopes of what, you don’t know. But if you didn’t take action you’ll probably explode. Any action, just anything. You never find out though, because a strong arm slithered around your waist and halted your expedition.

“Calm down, feisty. Where are you going now?” His soothing voice, punctuated with a mocking chuckle almost quelled the fire in you. Almost.

But you’re not done being an idiot.

“To go find her for you. You’d fuck the living daylights out of her, right?”

The loudest silence you have ever encountered. Jimin’s grip on your waist tightened to the point where it could have hurt. Like he was trying to push every iota of that thought out of your body. From behind, you can hear a deep breath dragging, and somewhere in your irate head you knew you had struck a nerve, a bad one. Jimin is forced to expel any anger bubbling in him, trying to use reason with an unreasonable recipient.

“Princess, you don’t actually think I’d do that right?”

“I don’t know!” Your misplaced anger had reached the rooftops. Jimin had done nothing wrong here except try to calm an increasingly livid girlfriend. “Maybe you’d love that. Her itty-bitty waist, that whore’s outfit she had on. You call me a whore right? Maybe she’s more worthy of you!”

“Y/N.”

The timbre of his voice had completely changed. The breathy, airy aura had completely departed from your name he had just called. The lack of nicknames raised some hair at the nape of your neck, but you’re a stubborn one.

“Ugh, I don’t care.”

You tried to walk back to your room, head still reeling in a palace of inferno, burning everything that dares to intrude your path - but somehow, you had been pushed to a wall, and the eyes of the man you loved had turned feral.

If Jimin was a color, he was green - igniting with fury, anger repressed in dark shadows that never made the light of the day until pushed - but you pushed all right. And now released from its shackles, it has surrounded you and slammed you against the wall - and you have nowhere to go.

“You’re my whore. Is that a complaint from my stupid, stupid whore?”

The only joint you’re free to move is your neck, and your gratuitous self decided to rebel with whatever degree of freedom you have. Turning your face away to not meet his seething eyes, you continue your rebel-without-a-cause tantrum.

“Whatever.” you carped out.

Again, with that stupid word, you had signed your fate for the night.

Usually, you can express your feelings. Be it pain or pleasure (sometimes the two packed in one), you could wail it out to the heavens and respite would follow.

Usually, you can see the torments laid out on you. Jimin’s lithe body performing every obscene spell he invoked is a treat for your eyes. He treats your body like an artisan, using any medium to paint his art on you.

But that day, you were stripped of them both, and made to realize what a privilege they were.

Mouth stuffed with your bunched up panties, eyes blinded by his tie of the evening, you could only rely on the sensors on your skin to somehow predict what was going to be done to you. And you failed. Every single time. Every thwack fell on a new area. Every teasing touch tickled you at a new place. Nothing could begin to prepare you for his next move and you couldn’t keep up with his tameless pace.

He made you beg through the makeshift gag, beg to let you come, then beg to stop coming, beg for every orifice of yours to be filled by his seed and then beg to get cleaned by him. With the first rays of morning sunlight, language was an illusion, time was an out-of-reach concept, and all you knew was the worshipping of last night.

Whatever is a word. Whatever is mean. Whatever is filthy. Whatever is nailing you into the bed and rendering you immobile for the entire day. Whatever may just be a word to anyone, but to you it is what has you losing sense of reality, giving in to a phantasm of your wildest dreams.

A wet tap on your cheek brings you back from you imagining the past - the fingers that were fucking your cleavage are squishing your cheeks, bringing your attention back from all your dirty memories to the present - to create another memory to add to your folder.

If Jimin is a color, he is the darkest of all blacks. This is where everything pious comes to meet its sordid end. His sultry gaze is reading your eyes, searching for where you got lost, which shared memories of passed time made you melt into the puddle that you are right now.

“I said, don’t you remember? ‘Whatever’?”

Let’s see. You don’t have work tomorrow. You don’t have any commitments. You don’t have to meet anyone.

So there is no reason for you to be able to move.

“Hmmmmn, I don’t seem to recall - you could remind me.”

Dark, dark chuckles from such a cherubic face. You flounder off his lap to shuck your (his) pants away, revealing the matching maroon garter belt set. The whole outfit is an ode to Jimin’s mid performance transformation, the one that made many people’s hearts skip a quick beat. His slim, cinched waist, the flared pants flowing down his frame were one for the books, and you’d like to think your rendition has its place too.

Giving him a quick spin, you attempt to get down to business - but Jimin pulls you back on his lap. Without the pants, you can feel it - his hard, thick cock straining against the tough jean fabric and still making its presence known.

“Tell me more, baby. What did you like?”

The man was a sucker for your praise.

You were a sucker for the whole man.

But the sucking will probably have to wait.

“I loved your expressions. You’re so sexy on stage, fuck. Going around and giving bedroom eyes to the world.”

His hand gripping you ass gives it a quick pinch, but voice just let out a lazy hum to get you to continue.

“The choreography,”, your whisper is strained, “you dance like you fuck baby. So sensual, so sexy.”

You lick a stripe up his neck, from his artistic collarbones to the back of his ear, the sensitive spot that makes him hiss is arousal. You stay there, wanting to whisper the next few lines. The world didn’t need to know your thirst for this.

“You know my favorite part?”

“Oh, tell me.” His voice is hitting lower and lower in pitch, much like it’s hitting you lower and lower in your body.

You place the hand framing his face on his neck - the same one you want to cover in blooms of purple and red, lightly squeezing, letting him preen under the pressure. The tightness has Jimin’s head falling back on the headrest, and you can feel his pulse hastening to accommodate for the lacking oxygen in his stream.

Letting go of his throat, and pleased to see the lightest indentation on his beautiful pale skin, you snake your hands downward.

“Na, na, na,” Inching slowly towards your end goal, you whisper the tune into his ear, “na na na, na, na na”, covering every part with an indulgent languish, “pick your filter”.

Your hand finally reaches its destination - you grab his bulge and squeeze the hardness, making Jimin buck his hips against your palm.

“Namaneul damabwa.”

It’s a low whisper from his lips, but even in the gravelly sound you can hear how melodious he is, how the song rolls off of his tongue and was made for his vocal color. The whisper is laced with lust, with want, with desire, all the feelings you portrayed for him in his performance.

That, and in life in general.

You shuffle and sit to the side, simultaneously unbuttoning his jeans to get him some relief for the ache he had going on. Finally, you acquiesce and free his dick from its cages.

Every time you see him is a wonder to you. Hard, ridged, the right amount of veins to stimulate the walls of your cunt. Head leaking from the eons of teasing you’ve been doing, right from the text you sent to seconds ago. You bend down to clean him up, tasting the saltiness of his seed that has coated the head. Jimin’s lips are facing the brunt of your deeds - his teeth have found near permanent residence in its plushness, digging deep to keep from moaning too early, from giving you the pleasure. He is going to make you work.

Well, you must get to work.

Slowly, slowly, you dip your head in further, sucking lightly with each move, tongue tracing every vein on his dick. As you move your head back up, Jimin’s hand pushes into your back, making it arch further, and then you go down on his dick. His finger lightly follows the curve of your back, from your upper back all the way to the band of your lace panties.

Hooking a finger underneath the lace fabric of your panty that had disappeared in between your mounds of flesh, he pulls at it - hard. Your throat revolts against the intrusion as you gag, and the fabric presses into your clit. The concentrated abrasion turns into pleasure - he uses it to arch your back further, and bring your ass closer so that he can-

Smack!

The spank sends you forward and you choke on his dick further, throat giving in to his hardness.

“So good for me baby. Look at that ass.” He grabs one cheek, bubbled with the way your panties are now, squeezing and testing the firmness of your glutes.

Your plans of torturing him are shot; the Devil on your shoulder is strangely mute. Awakening the brat, you slip a hand under and toy with his balls, pulling back to provide your throat some recess. Your saliva mixed with his precum is an gushing mess, glistening on his balls and now coating your palms as you play with light squeezes - the existing stiffness caused by your teasing arousal mixed with your playful fingers make Jimin buck into your mouth, releasing a delicious groan in the process.

A second spank is a warning, either you increase your pace or reap some serious consequences. You consider the consequences; they are very compelling. You could end with delicious marks of ownership from this delicious man. But he deserves the best suck of his life, and you’re going to do just that.

Hollowing your mouth, you go further down, till his head is poking an uninvaded point in your throat, and Jimin lets out a surprising note. A groan, no, a roar, but a tinge of whine mixed in it, like the pleasure is too much for him.

You continue to swallow around, hand pumping the length you couldn’t take in, interlarded with swipes on his tight balls, leaving Jimin to be a heaving mess. Your ass is not faring better, bearing the brunt of his replies. You’re positive his fingerprints are imprinted on your asscheek, and one sit on his phone can unlock it. The line of your panties is drenched with your sopping wetness and lodged between the lips.

“God, I’m so close baby, just a little more.”

You would fervently nod in acceptance to whatever demand he places; in this position, he could ask you for the world and you would have it at his disposal. But what stops you are his ringed fingers lodged in your hair, pushing you in further, determined to spill deep in your throat, to the point where you don’t even have to swallow to get everything down.

“Fuck, such a good girl for me.” Jimin appraises how deep he is going, how your throat is accommodating him and quivering around his length. Bunching your hair up into a makeshift ponytail, he stops them from obstructing his vision - the view of you struggling to take him in, toiling to keep the need to breathe at bay while you tend to his needs, worshipping his dick like its the last meal you’ll ever get - your desperate adulation takes him over the brink.

Jimin erupts into your mouth; an ungodly amount at that. It is the hardest he’s come in a while, and given your lifestyle, that’s saying something. Even a cum-hungry whore like you can’t possibly swallow that much in one go, and you are forced to let the globs dribble down his now-softening member. The two of you are heaving, catching a breath - completely different circumstances but the same result.

The way you’re looking at him right now; his dick is already twitching to go for a second lap. Dilated pupils staring back, like you were at the receiving end of the orgasm - you are staring at him like he hung every star in the sky. Strings of cum are leaking out of the corners of your lips, ones he really wants to lap up with his tongue. Instead, you daintily dab it away - as innocent as pecking stray drops of ice cream off your mouth.

You look at him with teasing eyes. “Want a taste baby?”

Running your tongue along the mess you (or he) made, you gather the remnant cum that didn’t go into you, and instead flooded his groin. Straddling back onto his lap, you go in for a kiss but stop halfway.

Jimin is looking, waiting with lust hungry eyes. Slightly pained by the pause, he whines.

“What?”

“Open your mouth.”

From a height, you let his cum and your spit drop into his mouth, a groan of satisfaction emanating as Jimin’s tongue accepts it with great delight. He tastes his juices, they somehow feel sweeter coming from your mouth. He pushes the glob you dropped on his tongue against the roof of his mouth, letting every taste bud bathe in relish. When he’s sucked all flavor out of the globule he swallows it. On opening his eyes and landing back from heaven to earth, he sees you admiring his adam’s apple, the way it bobbed when he swallowed your offering.

Jimin’s eyes trace your current state; you look beautiful. The strappy red lingerie wet from Jimin’s treatment perfectly showcases your peaked nipples, ready for another round of torture. His shirt, through all this has managed to stay hanging on your shoulders. The curves of your sinful waist accentuated by the ribbons of the wear, like roads down a windy path, every ribbon vanishing into their destination, between your curvaceous thighs.

Slipping his fingers under the band, he decides he has not played with the lingerie enough, tugging it up once again - a sharp inhale and you’re moving along with it, upward to balance between the point of pain and pleasure. Jimin makes sure you don’t tip in favor of one. Grabbing you by the neck, Jimin harshly pulls you down into a deep kiss.

He’s done waiting, done watching you take the reins. His tongue tells you that you now can only react to his doings. Deepening the kiss, you let your mind walk places. Back to his performance, his stage presence, the aura he exudes when he is in his element. His sinful body melding to the flow of the beat, like the music was made to his movement - his piercing gaze that could leave an insentient camera with blushed cheeks - but a sharp bite pulls you right back to the present to remind you that this is also Jimin in his complete element. Pillowy lips, incandescent with every brush, sucked and nipped with fervor. But it still didn’t satisfy. It wasn’t nearly enough. Starved, you wanted to scream at every imperceptible air pocket between the two of you - as if you knew in your soul they were guilty of keeping you away.

Jimin pulls away, and his words shut you down before the whine leaves you.

“About that ‘whatever’…” his sinister eyes are a window to his brain churning something unimaginable to close the night - sinister in uppercase. Make it bold. Underline that shit. That’s him.

In the bat of an eye, you are face down on the sofa - Jimin’s rock hard thighs are straddling you, making sure you can handle his weight. In all the coarseness, he takes care of the smallest of things. An untimely smile creeps up on your face at the thought, the tender show of affection amidst the rough push and pull affecting your immersion, but you can’t say you don’t like it.

Feeling a rough jerk on your shoulder, you try to look back, just in time to receive Jimin’s ravenous gaze; he looks at you like he will eat you alive, and by the end of the night you plan on having just that. Pulling back your now-unbuttoned shirt and bunching its ends, he anchors you to the position of his choice by tying your hands behind.

Smelling a line up your neck all the way up to your hair, he briefly pauses to ask “Okay?”

Your tiny nod is enough for Jimin to carry on with whatever godless plan he has chalked out for you.

“I hope you had your fun. Because I’m not going easy on you.”

Light banter could cause no trouble. Atleast, not more than you already have. “When have you ever?”

Flashbacks of the blossoming days of your relationship flicker in Jimin’s mind, their fugacious presence a telling sign of how long it has been. Looking downward, he can only thank his alcohol-induced blabbering of that night as that is the reason he can enjoy the view he has right now.

“Maybe I should take it easy?” His tongue flits across your neck, too soft for your liking, torturous like his liking.

His fingers are playing with the straps and your now exposed upper back. It’s always been a favorite place of his. The whole expanse looks resplendent when he is done tasting you. Maroon and purple florets on your beautiful, glowing skin. And then you purposely wear dresses to show it all off, to show who your heart belongs to. He loves that about you.

You gyrate lightly, snapping him out of his daze, begging him to take you hard and fast. “Jimin, please.” a low drawl leaves you as you try to not slobber all over the cushion.

Jimin shifts lower to straddle your thighs. Snaking his hand between your legs, he finds your clit and plays with it, every press releasing a different sound from different depths of your throat. A particularly low grunt appears when he slips two fingers into your channel with smooth ease, and pushes you up from the inside.

“Ass up for me.”

His fingers stay lodged inside as you raise your hips to obey him, pulling you up further and further till he is satisfied with your position. God, your pussy looks wrecked. With every pump of his fingers you gush our more liquid, and Jimin gathers the escaping drops on this tongue.

“So perfect for me, this hole.” You can feel the cold metal of his rings drawing circles inside you as he prepares you to take his cock. His tongue, drawing completely different characters is too slow for your liking - he seems to be more satisfied in drinking your cum dripping from his fingers instead of paying attention to your throbbing clit. Seconds go by, several hinting moans of dissatisfaction go by, but the Devil on your shoulder seems to have returned and is asking for more. A hip raise, that’s all. His tongue will be right where you want.

What you got instead was a sharp bite on your already battered ass - Devil, hey, where did you go? “Behave.” He grunts against your pussy, and a fresh wave of arousal escapes you with a third finger making its way in. “Don’t like it? Too,” Smack! “Fucking.” Smack! “Bad.”

The last spank hit you hard, leaving your cunt soaked to the core. He is trying to get a rise out of you, and you are falling for it. Your smarting skin is at its breaking point, but let’s not pretend like you don’t want this either.

“Baby please, I’m so close.” You’re close to tears with how long you’ve been this turned on. Maybe Jimin will have a change of heart seeing you like this.

“Don’t.”

Well maybe not.

He’s using your hole like playdough - for his fancy, with no end goal in sight. He doesn’t seem to want you to come anytime soon and it is bothering you to no end. The tightening coil in your belly is almost painful at this point - but he doesn’t seem to want to let up anytime soon.

“You taste so sweet baby, almost don’t want to let you come, so you keep dripping like this.”

His fingers curl into you to hit that spot, and God, you’re seeing stars right now. Curling up your fists into a ball and trying to keep the threatening tsunami at bay, you jerk into his mouth and continue to sway to the tune his fingers play inside you. If desperation had a poster girl, they could take your photo right now.

“If you let me come I -ohhh- I will- I will give you more.” Your words are broken, every push into your cunt halting your flow of speech.

A split second later you are empty. He’s pulled away from you, and you think the finger-fucking torture you were going through was almost better than this. Your walls flutter in empty anguish.

“Better keep your promise then.” Finally, you hear Jimin shuffling behind, but your muscles feel too alive and too dead at the same time. At crossroads, you are unable to get yourself to move, to twist or turn and witness the glory of him, the scrunch of his features, the grit of his pronounced jaw, his lips heaving a sigh as he pushes his girthy self into your leaking hole.

Jimin’s forehead is lined with sweat, jaws hurting from the tight clench he had trying to not nut into you too soon. Now they revolt in pain, ready to pass on their trouble to his dick and release into you the moment he fits himself in. But he held off; he had plans for you - long plans.

As he slowly pulls himself out, you can’t help but mewl at the pleasure your walls are feeling, with every ridge of his cock pressing all the right spots inside you, the snug fit when he’s pulled out all the way only leaving the head inside you. Then, you can’t help but yell, expressing a mixture of anguish and pleasure when his hips snap to push into you in one swoop, hitting deep inside you. With your ass high up in the air, his balls smack your engorged bud, sending shockwaves throughout your body and clenching the hold you have on his dick.

“Fuck baby, you feel fucking tight. You’re so close?” Jimin’s voice is strained as well; the lack of mocking in his tone tells you he is close as well.

“Ki-Kiss me, please.” The voice that leaves you is so foreign, so unknown. The fucked out woman speaking in your stance has no spatial or temporal comprehension. You don’t even realize how you are put on your back, now a lucky witness to Jimin’s nimble figure pushing back into you as he leaned over to slot his lips on yours.

The kiss was explicit, it was rough, it would put to any kiss you’ve shared before to shame. Deep in throes of pleasure, his mouth is chasing yours. Your hands are still bound; a light fight against the restrain tells you you don’t have a chance. Instead, you suck his plush lip in, swiping your tongue across his cherry petals that are rushing with blood because of you. Dormant volcanoes across the world could erupt with the blaze of your merging lips, it is scorching hot.

If Jimin is a color, he is a rich wine - deep and passionate. He puts his one hundred percent into whatever he does, be it skilled singing, adept dancing or simply fervent kissing. He gives it his all.

Jimin’s skillful hips move in every way he wishes - and your pussy is thankful for that. Rolling in deep, he tests the stretch of your walls, before pistoning into you with zeroed-in precision, sole focus to get you to come with him. The effort he was putting in could be seen in his abs - they have tightened with exertion, and with a light sheen on sweat, look absolutely delectable.

Letting your hands roam, you bring Jimin’s face into your neck where you can hear every single breath, every hiss, every groan - that you could record and keep in your memory. With one hand tugging his tresses, and the other hand drawing paths on his back with your nails, you hear the sounds you want to. Jimin sharply bites your ear, and the shockwaves of pleasure send you tipping.

There’s layers to the pleasure you are experiencing right now, your orgasm hitting you in ebbs and flows. Right when you think you can finally return back to ground, the high tide pulls you back into the water for another stream of pleasure. It feels like eternity when you finally hit the land, and even then the loose sand makes you falter, threatens to send you back into the ocean.

Jimin’s pace is faltering, and he spills soon after. Hot, heavy breaths tickle under your ear, as both of you feel the sheer intensity of the orgasm. Him on you, your hearts are aligned, and you can feel the beats fighting each other for dominance until they soften down.

Ripples of energy flow out of the both of you, elevating the temperature around the two of you. If you didn’t have your eyes closed you’d say literal rolls of steam are emanating from the way you both are heaving. You slowly regain your senses, twitching hands trying to remember what it is that hands even do.

A shiver runs through your spine when you hear a grunt so close to your ear, only to realize Jimin is in the same position as you are in. Even without looking, you can guess what his expression is. Void of any edge, the softness of his facial features must have made their return, with crinkled eyes and a light frown on his beautiful pouty lips, he probably looks like an innocent caricature of the man that stood behind you moments ago. Letting your palm rest on his head, you beckon him to get up.

If Jimin is a color, he is the pinkness best portrayed by his puffy cheeks at this moment. A childlike glow, a guileless visage. He looks at you with such adoration, like you are the only desire in his world, and everything else can be damned.

You don’t want to break this silence but you cheekily add, “You didn’t even get me naked. Like this a bit too much eh?”

Dark clouds mar the pink and turn it into a deep, sultry carmine - the shift in his color noticeably brings your temperature down by a few degrees.

“Cute. You think I’m done with you.”

He is the whole palette, and you can pick your filter.

Thank you for making it to the end! Let me know what you think! And you can find more of my writing at my masterlist here!

#bangtansorciere #bangtanhq #bangtancentralstation #ficswithluv #bangtaninn #bts smut #jimin smut #park jimin smut #bts fanfic #jimin fanfic #bangtanuniversity

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tornsuits · 3 years

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mechs timeline... or something

good evening gender identities! i’ve been thinking about the order the albums might have happened in, chronologically, and how events from some albums might have affected others! and now i have a whole long theory/headcanon about it, because i’m insane. so. here we are!

(obligatory disclaimer that i did make some assumptions about events that happened offscreen, and while they’re all based in actual canon, they are still, y’know, headcanons that shouldn’t just be taken as fact.)

so, typically the assumption is that the albums take place in the same order that they were released (ouatis udad hnoc tbi, with ttbt songs wherever they fit) which is possible (and probably correct tbh)! but this line from ‘ulysses’s will’ caught my attention:

Doesn’t matter there’s nothing beyond the City save the automated colonies that feed it and the empty black.

which could be interpreted a couple different ways, but the most literal being that there really is nothing beyond the city- there are no more habitable planets, & the city has taken over the last planets and is using them for maintaining the city (presumably). which, considering we know that there are many planets and other Things In Space in the mechsverse, probably means that udad is actually the last of the albums to take place, timeline-wise.

the only piece of evidence i could find directly contradicting this is that nastya went Out right before tbi, and was present (though offscreen) during udad. but time travel is an established thing in the mechsverse that we know the mechanisms have access to, so:

yes, udad happened last in linear time, but that doesn’t mean that it happened last in mechs time- in fact, if i were newly immortalized & could travel through time, the last human civilization is probably one of the first places i’d want to go. so the album release order is probably the order that the mechs visited these planets, even if that’s not the order they existed in, like, human history.

anyway! so what order did the albums take place in, then?

i’m gonna go out on a bit of a limb and say that i think tbi actually took place first! i know it’s usually considered to take place last because it was the last album to be released, (+ the thing in out i talked about already). but hear me out!

tbi took place first, after a good portion of, like, other things had already happened. what other things? i don’t know! the mechs probably didn’t write about them because they were actually happy, or unsatisfying, or whatever. so tbi is actually the first step to the destruction of the rest of the universe, and i’ll explain how that might have happened in a moment. (which actually explains why lyf saw notes that the mechs’ technology seems so alien- it was pretty early along in the timeline, compared to the rest of the albums).

so i’m working under the headcanon that the bifrost managed not only to destroy all of the yggdrasil system, but a good portion of the rest of the universe as well. it’s pretty easy to guess how the sudden disappearance of a whole system would lead to people going to investigate, which would lead to more people getting killed by the Rainbow Shit, and if anyone survived they’d probably bring bits of the Rainbow Shit back to their home planets, ect, ect. (also, not to delve too far into forbidden lore, but the void spreads.) so, the bifrost probably wiped out most of the civilizations in the universe.

but a few planets/systems survive- ones far enough away that they weren’t immediately affected, and were able to get word that Maybe Investigating This Is Not The Best Plan. which brings us to ouatis, which i think happened sometime after tbi (possibly around the same time or after as hnoc- i’m putting it first for organizational purposes, but it could go either way).

so the system from ouatis survives, & this is probably how old king cole was able to establish himself as an immortal tyrant, since there was a sudden lack of other governments to keep him in check/send support to citizens starting an uprising. this basically leaves old king cole free to colonize a good portion of the planets that weren’t destroyed by the bifrost. presumably the government collapes after king cole dies, (to quote the fiction, it most likely suffered ‘the most horrendous power vacuum and subsequent bloodshed the universe has ever seen’ which probably killed a good amount of the remaining citizens) and that’s another mass civilization down! fun times.

which actually ties very neatly into alice. it’s unlikely that the ouatis system (does it have a name? i can’t keep calling it the ouatis system i can’t) was able to completely escape the horrors of the bifrost, and might still have some residual effects in the areas that the void touched. the planet/moon from alice was probably an area heavily touched by the void, which might be why it’s Like That.

and then we get to hnoc, which, again, could have happened at any time around when ouatis was taking place. we know that they were never able to finish building the station, & that contact with the outside world was abruptly cut off in holder of the grail. so it’s not unlikely that the civilization, or at least part of it, was killed by the bifrost. (i mean, the other option is that they just, like, got bored with the station and ghosted an entire colony). the station survived due to previously mentioned lack of contact with the outside world, although this doesn’t last long.

which brings us to udad! unlike fort galfridian, i don’t think it was completely cut off from the rest of the universe- just far enough away, or relatively untouched, enough that it was still habitable. which is probably why it got so crowded- so many people were moving there after their home got destroyed by cosmic horror rainbows. there’s also something to be said about the fact that the city is modeled after the ‘roaring twenties,’ which was a time of innovation and celebration after recovering from disaster, but that might be reading too far into it.

but, while the city was mostly sheltered from the bifrost attack, it probably was still at least slightly touched by bifrost, similar to alice. which might be how we get things like orpheus being able to see the future in his dreams. hm! sounds familiar! it’s almost like someone else also apparently saw the future in their dreams and was connected to the void!

[ODIN] When I first built this train, this snaking engine of change, I could not have guessed that this is where the songs I dreamt of would lead.

haha. yep.

also, taking the epilogue into account and how ashes burned down the acheron, effectively killing the last life in the universe... and how they died at the very end of the universe, briefly the brightest thing in the universe... well. i’m not saying that when ashes died they were cast back forward to when they burned down the acheron for the first time but maybe that’s what i’m saying.

so, to recap: during the bifrost incident, the void leaks through into our world and destroys most of it. fort galfridian and king cole’s empire are some of the few surviors, due to lack of contact, although king cole couldn’t completely escape the bifrost. both of these civilizations fall, leaving the city as the only habitable place left, although also slightly touched by the bifrost. the city also eventually falls into ruin, and with it, the last humans in the known universe. and that’s how the world ends, i guess! woo.

again, don’t take this as canon or whatever- i’m just taking the vague scraps that the canon did give us and turning it into a story that makes sense, at least from my perspective. so, yeah!

#tumblr nerfed this the first time i tried to post it </3 if this doesn't post i stg #jay says words #the mechanisms #udad #hnoc #ouatis #tbi #alright im going to go for a long walk now. hopefully this is coherent

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tunedtostatic · 3 years

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ain’t no safety coats, raft or river boats

Brian & Sana (plus a dash of Brian & Arkady and pre-Brian/Krejjh), 1.5k

This was supposed to be another triple drabble. It is not! Title is from “Can’t Be Too Careful” by Jennah Bell.

CW: Food, mention of minor injury, descriptions of deep bodies of water

Brian suppresses a sleepy morning yawn as he makes his way down the dim corridor of the starship Rumor. After two nights aboard, this path between the bathroom and the kitchen is still unfamiliar in a way that brings back memories of waking up in new apartments and the odd adjustment periods of still packed boxes and unfamiliar sinks and cabinets in new spaces that had abruptly become “home.”

Right. Just another new apartment. New bed. New shower. New, borrowed clothing—no boxes to unpack this time. New microwave. New cargo hold with thirty-five cases of bulk gourmet chocolate destined for the intergalactic black market. New bath mat.

In the kitchen, Captain Tripathi is at the stove, boiling a kettle.

New roommates.

“Morning, Brian.” Tripathi smiles at him, one of her dimples showing. “Tea?”

“I wouldn’t say no to a cup of tea?” Brian steps up to the counter next to her, opening the cabinet that he now knows holds the cereal. “Thanks, Captain.”

As Sana methodically unseals a package of vacuum-sealed bread, Brian realizes that this is the first time he’s been alone with her. Krejjh has been spending hours with her, learning the Rumor’s cockpit, and Brian’s first hour aboard included First Mate Arkady Patel walking him to the Rumor’s tiny medbay and carefully cleaning the cut on his cheek with a taciturnity that did not come across as unkind. But this is the first time Brian and Sana have been in a room together without the rest of their tiny new crew.

The toaster slot in the wall dings, and Brian watches Sana out of the corner of his eye as she spreads butter substitute on her toast. He’s known her for three days, two life-threatening calamities, and one crew dinner. He trusts her with his life. He doesn’t think he knows her better than he did the hour they met.

“Have you and Krejjh been settling into your cabins okay? I told them to let me know if they needed the temperature lower in there. As it is, one reg controls the whole ship, but I should be able to rig something up.”

“You can ask them when they wake up. But their energy levels seem pretty normal to me.” Brian smiles.

Sana smiles back, but as Brian pulls the milk out of the fridge, he has the feeling that she’s watching him, too.

He doesn’t think her question about Krejjh was, like, a test, with a right/wrong answer where she was seeing if he was…willing to speak for them, or something. He doesn’t really think it was any kind of deliberate probe, even to scope out something as general as how much he and Krejjh trust or know about each other. But he does feel like, every time they interact, Tripathi has been quietly getting the measure of him.

He doesn’t have the measure of her yet. He’s known other people who are both kind and tough. That isn’t a heavy lift. But there is another dimension to Sana’s kindness, something deep and quiet that undulates like an underground river.

“It has been nice to have some enthusiasm in the cockpit, I have to say.” There’s a twinkle in her eye, now. Right, Brian’s almost-joke about Krejjh’s energy levels. “It’s been a while since I’ve gotten to teach the Rumor’s quirks to someone new.”

As she reseals the butter substitute, she glances at him with a canny expression. “You know, she might not come out and say this, but I think Arkady is looking forward to have someone who might be doing, say, translation work at the kitchen table while she’s on one of her coding marathons, too.”

Brian smiles and nods, wondering if Sana, for all her perspicacity, has realized yet that her subtle skid-greasing in this realm isn’t necessary. You met some interesting folks in academia, even if most of them didn’t carry at least three guns at all times and have biceps the size of Brian’s undergrad coffee thermos, and you definitely met some interesting folks on Neuzo. Resultantly, some types of weirdness are easier for Brian to parse than others.

A few hours after a sweaty, out of breath Sana, Arkady, Krejjh and Brian had made it aboard the Rumor and into space, Sana was still flying and Arkady had vanished after her into the cockpit to help liaise with their contacts. Unfamiliar with the ship, Brian and Krejjh had stuck to the kitchen, talking quietly.

Arkady had appeared in the doorway with a faint scowl, looking Brian and Krejjh over for a second before going to the sink and silently filling two glasses with water. She’d walked to the table and set the glasses down, remaining standing.

“Important to stay hydrated.”

“Thanks, dude,” Brian said hesitantly.

Arkady grunted, staring impassively down at them for another few seconds. “We did a pot of pasta last night. Leftovers are in the fridge. It has rehydrated shellfish powder. Allergies?”

Brian shook his head.

“Microwave’s there.” Arkady pointed to the very obvious microwave. “Fridge.” The even more obvious fridge. “Cabinets. Help yourself to whatever, except the chamomile tea, that’s for Sana’s headaches.”

“Roger dodger,” Krejjh replied, in a cadence Brian could recognize as false cheer.

Arkady turned to look directly at Krejjh, and Brian tensed.

Arkady must have noticed that, because she turned and looked at him for a long second. Her eyes, he realized, reminded him of a deep mountain lake he had seen once on a visit to Earth. The water had been impossibly clear; you could see through it all the way down to the point where light no longer filtered through.

She reached for a chair and swiveled it in an easy motion, sinking down to straddle it backwards.

“I’m this ship’s security officer,” she said, as though this wasn’t functionally obvious from the five holstered guns, the two sheathed knives, the events that had introduced the two halves of the new crew to each other, or her thorough sweep for bugs when they finally made it to the Rumor. “That means that while you are part of this crew, you are under my protection.”

Brian had felt his shoulders relax, and Arkady had dropped her lakewater gaze, mumbled something about Sana assigning them cabins later, and spun the chair back around.

Then she’d bolted. Brian had smiled and squeezed Krejjh’s hand—trying to ignore the way this seemed to make his heart flip a little more every time—and gotten up to microwave the pasta.

The kettle starts to whistle, and Sana reaches a nonchalant hand to set it on a cool burner as deftly as if it was a teacup. Her arm musculature situation isn’t exactly shabby, either, which…yeah, working as a mechanic in the wartime shipyards would probably do that.

Then add ‘building a secret starship with your own two hands.’ Brian is still trying to wrap his head around that one. Becoming one of the only humans fluent in Standard Exo-Dwarnian after shiphopping to Neuzo for fieldwork, and then getting in the ill graces of the Dwarnian mafia and falling in l—becoming excellent friends with a deserting Dwarnian pilot probably wouldn’t be considered, like, that normal by most people? But Brian has never built anything larger or more secret than a poprocket that time in third grade, unless you count the less physical large-ness of his research, which was technically also a secret once the war broke out, and now that he’s thinking about it, if you gave each sentence of his thesis the weight of a rivet, it actually might be up there with the mass of a starship? Ha, he’s totally telling Krejjh that just to see the look on their face. No doubt they’ll have opinions on whether a chapter section is equivalent to one or two hull subsections.

“Mugs are in that cabinet,” Sana says easily, gesturing toward it.

“Got it, dude,” Brian replies, equally easily.

You don’t comfortably exist in a place like Neuzo, or for that matter a place like academia, if you expect everyone to present their whole self at all times. Besides, since Brian is now in effect depending on Tripathi’s astuteness for his own safety and Krejjh’s, it’s comforting to know that she knows how to keep an eye on layers of social interactions, even when that includes her interactions with him.

He hands off the mugs in a brush of cracked porcelain and calloused hands. The domesticity of working beside someone at a kitchen counter is unexpectedly comforting, too. He could almost be in the cramped galley kitchen of his last shared grad school apartment, or behind the bar with Alvie, getting ready for a shift.

He isn’t.

Sana drops the teabags into the mugs, pouring the steaming water carefully. “If you take sugar, I think it was last seen in the cabinet next to the fridge.”

Brian chuckles at her almost-joke about the dynamic chaos of her kitchen. The kitchen. Their kitchen. He’s going to be spending the next few days getting used to that. If Sana is an early riser, maybe he’ll spend the next few days getting used to mornings like this with her, too.

#tscosi #the strange case of starship iris #brian jeeter #sana tripathi #my writing #fic #crossposted to ao3 link in the notes

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mst3kproject · 3 years

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Battle of the Worlds

Several times on this blog I've featured movies that have more than one title. In almost every case, the new titles were better than the original one, and this is not an exception. Battle of the Worlds is fairly bland, but it tells you that you're going to be seeing a movie about some kind of space-based conflict, without giving away the details. The Italian title was Il Pianeta degli Uomini Spenti, which is a fucking spoiler.

An earlier draft of this review contained a couple of jokes about the classically phallic 60's spacecraft in the movie, but I went back and took those out. Bezos has really set a whole new standard for Giant Dong Rockets and I can no longer accept anything less.

A group of astronomers have just discovered a rogue planet, which they have dubbed the Outsider, is entering our solar system. Everybody is worried about it hitting Earth except for nasty old misanthrope Professor Benson, who says it'll be a near miss. As it turns out, nobody's exactly right – the Outsider doesn't hit us, but it doesn't just pass by, either. Instead, it settles into orbit, and when humanity attempts to explore it, it responds by sending out squadrons of flying saucers to blow our rockets out of its sky! After one of these crashes on Earth, Benson is able to learn how to deactivate the Outsider’s defences and land on it, where humanity can finally confront its inhabitants... or can we?

Well, if you speak Italian, you already know the answer, because this is The Planet of Extinguished Men. The aliens are all long dead and their spaceship has been following its programming for millions of years without them, including the part telling it to destroy the Earth. Bummer.

I actually have quite a bit to say about this movie. It centres around some interesting musings about human emotion and curiosity, though it never comes to any solid conclusions. As a movie, unfortunately, it's not very well-made. This is a story in which the world as we know it nearly comes to an end more than once, and yet very little seems to happen in it.

The opening sequence is terribly clumsy and does very little to place you within this world. We start off with two characters kissing and being excited about starting a new life together, but we have no idea at this point who they are or why they want to leave this place. When the Outsider is discovered, the scientists beat around the bush and try to keep it a secret, even from the audience. Only Benson is willing to be upfront about it. This does establish him as a realist while making his colleagues seem spineless, which is what the movie wants, but it's also terribly frustrating for the viewer.

Later there's a sequence in which a craft attempting to land on Mars is nearly destroyed by the gravity of the Outsider, and some quick thinking saves the astronauts' lives, but this is directed like the battle sequences in Invasion of the Neptune Men. We have no idea where any of these craft or planets are in relation to one another, and have to rely on characters sitting at desks to tell us what's happening. Even worse, we never see the chaos the looming end of the world wreaks on society. Astronauts who have recently returned to Earth note that they've heard there have been suicides and riots as people fear the Outsider will impact our planet, but we never see any of this.

The movie does a little better later, when the Outsider's close approach causes disastrous tidal forces... these are represented by black and white footage of floods and volcanic eruptions tinted red to try to make it match the rest of the colour film. As always, this fails, but at least they tried. Other special effects are equally pathetic. There are the inevitable plastic model kit rockets with their flame exhaust that rises in what's supposed to be a zero-gravity vacuum. The 'flying saucers' the Outsider launches to defend itself look like nothing so much as giant fried eggs.

The Outsider itself is particularly sad to look at. They have a model they use for it in a few shots, but this is about on a par with the original MST3K spaghetti ball. In other shots, the Outsider is represented by a photograph of the Moon. Absolutely no attempt is made to disguise it, and so of course the effect is a dismal failure because everybody knows what the goddamn Moon looks like. They couldn't even, I don't know, turn it upside-down or something?

On the other hand, the inside of the Outsider is actually pretty cool. The sets aren't exactly believable, but you can see what they were going for. Upon entering the caverns, the explorers find themselves in a series of tunnels full of strange red tubes and textures that look more organic than geological. Entering the Outsider is like wandering around within a living organism. My favourite part of this is that absolutely nothing we see here is comprehensible. Professor Benson, the genius, claims to be able to figure out what's going on, but his declarations seem arbitrary and nothing we're looking at makes visual sense. Even the aliens don't look like anything in particular. Were it not for Benson, we would not recognize them as living (or dead) creatures.

Like First Spaceship on Venus, Battle of the Worlds is much more interested in its ideas than in anything else, including what is supposedly its plot. The characters are important mostly as the embodiment of those ideas, rather than as people in themselves, and the ideas the movie wants to study are about logic and emotion and how they affect human priorities.

The character of Dr. Fred Steele finds himself facing the potential end of the world, and decides that the most important thing to him in this situation is the love between him and his fiancee, Eve Barnett. Professor Benson, on the other hand, thinks the most important thing is to understand the threat they're facing. Partly this is so that humanity can save itself from destruction, but knowledge for its own sake is also important. In between these two men is Eve herself, who thinks love and science are both important and tries to find some middle ground between the two. This is difficult for her, because Benson wants her to stay at the observatory and assist him, while Fred wants her to leave with him so they can get married. When Eve tries to convince Fred to stay with her, both men see this as her having chosen Benson, and it poisons the relationships between all three parties. Only with Benson dead are Eve and Fred able to strike a balance again.

But the movie doesn't want us to think that there is no middle ground. The movie's other romantic couple are the two scientists from the Mars Base, Bob and Cathy. They got married because they were both lonely and a psychological evaluation suggested that they had compatible personalities. As the story progresses, however, they find that they have indeed fallen in love and want a future together that would include things like children – but this is ultimately denied to them, as Cathy is crushed by falling debris while exploring the Outsider.

Benson dies when insists on staying aboard the Outsider to try to decode its computers despite the fact that the military is about to destroy the entire object. As the others escape, Fred intones the movie's beauty killed the beast line: “poor Benson, if they opened his chest they'd find a formula where his heart should be.” And yet Benson died happy – as the Outsider explodes he is triumphant in his ability to understand its secrets, and laughing at the foolishness and cowardice of his fellow man. It is the survivors who are miserable, mourning the loss of Benson himself as well as of Cathy, whose death was entirely meaningless.

I'm not sure what the movie is trying to tell us about these different approaches to life. It seems to present them as ultimately incompatible, that attempts to give logic and emotion equal weight can only end in tears. Only Benson, who was unswerving in his devotion to science, is ultimately satisfied. Perhaps the take-home message is that whatever your principles are, happiness lies in following them to their conclusion.

There's a second message, too, in different approaches to science itself. Modern physicists will often describe themselves as either theoretical or experimental... the two fields do compliment each other, but they often take place in different rooms, and one will be seen as leading the way for the other. The search for the Higgs Boson was theory-led: people were pretty sure it existed, they just had to find it. A great deal of astrophysics, however, is result-led: what we see tells us that there are things going on, like dark matter and dark energy, that we know nothing about, and the theorists must do their best to figure it out.

For most of his life, Benson has been a theorist. He sits in his greenhouse chalking on the floors, spinning theories out of other people's results or out of pure mathematics. Until the arrival of the Outsider, he had no interest in going out and exploring or experimenting. But it quickly becomes clear to him that he cannot understand the Outsider through pure theory, as his calculations cannot account for the decisions of its makers. In order to know it, he must see it for himself, so he grandly announces his intention to leave his 'den'. Nobody ever asks him if it was worth it, but his maniacal smile at the moment of his death suggests that it was.

Battle of the Worlds had potential to be a really interesting movie, but ultimate the way its shot and edited make it mainly a very dull one. Like its own characters, it fails to find the balance it needed.

#mst3k #reviews #episodes that never were #battle of the worlds #60s

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somethingimworkingon · 3 years

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Zanele Muholi, Tate Modern

Walking into the Zanele Muholi exhibition at Tate Modern is like discovering another country.

In 2017 Muholi’s ongoing self-portrait series, Somnyama Ngonyama/Hail the Dark Lioness, was exhibited in London’s Autograph Gallery. In press reviews and posters on the tube that autumn, the images were unmissable and unmistakeable: stark black and white photographs of an impassive face crowned with Brillo pads or clothes pegs, festooned with vacuum cleaner hoses. At the time, Autograph wrote, the artist: “uses her body as a canvas to confront the politics of race and representation… Gazing defiantly at the camera, Muholi challenges the viewer’s perceptions while firmly asserting her cultural identity on her own terms: black, female, queer, African.”

Fast forward to 2020, and Tate Modern’s major Zanele Muholi exhibition. Visiting hours at the museum flicker in and out of existence as we navigate COVID lockdowns – now you can come! No, wait, sorry, you can’t. Try rebooking for a month’s time.

When I finally squeaked in, in early December, I expected more Dark Lionesses. I had a vague idea that Zanele Muholi was a bit like a South African Cindy Sherman.

I was wrong.

This exhibition shows the breadth of Muholi’s practice, of which the self-portraits are just one strand. The range and energy of the work is astounding. Especially given that in 2012 their studio was burgled and five years of work on hard drives was stolen.

Another mental adjustment: Muholi’s pronouns are they/them/theirs.

Born in Umlazi, South Africa, in 1972, at the height of Apartheid, Zanele’s father died when they were a baby and their mother, Bester, a domestic worker, had to leave her eight children for employment in a white household. Zanele was brought up by extended family. They started working as a hairdresser, then studied photography at Market Photo Workshop in Johannesburg, graduating in 2003, and going on to be awarded their MFA in Documentary Media from Ryerson University in Toronto in 2009.

On returning to South Africa they started to document the lives of the LGBTQI+ community.

Aftermath (2004)

The exhibition opens with a group of deceptively gentle images. In the first, Aftermath (2004), a torso is cropped from waist to knees, hands modestly clasped in front of Jockey shorts, a huge scar running down the person’s right leg almost like a piece of body art. In another, Ordeal (2003), hands wring out a cloth in an enamel basin of water placed on a floor. A third image shows a cropped, seated figure, again waist to thighs, hands folded in their lap, plastic hospital ties around their wrists. These pictures have a softness and beauty which completely belies the fact that their subjects are all survivors of sexual violence and “corrective rape”.

As the caption to the last picture, Hate crime survivor I, Case number (2004) explains, “Corrective rape is a term used to describe a hate crime in which a person is raped because of their perceived sexual orientation or gender identity. The intended consequence of such acts is to enforce heterosexuality and gender conformity.” This horrific practice is by no means unique to South Africa, but the term seems to have originated there – feminist activist Bernedette Muthien used it during an interview with Human Rights Watch in 2001 – and its effects on the community resonate throughout this exhibition.

Ordeal (2003)

They don’t, however, dominate. While the exhibition starts by showing the evils of intolerance of gender nonconformity, Muholi goes on to reclaim, elevate and celebrate that same nonconformity.

With Being (2006 – ongoing) we move on to photographs of naked bodies entwined – again tightly cropped, again soft black and white, but now without outside interference. They are sensual, personal, and owned. A series of portraits of two female lovers, Katlego Mashiloane and Nosipho Lavuta (2007) switches to colour and full figures. The couple sit entwined, laughing: they kiss, and bathe side by side standing in an enamel basin, in a warm, defiant echo of the scene in Ordeal (2003) across the room.

Katlego Mashiloane and Nosipho Lavuta, Ext.2, Lakeside, Johannesburg (2007)

The series Brave Beauties, started in 2014, is “a series of portraits of trans women, gender non-conforming and non-binary people. Many of them are also beauty pageant contestants.” The queer beauty pageant is many things: a celebration – and redefinition – of beauty, a declaration of independence by contestants, a challenge to “heteronormative and white supremacist cultures,” and an attempt, as Muholi puts it, “to change mind-sets in the communities [the contestants] live in, the same communities where they are most likely to be harassed or worse.”

Melissa Mbambo, Durban, South Beach (2017). Melissa Mbambo is a trans woman and beauty queen, Miss Gay South Africa 2017

Roxy Msizi Dlamini, Parktown, Johannesburg (2018)

Akeelah Gwala, Durban (2020)

These portraits are made collaboratively, Muholi and the subjects choosing clothing, location and poses together. Some of them, like the picture of Roxy Msizi Dlamini (2018) have the quality of a classic glamorous studio shot. Others, like Akeeleh Gwala, Durban (2020), posing in a bikini against a scruffy brick wall in what seems to be a deserted brick alleyway, are a reminder of the vulnerability of the subject. Akeelah Gwala’s “Testimony” in the exhibition catalogue says: “I am 24 years old. I am a transgender woman. Growing up was very difficult because your parents think this is a boy… I was raped when I was 16 years old…” The rapist, a well-known pastor, threatened Akeelah’s family, forcing them out of their home. Akeelah refers to Muholi as “Sir Muholi” and says, “I have taken part in several beauty pageants. I perform because as a Brave Beauty, it is important to be visible and make others know about us and respect us as human beings.”

Miss Lesbian I-VII, Amsterdam (2009)

The theme of beauty pageants also features in the series of self-portraits Miss Lesbian I-VII, Amsterdam (2009), where Muholi casts themself as a beauty queen, an early identification with the wider community prefiguring Brave Beauties. The 2009 series brings together several of Muholi’s themes: the beauty pageant and the fashion/fashion magazine world; who gets to perform and who gets to watch; who gets to choose what beauty means? And, as an aside that may sound trivial but isn’t, kitchen utensils as headgear.

As the exhibition unfolds, we discover other projects. Muholi describes themselves as a visual activist, and they have a large network of collaborators, including the collective Inkanyiso (“Light” or “Illuminate” in isiZulu), a non-profit organisation focused on queer visual activism. We see images documenting marches and protests, weddings and funerals, and “After Tears” – gatherings held after burials to celebrate the life of the lost loved one.

Nathi Dlamini at the After Tears of Muntu Masombuka’s funeral, KwaThema, Springs, Johannesburg (2014)

Death is a constant presence in Muholi’s community and work. The largest space in this exhibition is given to Faces and Phases (2006 – ongoing), a collection of portraits – 500, and counting. The images “celebrate, commemorate and archive the lives of Black lesbians, transgender and gender non-conforming individuals.” People appear more than once. Some spots on the walls are empty, marking a portrait yet to be taken or a participant no longer there. One wall is dedicated to those who have passed away.

Not only is this a powerful and moving project, it’s an extraordinarily beautiful set of pictures. As are the last works in the show, the series that started in 2012: Somnyama Ngonyama, Hail the Dark Lioness.

In this work, Muholi has darkened their skin and whitened their eyes, and composed the picture in the manner of a classical, perfectly-lit studio portrait, posing with found objects as “costume” – a footstool as a helmet, say. There is so much to unpick in these images – references to colonialism, Apartheid, to the politics of race and representation, to femininity and “women’s work”. Muholi presents us with a kaleidoscope of views of injustice, equal parts beautiful and brutal. The photographs were created in different parts of the world, at different times, combining what could almost be witty accessorising with intense cultural and political commentary.

Quinso, The Sails, Durban (2019)

The intellectual focus of every picture is slightly different. Zamile, KwaThema (2016) shows Muholi draped in a striped blanket, as used in South African prisons during Apartheid. In Quinso, The Sails, Durban (2019) Muholi’s hair is adorned with silvery Afro combs, a symbol of African and African diaspora cultural pride. In Nolwazi II, Nuoro, Italy (2015) their hair is stuffed with pens – a reference to the “pencil test” whereby, under Apartheid, if a pencil pushed into a person’s hair fell out they were “classified as white”.

Nolwazi II, Nuoro, Italy (2015)

As mentioned above, Muholi calls themselves a visual activist rather than an artist – though galleries, like Tate Modern, might beg to disagree. Walking through this exhibition, I came away with the impression that their work is on the intersection of art and documentary photography – but also that everything is documentary: everything is story telling, and bearing witness, and the place where “documenting the community” and “expressing oneself as an artist” is continually blurred.

Maybe it’s not just like discovering a new country: maybe Zanele Muholi is showing us a whole new world.

Zanele Muholi is at Tate Modern until May 31, 2021

#zanele muholi #tate modern

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citrusella-flugpucker · 3 years

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All 68 of my SU fics, apparently

((Because @novantinuum did it and then I wanted to do it and then they said “do it” and I took it as a dare

Compiling these gave me a sense of accomplishment. And pain. In my wrist.

Multi-line summaries nearly always squashed to lessen the vertical length of this post, even if most of it is below a readmore))

Multi-chapter fics, regardless of collection status (chronological order--oldest to newest):

And He Doesn’t Wake: My first SU fic, complete; “It can't end like this. Or: Waxing realistic as we examine the events of the episode "Bubbled".” Steven suffers halfway-realistic effects from being exposed to the vacuum of space. Probably not super canon compliant given what we learned in Growing Pains but a fic that branches off at Bubbled and rejoins canon around Mindful Education (and written around that timespan).

Diamond in the Rough: Incomplete; “Connie is in the hospital with a serious disorder, and her biggest chance is an experimental treatment combining minerals with blood transfusions. Little does anyone know...” Originally crack of “Connie gets powers from PD-infused blood” but then ASPR happened and I have to figure out where it goes now (and I want to! but...).

The Results Are In: Incomplete; “Sadie gets a piece of mail from her dad. For most people that'd be pretty mundane, but it's a little more complicated considering who exactly her dad is.” Barb/Blue Diamond crack (it makes sense in context) and affectionately called “Space Maury” internally for reasons that will make sense later. Has a similar but less “it flips the ENTIRE plot” issue with ASPR. I have many idea chunks but almost no connection between them

He’s Gone: Complete (and technically a oneshot with two “bonus chapters”); “Steven asks Peridot to get the shirt Connie got for him for his birthday from his closet. He says he wants to look nice. She's confused by his request. Greg and the Maheswarans are less confused and more terrified. He keeps saying it'll be okay. They'll be okay, even though he'll be going away. It'll just be a couple of days now. Or: Steven and Pink Steven are unable to fuse after being separated on Homeworld. That's not good for Steven.” Steven dies. That’s it. That’s the whole fic. Might potentially get an extra chapter or two still. Or not. Eh.

Thanks, Padparadscha: Incomplete/open-ended oneshot collection; “Stories about the best gem.” Padparadscha oneshots.

Your No-Good, Dirty-Rotten, Gem-Shattering, Rebellion-Leading Mother: Incomplete, little desire to finish; “What if Steven had gone to Camp Green Lake instead of Stanley? Or: If Steven Universe And Holes Were The Same Universe: A Fanfiction (thanks @captainjzh) Or, as the top of my Google Doc I started back exactly a year ago (*2019-01-07) says: SU x Holes: Because the fact that Steven Universe and Stanley Yelnats are both 14 is messing with me”. Wrote this as an exercise after reading the appalling original shopped screenplay for the Holes movie which was basically a nuclear fallout enthusiasts dream world but also quite possibly the worst and most uncomfortable thing ever written and I have had to have whole pages bleached from my memory

It’s Okay to Need Help: Incomplete (three chapters total planned), the last part of the pre-SUF-finale “Steven Corruption Theory” collection; “"Everybody needs support sometimes, and you need support right now, with this. And that's okay." She takes a deep breath. "It's okay to need help, Steven." Or: (Based in corrupted Steven theory as well as taking inspiration/using characteristics from a fic by @love-killed-the-superstar) Sometime after coming back from corruption, Steven sees a therapist to try to hammer out some lingering issues.” Steven has specific lingering issues from corruption due to the way they had to mitigate it, and that affects how he communicates with his therapist some days. Just been blocked on the best way to write it

Waiting is Worse: Incomplete; “Is there anything more awful than the feeling of powerlessness?” The movie mostly ends the same, except Steven doesn’t un-rejuvenate.

Realism: Incomplete, strong desire to complete; “As much as he may want it to be, this is not a dream. He's not possessing anyone. It's not happening to someone else. It's real.” Steven has the same effects happen to him as the Watermelon Steven from Escapism--an arm and a leg are amputated.

The President Kisses Babies, and Other White House Briefs: Incomplete, open-ended oneshot collection with very little overarching plot; “Oneshot escapades of President Connie Maheswaran and her First Man, Crystal Gem and public speaker, Steven Universe.” Inspired by a Tumblr post and with more ideas in the pipeline! Love this fic even if I lost most inspiration for four years!!

Collection (series) oneshots (chronological order):

Citrusella Tries (And Succeeds!) to Write a Fic Each Day of the Bomb: A collection where I tried to write a fic each day of the HotCG (wedding) bomb. I succeeded but also kind of not? XD

Could You Imagine?: “Imagination is wish fulfillment. What are some of the things Pearl has imagined?” Now We’re Only Falling Apart

Partake In New Extraordinary And Pleasing Pizza Lover Experiences (Or: Kiki's Lament): “Kiki rarely hates her job. But she does hate pineapples.” What’s Your Problem? (Also the title spells PINEAPPLE o.o)

Acquired Taste: “Steven has a snack as he helps prepare for an important ceremony.” The Question

My Whole Life: “Some people are just born to go into certain careers.” Made of Honor

We Can Think About Hope: Incomplete multi-chapter with no hope of completion (why it’s not listed in the multi-chapters, BTW... also the “kind of not” regarding success); “What's going on? What do we do now? Can you still hear me? (Or: The end of Reunited plays out differently.) (Or or: And He Doesn't Wake: Part II: This time with weirder angst! And more not waking!)”

Citrusella's "Steven Corruption Theory" Collection: A collection of fics written on the corruption theory premise before it became canon. It’s Okay to Need Help not duplicated here but would be at the end.

Change: “Steven's come back from probably the most serious thing that's happened to him--save almost dying after his gem was ripped out--but that doesn't mean he came back unchanged. (Based on the "corrupted Steven theory".)”

My Skin: “Steven does a mental inventory of what's changed about him since his uncorruption and finds himself starting to fall into a hole of self-criticism, until a song playing downstairs sets him straight. (Based on the "corrupted Steven theory".)”

Eternity in a Moment: “It had only taken a few hours, and yet, an eternity.”

I Can't Say with Confidence: “Over an hour. He's been sitting in the tub, fully clothed, the bathroom a mess… for over an hour.It should be working! Why isn’t it working?!” Based on this art!

It’s Okay to Need Help

Happy Steven's Day!: Just after Steven discovers his mother is Pink Diamond, Mother's Day rolls around...Greg just doesn't want Steven to be in a slump about it anymore.

You Deserve All the Joy: “Because nothing is better than being surrounded by family and love. Or: Steven's once-a-year struggle with a holiday he doesn't exactly have the ability to traditionally celebrate.” It’s Mother’s Day and Steven is sad. Post-ASPR

Universe Day: “"Being your dad is the only present I really need." Or: Greg and Steven talk and realize their experiences with Mother's Day have been two sides of the same coin.” Post-SUF

Citrusella's Comfortember 2020 Fics: Fics written based on prompts for November 2020 Comfortember... not finished with it

Speed Bump: “Steven's first night on the open road isn't as smooth as he wanted it to be. Attempt to combine prompts 2-6 of Comfortember (prompt 1 just couldn't be squeezed in): "first day/night", "nightmare", anxiety", "cuddling", "afraid to sleep"”

In the After: “Steven wonders if it was corruption. Comfortember days 7-10, though only in the most tenuous, technical sense (and by that I mean all four phrases are mentioned): "blanket fort", "lashing out", "confession", "crying"”

Late Night Hot Chocolate (described in next section)

Zombie Club Chronicles: Steven endures a violent accident on Frightnight (Halloween) that changes his life forever.

Beach City Zombie Club

Prompt: [Randomly roll from list: Steven] doesn’t enjoy the Halloween season, but [Fill in: Steven] take(s) them on a well-meaning trip to an old Gem Ruin where they come to realize [Pick from list: They’ve made a terrible mistake in coming here]

On Frightnight when he is 17, Steven experiences the most serious event of his young life. Almost exactly a year later, Steven takes Steven to Lars' ship in hopes of being able to hop off at a truly secluded gem ruin to talk about something that Steven and Steven have been disagreeing on for several months. Lars has an idea, and Steven comes to a realization.

For the Cluster Spooky Writing Challenge!

Late Night Hot Chocolate (also a Comfortember fic)

"Steven? What are you doing?" He stares into the pot.

The gem half's voice comes monotone. "Making hot chocolate."

"It's three o'clock in the morning. Why on earth are you making… hot chocolate?"

The slyness on his face is one pixel away from nonexistent and yet it's practically a traffic cone to his other half, as he remarks flatly, "Because I've lost control of my life."

Or: Steven and Steven both have nightmares that threaten to take them back to... that night... One copes by making the other hot chocolate and pretending he really isn't having any problems.

Comfortember days 16-18: Protective, Flashbacks, Hot Cocoa

Standalone oneshots (reverse chronological order--newest to oldest):

Rumble Strips:

Prompt: [Randomly roll from list: Greg] notices [Fill in: Steven] is in a somber mood lately. Out of the goodness of their heart they try to cheer up the sad soul in the only way they know how: [Fill in: WHO WANTS TO GO ON A ROAD TRIP?!]

"I really thought I could handle myself on my own." He scoffed. "Even my own therapist didn't think I could do it."

"I bet she thought you could handle yourself just fine. She probably just thought you'd do better with your support system close, bud. Like, literally, I mean." His eye weaved through the thin line of gravel past the edge of the shoulder. "You started saying some pretty concerning things."

Or: Greg and Steven stop on the side of the interstate on their way to Empire City for New Year's, to have a conversation.

For the Cluster Christmas Writing Challenge!

Auto-Injector: “In an alternate timeline, Steven meets Bluebird at her welcome party but he cannot, under any circumstances, try her hors-d'oeuvres. Or: Steven ends up with allergies because why not” (I have three more ideas for chapters)

Don't Put Beans Up Your Nose: “"I know you want answers, and I wish I had some for you, really, Steven, but from what you've described… those aren't things to play around with. It's unethical to knowingly subject you to those for the sake of 'experimenting', even if you consent." Or: Steven asks Dr. Maheswaran a question she's not ethically able to answer.”

The Exor-schist:

Prompt: A series of events have led to a terrifying effect on one or more of the series’ characters. [Randomly roll from list: Mr. and Dr. Maheswaran] are now suffering from [Randomly roll from list: Spiritual Possession]. How did this happen?

"This corrupted gem, it has a powerful connection to organic matter. Ones this powerful have been known to overtake and even kill humans."

For the Cluster Spooky Writing Challenge!

It's My Party and I'll Dry If I Want To: “You would dry too, if it happened to you! Or: Steven says he wants a pool party for his eighteenth birthday in Delmarva, after over a year of traveling the country. ...But why isn't he swimming?”

Ace Up Your Sleeve: “Or in your back pocket, same diff. Or: Steven's sad about potentially not getting to go to Pride.” (oneshot and an epilogue)

Milestone: “"Okay, so like, the books aren't, like, useless, but they assume you have like the perfect baby. Maybe consider the following: kids are dorks, man." Or: Steven went to the doctor. Once. Or: Greg thinks Steven, at 15 months, is being weird and missing milestones and is worried he's a bad dad so he goes to Vidalia for help.” May eventually be part of a babby Steeb over the years collection

Full Enclosure: “What am I going to tell you? You're better off not knowing the trouble I'm in. / I don't want you to worry about what I've just seen, about where I've just been. / You don't have to be a part of this, I don't think I want you to be! / You don't need this, you don't need me... Or: Steven defines himself by his connection to others. So when they all leave, then… he's no one. (In short: Steven is crushed by his need to be needed.)”

Vice: “He could stop whenever he wanted to. He just didn't want to. Or: Steven falls into a bad habit and tries to rationalize it as okay as long as he's not completely abandoning the idea of improving his life.”

Stairwell Solitude: “Over ten years, Greg wrote just six letters to his parents. What could they have contained?” Post-Mr. Universe

Striations: “At Connie's behest, Dr. Maheswaran makes a house call to Steven's place after his un-monstering. It's different than his last appointment, but its core is the same.”

Everything Stays: “Ever so slightly, daily and nightly, in little ways, when everything stays... Steven's therapist brings up something she's noticed about him outside his PTSD.”

I Do It For Me: “"Forgiveness is the intentional and voluntary process by which a victim undergoes a change in feelings and attitude regarding an offense, and overcomes negative emotions such as resentment and vengeance." Steven asks his therapist a question. The answer may surprise him.”

A Break in the Case: “Dr. Maheswaran takes a look at Steven's results but quickly finds herself in over her head.” Mid-Growing Pains

I have a couple entries in the @connieswap omake collection (Comic Relief and Same Old Steven)--I’m not linking them

Changing Tastes: “ Steven and Connie share a conversation after watching Crying Breakfast Friends: Under the Butterknife.”

Rejuvenated Regrets: “Someone calls Steven's name from downstairs. He's not listening closely enough to know who it is. He's not sure he cares right this moment. He wants Mom—Rose—Pink—and that's the one person he knows it's not.”

Gut Feeling: “Every time, he has to push his brain off that train of thought--what if she does it again?--but for someone with super-strength, he's surprisingly not very good at pushing.”

Lapis Watches Titanic (1997) ...There’s no summary

The Cluster Halloween Exquisite Corpse 2019 (I only wrote part of this!!): “Lars tells a horror story but loses track of it, or; a bunch of fic writers do an exquisite corpse and hilarity ensues. Written by DocCairo, citrusella, E350, love-killed-the-superstar and br42.”

Drift Away: “There are timelines where Steven fell into the biopoison when the Earth cracked under his feet. Here we see three times Steven (technically) lived despite a dive into pure poison, and one time he didn't.”

The Rose Wilts: “Once upon a time, he knew Rose. But he knew he didn't know everything.Sometimes it feels like he's learned more about her after she died than he ever knew while she was alive.“ Doug and Rose used to be friends

Tying the Knot: “Steven never wears shoes with laces, because he can't tie them. When Connie finds out, he's pretty chill about it.”

Haploid: “You're not sure if this is what being shattered feels like. You don't know if you want to be sure.” Mid-CYM

Thestral: “"How many have you seen?" "All of them." She answered without hesitation. "Oh." Or: Pearl and Steven talk about a type of gem that corruption has given some... special characteristics.”

500 Words a Secret Santa Gift: The Gratuitous Reference: “200 words a day, every day, until Under the Knife comes back. Or Crying Breakfast Friends. We're not picky at this point. Secret Santa edition! (A Secret Santa gift for @e350tb that deliberately and gratuitously references their 100 Words a Day series.)”

Sesimorp, Sesimorp: “A Lapis Lazuli makes a beautiful work of art.”

Ship Talk: “Lars and Steven share a moment on the Sun Incinerator.”

No Way Around It: “An order is an order.”

Give It A Try!: “Steven gets a Diamond to try something new.”

Better Off: “Peedee ponders what could have been.”

Steven x A Nice Calm Life Please and Thank You™: A Case for the Realization of a Bold New Ship: “Steven deserves a happy life free of interplanetary struggle and strife. It's my OTP. So I'm going to give him that! :D”

I Don't Know: “Will this ever make sense? Will this ever feel normal?” Post-ASPR

Force of Nature: “Her diamond gave her orders no longer.”

My Gemmortal (by XXXbloodstoneshardz666XXX): “the escupaids fo steven hardlight amnesia lion universe and his freinds n crushs” (this is exactly what it sounds like)

The Picture of Steven Pink: “It took a lot out of him.” (SU but Steven takes on the injuries he heals)

Self: “In the Connie Swap AU, Steven considers his identity and place in his family, community, culture, and himself. For a kid who at least tries to be all sunshine and rainbows, this isn't exactly the most fun thing to do, but sometimes it's necessary.” (these are different than the things in the CS omake collection)

I Really AM My Mom...: “"When you're singing, you want to use enough air that you could blow a throatful of peanut butter clear across the room." The crackiest of escape-from-Homeworld plots, based on a ClickHole article and a joke headcanon.”

Left: “Of course there's shame in bailing.”

Old shames (chronological order): Stories I just kinda cringe at now

Shrinking Rose: “Steven never felt bad about his stature. Until he did.” (I just don’t love it)

A Rose for Emily: “What if Rose wanted to spend the rest of her life with someone before Greg? ...It's safe to say she has a skeleton in her closet.” (less old shame than the others on this list but was hard to shoehorn in the A Rose for Emily style writing)

Alone: “Steven won't open up about how everything that happened is affecting him. Not even to himself.” (I know I’ve written other dark stuff but this one just hits different)

You Should've Asked Me, I'm Really Good at Naming Bands (November 2019 Unfinished WIPs): “(title subject to change) I did a challenge that I had to write my WIPs in November (revised to November and December) or be forced to post them unfinished. I got some updates done, but several not done. These are those stories. Dun-dun.” (only “shame” because they were things that were never finished--I also had a Connie Swap omake I was supposed to finish or the punishment was not to post it unfinished but to write Steven and Spinel (NOTP) but I just never did that)

#steven universe #steven universe future #steven universe fanfic #steven universe fanfiction #su fanfiction #su fanfic #long post #(it should be considering there are 78 FICS IN HERE)#THIS POST IS ITSELF THE SIZE OF A FANFIC #(68 fics not 78)

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thanksjro · 4 years

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“Bullets”, a Last Stand of the Wreckers prose story- Ironfist Solves a Murder Mystery

Now that Overlord and Rewind have been exploded horribly in the vacuum of space, multiple people have died, and Chromedome’s horrifically single, let’s take a look at all those Last Stand of the Wreckers extras, yeah?

We more or less start with a Furmanism, as is tradition.

One day Furmanisms won’t be nearly as prevalent within the comic publications, and that is a day that I cannot wait to see. Forget politics, forget misogyny, forget basically NEEDING Death of the Author in effect to enjoy anything the man’s done- Furmanisms are a crutch that everybody in this franchise uses, but nobody needs. They never feel natural, in my opinion. It’s like a literary obligation at this point, and you can tell, because it never quite meshes with any writer’s style.

Anyway, this is the setup for what would happen on Pova- the Wreckers have been watching Squadron X fix up their ship, and now that the thing’s airborne again they’ve gotten itchy trigger fingers. Well, some of them, anyway. Rack n Ruin aren’t so sure about this whole thing, seeing as there are eight of them and an entire battalion up there. Impactor’s working the crowd though, as a leader of such a high turnover rate group is required to do, and that’s the point where First Aid stops reading.

Yep, this is one of Fisitron’s datalog entries, of which First Aid is a fan.

This isn’t First Aid’s first appearance within the IDW continuity- he played a role in Spotlight: Jazz, where he lived up to his name, and in Transformers: Ironhide #1, where he was in the background. This IS his premiere as a major player in a story, however, and it’s here that he’s revealed to be a bit of a slacker- he should be making the rounds at Delphi right now, but instead he’s reading entry logs about the wartime equivalent of a boyband.

He hits a key to quicktab to something at least somewhat medically-related as he feels someone approaching from behind. It’s the CMO, and he is in no way fooled by First Aid’s attempt to hide his shame. He gets back to work, but that particular entry- 113, because of course it is- is still on his mind. Hope he never finds out it’s a load of bunk.

I REALLY hope he never finds out this is all bunk. We all need something, you know?

Of course, First Aid- y’know, not to brag or anything- personally met one of the Wreckers. Roughly five years ago, Springer had approached him at a medical conference on Kimia. Why a medical conference was being held on Kimia of all places isn’t addressed, but it was probably because half the folks stationed there are doctors. First Aid, being a classy guy, fucking ogles Springer the entire time they’re talking.

You’ve heard of “Men Writing Women”, now it’s time for “Roberts Writing Robots”. Yes, this is THAT scene, and it’s on the first goddamn page.

First Aid, wanting to be of use to his idol, offers his medical expertise, completely willing to fix Springer’s nose, give him a breast reduction, and even update the circuit dampeners he doesn’t have. Springer, while flattered, isn’t looking for that sort of help. He’s looking for folks who have a lot to give.

The phrasing he uses makes First Aid think that he’s about to be recruited to the Wreckers- in other words, about to be put in line for a slow and awful death- but Springer clarifies that he’s looking more for eyes and ears to help him, not so much bodies. He hands First Aid a card with his number, and says to give him a call sometime.

Cutting back to the present, First Aid is walking through the rows of patient slabs, where we see an honestly horrifying practice in play- every patient in Delphi has their non-essential functions turned off to conserve power. This includes things like the ability to move, and speak.

Because that couldn’t possibly have any negative repercussions.

He checks in on the Fader he’s been assigned, confirms that, yes, his head IS still missing from his neck, then makes to walk out of the room, only to be startled by the sudden entry of a stretcher and Ambulon. Here, Ambulon is identified as a chief paramedic, as opposed to being a ward manager. Whether this is early installment weirdness or a simple mistake isn’t clear.

Ambulon is quickly followed by Dogfight, Dodger, and Backstreet(’s back, alright!) First Aid gets to work, by checking the three of them for injuries, paying special attention to their Autobot badges.

This is the reason Rung had to call in at the beginning of MTMTE #4, though it might be more because First Aid can’t act like a professional of five friggin’ minutes.

Oh, Delphi’s HR department is getting a call for sure.

First Aid, while a known fondler of badges, has never had this exact reaction. He runs off to make a phone call, leaving the injured Dodger to wait for the surgery he’s going to undergo the moment First Aid gets back.

Meanwhile, somewhere else- I’m guessing Kimia- Rung has an appointment underway with a dude named Flattop.

Flattop’s TFWiki article is one of the most depressing on the entire site, and it’s completely “Bullets”’s fault.

You see, Flattop’s attempting to talk through his trauma, but it’s difficult.

This level of insight is why they pay Rung the big bucks.

The war, while terrible for everyone’s mental health, has given Rung a slew of patients to handle.

Gee, wonder who that medic was.

Anyway, so Flattop’s deal- he was at Babu Yar, which was an event that was apparently so terrible, everyone involved was offered brand new bodies as compensation. He’s currently hiding underneath a table, which Rung identifies as “playing to type”. Flattop isn’t even here to talk about Babu Yar, but it’s good to know that war is still hell.

The reason Flattop’s actually here is this: he was serving under Silverstreak- another one of Rung’s patients, and someone who I’m convinced might actually be a Warrior cat given the name- and was going to check something out when he saw something utterly terrifying.

Rung gets Flattop out from under the table, and they talk about what the Shimmer means. Flattop is convinced that since he’s seen the thing, he’s going to die. You see, folklore in space is very similar to its counterpart on Earth, in that it’s a warning swathed in story to make it easily digestible.

Rung, who tries to keep things rational, offers to give Flattop a few possible explanations for what he saw. Because Flattop had only recently gotten his hot new bod a short while before he saw the Shimmer, it’s completely possible he had had a hallucination due to the adjustment period. Another theory is that Flattop has PTSD. Which, I mean, yeah.

While Rung was busy trying to explain what had happened, Flattop friggin’ died.

Awkward.

Over with Ironfist- because “Bullets” is a prequel- we’re in the middle of a meeting with the Ethics Committee. Xaaron, Animus, and Trailbreaker of all people, have come together to pass judgement on Ironfist’s cerebro-sensitive bullets. There’s a lot of hemming and hawing, and Ironfist reflects on how they got to this moment, while fiddling with a data slug to burn off the nerves.

This is just after the Surge happened, an event kicked off by the betrayal of the Autobot cause allowed Megatron to seize a majority of the Autobot outposts. It was a huge deal, a lot of shit was stolen, including the Weak Anthropic Principle, and it left everyone a little twitchy towards one another. Trust is not in vogue at present.

Kimia’s in a mess of trouble anyway, however, due to the events of Babu Yar, where Gideon’s Glue had rained down on the Autobot troops under Flame’s command, eaten to Swiss cheese by something eerily similar to something being developed on the station.

So an investigation was established. Brainstorm, who’s apparently big man on campus here at Kimia, is questioned, as is everyone else. Of course, no one cops to having invented Gideon’s Glue, because that’s a big ol’ war crime, so the questioning goes nowhere, but now there’s a precedent for mistrust on this science station.

Anyway, back to the bullet thing.

Ironfist’s cerebro-sensitive bullets are designed to hit the head, every single time, ignoring trajectory, ballistic physics, what you think is possible, and the Geneva Convention. It’s fired, it hits the first brain it identifies. Brutal stuff. Effective, but brutal.

Trailbreaker’s not a fan.

I mean, maybe? I guess it depends how gray your morality is. I bet Prowl would like them.

After telling Trailbreaker to keep it professional, Xaaron tells Ironfist that using these bullets would be a literal war crime, and he’s got a little over a day to hand them over to the Committee for destruction. Meeting adjourned!

Ironfist is left standing there until his good buddy Skyfall checks in on him. Ironfist is kind of bummed out, but Skyfall knows how to cheer him up- by comparing him to Impactor, former leader of the Wreckers, and one of Ironfist’s fan-crushes.

Man, this makes the Pova reveal a little harsher in hindsight, huh?

Skyfall invites Ironfist to the Exit Rooms, a place where the Kimia employees can drink and no one will give a shit, and as they make their way over they run into Brainstorm.

Brainstorm gets some interesting development in this story.

That’s right, not only are his weapons completely insane, and in some cases literally abstract, they’re apparently often so incredibly dangerous that the Ethics Committee loses sleep over the fact that they exist.

And Brainstorm loves it.

No wonder Trailbreaker was so annoyed in his Spotlight.

Skyfall asks about what’s in Brainstorm’s briefcase, gets an answer that’s likely a lie, then the boys head over to the Exit Rooms.

Over on Hydrus 5, it’s raining cats and dogs, and this is somehow the Transformers fault. I guess the universe bends to the will of what would be the most dramatic, as everyone takes a break from warmongering to soul-search.

Or ego-stroking. That works too.

Here is our dear Pyro, reveling in the aftermath of a battle that destroyed the natural ecosystem of the land, but at least they kicked those ‘Cons’ asses!

Pyro, who’s revealed to be maybe perhaps not the best at coming up with one-liners, is left alone for a bit as Afterburner goes to check on the rest of their men. As he tries to piece together a speech to deliver, he sees a green something- they’re always green, aren’t they?- and that something is the Shimmer.

Well, heck.

Over on the dilapidated space station of Debris (wow, that’s even less subtle than usual for this franchise) Springer’s holding a bullet. I mean, it’s not really a bullet, and the Decepticon who fired it wasn’t really a Decepticon.

I want you to know that I keep track of how many times 113 comes up in these stories, and for “Bullets" it’s a LOT.

Today’s letter from Agent 113 foreshadows/hindshadows the events of Last Stand, claiming that the DJD hasn’t heard anything from Garrus-9 since the Surge happened. Prowl’s concerned that Fortress Maximus is still alive in there and fighting off the Decepticons while waiting for backup, so he recently called Springer and invited the Wreckers on a mission.

All Springer has to do is pick some sorry sons of guns to die.

Over with Guzzle, who is romanticizing a weapon, comparing his gun to a religious artifact, our dear little bastard man has realized that he does, in fact, have emotions, and is in mourning over his lost comrades, who died rescuing Kup from Tsiehshi. Guzzle doesn’t much appreciate this whole “feeling” thing, and would rather it didn’t get in the way of him shooting statues for no other reason than him wanting to. Then he sees the Shimmer, and feels fear. He doesn’t much care for that, either.

Even Nick Roche is powerless to stop this madness.

We reconfirm the fact that Ironfist is a massive nerd, then are shown that the bullet accident that will have killed him by the end of Last Stand #5 has already happened. Ever so slowly, the bullet is heading for Ironfist’s brain. Every time it hits a new layer of his noggin, he blacks out.

Ironfist is going to leave on his super-fun, not-at-all-traumatizing Wrecker adventure soon, and he’s promised Skyfall his workshop. Skyfall was at Grindcore for a while, and that kind of gave him PTSD, so when Ironfist had gotten accepted to Kimia, he’d brought him along for the ride.

I like to call Grindcore Eugenesis-lite.

Because Skyfall is a reckless son of a gun with access to Ironfist’s workshop, he inadvertently caused a major incident with something called Black Phosphex, which resulted in the deaths of several Autobots because it wasn’t properly tested. This landed him in Garrus-9 for a bit, in a temporary career-path deviation, until it was time to come home to Kimia, just in time for the Inquiry.

Are stans always this intense? Because good lord, Ironfist.

Over at Karashi Delta, in the aftermath of a fierce battle, Rotorstorm is hyping himself the fuck up.

But does he buy it himself?

Hmm, survey says no.

Of course, verbal abuse isn’t the only thing we’ll be getting here. No, things begin to escalate pretty rapidly with Jetstream, who moves from shoving to almost beating Rotorstorm to death in a matter of months, before disappearing from the station forever.

Dang, this Jetstream fella kinda sucks. What’s his friggin’ problem?

Ah.

Again, I can’t stress this enough, Whirl’s awful flipper claws from back during his time as a cop do not make a nice fist. He was basically stabbing Rotorstorm. Who let this man be a teacher?

Rotorstorm is snapped out of his self-deprecating flashbacks by the sight of something on the canyon lip up ahead. It’s the gotdang Shimmer. Rotorstorm books it, not wanting to be caught by a harbinger of death. It doesn’t work, but points for trying.

Back on Debris, Springer’s picked his new recruits. Now all he has to do is call them up. Hey, isn’t Springer green? Green like the Shimmer? How about that.

Back on Kimia, Skyfall’s wandered into Ironfist’s workshop to share the gossip on Fisitron’s latest Wreckers: Declassified. Folks are a bit critical of his writing style, it would seem.

Of course Swerve knows what fan-fiction is. He seems like exactly the type to make fun of it, then read a 43,000 word fic in a single sitting, under cover of darkness, burning with shame all the while.

After making a note on his current Wreckers: Declassified document to ease up on the adverbs, Ironfist switches gears and gets busy on his other project: an Unofficial Wreckers’ Training Guide. I wonder when the switch from Primal Vanguard to Wreckers as a hyperfixation happened for him.

Ironfist asks Skyfall what entry he’s currently on, and the answer is a ways away from the latest one. Skyfall’s a slow reader, but he doesn’t want to just beam it all into his brain because it feels like cheating. He asks Ironfist when he’s going to cover the Wreckers’ mission to Garrus-9, the one that happened while he was there being not-imprisoned. Ironfist gives a non-answer, then asks if Skyfall wants to help with packing up the war-crime guns. Skyfall most certainly does not.

Ironfist starts breaking everything down when he gets a call from Prowl, as happened in Last Stand #4.

Back with Springer, we’re giving our dad a hug, as he greets Kup. It’s here we find out who Ironfist replaced on the Wrecker team for Operation: Retrieval- it was Skyfall. Skyfall had impressed Springer during their last Garrus-9 excursion, and thought that he’d be a good fit for the team, despite the Black Phosphex incident.

Kup goes full old man story time mode about how insanely boring Prowl is, while Springer gets the door. On the other side is Twin Twist, Top Spin, and Perceptor. They hold the vote, Ironfist given immunity due to unmentioned Prowl reasons, and Springer gets ready to call all their new pals.

Back at Ironfist’s workshop, Ironfist reflects on just how his life got to this point. He’s going to join the Wreckers! Never mind the fact that he’ll be going to die, and that’s if the bullet crawling around in his skull doesn’t get him first. Never mind the very likely possibility that he’s being exploited by Prowl. Nah, he’s gonna go on an adventure! It’s gonna be awesome! Yaaaaay!

It doesn’t pay to be blue and naive when Roberts is handling the story. Just ask Pipes.

Or don’t. You won’t get an answer.

Called it.

Ironfist, starstruck, bumbles his way through the conversation we saw in the Mosaic, and so it was that he became a Wrecker. All he has to do is pop on over to Rung’s office, get his head examined, then get his butt on over to Babu Yar.

Telecon work completed, Springer reflects on the fact that Guzzle turned him down. It’s not often someone turns down the chance to be a Wrecker.

Oh, well, never mind then.

Ironfist immediately tells Skyfall about what’s happened, because he’s just so jazzed to be a Wrecker. Skyfall isn’t quite as thrilled, but does his best to be supportive.

And by that I mean he’s not listening in the slightest as he’s already planning out the interior design for the workshop once Ironfist is gone. I bet he’ll get Atomizer to help him, the tacky bastard.

Skyfall runs off to go look at paint swatches or whatever, and Ironfist finalizes the stuff for the Ethics Committee pickup.

Oh, so that appointment wasn’t on Kimia after all. Can we please get some sort of fast-track program for the mental health specific degrees? We can’t keep using Rung for everybody, he’s only one person.

Oh heavens, Ironfist, be careful.

Ironfist gets another call, and we jump scenes before we can figure out just who rang or why.

Brief timeskip, and we find ourselves at Babu Yar, as Ironfist introduces himself to Guzzle and his gun.

Ironfist is about as smooth as coarse-grit sandpaper.

While Ironfist is busy revealing his nerd shame to Guzzle, someone’s decided to be a cocky little asshole.

Oh, dramatic irony. Always a delightful sort of pain.

Rotorstorm cranks up the “I’m hot shit” act to 11.5, doing completely unnecessary flips and talking himself up like he will literally die if he doesn’t.

Off in the distance, something disingenuously impressive comes up over the hill.

Of course, it’s not Optimus Prime, but it is someone who would very much like to be him. Such is the nature of primus apotheosis. Gang’s all here!

This is going to turn out fan-fucking-tastic.

Rotorstorm and Guzzle want to play with the big gun Ironfist brought along, and since Ironfist is going to die anyway, he lets them go for it. This would be why everything was on fire at the start of the miniseries.

Yep. Just gotta make it hurt just a little more, doncha Roberts? Just gotta twist the knife.

Nine months after the events of the Garrus-9 mission, Skyfall is upset. He’s gone and played himself by not attending the Ethics Committee hearings, and they’ve taken all his toys away as a result. He tries to mask his lack of concern for safety precautions behind a facade of missing Ironfist, but it doesn’t get him the weapons back.

Feeling cross, he decides it’s about time he made a visit to the Exit Rooms to blow off a little steam.

Later, he gets a call. Worried that his lack of ethics and/or his drunken squabbling has gotten him in trouble yet again, he’s loathe to answer, but does anyway.

Ghost call!

No, it’s actually a prerecorded message, one that claims that Skyfall killed Ironfist. Ironfist had asked Brainstorm to take a gander at the gun after he got shot, and found that it had been tampered with, set to go off on its own when held a certain way. That’s who was calling before he left for his Wrecker mission.

Skyfall starts to panic, expecting the security detail for Kimia to bust into the workshop at any second.

Ironfist knows that only Skyfall could have done this to him, but he doesn’t know the exact motive. Was it because he was jealous of how good a weapons expert he was? A chip on his shoulder about Grindcore? Whatever the reason, Ironfist isn’t terribly concerned at the time of the recording. What he is concerned about is Gideon’s Glue.

Ironfist had, in fact, invented Gideon’s Glue, but he’d been so horrified by what the shit actually did, he flushed it into space and destroyed all research before the Ethics Committee even knew about it. It still got to the Decepticons, though, didn’t it? How could such a thing happen?

Probably not, considering what happens next.

Ironfist is a smart guy, but more importantly, he knows how to reach his audience. Literally, in this case, as Skyfall finds out, when the Enforcement Squad starts trying to break down the door. Ironfist had the message that Skyfall is currently listening to primed for beaming into all of Fisitron’s reader’s brains. Everyone knows what happened. Swerve. Atomizer. Ratchet, who’s over on Earth right now. First Aid, who has enough bullshit to worry about on Delphi without this nonsense. You. Me. Everyone.

Skyfall, in a mad attempt to save himself, throws some of Ironfist’s Wrecker memorabilia at the door, and out pops that last tube of Gideon’s Glue.

There’s only one way out of this one.

This got really intense at the end, didn’t it?

#transformers #jro #jro punches me in the face #last stand of the wreckers #bullets #maccadam #Hannzreads #text post #long post #prose writing #wreckers trilogy

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starsailorstories · 3 years

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In other news I finally finished the long, wild, aristocratic-nonsense-fraught history of altamai

The first officially-sanctioned superatmospheric settlement on Altamai broke ground in the year 2190 of the ninth Taregan cycle, and her first official citizens arrived just under a (Taregan) decade later, after a long and dangerous building process largely carried out by the indentured and indebted of the ancient city-state of Solreg. In this early period, the population was scattered between “legitimate” landing sites, fly-by-night towns, and nomadic groups. The planet was a frontier: land changed hands via sword and seduction; criminals held territory with no trouble but the occasional vigilante; and vigilantes operated however they saw fit for good or ill, living in their starships and chasing bounties across the foggy plains.

The supposed descendants of the original Captain-Queens who settled Tarega had long had an informal international council, which became formal in the early years of Altamaian habitation. Gradually, national lines began to be drawn--most of the wars had already been fought, and there was a period of non-violent, albeit not necessarily just, claims and concessions. By virtue of the ancestry of their leadership, the Oghai, Saiven, Solrega, Nadega, Avesian, and Faellran peoples emerged as major powers.

In an oathing ceremony performed at request by a praeceptor-trained priestess, these seven world leaders would become (in addition to the queenly titles most of them brought from their homeworld) the Avesian Maximatas--to this day, the highest offices of Basillan nobility outside the royal family, passed down in a continuous line for over 600,000 planetary years. Here they swore to be mothers to the planet, to care for all of her inhabitants and follow the will of the goddesses. The language of the oath would later become a rallying point for commoners seeking accountability for their rulers, although ruling classes in the Binary have always had the kind of accountability problem that only revolution really solves.

Anyway, for holding to a vow of such profound importance, the priestess exacted a high price--she asked that if, as had been discussed, they chose a High Queen for the planet, it be her own country’s queen, Athaema Seflioma of Aves. They technically could have refused this request, but it would have been, to use the proper terminology, a Whole Thing. To turn down the bargain of a priestess and an oracle, and one sanctioned by the holy city, would be seen as akin to disrespect for the goddesses if it got out that it had happened, and wouldn’t start the new seat of power off on a popular foot. And so, in 10230 19th cycle, High Queen Athaema was crowned by her peers and sisters, and immediately got down to business setting up a royal court designed to serve the entire Sol Jenya system, planning and constructing ten state-of-the-art “civilized” cities to centralize industry and government in the various population centers, placing unaffiliated frontier towns under the jurisdiction of local landed gentry, and bearing over 2,000 children, her successor Aviana among them.

The crackdown on unaffiliated settlements was indiscriminate--lumping peaceful, self-sufficient villages established by poor colonies seeking freedom from the abuses of the feudal system in with organized-crime strongholds rife with violence and exploitation. The decree was presented with a spin that basically guaranteed its popularity with those who had no firsthand experience with the situation--without the care of the nobility, the court instructed its messengers to say, fly-by-nights were vulnerable to extreme poverty and plagued by thieves. A select few hard-luck stories were treated with highly public charity, and the project is still widely understood as a benevolent one by Basilean citizens at the time of the story. In reality, many fly-by-night towns were happy, prosperous, and most concerningly, egalitarian; and these fought tooth and nail to remain free until they could fight no longer. The far left wing of Basilean opinion remembers as martyrs a handful who went down swinging to the last girl standing. During Aviana’s comparably unremarkable reign, others simply vanished into the mists, operating in such secrecy that only the archaeological record attests to their existence. Fairly recently at the time of the story, a colony was discovered who had been living in self-imposed isolation for so long that they had developed a unique dialect of the Solrega Aundell language, a unique projection style adapted to their low-visibility home in the Tonevan cloud forest, and even a few subtle but distinct physical adaptations.

As the 23rd cycle drew to a close, Athaema’s granddaughter Ouriama died suddenly before she could produce an heir. Although an assassination was suspected, no proof was uncovered, and it remains an unsolved mystery and system-wide legend. The crown passed to her wife’s colony (and to another of the seven powers) in Faellra, where a new mother had just been born who could inherit it, and the guardian of this new queen, Analemma Olaean, jumped at the opportunity to make her ward Daemarima the best-connected and most legally powerful High Queen yet. This unwittingly made her a prime suspect in the previous Queen’s death, but from the international council’s centralizing perspective, it was all worth it. High Queen Daemarima commissioned the construction of Standard Altamaian, a single lingua franca for the planet, less than a turn (not that they measured turns back then, but it’s a good way to describe a period that feels like ‘a quarter year or so’ in astraea lifespans) after her coronation. In the ninth year of the twenty-fifth cycle, the planetary government financed the implementation of the new language in schools and other institutions, and in a more sinister move, outlawed the speaking of local languages in a handful of key centers of resistance to the hierarchy.

The Olaen dynasty lasted six cycles, during which interstellar exploration flourished in this new era of semi-forced international unity. Worlds in the ante-dome and outer disk were “discovered” by Altamaian newcomers on the regular and treated like matrona gifts in potentia for the various queens and aristocrats, although the era of outright invasions was still long to come. A sailor named Via suddenly appeared claiming to have lived on isolated, well-defended Esmrrrder for nearly thirty planetary years, and told tales of an advanced civilization perched high on its planet’s abundant mountains. The dream of crossing the vacuum between galaxies was already being heavily discussed as well, but before an expedition could be mounted, Daemarima’s great-great granddaughter married a commoner and abdicated the throne to her sister Leiliora, who would bring their dynasty to an abrupt end when she challenged Sastiena Fortefemen to a duel in defense of her sister’s honor and lost, dying that same night of an infection from a wound on her side. The Fortefemens had merely accepted the Queen’s challenge, but they stepped obligingly into the power vacuum and proceeded to rule the planet for longer than any other family, effectively controlling a throne they won in a sword fight for like 30,000 years. This is basically all you need to know about the Fortefemens.

It was early in her reign that Sastiena’s former ward Deracoura--named for the scriptural “protector” of the Taregan desert wayfinders--reached out to the leaders of the various Basillan-controlled worlds, as well as those of Sitheria, to spearhead the first intergalactic exploration mission. As you know from my broader historical overview of the Seven Suns, this expedition went in search of sapient life and returned with the first Cadrian delegation, who toured the cities of Ovaiakon, Solrega Nova, Neroka, and Alegia. It was on Altamai that the initial commoner-owned shipyard was founded via Cadrian investment and began exporting to the Maculata (as well as importing from the Elorican asteroid fields) and providing a colony-estate-esque setup for workers who viewed the Cadrian-style wage system with suspicion. As it turned out, providing the bare minimum was more profitable, at the time, than paying workers in flexible currency, and it had the added appeal of letting owners of capital basically act and live like nobility.

Within the next two cycles, the business interests of commoners continued to grow, and the Union of Commons was formed to protect those interests. They published a manifesto expressing their belief in the right of landholders of low birth to govern their own lands--basically a “hey, we have money, so why don’t we also have power?” directed at the High Court and the nobility. Practically in response, nonroyal nobility from every clan and country began clamoring for international lawmaking power as well. They formed a planet-wide legislative council of their own, and while they declared no hostility to the royal tier of society, they asked no permission from them either. In the middle of all this, while en route from a visit with the Council of Emperors far across the intergalactic sea, Queen Deracoura unhelpfully died.

Trying to please everyone, keep the peace, and maybe punish her insubordinate maximatas just a LITTLE bit, her heir Felixania Fortefemen ordered the creation of the High Parliament, which included representation from the nobility of each nation as well as for gentry of common birth. She still had the final say on everything no matter what, and it led to the creation of a lengthy court season that allowed the royal family to keep their nobles under close scrutiny, so in a way it was a devil’s bargain.

In this era, there were clashes of interest between a variety of Basillan and Cadrian notables. In space and even on-planet, business owners enforced their deals like crime bosses and crime bosses did a steady trade. In a climate where the penalty for a breach of contract could be a village burned to the ground, the nobility increasingly styled themselves as the protectors of the people, loyalties strengthened, and divisions grew. Among the common people, favor was split between the common capitalist class--who seemed to offer freedom from the whims of the nobility by offering a relatively secure income, as well as representing the promise of moving up in the world; and the old aristocratic families, who represented tradition, family loyalty (Altamaian nobles overwhelmingly ruled over their own historic colonies and their offshoots, meaning their peasants were all actually related to them--providing, to be fair, accountability that later Basilean aristocratic rule would lack) and a kind of symbolic cultural function--still today conservative Altamaians take the tack that the gentle Great Ladies suffer for their sake and must be defended from (in modern times largely imaginary) outside threats. The nobility was more broadly fractured, with favorites of the one-nation queens and the High Queen defending them stridently while others feared their unchecked power would leave the ancient families destitute to be overrun by the nouvelle riche. Just outside the metropolis of Solrega Nova, a shipbuilding-business billionaire bought a castle, noted for its beauty, built by the Celetorias--an original-lander colony--and announced plans to demolish it to build a complex of vitruvol foundries, giving the entire planet something to throw down about for five seasons straight (she eventually chickened out).

Just as these ideological tensions were reaching a fever pitch, Felixania and High Queen Esthardine of Glasmiri announced that their scionettes were betrothed--an unprecedented consolidation of power in a single household. The marriage of Delianae Fortefemen and Celafina Vividel was the event of the cycle whether you were for the high court or against it: three of the planet’s titled first daughters lost their crowns in duels that day, and three more lost their lives. Scholars took to the streets to warn the peasantry while by and large the peasantry took to the public houses to toast the beautiful young princesses who after all looked so smitten in their official portrait. It was the middle of fiber harvest season in a good market year; people were exhausted and ready for a show.

Following her mother’s death, Delianae laid low (letting the nobility handle urgent matters themselves) until all but the most paranoid aristocrats practically forgot about her, focusing on well-received local historical projects such as the restoration of the first Aivuran temple and a modernized housing for the shrine where the Avesian Maximatas took their oath. Behind the scenes, she reached arrangements with multiple once-hostile Cadrian interests and secured a substantial income from intergalactic trade which was primarily socked away for the use of her daughter Deracoura (styled as Deracoura the second, or sometimes, when she was really feelin’ it, the third).

Early in her reign, under the guidance of her elder sisters, Deracoura II established the highly profitable Fila Fenaeta swarm, a specialized, state-of-the-art vapor-harvesting operation set amongst the young stars of a resource-rich nebula. While the floating settlement started small, it was destined to grow into a veritable nation of employees of the crown. Almost immediately there was conflict over working conditions in this deep-void environment and the protection of the residents’ few rights as peasant-class planetary citizens (which were still meant to be upheld by the law despite their distance from home, but were not always, particularly with regards to due process in criminal trials and oversight of tribute apportionment--it was common practice for representatives of the nobility to embezzle a great deal of something valuable from a peasant colony and then disappear on a fast spaceship, leaving them on the hook to explain to their rarely-sympathetic lady where all the product went). Repeated uprisings were quelled through mass evictions that displaced families in far-flung space--often with inadequate supplies to get much of anywhere--and forced many to live as outlaws deep in the clouds, gaining the area a reputation as impoverished and dangerous. Dia “Acutri” (Altamaian: sharp-eyed) filia Senema, a second-born mother exiled by her noble sisters, founded a multigenerational pirate colony there that still persists at the time of the story.

The unrest was ultimately no hindrance to the prosperity of the Altamaian throne, and Deracoura continued with zeal the illumination of the galaxy (and beyond) to Basillan and Sitherian travelers that her great-great-grandmother had begun, opening trade routes in the ante-dome that would go on to gradually rob entire cultures blind. The deep roots of the Hyperian empire lead to things sown by the Fortefemens, even if they would later consider themselves rivals.

For two generations now, the narrative that the Old Ways had died with Deracoura I and been buried with the creation of the parliament had been kept at the top of the political toolbox, but no one had used it quite as Siderina Hyperia did from the beginning. With Altamai becoming increasingly inhospitable to its peasantry with the ongoing consolidation of wealth, her appeals to a kind of populist escapism--complemented by her position at the helm of the construction of the Rings and in guardianship of the heir to a little-known but prosperous landed colony--struck a chord with those who saw their planet’s new capitalist class as inadequate caretakers. While she never made any rhetorical attack on the High Queen, she took the angle that the enfeebled royal line now needed to be taken in hand for its own good. With her beautiful ward Estartina, she would revitalize the noble matriarchy of old and lead it to a glittering future in the Rings.

Siderina’s wholesome public image hid the mind of a shrewd general. Weeks after the Rings were announced complete, she commanded her knights to such a decisive victory against the royal guard that she was famously allowed to walk in and kill the old queen (Deracoura II’s daughter Athaema) with a small ivory dagger. In the aftermath she announced that she had acted to protect her world and avenge its integrity, claiming that the Fortefemens had sold information to a hostile Cadrian interest. This may or may not have been true--evidence did materialize here and there, albeit a bit conveniently--but the story was mainly believable because assertions of overfriendliness with Maculatan enemies were not a new thing for the dynasty, and a large segment of the public was willing to accept it.

Siderina was tried for her regicide in a number of courts, but, by slipping names in the elderly queen’s ear, she had rallied those with judicial power on Altamai mostly to her support, and was never convicted of anything. While the coup had certainly not been a formal duel, the transfer of power was adopted mainly on the strength of the precedent set by the Fortefemens. While Glasmiri was a center of popular resistance, the thrones of the two worlds were still heavily tied together for economic reasons, and the Vividel line remained effectively in Altamai’s thrall. When the Sitherian Archpraeceptor objected to the matter of Estartina’s coronation, Siderina had her ousted, either bribing or threatening practically every organization of priestesses in central Ovaiakon. All of this occurred in the space of two planetary decades--a blink in astraea reckoning. In the twelfth turn of the Rings, Estartina Hyperia was crowned not with the traditional Avesian coronel but with what would come to be called The Diadem of The Empress of the Seven Suns.

At the time of the story, almost two hundred quinturns later, Altamai--the Motherworld of the Basileans, as it is called by the aula--is a place of extremes even beyond its dramatic terrain and climate. Below the cloud line, it is an industrial powerhouse where thousands live in sprawling underground complexes and spend their workdays extracting rapidly depleting natural resources. Above, the last children of the old nobility rehearse the motions of the ancient ways between the pink cloud-carpet and the blue sky. In this dreamlike setting, heavy security, subtle propaganda, and armies of carefully vetted servants work to evoke the memory of a utopia that never existed, tailored to the political predilections and aesthetic whims of the Last Great Ladies. The granddaughter and heir of the deposed high queen, who escaped the coup with her governess as a young child, remains in exile far away in the Perseus Cluster, dreaming, as the old Royalist battle hymn goes, of double sunlight on plumafore fields.

#sweet chariot #planets - altamai #worldbuilding

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gunnerpalace · 4 years

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hey there! so i used to be a huge fan of bleach, and loved ichiruki, and i was reminded of them today but i haven't been involved with the fandom since the series ended. however, i've heard of different variations of why the series ended/ships happened the way they did, and was wondering if you knew or could direct to me a post that explains that? i apologize if i'm bringing up bitter feelings, but i've always been curious if bleach's ending was a big FU from kubo or if he always intended rr/ih

I don’t think I’ve ever seen a post that really goes over it structurally in that kind of way (from a shipping perspective). I’ll get back to what you actually asked me after some asides, because it’s not so simple to just analyze the ships in a vacuum.

I’ve had my own post about why the ending was a fuck you moment, thematically, because it failed to resolve any of the themes and momentum of the series in a way that would be appropriate (either internally or in the context of the supposed genre of shounen.)

I would also say that the ending was a fuck you moment in terms of lore, backstory, and mystery, because all of the historical and political dimensions (i.e., things involving the Soul King and Great Houses) were unceremoniously shuffled off to Can’t Fear Your Own World. Not that any of those things were ever brought up properly in the manga to begin with; the proper and natural time for that would’ve been at the conclusion of the Soul Society arc, when Ichigo and co. spent a week there, which we saw none of. So I would say that everything in CFYOW is basically retconned bullshit hung off prior convenient plot hooks, and that the same was true of TYBW and LSS/TLA/Xcution as well. There may have been some notes and forethought, but it’s about as “valid” as Kevin J. Anderson and Brian Herbert’s Dune works are compared to the original Frank Herbert ones; it’s second-hand, at best.

(This is setting aside that Bleach was clearly made up as it went along. For example: Noriaki literally admitted that he didn’t know who had killed Aizen in Soul Society until he realized that Aizen not being dead was the most shocking answer; the clear baiting and abandonment of Kisuke as the villain hinted at through various means such as his unclear and later retconned reasons for being exiled, and so on. Bleach was very much a J. J. Abrams-style mystery box work that was made as it went with, at best, rough notes, which is why its themes and focus change, for the worse. I also have a post about why it stopped being special, which is part of a running series I intend to write on how to rewrite it to fix and preserve that)

The best recent thing to compare it to is, really, HBO’s adaptation of Game of Thrones, wherein D. B. Weiss and David Benioff openly admitted to removing or deemphasizing story elements, and ignoring themes in adapting the work. The difference is that Bleach was not being adapted from anything; it degraded due to its own creator not understanding what he had created.

(To put it very simply, because this would be the point of Hyperchlorate Part II and would take a whole post to explain: the ending of the Soul Society arc did not properly establish and flesh out Soul Society as a place with a history, space, and purpose. Instead, the Arrancar and Hueco Mundo arcs decided to be a thematic inversion and deconstruction of the Karakura and Soul Society arcs. This again had an ending that did not establish or flesh anything out after Aizen’s defeat, with an even greater diffusion of focus onto ancillary characters. The Xcution arc tripled down on this by addressing something entirely new and retconned in, only to abandon it midway through in favor of going back to invoking Soul Society. And Thousand-Year Blood War took all of these problems to 11. tl;dr: Noriaki tried themes, people hated it, and so he just shoved in more and more dumb sword fights between people nobody cared about, half of whom hadn’t previously existed.)

So, let’s get back to your question. Let’s talk about ships. I’ve clicked a lot of keys and spilled a lot of ink on this subject over the years, but I no longer particularly feel like searching my own archives (really ought to go back through and organize them better) beyond this post and my own follow-up to it about the chronology of IR interactions, so I’m just going to repeat myself.

First, let’s say that Bleach was not ever a manga about ships.

I’m not disavowing that what Rukia and Ichigo had was special. That was called out multiple times through the focus of the art, the dialogue, and by the characters themselves. (Directly by, for example, Orihime’s outright statement to the effect in Soul Society, and her later jealousy regarding it. Indirectly by, say, Uryuu’s acknowledgement that him saving Rukia first would piss Ichigo off. In fact, the biggest indirect indicator doesn’t even involve Ichigo and Rukia; Shunsui asks Chad why he’s there and Chad says he wants to save Rukia, Shunsui calls bullshit that two months isn’t enough time to risk your life for that, and Chad agrees and says he’s there because Ichigo wants to do it. Shunsui moves on, but his argument is left hanging: why was two months enough for Ichigo? Because, as Orihime will later say out loud, Rukia is special.)

What I’m saying is that that was never the focus. It was explicitly constructed that way.

How do I know? The Grand Fisher fight. The Grand Fisher fight is emotionally charged, bringing up both Ichigo and Rukia’s greatest traumas, and is their one real moment of not understanding each other for a time. It was a triumphant moment that made them truly glad to know one another, and you can see it in their reactions afterward (Rukia thanking Ichigo for not dying, Ichigo asking Rukia if he can keep being a Shinigami). There was a lot to unpack there, and you can see it in the way they look at each other.

What happened immediately after the Grand Fisher fight? Noriaki skipped a whole month. We go from June 18th of 2001 to July 17th of 2001. He deliberately skipped all of the emotional impact of that event, and Rukia being around for Ichigo’s 16th birthday. Just never happened. We never hear about it. Wasn’t his focus as a writer.

Now, I’m convinced that was because he was scared of what he had on his hands. He wasn’t willing to commit to either a couple’s battle shoujo or a shounen with male and female seemingly-heterosexual co-equal deuteragonists who clearly had a strong emotional bond. More specifically, he wasn’t willing to make Rukia a centerpiece of the manga despite having designed her first, having made her the moral and philosophical core of his manga, and having based Ichigo entirely around completing and complementing her. But hey, that’s just my opinion, right? Except it kept happening.

From the Grand Fisher fight onward, the name of the game in the manga, structurally, became keeping Ichigo and Rukia apart.

The moment she was taken back to Soul Society, her prominence dropped. We got emotionally charged scenes of them regardless. Right at the conclusion, after yet another emotionally heavy set of Ichigo and Rukia interactions, we again skip almost a month, from the end of the first week in August of 2001 to September 1, 2001. (Due to some completely unnecessary timey-wimey bullshit with the Precipice World.)

In the Arrancar and Hueco Mundo arcs, they have roughly a day together over the course of three months. What happens after every meeting? They’re shuffled apart and split up, and we cut away. This time, for over a year!

Ichigo and Rukia again have a very emotionally charged meeting in the Xcution arc. And what happens at the end of that arc? We skip ahead another month to TYBW. (Xcution ended sometime in May of 2003, TYBW starts June 11, 2003.)

And in TYBW, Rukia and Ichigo barely meet up at all. Indeed, the focus is scarcely upon them.

In CFYOW, neither of them even appear, let alone have any relevance to the plot.

The implication, in my opinion, is pretty obvious: Noriaki was deathly afraid of dealing with the outcomes of their interactions, and that ultimately became him being deathly afraid of allowing them to interact at all to begin with. Why? Well, as I said in one of the last linked posts:

As an author, sometimes you will find your characters will do things you didn’t anticipate or plan for, and you’ve got two choices: you can go with the flow and do what’s natural and deal, or you can fight it and try and impose your vision anyway.

He refused to let his art take the direction it needed to go in.

Now, some people might say he got bored of them, or of having them together. I say that’s bullshit. And the reason I say is down to three things:

He didn’t ignore them, he did his best to keep them apart. I outlined this above.

He did not emphasize anything or anyone else instead. His focus was all over the place. While, admittedly, Ichigo’s prominence also declined, so did everyone else’s.

It would have served him well to focus on their interactions to expand his universe and explore its lore. The things that were detailed in the databooks and CFYOW could’ve been presented naturally and easily if they were together. But that came with a cost of shifting the focus. A cost he refused to pay.

Let’s talk more about (2) and (3) now.

Regarding (2), Chad and Orihime are inextricably linked in Bleach, because they essentially have the same relationship to Ichigo. “But Orihime loves Ichigo, and Chad is his no-homo bro!” someone proclaims. So what? They’re presented as equal and parallel at every step.

They both gain their powers at approximately the same time.

We are told they gained their powers due to the Hogyouku (in Rukia at the time) interpreting their wishes (and no one else’s, such as Tatsuki, Keigo, or Mizuiro), meaning they probably had the same strength of desire.

They both go to Soul Society “for Ichigo.”

They both utterly fail against Yammy and Ulquiorra.

They both spend most of the Hueco Mundo arc doing nothing.

They are both featured prominently in the Xcution arc, and both fail to see through Tsukishima’s powers despite their love for Ichigo. (Meanwhile, Byakuya coolly tries to murder someone who he thinks is his mentor, in Ichigo’s name.)

They both get sidelined in Hueco Mundo with Kisuke in TYBW, doing little to nothing.

They both are utterly ineffectual in the final fight in TYBW.

They are often portrayed together, they are often as effective as one another, and they are equally as developed in their relationship to Ichigo going forward, which is to say: not at all. The loss of focus on IR did not come with an attendant rise of focus on IH, any more than it did with the sudden rise of IchiChad. Nothing was built in IR’s place. There was no emotional or human content which filled its gap.

This is where the IH ending coming “out of nowhere” stems from: it indeed came out of nowhere, because Ichigo was never shown to have any interest in Orihime in all this time, nor an especially close relationship with her. He never hangs out with Chad or shows a bond with him either. He never hangs out with anyone, in fact. (Indeed, “friends” in Bleach do not do any of the things that friends actually do in real life. Nor do parents. You might say that interpersonal relationships and communication largely don’t exist in Bleach. But that’s its whole own topic.)

I would honestly say that more time and emphasis was given on Ichigo’s pseudo-surrogate mother relationship with Ikumi than was spent on him interacting with Orihime. (I would say Noriaki has serious hangups about relationships of any kind, be they romantic, familial, or friendly, and also has some severe hangups regarding mothers and fathers, but that is also its whole own topic.)

Regarding (3), Noriaki apparently wanted this big, Game of Thrones-style world with a long history and political machinations and so on. This is the whole point of TYBW and CFYOW. Trouble is, early Bleach was successful because of its small-scale intimacy. So how do you go from one to the other? You have to lay the foundations at every step. And Noriaki steadfastly refused to do so at every step. Having Ichigo and Rukia interact, and focusing on Rukia while Ichigo was sidelined without powers, would’ve permitted that organically. Indeed, if RR was the endgame, it would have given time to establish that, were it his desire. (Because Rukia never showed any interest in Renji, and frankly Renji always seemed way more preoccupied with Byakuya.) It didn’t serve his goals, but he did it anyway.

It’s much simpler to say he lost focus, and that he started to hate the manga as a whole. Why else would you have Mayuri fighting a giant hand when that achieved nothing, and Kenpachi fighting Thor when that achieved nothing? It became empty. Hollow, you might say.

But that takes us back to the question you posed: where did the ships come from? Nowhere. IH, RR, and fucking TatsuKeigo weren’t established anywhere. They just appeared. Why?

Well, why did every single character wind up doing the exact opposite of their intended and stated goals in the end?

Why did Soul Society revert to its previous attitude and rebuild the Sokyouku?

Why did nothing get resolved?

Why did nothing change?

Why was it all revealed to have been completely and utterly pointless?

In my view, it’s because that ending was a giant fuck you to the readership and Shueisha. There is no other way to interpret an author pulling a 180° and completely nullifying their characters’ arcs, and their work’s themes. Aizen’s little speech at the end is the cherry on top. I read it as Noriaki saying that he’s showing “courage” in telling us all to fuck off.

As to why? That’s an open question. His relationship with Shueisha was contentious, so maybe he was mad at them. (They gave him a deadline once he was dragging his feet, and reclassified Bleach as a joke manga.) His readership was on the decline after the Soul Society arc ended, so maybe he was mad at the audience. I don’t know. I also don’t really care. What I am convinced of is he decided to blow up his franchise and to not leave a single stone unturned when he did so.

That’s where that “ending” comes from, which is why despite it featuring IH and RR, both are thoroughly unsatisfying and without setup: it was the only way to piss absolutely everyone off, including people who wanted that outcome.

In a way, it was his greatest success since the early days of the manga.

Anyway, this was messy, but it’s not a simple topic to address. The tl;dr is that Bleach was a trainwreck from the very beginning that only succeeded on the merits of its characters, and that Noriaki deliberately avoided the promise it had to be something unique and grand. The ships are just a part of that, and cannot be understood in isolation from it.

#Asks #Bleach

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taggedmemes · 5 years

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SENTENCE MEME ⟶ THE HITCHHIKER’S GUIDE TO THE GALAXY / CHAPTERS 04 –– 07 always feel free to tweak the sentence to fit your muse. some perspective / pronouns have been changed to better fit for sending.

“It’s such an inconveniently arranged planet.”

“It was a whole string of pretty meaningless coincidences.”

“The whole of known creation had finally gone bananas.”

“They were an adventurer, ex-hippie, good-timer, ( crook? quite possibly ), manic self-publicist, terribly bad at personal relationships, and often thought to be completely out to lunch.”

“Hey, you’re a real cool boy, you.”

“My nerves sang a song shriller than a dog whistle.”

“He was amazingly good at his job.”

“He loved affect –– it was what he was best at.”

“Today’s a bigger antic than anyone had bargained for.”

“At any moment, I thought I might scream.”

“It’s a thoroughly ridiculous form of transport, but a thoroughly beautiful one.”

“I know what you’re about to say and I think you’re a terrible show-off.”

“That is really amazing.”

“That really is truly amazing. That is so amazingly amazing I think I’d like to steal it.”

“His busy schedule will not allow it.”

“Evolution? Who needs it?”

“The whole episode is shrouded in deep mystery.”

“He eventually died of shame, which is still a terminal disease in some parts of the galaxy.”

“I bought some peanuts.”

“If you’ve never been through a matter transference beam before, you’ve probably lost some salt and protein.”

“The beer you had should have cushioned your system a bit.”

“It’s dark. No light. Dark, no light.”

“I’ve always found hardest to understand about humans is their habit of continually stating and repeating the very, very obvious.”

“Oh, dear, you seem to have fallen down a thirty-foot well, are you alright?”

“If human beings stop exercising their lips, their mouths probably seize up.”

“I quite like human beings, but I always remain desperately worried about the terrible number of things they don’t know about.”

“I feel like a military academy; bits of me keep on passing out.”

“If I asked you where the hell we were, would I regret it?”

“We’re safe.”

“Ah, this is obviously some strange usage of the word ‘safe’ that I wasn’t previously aware of.”

“Are you trying to tell me that we just stuck out our thumbs and some green bug-eyed monster stuck his head out and said, ‘fellas, hop right in’?”

“Fine, when can I go home?”

“Good grief. Is this really the interior of a flying saucer?”

“The book tells you everything you need to know about anything.”

“That’s the first helpful or intelligible thing anybody’s said to me all day.”

“They’re not actually evil, but bad-tampered, bureaucratic, officious, and callous.”

“On no account allow them to read poetry at you.”

“They’re the best cooks and the best drink mixers and they don’t give a wet slap about anything else.”

“Teasers land right by some poor unsuspecting soul whom no one’s ever going to believe and then strut up and down in front of them wearing silly antennas on their head.”

“I don’t know if this is a silly question, but what am I doing here?”

“I rescued you from the Earth.”

“And what’s happened to the Earth?”

“Look, I’m a bit upset about that.”

“All right, so I’m panicking. What else is there to do?”

“Just come along with me and have a good time.”

“Stop whatever you’re doing and pay attention.”

“I just want to make it totally clear that you are not at all welcome.”

“I’ve just had an unhappy love affair, so I don’t see why anybody else should have a good time.”

“They’ve got as much sex appeal as a road accident.”

“I refuse to prove that I exist, for proof denies faith, and without faith I am nothing.”

“I’ve never seriously believed New York existed anyway.”

“I think we’re in trouble.”

“Either die in the vacuum of space or tell me how good you thought my poem was.”

“I thought that some of the metaphysical imagery was really particularly effective.”

“Are we really going to be able to bareface our way out of this?”

“So, what you’re saying is that I write poetry because underneath my mean callous heartless exterior I really just want to be loved. Is that right?”

“I don’t want to die now! I’ve still got a headache!”

“I don’t want to go to heaven with a headache, I’d be all cross and wouldn’t enjoy it!”

“Death’s too good for them.”

“This is great, this is really terrific.”

“Just don’t say things like that.”

“How can anyone maintain a positive mental attitude if you’re saying things like that?”

“Just stop panicking!”

“This is still just the culture shock.”

“Do you really enjoy this sort of thing?”

“I’m just trying to take an interest in the world around me, okay?”

“Do you just find that coming to terms with the mindless tedium of it all presents an interesting challenge?”

“And you think you’ve got problems.”

“Thanks for taking an interest. Bye now.”

“I thought you said you were going to think of something.”

“Perhaps you thought of something and I didn’t notice.”

“I was only fooling. We are going to die after all.”

#rp meme #roleplay meme #sentence meme #sentence starters #starter sentences #KIND / SENTENCE.#KIND / IN CHARACTER.#BASED ON / LITERATURE.

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wildernessuntothemselves · 5 years

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Oppa Knows Best | Part 5

Word Count: 8k Genre: Smut, Angst Summary: If there is anything a lot of people can agree on when it comes to college, it’s that college is about much more than just education; it’s a whole transformative experience. The person you were before college is not the same person you will be after college, and no one knows the truth of that statement quite like you do. You just didn’t expect to change so much so fast. Chapter Plot: Still she tries to hold onto the comfort of denial, her eyes tearing up as she shakes her head, “But that doesn’t make any sense. Why would I do that?” “You were scared. You always were. A/N: this chapter would’ve probably came out soooo much later if it wasn’t for the help of @nctforuandme who proofread and reviewed this for me. She’s an angel. She my oxygen *wink wink* Warnings: This story contains a very unbalanced power dynamic between the two main characters that is unhealthy and shouldn’t be tolerated irl. If someone treats you this way irl please run. This is a fictional story and the plot is basically just a vehicle for the smut. Contains slutshaming and controlling behavior. Also the dirty talk is painfully corny and pornolike so be warned lol. Oppa kink if it wasn’t obvious. The previous parts and the rest of my masterlist are in my bio suck my dick tumblr

N.B. memories are written in italics so pay attention bec things jump from present to past a lot

The words shimmer and bend in front of my eyes. Every time I feel like I’m closing in on them, they just evaporate and I go back to square one.

I sigh, closing the textbook and resigning myself to the fact that I wasn’t going to be able to get any studying done right now, not when I was so utterly cut off from my lifeline. You can’t expect a human to perform any kind of higher cognition when their most basic of needs is unmet. For me, being so severed from ___ is like being dumped on a foreign planet with low oxygen and being expected to survive somehow.

I need her to breathe, but she’s not here. She wants space. She wants control. I get that, I really do. But it went against everything I am to grant her that wish. Not because I like controlling her like she says, but because I just worry so much. I need to be beside her all the time to make sure she’s all right. Yes, we were separated for a year before she joined me here, but that was the extreme extent of my capacity, and even then we would talk all the time, sharing every little aspect of our lives to each other so that the distance wouldn’t become too painful and that I could always be sure that she’s alright every second of every day. How can she expect me to live like this—to have her right under my nose but be forbidden to be with her?

It wasn’t supposed to be this way. This isn’t how I imagined our college years would be like. We were supposed to be in this together, exploring this new world together. But now she’s left me here to die a slow death as my body slowly starves for oxygen.

You want to know the worst part? None of this is even on her mind. She’s off to the stars to explore other planets while I lie here hoping, praying, for my angel to come back and breathe life into me before it’s too late. I call out to her but she doesn’t hear me, my voice getting lost in the vacuum of mistrust and misunderstandings that separate us. Anything that reaches her is far too distorted to bear any resemblance to what it originally was, and she—dazzled by her newfound freedom that she hasn’t tempered yet—will not stay and allow me to explain myself. She’d just hop off to another galaxy and leave me behind in the cosmic dust.

But if that were to happen, would the universe not just cease to exist? Can it fathom the destruction of one of its fundamental facts? ___ belongs with me and I belong with her. If we got severed from each other wouldn’t that rip the very fabric of the universe apart? Does she not feel the chasm forming between us already? It’s getting bigger and bigger every day, stretched out more the farther she gets away from me. I fear that one day it would be big enough to swallow me whole; I would cease to exist. My entire existence erased from the universe and my angel would soon forget about me and love another as if I never was.

How did I manage to fuck up so bad?

I knew better than to push her too much. I knew what she is like. I knew that if I push, she’s going to pull away. I’ve seen the chasm before and I’ve been so careful to keep it contained. But I got lenient and I got greedy. I thought that, for once, when I pushed she wouldn’t pull away, that I could finally close the chasm between us once and for all. Instead, I blew it wide open.

It ate away at me, that after all this time I could lose her like that. It also made me hate her a little bit. God, it feels blasphemous to say it but I really hate her sometimes. I hate that she made me love no one but her. I hate that she loves another. But most of all, I hate her for forgetting her promise.

“It’s not true, oppa!” Exclaims the little girl, the younger of the two children that were huddled together, but the boy only cries harder in response, burying his face in her chest as his tears and snot soak up the fabric. He feels embarrassed for crying in front of her. He’s supposed to be the one taking care of her, but here he is showing her how weak he really is. She’ll know he can’t protect her and then she’ll leave him too. He’s so useless.

“Stop it, Jaehyun. Stop it!” She scolds him firmly, cupping his face in her hands and holding his gaze determinedly, willing him to listen to her. She looks displeased, a little crease formed between her eyebrows and a pout prominent on her lips. He would’ve normally found that so adorable but now it scared the life out of him. He tries to get it together for her but he’s ashamed by how long that takes.

She waits until little hiccups and dry beds that were once rivers of tears are the only remnants of his breakdown. Finally, her gaze softens, but the determination stays the same. “It’s not true. That mean man doesn’t know anything.” She refuses to acknowledge the man’s blood tie to Jaehyun, for he is not worthy of being called his father.

“You’re not a waste of space. You’re so important. Everyone loves you. Grandma loves you. Mum loves you. Your friends love you. Everyone loves you, oppa. ”

“Do you love me?” He asks, the tears in his eyes walled up behind a dam of hopefulness, threatening to break loose and drown him at her command.

“Of course!” Just like that, they evaporate, dried off by the heat and radiance that is her love and acceptance, leaving only the seeds of belief in a gentler fate behind.

“Promise that you’ll never leave me.” He holds onto her, his sun, the reason he endures the long night just for a chance to see her shine all the brighter.

“I promise.”

My throat closes up with the ghosts of long dead memories. No, my angel hasn’t forgotten. She can’t. Right?

Tears I wasn’t even aware were there get dislodged out of my eyes when I jump at the startling sound of the front door slamming shut. Furiously, I wipe away at them in the hopes of hiding them from her sight.

She marches into the room, a menacing cloud hanging over her head. Chucking her bag carelessly to the floor, she turns to face me, arms crossed over her chest, and announces, “So I met Mark today.”

“Mark…who?” I croak, the lump in my throat obstructing the sound but she doesn’t notice.

“Mark fucking Lee, Jae.” She retorts, exasperated.

“Ok, and…?”

My continued cluelessness seems to rile her up more, but I genuinely didn’t understand why meeting our old schoolmate would make her so mad. “Did he tell you something that upset you?”

She chuckles at that, “Oh, he did alright. He told me some really interesting stuff about you back in high school.”

I immediately pale. I have no idea what Mark could’ve possibly told her that made her so upset. We weren’t that close back in high school so he couldn’t have known that much about me, but her glaring anger makes me doubt myself. Did he somehow know something he shouldn’t have? If so, I should probably stay quiet just in case. It wouldn’t do to implicate myself in something she might not even know.

“He told me all about what happened with Sicheng.” She sneers, unhappy about my silence, but when my face crumbles at the revelation, she continues more confidently, taunting almost, “He told me that you cut Sicheng off because he had a crush on me and that you warned him never to try to get close to me or you’ll hurt him.”

Wait, what?

“What are you talking about?” I ask slowly, feeling like I’d suffered a stroke. That would be the only logical explanation for the nonsense I was hearing. “Sicheng never had a crush on you. What the hell is Mark trying to start?”

“Of course you’d say that. It’s not like I expect you to admit that you’ve always been so possessive of me that you never let anyone come near me.”

I can’t help but laugh at that, which only leaves her even more flustered, her face getting as red as a tomato from the combined effect of anger and indignation. It’s just so fucking ironic that she’s the one who’s calling me out for acting possessively. Does she even possess any hint of self-awareness? Probably not. If she did, she wouldn’t be acting so self-righteous right now.

“What’s so funny?” She sniffs, offended.

Knowing that she wouldn’t believe anything from me right now, I decide to deflect instead, reprimanding her, “And you believe the words of someone who is at best an acquaintance over your own oppa?”

Abashed, she sputters, “What would Mark gain from lying?”

“Nothing! He’s just running his mouth. People love to gossip about shit they know nothing about.”

“Well, you know everything, oppa. Why don’t you tell me what really happened with Sicheng?” She tries really hard to seem challenging, to goad me into answering, but I see the anxious expectancy cowering in her eyes behind all the defensiveness and accusations. Deep down, she wants to be wrong about this—and that, more than anything, makes me want to confess to it all, to come clean with all the feelings and thoughts I’ve been holding onto all these years, to lay them all and myself at her feet in the hopes that she’d take me by the hand and raise me back up again.

It’s an admirable thought, but I know that, more likely than not, she’d just freak out like last time and leave me crumpled on the floor.

The weight on my shoulders suddenly feels all the heavier as the cynicism presses down on my weary body. “Nothing happened. Friends drift apart from each other all the time.”

“But you didn’t drift off, it was a big fight, and Mark says it was about me.”

“Screw Mark! He wasn’t there with us that night.”

“What night? The school dance? Mark said that’s when you found out Sicheng likes me.”

I laugh bitterly. So not only does she not remember anything about that night but she thinks it’s about Sicheng liking her? This is all his fucking fault. He almost lost me my angel that night and now, years later, that same threat is still hanging over my head.

“That’s the night I found out Sicheng doesn’t give a fuck about friendship.”

“Because he wanted to have what’s yours?” She accuses haughtily, likely thinking she’s exposed my grand plan; it makes me see red. “No, it’s not fucking about that. Sicheng was never interested in you. You could’ve passed out and died in front of him that night for all he cared. You were nothing to him.”

Not expecting the bluntness of my answer, she recoils like a frightened baby. All at once, her shoulders hunch, her face scrunches, and her eyes tear up. An intense protective instinct gets triggered inside me, and I ache to rush over and scoop her up in my arms, cover her in kisses and apologize for making her feel small, praise every little thing about her until she’s convinced she’s the most beautiful woman in the universe. But I can’t, I know she won’t accept me.

I sigh, rubbing my hand over my face. “Look, Sicheng wasn’t a good friend. He did whatever he wanted without care for how it would affect his supposed friends. That’s why I had a falling out with him. He took it too far that night.”

“What did he do?” She asks in a small voice, looking away and fiddling with her fingers, the nervousness rolling off of her in waves. She needed any sign of safety to latch onto, and I needed to give her that.

I weigh my options. If I tell her why I had a falling out with Sicheng, I risk her remembering the rest of that night and making things even worse, but if I don’t tell her then that would be proof of my guilt in her eyes and she probably won’t trust me again after that.

The choice was obvious.

“He got you drunk.”

She whips her head towards me, eyes wide open in shock, clearly not expecting that answer. “We got separated for a bit that night, and you went and got alcohol from him. You got so piss-drunk, I had to carry you home. The next morning, you were throwing up so much you were crying.”

I watch as her pupils flit back and forth inside her eyes like a caged animal as she tries to make sense of what I was saying and contrasting it with what little she remembers from that night.

“That’s why you don’t remember that night, and why I hate having you out of my sight.”

Her flitting gaze comes to an abrupt stop as realization washes over her face at a sudden recollection. “Oh, I remember now. I nagged him for drinks because…” She trails off, eyes snapping to mine, wide and guilty. “Yeah, I remember.”

Everything slows down for a moment, like we were submerged under liquid metal, and I ask her carefully, petrified at the possible answer. “What exactly do you remember?”

“Not much,” She runs a hand through her hair nervously and avoids eye contact. “Just that I wanted to try it and he gave me some and it kinda got out of my control.”

I knew she was lying. She obviously remembered more than she let on, but judging by her sheepish expression, I can assume that it’s not much. She probably only remembers the part about catching me with Miyeon and getting so upset about it that she decided to get the drinks from Sicheng, but not what happened after.

Deciding not to pry any further to avoid triggering any more recollection of the night from her, I put an end to this conversation. “See? I told you it wasn’t about a silly crush. Do you really think I’m that unreasonable?”

She shakes her head but it’s clear that’s exactly what she thought. Sighing in disappointment, I feel my body deflate as the fight leaves my body. “You don’t believe in me anymore, do you?”

“I-It’s just… things are different now.” I see a lot of emotions brimming behind her pupils, but one in particular jolts me; pity. It’s as if she’s given up on me already, watching me from behind a glass partition as I struggle through my very last moments. She has a life outside of me now. She’ll move on. But to me, she’s my life, and I don’t want to move on from her. I don’t want to live without her. What would be the point in that when she’s the reason I’m even here right now?

I nod stiffly, and turn away from her, walking towards my room. She doesn’t try to stop me.

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

The pain that surges through my veins like molten lava has burned off all the nerve endings in its path so that I’m left feeling nothing but numb and empty. It’s like I’m experiencing sleep paralysis, only I can’t wake up and escape the horror, for it lives in my very own world.

I hear her tinkering around in her room, no doubt prettying herself up for him, for their date—putting a little bit of lipstick here, spraying a little perfume there. I’m sure she looks as bewitching as a siren, a vision to behold. I wish that was true; that the danger lied within her so I can meet my end in her arms. Instead, it’s being severed from her that is to be my death.

I hear the door to her bedroom opening, and—like an enchanting song—her heels click rhythmically on the floor as she walks over to me, my breath already getting stolen from me before I even gazed up at her.

As if in a trance, I barely register standing up and taking her in my arms. She wasn’t dressed particularly luxurious; all she had on was a simple floral dress with a dainty pearl headband crowning her sheared hair, but, to me, she looked enchanting. This… this is exactly how she always looked in my fantasies; pink lips mirroring the light blush on her cheeks and shy eyes stealing glances at mine as I hold her so close in my arms we could be considered one and give her a last kiss before we head on our first date, the first step to a lifelong romance.

“You look…”

Her expectant look, again so reminiscent of my fantasies, suddenly turns to disappointment as soon as I speak, and I find myself reeling from the whiplash of realization that this wasn’t a fantasy. It’s real life and it’s worse than my worst nightmares.

“I know you don’t like it, oppa.” She sighs, trying to pull away.

“No, I do!” I quickly interject, holding onto her. She gives me an unbelieving look so I explain, “It grew on me.” “Besides, you’d be beautiful even if you were bald.” I attempt to joke, but she just frowns at me, not even allowing a little chuckle to humor me. She can’t control everything though; I can clearly see the pretty blush on her face deepening and I can’t help myself from wanting to pretend just a little longer. So I cup her cheek tenderly and lean in, whispering, “So beautiful, my angel.”

And kiss her.

She places her hands on my chest, and for an agonizing second I don’t know if she’ll pull me closer or push me away. I’m so afraid. My heart is jumping around in my chest, bouncing against my rib cage as if it’s trying to fight its way to its rightful place between her hands.

But then she lets out the softest moan and opens her mouth, urging me to deepen the kiss as her hands clutch at my shirt. At her silent command, I push my tongue into her mouth and she welcomes me gladly. Our tongues meet in gentle touches, as if afraid to disturb the moment.

When I pull back, she follows, kissing me urgently, her wet lips smothering mine. My hands roam all over her body, feeling every curve underneath the delicate, woven fabric. Trailing down, I grip her ass tightly and pull her flush against my body, startling a whimper out of her as my hard dick presses against her stomach. My mouth leaves hers and travels along her jaw, giving her the softest of kisses so they wouldn’t leave marks on her flawless skin, but that just makes her needier, as if I was intentionally teasing her by the barely-there touches.

Her fingers curl in the hair at the nape of my neck and tug as she whines, “Oppa…”

One of my hands climbs up her body towards her chest as I pull back and look down at her with a heavy-lidded look that matches the need in her eyes. “One last time, angel?”

She gasps as I knead her breast, and nods hastily. “Yes, please.”

She shivers when I pull away from her, depriving her of my body heat. A pout was already forming on her face, but it stops halfway as she sees me fall down to my knees. Taking a hold of the hem of her dress, I trail it up her legs to her waist, and ask sweetly, “Will you hold this for me, angel?”

“Ok.” She whispers meekly, and clutches onto the dress as she bites her lip and looks down at me in anticipation.

I pull her panties down and out of the way before grabbing the back of her thigh and tugging it forward and up so it can rest on my shoulder, making her pretty pussy all the more accessible to my eager mouth. I don’t waste time, burying my face between her legs at once.

When my tongue touches her slit, her body spasms in a shock of pleasure and she almost loses her footing, but I hold her tight, one hand on her ass and the other around her waist as I start eating her out. My tongue laps around her clit, every once in a while pressing directly against it and eliciting a shiver from her.

Her fingers were buried in my hair, pulling at the roots with every moan that escaped her mouth. I look up to find her watching me, but as soon as our eyes meet, hers roll to the back of her head as she cries out.

Even from my very restricted vantage point, she looked stunning. I wanted to have her like this forever—struggling to hold herself up as she moans so sweetly for me.

“Oppa… feels so good.”

I move my tongue up and down her slit, teasing her entrance with every swipe until she’s begging for more. “More, please, more!”

So I push my tongue inside, fucking her with it. She keens at the added pleasure, her fingernails scratching my scalp as she tugs harder on my hair. I can tell it feels good for her, but it’s still not enough.

“Do you want my fingers, angel?”

“Yes!” She cries, getting desperate.

Who am I to not give my angel what she wants?

As soon as I push my fingers inside her, she loses any little bit of control left. I pull back to soak up the sight of her writhing on my finger, trying to reach her release.

Suddenly, she looks down at me, her gaze needy but resolute. I don’t have to think about the reason for it too much as she soon pushes me between her legs again, exerting pressure on the back of my head to keep me there. I don’t even try to fight her; we both wanted the same thing, her pleasure. It only takes a couple of flicks of my tongue against her clit as I continue pumping my fingers rapidly into her to have her coming.

As she’s going down from her high, I pull my fingers out, but keep licking her gently, both to carry her to her baseline gently and also to clean her up. When she’s completely settled, I put her panties back in place and stand up, taking in her look and straightening out anything that’s out of place.

She looks even more beautiful now, disheveled and flustered but so blissful and so, so lovely, and all for me. It makes my hurt swell up almost to the bursting point.

When I feel her hands on me, coyly inching their way to hardness between my legs, I quickly grab a hold of them, stopping her. “No, it’s ok.”

Flinching back, she regards me with betrayal, no doubt thinking back on the time I used to reject her advances. She must be feeling embarrassed and undesirable, which isn’t my intention at all so I try to explain, “It’s not that I don’t want you. I just don’t want you to be late to your date.”

This catches her off-guard; she definitely wasn’t thinking that I would care about her getting to her date on time. If anything, she must think that I want her to cancel it altogether. Which wouldn’t be too far off from the truth... but I know that if I interfere and ruin her date, it would only make her want to distance herself from me even more.

With hardening features, she jeers, “Whatever, you just wasted your last time with me. Only Jaemin will get to fuck me from now on.”

It’s exactly those words, the ones she intended to hurt me with, that prove my suspicions to me; she’s hurt because she wants me, and she’s trying to goad me because she knows I want her too. She just doesn’t want to take any responsibility for it, ever the scared little girl she always was, trying to shift the blame onto someone else so she wouldn’t have to face her own emotions.

That will change though. I will make sure of it, but not right now. Now, I let her go.

For the last time, I let her go.

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

I needed a way to force ___ to face her feelings for me. I needed something that would expose her in her own eyes and make sure she can’t go back to living in denial.

I go over our history together, thinking back to when ___ came the closest to revealing her true feelings for me, and that’s when I remember Miyeon. ___ was the most out of control, the most genuine, when I was dating Miyeon because she felt threatened by her.

I’ve always taken care to prevent that from happening again; always steered clear of getting close to another woman because I didn’t want to hurt my angel. I thought that if I just remained patient, she would come to me eventually.

Fucking delusional. The reality is that if ___ never feels like another woman can replace her, she will never make a move. Why would she when I’m always so available for her? Always giving her every bit of love and attention she demands and always putting her first?

A drastic change was in order, and I believe I knew just the way to bring it about.

Soojin, that’s her name. She fit the role perfectly. For one, she is ___’s friend, meaning that the news of me asking her out would reach ___ right away. Second, she’s—shall I say—promiscuous which would give ___ the incentive to oppose our relationship. And finally, she’s extremely forward, always going after what she wants and not quitting until she gets it; it would drive my angel insane and get her thinking that she might lose me if she doesn’t act quick.

Once I let Soojin know I was interested, the whole plan sprinted in motion. She was already interested in me, a fact I knew for some time but ignored because I didn’t want to hurt my angel. How dumb of me.

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

Before Soojin and I even had the chance to go on our first date, ___ knew about it.

“Soojin? Really, oppa?” She asks derisively, just as haughty as I remembered her being about Miyeon before.

“What’s wrong with Soojin?” I pretend to be oblivious. She was too ticked off to know better anyway.

“She’s not your type at all!” She stomps childishly. It was funny seeing her like this when she’s been trying so hard lately to act mature and rational—trying to distance herself from who she was and all the negative things she associates with me, and yet, just the simple idea of me dating someone else got her to revert back to the dependent, possessive little girl she’s been trying so hard to forget about.

“What do you know about my type? I have never dated before.” Because of you, is what I leave unsaid.

Getting put on the spot, she turns red and sputters, “I don’t know but it’s not her!”

“Hmm,” I cock my head to the side and stare her down, making her fidget under my piercing gaze. “Why are you so upset by this?”

“I’m not!” She immediately gets defensive, “You know what? Do what you want. I don’t care.”

She spins on her heel and walks away, mumbling to herself angrily, and I smile, knowing that my plan was bound to be a success.

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

On the second date, she asks, “Are you doing this to punish me for dating Jaemin?”

“No.” I reply, perhaps a bit too bitterly for she flinches back a little. “Is me dating someone this upsetting for you that you think I’m doing it as revenge?”

“It’s not upsetting! I just--” She struggles with her words then promptly gives up. “Ugh, whatever.”

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

On the third date, she asks, “You know she’s just trying to get in your pants, right?”

I roll my eyes, trying to look like I find her claim ridiculous. “How do you know?”

“Because she tells me everything!”

I already knew that, of course. That’s precisely why I picked her.

“She tells me every disgusting detail that goes through her perverted mind about what she wants to do to you and what she wants you to do to her. It’s sickening.”

“It’s natural. She finds me sexually attractive, that normal thing to feel towards your boyfriend.” She recoils in disgust at the word boyfriend, and I struggle to hold back my chuckle at how obvious she’s being.

“I won’t have sex with her though, not any time soon. That was our agreement, wasn’t it angel? Date someone long-term before having sex with them?” I act patient, just how an oppa explaining the ways of the world to his little angel is supposed to act.

“Bullshit! She probably sucked your dick under the table on the first date already.”

“She didn’t.” I reply curtly. I don’t even need to say much, she was working herself up enough on her own. I just give her a slight push. “Don’t you think you’re getting too upset over nothing?”

“Stop saying that I’m upset. I’m not upset! You just can’t convince me that Soojin is the girl you want to settle down with. It’s unbelievable!”

I shrug, completely disregarding her ongoing breakdown. “It doesn’t matter if you believe it or not, angel.” But I know you do.

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

On the fourth date, she declares, “She’s just going to use you and then dump you the minute she gets bored of you. I hope you know that.”

I sigh in exasperation, “I’m not a child, angel. I can handle myself.”

“You clearly can’t if you’re falling for her act!”

“I realize you’re having a hard time getting used to another girl being in my life, and I understand that it can be upsetting but this is no way to deal with it.”

“I’m not upset!” She cries out in frustration. It is cute how heated she was getting over this, and it feels so goddamn nice to finally feel wanted by her.

She looks around helplessly, and I know that whatever she’s about to say isn’t easy for her.

“Just why her?” She asks in a small voice, vulnerable and silently pleading for me not to take advantage of it.

But I must. I must hurt her. She left me no other choice.

“I like her.”

When she doesn’t say anything back, I know I finally broke her. •❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

Before the fifth date, she makes her move.

Foregoing where she was standing—leaning on the door frame and watching me get ready—she saunters over and wraps her arms around my neck, pressing her body to mine and leaning her face just an inch away from mine.

“What are you doing, angel?” I warn as her hands slowly travel down my chest to toy with the waistband of my pants.

“Are you feeling needy? Is that it?” She stares at me demurely, but her hand is anything but. It slips down to palm me through my pants, and I struggle to remain in control. “I can take care of you. Would you like that, oppa?”

It’s what I was expecting—what I was waiting for, really—but it still shocks me just like it did last time. Her offering herself up to me so I wouldn’t go to another woman is still so jarring, if not aggravating. Why does it have to go that far for her to come to me?

“Am I not enough for you?” She snivels, rubbing at her feet angrily, trying to ease the pain her the high heels had caused but only ending up making it hurt more.

I sit down on the chair opposite her bed and pull her legs over my lap, gently massaging the balls of her feet as I try to find the right words to explain myself, ashamed at having let my angel witness me being so subservient to my physical needs, so human. “Of course, you’re enough, angel. It’s just… oppa has needs that you can’t satisfy…”

I don’t think much of it when her feet start moving in my lap, but when I feel one of them press against my crotch, I jump in surprise, unintentionally bucking against it and sending a jolt of pleasure through my body. She sneers as she watches the effect she has on me. “Oh, I know exactly what needs those are.”

Using the heel of her foot, she rubs against my clothed cock. “Who says I can’t satisfy them? Would you like me to do that, oppa?”

“Yes, please” I breathe out, leaning my head on hers. She slips her hand into my pants and grabs the base of my cock but stops there. “Say it. Say you’re dating her just to get your dick wet.”

“I’m not.” My forehead nuzzles against hers as I shake my head.

“Don’t lie to me.” She squeezes my dick a little too hard, making me almost double over, and I choke out, “I’m not! I haven’t fucked anyone else since I’ve had you.”

Pleased by my answer, she loosens her grip on my dick and starts stroking me slowly. “But do you want to? Do you want to fuck her?”

I purposefully stay silent, knowing it would rile her up even more. Just like I thought, she scowls and strokes me faster while her other hand goes up to pull on my hair sharply. “Tell me, oppa. Did you want to fuck my friend? You’re lusting after your little angel’s friends? That’s so sleazy. Aren’t I enough for you that you just have to fuck through my friends too?”

“Look at you, rubbing against my foot like that. Pathetic.” She slurs out in disgust.

“I know. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” I shrivel up with guilt. Still, I can’t help the needy moans that escape me, nor can I help the hand that shoots out to wrap around her ankle to steady it so I can grind easier against her foot.

“What am I going to do with you?” She muses.

“Help me.” I plead, leaning into her touch, “I need you.”

She pulls her hand out of my pants and steps away, ordering me to undress. When I’m done, she pushes me onto the couch and forces me to watch as she too strips off. She does it so teasingly, so slowly that it drives me mad with desire, making me salivate over every inch of her skin that gets exposed so that when she was finally fully bare, I was good and worked up.

Straddling me, she hovers just over my aching cock, taunting me further. Her fingers tangle in my hair and tug my head backwards, exposing my neck to her lips that attack it immediately, seeking to mark it all over. I gasp out, bucking up towards her every time she grazes her teeth over the fresh bruises she creates, trying to reach her bare pussy but only managing to brush against it lightly. Every time my dick grazes her pussy, she would pull on my hair harder.

“Baby, baby, please,” I squirm under her, breathy moans and grunts leaving me.

“Pathetic.” She growls in my ear, and drags her nails down my sides, digging stark red trails on my pale skin. The stinging from her nails on my skin and her teeth on my neck just make me all the more needy for her. I arch into her touch, moaning out when my hard nipples brush against her breasts.

Pulling away from my neck, she eyes me intently as she grabs my cock and slowly sinks down on it. Instinctively, my hands shoot out to grab her so I can fuck up into her and finally quench the fire raging through my body, but she takes a hold of them and pins them against the couch, continuing to ride me at her own mercilessly slow pace. Writhing beneath her in both ecstasy and torment, I curse, “Fuck, you’re gonna be the end of me.”

She soaks up my appearance, her eyes memorizing the urgency on my face standing out against the backdrop of cherry red hickies splattered all over my neck. “Look at you, you look so fucked out. I bet Soojin would love to have you like this.”

I try to say something but her pussy clenches around me, making me choke on my words.

“They all want you, know? Not just her, all my girlfriends want you, and they make sure to tell me all about it.” She jeers, riding me faster now. “But you don’t want them, you want me, don’t you oppa? You love fucking your little angel. You love ruining me. It gets you off.”

She starts bouncing on me wildly, her words coming out in little huffs and gasps along with her breath. “She used to ask me for advice on how to get you in bed, you know? Saying how I must know because I’m so close to you. If only she knew how right she was. If only she could see how good I’m fucking her boyfriend right now.”

She looks so smug above me like she had any right to be. Wasn’t she the one who said women can be as sexual as they wanted? Didn’t she tell me to back off? What about that cute boy she was so adamant on dating? She’s a fucking hypocrite and it’s time she knows it.

“And what about your boyfriend, huh?” I snap back, “He’d love to know that his little girlfriend is fucking me behind his back, right?”

Her mouth drops open in unwarranted shock, and she stops riding me but I grab a hold of her, taking over and fucking her. “Come on baby, didn’t you say you wanted to help me? Bounce on oppa’s cock like the good little slut you are.”

“Fuck you, Jaehyun.” She struggles to speak as I fuck her fast, torn between the pleasure she’s feeling and maintaining her pride. “Don’t lie, angel. You’re not doing this to help me. You wanted to get fucked.”

She shakes her head and beats her fists against my chest, “No!”

I stop thrusting up and she whines, trying to ride me again but I keep her hips still. She needs o face herself. I won’t back down this time. “Say it. Say you missed oppa’s cock.”

She flushes red and hits me again. As I let go of her hips to grab her hands and stop her, she starts moving on my dick. Getting angry, I lash out and slap her, and she instantly freezes. My gut instinct tells me to apologize at one, confident that I’d screwed up royally this time, but my conscious mind notices a curious little thing that stops me in my tracks; when I slapped her, I felt her pussy clench around me. Can it be?

As my mind goes into overdrive, she starts riding me again, looking at me pointedly. She was goading me and I knew it. Automatically, I slap her again and again she clenches around me and moans. “God, you’re dirty. You’re my dirty little slut, aren’t you baby?”

When she doesn’t say anything, I slap her again. “Aren’t you?”

“Yes, I’m oppa’s little slut.”

For a minute, I can’t help but stop, throwing my head back and squeezing my eyes shut in fear that I’d cum right on the spot just from hearing her say that. But she whimpers and whines, and takes all my self control and throws it in the trash. “Please fuck me oppa. Please, make me cum.”

I choke on my breath, rushing to give her what she wants—or trying to anyway. I only manage to fuck her for a couple of minutes before I was crying out her name and spilling into her.

“Oppa!” She whines. As my hips stutter and slow down, hers pick up the pace. Overwhelming my tender cock, she soothes my pained cries as she reaches her peak too. “I’m cumming. I’m cumming.”

We were both more than spent. We just sit there for a few minutes catching our breath and calming down. When I feel like I could move my limbs again, I pull her head from my chest and inspect her face, making sure I didn’t hurt her. “Are you ok, angel?”

“Yes, I’m fine.” She mumbles, ducking her head into my chest again and trying to hide her face which was still a little red. Whether from the slaps or the sex or the embarrassment, I didn’t know but it makes me laugh how flustered she looks right now when she was acting so shamelessly just moments ago. When she looks up to see why I’m laughing, I cup her jaw in my hand and tell her what I’ve been dying to say for years now, “I’m never going to let you go again.”

When she reels back in shock, I laugh even more. “Really, ___? You still want to act surprised? Fine, do what suits you, but you’re going to break up with Jaemin. You’re mine and I’m yours. I’ll break up with Soojin too.”

“W-what? Why?”

“Because you want me to stop seeing her. You’re in love with me and you want me all to yourself.”

“I’m— how did you--“

“I’ve known about it for years. Soojin wasn’t the first woman you got in the way of my relationship with. Remember that night Sicheng got you drunk? Remember why?”

She bites her lips and looks down, nodding. I spell it out for her, needing to make sure that she understood, “You caught me hooking up with Miyeon and couldn’t handle it so you nagged Sicheng for the drinks and he gave them to you.”

“I had been dating Miyeon for a while by then and you didn’t like it, but I didn’t realize just how upset it made you until that night. You were livid, inconsolable. You kept yelling at me and tearing me down. You made me feel like shit for daring to be with another girl. I was yours after all, right?”

“You know I want it. You know I want you.” I wrap my hands around her shoulders and try to kiss her but she shakes me off.

“What are you doing?” She asks, that familiar fear in her eyes making me even angrier.

“You know damn well what I’m doing.” I stand so close to her, my body practically flush with hers. She attempts to back away but the bed was right behind her so she falls down on her back on the mattress. Before she can get up, I climb over her body, trapping her. “Until when are you going to run from me? I’m tired of always chasing after you.”

“So like a fool, I thought that confessing my love to you would make you forgive me for my unspeakable crime, but you freaked out. You didn’t want to give yourself to me but you didn’t want another girl to have me either. You wanted me to stay forever by your side, living off the slim hope that you would allow me to have you one day. That was your leverage. That’s the tactic that you used to make sure I never left you. When I confessed to you, I took that power away from you and forced you to make a choice so you threw a tantrum to get me to back down.”

“I-I don’t remember…” She stumbles, weakly trying to fight back against the accusations.

“Because you were fucking drunk.”

Realization falls on her face as she finally connects the dots, remembering everything that happened that night for the first time. Still she tries to hold onto the comfort of denial, her eyes tearing up as she shakes her head, “But that doesn’t make any sense. Why would I do that? I love you. Why would I intentionally push you away?”

“You were scared. You always were. So you pulled back every time I tried to get close to you. Ever since we were little kids, you always pulled away from me.”

“But why?” She sobs, looking desolate.

“It’s your father. He messed you up.”

Her face instantly hardens and she grits out, “Don’t you dare bring him into this. Don’t you dare use him against me!”

“I’m not using shit against you. It’s the truth. You’re so fucking terrified I’d leave you like he left you if you show me that you love me too. You use love as a bargaining chip, always keeping the prospect of a relationship with you just out of my reach to keep me running after it because you’re convinced I’d leave you once I have it.”

“Or maybe you’re lying to trick me into leaving my boyfriend and staying with you because you’re scared shitless of losing the only person who still hasn’t left you. Because If I leave then your father was right about you all along.”

She gasps as soon as she finishes, horrified as if someone else took over her body and spoke the words for her. “Jaehyun, I’m so sorry.”

“Shut the fuck up.” I growl, my own defensiveness and hurt getting triggered. “You’re not sorry. You always lash out like this when you’re cornered to try and bring me down so you could control me. You’re so fucking manipulative and you don’t even know it.”

“Oppa, stop it…”

“No! I’m tired of you always playing the victim. Little sad ___ always oppressed by her mean oppa. Wake the fuck up, ___. You hurt me too. You’re always punishing me for what your father did. You can’t get back at him so you punish me instead. You know I love you and you use it against me because you think loving is weakness and you can’t allow yourself to be weak with anyone, even me.”

“What about you, huh?” She retaliates, voice getting hoarse as she shouts. “You’re supposed to be protecting me, yet you’ve always put your life in my hands. You always told me that I’m the reason you exist as if that’s not a fucked up thing to put on someone else’s conscience. You never said it outright but you put the responsibility on me to keep you alive. Do you know how fucking terrifying that is? To realize from a young age that someone’s life is in your hands?”

“It couldn’t have been that terrifying if you chased away every woman that tried to get close to me so I wouldn’t have anyone but you. Moving on from you was never an option when you’d manipulate and guilt me into being blindly loyal to you.”

“Because you raised me to need you!” She shrills, her wild hair and frustrated tears making her look unhinged.

I take deep breaths to calm myself down. “We can argue the details all night long but the fact remains the same; you’re mine and I’m yours. That’s how it has always been. We have all the time in the world to sort out our issues, but first we need to stop these games. I’ll break up with Soojin, not that we were ever really together to start with. You need to break up with Jaemin too. He can go find another girl.”

“I’m not dating Jaemin.” She says quietly. Seeing my stunned disbelief, she explains dumbly, “I cancelled the date after… after what happened that day. It wouldn’t have been fair to him for to go on a date with a girl who just got head from her oppa. I can’t hurt him like that.”

“But you can hurt me?” I ask bitterly. It was a question that needed no reply, and she didn’t give one anyway. •❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅• A/N: The next chapter is the end of this story and it’s up to you guys to decide who you want the OC to end up with: 1) Jaehyun, 2) Jaemin, 3) No one / neither. Your votes will decide so choose the ending you want. As always, feedback is greatly appreciated, and if you do vote I’d love to hear your reasoning :)

#jaehyun smut #jaehyun angst #jaehyun fanfics #jaehyun scenarios #jaehyun imagines #jaemin angst #jaemin fluff #nct smut #nct angst #nct fluff #nct scenarios #nct imagines #nct fanfics

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ljandersen · 4 years

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(Femshep/Kaidan Alenko, Mass Effect 3, Chapter 1 but works as a one shot)

Shepard’s ribs shrank tighter each passing minute. Each minute they hadn’t reached the Citadel. When it happened the air had stopped moving. The only sound she could hear was her own heartbeat. Then he fell limp, helmet lolling to the side. The reality of it – Kaidan dead – felt like getting torn out an airlock. One moment everything’s safe, your boots are on solid ground, each breath alive with oxygen. As it should be. The next, everything’s depressurizing, alarming, and you’re sucked into the vacuum of space, spinning and clawing at emptiness, gasping for breath. Like dying. Her experience of it anyway.

But he wasn’t dead. He lay on a metal bed in front of her chair. The med bay’s fluorescents flickered overhead giving his skin a waxiness she only saw on corpses. She hunched forward. The folding chair wobbled and tipped her forward. One leg was too short. It would drive Kaidan crazy if he was sitting here.

She smiled despite herself. “You remember the folding chairs, Kaidan? Our ground team debrief. I’d always set up a circle in the corner of the cargo hold. And after Feros? You can’t pretend you don’t remember. The wobbly chair. I could see it eating at you the whole time. Each time you shifted your face would get more strained, jaw tightening, nostrils flaring. You started to sit ramrod straight. Absolutely still. May have kept the meeting going a little longer than needed, I admit. Began to walk around as I spoke, brush against your shoulder. Your chair would wobble. About the fourth pass, you started shooting me a death glare every time I came by your chair. Ha.

"The moment the meeting ended, you smacked the chair upside down and started working at the feet. I bent down, opened my palm. The missing cap for the back chair leg. Your face! You were all sputtery. How did I even know where you would sit? I pointed around at all the chairs and dropped a pocketful of caps at your feet. One for each chair, every back, right leg. Every one but mine. No one else even noticed. It only bothered you. Like I knew it would.”

She laughed and folded her hands on the edge of the metal table. Bruises marbled his features, dark and growing like a shadow. Her laughter choked. She cleared her throat and gave him a tight smile.

“Remember the next debriefing? Do you remember, Kaidan? You thought I wasn’t looking when you came in. You exchanged our chairs. You had this cute, little canary-savoring smile when I turned around. Adorable. But I suspected what you’d do. I even looked away so you could do it. You plopped down, smug smile, and … well, we both know what happened, don’t we?”

Shepard scrapped her seat closer to him. “I just meant to bother you, you know. Another wobbly chair, and I knew you’d be checking out the chair’s feet when you came in. Couldn’t pull the same trick. I just … ha, I didn’t mean for it to break on you. Not completely. A little too much aplomb in your victory drop onto the seat, I guess. I still remember Liara yelling, ‘Oh, Goddess!’ and clutching her chest like she’d seen you shot. Garrus had to figure out what the hell happened. He bolted over, flipped the chair over, and found the loose hinge with an ‘ah ya.’ Then there was Ash, tearing up and pounding her leg. If Wrex and Tali had been with the ground team, you really would have had an audience. Krogan laughter shakes walls. You frowned at me, then dusted yourself off with an ‘oh, clumsy me’ shrug for everyone else. You were so pleased with yourself before your ass hit the floor. I remember you lurking in the doorway, seeing which chair I sat in. It didn’t wobble on me. Kept all my weight on my heels, pal. I knew your methods.”

He was so still. For one cold second, she thought he was dead. She lifted her fingers to his face and felt his breath, soft and faint. The pressure released from her lungs. Her fingertips crested over each lip. Just a second to feel the softness of – She sat back sharply and cleared her throat. ,

“Anyway, you’re a good sport, Kaidan. Still sorry it broke on you. Said as much when I caught you alone later raiding the mess.” Shepard worked his gauntlet off and dropped it on the floor. She held his hand. His skin was cool, like his blood was already slowing. Shepard bit her lips and concentrated on his face instead.

“Remember how you got back at me? And don’t tell me it wasn’t premeditated. I still don’t believe you. It was Noveria, remember?

“They let me keep my gun, then put me through that little security tap and dance number. I was posing for my dumbass clearance badge, and you cracked that stupid birthing cow joke. For the record, I was laughing at you, not the joke. That joke might be a showstopper at a seven-year-old’s birthday party, but uh, you need to adult-up your jokes. Seriously, as a marine, I’m embarrassed you don’t know more dirty jokes. Or maybe you do. You better not have a cache of dirty jokes and still chose to give me the birthing cow one.”

She traced his fingers. She remembered his fingers intertwining with hers. His hands holding her face. Remembered the way he stroked her hair when Ash died, his face pressed down in her hair, his breath wet and catching. She worked her fingers between his and squeezed his palm.

“Anyway, stop getting me off topic. I’m complaining about Noveria. You told me your damn decalf-einated joke. I laughed. At you. And that was the snapshot they got. I hollered for a redo, but you tap this sign on the wall. Then that bitchy security guard started tapping it too. No retakes. No retakes! Like a delete and re-click takes more time than walking over to tap a plastic sign on the wall. Your picture, Ash’s picture – both serious, stern, soldierly. Me? You can see the back of my throat. Hair in my mouth, one eye half closed. It’s lucky I didn’t have snot bubbling from my nose. Now, you can’t tell me that wasn’t premeditated, Alenko. Maybe premeditated by minutes, the seconds between seeing the sign and dredging up your kid’s birthday party joke, but still. Premeditated.

“I had to clip that picture to my chest. Got barked at every time I tried to turn the picture around. I just acted like it was an accident. ‘Oh, really? Turned around again? You don’t say.’ And the screens, Kaidan! If their greeting wasn’t a warm enough welcome, they flash my face over every screen in the compound. A friendly reminder to let everyone know a Spectre was on the premise. To encourage compliance with my investigation. You never bought that either, right? Yeah, no. I didn’t think so. Clearly keeping everyone on alert so they wouldn’t comply. And that lovely security picture? ‘Spectre Shepard is here.’ The dignified Spectre on all the giant screens haw-hawing, one-eye squeezed shut. We’d come around a new corner and bam! Another screen of it. Then I’d hear the punchline of the birthing cow joke. You whispering ‘decalf-einated’ at my back. Ash snickering. Imagine if the press had a copy of that picture? You have a copy somewhere, don’t you? Don’t even answer. I know you do.”

She pressed his hand between hers and drew in a shaky breath. His eyelids were blackening, no movement, not even dreaming. The bruises deepened over his entire face. She squeezed his hand and forced another smile. He had changed so much.

“You had a nice trick back there, Kaidan,” Shepard whispered. “Liara called it Reaving. Fancy. Trying to impress me? You did. You’re so confident too. Bearing, voice, no more oscillating, hesitancy. Good idea with the tram, with the short-range radio, that ambush in the control room. I’d like to see you on the field directing a team. Always knew you were special. Leadership material if you’d only ever make a decision and not hold back, believe in yourself. I always believed in you. But you knew that didn’t you, Kaidan?”

His skin swelled across his cheeks and around his eyes. His face was expressionless. Vacant. Because he’s dying. Her heart twisted. She sucked in a breath.

“It can’t end like this, Kaidan.” She touched his jaw. A light touch. She didn’t want to make anything worse. If his face was swollen, broken, and bruised, what did his brain look like? That sharp, intense mind she missed. She may have come back from the dead but he wouldn’t. “The last thing we say to each other can’t be our words on Mars. I’m not a husk, Kaidan, or the Illusive Man’s puppet. Against all odds, I’m really, really not. And I’m alive. Maybe some new parts. No one should see machinery glowing through their skin, but I’m still me. What counts is here. Right here.”

“Commander?” Jokers’ voice came overhead.

Shepard rocked back in her chair. “Joker? ETA?”

“Seven minutes out. Medical transport standing by.”

“Good.” Shepard stood. She brushed her fingertips on his lips and felt the slow breath. “Keep that up. The breathing. Unconscious part? I’ll allow it for now, I guess.” She ran her eyes over him. Scuffed and bloody armor, black and blue face, his hair in disarray. She touched his hair. A faint energy crackled across her skin. His biotics. Her heart lifted. It was like feeling the pulse of his heartbeat. It showed he hadn’t gone. He had to live. She wanted to remember him face flushed and alive, not a shell with the soul draining away.

“Seven minutes, Kaidan,” she said. Something from Mars came to mind, and her lips curve up. She looked him in the face. “I’m the person you loved, huh? Said the same thing on Horizon. Might have been nice to hear when it was present tense. Before I died. I’ll give you a pass though. I’ve only told my parents that. So, you got me beat even by putting it in the past. Is it really so past, though, Kaidan?”

She brushed his hair back again and chuckled. “And, just so you know, Major, the hell I will ‘Kaidan’ you again. You haven’t heard the last of it. Ha. And, I’ll mess with your folding chair. Don’t put it past me.” She bent down, hesitated – maybe she shouldn’t – she stamped a kiss on his check and pulled back with a snap. “Five second rule. So, uh, doesn’t count. Not taking advantage of you. If this was a fairy tale, you’d be thanking me right now.”

The med bay door slid open. Liara swished into the room. “Shepard, we’re almost there. We should get him down to the bay. Is he still …”

“Yes. He is.”

“I’ll get James with the stretcher.” She dashed away.

Shepard turned back to Kaidan and squeezed his shoulder. “Hey, what do you call a cow that just gave birth?” She rubbed a hand across her face and sniffled. “I’ll find you some better material, Kaidan. So … stand by.”

James and Liara burst into the med bay with a stretcher. Shepard took the end from Liara and angled it next to his bed.

“Let’s move him out.”

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21369139/chapters/50901124

FF: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13428855/1/About-Mars-Mass-Effect

Cover art (my sister): @ande2339 (Instagram)

#shenko #kaidan #Mass Effect #About Mars #fanfic #fshenko #angst #humor #femshep

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