#combine that with his intense desire to only see things that fit within his set beliefs? you've got a recipe for an unreliable narrator | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bubbledumbbinch · 3 years

Note

Thank you so much for doing my ask(>0<；)

I LOVED IT. I kinda have a thing for shy characters if you could tell. If you don't mind, can I request the same oral headcanons for Ruggie, Jamil, Jade and Rook this time? The one who look like the service tops? Thank you so much💕💕

Eek hello again! I’m so happy you enjoyed my last one!! I had fun writing it! Ty for the request again, I’m v excited for these set of characters. And, I like the shy ones too 🙈

ALSO THESE CAME OUT MORE LIKE SCENARIOS JKSDKJNDKNAK

A/N: This piece of writing is for 18+ readers only. Minors DO NOT INTERACT.

Warnings: Mild story spoilers for Episode 4 for Jamil(?) , mentions of blood for Jade, slight yandere for Rook

NSFW UNDER THE CUT!

Ruggie Bucchi x Reader

Giving

Right so, it’s no secret that Ruggie is a real giver. He does so much work for Leona and is known for being giving in his community back home! He’s too sweet!

Ruggie playfully slaps your ass as you walk through the halls of NRC, making you gasp as you look around at your surroundings, making sure nobody caught him. Taking his squeezes on your body as a hint, he leads you to a hidden corner and starts to tease you more.

Ruggie also isn’t picky on location either, willing to find a hidden place around the school, a janitor’s closet, or an empty classroom. This man will please you anytime, anywhere.

The dirty blonde would definitely feel you up in preparation, knowing what spots to linger on, letting out his signature shishishi~ as he can hear you moan or feel you shiver at his fingers.

Ruggie pushes your form onto the door lightly, giggling at the way it rattled from the pressure.

Pulling your pants down, the smell of your sweat from throughout the day, permeates his senses making his cock and ears twitch. It’s a dirty pleasure~

I can also imagine him saying “THANK YOU FOR THIS MEAL” before going down on you

Ruggie is aggressively trying to make you cum, he’s rough yet so good with his tongue, keen on hearing those sharp noises from your mouth.

When you get close, you put your hands on his head, rubbing his ears and giving him so many praises. He feels his cock twitch in his pants as he starts sucking on your clit with more fervor than before - making you squirt on his face

The beastman laps up at your juices as you ride out your high, eating up the flavors and the noises coming from you~

“Shishishi~ Y/N, you couldn’t help those lewd noises from coming out hm?” Ruggie teases, as he helps you put your pants back on. “Careful though, next time, I don’t want to risk having anybody else but me hearing those noises, okay~?”

Receiving

You and Ruggie are in his bedroom back at Savanaclaw, after a tiring day of him running errands for Leona. You praise him for his efforts and offer to suck him off to reward him for being such a good helper!

Ruggie is not used to someone offering to service HIM instead of the other way around, so don’t tease him for looking so shocked!

He blushes, asking if you’re sure you really want to. Internally there is some doubt as if he doesn’t know if you really meant it or if you were just joking.

Once he realizes you’re serious, he eagerly strips down to his boxers, letting the tent in his pants be all the more obvious.

You wanted to service the hardworking hyena boy as much as possible, stroking him through the cloth of his undergarments until you could see a dark spot on the briefs where the tip of his dick was.

Suddenly, you felt your hands moving on their own. You looked up as Ruggie was controlling your hands, making you pull his underwear off, as he couldn’t take anymore messing around.

Eventually he lets control of you go, and he lets you bring his cock into your waiting mouth. He closes his eyes and lays into his pillow, groaning immediately.

After working his length in your mouth, he uses his hands to pull at your hair, his tail now wagging violently under him.

It doesn’t take long before he already starts to twitch in your mouth. As he gets closer, he asks to cum on your body, preferably on your chest

Ruggie lets out hot frequent pants as he releases, his ears twitching in delight as he paints your naked chest with his cum

He isn’t satisfied with one time, he is greedy and wants you to make him cum at least twice!

“Haanh- wow..! It felt so good, Y/N...” the blonde panted. He stroked himself back to hardness as he looked at his seed that served as art on your body. “Here, open your mouth, c-can you do it again for me? Please?”

Jamil Viper x Reader

Giving

Jamil has also been a giver for most if not all of his life. As we’ve come to find out, he isn’t extremely happy about being a giver and in turn putting himself and his desires after.

However, when it comes to you, Jamil wants to give you so much, at least as much as he can within his power. Nobody has cared this much about him romantically to a point where he can feel like he can be himself.

Jamil convinced to teach you how to make one of your favorite dishes of his in Scarabia’s kitchen, his hands grazing over yours as he stands behind you, fingers lingering over places all over your body, his touches ghosting over your ass. You hadn’t even gotten to the actual “cooking” part, only gathering the necessary ingredients and starting to cut vegetables.

Jamil’s offer to pleasure you with his mouth comes from him as he stands behind your smaller form, whispering in your ear about how he would love to taste you, making you whimper at the sound of his voice combined with his lewd words. You find yourself grinding onto Jamil, hearing a hiss leave his mouth.

After finding a clean table in the kitchen to set you on top of, Jamil makes sure to lock the door to the kitchen and make sure the coast is clear before he stalks back to your form with a mischievous glint in his eye, promptly pulling your pants down and licks up your clothed pussy.

Jamil moves the cloth to the side and skillfully uses his tongue to lick up and down your cunt, then directing his attention to flicking his tongue on your clit.

Jamil’s so good at this you have to wonder how many time’s he’s done it before, but a particularly hard suck at your clit is bringing your full attention back to him.

Jamil also knows how to use his hands, bringing his calloused fingertips from basketball practice and putting them to use on your nipples.

Maintaining eye contact with his dark eyes, Jamil works you up gradually to a slow but intense climax. He holds onto your legs as you squirm in front of him. You’re struggling to find something on the smooth table to grip onto so you bring your fingers to his head, feeling his smooth black locks in your grasp.

Only moans and slurping sounds can only be heard in the kitchen as you try to keep yourself silent. “Y/N...” Jamil’s liquid honey voice calls to you. “Let me hear those beautiful sounds you’re making, my jewel. Let me hear you scream out my name as you cum..!” was all you heard before losing yourself to the pleasure once again.

Receiving

Jamil was coming by to visit you at Ramshackle dorm after basketball practice. The way his tan skin glistened with sweat never escaped you, and your gaze trailed from his eyes, to his arms, down to his gym pants. His sweat seeped through his clothes and created multiple dark spots.

Unfortunately, or fortunately, Jamil was perceptive and smirked once he noticed where your gaze was at the moment, blush coating his cheek as he chuckled. He would never push you however to do anything sexual, if you didn’t want to.

Like Ruggie, Jamil would be a bit shocked about you offering to give him a blowjob. He knew you were bold but... the fact you were offering it to him and knowing who he was, what he’s done, and you still forgave him... Jamil is absolutely shocked but he feels a certain emotion that makes his heart feel warm.

He lets you take the lead as you both lay in bed, kissing him gently while stroking him through his pants. Every grunt and pant is like music to your ears.

You crawl down so your face is near his crotch, as you pull down his pants and free his member. After a few pumps and a very visible bead of precum comes to your attention, you stare into his eyes as you take him into your mouth.

Jamil releases a low sigh, as if he doesn’t want to be heard by a single soul. His expression can only be described as admiring as you bob your head up and down his cock, stroking what you can’t fit into your mouth in your dominant hands.

Jamil covers his face with his hood, cheeks visibly red and his hair splayed messily on your bed. Suddenly, he bucks his hips up when you tongue his head, causing you to moan in pleasure.

Jamil warns you of his incoming release, telling you to go faster. You answer his pleas and suck more of him and move your hand faster up and down his dick, causing him to groan loudly and release his hot cum.

You look up and see him staring down at you with piercing dark orbs, black bangs sticking to the side of his face as he’s panting heavily.

“Let me see it, my jewel. Open your mouth.” You obeyed Jamil and opened your mouth to reveal all of his cum on your tongue, allowing it to drip onto his limp cock. “Tsk, it looks you’re gonna have to clean this up now...” Jamil placed a hand on your cheek and lowered your head again, gently.

Jade Leech x Reader

Giving

Lord have mercy I’m boutta BUST

Jade notices how tired you are when you’re both working shifts in the Mostro Lounge, seeing how you stretch your back and move a bit slower than usual. He can tell you’re nearing the end of your multiple hour shift.

Once you’re both finished your shifts, Jade offers to lend you his bed to rest on. He smirks once you turn away hehe

While you rest yourself on his bed, you take off your blazer, scarf, and hat from your uniform. You close your and you hear Jade from across the room shuffling about - removing his shoes, the sounds of his clothes being placed into his closet, his steady breathing.

Jade was beautiful. 190cm of pure intimidation, yet he was always gentle and chivalrous towards you. His stunning eyes were unique and the way he smiled at you only served to send shivers through your body. Not with fear but exhilaration.

You moved your head to sniff at his pillow, inhaling his scent of light cologne and pressing your legs together under his covers. Suddenly you hear him leave the room and you take the bold liberty to remove your shirt and pants. If he finds you, you can just weasel your way into making him believe you were too hot, right?

After several minutes of imagining Jade’s presence and his scent, you nearly screamed when you felt a sudden dip in weight on the bed, opening your eyes to see Jade’s signature smile.

Once he rips off his sheets from your body, he smirks and trails his fingers lightly along your form - from your chest, your abdomen, then finally to the waistline of your panties.

Jade bites you lightly, on your plush thighs, drawing a bit of blood and licking the wounds, making you squeal.

“May I?” Jade looks into your eyes, voice as smooth as ever. After given the signal of approval, Jade removes your undergarments swiftly and gets to work on your leaking pussy, tongue changing paces on your clit.

After a few minutes, Jade eases off. “If you don’t mind, darling...” he simply mutters as he takes off his gloves and inserts his long middle finger into your hole, earning a throaty moan from you.

Jade feels his cock leaking from the actions and sounds coming from his partner - yet he only pays attention to you, focusing his energy on pleasing you.

It feels like electricity running through you as your orgasm rips through your body - you gripping onto Jade’s bedding as you still feel him on your pussy, slowing down his ministrations as you come down from your high.

“Oya oya~ what do we have here?” Jade whispers. “I could smell your arousal from the other room, darling. Have I been neglecting you?” He feigns sadness as he raises his eyebrows and licks his lips. “Don’t worry, I’ll service you soon so, please, allow me...”

Receiving

Jade was coming back to campus from one of his frequent trips to the mountains to gather some mushrooms. Some were questionable and some were edible, and Jade loved to find out which were which.

You offer to service Jade, teasingly, when he told you he was going to cook one of your favorite mushroom dishes for you with his fresh inventory.

“Oya? Don’t tease me like that, you’ll make me think you’re serious. Although, that would be nice.” He chuckled, patting your head. You huffed and started working on his pants, lowering them to reveal his still flaccid penis.

You started gently working on Jade’s length with your fingers, watching how the blood started to rush to it and make it harden. As precum leaked down his dick, you licked it from where it was on his length back up to his tip, taking him into your mouth.

Jade only offered a pleased “Hm.” as you started to move his girthy dick in and out of your mouth. You stared up to see his face, still the same expression as ever, but with a light blush across his cheeks. Were you not making him feel good..?

As if the eel merman could sense your feelings, he gave you firm praises telling you how good it feels and to keep going.

As you move faster, Jade starts meeting your pace by moving his hips to meet your mouth, chasing after his own release.

Jade makes light grunts and starts panting when he finally cums into your mouth, staring into your eyes. You swear his heterochromatic eyes glow, whether you have the lights on or not.

“Aah, darling... you were lovely.” Jade praises you and strokes your hair. “I wonder, how you’ll feel if you serviced me with your other holes...” Jade’s smile only grew as he bared his serrated teeth.

Rook Hunt x Reader

lord have mercy im boutta bust part 2

Giving

Rook Hunt is a romantic - he’s over the top, poetic, compliments you endlessly, gives you plenty of affection, what more could you want from a lover? Some may think he was too eccentric but you loved that about him.

You were in his room as he showed you his collection of photos. You knew Rook had a thing for taking candid photos of people, it was quirky and it made him unique! However, when you passed by a certain page, Rook quickly tried to take the album from you frantically.

After finally pulling it back, you open the next pages to see many photos of you from afar, close up photos of your clothed chest and photos of you in gym class, your shorts showing off your thighs shining with sweat. Around the photos were hearts on the photo covers and cute stickers.

Rook visibly grows embarrassed, furrowing his brows and looks away from you.

However, you take the opportunity to bring his chin back to face you, and plant a loving kiss onto his lips. Were you really not creeped out by him?! You already had a feeling Rook would have done something like this. In fact, the idea of him being so fixated on you only turned you on more.

“Mon amour... I’m sorry but you are so ravishing I could not resist.” Rook bites the bottom of your lip, making you gasp. He uses this opportunity to skillfully let his tongue slip into your mouth. Feeling the way his tongue moved over your tongue, you couldn’t help but whisper “I wish I could feel your tongue somewhere else, mon chasseur d’amour...”

Something inside of him awoke when you used what little knowledge of his mother tongue to speak so seductively like that. Swiftly, Rook lifted you from your position on your chair and brought you to his bed.

With your permission, he stripped you down fully naked to be able to admire your beauty. He sighed as his cock twitched in his pants at the sight of your nude form.

It feels like heaven once Rook’s mouth is kissing your lower lips. He moans into your cunt as he tastes your juices - making a show of his tongue working hard on your clit. Vibrations are sent from his throat through your body as he moans while sucking violently on your clit, making you scream in pleasure.

Yet, he doesn’t stop - after he notices you really love when he does that, he keeps going. Now, he slips a finger to your dripping pussy and uses his fingers on his other hands to play with your nipples.

The overstimulation has you screaming, panting his name and squeezing his head into your thighs. You’re cumming as a blubbering mess, only his name leaving your mouth as high pitched squeals.

“Ah, Y/N, mon amour...” Rook’s blonde locks stick to his face in a mixture of his sweat and your juices as he raises his head up. “You were amazing! I wish I could have recorded that so I could watch it over and over again... you won’t mind if I did that next time, right?”

Receiving

You and Rook hadn’t seen each other as often as you’d like, recently. Whether it was with his Science club’s activities, your assignment workload being too intense, or just misalignment of schedule free time, you felt down.

You missed your blonde lover and his affection. Therefore, you hatched a plan. You had ordered a bunny suit and ears and were waiting in his room. You admired the way your thighs and breasts looked in the suit, angled his chair towards the door, sat on it with your legs crossed, and waited.

After minutes that felt like hours, you heard his footsteps and humming from outside of his room. Opening the door, Rook stopped dead in his tracks as he caught sight of you waiting for him.

He dropped his backpack to the floor, closed the door, and practically dashed to where you were sitting, falling to his knees and kissing your pantyhose clad legs.

After a few heated kisses were exchanged from this position, you got up to lift the blonde up from the floor and push him to the chair you were just sitting in.

“Roook~ my love, I’ve missed you...” you whined, unbuckling his pesky uniform pants. “Let me service you today, mon chasseur d’amour~” he groans at the use of his self given nickname leaving your mouth.

Rook watches intently as you pull his pants down and kiss up his legs, stopping where his undergarments started. Gazing up at him with half lidded eyes, you took the fabric down with your teeth, causing him to breathe heavily and moan at the sight

You part your lips and lick his throbbing pink head, tasting the precum as you sink further down his length. Slowly, you bring your head back up only to come back down, sucking his cock eagerly.

Rook had a mirror on his wall that was, luckily, facing him so he could see the view of your back and the way your ass looked in the tight bunny suit you wore. He even fawned over the little tail that was on top.

Cupping his balls and stroking his cock with your free hand and your mouth, you could feel him twitch. Rook brought his calloused hands to entwine his fingers in your hair as he feels himself coming close to his orgasm.

Rook spits nothing but praises into your ears as he releases his seed into your mouth, listening to you gag lightly. You swallow his cum and he pulls you up high enough to kiss you, his greedy tongue tasting himself in your mouth.

“Mon amour, what a little trickster you are, no? I never expected to see you waiting for me... it’s like I got caught in your trap, oui?” Rook wiped his forehead of his sticky sheen of sweat. “My, bunny... you look like you’re in heat. Why don’t we take care of that together? I’ll help you this time...”

Anyways...

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favoniuscodex · 3 years

Text

undesired gift. [ diluc x reader ]

prompt: donna gives diluc a bottle of mysterious, alchemic liquid. much to everyone’s surprise, diluc tries some. unfortunately, it has some results neither diluc, donna, or you expected. diluc’s part of my love potion series! pairing: diluc x f!reader warnings: none? implied that the love potion evokes true feelings, but if such concepts make you uncomfortable, this is your warning! :) word count: ~1.5k words

a/n: this was originally just gonna be short scenarios but i got pretty wordy with ideas for everyone, so it’s been extended to a full series with independent parts for each character! ... i’ve written a lot of diluc in such a short time HAHA

“where’d you get that?” you ask, gesturing to the bottle that rests on the back countertop of angel’s share. you, one of diluc’s long-time bartenders and one of the few people he would actually consider a friend, had no recollection of ever seeing such a drink within the establishment. it appeared to be pink moscato, but the way the liquid glimmered in the light warned you otherwise.

“it was a gift from his favorite person,” kaeya joins in from his seat on the opposite side of the counter from you and diluc. you raise your eyebrows at him in confusion and amusement.

“you?” you ask kaeya and both kaeya and diluc let out a huff of air at your question.

“not quite. donna.” kaeya corrects you and diluc looks mortified as laughter bursts out of you. you look at the drink once more and are sent into another fit of giggles, all while diluc glares at kaeya for telling you such a thing and kaeya only smirks smugly back at him.

“donna? why did she think sending you a drink from a competitor was a good romantic strategy?” you ask. diluc wants nothing more than to crawl into a hole and avoid this conversation, but he knows how you and kaeya work when you’re together: a duo created of chaos and destruction. after all, the three of you had grown up as childhood friends, with you being the reason kaeya and diluc even acknowledge the presence of the other anymore.

“we are talking about the woman who likes to moan diluc’s name in the street like it’s a holy mantra,” kaeya shoots back and diluc can’t help but envy kaeya for how easily he makes you laugh, even if it is at diluc’s own expense.

“right, right,” you turn to diluc. “so, are you going to drink it? what if it’s poisoned?”

the genuine concern in your voice, combined with the way your tone becomes gentler when speaking directly to diluc has his stomach erupting into butterflies. meanwhile, kaeya pops diluc’s little bubble of infatuation with his next comment.

“maybe it has laxatives in it so diluc stops looking constipated all the time,” kaeya interjects. the corners of your lips twitch and diluc only sighs in response, choosing to ignore his estranged brother’s comment.

“i... doubt it’s poisoned. out of all of us, donna likely irritates me the most, but i doubt she would try to kill me with a drink,” diluc says to you, doing his best to ignore kaeya, who takes a drink from the glass of wine he had been carefully nursing for the last half hour.

“well, there is one way we can find out. you should try some!” your tone sounds like you’re just trying to be a supportive friend, but diluc knows you far too well to fall for it. despite this, the redhead has never been able to say no to you, which is something you are well aware of.

“fine,” diluc says and before you or kaeya can stop him, he uncorks the bottle and takes a swig, leaving you and kaeya to gape at him, wide-eyed. you half expect the redhead to fall over as if the alcohol wounded him, but he just winces at the aftertaste. after recovering, diluc just stares at you, bewildered by your bewilderment.

“h... how was it?” you finally ask. diluc glances down at the bottle in his hand.

“i would never sell nor supply anyone with this, even if i was paid extra to do so.” diluc responds and he feels the tips of his ears warm at the way you give a light laugh in response.

the night continues as normal, with kaeya eventually getting booted out at closing time with all other patrons. this leaves you and diluc alone, who seems to be in a strangely good mood, but you fail to say anything in fear of disrupting the soft smile that seems to be a permanent fixture on his face for the night. such happy nature on his behalf hadn’t started until he took a drink from donna’s gift, but you were fairly certain from the smell that it was non-alcoholic. plus, even diluc wasn’t that much of a lightweight, right?

instead... was he happy with the gift? did he like the attention donna gave him? he had never gave an indicator as to such a thing beforehand, but he had willingly consumed her gift under the smallest provocation from you. did he desire to court her? the sickening feeling of jealousy begins to gnaw at your stomach and you quickly attempt to ignore it, in the same way you had done your best to ignore your blossoming feelings for diluc over the last few months. the two of you were friends and that’s all you ever would be. you had no right to get jealous over a romantic gesture when you weren’t even brave enough to make one yourself.

but archons, you can never stop yourself from speaking, can you?

“what’s got you in a good mood?” you ask as you wipe down the counter while diluc wipes down the tables. cleanup duty was often one of the few times diluc engaged in small talk, but you couldn’t help but to curse yourself for breaking the comfortable silence that lingered between the two of you. diluc looks nonplussed by the interruption and looks up from his towel to smile at you.

it’s wide and his teeth are bright and it contorts his face in the most beautiful of ways, but it’s so uncharacteristic that you’re thrown for a loop, heat rising to your face. in all the years since his father’s death, you had never seen diluc smile in such a way.

what was in that drink? you ask yourself, but before you can think too much about it, diluc’s voice is interrupting your racing thoughts.

“i get to spend this time with you.” his words are honest and true, but they only result in the widening of your eyes. bewilderment consumes you whole as he sets his cleaning supplies down on the table. who is this and what did they do to my diluc?

“what’s with that face? do you not believe me?” diluc asks, walking over to you and slipping behind the bar, standing only a few feet away.

i must have passed out, you determine. there’s no way in hell-

“why wouldn’t i be happy when i get to spend time with the person i’m in love with?” diluc’s words are spoken simply, innocence interwoven into every word. you stiffen in response to them, staring at diluc blankly as your mind struggles to catch up with the sudden turn of events.

“w... what?” you breathe, absolutely terrified by the fact that mr. grumpy pants, the one whom you had fallen in love with, was suddenly knocking down every single one of his walls to tell you that he loves you. he loves you, the one who pesters him every time the two of you are on shift together. the one who would pester him when you were kids, insisting that the two of you should play knights together if he really wanted to become one. the one who stood before him now, tired and stuck in a disheveled bartender uniform.

diluc closes the distance between the two of you and stands before you, lifting his hand to cup your cheek gently. the pad of his thumb sweeps back and forth on your cheek and you hate yourself for leaning into his touch. this isn’t him. there’s no way. she did something to that drink. the redhead deciphers your hesitation with ease and smirks at you.

“do you want me to prove it?” diluc challenges as his ruby eyes flicker downward to glance at your lips.

shimmering pink liquid. where had you seen it before? you wrack your brain as diluc leans in and you immediately pull away as you retrieve your answer, leaving him to frown at your rejection.

“this isn’t...” you begin, stumbling over your words as you feel your head spin. archons, diluc got so close that you smelled his cologne. “what you drank earlier. it’s from the souvenir shop, it’s a love p-”

“love potion,” diluc interrupts, finishing your words for you. “i know. i read the bottom of the bottle beforehand. i did not necessarily expect it to work, but i figured that, at the worst, it would motivate me to confess my feelings to you.”

“oh.” you respond, voice hollow. “oh.”

he... knew?

“now that such misconceptions have been cleared, i suppose i should clarify my question as well.” diluc looks at you with an intensity you had never seen from him before. it sends a thrill through your body as his arms pin you between him and the countertop. “i would like to kiss you. may i?”

you nod.

you swear you taste the love potion on his lips.

#diluc favoritism alert but thats a given for this blog #diluc x reader #genshin impact x reader #ill make a masterlist for this series later lol #diluc #genshin impact

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seokmingiggles · 3 years

Text

transmarinus.

(from beyond the sea)

Prompt: "I like the way your hand fits in mine."

Pairing: Lee Seokmin x female reader

Genre: fluff, slight angst, slow burn, mermaid!au, kinda magical overall(?), probably set in the same universe as Ponyo.

6.03k words

Warnings: some alcohol consumption (everyone is of legal age), swearing, the reader has a phobia of the ocean, allusions to drowning (nothing explicitly mentioned).

Beyond the sea, within the sea—both are places you have no desire to explore. You have lived nearly your whole life with an intense fear of the ocean, yet something about it keeps haunting you.

Alternatively, in which you are afraid of the ocean, yet Seokmin shows you that you no longer have to live in fear.

A/N: I don't have much to say about this little passion project; perhaps that Seokmin is one of my main bias wreckers in Seventeen. In my notes prior to determining a pairing for this fic, I had written: "All three have this kind of magical wonder to them that I want to capture," about my possible choices of a protagonist (you’ll find out the other two contenders later on). I hope I have captured this feeling. Furthermore, there are some loose ends for a possible part two if I feel the desire to continue this au. Enjoy!

The lyrics (bolded) are from Somewhere Beyond the Sea by Bobby Darin.

•• Somewhere beyond the sea,

You've never liked the ocean: the seemingly endless dark depths and rushing currents that could pull you below. No, rephrasing your thoughts—you are afraid of the ocean. Sure, it can be pretty to look at on a calm and sunny summer day, and sure, the sea breeze admittedly feels pleasant brushing through your hair and clothes on occasion, but you refuse to give in to its temptation, to even go near it if you can help it.

Somewhere waiting for me,

It can be lonely sometimes, being the only one of your classmates growing up who refused to go swimming on field trips to the beach nearing the end of the semester. You often found yourself alone and listening to the fun they would be having in the shallow tides: a shimmering, azure blue. You learned to bring things to accompany you when your friends would prefer to enjoy their time swimming. A book and a beach towel resting on the silky sands was often your set-up. Not much has changed since then.

My lover stands on golden sands,

You've become better over the years at handling your fear. When before, you used to hesitate to even step foot onto the sand, now you have become comfortable with the squishing feeling between your toes. However, boats are another story. Your mom once took you on a cruise when you were a child, and honestly, you enjoyed it. Well, for the most part, only until the last night of the tour. Frankly, that's the trip that made you develop your fear of the ocean in the first place. Since then, you've refused to step foot on any watercraft. It's a bit ironic, really. You've grown up on a decently-sized island apart from the mainland—the only way to get across is by a ferry. You're not sure if you'll ever be able to regain your trust with the water.

And watches the ships that go sailin'.

•

"I dare you to go skinny-dipping."

"Oh, hell no. That's a hard pass."

"Really, Gyu? You think she'd do that?"

"You're gross, dude."

"What? Do you want me to go instead?"

"Not really. None of us need to see that."

Being friends with Mingyu, Jungkook, and Hansol—your best friend—is a recipe for no dull moments. You four have a tradition; you'd all take a trip to the Jeon family cabin near the island's peninsula as a way to start your summers. You've all been going for the past few years since your final year of high school, continuing the tradition into your college years.

It's where you find yourselves now, splayed out in drunken messes (some more than others) on the semi-private beach. To your right, there's a small fire pit in the center of your beach chairs. A cold drink is in your left hand to counter the heat in your cheeks from the flames.

"Sorry, (Y/N), I'm an idiot," Mingyu admits after finally realizing what he'd dared you to do. "You don't have to go into the water."

"I wasn't planning on it, but thanks," you reply and take a sip of your drink.

The four of you stare at the fire beginning to diminish. Orange embers glow in the ashes.

Hansol swirls the remains of his beer bottle around. "Why do I suddenly want to go swimming now?"

"Dude, no. It's nearly midnight, and you're drunk," Mingyu retorts, "None of that is a good combination."

The younger boy is about to quip back, but suddenly, a loud splash interrupts his thoughts, heard near the row of rocks separating this property from the next.

The tallest boy stands to try to see the source of the noise, but it's much too dark. "Okay, you're definitely not going swimming now. I don't want to be responsible for your death."

The splashing continues. It isn't as loud as the first time, but it's more constant as if something is struggling by the rocks.

"I'll go check it out," Jungkook puts his bottle down and slips on his sandals, already heading closer to the water.

"Not by yourself, you're not," Hansol is quick to jump to his feet and follow the elder.

You remain seated, and luckily, Mingyu remains at your side too.

•

Somewhere beyond the sea,

Seokmin adores the ocean. Well, he sort of has to since it's been his home for nearly nine decades. He loved playing in the currents with his brothers when he was younger—and now—appreciating how the colour of the water changes the closer he gets to the surface. The ocean makes him feel free. It's like he can go anywhere or see anything. Seokmin can't say he's ever felt love before first-handed, it's not a feeling he can define, but he considers the ocean to be the closest thing that he loves.

She's there watching for me,

He has breached the surface before. It isn't a forbidden action to his people, but it is to be taken carefully; however, there are different rules when you're one of the sons of the merking. There are countless cautionary tales of merfolk who have been spotted by sailors, more on what happens when they get too close to shore. Merpeople are supposed to live for centuries as they slowly age, but most of those tales abruptly cut their lives short. Seokmin feels like the only one who isn't afraid of those stories and wants to see for himself what would happen if he met a land-dweller. He's optimistic that they're not as cruel as the fables portray them to be.

If I could fly like birds on high,

Seokmin is a graceful swimmer. With decades of practice, it's a given talent. He used to struggle when maneuvering through the waves, especially when compared to his two brothers. Yet, with great perseverance and will, Seokmin trained himself to become better. Much stronger and significantly more elegant—he can now soar with ease through the water, quite speedily, too. In his younger days—what would be equivalent to teenagehood in humans—Seokmin would travel for days across the wide ocean, simply feeding his desire to explore.

Then straight to her arms—

Being a part of the royal family means Seokmin is eligible for arranged marriages. Soonyoung, his elder brother coming up on a century old, is already engaged to a beautiful mermaid, Tzuyu; the boy suspects he's next as the second-eldest in their family. Seokmin knows it's to benefit his kingdom, but he also knows that the chance of being in line for the throne is incredibly slim as the second brother. All he wants is to find someone he loves as much as he loves the ocean.

I'd go sailing.

•

"No way," Hansol whispers, breaking the silence between him and Jungkook as they've reached the rocky barrier.

Sure enough, the splashing sound is caused by distress. A boy, looking to be around Hansol's age, is stuck between a few large rocks that have fallen from the wall. It's shallow enough that his torso remains above the surface, but the position looks painful, nonetheless, with one of his arms twisted beneath the collapsed rocks.

"Here," Hansol approaches the stranger slowly, "we can help you."

The boy has a fearful look in his eyes as the human approaches. It's only when Hansol has rolled the legs of his joggers up and is wading into the shallows that he notices the lack of legs the panicking boy has, or rather, the glimmering tail he has instead.

He shrugs off the unusual sight and tries to move the rock, but it's much too large for Hansol to budge by himself, staggering slightly on the uneven ground. He calls Jungkook over to aid him, and the two of them together are able to lift the stone out of the way, freeing the trapped boy.

The stranger slips away and back into the depths before anyone could say anything.

"You saw him too, right?" Hansol asks his friend, pointing out to the vast sea and trying to find some evidence of what was next to him moments ago.

"Yeah," Jungkook is nearly speechless, drying his hands on his shirt.

"He didn't even say thank you."

•

"I fucked up. I fucked up big time!" The youngest brother rants to his siblings upon arriving back to his home safely.

"Alright, Chan, it's time to calm down now-"

"No, Soon, you don't understand! This time was different." Chan continues to ramble, "I would have really been in danger if I was stuck there until morning. The rising sun would suffocate me, no doubt. My precious sixty-one years would be down the drain in an instant!"

“So dramatic,” the eldest chirps. "It's a good thing that those humans found you when they did."

Soonyoung has heard enough of Chan's stories about always venturing off to the shore. He's somewhat jealous. Lately, the eldest has had to spend more time planning for his wedding and preparing to become the next-in-line for the throne. He wishes he could join his brother on an adventure like they used to a couple of decades back.

"Please, Seok, you'll listen to me then, won't you? You're a hopeless romantic."

Seokmin isn't sure if he should be offended by his brother's comment.

"And what if I am?" he asks with his hands fidgeting in his lap. "What does that have to do with this?"

"You're the one who enjoyed exploring the most years ago. I know you've done your share of people-watching before." Chan ponders, then adds more quietly, "Well, and also, the boy who first approached me was kind of cute."

"Oho, does our Channie have a little crush on a human?"

"Great, now you're listening, hyung."

Seokmin sits back and listens to his brothers playfully bantering. He admires them both fondly, sometimes wishing he could be as responsible as Soonyoung, or as free-spirited as Chan. Instead, Seokmin becomes more reserved around his siblings, despite not considering himself to be shy. But the three are well-balanced when they're together.

Noisy, but well-balanced.

"Why do I feel like I need to see him again?" Chan asks Seokmin as they're lying in their shared bedroom. Their older brother has a room to himself, being the next-in-line.

"Maybe you really do like him," Seokmin suggests, not quite knowing what to say. He's never before been enamoured by a particular human, nor any merfolk for that matter. "You're making me curious now. It's been a while since I've seen the surface," he sighs, struggling to remember what dry sand looks like.

"Then you should come with me!" Chan doesn't hesitate to suggest, "I can't guarantee he'll still be there, but it's worth a shot. Right?"

Seokmin hums in thought. As much as he would like to comply with his brother's request, part of him knows how they're not supposed to venture to the surface so freely. Especially with it being so close to Soonyoung's wedding, nothing detrimental should happen to them before the upcoming celebration.

"Besides, I should probably return... this... whatever this is."

Seokmin eyes the strange-looking object with a puzzled expression.

"You know, Chan, it's not very nice to steal things that aren't yours."

•

"Are you sure you checked your suitcase?" you ponder, trying to rack your brain of other locations the missing sandal could have gone. "What about by the hose in the back? Maybe you left it there after rinsing the sand off them."

"No, I've gone through my bags twice already, and I don't think I bothered with the hose last night," Hansol replies. "I have a feeling they're on the beach somewhere. Although, I can't remember if I walked up the path in bare feet or not."

"You were quite drunk, Han."

"Oh, hush. We're on vacation, aren't we?" the boy lifted his eyebrows at the question. "I'm allowed to get drunk. Anyways, will you come with me down to the beach? It's not like my shoe could have walked away on its own," he snickers at his joke, "it's bound to show up somewhere."

You try to ignore the rising uneasiness in your chest. "Do you really need me to go with you?"

"Two sets of eyes are better than one, (Y/N). And I promise I won't let anything bad happen to you. You don't even have to step foot into the water or even go close to it, for that matter."

You sigh and reluctantly agree, slipping on your own pair of sandals for the short walk down to the beach. You know Hansol would have asked one of the other boys to venture with him near the water, but Jungkook and Mingyu had left to get more groceries (and drinks) for tonight, so you were the only option.

"Where did you find the other shoe?" you ask as you scan the area around the fire pit. "Isn't it strange that you only lost one?"

"It was outside the front door. But as you said, (Y/N), I was quite drunk last night."

You giggle at your friend's comment, adding, "Maybe a bird flew off with it this morning," and continue to scan the sand.

"Wait, now that I think of it, I don't think I had that other shoe after we went to the rocks," Hansol considers and begins to walk to the familiar barrier.

The short wall looks smaller in the daylight, but you know the rocks are unstable despite their compact appearance.

You cautiously follow the boy as he ventures closer to the tide.

"You and Kook never did mention what you saw last night over here," you state, trying to create conversation to distract you from being so close to the water.

"Didn't we?" Hansol tries to recall, "I guess we didn't. Maybe because we knew that you and Gyu wouldn't believe us."

"Believe what?"

"Believe-"

You and Hansol turn the corner at the first large rock.

"-that."

Your stomach drops at the sight. There are two boys in the shallows; one is casually sitting and looking around, while the other is floating on the surface.

His rosy, fish-like tail is hard to miss.

"Oh, thank goodness!" Chan exclaims upon seeing the familiar figure, now sitting upright like his brother. "I believe this is yours."

The mermaid holds up Hansol's lost slipper while sporting a beaming smile on his face.

You're in shock. You've read about mythical creatures when you were a child, as most kids do at that age, but never have you thought that their existence is real. Let alone that you would ever come face-to-face with one.

"Thank you," Hansol mutters and carefully approaches the younger male.

Chan introduces himself along with his brother, and Hansol does the same with himself and you.

But you're beginning to panic. The feeling is bubbling up in your throat, and you don't want to break down. So instead, you excuse yourself and run back up the pathway to the cabin.

You miss the way the older merman's eyes remain on your figure as you retreat away.

•

It's far beyond a star,

Seokmin feels strange. It's not the first time he's seen a human-being that close, let alone speak with one, but there was something odd about your behaviour; the unusual feeling seems to stem from seeing you.

"Did you see the way she looked at us?" the second-eldest speaks, recalling your tense expression.

It's near beyond the moon,

"Why? Do you think she's pretty? That would be convenient because I still think Hansol is pretty. I thought he was charming in the moonlight, but now, I can say he's even prettier in the sunshine," Chan hums, repeating the boy's name for the nth time upon their return home. "I never knew humans could be so lovely."

I know beyond a doubt,

"No," Seokmin begins, "I mean, yes, she was pretty too, but she looked afraid of us. Of... me. Didn't she?" He pauses. "I've never had someone be afraid of me before."

Chan glances at his brother's concerned expression. "She was probably just surprised, Seok. Maybe she hasn't seen a merperson in-person before."

"Maybe," Seokmin mumbles, not entirely convinced.

The merman's peculiar feelings about you only fester as the days pass by. When Chan would return to that same beach almost daily in the hopes of seeing Hansol again, Seokmin would remain at his home.

He is strangely impacted by you. Not that you even said a word to Seokmin that day, but the way you reacted threw him off.

He longs to know why you ran away.

My heart will lead me there soon.

•

Not that you needed it, but you now have yet another reason to avoid the ocean.

Hansol ends up journeying down to the beach every time he sees the familiar crimson tail splashing in the shallows from the large cabin window facing the ocean. The other two boys have begun teasing their younger friend about his new fishy pal.

You have tried to express your concern about Chan to Hansol, explaining that he may be dangerous, but your friend has only dismissed your worries and encouraged you that Chan isn't a threat.

"He's a fun guy to talk to. You're welcome to join me down on the beach sometime, (Y/N)," Hansol says as he slips his notorious pair of sandals on. "Actually, Chan has been asking about you lately. If you're doing alright."

You look up from your bowl of cereal with a confused expression. "I don't think I even spoke a word to Chan. Why would he be asking about me?"

Hansol shrugs. "Apparently, one of his brothers has been worried about you. I'm assuming that's why he keeps asking, but that's all I know."

You remain puzzled in your seat at the kitchen table as Hansol closes the front door behind him, wandering down the familiar rocky path towards the water.

"Is (Y/N) coming?" Chan's posture perks up at the sight of the boy approaching.

He shrugs his head, "I don't think so. I'm sure you know by now how apprehensive she can be. Stubborn, too." Hansol takes a seat in the sand. His shoes are off quickly once again as he dips his legs into the water, the gentle waves lapping up to his knees.

Seokmin frowns. He's been accompanying Chan on his near-daily visits in the hopes of seeing you again. With all of the stories Hansol has been telling about the human world and his friends, Seokmin has convinced himself that he wants to properly meet you.

Just to make sure she's doing alright, he tells himself. There's no other reason.

Seokmin takes pride in helping people. As the middle child, he'd often take it upon himself to sort out his brothers' issues, especially on the rare occasion he found them arguing. A mood maker, his mother told him in his youth when she'd noticed the way he always seemed to strive to help others feel better. So when Hansol briefly mentioned your fear of the sea, there's nothing that the boy decides he wants more than to help you see that the ocean isn't something to fear.

However, it is a difficult task to accomplish when you wouldn't even venture down to the beach anymore.

There's part of Seokmin that feels guilty about your recent reluctance. From what Hansol has said, it seems like you were making gradual progress in becoming comfortable near the water. In fact, you hadn't always been afraid of the ocean. Yet, it all seemed to backfire the moment your eyes landed on him and Chan.

It makes Seokmin feel even more responsible for your fear.

•

It's raining today, a stark contrast to the previous perfect blue-sky, sunny weather that you've all been experiencing for the past week on your vacation.

You're the first one up this morning, making your way quietly down the stairs and into the kitchen to make some coffee.

You examine the horizon as the aromatic drink brews. The rain is only spitting down now, but you have a feeling it will pick up later with larger clouds slowly rolling in. It looks like the sun is trying to peek out from behind, although unsuccessful in its attempt.

You pour yourself a cup of coffee when enough fills the pot, hearing the sizzle onto the element when you impatiently remove the container as it continues to drip.

Making your way to the dining table nearby, you take a seat in front of the large window, holding your mug between your hands.

The coffee is too hot to drink right now.

Your mind begins to wander as you wait.

•

(Y/N), age seven.

You wake to a faint ringing sound.

"Mom?"

No response.

You shuffle to the edge of the bed to turn on the lamp. As your eyes adjust to the sudden brightness, you're met only with an empty room.

"Mom?" you say louder, just to once again, unsurprisingly, be met with nothing.

Maybe she's still at the party on the deck, you think to yourself. That would explain the sound. Maybe it's from the music.

You slip out from beneath the duvet and make your way to the cabin door.

You take a deep breath, not knowing why you're so nervous, and open the door.

There's no music. It's an alarm.

You suddenly feel the ship lurch to the side, throwing you off balance and into the side of the doorway.

"Mom!" you cry out, for someone, anyone.

You don't want to be alone.

Tears are prickling beneath your eyes, and immediately, panic rises to your throat.

"Are you (Y/N)?"

A young male rushes down the hallway in your direction.

You nod your head in response, not finding your words.

"Your mom said you'd be down here, come on. She's already up in the rendezvous spot." His nametag says Seungcheol.

You accept his outstretched hand and follow him as he hurries down the corridor back the way he came.

The boat sways again, but Seungcheol stands his ground, keeping you steady on your feet too.

"What's happening?" your voice crackles.

Seungcheol continues to guide you through the interior of the ship. "There was an unexpected storm suddenly. Captain didn't even see it on our radars, it came out of nowhere. We're taking precautions and gathering everyone in the lounge while he works on getting us to shore."

The two of you make it above the cabins where the wind and rain are pelting down stronger than you've ever seen before. You're having a hard time keeping your balance on the rocking boat, your hand slowly slipping out of Seungcheol's grasp.

A giant wave hits the side of the ship, effectively removing your small hand from Seuncheol's as you're thrown to the side.

You scream as the wave seems to drag you away and pulls you off the edge of the ship.

You hear someone else yell; maybe it's your mother, maybe it's Seungcheol, but before you know it, you are doused in the cold ocean.

The instant your body falls into the depths, you're frozen, petrified, unable to move. You try to struggle your way to the surface, but your clothes weigh you down, only making you sink further below.

Your lungs burn. Trapped in the darkness, you can barely see the moonlight above anymore.

You succumb to your watery grave, eyes closed and arms wrapped around your small figure in a final effort to gain warmth.

Suddenly, you are hit by a feeling of serenity like your mother is cradling you once again. You lean into the tender touch and begin to drift away into unconsciousness.

She belongs to the sea.

You seem to hallucinate a raspy voice hiss out the strange remark.

And then you're gone.

•

Each time you see the familiar grey, gloomy clouds in the atmosphere brings you back to that one fateful day from your childhood.

You know something else happened to you after you fell into the water, but you can't for the life of you recall what.

You know you somehow made it back to the shore safely in one piece. Could it have been that kind staff member who collected you from your room? Or perhaps your mother who dove in after seeing you fall overboard?

You've kept that day to yourself; the only one who knows the full story is Hansol. Not even Jungkook nor Mingyu are aware of all the details; they only know the gist of the origins of your fear of the ocean.

"Whatcha thinking about?"

Hansol's voice brings you back to reality. He's come from the kitchen and is currently standing next to you. Now brought back to your senses, you feel the slight sting from the hot cup of coffee resting between your palms.

"Nothing," you mutter out, removing your hands from the ceramic. You keep your gaze out the window at the hazy horizon; the tide seems to be rising with the weather getting progressively worse. "Are you seeing Chan today?"

"No," he answers, taking a sip from his cup. "Not that I know of, at least. I doubt he'll come if it's raining like this."

The wind looks like it's beginning to pick up. You can hear it howling on the other side of the windows.

"Right, of course."

The boy takes a seat across from you. "Are you sure you're doing okay?" he pushes, "You know you don't have to stay here for the full two weeks with us, right?"

"I know," you reply, "I've just been feeling more anxious recently, but I'm not entirely sure why." You take a sip of your coffee, burning the tip of your tongue slightly. "But I'll be okay."

Hansol's concern for you doesn't waver despite your words or the smile you’re presenting.

"Some storm, huh?" Mingyu's voice is heard from the staircase as he treks down to the main floor. His hair is still damp from his shower.

Hansol makes a noise of acknowledgement and takes another sip of his coffee.

Mingyu prepares a cup of coffee for himself. "Do you think the water will rise all the way up to the deck?"

You involuntary freeze at the thought.

"No, it shouldn't," Hansol says confidently.

And it doesn't, but it does come close. As the rain continues to pour, the entirety of the rocky path becomes submerged beneath the saltwater.

The sound of the storm keeps you awake as you lie in bed that night, picking at a loose thread on the duvet cover. You think you can feel the cabin sway with the heavy wind, but you blame it on your imagination.

She belongs to the sea.

You blame your imagination for the husky voice you hear too.

The sea.

The shutter on your bedroom window flies open; it's certainly not your imagination this time. You immediately stand up and make your way to the adjacent wall to close it, only to see just how high the tide has risen since you've retreated to bed.

Now you must be dreaming.

The sea level appears to be just below your window. Being on the upper floor of the cabin, that's more than concerning.

"(Y/N)?"

You back away from the window at the sound of your name spoken from the other side of it.

A vaguely familiar mop of damp brown hair appears outside your windowsill.

"Seokmin?" You squint your eyes at the face you see in the moonlight. Panic laces your voice, "What the hell is happening?"

Yeah, you really must be dreaming.

The merman reaches his arm through the threshold of your window with his hand open for you to take.

"Do you trust me?"

Every part of you screams no. No! You've lived your whole life in fear of the ocean and what resides within it. Taking this creature's hand would contradict your entirety.

"Please," he adds.

You feel yourself being drawn towards him, one foot after another taking you closer until your hand brushes against his. His fingertips are pruned, a sensation slightly rough against your smooth ones.

When he closes his hand around yours, you hear the rain abruptly stop.

Everything becomes silent, like the drops of water have stopped with time.

"It's okay," Seokmin whispers, warmly smiling at you.

Before you know it, his lips connect with your forehead.

And you suddenly remember that night you fell into the abyss.

•

Your lungs burn. Trapped in the darkness, you can barely see the moonlight above anymore.

You succumb to your watery grave, eyes closed and arms wrapped around your small figure in a final effort to gain warmth.

Suddenly, you are hit by a feeling of serenity like your mother is cradling you once again. You lean into the tender touch and begin to drift away into unconsciousness.

She belongs to the sea.

You seem to hallucinate a raspy voice hiss out the strange remark.

And then you're gone.

No, you think you're gone, but the burning sensation in your lungs is alleviated.

You open your eyes once more to find your small body enveloped by another being. It has a tail: a long, dark violet tail extending beneath you. Your fear hasn't left you completely, but the way you're cradled so carefully eases you.

"It's okay," a gentle voice whispers, causing you to look up to meet a pair of brown eyes and a warm smile. "You're safe."

"What's happening?" you hear your voice ask for the second time that day, unsure of how you're able to speak beneath the water.

"Your father wants you home," is the boy's response, "but I've tried to tell him it's not your time yet."

"My... father?"

You can't picture a face to the name you speak. Each time you've asked your mother about him, she's only said how he was a wonderful man. Was.

"Yes, (Y/N). Sorry about the storm. He gets emotional when thinking of you." One of the merman's hands supports the back of your head to his chest as he dashes through the water. "It's because he misses you."

"Are we going to see him now?"

"No, not yet. One day I'll find you again, and we will see him. Together."

Before you know it, your heads break through to the surface where the weather is much clearer than before. Your rescuer moves slowly towards the beach near the dock, continuing his hold on you until your feet can touch the ground.

You cough up some of the water that infiltrated your lungs before asking, "May I know your name?"

The merman smiles once more, the apples of his wet cheeks reflecting the moonlight. "You will, one day, little jellyfish."

•

Your eyes open only to find you still stood by your window with a familiar set of arms around you.

You take note of his purple tail extending below.

"You," you whisper, taking a step back from the windowsill to get a proper look at the boy residing on the other side, "We've met before."

Seokmin chuckles at your realization, "Yes, many years ago."

"You saved me."

"Kind of," he ponders. "You wouldn't have drowned; your father wouldn't have let that happen. I only made sure you wouldn't sink to the bottom of the ocean."

"Right, my father." The title still sounds alien from your mouth. You gesture to the flooded outside, "Did he do this too?"

Seokmin sheepishly scratches the nape of his neck, "Word may have gotten around that you were visiting the oceanside. You know how excitable Chan can get."

You smile at the idea of the youngest royal brother bragging about seeing you. "If my father's a merman, then why am I human?"

"Who said your father's a merperson?" Seokmin counters, "He's less of a merman and more of a sorcerer who resides within the waves."

"No shit."

The boy giggles at your remark.

"But if I technically come from the sea, then why have I been so afraid of it?"

"Are you still afraid of it now, jellyfish?"

You open your mouth, about to say your habitual response, but only to find yourself lacking one life-long phobia.

"No," you furrow your eyebrows.

"It was a spell I placed on you, back when you were a child," Seokmin fiddles with your hand; his is now dry. "It was to prevent you from returning when you weren't ready."

"Am I ready now?"

"My goodness, so many questions."

But Seokmin takes the time to answer them all for you.

You pull up a chair to the window as he remains in the raised tide.

That night, you learn that you're less human than you originally thought. You're not a merperson like Seokmin and his brothers are, but you do similarly come from the ocean.

Your father had unexpectedly met your mother one summer's day, the two falling in love faster than either party had expected. You weren't necessarily planned, but the two were ecstatic, nevertheless. Your father had to return back to the depths—his home—leaving your mother alone for the rest of her pregnancy. Yet, after she had you, she was significantly less lonely. She seemed to have the whole ocean supporting her, despite her lover unable to return to the surface.

When you were an infant, you were drawn to the water. Perhaps you could hear your father calling out to you for you to return home at sea with him, where he thought you belonged more-so than on land.

Seokmin had placed the spell on you to give you the opportunity for a normal youth on the surface. He recalled the way he so strongly loved being free of stress and confinement before his royal responsibilities became more prevalent and only wished the same for you.

Practicing magic under your father's teaching made Seokmin create a spell strong enough to last for over a decade.

He refrained from telling your father what he'd done that night when he found you. He knew how powerful the man was; a tsunami or hurricane could have easily been a product of his emotions.

Although now, the spell has worn off. Once more, you find yourself inexplicably drawn to the water and arguably even-more-so to the boy with his hands encased in yours.

"Will I get to meet him one day?" your eyes examine the way Seokmin's thumb grazes across your knuckles, tracing every crest and trough on your skin.

"Yes," he says, "though only when the tides lower again. I don't want him flooding the entire island out of happiness."

You hum out an "Okay" and catch the beginnings of the rising sun in the distance, illuminating Seokmin's already-glowing silhouette.

•

We'll meet beyond the shore,

"(Y/N), could I try something?"

Seokmin's ears are tinted a pretty pink as he examines your form sitting in the shallow water.

You shift your attention from feeling the silky sand beneath the waves lightly lapping against your ankles and to the merman sitting next to you. His hair is slowly beginning to dry from being in the summer sunshine.

We'll kiss just as before,

Seokmin takes your hand tenderly and brings it to his lips. It's a gentle touch, but the act sends a flurry of butterflies straight into your chest. The boy smiles brightly, his eyes slightly crinkling at the corners, and laces his fingers between yours.

Happy we'll be beyond the sea,

"I like the way your hand fits in mine, jellyfish."

Your eyes meet Seokmin's, who are trained on the pair of your intertwined hands.

"I like it too," you admit, smiling as his gaze lifts and meets yours.

He slowly leans in.

And never again I'll go sailing. ••

139 notes · View notes

putas-in-suffering · 4 years

Text

Expensive Taste

Pairing: Miguel Galindo x Escort!Female Reader/You

Rating: Explicit, NSFW 18+ older

Warnings: Language, daddy kink, unprotected vaginal sex, mentions of bodily fluids, pretentious bitches, Miguel being Daddy, Miguel liking being called Daddy (its an important distinction)

Word Count: 3.2K

Summary: Part 2. It’s Monday night’s gala and you decide to make a dull event interesting.

A/N: Sucias! Here’s a second part to our Miguel/Escort saga. You can read the first part here. This is turning into a bit of a series between Miguel and our escort and we are not mad at it. We’ve got at least two more parts written out for this duo so we hope you guys are as thirsty for Cartel Daddy as we are because we’re ready to deliver the goods. Enjoy and share with your fellow sucias! Feedback is the preferred drug for our addiction and greatly appreciated 💖💖

**We added a Part 3! Read it here.

You laughed to hide the disgust, discreetly rolling your made-up eyes in response to the dull droning’s of some Stepford housewife. She was blonde with capped teeth, the fillers in her lips making her look more like a platypus rather than a human. Despite her cheerful attitude, you could tell she was critiquing you…eyeing you with concealed disdain. You were no stranger to those expressions. People often judged you for many different reasons. Tonight, it was because of who you came with.

Miguel had been whisked away from your side, most likely to discuss business. You were enough of a professional to keep yourself busy. Stay hidden, but seen. Engage, but don’t bring attention to yourself. You were there for looks and nothing else. But Tina had trapped you. Talking your ear off about Botox and country clubs and her quaint vacation spots to a little resort across the border. You inwardly cringed at that. The elite loved to talk shit on the country south of the border, but were the first to book first class tickets to experience “the culture”.

You felt a light touch to your arm and tried not to jerk away as Tina questioned you with a silent gaze.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” You asked, sipping on your champagne as you did. The one good thing about these galas was the booze. Always top notch.

“Your dress…where did you get it? It’s so…daring.”

The insult was clear. Poorly hidden within the high-pitch of her sickly sweet voice. You only smiled, having played this game with many women throughout your life. If you had to guess, Tina had been married to her husband for ten plus years. They probably had a couple of kids. She probably took care of those kids, letting her husband work and fuck someone else in peace. She probably did yoga three to four times a week, thinking it would keep her husband around. She did the same with the Botox and fillers. Most likely having a little nip and tuck too. She was pathetic. A dime a dozen in this godforsaken social circle. You didn’t know if you could blame her. But you sure as hell weren’t giving her a free pass either.

“Thanks. I was going to go for something more conservative, kinda like yours. But I realized I’d rather Miguel actually want to fuck me tonight.”

Her face went hard, mouth open in shock at your blatant dig. You kept the smile on your face, even when Miguel saddled up next to you, interrupting your caddy interaction. Tina’s husband joined her as well, his eyes sweeping up your figure in a not so discreet fashion.

“Having fun?” Miguel asked, no doubt feeling the tension between you and the other woman. His hand wrapped around your waist, his fingers pressing into your flesh. He was signaling you, letting you know he knew what game you were playing and he wanted you to wrangle it in.

“Absolutely. I was just telling Tina where I got my dress from.” You addressed the group, enjoying the way the man and woman eyed you. She with contempt. He with lust.

“You want something like that, honey?” The man asked his wife, the childish excitement practically spewing out of his pores.

“She’d look great in it.” You insisted with a devious smile, catching the way Tina pursed her overinflated lips at you. “Just a tip though…you can’t really wear any underwear with this dress so I hope you’re okay with that.”

You swore you saw the husband pop a boner right there while Tina seethed and twisted her face in disgust.

Wench.

Miguel tugged at your arm, clearing his throat and effectively ending the conversation. “Excuse us.”

You followed him as he led you out the glass doors and onto the terrace. It was deserted, the life of the party contained within the walls of the hotel ballroom. He was mindful of your heels, pulling you along but not forcefully. Though you were sure that had more to do with the lurking eyes rather than any form of chivalry.

“Was that necessary?” Miguel questioned, bringing you to a stop in a dimly lit corner.

You could hear the soft melodic tune of crickets over the heinous shit they were playing inside. The cool breeze swept over your skin, soothing the heat that had begun to stir, both from the alcohol and your tense interaction with Tina. You let your gaze take in the man before you. Take in the perfectly coiffed hair, the designer suit, the angular jaw, the intense dark eyes. He was attractive no doubt, which made your job all the more easier.

“She started it.” You retorted, trying hard to keep the smile off your lips. You knew he wasn’t happy with your little display, but he also wasn’t showing that anger outright. He found it amusing. You could see the glint in his eyes.

“I bet she did.” His gaze swept your figure, taking in all the dips and curves. He’d remarked on how beautiful you looked when he’d picked you up earlier in the evening, but now…now he was looking at you as if you were a very expensive steak on a silver platter.

The dress was a soft ivory color, the fabric delicate and beaded. It was sheer, but the nude paneling underneath kept you from exposing any body parts. It was fitted to your figure, the strapless sweetheart neckline doing wonders for your décolletage. It had a slit up the side, but you’d made sure it wasn’t too high. The illusion of nudity was shocking enough. And Tina was right. It was a daring dress, but it encompassed everything you needed it to. Money. Sex. Poise. And you looked damn good in it. It was a physical testament to your working relationship with Miguel. It was shocking. A hidden scandal all dressed in crystals and jewels.

It was amazing what people in this town would turn the other cheek for. Whether some or all knew of your association with Miguel you’d never know, but if you had to take a guess…they probably treated it like his occupation. Coveted but never acknowledged.

“She looked at me like a whore.” You defended. You stepped into his space, abandoning your champagne glass on the ledge of the balcony. You took his own glass and did the same with it, freeing up his hands.

He smirked at your words, the expression sending a lightning bolt of heat straight to your core. “Aren’t you?”

He was smug. And rightfully so. You were already wet. It was as if he could read your mind. He knew without even exploring the space between your thighs what he would find there. He knew what turned you on. It was the same for him. Its why you were the perfect match.

“Your whore.” You whispered against his lips, enjoying the way his jaw clenched. His expression was tight while his chest expanded with a deep breath. His right hand began trailing along the curve of your waist and down to your backside, caressing. You let his hand roam freely, unafraid of the consequence.

“No panties, huh?” He asked, punctuating his words with a fierce grab of your ass. He massaged the flesh, pulling a low moan from your painted lips. You gripped the lapels of his suit, steadying yourself against the rush of desire that now held you prisoner.

“A practical decision.” You replied, leaning further into his body. He let his arms surround you, this time smoothing both of his hands over your lower half. Your eyes fluttered closed, your chest rubbing against his in a silent plea.

“Practical how?” He raised his eyebrow, waiting for your response. His hands began slowly pulling at your dress, shifting the material up your legs and thighs.

“Easier to convince you to fuck me in the middle of a gala.” You teased, tongue darting out to lick seductively at his bearded lips.

He grunted in approval, fingers finding their way to the epicenter of your excitement. He danced along your inner thighs, taking note of the way they clenched. They were already slippery with your arousal, your body getting off just on the anticipation alone. He teased your slit, his eyes watching your face closely. You bit your lip as you tried to shift against his touch, eager for more. You didn’t know what made it so thrilling to sleep with Miguel. It could’ve been a multitude of things. His wealth, his authority, his arrogance. It all combined to make a sensuous elixir. One that had you addicted.

“You’re worth every fucking penny I spend on you.” He breathed against your lips, catching the gasp you released when his fingers finally penetrated you. Your nails dug into his chest, struggling for purchase as he scissored you. His palm rubbed at your clit as he worked you from the inside out.

“Fuck…” You moaned when he curled his fingers against your walls. He was encouraging your body to flood him, coaxing an orgasm to the surface. Who were you to deny him?

“You’d let me do what I want, right?”

You nodded wordlessly, too caught up in his touch to verbalize. His rhythm began to accelerate, forcing your pussy to cling to him in mercy.

“You’d let me fuck you right here for everyone to see. Let them see what my money buys. What I own.”

You couldn’t stop the litany of whimpers and moans that danced off your lips. His words set you ablaze, amplifying the pleasure to insurmountable heights. You forgot about your surroundings. Forgot that the pretentious society of Santo Padre stood only feet away. Your body’s carnal desires were the only thing that fueled you from that moment. That and Miguel’s sinful mouth.

“Turn around.” He demanded lowly, his fingers leaving the confines of your body and trailing the stickiness along your skin.

You didn’t ask questions. You didn’t hesitate. You gave yourself over completely to Miguel, proving to him why you were his favorite…his only. You faced the pristinely manicured courtyard, gripping the balcony ledge as he raised the hem of your dress to expose your lower half. His belt was already undone, his zipper down. He pressed into you, letting you feel the hard line of his cock beneath the fabric of his underwear. You opened your neck up to him in invitation and were instantly rewarded with the delicious graze of his lips and tongue.

“Spread your legs, baby. Let me in.” He whispered against your neck, his hand trailing down your spine. You shivered and obeyed dutifully, letting his body line up with you. The heat of his flesh met yours as he slowly began to push in. No matter how many times or the various ways you’d let Miguel fuck you, he always stretched you with an ache that bordered on painful. The sensation took your breath away.

“Miguel…” You moaned into the night, reaching an arm behind you to thread your fingers into his hair. You tugged at the strands as he sunk all the way into your depths. Your walls throbbed against his cock, feeling the pulse of his blood as he stood completely still. You both savored the moment of raw lust. Savored the erotic connection of your bodies. Savored the risk of fucking with Miguel’s friends and associates just beyond a glass door.

“Tell me what you need.”

You tried to wiggle your hips, but his hands held you firm. You were impaled on his cock, trapped between him and the balcony. You had nowhere to go.

“Move…fuck me, please.” You pleaded, soaking up the kisses he continued to lavish on your neck. His teeth scraped along your earlobe, nibbling as he went.

“Please what?”

You inwardly gloated at his question, realizing the mood he was in. Miguel only ever asked you such a question when he was feeling especially playful and that usually meant a five star orgasm for you.

“Daddy.” You corrected. You could feel his cock twitch inside of you in response and you squeezed him back, relishing the curse he growled out.

Without warning, he thrust hard and deep, pinning you roughly against the concrete ledge. You yelped at the force of it, your breath catching in your throat. He kept up his brutal pace, using slow, measured thrusts. His fingertips dug into your hips. He grunted like a primal beast as he plunged so deep that you were forced onto your tiptoes.

“Oh, fuck…” You bent forward and braced yourself as he continued to ravage you, the angle making your toes curl. You flinched when you felt the sudden pressure of his finger at your clit, his hand unknowingly making its journey up the front of your dress.

“I can feel you, baby. You’re ready. Be a good girl and cum, yeah?” He taunted.

Miguel’s flare for pillow talk was about as masterful as his cock. His mouth was an instrument. An instrument he used with expert precision. He knew when to strike. Knew when to utilize his talent to make you cum harder than any other time before.

You squeezed your eyes shut as a cyclone of pleasure swept you up and immobilized you. Your entire body shook with uncontrolled tremors as wave after treacherous wave of climax assailed your body. You felt him still inside you. He could feel every swirl of your hips, every earth-shattering shockwave that ricocheted off his cock. You gasped for air as his finger continued to torture your clit, despite your sudden oversensitivity. He prolonged your orgasm, praising the way you squeezed him.

“That’s it. Just like that.” He talked you through it, tenderly caressing your cheek as if he wasn’t still splitting you in two. His hips resumed their pace, the sound of him entering you now amplified by your release. You grasped onto his forearm as his hand reached around to squeeze at your throat. His hold wasn’t hard, but it was enough to make you feel unsteady on your four inch heels. The ledge dug into your hips as he rutted into you, his own hips stuttering in overwhelming ecstasy.

“Cum inside me…fill me up.” You said between each ragged breath you took.

“Fuck,” He cursed, plastering your body to his as he finished. The flood of warmth filled you, his body spasming with each spurt of his cum. There wasn’t an iota of space left between your bodies as he used you, painting your insides and filling you to capacity. His forehead rested on the back of your neck, his breathing beginning to slow as he floated back into the moment.

His tired chuckle made you laugh, the vibrations making you both hiss. You ran your hands through the hair at the nape of his neck, your touch much softer than the previous time. He carefully eased himself out of your clutches, but he didn’t let your dress fall back into place. Instead, he ran a finger over your abused slit, slipping past and coating the appendage. You gasped at the unexpected intrusion, but let him do as he pleased.

A second later he was removing his finger and spinning you around, your dress now covering any modesty you had left. You met his gaze, seeing his hair slightly out of place and a corner of his mouth lifted in a devious smirk. He raised the finger, letting you see the mixture of you and him that covered it. He smeared it onto your lips.

“Beautiful…” He whispered, nodding in approval when you immediately licked the concoction from your lips. He pulled you in for a kiss, his tongue instantly seeking entrance into your mouth. You gave it, letting him taste the champagne and the flavor of your combined releases. You pulled away breathless and satiated, the drunken high of your coupling still very prominent.

“So should I not wear panties from now on?” You teased, stepping back to allow him the room to adjust his pants and shirt. He composed himself, tucking in his shirt as he laughed at your question. You reached up and fixed his hair, noting the hints of grey intertwined in the inky locks.

“Something to think about.” He replied matter-of-factly, eyebrow raised as if pondering the pros of such a decision. He let you fuss with his hair, black eyes fixated on your chest. “That is quite the dress. A little on the nose, don’t you think?”

“Maybe. But if I’m going to look like a whore then at least it’s an expensive one. Right, Daddy?” You winked, trailing a painted nail over his lips and down to adjust the collar of his shirt.

He shook his head and chuckled, gaze now scanning the area for people. “Come on.” He gestured to the ballroom, leading you with a hand to your lower back.

You thanked him as he opened the door for you, letting you pass with a subtle pat to your ass. He maneuvered through the crowd with you, stopping momentarily to greet the occasional acquaintance. You’d grabbed another flute of champagne, standing silent beside Miguel as he spoke with a local politician. Your eyes found Tina’s across the room, a scowl still permanently etched onto her face. You brought a finger up to your lips and made a show of wiping the sides of your mouth, your message clear. She looked appalled, beady eyes bouncing between you and Miguel as if she was putting the pieces of a puzzle together. You took a hearty sip of your drink and waved, pleased when she shook her head and walked off in a huff.

“Behave. I don’t pay you to ruin my relationships with the locals.” Miguel warned in your ear, his arm back around your waist in a possessive embrace.

“No, you pay me to suck your dick and swallow your cum.” You countered.

You took your own kind of sick pleasure out of shocking and sassing Miguel. It was what made all your encounters with him so damn fun. The man’s buttons were easy to push. Some days he played along, like today. Other times he fought against you, intent on punishing you for your transgressions.

“Speaking of,” You continued, handing off your glass to him. “Your cum is currently running down my leg so I’m gonna go to the ladies’ room.”

His eyes flickered down to your thighs hidden beneath your dress, a flash of desire sweeping across his face. He nodded, fixing you with a firm stare. “There and back. No detours.”

“Yes sir.” You mocked, taking his hand in yours.

This time, he wasn’t amused.

“I think it’s time I remind you what your purpose is.” He responded coolly, squeezing your hand back in a deceivingly tight hold. It was an obvious warning that he wanted you to heed, but you’d do no such thing. Playful Miguel was fun, but you yearned for that darker, twisted side that was bred from running a cartel operation.

So, you leaned forward and kissed him on the corner of his mouth, letting your tongue dart out to taste him. You patted his chest with a placating expression, surely sealing your date with the devil later.

“I can’t wait.”

Sucia Tag List

@marvelmaree

@visintaes

@otomefromtheheart

@aquarius-smr-writing

@glimmerglittergirl

@arveeee

@fangirlingaesthetics

@maciiiofficial

@woahitslucyylu

@angelreyesgirl

@ifoundmyhappythought

@mheart27

@collegegirl83

@luna8819

@enamouravecleslivresetlechocolat

#miguel galindo #miguel galindo x reader #miguel galindo x you #miguel galindo imagine #miguel galindo fanfiction #miguel galindo fanfic #mayans mc #mayans mc fx

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urmomsstuntdouble · 3 years

Note

Can you do one for america

Since I received this about an hour or two after posting my lithuania analysis, I assume you’re asking for an america character analysis. I was debating whether or not to go through with writing this or not for a while, but i’ve decided that I’ll try. I hope you enjoy it!

Idealism

The first thing that sticks out to me when thinking about america is that he’s super idealistic, and I think this has its roots in his birth. Everything in his life has been about hope and being better than others, even down to the decision to colonise north america. England needs to be the most powerful country in europe. Better set up a colony in america so that it can save us. It’s that sort of logic that i think gives america the idea that he needs to be perfect, or that he can be the ideal person. And though a lot of what we consider to be the “american” identity (intense patriotism, nativism, idealism, etc) took recognizable shape in the 19th century, i think this way of thinking was nothing new to alfred. He’d been raised on it, with the desire to please arthur sort of in his blood? Anyway i feel like the idea that the colonies would be so so prosperous really put the idea into america’s head early on that he was perfect and that he was destined to be such a great person, even if that wasn't true. I often see his daddy issues presented as solely abandonment issues, but my interpretation of america is more of a combination of abandonment issues and the pressure, some of it self inflicted, to be a perfect country. Basically, his idealism is deeply rooted in unhealthy places.

Also, a religion headcanon i have is that while he was more raised to be a puritan, freddie prefers quakerism. Though he’s not the most compatible with quakerism, as it rejects violence and quakers often refer to themselves as the society of friends, and are very welcoming, i think it gives him some hope. One of freddie’s biggest problems is that he wants people to be better than they are, and quakerism helps a little with that, because it’s a way that he can help himself become better than he currently is. I feel like he’s been a quaker for a very long time, so he’s not a very good quaker, but this is still something that’s very important to him.

Hero complex and other mental bullshit

America having a hero complex and also being physically 19 is something i think really highly of. First of all, it very much fits with the mythology of america being a sort of world savior. Secondly, a lot of american media focuses on heroism, whether its on the behalf of average people, like the hunger games, or on the behalf of superheroes, like the mcu- especially over the past 20 years. Though i think it’s a good thing to promote heroism, the hero-martyr complex that gen z has is. Oof. And i think alfred fits very well into that toxic sort of “heroism” that most gen z kids have. He thinks he’s somehow able to fix everything wrong with the world, just because he really wants to. Though that desire is genuine, it’s not always something that’s his place to fix or something that even needed fixing. There’s also a selfish component to that- He needs to prove himself, and heroism is the only way he thinks he can do that. It’s why he works out constantly and cares so much, on a personal rather than country-avatar-thing level, about being #1 at everything. He has to be better than everyone else because he has to be the perfect hero.

I also think it’s interesting how america seems to have more pronounced daddy issues than canada, and i think this is something that harkens back to the 13 colonies (side note i hate the term ‘colonial times’ when referring to the time before the revolutionary war or canadian independence. These are settler states, its always colonial times.) and american independence. Canada sort of only exists because of british loyalists, as they made up the majority of the population around the turn of the 19th century. They saw themselves as being The Better Colonists. Real daddy’s boy types, and I think this is something that contributes to the hero complex. Because matthew refused to rebel so openly, that made arthur favor him as a son, so alfred felt the need to be even better than matthew- even though, of course, alfred was a bit more favored.

Fighting Style

Freddie is very good at violence, but not in the same way that a lot of other nations are. Where they tend to be more well trained in specific styles of fighting, freddie just sort of has all of them? His mind is very crowded, i think. Also, the way that he would have learned to fight is different from the other super powerful countries by virtue of his youth, and by virtue of the different regional fighting styles in america. One that’s haunted me is a trend in the ability to rip off ears and noses- Particularly by white gangs in the antebellum south, this was seen as being like. A real badass. I think alfred was something of a feral child. If you know the saying “it takes a village to raise a child,” i think it really did with him. He had so many parents, just like a lot of the western hemisphere countries. But anyway because of all his many many parents, there was never any strong parental force in his life, so it’s more like he didn’t have any at all, and because of that, alfred was a very strange child. And because violence is so ingrained in american society, alfred is very good at fighting, both in order to be fun and flashy and for his own self defense. Though he doesn't really like to fight unless he feels like he has to (and other people are very good at convincing him that he does have to)

Sports

Though america is definitely super athletic and could probably naturally be good at most sports, i think there’s a few that he’d more gravitate towards. Those are basketball, track and field, and olympic lifting. I would include american football but it’s a stupid sport that doesn’t make any sense, so it will not be included for spite reasons. In basketball I think he’s sort of an every-man. I think he’s around six feet tall, so he really could play any position on offense, and as for defense, I think he’d play his best defense against the point guard, bc i feel like Alfred is really fast and good at getting up in your face. He’d have a ton of steals whenever defending against the point guard. I think he’d be a good center on offense, because he’s a bit aggressive and that would be useful for getting rebounds and put-backs, though i wouldn’t discount point-guard freddie, because he does like to be very inspiring. He’s pretty energetic as well, and a point guard can really carry the entire team in terms of energy and spirit. As for track and field, he’d also be an every man- I feel like he’d gravitate more towards sprinting events by personality, but his coach would stick him in wherever. Where olympic lifts are concerned, he’s absolutely a snatch specialist.

Empire and contradictions

America is an empire. No way of getting around that. I think imperialism in hetalia is an interesting subject, especially where america is concerned. @mysticalmusicwhispers did a good job running that down here, but basically my thoughts on the matter are that alfred doesn't really like being an empire. There’s many angles to that. It’s lonely at the top, for one. There’s no one who relates to being a 21st century empire in quite the same way as him. Then you have the fact that a lot of people living in america have suffered under imperialism as well. Because of that, there’s a lot of self hatred and anxiety and a not knowing if he can fully trust himself. Theres also the obsession that many americans have with people from other cultures being able to assimilate to american wasp culture. Because of all the people who live in the states who are very much not wasps and who can never be, it’s really hard on alfred, though he refuses to admit that things are anything but fine.

Extras/Fun stuff

A book that reminds me of him is The Things They Carried by Tim O’Brien. It’s a collection of short stories about O’Brien’s time serving in the military during the Vietnam War. It’s a very haunting book and I think about it at least once a week, but it is very violent and there’s a lot of fucked up stuff in it.

giveme chubby alfred or give me death

i feel like this shouldn’t have to be said, but sometimes there’s people who depict him as being pro-trump or pro-right wing bullshit, which. absolutely not. just because of all the political turmoil that exists within alfred, and because of all the pain he goes through because of all the hate that exists within his borders- hate that the entire world is forced to pay attention to. even though he might not have all the best sympathies or motivations, he’s just so tired of all the pain he personally goes through because of domestic political unrest, and would like it to end in the way that’s the least painful for him as a person.

Bi king of my heart

not a natural blond

I hc him as being mixed, though i’m not sure what exactly he’d look like? But i do enjoy alfred but not white, as poc are the driving force behind a lot of american life, right down to the languages we speak. Like. something like half the states names are the words of their indigenous peoples, and even more toponyms are indigenous across the country. Then of course i feel he’s very protective of aave and will always pronounce words in Not English correctly. (if u want to hear more about my language thoughts they’re linked below. Not gonna rehash it here cause those posts are Long™)

My playlist for him!

Other analyses (age, linguistics)

writing requests

#@ mystic how does it feel to be tagged in two of my writing request posts #im sorry i love your writing sm #anyway thanks for the ask anon! im not quite so angsty about america right now so this probably #is not as good as it could've been were i in my feelings about him #anywhomst! hope u enjoy this #hetalia #hws #hws america #tw violence #tw imperialism #?#sort of #i dont go into detail about the imperialism but its metnioned #ask #anon #writing requests #character analysis #ceros posting

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ashintheairlikesnow · 4 years

Text

Box Boy Worldbuilding: Training

I had a request to put together the phrases I’ve mentioned Box Boys memorizing/being forced to memorize and training references from my fics! This won’t be an exhaustive list, I’ll be adding as I find/remember things I’ve mentioned. Feel free to message me any memorized phrases, training specifics, or anything else from other BBU fics I’ve missed or that appear in your own fics that I don’t use, and leave a username so I can properly tag!

As always, a disclaimer: The Box Boy concept belongs to @sweetwhumpandhellacomf and was popularized by a variety of bloggers including @shameless-whumper and more. Nothing listed here is set in stone. Your Box Boy and/or Box Babe stories belong to you! It’s a sandbox and you can build that castle anyway you want.

Discard all of this or use any of it as you want or it fits your story. I’m just playing around with ideas, and people have asked me to kind of put some of this stuff together as reference material!

Memorized Phrases:

“You signed up for this.” - @shameless-whumper

“The owner is safe. You love the owner. You will do whatever the owner wants.”

“All pets are of legal consenting age and make a choice to pursue a change of circumstances including no longer retaining legal ownership of themselves.”

“I am an active participant in fulfilling my owner’s desires.” (Romantic or Combination only)

“The owner’s touch is safe, whoever they are.”

“I want to be touched. I want this. I want you.” (Romantic or Combination only)

“All merchandise is acquired through fully legal channels.” - @shameless-whumper

“Discipline is a necessary and humane event ensuring the continued obedience and wellbeing of a pet.” - @shameless-whumper

“I am a weapon and a toy. I exist to obey and protect my owner(s).” - @redwingedwhump

“The process of training is intensive and can have residual effects including sudden but brief loss of consciousness when resetting to a product’s default state.”

Designations:

- Domestic - household servant, includes cleaning, cooking, organization, and household management training. Cooking training covers basics unless specific cuisines or skills are required. In my stories, Dex, Sebastian, and Peter are all trained Domestics with different specializations. Positions 1-25 included. A domestic is trained to be loyal and obedient to their owner but will have no particular affection or love for them unless customized in the request.

- Platonic / Caregiver - Designed to act as a companion or caregiver to someone within a household. Often used as a kind of limited home health aide. Custom training available to match specific healthcare needs. Also wonderful as a kind of companion for elderly or isolated persons. Positions 1-25 included. Conditioned to be affectionate and loyal.

- Romantic - Designed to substitute for a physical or romantic relationship. Trainee is taught to physically service the needs of their owner and conditioned to become loyal, attracted, and completely devoted to their owner. Romantics have the lowest success rate for runaways and often return to their owners within three months or less of leaving. Positions 1-25 included, with an extra 10 “Romantic-specific” positions available, each with an added fee.

- Combination - Any combination of these. A Companion and Romantic are similar but not exactly the same, so if you ordered a Romantic who would still need to know certain home healthcare skills, they would be a Combination. Or a Domestic who would also perform Romantic duties would be considered a Combination.

- Guard Dog - see @redwingedwhump‘s Guard Dog David and @moose-teeth‘s Daniel Brennan/B The Guard Dog (Moose really did the development on the Guard Dogs here - please send her asks with any questions!) often exists under the Combination Designation and performs bodyguard duties and other duties as required by their owners. Fighting training, targeted aggression, and very specialized and single-target loyalty is part of training here. Basic positions included. Guard Dogs will be extremely loyal to designated ‘safe’ people (owners) and will regard nearly everyone else as suspicious and untrustworthy/potentially dangerous.

SEE HARO-WHUMP’S LIST OF BOX BOY POSITIONS HERE

Referenced Training Specifics:

- Box Boys/Babes are trained to be afraid to see their own contracts - they get shaky/panicked even just looking at them after the signing date (Kauri)

- Read @shameless-whumper‘s the The Host’s Discipline Tutorial for a great run-through on disciplinary techniques Box Boys are taught to respond to

- Disciplinary methods in the Facility include black batons wielded by Handlers that have an optional electric shock component for a minimum of permanent scarring or injury with maximum pain infliction

- Food in the Facility includes ‘nutrient loaf’ and ‘nutrient shakes’. The loaf is largely flavorless and the shakes are “chocolate”, but it’s mostly chalky and disgusting. Has been referred to as tasting like someone described chocolate to an alien, but poorly. Keeps Box Boys from descending into total malnourishment while still not quite fully satisfying nutritional requirements. Teaches Box Boys to be even more grateful for food with real flavor once they’re with their owners.

- Memorization is a big part of conditioning, a memorized series of phrases and rules that become second-nature to recite if asked anything pertaining to them (Trainee Peter (435698), for instance, despite being underage, insisting that he’s eighteen again and again when Todd questions him)

- Incorrect thoughts or aberrations: defiant, rebellious thoughts or memories that come back that aren’t allowed

- Trainees may develop different responses to their repressed memories. Kauri has a vasovagal response to seeing his own face or trying to remember his real name - he has a sudden precipitous drop in blood pressure and passes out. Dex very occasionally has a kind of seizure called a nonepileptic seizure that is not caused by a physical mechanism but by repressed memories attempting to be recovered.

- Attempts to remember things they aren’t allowed to, or to think too heavily about where they might have come from - and often even attempts to clearly remember the Facility and the training they underwent there - result in a sharp, agonizing pain and headache that can last a long time or even result in unconsciousness, and a feeling of “fog” taking over. - @shameless-whumper

- Romantic designation training can include bringing in outside contractors if their skills are needed to help the trainee meet the standard the prospect owner requires - @redwingedwhump

- Trainees are usually trained with shock collars, but prospective owners may specify that they don’t want shock training included for their pet

- Trainees are drugged as part of inducing memory loss and making them more suggestible/compliant

- Trainees rarely directly interact

- Training takes anywhere from a few months to years depending on how quickly the trainee learns and what a buyer has ordered. - @shameless-whumper

- Pets are purposefully made to be unable to exist as free humans, or are at least told that they can no longer live on their own and that they would be miserable, lonely, and likely end up injured, starving, or worse.

- Some owners may specify that they do not want their pets to be able to read or write. Most pets will read more slowly post-training as a side effect regardless, but not all. Pets can also be specifically trained for complicated work, if needed.

- What an owner does with a human pet after the three-month return period is up is their own prerogative. Whumpees-R-Us takes no legal responsibility for the actions of any pet while under their owner’s care.

- Any trainee that has had a direct interaction with Karen Renford is terrified of her

- Every pet is terrified of being sent back for “refurbishment” more than anything else - @shameless-whumper

- Box Boys are taught not to admit if they recognize or remember each other from training - @shameless-whumper

- Hearing the word ‘respect’ will often result in the Box Boy, even those who are freed or who ran away, dropping to their knees and touching their forehead to the floor automatically

- Box Boys move through positions instantly without even a conscious thought, due to repeated positions training that ingrains the movements into their minds even deeper than conscious thought ( @deluxewhump)

#box boy #box boy universe #worldbuilding #please message me anything that needs added this is just a start #box boy multiverse

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hopelesslygazingthestars · 3 years

Link

One blisteringly hot afternoon, Elia and Ashara lounged in the princess’ solar. Her friend sat across from her, atop her Dornish rug – that old filthy rug Ashara gifted her on arrival to Sunspear, all those years ago. It had seen more dances than the palace feast hall. It was where they twirled, Ashara with Elia, the music trapped by closed windows and doors. Once the colour of blood oranges, now it told an earthy tale of love and laughter, of more good times than anyone could ever be promised. It was this perfectly normal day that Ashara came to a sobering realisation. Elia was oh so beautiful. Ashara was supposedly composing a new melody on her handpan. Instead, whilst Elia was concentrating on her book, Ashara concentrated on her. She watched the way her dainty fingertips tapped idly on the frayed edges of the rug, the waves of her hair, her eyelashes fluttering when she blinked in shock at whatever she was reading. Ashara was enamoured.  She met her dark orbs; the most beautiful in all of Dorne, she was certain. They were so dark they seemed almost black until the sunlight caught them, setting them molten hues of the very richest of browns, bright with life and laughter.  Her skin – and Ashara had the good fortune of being able to feast her eyes on a great deal of it in the sticky heat. Usually she was covered in a shawl, lest she catch a chill and see her in bedridden for days, but today’s humidity called for minimal layers – her skin glowed a deep bronze that turned rosy at her cheeks and pink at her lips. And what lips they were; full and tempting as they twisted up into a smile.  “Fuck,” Ashara breathed, dizzy from desire. She could not remember when she had felt the like of it. Perhaps never at all. Though she took pleasure in men, women always did seem to have a way of making her heart flutter quicker.  Her thoughts drifted, to somewhere different, to a train of thought she knew she should not entertain. She should not have been imagining how soft her lips were, or how warm her tongue would feel against her own.  More and more, every time they were together, she felt something stirring, until her heart ached to be rid of it, but yearned even harder to hold on to it simultaneously.  Ashara wondered if this was another passing fancy. For that was always her problem—she fell in lust too easily. With a snorted laugh, a crooked smile, the movement of hands when they spoke; a unique intonation in a voice, and she would be infatuated. Ashara spent her short young years entangled in a mad love affair with the very concept of people. Nonetheless, her feelings were as changing as the waves of the Summer Sea.  She snapped out of her reverie. Elia seemed startled, the rhythmic hum of her fingernails on the surface of the rug lost. They both stayed silent.  The tension in the air was suffocating. It felt as if Ashara’s thoughts were so loud that Elia could hear them.  “What dark cloud troubles your mind today?” Elia asked because she knew her too well. And simultaneously, not nearly well enough.  “None at all.” Ashara responded far too quickly.  “Tell your brows that. You’re frowning my dearest.” Elia teased.  When Ashara felt her forehead, she was surprised to find the tell-tale signs of a deep frown.  “Oh.”  Elia’s black eyes studied her, though not quite as intensely as Ashara previously observed her.  “Lady Ashara, do you miss your brother?”  She did, of course she did, but not enough to call him back. He was finally doing something for himself, she could not begrudge him that.  She shrugged.  “You know he is with family, uncle Lewyn will care for him like his own son.”  “I’m not worried about him.”  Ashara answered, although her eyes again drifted to Elia’s taunting lips.  Elia regarded her, eyes roaming from head to toe, and for a moment Ashara feared she might have been caught. Elia had always been able to read her as easily as the book in her hands, as if the words of Ashara’s thoughts were written across her forehead.  “Do you wish to have gone with the Red Viper after all?”  Not more than a few moons after they returned from the Scorched Rock, Oberyn bedded Lord Edgar Yronwood’s paramour, then challenged him to a duel. The young prince had won the duel. However, the whispers of Yronwood’s death, days later, spoke of Oberyn wielding a poisoned blade. Princess Furiosa had all but exiled the Red Viper, sending him on “duty” to Oldtown and then Lys.  Before Oberyn’s departure he had begged Ashara to leave with him, to seek out adventures across the world together. He attempted to persuade her with vows of giving her heart’s desire. She would be free to dance, and sing, and indulge. Everything she had ever dreamed of, yet she refused when she realised it would mean leaving home… leaving Elia.  “No, my place is with you, princess.” She answered honestly.  Elia smiled.  “You are good to stay with me, Asha. I couldn’t bear to lose you.”  Now, Ashara smiled.  “I will always stay with you, Elia. I have yet to meet a man I prefer to you. I fear that is my curse.”  The words caught in her throat as puzzling sadness washed through her.  “Don’t listen to your mother’s urgings, we are still prized maidens, and the time for husbands remains in the distance.” Elia deduced.  Since Prince Doran’s wedding to the beautiful Lady Mellario of Norvos, Lady Dayne had put increasing pressure on both herself and Aethan to look towards marriage, much to Ashara’s chagrin. The mere idea of being tied down to a husband, locked up in his castle for the rest of her days, made her want to fling herself from a very high tower. She still vividly remembered the fiasco that was her parents’ marriage and had no desire for anything similar.  “You must not have heard her endless nagging at the wedding.”  Elia laughed then. It would have been difficult for anyone within earshot to not hear the grumblings of Lady Dayne.  “You must look to the future, Ashara…will you grow old alone-” Ashara said, impersonating Lady Dayne’s incessant fussing.  “No, no… ‘will you grow old with no family, Ashara… the boys already complain you only have eyes for Elia, Ashara…’” Elia teased, fingertips poking at Ashara with every sentence.  “…If you are to be married soon, you need to at least pretend to find them half interesting, Ashara.”  Elia mercilessly tickled at her sides, sending her into fits of giggles.  “Princess.” Ashara reprimanded when she was all but gasping for breath.  Elia smiled at her with feigned innocence and Ashara immediately sought revenge.  It was only then she realised they may have gotten carried away. As her own laughter died down, she wound up pinning Elia down, wrists above her head, straddling her.  She gazed long and hard at the dark eyes beneath, and Elia looked at her in a kittenish way, head tilted and eyes sparkling. Ashara felt as though her entire body became magnetised. Her thoughts raced, confused and sporadic, like a lightning storm inside her mind. For the life of her, Ashara could not comprehend why she suddenly felt this way. She decided her mind was malfunctioning when she thought she saw Elia visibly gulp, blink, and lock her gaze onto Ashara’s eyes.  “I…” Ashara coerced herself to say, feigning normalcy in her voice. Although, for reasons beyond comprehension, not letting Elia’s wrists free, nor shifting so she no longer straddled her.  And apparently, that was entirely acceptable with Elia, because she looked, then, like they were having the most ordinary conversation, in the most ordinary way.  “I – I, simply, uh.”  Her words were failing her miserably. Elia’s body was wriggling underneath her own, and her dress too thin, and seven hells, she was a disaster. Her eyes dropped down to Elia’s lips, and she cursed herself for being so obvious.  Ashara cleared her throat and finally found her voice. “I dare you to dance for me.” She spoke the first thing that came to her mind.  Elia laughed musically at Ashara’s odd behaviour.  “Why would I do that?”  Her eyes were soft, yet hypnotizing like she was peering directly into the sun. In that moment, Ashara dropped her hands, moving to hold Elia’s face.  “I shall bestow you a kiss if you do.”  Ashara was pushing the boundaries of their relationship, was intrigued to see if this was simply lust or something else altogether.  “And what makes you think I want to kiss you.”  “Don’t you?”  She knew she was not supposed to feel this way. Elia was her closest friend, a sister almost.  Ashara gingerly caressed over her darkened cheeks and nose… and lips. When Elia shut her eyes, she stroked the tips of her thumbs over her eyelids ever so gently, feeling her lashes flutter against her skin. It was new territory for them, but Elia seemed to enjoy it, arching up into her touch and smiling. Then, Ashara kissed her; her eyelids, her cheeks, her nose… Her hands shook slightly, her mind repeating the same sentence over and over, ‘do not do this…’  But the sound of her heart was beating so thunderously she could not concentrate.  Their lips touched, and the world fell away.  Elia’s mouth was firm against hers, but the kiss remained gentle, slow, and yet passionate, comforting in ways that words would never be. They held it, before their lips began to move in perfect sync, slowly, cautiously. It was a few moments before it registered that Elia was kissing her back. She adjusted her hand from an impossibly soft cheek to the back of her head, fingers tangling in long, dark hair, lightly pulling Elia closer, adding greater pressure and deepening the kiss.  When it came to an end, Ashara exhaled through her nose, not wanting to let go. Her entire body had been taken over by the overwhelming feeling of relief, combined with eccentric panic and lust.  Onyx eyes opened and they stared at each other in a strange way. Ashara sat frozen as she deciphered exactly what the touching of their lips made her feel.  “What was that for?” Elia asked, observing her as if calculating a complex cyvasse play.  Unable to take the pressure of Elia’s scrutinizing gaze, she looked away when she answered.  “I was curious, I suppose.”  Ashara half expected Elia to laugh, instead of the words which came.  “And have I sated your curiosity?” There was a playful lilt to her voice that washed Ashara’s anxieties away.  “I’m not certain, let me steal another and we shall find out.” Ashara half jested.  Elia halted Ashara in her descent with a hand to her chest. When she met her gaze, there was no longer amusement in her eyes.  “I might allow you another, if you vow not leave me another heartbroken maiden, running from the gardens in the wake of your fancy.” She said gravely. Something akin to guilt swirled in the pit of Ashara’s stomach.  Ashara was in no hurry to give this newly discovered sensation up. It was a tingling that stirred low in her stomach, and she wanted it to consume her. With another kiss, Ashara promised on soft lips. “I would try my hardest for you.”  They kissed, again, and again, and again. Until they were breathless, until they could not speak, until their giggles became hoarse and squeaky.  At night, they fell into bed together. And because it was late, and only because of that, they helped each other with their undergarments rather than wake the servants. Though they had dressed and undressed in front of one another a million times, something was different between them. Disrobing transformed into something of a shy dance.  Their hands were much less practiced than handmaidens, but they laughed and fumbled their way through it all the same. Ashara learned the way to twist her wrist so that the stays of Elia’s intricately woven vermilion silk dress loosened easily; and she also learned to ignore the way that her heart hammered at the softness of Elia’s skin against her fingertips. She attempted not to notice the way the straps had left marks against her back, angry and red, that she craved to smooth out with her palms, and if she was to be honest, with her mouth.  She forced herself from staring when Elia stepped out of her drawers, naked and giggling. Instead, she passed over a nightgown as if the sight of her was nothing important. In a feigned cough, Ashara disguised the way her breath caught at a glimpse of Elia’s bronze body in the moonlight. As she observed her final preparations for sleep, Ashara desperately attempted to distract herself from ungodly musings about the shape of the princess, the swell of her breasts under her nightdress, and the dark softness at the apex of her thighs that she was not supposed to be hungry for.  In the end, they laid side by side, silent, and not touching; other than the way their hands pressed together.  Eventually, in the stillness of the moments before dawn, Ashara unveiled the full scope of her earlier realisation.  ‘So, this must be love,’ she thought.  Ashara never intended to grow attached this way, yet in hindsight, she understood this was inevitable; only she had been blind to it from the very first greeting. How could she not love Elia? How could she not love those understanding onyx eyes, the pristine waves of her cocoa hair, the way her delicate hands fit in Ashara’s palms, her kisses, the scent of blood-oranges and honey emanating off her.  ‘Surely, this was love?’  There would never be another to show her fierce protection, attentive care and unwavering support, in the way Elia did.  If this was love, oh seven hells, Ashara was royally fucked.  However, when dawn gave light to day, Ashara concluded her feelings were wrong and she could not allow for feelings of love. Not with Elia, for in the dark she had come to think of every reason she could not pursue such feelings. ‘I would ruin you.’ Ashara thought admiring her sleeping princess. It was not pondered with malicious intent, only she knew, with time, she would certainly sully everything. Elia was too pure and sweet and good for Ashara.  In the rear of her mind, Lady Dayne’s cursed words from long ago played like a Dornish mockingbird tormenting her to heel.  ‘You will be like me, selfish, melancholic down to your innermost core… incapable of love.’  Ashara knew what was likely to happen, and for the love she had, she refused to allow her feelings to consume them both. It would only result in a broken heart and a boat with a single destination to Starfall. Ashara believed a little pain now, would spare them greater strife in future. Thus, she decided to run from love.  Ashara was positive her quick change in mind would hurt the princess, yet she continued to vow into the dark that Elia would never need to fear anything; that Ashara would fight whatever life had to throw at her with her, and dance until her feet bled to keep that smile on her face, because Ashara had little to offer the world but she could offer that. She could do that. In the foggy depths of a confused mind maybe that was enough.  When morning arrived, Ashara fell into a long perfected act, like nothing at all had occurred the day previous, ad if she noticed disappointment in dark eyes, she ignored it.  This would not be the first time she broke a heart, nor the last, yet it would be the first her own broke alongside the one she returned battered. Elia would recover from it and Ashara would stumble into the next doomed love affair to split the earth beneath her, until there was nothing whole left in her to break. Ashara thought to a conversation they once had. They debated the definition of humanness. To Elia, humanness was the capacity to be hurt. Though Elia was brilliant, knew things about the histories of Dorne and Westeros that might put a king to shame, knew about love and caring for children; Ashara knew humanness was the ability to hurt, to harm, to ruin. Why else did temples and empires tumble down if not for the efforts of humankind? Why else were little girls violated before they even understood what the word meant? Ashara knew it was inherently human to cause ruin. That is why she was just like the rug they cleaned over and over. No matter how much cleansing she did, she could never truly wash away her chaotic contaminating darkness.

#elia martell #ashara dayne #elia x ashara #dorne #fanfic #asoiaf #game of thrones #got fanfic #house martell #house dayne #arthur dayne #femslash #dead ladies club #rhaenys targaryen #princess of dorne #prince oberyn

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anywhozits · 4 years

Text

On the Edge

Rating: M

Words: 1870

Pairing: Kristanna ofc

Prompt: Turnabout is fair play (day 3 woohoooo)

Verse: Canonverse (between Frozen 1 and Frozen 2)

Kristoff’s late and Anna’s impatient. Good thing she knows exactly how to punish him…

Two hours. Two entire hours late. Kristoff had promised Anna that he would return from his ice harvesting trip promptly at ten, perfectly in time for a late breakfast with his girlfriend and his girlfriend’s sister, and perhaps even a snowman. But no. Kristoff hadn’t arrived until noon. And Anna had grown tired of touching herself over these last two weeks. She needed some big, strong, rough ice man hands to fondle her all over and bring her to her tipping point.

But he had been late. And Anna considered herself extremely impatient…

So late that night, after everyone else in the castle had retired for the evening, Anna gathered up some rope and picked out a sturdy shawl to play out her fantasy.

Anna held both items close to her chest, creeping down the hall slowly, focused heavily on trying to both remember and avoid the wooden beams that would creak under her feet. Her heart pounded within her chest. This was risky, of course. She was always nervous about getting caught. But then again, Anna had never given a damn about propriety. So what was there to lose?

Plus… something about the risk made it that much hotter. Her heart beat faster at the thought, pressure already building between her legs.

She saw Kristoff’s door up ahead, intricately carved with swirls of blue, and picked up speed a bit, prancing on her tip-toes to show her man exactly how she felt about his tardiness.

The door creaked open slowly, revealing a slightly disheveled and completely naked Kristoff sitting upright in bed. She had told him to expect her an hour ago but thought it only fair to make him wait a little bit, too.

He grinned goofily when he saw her stride in, attempting to hide everything she held to little avail. She fumbled a bit and the rope fell to the floor.

“Anna, let—”

But then she stood at attention. “Ah, ah, ah. Not another peep from you tonight, ice man.” Kristoff closed his mouth quickly and pouted, bottom lip jutting out ever so slightly. He had so much he wanted to say. Anna almost shivered at his submission, cleared her throat, and pointed a bony finger at him, scolding. “How dare you keep a princess waiting?”

He had to bite down on his bottom lip, hard, to avoid speaking.

“I think…” Anna had successfully retrieved the rope and walked up to him with all the purpose in the world, swaying her hips seductively in his direction. She set the shawl on his end table and took the rope in both her hands. “I need to punish you.”

Kristoff gulped, staring at Anna with wide eyes. Eager. Oh so eager.

“I need to... show you who’s boss.”

He nodded his head then, probably way too enthusiastically. But he was excited, to say the least. His cock growing harder by the second.

Anna took the rope and tied it around his hands and then his ankles, eventually making a show of tying each separate limb to their closest bed post, pulling tightly on the knots until he laid completely spread eagle out on the bed in front of her. Licking her lips in delight, Anna sauntered to the bedside table, grabbing hold of the shawl and wrapping it around Kristoff’s eyes as a makeshift blindfold.

He whimpered.

“What did I say, ice man?” Anna almost burst out into a fit of giggles. “Not another sound from you tonight.” Her right hand made contact with his upper thigh, slapping him forcefully but not quite forcefully enough to leave any kind of mark. Kristoff arched his back and let out a sigh. Anna decided to let that noise slide.

“Let’s get started. Shall we?” Inhaling sharply, Anna dropped her robe to the floor and peeled off her bloomers, instantly feeling more aroused now that she was naked.

She climbed on top of him, straddling his right leg and leaning forward to kiss him gently on his inner thighs, nipping occasionally, sucking occasionally, feeling Kristoff trembling beneath her as her mouth got closer and closer to his cock. Soon, she overtook him, her mouth sucking at the head, swirling her tongue around his entire length.

Kristoff’s breaths grew ragged.

Her mouth overcame him fully and she started bobbing up and down, connecting her hand to her mouth for added traction, rubbing her tongue sideways and around, feeling herself getting slicker and sloppier the more she sucked. She had started grinding into his thigh, slamming her clit repeatedly against his taut skin, panting.

Kristoff’s hands balled into fists, not knowing how to concentrate his shockwaves of arousal, trembling and shivering and quaking, getting more and more turned on by Anna’s repeated pounding on his leg, by her repeated sighs, by the way her mouth moved around his…

Fuck.

His nails dug into the skin of his palms and he clenched harder, writhing his hands to keep from crying out.

A whimper escaped his lips and Anna perked up, mouth still latched to his member as she slapped him, harder this time, on his thigh.

Clenching his hands together even tighter, he bit back a moan. Barely able to control himself. Anna had him in the palm of her hand.

He bucked into her and she grabbed hold of him, taking him deeper into her mouth, gagging slightly from his length. This new sensation made Kristoff stir, his left leg lurched, and he pulled as much as he could before the rope stopped him, digging into his ankles. The world almost shattered around him. Just thinking of how radiant Anna must look sprawled out over him combined with the friction of the restraints made his skin prickle.

His legs jerked again, smaller, sustained jolts that came with desperate gasps.

Anna slapped him again, but this only made his shaking more intense.

She knew this meant that Kristoff was close. So she released him, taking both balls in her hand and pulling them down firmly, hoping to stop him from letting go.

She waited there, still grinding herself on his thigh, still panting, still moaning, for what felt like a lifetime for Kristoff. He was ready to plead, subject himself to as many slaps as she had for him, so he could say his peace and beg for her to give him exactly what he needed. But then she slid her left hand up and down his shaft, already slick with her own saliva.

His whole body quivered, and he cried out, on the brink again.

Anna bit her lip. Stopping instantly. Letting his heavy cock fall back onto his body.

“Anna!” He howled, all of these sensations far too intense for him to keep quiet.

“Kristoff,” she mewled. “What did I say?” Anna brought her hand to his thigh with much more force this time, seeing his skin instantly turning a bright crimson.

He exhaled a guttural groan and instantly shut his mouth again, tensing his jaw and rubbing his bottom lip between his teeth to distract himself. But Anna slapped him again.

“Not. Another. Sound.”

Anna had started taking care of herself, rubbing circles on her clit, still grinding into Kristoff’s thigh, the sensation of her own fingers and Kristoff’s leg sending her close to shattering fully, wholly, completely.

She stopped herself this time and brought attention back to Kristoff’s cock, now twisting her hand around him. Feeling some of his juices leaking out, Anna licked his precum in one sweeping motion until he grunted and bucked against her, once again jerking his legs uncontrollably, trying to pull away from the bed posts.

Anna tugged his balls down again and crawled up to his face, cupping her hands on his cheeks and bringing her lips to his, shoving her tongue deep into his throat. Her tongue swirled around his in a passionate confirmation of her dominance. Her hands gripped around the shawl and she pushed it over his head, finally allowing him to get a good glimpse of his princess.

She smirked at him and quickly switched her position so she sat squatting over his face.

“Taste me,” she cooed, lowering down closer to him, close enough that he could feel her heat, close enough to flick his tongue over her clit.

Anna had to grab on to the headboard to stabilize herself, knees just about buckling from the feel of his warm tongue. She bucked against him slightly and Kristoff pushed his tongue harder into her.

Desire rippled through Anna as Kristoff nipped at her, knowing she needed something from him soon and almost desperately.

She shivered before moving away from him, keeping her eyes on his as she slid down his body, planting fervent kisses all over his torso and then his thighs and finally his balls. Anna guided him back into her mouth, licking, sucking, swallowing with an unmatched fervor. Bringing him deep, deep, deep within her throat.

Again, Kristoff quaked. Seeing Anna enjoying his taste made his legs twitch uncontrollably. He bit back another moan, digging his fingernails into his palms.

He was close, she could tell as much. But she needed him now so she mounted him quickly, sinking herself down into him with ease, already so wet.

Almost carnally, Kristoff tried to thrust into her but the ropes tightened around his ankles and his wrists, making Anna moan in delight at the sight of him trying to break free. He had to submit to her whims now. She was leading the charge. Not Kristoff, only Anna. That would show him for being late.

She could feel his cock pulsating, about to shoot all of his warmth straight within her, but she stopped suddenly, sitting upright on his member, unmoving.

Kristoff knew he wasn’t supposed to open his mouth and beg for her to grind herself into him, to finally allow him to reach his climax. But he had never in his entire existence wanted anything more than right now … at this exact second … to plead for his girlfriend to make him come undone.

But he held it together. Beads of sweat pooling at his hairline from the sheer difficulty of keeping quiet.

Thankfully, his wish came true. Anna rolled against him, slamming her clit against his pelvis, feeling close… so close now… really, really close …

They both crashed together, dissolving into pleasure at the exact same time. He spilled into her, quaking, jerking, groaning, convulsing to a degree never matched by any arousal he had ever experienced before. He wanted to wrap his arms around Anna and squeeze her for somehow bringing him here but his wrists burned and the thought of the ropes still tied around his hands ignited another fire within his belly. Damn. Anna was a sorceress.

She collapsed onto his chest, giggling in ecstasy, pleased that he seemed to enjoy her dramatics. Her curious eyes locked with Kristoff’s. “So…uh—did you like that?”

“Fuck, Anna, I—” He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “I loved that.” he said. “But you do know it’s your turn next time, huh?”

Anna smiled and massaged her bottom lip between her teeth. Desire briefly bubbled within her. She couldn’t wait.

#kristanna #kristanna smut week 2020 #smut #fanfic #fanfiction

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thethoughtsfromthreeam · 4 years

Text

California

Pairing: Agent Whiskey/Jack Daniels x OC

Warnings: Smutty times, fluffy times

A/N: Y’all gonna hate me at the end of this chapter, but I’ll reward you on Thursday. Promise.

Reminder: I haven’t seen Kingsman: The Golden Circle, so I’m just using the Wikia, IMDB.com, some gifs, and my own weird ass brain to make up this whole ass story.

Tag List: @zeldasayer , @romanticgumchewer, @tarrevizslas , @coolmaybelateruniverse , @the-feckless-wonder, @lavenderl3mons , @pascalisthepunkest , @mandoandyodito , @randomness501 [please message me to be added or subtracted]

[PART 1] [PART 2] [PART 3] [PART 4] [PART 5] [PART 6] [PART 7] [PART 8] [PART 9] [PART 10] [PART 11] [PART 12]

Part 13

White Flowers all Over

Shirley raised her head and she could have sworn she radiated light from within. The brightness that had been dim for so long was back. Shirley Temple was Shirley Temple again. But more than that, she was the brightness of her namesake. The warmth of the marigold seemed to flow right through her. She glanced at the pile of clothes on the sink. She couldn’t hide any more. She patted the fabric, mentally thanking it for protecting her all those years.

She slipped her bra on and walked over to the door. She cracked it open and peeked out to see if Jack was awake. If he was, he didn’t seem like it. He was still laying on his back, but his arm was slung over his face. She smiled. He wasn’t a morning person by nature, but the last several days had been exhausting for everyone. She took a deep breath and walked out into the room, padding softly over to her wardrobe.

For five years, the beautiful piece of furniture remained closed, the dresses, skirts, shirts, and pants she always wore, hidden away because they felt too revealing to her. But now, they were exactly what she wanted. For a second, she wondered if they still fit after all these years. Well, she thought, I better find out.

She silently opened the door and hanging there right in front of her was a purple wrap dress with white flowers all over it. She slipped it off the hanger and shook it out a little before slipping it over her head. It was a little snug in some places but fit like a glove. She tied the belt into a jaunty bow and glanced at herself in the mirror hanging inside the door. She twirled and watched as the skirt flared. She felt like herself again. She pulled on her favorite flats and braided her hair.

While she faced away from him, Jack lowered his arm to watch her. He heard her walking out of the bathroom and it took all his will power not to sit up when he realized she was only in her bra and panties. His breath caught in his chest – they had been intimate since her return, but he never pushed her beyond what she could handle. But in truth, he missed her. He missed her smell, her touch, her sighs. Every time they did touch, he treasured it like the rare gem it was.

His eyes darkened when he saw the purple dress. The last thing he saw her in before she left for California. The memory replayed in his mind and five years later he still meant it. He wanted to fuck her while she wore that dress, its skirt bunched up over her hips and her breasts spilling out the top. He wanted to feel that soft fabric against his chest and on his arms. He swallowed, willing his erection down.

When she turned around, she saw him lying there watching her. Instead of hiding, though, she clasped her hands in front of her and smiled. He smiled back as he sat up. She couldn’t hold back anymore and walked over to him, bending over to kiss him on the lips. Her hand cradled his cheek and what started out soft became harder and more intense. Jack reached up and set his hand on the back of her head, pulling her closer to him.

They finally broke apart when they needed to breathe. They looked in each other’s eyes for a long moment before she kissed his lips again. She stood up and drug her fingers through his hair. She loved it when his hair was messy.

“I have to go, love. I promised Ginger and T that I’d walk them through some of my notes on the California case. And Champ wants to meet with me as well.” She ran her fingertips down the side of his face, and she watched his eyes flutter shut. “And you need to get moving, too. You also need to meet with Champ and then with Brandy about the transfers.”

“I know. Lunch?” He looked hopeful and she laughed. It sparkled between them and they both were in awe how they lived so heavily for so long.

“Yes. I’ll see you in your office around 1:00 p.m.?”

“It’s a date.” She kissed him one last time before walking out the door and into her new world.

---***---

Ginger, Tequila, Chai, and Merlin stopped dead in their tracks when Shirley entered the room. At first, they thought they were jointly hallucinating when they saw her, but suddenly Ginger squealed, clapped her hands, and ran over to her friend. Her sister. Shirley did the same thing and they met in the middle, jumping around and hugging.

“What in the hell?” A rough voice came from the door and the two women broke apart to see Champ standing in the doorway. He looked as shocked at the rest, but he smiled when he realized what had happened. Shirley walked over and threw her arms around him and gave him a full-bodied hug. He wrapped his arms around her and hugged her right back with everything he had. He hadn’t realized that he had missed Shirley until this very moment.

She leaned back and looked at him in the eye. Like all her friends, things weighed heavily on him and to see him lighten up was exactly what she needed.

“Champ,” She said quietly just for the two of them. “I love you and everything you’ve done. My heart is full because you are here with me.”

“Shirl, you’ll always be my favorite.” He smiled at her and she returned the grin. They broke apart and they walked over to the rest of the group. She sat down and Tequila scooted closer to her and wrapped his arm around her shoulder. He pressed his lips to her hair and then laid his cheek against the same spot. She laid her hand on his knee and squeezed. They sat like that for a long time as the talk swirled around them. Soon Shirley sat forward.

“So, here’s what I know and what Malbec and I assumed. . . “ The authority in her voice filled the room and they talked for hours to bring this case to its finish.

---***---

Shirley stood in front of Jack’s desk, looking out the window. She was lost in thought and staring off into space when Jack found her. When he walked into the room, he paused a moment to drink her in. Framed out by a view of the Louisville skyline, Shirley looked soft and relaxed with all her tension gone. His mind flashed back to the moment in New York City.

She didn’t hear him come in and he slowly walked up behind her, wanting to surprise her. He put his hands on her hips and he pressed himself flush against her, snaking his arms around her waist. She jumped slightly before turning her head back to him, smiling.

“Sorry moonshine, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“That’s okay.”

He leaned down to kiss her lips and he could taste the desire coursing through her. As they kissed, he dropped his hands down to the hem of the dress and slowly dragged it up her thighs, letting his fingertips graze along her skin. He gave her plenty of time to tell him to stop, but when she didn’t, he kept up the movement until his hands skimmed the edge of her panties.

She pulled her mouth away as her breath hitched in her throat. Her eyes fluttered shut again at the pleasure rapidly growing inside of her and she placed her hands on the desk to steady herself. She could feel his erection growing harder against her.

He slowly turned her around and pressed himself flush against her, trapping her between his body and the edge of his desk. She raised her hands and placed them on his forearms, her lips touching his. As the heat of the kiss increased, she leaned back into the desk. His hands reached up under her dress again and slowly came up her thighs.

This time he didn’t stop at her panties and moved higher, dragging his thumbs along the creases at the top of her thighs. The feeling sent unexpected spikes of pleasure through her and she pulled away, gasping loudly as her body jerked forward. Her hands immediately dropped to his wrists, stilling his movement. He smiled at her and bent down slightly to lift her up onto his desk.

She widened her legs when she got settled and he notched himself right where she wanted him. He began to slowly kiss down her neck and she cocked her head to the back and hummed at the combined pleasure at the heat of his lips on her collarbone and the heat of his arousal between her legs. She was certain her panties were soaked through and she marveled how quickly she was responding to her lover. Just like old times.

His slowly made his way across her collarbone as his fingers skimmed along the top of her panties. She was breathing heavier now, and her eyes were screwed shut as her body was overwhelmed with sensation. His hips slowly rocked against her, increasing the pressure with each stroke. She moved her hands from his wrists and up to the back of his arms and gripped hard as her hips began to match the speed of his. Just as his left hand skimmed over the top of her mound, a noise came from the doorway.

“Shirley? Champ and Ginger need you back in the tech room.” One of the office assistants gently knocked on the door. She looked down, blushing profusely. The door had been open, and she hadn’t expected to step into such an intimate moment. Jack and Shirley stilled at the voice. He looked straight ahead, and his jaw ticked wildly. She knew he was mad, so she placed her hand on his chest. Clearing her throat, she called out to the poor girl.

“Tell them I’ll be there in five minutes, Tannin. Thank you.” Her voice sounded so incredibly calm you would never suspect she had been writhing in pleasure just a moment before. They heard her footsteps quickly fade away and she took a deep breath. Looking up at him, she couldn’t help but smile.

“I swear to god, moonshine, I’m gonna fire her ass.” His voice was rough, and he stood rigid against her.

“No, you’re not, besides, she’s not your assistant, she’s Champ’s.”

“Fine. But I’m still mad as hell.” He looked down at her. He was consumed by her and he could practically taste her on his tongue. Damn all of this. He stepped back to let her slide off his desk, hands aching with emptiness. She straightened herself up and made sure everything was in order. The flush that had been on her cheeks had faded and soon it was like their little tryst hadn’t even happened. She walked up to him and kissed him on the cheek before placing her hand against his crotch. He was still hard, and she smiled.

“Jack, take care of it. And we’ll finish later, love.” She rubbed her hand a little and his hips jerked forward. She winked at him before walking out of the room, stopping only to flick the lock on his door and closing it behind her.

He walked around his desk and sat in his chair. He unzipped his pants, grasped his cock, and leaning back, he closed his eyes and thought of nothing but white flowers against a purple background.

#agent whiskey #jack daniels #pedro pascal #kingsman: the golden circle #fanfic #agent whiskey x oc #agent whiskey x reader #pedro pascal x reader

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droesslervalente1996 · 4 years

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ameftowriter · 4 years

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Trust in the Shallow Alliance (Dr. Stone fanfic)

Part 3 is up and raring to go YAY! This is basically episode 10 in Gen’s POV. RIP Gen XD

Summary: The whole time, ever since he was awakened, he kept dreaming of it, wanting it. He knew it was bad for him. He knew it was nothing but badly packaged sugar water. He knew it was… it was the thing he desired for himself the most. He could live without it, definitely. But he knew even the most stoic of people need even the little pleasures in life in order to actually keep on going.

Gen only mentioned it once. It was supposed to be a lie, but in reality it was the whole truth.

Ao3 | ffnet

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 (This!) | Part 4 ???

Asagiri Gen leaned against the tree as he let the exhaustion of the day hit him. He then slid downwards and sat on the soft ground.

He had just witnessed, what possibly was the most incredible thing he has ever seen in his life. The only thing comparable to it, was when he first saw that date carved onto a tree.

It's there… He got it. He got the confirmation he needed.

Senku… this Senku, because of his superhuman grasp on all kinds of sciences, that brought intense fear and paranoia to the Strongest Primate Highschooler, Shishio Tsukasa. He finally truly understood why he was feared so much.

And yet… he could not help but feel… relieved.

Was it because he finally found the man that carved that date?

Was it because he finally believed in Senku?

Or was it because… he finally had faith in Senku…

Faith… in Senku...

“Man.. electricity in the stone age… Hard to believe…” He spoke out loud as he tried to settle these conflicting feelings in him “Right? Tsukasa-chan?”

Did Asagri Gen actually had faith in someone else besides him? Did he actually believe that Senku could actually do what he set out to do? Did he really feel like he could trust Senku…

He put on a marvelous facade to everyone in the Empire of Might that he was an avid supporter of Tsukasa’s ideals.

But even from day one, he knew.

He knew Tsukasa had to be taken down, before he unknowingly brings humanity to ruin. To a point where the petrification would have been a better death sentence. He knew and understood Tsukasa's reasoning but at the same time he realized that it was the craziest thing ever! Culling the adults?! Everyone will turn into an adult one day! Getting rid of the corrupt? Anyone, no matter who they are, young or old, everyone was capable of corruption. If he himself wasn't a good example of that, he'd want to meet them!

But there was no one. No one powerful enough to even stand against Tsukasa. He heard that only Taiju could even take his hits and not pass out due to the force. But that was no comparison.

Senku had little to no stamina. Even Suika, the melon girl had more stamina and strength than him.

And yet… the moment he saw that light. That Flame of Science…

Lack of stamina or not…

Senku is…

Senku...

He gulped down as he felt his cravings for an ice cold cola resurface again.

‘Do you think… he could…’

Gen raised his head as he heard the members of the Kingdom of Science climb up to the Science shed, possibly to retire for the night.

He stood up and followed them to the shed.

But mid way he stopped himself.

It just hit him.

He just unconsciously followed Senku and his friends. He just let himself fall prey to Senku's commands. He just let himself become part of that little group. He just let himself already side with the Kingdom of Science.

Without thinking, he just let himself betray Shishio Tsukasa and the Empire of Might right then and there…

Asagiri Gen could not believe what he just did.

He froze where he stood and let the reality of the situation sink in.

He hasn't even had time to comprehend what happened earlier.

That blinding light…

Senku...

"That means Gen is a bad guy too!" Suika's terrified voice echoed, which got the mentalist's attention.

"Ah… so they're talking about me… and my allegiance" Gen spoke softly to himself. There was something about the little innocent melon girl calling him a bad guy that really stung something within Gen.

"But isn’t Gen the one who saved us from Magma! Then he’s a good guy!" Suika argued. She obviously sounded conflicted.

"Suika-chan. You are so cute and so naive…" Gen lamented to himself, "Oh, how I wish I could…"

"He’s honestly not a good guy or a bad guy." He then heard Senku spoke those words. He felt… touched.

“He’s nothing but a rat, who’s only in it for himself.” Kohaku added bitterly. Gen sighed, as he turned away from the shed and walked around the “Kingdom” and found himself staring at the furnace.

“It actually doesn't matter to me if he's good or bad…" Gen smiled to himself as he heard Senku say that, "At the end of the day, we need him to be an ally of the Kingdom of Science. We’ll have him give a bogus report to Tsukasa, saying that “Senku is definitely dead.” That's the only possible hope we have of winning this."

Gen wondered why he felt so heartbroken when he heard that from him.

'So he only saw me as an opportunity?' Gen bit his lip. But quickly shook his head, 'No… that's understandable… I mean… I… I really don't care if he or Tsukasa lived or died…. Right?'

'Right… I did say that…'

"Listen up Gen!” His attention was instantly grabbed by Chrome who yelled out to him from the shed, “I know you saw the electricity! The light! That’s what badass science at work looks like!”

‘Is Chrome-chan trying to convince me to join their side?’

“So why care about who wins? Why even give a crap whether Senku or Tsukasa has the edge?” Chrome continued his empassioned speech, “‘Cause the Kingdom of Science is obviously the side that’s more fun!”

If Gen could laugh right now he could. Hearing those words from Chrome made him remember something. Something in his past, that he thought he had let go many years ago. But… he can't just…

“Oh? Is that so? You are the passionate type.” Gen turned around and gave Chrome his realistic fake smile at him and even shrugged his shoulders, “Too bad for you, I don’t really care about that."

‘That's right… I really don't…’

"I'm probably the most superficial man on earth!"

'That's the truth… I really am only in it for myself. Yes… definitely… I am a shallow man…'

"All I care about is what's beneficial to me!"

Gen turned back and walked away. He could hear Kohaku growling at him. At least in some consolation that he finally managed to make Kohaku believe in his lies.

The lies that he made himself believe in it…

They say that if you tell yourself something many times that you eventually believe in it. A person can tell themselves that they are happy and eventually, for no reason they are happy. A person can convince themselves they're the worst of the worst and they become the worst.

After all there's a grain of truth within every lie in order to make it believable.

That's how Gen managed to fit in the world of showbiz. A little compliment there, a dash of praise, and combined with some sweet words was enough for him to get anyone dancing at the palm of his hand. He was so good at it. He knew how most people think. Mentalism was almost like mind reading except without the actual psychic powers part.

Gen walked to the brand new generator that was made with everyone's effort. He had a role in it too. He was proud of it.

He was proud of the electricity it produced….

His thoughts went back to the light again.

That light that shone brighter than the sun…

The light... that shone upon Senku.

He then remembered why he was here in the first place. What he was sent to do. What side he was already supposed to be on. What he had to do. When he saw that date…

That date that he believed in.

That date that he put faith in.

That date that he trusted…

Trust…

He let his hand touch the copper disc and spun it around mindlessly… he wondered to himself, for tomorrow… if he could---

The next thing he knew was someone threw a powerful punch at his cheek.

The punch was powerful enough to send him off his feet. He tried to gain back footing but the attacker was relentless. Another punch at his face, then at his gut, then an uppercut, then another one to push him down to the ground. It was too dark, but he could see the silhouette of a familiar burly man and with him a midget and another skinny man. Then he saw the burly man raise up a spear with an obvious full intent to impale him with.

"Who….." He already knew who they were… it made sense…

"Why…?" He hopes that he hits the right spot. He came prepared after all. His past experiences have taught him to be prepared for a scenario like this.

But that doesn't mean it still hurts like hell.

Gen swore internally as he felt the spear pierce his fake blood bag. He then let his arm slump on the side as he pretended to be fatally impaled. He contorted his face to a horrified expression. He's already practiced it many times. If his memory serves, he has only done it once before...

"What was that noise?" If Gen could sigh in relief he could, but for now he needed to stay still and remain completely immobile. But was he so glad to hear Kohaku's voice.

Her voice had prompted his attackers to quickly bail out leaving Gen still frozen in his place. He needed to make them believe he was dead. That also meant making Kohaku and the others believe he was. Just for a few more minutes…

He then heard the collective gasps of the Science gang as he dubbed it.

He was so glad to know they’re here…

He wondered why he was…

“Holy crap, what happened here?!” Chrome asked worriedly as he leaned forward to take a look closer.

‘I don’t know Chrome-chan… What can you guess with a long ass spear poking out of my stomach!’

“Dammit…” Kohaku swore as she figured out what had happened, “Looks like he died instantly…”

“This is horrible!” Suika was in tears.

‘Good… that should be enough to make it convincing. Now, if they could all just walk away so I can---’

“Hang on a second!” Senku finally caught up to the two and held on to the spear.

‘Senku-chan! Wait! No!’

He pulled the spear out slowly revealing that it did not pierce Gen at all, rather it was one of his fake blood bags that he placed underneath his clothes to protect himself before he came to the village beforehand.

“He protected himself with fake blood bags…” Senku concluded as he untied the makeshift belt Gen had and even his undershirt. It revealed all the hard work he did to put on himself before he arrived in the village.

Gen just hoped his attacker didn't hear them, he really wanted to make sure they thought that they did kill him. So he could escape in peace.

No one believed in him anyway. Gen was first and foremost a shallow man who was only in it for himself. He kept that image as much as he could as a celebrity. He wanted to make sure that no one would try to exploit him. He was definitely not a naive, bright eyed brat. For as long as he knew everyone he has ever met in his life had selfish reasons for doing things. Hell, even the science gang had their own personal reasons for being here. Why else would they take advantage of his hard work and everyone in the village for that matter.

“He’s got these things all over his body!” Suika felt relieved and impressed by Gen’s ingenuity.

“This is really freakin’ bad!” Chrome was very impressed as well, “I bet he did this before he even came to the village, just in case.”

‘Why are they… impressed by this… don’t they realize… what that meant….?’

“Tch, that’s pretty impressive Gen!” Even Senku was amazed, “You really are a magician to your core. Not to mention a showman.”

‘Senku-chan… everyone…’

If Gen could laugh right now, he could. Unfortunately the injuries he sustained would make it too difficult for him to do so. But in a rare moment, so rare that he doesn’t remember when he has ever done it.

He loudly breathed out a sigh of relief, which surprised everyone.

“Gen!” Suika was close to tears as she approached the magician closer, “You’re awake! Suika is so glad you’re okay!”

“Thank goodness those bad bags you made saved you!” Chrome beamed at Gen, “It would have been really bad if you died, you know!”

‘They’re… relieved that I’m alive…?’

“That was truly an insane thing you did… Mentalist. And that's a compliment.” Senku smugly said as he mentioned the very title that Gen just offhandedly suggested before. It earned him a weak smile from the mentalist himself.

Gen was lifted up by Kohaku, albeit she wasn't the most gentle of people out there, but he did need to get treated, and she was the only one strong enough to carry him. She carried him to the Science shed and proposed to throw him there. Senku quickly stopped her on that idea and had him and Chrome gently carry him up with a rope. It was still painful for him, especially since he kept being bumped into the ladder. But Gen thought it was way better than being thrown up like a sack by Kohaku.

If Gen could protest to Senku and the rest of the team he could. Especially since they had to strip him of all of his clothes, minus his underwear, just to treat his injuries. It was a bit humiliating for him to be exposed like this but the pain of nearly getting killed took over most of this feeling and most of his energy to even try to speak.

Senku then started cleaning his wounds and placed some leaves with some ground up…. Whatever the hell it was on his wounds. It stung like hell. Gen, of course vocalized them but it was mostly ignored. Also Kohaku had to hold him down when it became so unbearable that his body shook and contort from the pain. Everything in him hurts so much that he couldn't focus on anything.

From what it felt like forever, it was finally done. They placed a blanket over him and let Gen rest.

Gen was still grunting and hissing from the pain of his injuries, but was so relieved that they were done.

He could hear them talking. Then he heard Suika jump off from the shed declaring that she was going to investigate.

Gen never wanted to stop someone in his life until now. He didn't want poor little Suika to put herself in danger. Especially with what the brute did to him. But with everything in him literally hurting it was way too much for him to even move his body.

“Su--Suika-chan…” Gen managed to let the words out of his mouth. “No---”

“Let her be Gen.” Senku scolded him, “Just rest, Suika can take care of herself.”

Gen was just dumbfounded. How can he, or anyone with common sense for that matter, could just say that. Suika was like… what he could estimate was like 8 years old or something. How could Senku let a little girl go like that to investigate his attempted murder. If he could strangle Senku right now, he could.

But then, pain took over Gen's senses and he passed out.

Gen woke up the next day to the sound of everyone moving around him. He felt his injuries hurt less, which was good, but it wasn't good enough for him to move much without still screaming in pain. He slightly tilted his head to the side to see Senku rummaging through his bag and pulled out from what he can tell is a toothbrush. He wondered at first how Senku could do that, then he realized that Senku was a scientist and making even the bare basic toothpaste shouldn't be too hard for him.

Senku heard him stir and turned to see Gen looking at him.

"Ah, good morning Mentalist." There goes Senku using that title again, "Nice to see you're alive and well."

Gen weakly rolled his eyes.

"Feeling better, Gen?" He heard Chrome approach him with concern still etched in the young boy's face. It's… made Gen actually well happy… as strange of a feeling as it is. "You got socked in real bad last night. Senku managed to whip up something to treat those bad injuries of yours. I hope you feel better soon okay?"

'Chrome-chan cares about me? Even after what I said to him….?'

"Chrome, I'm heading out to brush my teeth." Senku plainly announced as he walked out of the Science shed, "Change some of Gen’s bandages for me will you?

“Sure…”

This time Gen didn't protest when Chrome carefully peeled off the bandages and cleaned them and replaced them with fresh ones. He was way more gentle than Senku ever was, and he was incredibly thankful for it. Gen didn’t say anything else to Chrome though, he was still taken aback by his words.

By the time Chrome was done they could hear Suika running back announcing that she has big news.

Gen sighed in relief to know that Suika was okay. He closed his eyes as if he was asleep so he could hear the news.

“I figured out who attacked Gen last night!!” Suika proclaimed out loud, “I know who killed him!!”

“Uh, You know he’s not dead…” Kohaku commented which made Gen giggle silently.

“Well, so who was it?” Senku asked her.

“It was Magma!” Suika cried out, “Magma was the one who did it!”

Gen already knew it was Magma. The brute who scampered off when he saw him perform his little novice level sleight of hand magic trick. Suika continued to tell everyone what she overheard. He found out that his overall goal was to kill Kohaku, because apparently she was so strong that it must be sorcery, and not real physical strength. He was even willing to let her and her sister, Ruri, become his women if she begged for mercy.

“I see…”Kohaku concluded, “When Magma came over here, Gen made those flowers vanish right before his eyes. I imagine from his perspective, Gen has to be the mysterious foreign sorcerer that I tried to bring into the village.”

He knew that this village of primitives was incredibly averse to any kind of unexplainable scientific advancement. He remembered some of the villagers calling ramen a delicious sorcery.

He cursed internally for forgetting that there are people who are adverse to the unexplainable.

“So Magma tried to murder Gen, because he mistook him for Senku?” After hearing those words from Chrome, Gen snapped his eyes open.

“What?! That ape, Magma mistook me for Senku-chan, and that’s why he attacked me?! For the love of…” Gen winced in pain when he tried to sit up, so he gave up on that and just remained lying down. “Shit… it still hurts… I can’t move around like this…”

Gen just couldn’t believe it. Inadvertently, he saved Senku’s ass. he wasn’t even planning on it. He was just only contemplating his options when he was suddenly attacked! It was a huge case of mistaken identity. He was nearly killed because Magma mistook him for Senku! He was still considering joining Senku’s side. But now, he saved Senku, which indirectly makes him a traitor to the Empire of Might and an ally to the Kingdom of Science!

This was frustrating him!

And yet, he couldn’t understand why he felt so relieved…

‘I saved him…. I saved Senku-chan…’

“Got a question for ya, Kohaku…” Hearing Senku’s voice got his attention, “Why would Magma be looking for an opportunity to kill you?”

“It’s probably because--- no It’s definitely because of the Grand Bout.”

Kohaku went on to explain their tradition of having the next village chief, which turned out to be a fighting tournament called the Grand Bout. Gen thought that it was a little unfair that only those who are physically strong could be the next village chief. the thought of Magma being a leader of something or anyone for that matter, bothered the hell out of him. But when Kohaku continued her story, it made much more sense. Especially her, the Chief’s daughter, was living and and working with sorcerers and outsiders like him and Senku. And how Magma wanted her dead.

Kohaku only wanted to save her sister who was dying of a mysterious illness...

‘Heh… a bunch of misfits…’

Gen shook away an old memory of him being outcasted by society.

He did listen to the rest of the conversation to gain more material for him to use for later. He heard them planning what to do on the Grand Bout and to bring in additional fighters. Even though he knew Kinro and Ginro were prime candidates, and he knew they were already brought in to the Kingdom of Science because of him.

Gen chuckled as he let himself sleep.

The next time he woke up, he heard grunting and shouting noises from outside, he recognized them to be Kinro, Ginro, and Kohaku. He figured out she was training them in order to compete for the Grand Bout which was happening in a month. He saw Chrome sitting by the entrance of the shed. He then heard Kohaku apologize to him, and said how she preferred to train Chrome to defeat Magma but the time limit was too short for them.

Then came Senku joining in throwing a hard sarcastic remark about Chrome having a crush on Ruri.

‘Ah, so Chrome-chan has a crush on this Ruri. That would make sense, considering the situation.’

“If we can create something with science, that lets her live a long, happy life, that sounds good to me.” Chrome spoke with deep determination. Gen couldn’t help but smile. “Because above all else, I’m a genius scientist, aren't I?”

‘Haha…. Chrome-chan is so passionate. It's almost infectious.’

Gen couldn’t remember the last time he felt that much passion in anyone. Even to him. No, he was wrong. He does remember being passionate about magic and in extension, mentalism… Just hearing Chrome’s words was so refreshing to him…

“So you’re finally changing job titles from sorcerer to scientist, huh?” Senku chuckled. He sounded like he was proud of him too.

“Yup! I’m not a sorcerer anymore!”

“Then let's leave the Grand Bout stuff to the battle team, and while you and I, on the science team, get to work on a sulfa drug.”

“Hell yeah!

‘Sulfa drugs?’ Gen thought to himself, ‘Senku-chan and the others are making a sulfa drug?’

The mentalist doesn’t know much about medicine in general, but even he knew that a lot of drugs are manufactured in a factory and it takes a lot of complicated materials and chemistry. He kinda doubted that they could make one that was comparable to the modern era…

But then again… this was Senku…

His mind wandered to that blinding light again...

Gen gulped his own saliva, he was thinking of that bottle of cola again…

Later that night, the gang sans Kinro and Ginro huddled up together at the science shed as they finished changing Gen’s leaves and bandages again. Suika had a warm damp towel on his head to have him cool off.

“I’m planning on participating in the Grand Bout '' Kohaku declared, “The two brothers and I will be the Kingdom of Science team. We’ll do whatever it takes to keep Magma from winning…”

“Sounds good.” Chrome nodded but when he looked at Gen who was now panting from the pain he grew more worried, “Is he all right? He looks way worse….”

It was because whatever medicine that was placed on Gen’s injuries actually stung a lot. He actually felt much better. Better enough to at least stand….

“I think he’ll be fine.” Kohaku reassured him, “But his recovery’s gonna take longer than we thought…”

“Then that means…”

“Yeah…” Senku finished the conversation, but from his voice, he didn’t sound scared, rather he sounded ready for what’s to come. “It won’t be long before Tsukasa comes around lookin’ for me, and kills me for real."

Gen… was not gonna have any of that. No… he can't let that vicious primate go and kill Senku and the rest of the village like that.

He knew they did nothing wrong. They only wanted to cure a girl with an unknown illness and stop a power hungry madman from ruining their home.

He knew Senku…. Senku was… was…

Gen wants to do something about it…

Much later as everyone retired from the night, Gen was lying sideways, pretending to be asleep, and he kept quiet just long enough to hear Chrome snore. It was his indication that he and Senku were the only ones left awake.

If it wasn’t for the pain of his injuries, Gen would have been shaking from his own nerves.

There was one thing. One thing left he needed to assure that Senku was one to be trusted. Or rather, it was more, it was something he wanted to know.

The whole time, ever since he was awakened, he kept dreaming of it, wanting it. He knew it was bad for him. He knew it was nothing but badly packaged sugar water. He knew it was… it was the thing he desired for himself the most. He could live without it, definitely. But he knew even the most stoic of people need even the little pleasures in life in order to actually keep on going.

Gen only mentioned it once. It was supposed to be a lie, but in reality it was the whole truth.

“Senku… Senku-chan…” He weakly said, as he hoped to get the scientist’s attention. “Senku-chan… can you do it….”

He then felt Senku move and let his body lean closer to the injured man to hear what he had to say…

“Even in this stone world…Could you make one for me?" Gen vocalized his strong desire for one, “Just… One… Cola…”

A bottle of cola… it was one of the few things he indulged himself with when he was still a celebrity back in the modern time. After a show, it was the first thing he requested. His manager knew to leave one in his dressing room. He always has a case of it at his apartment. He would always request it at bars, making them think he was drinking, when in reality he hated alcohol. Even before he became a celebrity, it was something he desired as a child. He celebrated every small victory with a bottle. His parents banned him from drinking it saying its unhealthy and bad for a budding trophy like him. It made him want it more.

An ice cold bottle of cola….

“Yeah. For sure… nobody else can…” Senku responded so casually as he pulled back and sat to where he was before.

It was hard for Gen to believe, but at the same time. He did believe. He had faith in him. He trusted Senku to do this for him.

Gen chuckled as he accepted the truth in front of him.

“Why…” he asked Senku, while he still remained on his side, not looking at Senku “Why would you agree to do this?”

The mentalist panted a bit, “Why agree to set aside some time to actually make some cola for me… You have that… sulfa drug to do…”

“So you heard that huh..” Senku chuckled but he didn’t seem shocked or wavered, “Well why not? I've always wanted to try it.”

Gen actually laughed heartily as much as his injuries let him. He then winced in pain again.

“Senku-chan…” He began again as the pain subsided, “Why… Why do you trust me?”

He was an outsider, even amongst the Kingdom of Science. They didn’t even know each other until just recently. The only reason Senku even knew of his name was through one of his “trashy” books as he said before. Gen was a nobody to Senku. And yet, he was pulled to do manual labour, and was forced…. No… he stayed and watched what they did to the result of that labour. He made it clear what his intentions were, and that in general he was still a danger to Senku. He could still disappear and run back to Tsukasa and tell him that he’s alive. He could still do that…

Asagiri Gen doesn’t want to do that.

But even so, he was a shallow man. He was not to be trusted. He said he could do it. He could still do it.

“Because…” Senku began, “For a dumbass like you, who lies through the skin of his teeth. Why bother helping me?”

“Huh?” Gen doesn’t understand what the scientist is saying.

“If you really were intent on reporting my existence to Tsukasa, you didn’t need to come here and introduce yourself to me or anyone in the village.” Senku concluded, “Which means, superficial reasons or not, you wanted something. Even if it is a silly bottle of cola, you still went here and made yourself known.”

Gen was speechless. Not because of the pain, but because… Senku found out…

“You were that amazed huh?” He could almost just see Senku’s trademark smirk as he said this, “When I made that electricity…”

Gen trembled ever so slightly, as a magician he was trained to always be calm. To be steady… but this…

“You said it yourself, you wanted to be on the winning side.” Senku kept on adding evidence, “Am I wrong?”

Gen laughed again, as much as his injured body could take.

“Senku-chan….” Gen kept on laughing and wincing at the same time, “You’re azy-cray!!”

It only earned him an approving grunt from the scientist.

And with that, Gen went to sleep. This was the most peaceful sleep he’s ever had since breaking out of the stone…

The next day, he was shaken awake by Senku. It was still dawn, according to the scientist at least. He didn’t doubt it, after all he figured out that Senku was the mystery counter.

Senku had taken his bandages and leaves off his body and cleaned it to make sure there was no evidence of him getting treated. Gen felt much better and could move better now without screaming in pain. But even so putting on his multi layered outfit took a while and Senku had to help him. They quietly moved out of the shed as they didn’t want to disturb, sleeping beauty Chrome. He was impressed by the young boy’s ability to just sleep through almost anything.

Senku then climbed down the ladder all the way down. And while it still hurt, Gen followed suit.

This was it.

This was definitely it.

The two quickly understood what needs to be done. They both knew doing it this way, will cover up Gen’s actions making him look superficial to the villagers. To the Empire, as if the villagers were just muscle headed brutes, who attacked him for investigating.

Gen had to go back to the Empire of Might to give his report to Tsukasa that… Senku is dead.

Senku is dead.

Yes, he had to lie to him and his people, that Senku, the biggest threat to the Empire, the King of Science, was dead.

But… Gen then started to doubt, ‘What if they don’t believe me… What if---’

Senku gave Gen a shove. It wasn’t hard, but it still hurt…

“Go on mentalist.” Senku chuckled as he picked his ear, “We don’t have all day. Go!”

Gen laughed once again. It looks like Senku did trust him after all. And in turn, he trusted Senku.

“Asshole…” He turned back and gave Senku a devious smile.

Asagiri Gen then moved one foot, and quickly moved forward to another, and another, until his effort to move turned a full blown run.

He was laughing. He kept on laughing as he kept running through the forest. His trip from the Empire to the Kingdom lasted more than two days, by foot. But now, he’s running. He’s running full speed ahead back to the Empire. He had to do this. He needed to keep running, even when every bit of his body ached like hell, even when he was out of breath. He kept on running, and running, and running…

Gen had never laughed so much in his entire life.

He then tripped over a big root that he didn’t notice. He welcomed it, he welcomed the unfortunate faceplant on the dirt. This would help him. This would help him sell his disguise.

“What the hell am I doing?!” Gen screamed to himself as he quickly picked himself up and continued running.

He didn’t need an answer to that. He damn well knew why he was doing this. He knew….

The faceplant helped in making sure his face was not a face of laughter and acceptance. Instead his face needed to be etched with anger and fear. It was the perfect expression to sell his lie.

After what seemed like forever, Gen had finally arrived at the Empire of Might. He bolted straight to Tsukasa’s lair, only to be greeted by their resident scout and bowman.

An arrow landed next to him, narrowly missing his foot.

“Wait! Tsukasa-chan! It’s me!!” Gen screamed in desperation. His exhausted state helped in this act.

When he realized it was indeed Gen, he let him inside, so he could finally talk to Tsukasa.

“I found a village.” Gen panted heavily as he delivered his report, “Full of primitives…”

“They attacked me!” He coughed a little as he tried to catch his breath, “And I ended up getting a little banged up in the process.”

That was a complete lie. Anyone with eyes could see that he wasn’t just a "little" banged up. But that wasn’t the point Gen was making. He said that in order to make people think less of his injuries, that it wasn’t relevant to the report.

He then raised his head to meet the eyes of the man that could kill him with his bare hands.

“But, I did manage to find out about Senku-chan!” And that's where he got everyone’s attention. Especially Tsukasa.

Gen remembered what Senku promised to him. That bottle of cola…

Senku didn't need to make it for him. He really didn't need to. But no one needed to know that. That light, that date, those were enough to convince him. Nothing else mattered.

Senku… won him over already.

Even if the Scientist didn't fully realize what had happened, he had already claimed a Mentalist in his Kingdom of Science.

The Empire of Might lost Asagiri Gen.

Gen finally ceased panting as he continued.

“Senku… was gone. No trace of him anywhere!” The magician mentalist spoke those words as the tension within the lair had ceased, “There’s no doubt! He’s definitely not alive!”

The rest of the Empire cheered as they were greatly relieved to hear that from him. They were happy that the biggest threat to Tsukasa and his empire was definitely gone, there was no hide nor hair of him anywhere. They approached Gen and some gave him a pat on the back.

His injuries still hurt.

Gen managed to shake them off, saying that he needed to recover from that incredibly long run through the forest. And they let him, as Tsukasa summoned the ones who could give him some treatment.

When he was finally alone, Gen sat on a flat rock, and looked up to the sky. He could see the sunlight coming through the trees and let its warmth envelop his body.

But even then, this light was still nothing compared to the light that Senku made.

The Flame of Science.

And the man who created it.

The man he now trusted, to make that bottle of cola…

“Man, this isn’t worth all the trouble…” Gen sighed happily as he recalled those memories, “For just one bottle of cola?”

“I hope it’s ice cold. That’s the very least he could do…”

Asagiri Gen, wouldn’t want to miss his bottle of cola.

And he's now looking forward to drinking one, pretty soon.

#asagiri gen #ishigami senku #dr stone #dcst #drst #the psychoanalysis of Asagiri Gen #chrome dr stone #suika dr stone #kohaku dr stone #magma dr stone #shishio tsukasa #fanfic #part 3

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fidelcastrato · 5 years

Text

Saturday Night Dead

A dull roar floods a small, derelict house and about a block of surrounding land all of a sudden, followed shortly by a piercing screech which acts as the conditioned stimulus to roughly 30-40 people between the ages of probably around 15 at the youngest, up to pushing-40, causing a mass salivation in response to the promise of real, proletariat, bullshit-free Punk Fucking Rawk™. Brando Murely himself sits on a cinder block outside the door, just enough out of the way of the crowd distractedly making its way inside, everyone in the middle of a conversation, turning around every few seconds to give their latest opinion on the eternal IHOP v. Waffle House crisis, shouting-match phone calls, drunken wobbling, stoned hobbling, and oh-that-sweet-cocaine's-a-calling. From Brando's arm dangles eazily-breezily a small bucket, perhaps formerly housing some domesticated plant, with the word "DONATIONS" written in sharpie on the side. He is only a few brainwaves away from REM sleep, that sultry temptress.

Avey and Fyo take their sweet time. The openers are about to play, now sound-checking, if you can really call it that (not to be rude, but the opening acts of these kinda shows were more often than not either local upstarts or local failures, and lacked some level of expertise in regards to acoustics, dynamics, levels and such), but they have both just lit a new cigarette. No worries, though; they've been around enough that they know the path straight to the front, if it should turn out that The Ushi Onis were worth front row listening.

Towards the back of the house stood in solidarity the introverts so in love with music, but so out of touch with people, the old farts who didn't really care anymore but still attended out of habit, the few (if extant) devout fans of another band on the line-up who just wanted to get it over with already, and the stray college kid; not any art or philosophy major, no, just some regular Joe (and hilariously enough, one independent study in "Crime and Punkishment", a locally famous zine, reported that 73.7% of these people were actually named Joe) who happened upon this utterly obscene proceeding via a stack of coincidence and misfortune--maybe they were there with some punk ladyfriend from class.

In the middle, by far the largest section, you could find pretty much anybody from anywhere. Regulars who still hear the heartbeat of the scene, newcomers enthusiastic but not enthusiastic enough to put themselves out for judgement if they happened to accidentally nod their heads a bit with the music (mortified.....), and that strange demographic that seemed to place itself starkly in the middle of all the aforementioned alignments; middle-of-the-roaders through and through, to the point where they have risen above the road, and the ideal of the road, and smugly glance at one another and then down to you as if to imply a transcendence which those of us who have ever experienced anything in extreme can never know of.

Front and center, ears blasted to bits and facial muscles entering anaerobic respiration due to excessive smiling, the All-Stars of the scene danced alongside strangers, either naïve or drunk. The frontmen of the most famous local bands, the influencers, both silent and megaphonic, the photographers, the beauties, the hype-builders, the next band, the people who arranged this show in the first place, all of them stood in almost equal amounts of admiration as the performing act themselves. The rich and famous of the DIY; the proletariat bourgeoisie; the broke stock brokers; the soothsayers and the fortune tellers; basically, the people you want to know.

"Hey, let's make a film tomorrow" says Fyo.

"About what?" from Avey.

"Who cares? Let's climb that billboard at the top of the hill. Let's hop on a train and record the city from like, some weird dutch angle, or something. Let's see how many cats can fit in one box."

"We could never find enough cats for that. All of our friends have like two cats at least, including me, and that still wouldn't be close to enough."

"Let's give the camera some 4-aco-dmt and see what happens."

"Easy on the Adderall, bub."

Fyo had a pretty publicly-known problem with stimulants, which he was recently combatting with a burgeoning benzodiazepine habit. Avey's personal dog hair was Kratom. Both of them partook in casual use of just about every recreational substance at this point, always especially eager to try something new. They still more or less had a handle on their sanity, but not without their eccentricities. Both had a deep love for consumption and creation of art, primarily music; between them they owned a veritable arsenal of digital and analog synthesizers, samplers, ancient MIDI keyboards, melodicas, and various novelty instruments collected over the years. Each had their own individual recording endeavors, as well as a joint operation making full use of their combined setup. They had played shows, Fyo more than Avey on account of having played in front of various kinds of audiences since the age of 15, from dull high school jazz band performances to the exact kind of venue they found themselves at tonight--in fact he'd played at this house several times already in the past year. “Holy House”, one of the few legit punk houses remaining in the city after a long string of misfortunes over the past two years lead to some places being shut down, others burning down, some simply forgotten about, living on only in the ink of flyers taped to the walls of just about every DIY art kid in the area--it was kind of like collecting baseball cards. Avey had played a couple of the more fleeting art spots once or twice, but was generally overcome with anxiety at the last minute.

Now three cigarettes in a row have been smoked, throughout yet more overly-anxious stim-fueled artistic brainstorming, both Avey and Fyo silently assuming that tomorrow would in reality consist of the same events as every other Saturday; recovering from the debauchery of the previous night, maybe with a half-hour or so of absent-minded musical improvisation.

The Ushi Onis had completed their set, and from what they heard from outside, it was agreed that their nonsense conversations were about on equal footing with the music, as far as time-wasting went. Not that they were bad, it's just.....it seemed as though they'd heard this same band hundreds of times, despite the fact this was their debut show. It seemed to Fyo, who had been in attendance for, shit, a decade now, that every show more-or-less went the same these days. You could even predict non-music related events. There was the guy who got way too drunk and was basically floating around the crowd, eyes only half-open, flailing around off-rhythm in a disconcertingly unhuman way during particularly intense performances--Fyo himself had been this guy on more occasions than he'd like to admit, as well as more occasions than he could literally remember. There was the creep getting kicked out for being creepy; that was a very strict rule for this scene, "NO CREEPS". You'd see it on basically any given flyer. House shows did tend to attract these creeps, what with the combination of pretty, young, and drug-addicted attributes of many of the female frequenters. Thankfully, Fyo had never been that guy. There was the kind of slapstick situation that occurred immediately after every band played, where the members of the other bands playing that night would come up and say "Hey, great set, what pedals do you use?" and then annoy the shit out of the poor guys just trying to fucking get their drums in the van, only for the same thing to happen to the original complimentary artists. Nobody ever learned their lesson. Nobody ever learned their lesson, forever and ever. This pretty much sums up the stagnation that Fyo has recently come to observe within the scene.

"Hey, I'm done here, if you are. Head back to my place?"

"Right you are."

The four-minute drive back to Fyo's apartment left just enough time to blair at obnoxious volume Avey's favorite song by The Mountain Goats (at least, his favorite song that day--the song changed frequently, but The Goats always remained Mountainous). On the way upstairs, Avey got a text from Tomie: "Beck pulled through. Pool party?"

So Avey said to Fyo; "Beck pulled through. Pool party?"

"Fuckin duh."

Tomie was a close friend as well as ex-girlfriend to both Avey and Fyo. Beck was their communal coke dealer. Fyo was the only person in The Crew whose apartment had a pool, and it was the deep depths of summer, so late night swimming was a common occurrence. Tonight, Tomie had brought Beck along (who surely had more coke, and anyone can see that hanging out with a coke dealer, who definitely had plenty of coke to spare, would certainly turn out to be a fun time--Fyo knew this from experience, as an old friend, Jericho, also happened to be a coke dealer before moving off to.....fuck-knows-where; Fyo wasn't sure WHY they hung out so much exactly, or why Jericho had given him so much free coke in those days; Jericho was gay, but Fyo didn't really feel like he could possibly be desirable enough to warrant such favor, especially with his [back then, at least] very socially awkward mannerisms, even after several lines of really honestly pretty great coke--although, Fyo [himself being hetero, this only now in the narrative needing to be made clear] usually thought the same thing about ladies he spent time with, and surprisingly often was proven wrong) as well as invited Fitch, who invited Les, who invited Beck, who invited Lil, who invited Vick, who invited.....

.....

Noujeff.

"Wait you say WHO the fuck is coming to my apartment???" Fyo demands answers.

"Shit, I'm sorry Fyo. I didn't know Vick was friends with him, don't know why he still is. We'll tell him to fuck off once he gets here, waste some gas at least. But hey.....The Crew here ain't gettin' any younger, so let's fuckin' get to it. Pick a record already."

The Crew was, in no particular order:

Avey, reserved but strong-willed and resilient, and disarmingly cunning; he once got Fyo, his on-and-off-again girlfriend Elise, and himself a free pass to this really exclusive music festival in what can only be described as an "experimental city"--FORM Arcosanti was the name of the festival (the town being just "Arcosanti"), located smack dab in the middle of the deserts of Arizona, where Fyo first glimpsed that now-out-of-reach image, occasionally dreamt or half-remembered, of a lone mountain, in the middle of one of the least forgiving deserts in an entire superpower-nation's worth of land, one of the hottest and driest places around, soaring so high into The Places We Cannot Reach, the great heights, the domain of myth and fiction more than anything, of a mountain seen from the road of a lonely desert which had a peak covered, even here in the frenzied peaks of July, the radioactive horror show burning of July, a peak covered in SNOW. Beautiful, nostalgic (and always nostalgic, for there was no "winter" in Arizona), almost, no yes certainly CLEANSING snow. The rest of the trip only got better. That is all we'll say of it, for now;

Fyo, the one whose thoughts we gain direct access to (to hell with a fourth wall; give me 50, 500, 5,000,000 more walls, and I will break them all), generally responsible, has a dependable job as a pharmacy technician, "almost" a real job, and two major flaws; here we move into

1.) Intense Manic Episodes On a Yearly, Predictable Basis

-----

Every year, in the period of time spanning between around March and June-Mid-July, Fyo would suffer an intense clinical episode of mania; he would become obsessive over ideas so obscure and opaque that he only sounded like a lunatic when describing them, and indulged in drug abuse as if suicidal, and more than once now had indeed proven to be so. Fyo would and did argue, however, that during these periods of admittedly (even by him) questionable ties to reality, his artistic output became noticeably higher in both quantity and quality than what was usually found in his "seasonal depression" (so-called) episodes during the months of October-February. No psychiatrist has yet explained this adequately.

2.) An Unhealthy Obsession With All Forms of Art, As Well As the Definition of Art Itself

-----

From a very young age, Fyo had shown great interest in art, and strangely enough but of course conspicuously naturally, surrealist art in particular. At 12, on a family vacation to Florida for the purposes of the (back then affordable even by the lower-middle-class family, with some planning) relaxation of the beach and the primal thrill of the Great Twin Amusement Parks, he devoted a day to visiting the Salvador Dali museum in St. Petersburg, Florida; a couple years later, the very first band he was in (at 15 years old) was named after Dali's "The Burning Giraffe". Then he gradually caught on to the growing web of obscurities, myths, exaggerations, half-truths, genuine enigmas, and philosophical contradictions that were accepted by some as truth, and saw the art embedded in life; and in the mirror, he saw the reflection of such, and in that he saw things that moved him in ways he was naïve to previously. That's how he got older. That's how he saw that the waking life was just as absurd as the dream. All that mattered was which space he occupied at a given time;

Tomie, as mentioned previously was both a close friend and ex-girlfriend to both Avey and Fyo. Each relationship was separated by such distance (spatially and temporally) that it really didn't matter, everyone had moved on cross-country and it was just nice to have people just fuckin' caring about each other, you know? Tomie was not afraid to bite into you in a very personal way, as long as she knew it would help you. She was a great ally to have in the world, if sometimes blunt; but this bluntness was out of a genuine kindness and invariably proved effective somehow. If you trusted anyone's advice, it was Tomie's;

Fitch, constantly in-and-out of jail for something or other, after so many years the circumstances blurred out a bit. Being eternally and self-admittedly impermanent, he always seemed almost as if acting in repentance to the best of his abilities; but around people like this, hope for repentance was laughable;

Lil, probably the most adult of the group, an ex-girlfriend of Fyo from back in the day, had worked her way to a very well-paying analytics gig. She still found herself hanging around with these wannabe artists and revolutionaries, for whatever reason; she was certainly always welcome, and that gave her a warm, content feeling.....

"Pick a goddamn record" says Lil.

Every time The Crew got together for some midnight coke-fueled swimming, someone got to ceremoniously choose a record from Fyo's collection, off of which the cover of the cocaine would be inhaled. It was Fyo's night. He was having trouble deciding. The record that was chosen would also be played on the record player while the lines were being drawn and erased; the lines themselves were on the sleeve, the small but not ignorable visual component of the LP. He looked through his stack; Joyce Manor (played a show with them before they became big--frontman was kind of an asshole. No.), The Antlers (far too sad for shamelessly inhaled thrills), Talking Heads (no, we'll just end up putting "Once In a Lifetime" on repeat), no, no, no, no.....LCD Soundsystem? Hm. Yeah, this one. Sound of Silver, talk to me.

"Fuckin' finally. Okay let's get this train wreck a-rollin'."

Greed filled the eyes of everyone in the room. Along with record-choosing duties came the first line of the night. Fyo lays down one FAT fucking line, finely crushed almost down to the individual molecule it seemed, grabs the closest straw, leans over and looks down at the snowy mountain range here in the middle of the silver desert, and unflatteringly snorts with all his might, and feels each crystal immediately begin its own personal attack on his neurotransmitters, leans back to make sure everything falls into the mucous membrane, nothing wasted, except for Fyo himself, and steps back to fall comically onto the couch, a smile of contentment and even relief overtaking his facial expression as Nancy Whang chants "You can normalize. Don't it make you feel alive?"

This. This is the life.

#fiction #short story #drugs #punk #punk rock #diy #metamodern #metaphysical #arkansas #little rock #lcd soundsystem #surrealism #salvador dali #addiction

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gg-astrology · 6 years

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BTS: Virgo Boys - Namjoon’s Fashion Sense (Venus)

Virgo Boys Masterlist: JK Series | NJ Series

*Note: there’s some minor details about Jimin’s fashion sense in this post, since they both have Scorpio Venus. But for the most part, this focuses more on Joon.

We can’t make a series about Namjoon without mentioning his love for fashion. Now let’s look a bit at why Namjoon is such a fashionophile.

So there’s this idea that Venus can tell you a lot about the way you dress right? Well it’s true, but it’s also part of the ASC on how you come across/self-identity as well. Since we don’t have his ASC we’re going to look at how his other placements might help inform his Venus and make up-- generally how Joon dresses.

(look at this dashing kid!)

Interest in Fashion | Sagittarius Moon - Scorpio Venus

With Joon he’s always been pretty fashion forward. That part comes with being open to fashion choices and appreciating self-expressions from others as well.

If he cares about what he puts on himself (fashion as a self-expression), he cares about fashion and that’s the way he’s communicating about things. People who share the same interest/care as much as he does (Taehyung, Hoseok) is sort of like being the same stream of things. That’s opposed to people who cares about fashion only to be mainstream. It’s not the same line of communication that he’s coming from. Mostly because It’s not coming from a place that’s personal to them so there’s no intensity there.

That inner intensity (Scorpio) is being a part of a intimate/community (Venus) and seeing yourself personalized and expressed in the same wavelengths as others (being able to relate to others socially). It’s about having a dialogue/conversation about how fashion is expressed individually. Caring about the personalized experience of someone else, being involved/life-changing experience by their own self-expression. That’s sharing/creating a community of self-expression and it involves the person putting a part of themselves (intimate and personal) into what they create/express about themselves, as well as opening themselves up for others to inquiring/asking about it. (Scorpio).

It’s a culture, but also a very personal and image-creating has always been part of what he enjoys/feels like represents himself. To understand where that might stem from, compare it to his childhood photos. Although most kids usually wear what is already prepared for them. It’s like once he takes control of what he wants to put out/self-express it jump-start his self-discovery process, creating his own identity and establishing his independent as well.

I know childhood photo is weird to talk about because we usually dress so differently when we begin picking things to define ourselves with. But it’s a good scenario to think about, because Sagittarius/Scorpio both talks about independence/establishing that independence somehow. It has to start somewhere (physically) in order for the person to go ‘oh shit, I found something that’s truly me’ y know. It’s that moment where you finally figure out the perfect jigsaw puzzle to your personality, that makes you feel whole and compete by yourself about yourself. Everything clicks, and you’re awed/amazed-- moved by the lining of fate for once in your life.

But sometimes it comes with like, a rebellious nature as well. When his Moon and his Venus are in signs next to each other there’s that sense of transformation that comes with some sort of anarchy (Scorpio-Sagittarius).

Fashion is a statement, a way to explore both his Sagittarius placement (being open-minded/’doesn’t mind trying a lot of different styles once’) and Scorpio placement (personalizing himself, accumulating material goods, establishing control externally for himself). So it makes sense that it would be a big part of what Namjoon is invested in.

Everybody thinks Taurus is the one that talks about material wealth but Scorpio does too. There’s this idea of control that Scorpio (and Taurus) talks about. Having a power/dominance over something in his life, such as his fashion choices gives that Scorpio something they can stabilize themselves in. Outwardly it’s like a stress-reliever for him, but it’s also serving to internally give him something to depend on.

Scorpios are all about personalization of themselves, combined that with Sagittarius Moon -- it lifts and fuels each other, pushing that narrative of ‘this is what I want, this is who I am’

Material Excesses | Scorpio Venus

Forget about Scorpio being dark and moody when you have a Sagittarius somewhere significant in your chart. Although Scorpio likes to express themselves covertly, Sagittarius is so loud and indicative of your fashion choice that it over-powers that covert Scorpio. Looking at your other placement, like Moon and ASC tells you a lot more about how you come across to others/your intensions behind your fashion.

Scorpio in this case indicates a personalization of the self, a sense of control/stability and being selective of what he’s putting on his body. With Jimin it’s in his accessories; he personalizes what he puts on and does it in excess. Namjoon’s the same, but with him it’s the clothes. He personalizes his clothes/how it fits/wears on him and does it in excess as well.

In a way that’s a physical manifestation of Scorpio’s drive/power, when it’s being turned into excess of material wealth. Because they can tend to buy a lot of things to stabilize their external ‘appearance’ when/if their internal self feels like it’s in turmoil/transforming. (Seeking internal stability, able to transform/control their external self)

Little cheat sheet for Taurus- Scorpio:

Taurus- internal stability for exterior control. Desire to be in control of their environment, has internal stability (reluctant to move).

Scorpio - exterior stability for interior control. Desire to be in control of their internal stability, has exterior control. (dependable to other people/coldness)

So in a way Scorpio are great at consistency, but consistency in terms of style/personalizing --being in control of what they put on the body.

Everything has to have a meaning, or a significance. Whether it’s prestige (but meaningful ones like helping an organization, etc.) or a personal meaning.

“Black” | Scorpio Venus

Jimin and Namjoon also tends to gravitate more towards darker colored clothes. A stable in their closet this a strong black.

Sometimes the black is in the little details, like sunglasses or `shoes. Socks, shorts, pants. Sometimes they gravitate towards louder colors (Namjoon definitely does) but there’s always a black in there somewhere that ties everything together to make a ‘complete’ ensemble in their fashion choices/stance.

Even when they’re fully colourful outfits, the darker tone/theme is significant to creating dimension/perspective layers to their outfit/style. Like becoming base/background to highlight and balance an accessory piece/an outfit piece to pop even more. It serves a purpose, and that’s to balance and ground the brighter things. That’s part of why they look ‘put together’ or ‘intentional’

It plays into Scorpio’s inner-power (driven into their fashion) having a ‘powerful presence’. Because that’s kind of the goal Scorpio Venus has. Jimin and Namjoon are two members who always seems the most ‘put-together’/adding a little effort to appear somehow immaculate. It’s giving that impression off to others, but it also brings a sense of inner-peace/calmness to them. Again, it’s to do with control. But the darkness/absoluteness of black also tends to hide anything they don’t want to ‘overthink’ about (Libra Mercury) and is a good ‘peace of mind’ stable to go to when lost.

“White” | Virgo Sun

Also, Namjoon wears a lot of simple colours. With brighter cool tones, white is a good grounding colour. It’s either black or white with him, but the white is more to do with that Virgo popping in.

There’s a simplicity to white, instead of styling with the black pieces, this is about simplifying with the white. There’s a simplistic nature to it-- anything that looks good simply is worn to balance/base everything else out. That means the white serves as part of the piece, not as a mid-ground or background colour for other pieces to ‘fit’ in. It doesn’t act as like the void darkness brings, the significance of the white is to equal/evenly-weigh everything together.

When you pair white with black, the white becomes the ‘colour’ that pops (lighter shade?) while the black sets the grounded-ness/stability/background for the white.

(Joon plays with silhouette/textures a lot. That’s part of his ‘consistency’)

Also, Namjoon definitely he follows some kind of trend (definitely) but he always finds comfort within himself to make things (trends) his own style (immortalize it, as a part/season of his life). That kind of consistency which is why his fashion choices always seems to be prominent part of him.

Let’s say like, on the opposite end of the spectrum is Hobi. Who also cares alot about fashion. But he consistently shifts from style to style, and that inconsistency defines his personalized fashion style. Paradoxical but makes sense? Consistency is key to both of them.

Ending Notes |

Mercury actually plays a part in fashion choices as well, cause you’re still making conscious decisions on what you like, what type you want, what your style is.

Like the post-process of deciding who you are/defining your Venus individual style is made through Mercury. You can pick and choose what you like instinctively sometimes (Moon/Venus) but then when it comes to someone mentioning your style (’oh you like wearing these types of clothes’) you come to evaluate yourself through your Mercury. It’s basically your informed decisions, a conclusion and product of what your Venus/Moon has already picked out from you.

Also to note: your ASC does play a huge part in how other people perceive you. So if you feel like they didn’t do a good job identifying you, it’s most likely because you’re defining your fashion choices differently in your own mercury here.

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doomedandstoned · 5 years

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Portland’s TROLL Unveil First Sounds from Astounding New LP ‘Legend Master’

~By Billy Goate~

Photos by Stephanie Savenkoff

I can tell you how excited I am to share this new music with you by Portland, Oregon's TROLL. I've been a big believer in this band from before they had a singer, describing them as Rip City's answer to Elder. I was the first to film them and have had the privilege of capturing their charismatic performances with frontman Rainbo several times since. The last time, it was after TROLL had released their very well received eponymous debut and they were airing new material. I thought it was absolutely brilliant, enthusiastically sharing one song in particular on social media, which at the time was called "Bridges of the Holy/Tunnels of the Damned." When I found out that Doomed & Stoned would be giving the formal debut of the new song, now titled "Legend Master, Book I: Proverbs of Hell," I practically flipped.

'Legend Master' (2019) is without doubt TROLL's most brilliant effort to date. John Rainbo (vox), Wayne Boucher (bass), Lou VanLanning (guitar), and Ryan Koger (drums) have simply outdone themselves with these five hefty doomers, beginning with "Flight of the Dragonship." I’ve heard the guys perform this encore several times, but never envisioned it playing the introduction. Suffice it to say, it works -- even if it will take a few spins for me to adjust to thinking of it this way.

From this impressive opener, we transition into an emotional two-parter, the album's namesake “Legend Master,” which we'll all get to hear the first chapter of today. Its expansive, rhapsodic character gives it a most epic vibe. Rainbo’s vocals bear the influence of early Candlemass and the riffs are absolutely golden. In fact, I can envision many of you spinning this record on a Sunday morning during a wake ‘n’ bake (or without, if you prefer), with your hair sprawled out on the living room floor, getting totally lost in the cinematic quality of the storytelling.

This takes us through “The Door,” where we bear witness to some of the most poetic material heard this side of Led Zeppelin's Houses of the Holy. I really love how Rainbo's vocals are layered at critical junctures in the singing. Having heard this pulled off equally well without it, I am happy to see the band taking some creative risks in studio. It’s my absolute favorite of the album and may, in fact, be the best song I’ve heard in many years. Some may feel it is the conclusion to the album, as least it has a very "ultimate" feel about it.

At last we reach "Yaulzcan Mountain," which was the only song of the album I don't remember the band auditing live (it may have been a very early version if I've heard it). There’s a very sanguine feel to the first half of the song, as the protagonist sings exaltedly of shedding this mortal coil and flying away. Then the tempo quickens and we are off to a riff-driven ascension into Elysian Fields, as the curtains close.

The word "regal" was used in the press release for the new record and I have to agree that it is a fine choice here. Though the band is unquestionably rooted still in the fuzzy, low-end stoner-doom sound of their previous album, I lost consciousness of genres altogether while listening, swept away in the grand fantasy of it all. TROLL’s instincts for songcraft continue to impress in Legend Master. In fact, each of these tracks could stand on their own instrumentally, yet the vocals take them to a new level of grandiosity altogether. Regardless of how you describe it, one thing is certain: Legend Master is in a league of its own.

If you're ready to do a deep dive into the lore behind the band's sophomore record, be sure to check out my interview with Rainbo below. Late last summer, I had the privilege of getting into a long conversation with him at a cafe in Salem, Oregon as evening waned into night. I can tell you that despite how you may perceive him from public performances, Rainbo is a god damned intellectual and exchanging words with him always opens up a dozen new rabbit trails for me to pursue later on. Troll does such an admirable job throughout the record of weaving fascinating tie-ins with legend and literature alike, while continuing to develop an imaginative new world to absorb listeners.

Troll's new album 'Legend Master' (2019) comes out on vinyl, cassette, and CD via Shadow Kingdom Records on April 12th and today, we're giving you a first listen. If you dig the single, you can get it here and pre-order the album here.

Give ear...

Solemn As the grave, Ghastly hand Behold me

Walk alone With my shade Spiral eye goddess Awake!

Through these days, beyond years I wept gold and silver tears Your face was so beautiful And your kiss (flesh), divine Come and sit By the river, once more, by the river...

Through the ages My book, it will tell It breaks my heart to know You're going to hell...

Interview with TROLL's Rainbo

How has the band grown since the first album was released? What are your relationships like, has it gotten easier to make music together? Do you sense an overall distinctive style is cementing in your compositions?

For Troll, it hasn't been easy to sustain the burst of attention that came our way unexpectedly after the release of our debut album. We had some mild hopes and expectations, but we weren't prepared both for the intensity and excitement that greeted our album and our live performances- the community embraced us with almost no external promotion aside from reviews on websites that enjoyed our work. We hadn't prepared things like merchandising, tour plans, or any of the basic sustaining functions of a band, so we tried to take what came us, but mainly we were reacting rather than being proactive.

We threw ourselves into making this second record because we knew the songs were a grander form of doom, that these compositions were more indicative of our talents and where we were headed as a band. But although we seemed to turn out the recordings fairly quickly (recording for Legend Master wrapped in October 2017, only a year after our debut was released), unforeseen delays, internal miscommunication within the band, and miscommunications between the band and our label ended up causing a totally unneeded delay in the tracks being sent to the vinyl press, essentially stalling Troll through all of 2018. Because of that delay, the band has had to find strength in our desire to create unique and powerful heavy music, and we're now well into the process of developing the music and themes for the third album, the last in the trilogy detailing the doomed no-name Troll's cycle of fate.

We are stronger together now, and more comfortable on stage, almost as if during our unforced hiatus we've been training Rocky-style for this moment of return. Our mission is pure epic doom, no punches pulled, and our goal is perfection of our progressive combination of grooves, melodies, and memorable choruses. We aren't trying to be like any other band, we want to be a heavier, more powerful Troll.

Tell us the background on the new album thematically -- what's the lyrical thread running through each song and is there a link to your previous material?

To understand Legend Master thematically it's necessary to know at least a synopsis of the debut album's story arc. Troll I lyrically follows a fairly defined origin-story narrative, introducing a malevolent wizard figure who conjures the unnamed Troll out of mushroom root in an ostensible attempt to use the Troll to thwart his enemy, a witch of some great power. The Troll gains strength but is disillusioned with his newfound powers, as he can see that neither the witch nor the wizard care about him except for his potential for violence.

Troll by Troll -U.S.

Even so, he is convinced that the destroying the witch will do some good and possibly set him free from the wizard's service. But as he is victorious over her, the form of the witch morphs into that of the wizard, who has simply been using the Troll all along to culminate a dastardly spell which occasions a great flood on Earth, destroying everything. The tyrannical wizard disappears into the aether, and Troll is forced to resort to magic to escape, calling forth a celestial Dragon and leaving the Earth to take refuge on the moon until the waters of flood recede.

This is where Legend Master begins, opening with Troll being marooned on the moon for a thousand days and nights while the earth dries up. When it does, he is stricken to find that the planet seems completely dead and nothing has survived. In a fit of desperate depression, he and his dragon depart our galaxy to search deep space for any signs of coexistence, of aliens or gods. He finds nothing, but remembering that the evil wizard had mentioned something of a God at the End of The Universe, the Troll presses on into the icy blackness of total void in order to salvage something from his seemingly meaningless existence.

It is there that he finds the Watcher, The Legend Master: the thing of things, the memory and mind of all events that have ever happened, and ever will. Asked by the Troll to divulge his secrets, the Legend Master opens his hollow mouth to tell some strange tales of personal betrayal and lost loves, showing he too had once been mortal.

The Troll doesn't know that black magick hexes the Master's words as he speaks, for once the Watcher tells his tale out-loud to a listener, the listener must take his place. On the completion of his tale, the Legend Master disappears through a door leading into a vortex, freed by the completion of the spell, and Troll is pulled through the door and vortex into an lifeless interzone, to live forever with his lonely mantle as the God at the End of The Universe.

Troll is aghast, and vows to build himself an incomparable temple to his godhood, to enjoy the fruits of his limitless power. But this too becomes tiresome, and he longs to end his eternal life- which he does, committing ritual suicide while renouncing his power and burying himself in a shrine lost in the void -- but all is not yet void. The Troll's story will conclude in the third album, part III.

Legend Master by Troll

Tell us specifically about the song we are premiering and, in some detail, what it is about, how you composed it, who was involved, any tie-ins with fantasy/sci-fi lore, and anything else interesting about its recording or live performance.

The song "Legend Master, Book I: Proverbs of Hell" was built around a riff Wayne (bass) had been kicking around since 2003. The rest of the band worked out a structure and added melodies and riffs, with vocal placements being specifically sequenced to fit the album's lyrical progression. It wasn't the first song finished for this album, but it has been in our live repertoire for almost two years now.

The song thematically functions as a reverie or remembrance of a mortal episode in the Legend Master's pre-divine life, the spark of his disillusionment and search for godhood. He is trying to show the Troll that there is nothing good about being a god, especially since the wistful memories only claw at the Legend Master -- he longs to sit again by the river with his beloved one more time, but cannot.

The subtitle "Proverbs of Hell" references the collection of aphorisms of the Devil from "The Marriage of Heaven and Hell" by William Blake. Allusion is made to the poem in the lyrics, and the Troll doesn't understand that the Legend Master is hinting to his face that the Troll is the one who is doomed: being transfixed by the story, the Troll doesn't see his own transformation into a lonely god happening.

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#D&S Reviews #TROLL #Portland #Oregon #Doom #Metal #Doom Metal #Fantasy #Shadow Kingdom Records #D&S Interviews #Doomed & Stoned

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fandammit · 6 years

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Loss like the sharp edges of a knife (5/7)

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4

[A/N: This veered off from my original outline, and I’m having to rearrange a few things for length and narrative purposes. So, now it’s 6 parts instead of 5 :/. Sorry for the length, the wait…and the continued wait, but thanks for reading! PS. A couple Filipino words in here: lola = Grandma, anak = child]

He takes the long way home from David’s house the following Tuesday.

It’s an inconvenient, circuitous route that he likes because it generally has less traffic on it on any given day, one that Gracie seems to like better too for all that she stays seated up and starting out the window rather than curled up and sleeping in the passenger seat like she normally does. That it happens to take him right past Karen’s apartment is something he tells himself is an additional benefit, rather than the entire reason.

The moment this thought crosses his mind, Gracie looks over at him and snorts before licking his hand, and he thinks – for about the thousandth time – that she’s way more perceptive and emotionally expressive than any one dog has the right to be.

Almost without meaning to, he slows the truck as he glances up towards Karen’s window. His heart knocks against his chest when he sees the pot of yellow daffodils sitting out on her windowsill, the weather now warm enough by midday to warrant putting them outside her window rather than pushing them up against it.

He circles the block twice before he finds a parking spot. He rolls down both windows about a quarter of the way. It’s still cool enough outside that he isn’t worried about Gracie getting too hot in the car, but figures a little extra air wouldn’t hurt. He gives her a few scratches under the chin, then gets out of his truck and tries to keep himself from jogging over to her apartment building. Manages it, but just barely.

He squints up at her window, shading his eyes against the afternoon sun. He doesn’t see anything held in place by the pot, but thinks he sees something small and flat stuck between the stalks of the flowers.

The corner of his mouth quirks up as he reaches up to grab the fire escape ladder, scaling it quickly and with ease, as though he’s done this two dozen times before instead of just the three.

(He wonders – briefly – if dreams can give you muscle memory.)

He reaches the landing outside her window and leans over, grabs what looks to be a photo wedged between the flower stems.

He turns it over in his hands and sucks in a sharp breath, his hand coming up to rub against the edge of his own beanie, the ache in his chest crystallizing into a sensation that can’t be ignored.

She’s standing in front of a semi-frosted window, the words Krav Maga Institute visible behind her. She’s clad in all black – black tights, a fitted black tank top – with a smirk on her face, her bright blue eyes especially piercing in contrast to the plain black beanie that sits low on her forehead.

He leans back against the peeling wall and looks closely at the photo, tells himself he’s studying the contours of the knitted cap rather than the shape of her mouth, the curves of her form. He swallows thickly, tells himself that the beanie could’ve been from anywhere or anyone, that it doesn’t necessarily have to have been the one he left her all those weeks ago, that photo of Gracie stick against the seams of it.

But no – he looks again, sees where she’s folded it up to keep from falling over her eyes, finds his eyes drawn by the fraying edge caused by his own worrying fingers. Her head is tilted slightly down, her hand reaching up to brush against that worn edge of it. He looks closer and smiles, swears that there’s a teasing edge to her smile, a radiating warmth in her eyes as she looks directly at the camera.

The effect of it – of seeing Karen wrapped in what he’s now sure is his plain, black beanie, her long blond hair tucked underneath it and framing her face, her blue eyes made brighter by its darkness – is immediate and intense and absurd. It sets off a sensation that nearly overwhelms him – a thrumming through his veins more pointed than the undefined longing he’s long grown accustomed to. It’s something sharper, more heady and intoxicating. Something that feels dangerously, exhilaratingly close to want.

He blows out a harsh breath and shakes his head, looks back down at the photo again. Stares at it like it’s the world’s last work of art, studies it like it’s some sort of sacred text rather than a 4x6 photo with CVS printed across the back.

She looks stronger, though he has to admit it’d be hard for him to really know since he’s only ever seen her wrapped in coats or else buttoned up in pencil skirts and blouses. But her posture is solid and straight, her arms curved with muscle, a coiled sort of readiness in her stance even though everything about her is relaxed. He thinks she looks happier, too – her expression shot through with real glee, her eyes wide and sparkling at the camera. It makes him smile, even though the ache of missing her, the low grade pain of absence that he tries to keep locked away in the very darkest corners of his mind, flares up as he does. It combines with the hum of desire in his veins in a way that’s nearly maddening.

He sighs and closes his eyes – builds a new life around Karen in his mind’s eye based on the photo in his hands and the six month of Bulletin issues piled high in the corner of his apartment, rather than on the memory of the last time he saw her.

Imagines her learning to break wrists and crack ribs, her lithe form and wide-open features now twice as deceptive as before. Pictures her happy and cared for, with someone close enough and trusted enough on the other side of the camera to take the picture without asking too many questions about what or who it might be for. He envisions her running down a lead or chasing down a harried cop, disarming them with her piercing gaze alone, then gathering up the wayward pieces of a statement or a casually dropped observation and fitting them together into a story with a satisfied smile on her face.

He glances back down at the photo, at the beanie pulled down low on her head, and chews on the corner of his lip. He can’t tell if it’s a trick of lighting or the yearning in his own heart, but he swears that it looks a little more worn at the edges than when he last saw it.

For a moment, he lets himself indulge in pleasure of believing that she’s worn it as frequently as he’s worn the one that she gifted to him. Lets himself believe that she thinks of him during those dark, cold nights in the city, finds satisfaction in thinking that some part of him is able to keep her warm even from afar.

He pushes off from the side of the building and glances into her apartment, wonders what her expression might be if he were to be waiting for her when she gets home. If she would be wearing his black beanie, if she would be clad in all black again just having come home from training. Wonders what exactly his own reaction might be.

He takes a deep breath in and very firmly steps back from that line of thinking. Tells himself that for now, it’s enough to know that she thinks of him, that he’s important enough for her to leave him tangible snippets of her.

He very carefully places the photo in his jacket pocket, looks at the daffodils on her window sill one last time, and climbs back down the fire escape. Thinks of what he might leave her in return the entire way home to his own apartment.

He’s early to Gracie’s final obedience class a few weeks later, his toolbox in hand.

Mrs. Abaya sees him from across the training field and smiles, walking over to him and giving a few pets to Gracie before looking up at him with a feigned look of surprise.

“You’re an hour and a half early, Peter. Were you really so excited for your last obedience class with Gracie?”

He gives her a wry look and shakes his head, lifts the toolbox in his hand.

“Heard you talking last class that the kitchen sink in the staff lounge was leaking. Figured I could try and help some if you were ok with it.”

Her face lights up with delight as she claps her hands in front of her, taps them against his chest.

“Oh, praise Jesus, Mary and Joseph, Peter. We’ve just turned the water off for the last two days. I kept meaning to call someone but, you know – I get so busy here.”

“Uh huh,” he says with a skeptical look and a teasing lilt to the words. It’s the sixth time in the last four weeks that he’s come over early to fix something around the shelter – a leaking faucet, a blown circuit, a faulty switch. The first time had been purely coincidental – he really had overheard Mrs. Abaya fretting about the fans in one of the kennels that had gone out and wondering if they had the money to fix it.

He’d come back the next morning with his toolbox, had simply asked to take a look at the broken fan and spent the rest of the morning fixing it until it ran smoothly.

That night, he’d noticed that Mrs. Abaya had refunded the entire cost of both the beginner’s obedience class he’d finished up and the intermediate class he was currently taking, a point of fact he’d made sure to bring up to her the following day at the end of class.

“I don’t need that money back, Mrs. Abaya. In fact, I’d rather you keep it. Fan’s not a big deal.”

She’d simply hummed some non-committal noise and patted him on the cheek before mentioning that the women’s bathroom toilet was constantly running, maybe he might have a second to look at it?

She never took the money back out of his account. But she also always seemed to mention whatever might be broken right when he was just within earshot, so it’s a trade he doesn’t mind making. Besides, he likes Mrs. Abaya, likes being at the shelter, likes doing something with his hands that reminds him that they can do more than cause pain and violence.

He walks with her to the lounge, listening to her talk about the new dog they just picked up that day, the string of families that have come in looking for a pet. She walks him just to the entrance before squeezing his arm and turning to go.

“I’ll go and get your assistant,” she says teasingly, smiling at him before turning around and shuffling back down the hallway.

He sets his toolbox down reaches over to pet Gracie before walking over to the sink and bending down to open up the cabinet doors.

“Hi, Gracie,” he hears a small, quiet voice say to the right of him. “Hi, Tito Peter.”

He looks over and sees Mrs. Abaya’s granddaughter, eight year old Emeline, with a young Doberman Pinscher mix as her side. She occupies the unique position of owning one of the few dogs in the class that Gracie actually seems to actively like rather than just barely tolerate, which is a godsend considering how much time she spends at the shelter. Her parents – a bleeding heart immigration lawyer mother and a social worker father – work long hours, which means Emeline spends a lot of her after-school hours helping out Mrs. Abaya at the shelter. Which also means that she’s become his de facto helper around the shelter as he fixes up faucets and fans and fences.

He smiles at the signifier before his name, which as far as he can tell is a Filipino word for someone who is but isn’t really your actual uncle. It opens back up a piece of his heart that he’d forgotten existed – the part that always wished for a brother growing up, the part that took pride in being called uncle whenever he met the kids of the guys in his unit.

He crouches down so that he’s not bearing down on Emeline from his height, smiles as she leans over to give Gracie a kiss on the forehead then steps forward to give him a hug.

It had surprised him the first time, the ease with which she was willing to throw her arms around some relative stranger introduced to her by her grandmother. But after having spent an increasing amount of time around Mrs. Abaya in these last four weeks and having met not just Emeline, but Emeline’s parents, a few of Emeline’s cousins, Mrs. Abaya’s sister and about half a dozen other members of the family – half of whom he’s not even all that sure are actually related to Mrs. Abaya – and receiving hugs and pats on the back and cheek, arms around his shoulders and kisses to his cheek, he thinks that touch and affection must come easy to them.

It doesn’t always to him, but there’s something comforting about knowing that it does to others, about recognizing that there’s a world in which softness isn’t a weakness.

He sometimes has the vague sense that he’s been adopted in some strange way, given that Mrs. Abaya has started showing up with trays of homemade lumpia and pancit that seem freshly made even though she swears they’re just leftovers that she doesn’t want going bad, the way she’s always fretting about the amount that he is or isn’t socializing in his free time.

Some part of him wonders if he should be wary or, at the very least, annoyed by the amount of attention and interest. But mostly he finds himself touched by it. And though it is Pete Castiglione, not Frank Castle, that Mrs. Abaya cares for, she knows enough of the very broad strokes of his story that make the two similar – widower, grieving father, former Marine – for him to feel at least a tiny bit less alone.

“What’re you fixing?” Emeline asks, breaking him out of his reverie as she rises up on her tiptoes to look over his shoulder at his toolbox.

“Your grandma said this is leaking,” he says, gesturing to the pipes under the sink. “So, here I am.”

She nods and then sits cross legged next to his toolbox, reaches over to open it.

“I’ll help you.”

He nods, then raises a brow at her.

“Your homework done already?”

She furrows her brow at him and blows air up through her bangs, an exaggerated look of exasperation on her face that only children can somehow manage to make and still be endearing. She’s too polite to roll her eyes at him, but somehow he gets the impression anyway – has to bite back a smile so that he can keep a stern look on his face.

“Ye - yes, I finished it.” She shrugs as she hands him a wrench. “It was only that one time that I forgot – just that one time, Tito. And I finished it after we got done with the bathroom and before mommy came to pick me up.”

He nods and lies down on his back, begins going through the process of fixing the pipes in the same way that he’s done every piece of maintenance with Emeline as his side – by carefully pointing out just what he’s doing, explaining each step of the process, wriggling out from under the sink and letting her help when and if she can. She’s surprisingly quick at picking up what he’s doing, easily remembering the tools and steps even though this is only the second sink she’s seen him fix.

It’s relaxing – working with his hands, chatting with Emeline about her day. She’s different enough from either Lisa for it not to ache too much when he does, and there are sometimes whole minutes that go by when he’s able to disappear into the fiction of Pete Castiglione – someone’s almost uncle who can be counted on to fix leaking pipes, who can laugh at a truly nonsensical second grade joke without being reminded of another joke, another 8 year old, another life.

When they’re done, he has her run around the back and turn the water back on. They test the sink and she gives him a high five and wide, toothy grin when everything drains through the pipes instead of pooling at the bottom of the floor.

“Mommy says that I’m probably better than Daddy now at fixing stuff,” she says proudly, calling her dog Macey to her side and giving her a good pat on the back.

“Oh yeah?” He picks up Gracie’s leash and starts to walk over to the training area. “Maybe your grandma can hire you instead of me to fix stuff around here.”

“Noooo,” she answers, drawing out the o sound as she shakes her head. “Lola says you’re the best. And besides, I need a lot more practice.”

“How much more practice, do you think?”

“Hrmmm.” She scrunches up her face, then squints up at him. “Like eleven years probably.”

He purses his lips to the side as he tries to force his smile back. He wants her to know that he takes this all very seriously.

“And how old will you be in eleven years?”

“Ummm - 19,” she says quickly, her eyes widening. “I’ll be old!”

He chuckles at that, then nods.

“And if I’m 36 right now, how old will I be then?” He asks, because he knows they’re learning to add double digits right now.

“You’ll be…you’ll be 47!” She exclaims triumphantly, and there’s a part of him that’s proud of how quickly she gets there.

She stops in the middle of the hallway.

“Tito, you’ll be really old,” she says, her voice hushed.

“Who’ll be old?”

He turns around and sees Mrs. Abaya walking up behind them.

“Uh - well, apparently me in eleven years.”

“He’ll be 47 then, Lola! That’s older than Mommy or Daddy.”

“Pah, anak,” Mrs. Abaya says, swooping down to rub her cheek and drop a kiss on top of Emeline’s head. “That means he’s 36 now? He’s only two years old than your parents. That’s still young.”

She says it to Emeline but he has a sneaking suspicion that it’s directed at him for whatever reason.

He doesn’t really have time to think about why that might because in the next moment, she’s shooing them off to the training grounds, telling them they better get ready for their session.

The final class concludes with a mini graduation ceremony. The dogs all get graduation caps and he’s stupidly proud of the fact that Gracie stays completely still as Mrs. Abaya puts on her cap, and that she’s one of the few dogs (Macey is another one) in the class that doesn’t immediately try to paw it off.

Gracie walks across the small, raised platform with her chest puffed out and what seems to be a smug look on her face, stands tall as Mrs. Abaya loops a ribbon that says “Overall best behaved” around her collar. He sneaks a few treats to her from his pocket as Mrs. Abaya makes a small speech talking about how proud she is of all the dogs and the trainers, and how there’s always more classes and things to teach themselves and their dogs.

He walks over to where Emeline is taking at least two dozen photos of Macey with her mom’s phone.

“Marisol, Jeremy,” he says in greeting, nodding to both of them as he stretches out his hand.

“Hey man! Good to see you again,” Jeremy says, taking his hand and giving it a firm shake, his face lit up with a big grin. “Emeline was just telling us how she helped you fix the kitchen sink.”

“And how apparently she’ll need another eleven years of practice before she’s as good as you,” Marisol adds, reaching over to give him a warm hug as she smiles at him.

He grins and shakes his head.

“Nah, she’ll need, you know, maybe another five years, tops, before she’ll know everything I know.”

Both Jeremy and Marisol laugh, and it seems like Marisol is about to say something else before they hear Mrs. Abaya’s voice from behind them, calling for Marisol to come over.

Marisol gives him an apologetic look and excuses herself, Jeremy following behind her with his hand at the small of her back.

He inwardly thanks Mrs. Abaya for the interruption, takes his phone out of his pocket and crouches down in front of Emeline.

“So, think you could take a picture of me and Gracie?” He asks, handing the phone in her direction.

“Yeah, I can!” She clicks over to the camera as he backs up until he’s crouched down next to Gracie, holds up her certificate in front of them both so that it faces the camera.

“Make sure you get the certificate in there, sweetheart.”

She gives him a look that says, of course, that same look that says she’s rolling her eyes without rolling her eyes, which makes him huff out a laugh.

He waits until Emeline is satisfied, which means he’s told about seven different times that he needs to smile, then scrolls through the three dozen or so photos quickly.

“Are you gonna put it as your phone background?”

He glances over at Emeline, who’s peering over his shoulder, looking at the pictures flashing across the screen.

He briefly considers just saying yes. Knows that’s the best way to keep away from the line of questioning he’s sure to get from Mrs. Abaya the next time he sees her.

But there’s something about keeping it a secret that feels wrong, makes it feel illicit rather than important. And there’s a part of him, too, that wants it to be real in some other way outside himself, that wants some evidence that it won’t disappear the moment he opens his eyes in the morning.

“It’s, uh, it’s for a - a friend of mine,” he finally says. There’s an instinct to frown when he says friend, even though that’s as good a descriptor as any for what Karen is to him, so he immediately follows it up with - “Karen - she, uh. I think she’d like to see how Gracie’s doing.”

Emeline narrows her eyes at him a bit, and for a moment the expression on her face is so uncannily similar to one Mrs. Abaya might give him that he nearly laughs out loud. She doesn’t say anything, just reaches over his shoulder and scrolls three photos to the left.

“There. That’s the one you should send her.”

He looks down at his phone. The photo she picked is him caught mid laugh, a small but genuine smile on his face, his eyes crinkled up with real amusement. Gracie faces towards the camera in complete seriousness, looking almost regal despite her ridiculous graduation hat.

“Why that one?”

Emeline shrugs.

“You look happy in that one. I think she’d want one where you’re happy, don’t you?”

He thinks about that question the entire drive home, mulls it over as he stops by CVS to print out the picture. The next morning, he pulls on his beanie and sweatshirt and tucks the photo into his pocket, doesn’t look at it again until he’s perched outside Karen’s window.

He turns the picture over in his hands, thinks about the photo she’d given him, carefully tucked away in the pages of his favorite book – the curve of Karen’s smile, the brightness in her eyes, the way it both soothes the ache in his chest and amplifies the humming in his veins to see it.

He wedges the photo between the window and windowsill, looping tape around the back to make sure it doesn’t fly away. As he climbs back down the stairs, he imagines her finding it. Wonders if she’ll build a life around him the way he has for her. Hopes she’ll know how hard he’s trying to build an after that means something, that he’s doing so to build his way back to her.

He huffs out a laugh. It’s a hell of a lot to pin on one photo, on one look, on one windowsill.

But he remembers the meaning in a single gesture, whole conversations told in single looks and in silence. Thinks about how much can be said in a single photo.Thinks about how it can be enough, for now.

#kastle #frank castle #the punisher #the punisher fic #fic: loss like the sharp edges of a knife #my fic

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