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curly-bangtan · 4 years

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Heatwave Drabble #5: for the birthday boy (M)

[Heatwave // Godless // Heatwave Drabbles]

Pairing: Taehyung x reader

Summary: For Taehyung’s birthday, you’ve planned a special surprise-filled evening just for him as his best friend by day, fuck buddy by night. But especially after a few drinks, he finds it difficult keeping his hands off you, which isn’t a good thing in front of all your friends.

Genre: drabble, smut, fwb au, roommate au, f2l

Warnings: teacher/student roleplay (if you’re not into that, just skip to the next scene, it’s meant to be slightly sarcastic anyway), brief lap dance, oral (m&f), overstimulation (m&f), unprotected sex (your girl finally invested in the pill yay), cum dumpster, facial, cum play and consumption, squirting, basically filth, light BDSM like spanking, handcuffs, choking, the usual, daddy kink (you know HW!Tae)

Word count: 11.3k yikes

A/N: Happy early birthday to the best boy! Why do I call these drabbles when it’s basically a series at this point smh -_- Enjoy this filthy monster~

“Surprise! Happy Birthday!”

Taehyung jumps beside you as you switch on the lights to your flat, illuminating the room full of people leap out from their hiding place at his arrival. The last syllable of their celebratory chant hangs in the air for an awkward moment as he takes in everything you put together for his birthday surprise.

Shiny party streamers decorating the walls, black and gold balloons bobbing against the ceiling, printed photos of your best memories together hanging from shelf to shelf, all his and your closest friends gathered to greet him. And of course, the impeccable two-layered strawberry chocolate sponge cake sitting on a platter that you know would excite him the most.

A smile spreads his mouth wide and square as he turns to you, his cheeks bundling up like rising bread in sheer elation.

“No you didn’t, Y/N.”

Then you’re being suffocated in a bone-crushing hug, your ribs almost cracking under his snake-like squeeze. His chest rumbles in the most boyish giggle.

“Hap-pee-burf-day-” You manage to utter as you move your arms between two to create some space for you to breathe.

Seeing Taehyung this happy, especially knowing you’re the cause of it, is truly a feeling matched by no other. You don’t have a massive squadron of friends, you are more the type to carefully select those you actually like and get along with. To put it badly, you’re picky, judgy and quite a bitch when it comes to making friends. But the few you actually care about, you love ferociously and passionately, willing to cut off your own limb for them. And Taehyung is at the top of that list.

“You’re actually the best, I love you.” When he finally lets you go from his painful but appreciated embrace, his hands rest on your waist, lingering.

You had just treated him to a birthday dinner at his favourite steakhouse, roommate to roommate, in order to enable this surprise party. A few pints might have been downed for the occasion, which explains his excessive touching. Taehyung has never been able to hold his liquor, always a lightweight. The number of times you’ve had to half-carry half-drag him out of a club and stick your fingers down his throat in a dark alley is truly embarrassing for him.

“I am the best. You’re lucky I love you too, dork.” With his nostrils flaring from excitement, you can’t help but pinch his nose before turning to the guests and properly starting the party.

To be honest, you wouldn’t have been able to pull it off without the help of anyone else. His parents have come to town to visit him during the day, so off he went to show them around the food market, the park and his favourite vintage stores. Which gave you plenty of time to set up the house, prepare the refreshments, and buy the birthday cake. But keeping him from returning home was a feat that you had to enlist his parents’ aid in, and ever the obedient son, Taehyung of course did not argue when his folks disagreed with his suggestion to go back to the apartment. Then, it was a matter of taking him to dinner, deftly urging him to meet you there rather than going together from the flat so not to miss your reservation. The rounds of alcohol and your tiny bladder slyly masked the many bathroom runs you took in order to text Lotta to gather everyone to your place. And when everything was set, you headed back with the clueless Taehyung, giddy with a belly full of Michelin star food.

It was purely out of your headstrong resistance that you two didn’t stumble into the apartment making out, exposing your on-going debauchery to all your unaware friends. He had begun to feel you up on the way home, grabbing your ass one too many times for it to be merely playful. Honestly, it’s never easy rejecting his advances, not with your nymphomaniac track record anyway. But tonight was especially difficult, knowing what you have planned for him after the party…

From the corner of your eye you see Taehyung chattering away with friends from his class, and from the way he’s waving his hands around, you can tell it’s about the latest Christmas horror story of the two of you trying to stuff a turkey.

The memory of you yelling at each other to grab-this-grab-that warms your chest more than the white wine you’re sipping on. It’s always these stupid anecdotes that mean the most.

“Looks like he’s enjoying himself.”

Lotta’s voice startles you from your thoughts. Hands held behind her shyly, she smiles at the sight of the outburst of laughter from the guests at his story.

Aside from Taehyung, you would say she’s your best friend, having gone to the same highschool together and now the same university. You knew you would be close the moment she told you her star sign - there isn’t a more iconic duo than an Aries and a Leo. She puts up with a lot of your shit but also isn’t afraid to scream some sense into you whenever you pull something rogue, which you guess is very often.

“Yep. He should probably stop drinking though.” You say as you watch him tip the contents of his glass down his throat. “I swear to god if he throws up on the couch, I’ll chop his dick off.” Of course you wouldn’t, how could you ever bring yourself to hurt that godsent meatstick that fuck tears out of you? You both giggle nonetheless.

“You’re funny with him.” Lotta is wearing a smug expression that you distinctly dislike.

“What do you mean?”

“You act like he’s some annoying brother who you hate, but then you go and take him to this boujee-ass steakhouse, throw him a surprise party and splash out on his birthday gift. You beat him up when he uses your shampoo, kick him when he accidentally scrunches up your notes, and threaten to emasculate him if he spills alcohol on your favourite couch that you treat like your newborn child. But you secretly care so much about him that I know you’d give him your kidney if he needed one.”

You blink at her.

Not quite sure what to say.

“Well, yeah, of course I care about him. Like you said, he’s a brother to me.” Okay, but do you let someone who’s just a brother to you cum on your face? “You don’t live with him so you don’t know what a useless brat he is. He burns pasta, Lotta. Pasta. Seriously, he’s such a dipshit, but of course I care about him. What’s funny about that?” Lying straight through your teeth is a Y/N specialty. As long as you say it with enough confidence, you can sell any bullshit.

But maybe you’re sounding a little defensive.

Lotta is clever, it is why you’re friends. Where this observation of hers is headed, you’re unsure of. She could turn this into a lecture about your abrasive personality, or suspect that something else is going on between you and Taehyung other than sharing rent.

“Nothing, I just said it was funny. The way you are.” Her smile tells you that it’s probably the former of the two possibilities.

“What can I say, I’m a funny person.” Not entirely buying it though, you shrug and play along.

Another bout of laughter breaks out from Taehyung and his friends, catching both your attentions. He thrives in social situations like these, good at entertaining people with his odd humour. You watch the flash of his teeth, the crinkle of his amused eyes, tongue flicking out to wet his lips every other sentence.

“You know, he actually is really hot.” Now, that you didn’t expect at all. Your head whips to face your best friend, whose eyes fixes back on yours but not before you catch her checking him out.

“Um, what?”

“I’m just saying. You can’t deny that he’s gorgeous, charming too.” Brows raised, Lotta lifts both hands up in defense when she see the arrows your glare is shooting at her. “Definitely the best looking guy I’ve ever seen.”

“You’re drunk. Since when did you admit that Taehyung is ‘hot’?” In complete ridicule, you scoff at her. Though, her point is completely 100% valid and true.

“Do you see me with a drink? I’m sober tonight, got an early shift tomorrow.”

“Why are you suddenly saying this? Weren’t you the one who wouldn’t shut up when I went to Mykonos with him because you thought I was too blinded by his looks to even know if he’s a serial killer?” Never has Lotta expressed the slightest, most remote of interest in Taehyung, not once properly acknowledging his attractiveness.

“I’m just saying. It’s a shame that you can’t see him that way anymore after spending so much time together.” It’s her turn to shrug, again with the annoying cocky expression.

Yes, after spending so much time sleeping together, more like.

“Yeah, no. That’s gross. You won’t get it because you don’t have a guy best friend. But trust me, no way would I ever go there with him.” Go ahead and call you a pathological liar, you don’t care. You’d never hear the end of it if Lotta finds out you and your ‘guy best friend’ have been knocking boots for over half a year.

You catch Taehyung glancing over to you, eyes twinkling with amusement, signalling for you to come over and join his crowd. Telepathy is one of your secret talents nowadays, you just know each other so well that spoken words are not a necessity for communication.

Taehyung watches you manoeuvre past those chattering bodies from across the room, making your way towards him with Lotta trailing behind. He knows he is definitely drunk, so it might just be the alcohol getting to his head but something looks a little different about you tonight. By that, he doesn’t mean your curled hair, or that new red dress you’re wearing that introduces your cleavage to the entire world. You’re kind of… glowing. There is a permanent smile on your face, even while resting the corners of your lips are turned up. And when you’re in a good mood, you are so transparent about it that you basically radiate like a disco ball in the room.

His chest feels warm. Maybe it’s the wine.

“Fuck, she’s so fit.”

For a second, Taehyung is worried that he thought out loud, but then realised that the voice belonged to Seojoon. He turns to his friend to find him ogling at your figure.

He doesn’t know what to say. It’s weird if he agrees. But he also doesn’t trust his inebriated state to execute a flat out lie that convincingly.

“You don’t know how lucky you are to have Y/N as your roommate, man. If it were me, I would’ve tapped that on the first night.” Seojoon continues, taking a swig of his beer.

“As if you could.” Taehyung snorts, unable to help himself. “She’s out of your league, ass.”

“Fair point. I heard she is a freak in bed, too. Do you ever hear, like, sex noises?” A freak indeed.

“Sometimes…” It’s true, even now. Occasionally he will stumble home with a girl he picked up at the bar only to hear the bed creaking furiously or breathy moans sounding from your room. Walls are thin. Sometimes it turned him on, other times it pissed him off.

“Bet you wank to it, eh? Taehyungie?” Seojoon ruffles his hair just as you and Lotta come within earshot. Liquor-brazen, he is suddenly overcome with an urge to announce to the whole room: Y/N and I are fucking. Yeah, that’s right. She’s my fuck buddy, so you can stop trying to hit on her right now because I’m gonna be the one she’s riding tonight. Seojoon, fucking suck on that. I don’t need to wank to her sex noises when I’m the one coaxing them from her.

However, a small sober part of his conscience tells him that he really shouldn’t do that; if he does, he probably won’t get any riding tonight. So he clamps his mouth shut.

You arrive amidst them in that sinful dress that reduces Taehyung to a teenage boy, and you take your turn giving them brief hugs as formalities, your best friend beside you mirroring your action. When you reach Taehyung, he pulls you in roughly by the waist, wine sloshing in his hand. From his careless force and lazy grin, you can tell he is almost completely gone. Taehyung is a wine-killer, but wine is also a Taehyung-killer.

Highly conscious of the presence of all your mates while he clearly isn’t, you pretend to roll your eyes and pry his hand off the small of your back. It doesn’t budge. So, awkwardly, with your midriff locked in Taehyung’s arm, you lean over to hug his last friend Woosik who gives you a shy pat on your shoulder.

The conversation resumes, morphing into Lotta telling everyone the most embarrassing stories of you during high school - back when you had braces and had the biggest crush on the captain of the football team. You don’t even try to deny it, laughing along at your pathetic 14 year old self. Though, you’re only half paying attention, the other half is keenly aware of the way Taehyung’s thumb is rubbing gentle circles on your pelvic bone. When you peek up at him, you find him already staring at you with eyes you know too well.

The ‘I’m gonna eat you out until you squirt’ eyes.

Fuck.

Then you notice Lotta’s sharp eyes on Taehyung’s hand gripping your waist. The ‘hold up, what could be happening over here?’ eyes.

Double fuck.

Tipping your toes, you whisper into your roommate’s clueless ear. “Let go, people are watching.” You almost allow your lips to graze his skin because you know how much it turns him on, but you remember to behave. But this close, his warm familiar scent tingles your nose in a way that makes you want to hug him.

Taehyung pulls away to look at your face, clearly displeased, then regards everyone in the circle. When he notices Lotta’s focus on the two of you, he slowly withdraws his paw, but not without purposely brushing past your ass.

“Strawberry-flavoured lube?”

Taehyung audibly gasps in disbelief as he tears open his poorly wrapped present.

“Yeah, you like strawberries right?” Seojoon chuckles and claps his back so violently that he falls forwards. On the other side of him, you haul him back up onto the sofa.

Everyone is gathered around the pile of birthday gifts on the coffee table, but not before witnessing you scold Woosik for not leaving his drink on the kitchen island from which the couch is a safe distance to prevent any spillage. Lotta just laughed at your fixation.

So far, the array of presents Taehyung has received ranges from Amazon vouchers, to expensive whiskey, to a funky tie. Yours sit furthest away from him, which he practically leapt in excitement when he saw the size of, only to be forced to open it last because you insist it’s going to be the best one.

“You’re insufferable, Seojoon.” Taehyung rolls his eyes yet fails to suppress his grin. Oh, you’re definitely trying out the lube at some point.

After ripping into a couple more, he finally arrives at your present for him. It spans an entire arm’s length; you know every guest must be wondering to themselves what it could possibly be. Taehyung drops onto his knees before it and carefully peels away the tape this time, knowing it probably took you awhile to wrap it up this neatly. You watch his long cautious fingers reveal the gift you had spent weeks raking your head for.

“Stop…” His eyes light up at the polished cedar easel that he caresses over as gentle as he would your skin. But as he continues to unwrap the present, a box of oil paints, a wooden palette and a set of 16 expensive natural fibre brushes are unveiled. “Oh my god, there’s more?”

Ceasing in action, he looks up at you, jaw so slack you bet you can throw a pea into his mouth even with your bad aim. The surprise on his face, almost a replica of his expression when everyone jumped out at him and yelled ‘Happy Birthday’ an hour ago. Except this time there is something more tender about how his wide pupils bore into yours. It makes you squirm.

Then without warning, he dives onto you, crushing you in the most fatal of embraces; you swear something in your spine cracked as you fall back onto the cushions, suffocated. People let out a sound of amusement at your struggle, but with his warm breath fanning your neck, you don’t even hear them.

After allowing this sweet painful moment for a few seconds more, you shove Taehyung’s heavy body off you, harder than you need so he slumps onto Seojoon.

“You’re actually the best, I love you.” He squeals like a boy on Christmas day before examining the paintbrushes with the utmost careful touch, as if afraid he would bend the bristles the wrong way.

What is he so cute for?

You kind of really want to pat his head and kiss his cheek right now. But there’s an audience obstructing.

Looking up, you lock eyes with Lotta. She is smiling, endeared by the purity of his reaction as well. See, not even she is immune his stupid cuteness. How are you supposed to?

Taehyung’s heart is constricting as he strokes the fine wooden edge of the giant disassembled easel. Of course, you know him better than any of his other friends. He has recently expressed an interest in painting, though his love for art and sophistication has been harbouring for a while now. He has only ever made subtle comments about wanting to properly get into it but not having the proper equipment to and not knowing the best brand to purchase. Yet you had picked up on it nevertheless. Everything combined must have costed you a significant portion of your allowance. Even he would not have splashed out this much on himself.

He turns back to you again from where he kneels in front of the coffee table. You are observing him with a thing he wishes to be adoration, a glimmer in your smile that wears more beautiful than any dress on you. For a second, there’s a flutter in his stomach and it confuses him because it feels an awful lot like butterflies.

But then you kick his back with the heel of your foot to get him to stand and Taehyung remembers that you are best friends. He’s not supposed to be thinking like that.

After cutting the cake, with food being a major satisfaction factor of any party, everyone sort of just hovers, huddled in their little groups with their plate of dessert in one hand, while they resume their conversation. The music is turned up loud so they all have to half-yell; some don’t even bother talking as they dig in, you included.

Being a quiet eater that you are, you stand by the island counter, sipping your wine in between bites of that chocolate decadence. Taehyung approaches you with his already empty plate; you haven’t even made it through half your slice yet. Judging by the lethargy in his step and that icing-slathered grin he has worn the entire night, you can tell he was the one who finished the second bottle of wine you opened.

“Hey.” Your fingers do a weird little wave that is so completely uncharacteristic, but tipsy-Y/N is sort of that friendly and laid back.

“Hey, pretty.” His hand trails around the corner of the counter surface and traps you between it and his body as he comes up behind you. Immediately you stiffen, looking around to see if anyone, especially Lotta, is looking. But when you find everyone preoccupied either with each other or the cake, your shoulders relax.

“What’s up? You having a good time?” Twisting to face him, you edge back until the counter digs into your back. Taehyung’s face is a dangerous proximity to yours.

The anticipation for the night you have planned for him in your bedroom thrums in your core. Patience has never been one of your strengths, and right now it is testing your very limit. You could kick everyone out right now if you really wanted to. But you won’t. You’ll wait.

You wipe the chocolate off the corner of his mouth with a swipe, the gesture you can’t tell if motherly or romantic. And just because Taehyung is peering down at you so longingly, you flick your tongue out and suck the sweetness on your thumb.

His breath hitches.

“Uh- I…” For a second, all thought is scattered in his brain, and you almost laugh aloud at how susceptible he is to your attacks. “Yeah, of course. I’m having the best time.”

“Am I the best roommate ever or what?” You watch his eyes trained on your mouth. From his alcohol scent, you don’t trust him to have enough restraint not to kiss you right now so you turn your back to him and rest your elbows upon the island top, leaning over to finish your cake.

In your peripheral vision, you spy his hands crawling towards your sides to cinch around your waist, his front pressing into you as he holds you from behind. The warmth of his body seeps into your back, and you swear you can feel the beating of his chest against your shoulder blades. A tingle shoots straight down your spine when he plants a soft, brief kiss on the shell of your ear.

Good thing you turned around then, your intuition was right. Taehyung has never been able to suppress his overt affection after a few drinks, and certainly not after this many. And no matter how much you want to just turn around and pull him into your lips, you fight it.

“Babe...” He groans into your ear and though it was barely audible even to you, you quickly glance up to see if anyone has heard. Of course, no one heard, they are all stood far enough that even without the music, they’d have to strain their ears to hear his whisper. Paranoia is eating your head away.

“Don’t ‘babe’ me, Taehyung.” Your heart is racing, which is weird because you swear you used to be completely immune to his charms. “You’re being too obvious, babe.”

“You don’t ‘babe’ me. I can’t control myself when you call me that.” The warmth of his breath fans all over the back of your neck, sending a convulsion of shivers down your spine.

One of his hands stretches for your wine glass, but knowing him well enough to predict it, you draw it away from his reach. “Stop drinking, you’re literally about to pass out.”

“No, you’re about to pass out. On my-” hiccup, “dick.” You keep your eyes locked on the crowd, ready to shove Taehyung away if anyone looks your way. But still, you can’t help but lean back into him.

“That made no sense.” You chuckle, fingers brushing over the smooth thin skin of this hand.

“Just one sip.”

“Taehyung. Stop. Drinking.” You grab his hand that tries to make a run for the wine again.

“But, Y/N…” He whines and slumps onto you, knowing that whining has gotten him what he wanted before.

You turn around, grab his face and pull him towards you until your mouth is brushing his earlobe. “Be a good boy and stop drinking if you want the best birthday sex of your life after this party. You better not get whiskey dick because a have a lot planned for you.”

At that, Taehyung stops breathing, stops resisting. Against your shoulder, you feel his chest jump. “Oh. Um. Okay, yup, no more drinking. Got it, ma’am.”

He sighs, completely at your disposal, as your touch trails from the sensitive side of his neck down to his torso. “Good.” After looking around again to check that no one is looking, you press your alcohol-infused lips onto his hastily, savouring his softness for no longer than a few seconds before pulling away. God, is it difficult to pull away. You’re aching for him. “Go entertain the guests while you sober up.”

Satisfied grin from the kiss stretched across his face, he nods obediently and scampers over to his friends.

“Are you ready yet?” Taehyung calls, impatient and giddy, the music that you’ve put on playing softly in the background.

“Give me one more second.” You reply from the bathroom, doing up your last button and regarding yourself in the mirror. Hm, not bad. You’re pleased with how this turned out, if you do say so yourself. Taehyung is going to lose his mind.

Sheer black stockings stretched thin over your legs, you strut into his room where he is seated on a chair in nothing but his boxers, wrists shackled to the back. When his eyes land on you, a strangled noise emits from his throat.

“Holy. Fuck. Holy fuck. Holyfuckholyfuckholyfuck.” He chokes out.

The checkered material of your school skirt flies up at your every step teasingly, not high enough for him to peek your panties, but enough for your thighs to be flaunted.The clip of your stockings sit cool and beguiling on your quads. First two buttons of your white blouse undone, the matching red tartan tie hangs loosely around your neck between your exposed, pushed up cleavage. Your hair is tied into two school-girl braids, decorated in ribbons.

You’re Taehyung’s walking talking fantasy.

Innocent, chaste, ready for him to defile.

“Sir.” You address him, committing to your character, as you bow your head in courtesy.

Taehyung doesn’t appear capable of words, Adam’s apple wobbling in awe. So you continue your approach, making sure to regard him with large, demure eyes. As you sink down onto your knees between his widespread trembling legs, you notice a prominence already erecting in his boxers. You try not to smirk.

“What can I do for you, sir?” You put on your sweetest, most virgin of voices and bat your lashes once at him.

Chest rising quickly, Taehyung gulps as he realises that he’s most definitely going about to have the best sex of his life. “Um. Uh. Um.”

Smiling at his malfunctioning cognition, no thanks to you, you decide to help him out a little. “I’ve been sent to you for being a bad girl, sir.”

Do you find this slightly humiliating and degrading? Yes, you’re a woman of pride and a feminist. But does Taehyung’s birthday outweigh your morals? Yes, if only just for this night.

“What… What did you do, baby girl?” Voice dangerously deep, Taehyung watches you from his handcuffed posture, watches you twirl your braids in your fingers before they move sensual down your front, curving over your breasts and travelling to your core.

“It’s embarrassing to say but…” You look down in feign shame. “I touched myself.”

His whole frame tenses, arms straining to be freed from the cuffs so he can throw you onto the bed and fuck you mercilessly. His lips are parted, breath unsteady, cheeks still slightly stained from the alcohol but you made sure that he’s mostly sober by now. “Why did you touch yourself?”

“I was thinking about you, sir, and I just couldn’t help myself. Something started tickling down there and it felt so good to touch it.” Biting your lip, your fingers reach your clit over your skirt and start rubbing. The other hand traces swirls slowly up his thighs, higher and higher, until he’s buckling his hips.

“Wait, pause.” He says, your touch ceasing at his command. “Fuck, Y/N, I’m not going to last if you do this to me. I might even cum my pants.”

Usual smugness returning as you smirk up at him, your teeth digs deeper into your lower lip, refusing to break character. “Well, it’s a good thing we have all night then, sir. A water hose doesn’t just fire once does it?”

“Fuck.” Shutting his eyes, his head falls back to reveal his gulping jugular. Already so malleable? Yeah, he’s definitely not going to last. The first round. “Okay, okay. Resume.”

Your fingers reach the hem of his boxers, skimming through his tan, lustrous inner thighs. He jerks, his hard member jabbing out the soft cotton, begging to be freed. “So I was wondering if there is any way I could get out of this punishment, sir. My parents can’t find out that I’ve been a bad girl. I’ll do anything you want me to do, sir.”

“I see, Miss Y/L/N… How about, you warm up my lap for me first? I’m feeling slightly cold.” He wets his lips and bounces on his toes, his hard length jolting along with his legs.

“Oh, of course, sir.” When you stand up, you make sure to do it slowly, curving your body towards him to give him a good look at your breasts. He doesn’t miss the chance to devour them with his eyes.

Your hips begin to sway in the rhythm of the slow sensual music while you turn until your back faces him. You feel his glare immediate follow your ass, skirt sloshing side to side to reveal your plush cheeks. But rather than falling onto his lap as he wants, you stride over his leg, hand trailing across his chest as you begin to walk around him.

Massaging up his bicep, your hand arrives at his collar as you lick a thin strip up his neck. Taehyung shudders, struggling against his handcuffs again, cursing. “I can do anything you want me to, sir.” He shivers as you whisper into his ear, teeth grazing his skin. Your own heart is racing from excitement. Maybe you should do this more often. It’s selfish of you to do so since it’s meant to be his birthday sex after all, but you enjoy having him helt under you, seconds away from whimpering, gone be his natural preference for dominance.

As you walk around him, his head turns with you, not wishing for his sight to miss a second of this private show. Patience isn’t something he’s born with, he is a man who’s used to ceasing everything he wants. You know what must be going through his head right now, the anticipation, the hunger. So finally, when you’ve done a full circle around, hands not once missing the opportunity to feather his chest, you decide to ease him a little.

Deliberately unrushed, you sit inch by inch down onto his lap until his dick is burrowed between your warm cheeks underneath your skirt.

“Baby…” Taehyung immediately sits up, mouth arriving at the back of your neck, exhaling his hot fervour. The feeling of his skin pressed on the strip of yours between your skirt and cropped blouse has you craving for him to pound into you right now. Nothing can describe the flash of desire you get when you feel the touch of his naked body.

Then you begin to roll your hips, drawing loops of infinity with your ass to the beat of the song. The groan you elicit makes your cunt pulse. Taehyung’s stiff length jerks between your wiggling ass. His head falls onto your shoulder in a huff, metallic sound of his chains ringing as his arms clench.

“Sir, is that warm enough?” Your hips are merciless, rock back and forth, providing him with the friction he so craves. Hell, maybe you should start doing this for a living.

“Y… Yeah.” There is defeat in his voice, a croak that tells you that you’re the only woman to ever put him in his place like this. The only he’d ever submit to.

Slowly, you peel yourself off his lap, delighting in the small stained spot on his boxers, evidence of his drooling dick. You sink onto your knees before him again, fingers crawling playfully up his thighs. “You seem a little stiff, sir. Do you want me to ease some tension in your muscles for you?”

“Please be a dear.” The fervour in his eyes as he gazes down at you is pure, undiluted. It stirs something beastly inside you.

You’ve sucked Taehyung off a hundred times before, but something about the fact that he’s handcuffed to a chair on his birthday, almost cumming his pants, makes you especially eager this time.

A string of precum greets you as you take his lividly throbbing cock out of its restraints. You spare it a few pumps before you enclose the warm wet cave of your mouth around it. It’s perhaps evil of you, but you cut to the chase and go straight to deep-throating. He lets out a yelp of surprise when his tip slides smoothly through and hits the back of your throat. He’s going to cum soon, might as well give him your all, right?

Your mouth has gotten used to resisting the gag reflexes by now, engulfing him like a strawberry ice lolly during the summer heat. The occasional scrape of your teeth, just the way he loves, has him shiver beneath you. If he likes it rough, he should be able to take it rough. And when your tongue begins its inexorable attack at the pinch of skin where his tip ties to his shaft, Taehyung lets out a throaty cry. Not even a moan, a cry.

“Fuck, I’m losing my mind. Y/N, oh my god, keep going.” Through your curled lashes, you gaze up at him. His brows furrowed, guzzling up his favourite view in the world, maybe second to you riding him. Jaw unscrewed, he heaves at your large feign-innocent eyes, wrists dying to be freed so he could fuck your mouth.

Two throbs at the base of his cock, and he’s cumming right down your throat. It’s a larger load that either of you’d expected, telling of his obscene concupiscence. There’s so much cum that you can’t swallow, so you have no choice but to let it flow down his cock. With you still staring at him, he watches his white hot fluid dribble out your mouth and onto him, his features screwed tight in pleasure.

“Lick it off, baby.” Taehyung rasps, half his mind completely gone, dilapidated.

You hum as you spread his liquid around his tip and along his shaft, lips now glossy, before you slowly lap it all up. You know he is particularly sensitive after cumming, so you wallow in teasing his head a bit more, watching him writhe on his seat, whining your name. “Sir, how was that?”

Taehyung’s head is tossed back, eyes shut to recover from that post-orgasm intensity. He doesn’t speak at first, still trying to piece back together his mind. “I… That was… You deserve a worse punishment for doing that to me.”

Your core twists in excitement.

Briskly, you fish out the key to his handcuffs and unlock him, thrumming from the molten fury in his eyes. “What did I do wrong, sir?”

As soon as his wrists are free from their shackles, Taehyung stands and throws you over his shoulders. Smack. He hits your ass, your skirt doing little to soften the blow. You never knew yourself to be a masochist until it comes to Taehyung; his are the only hands you’d allow to spank you.

Then he tosses you onto the bed, your skirt flying up to reveal your peachy ass as you land on your front. “You just love it when I’m under your control, don’t you? Even this innocent school-girl roleplay is just a disguise to get me to beg for you, isn’t it?”

Twisting your head back, a smirk plays at your lips as you regard his frustrated yet immensely pleased expression. His fingers glide up your silky stockings enticingly, sending shivers coursing up your legs. “Sir, I have no idea what you mean.”

“Look at your fucking ass in this skirt, holy fuck.” He begins to knead the supple flesh of your behind, pushing up the skirt until it sit on your lower back.

Another smack.

He’s such an ass man through and through.

“Do you like my uniform, sir?” You moan between his smacks. Nothing really is compelling you to continue with this roleplay, but something tells you that Taehyung is bursting from it.

“I fucking love it, baby girl.” Smack. You can practically hear him grinning in satisfaction. His palm massages the redness he inflicted like smearing paint, touch growing closer and closer to your core.

Then with one push at your inner thighs, he spreads your legs wide open.

“Fucking hell. Crotchless? You’re really spoiling me tonight.” Like a little boy on Christmas Day, he marvels at your glistening slit, gaping at him in anticipation. Another small surprise for him.

“Of course- ahh!” You break into a moan when he runs two fingers down your folds, all the way to your bulging clit. “For the birthday boy.”

“Okay, now you definitely deserve the best head.” He lies on his front and grips onto your thighs to pull himself up to face level with your cunt.

You won’t tell him to prevent further ego inflation but every head he gives is the best head.

“Wait, Taehyung, it’s your birthday. Just let me-” You squirm in his clutch, trying to flip around, but he holds you still.

“Exactly. My birthday. I get to eat you out if I want to. It’s what my baby girl deserves.” For some reason, you blush. Who are you to resist head, especially from Taehyung?

Heat of his breath tickling your entrance, you plant your face onto the pillow and clamp down on your lip, preparing for that mind-twisting sensation that has a way of robbing you of sanity. His mouth finds your thighs first, kissing, sucking, blooming roses of his affection. You let him mark you - you are completely his tonight. Then his breath arrives at the sensitive crevice where your folds begin, a slow seduction towards your tingling bud. When he finally latches onto your clit, your eyes roll to the back of your empty head, a whimper ensuing.

His tongue is a predatory serpent, ceaselessly rolling your bud in his mouth. He’s rough, generous with the waves of pleasure he sends. You wish you aren’t lying on your front right now, just so you can look down at his concentrated face and pull on his wavy mop of hair.

With every flick of his tongue, you swim closer to your orgasm. His fingers are digging to your thighs, his breath quickening with his face buried in you. When he adds his long slender digits, you know your demise is round the corner.

“Fuck, daddy.” You yell into the pillow, that name coming so naturally to you that it requires zero brain processing to leave you.

Taehyung hums in response, those baritone vibrations shaking into your core until your leg involuntarily kicks back. Gripping onto the sheets, a string of profanities expel from you as that euphoric current comes crashing onto you, drowning your surroundings so that all you feel is his face, his tongue, his teeth, still mercilessly going despite your state.

“Fuck!” A tear slips from the violent stimulation at your clit continuing past your orgasm. You guess it’s payback.

Not one minute later, a second climax hits you, this time stronger than the last as it rides on the residual pleasure. The orgasm disperses into tension down your thighs, dying for more friction to relieve your cunt of the blissful ache. Warm tears stain the pillowcase your face is buried in, your cries muffled.

His pace gradually decelerates into soft kisses on your flower, fingers withdrawing to massage your folds. You are motionless, completely depleted after the dopaminergic release. Delicately, his lips travel up to your ass, where he sucks more colours as he awaits your recovery.

“How was that, baby girl?” Taehyung slowly turns you over onto your back, a lazy grin on his glistening mouth, your wetness slathered all over his nose. It views in your eyes as a display of your possession. You don’t miss the triumph in his gaze; you wonder if he likes making you cum more than cumming himself.

“Your mouth is fucking incredible.” You bask in the post-orgasm high, pulling him atop you, hand locking in his curls. You taste yourself as you kiss him, slowly and lethargically, your energy ebbing back to you.

“Yeah?” He smiles against your lips. “You know what’s incredible? You in this fucking uniform.” Pulling away, he scans your body top to bottom. And as you follow his gaze, you notice his hardened cock, once again ready for another round. You surprise yourself with how ready you are to take him, exhaustion not yet settled in from his overstimulation.

“You like it that much?” You press your lips together, and as used to Taehyung’s constant flattery as you should be, you still feel proud.

Taehyung nestles his face onto your neck. “If we went to high school together, I would 100% have been your bitch. Not a single doubt. Whipped.”

Your heart squeezes. Whipped.

You kiss his hair, resisting the urge to make a comment about what he said. “Haha. I would not have noticed you, I was obsessed with the captain of the football team.”

Taehyung lifts his head up, frowning at you with a playful annoyance. “Are you sure you want to mention another man in front of me right now?” For emphasis of his possessive mood, he grinds his member into your thigh. You can’t help but push back to feel him digging into you. Possessive Taehyung toys with your strings.

“Yeah, what are you going to do about it?” You taunt further, pulling on his locks. Taehyung’s competitiveness is an easy target for manipulation; everytime he starts to go soft and sappy on you, all you have to do is tug on his jealousy and the bull will come charging back full force.

Surely enough, he growls into your ear. “Don’t forget who you’re speaking to, miss. You wouldn’t want your parents knowing the naughty things you’ve been up to, would you?” So he does love the roleplay. His tone slightly sarcastic, but also not really. But before you can hiss a witty response, he silences you with his teeth on your neck. As he sucks on your tender skin, your nails rake across his back in pleasure. He’s growing bolder with his territory.

“More hickeys?” You purr, not exactly in the complaining tone you’d wished it would come out in.

“Yeah, what are you going to do about it?” He mocks, leaving a wet purple trail across your throat.

You allow it for the sole reason that it’s his birthday. Otherwise, you’d be kicking off.

You’ve never liked the idea of hickeys, the notion that someone feels entitled to mark your skin as theirs. You don’t belong to anyone. This is your own skin, and no one else’s. Yet - right now, as Taehyung nips at your neck, hand yanking on your uniform’s tie to pull you closer to him, you feel like you do belong…

You don’t finish that thought.

Reaching down, you begin stroking his patiently awaiting cock. “You’re brave for someone who’s dick is in my hands.”

Taehyung breaks away from your neck and reviews his work of art. The wolfish grin an indication of his pride. “You’re going to kill me tomorrow.” He says without the fear that should come with such statement.

Yes, you’re definitely going to.

“Then fuck me until I forgive you.” You challenge, unbuttoning the first button of your shirt while your stroking quickens.

He doesn’t need to be told twice. Fingers scrambling to undo the rest of your shirt, his mouth finds yours again, sucking on your bottom lip until it’s sure to swell later. Your bra falls loose with a dexterous flick, a gesture he can do in his sleep. Yet, he makes no move to remove your checkered tie at all.

When you try to loosen it yourself, he grabs your hand and pins it against the pillow. “That stays on tonight, along with the skirt and the stockings.” Voice laced with carnality, there’s a feral glint in his glare.

“Yes, sir.” Smile unstifled, you fall back into obedience.

Taehyung dares to plant more bitemarks down your chest before taking your nipple in his mouth, tormenting the sensitive bud relentlessly. Patience wearing thin, you line his tip with your slit, dallying it around to coat it with your dampness.

“Wait, grab a condom.” He mutters.

“Don’t need one.”

He looks up, confused. “What? Why?”

“I started taking the pill. Surprise.”

The look of pure shock and delight that usurps his face, for the third? fourth? time tonight, sows a seed of joy in your core.

“Wait, seriously?” You swear you feel his cock twitch happily in your hand. That stupid boxy grin that makes him look like a kid again… You want to kiss him dizzy.

“Yes, seriously.” You would never admit that you started taking contraception solely for Taehyung, because that would be weird, you absolutely did not do it for Taehyung. You’d always wanted to start contraception anyway. This was your own decision, influenced by no one else.

Certainly. No one else. Of course.

“Holy fucking shit. Y/N, you’re amazing.” Taehyung cannot contain his glee despite its juxtaposition with his pulsating cock about to enter you any moment now. “All this for me?” He asks, still in disbelief, as if the answer isn’t already written in big bold black letters.

“For the birthday boy, and the birthday boy only.” Your nose grazes his. These are the very words you’d be embarrassed to be caught saying to any guy, yet you’re currently too fuelled by the desire to please him to berate yourself.

Without another second gone to waste, Taehyung pushes his girthy member into your heat. Though it glides in with ease, your walls are stretched so wide that your inside stir, a sore pressure squeezing around him with each thrust. You always seem to forget how well he fits into you, and so each time comes as an eye-rolling surprise - the way he fills you so completely and entirely with his hefty cock.

“Oh fuck, you feel so-” He doesn’t manage to finish his sentence, too caught up in the raw unobstructed sensation of your slick walls.

Lifting your leg over his shoulder, the cavernous angle allows him to jolt deeper into you, his tip violently punching through you. While one hand remains on your ankle, the other twists your tie around his wrist and pulls as if it were a leash. “Sir…” You choke out at the constriction around your throat.

“Are you going to bad girl again?” He grunts, sweat beading on his forehead while he continues to ram his hips.

“No, sir. I won’t touch myself again,” you moan under him, “unless you are watching.”

“Fuck, Y/N.” One eye shut, Taehyung sticks his thumb into your mouth to suckle on. Your tongue swirls around his finger, biting down every time you need to shriek in pleasure.

After a while, he flips your bodies over so that you are riding him, watching, mesmerised, as your breasts bounce freely each time you spring on his dick. Your body falls back at the rippling coil inside you, hands braced on the mattress to keep you upright.

Taehyung could watch you ride him for the rest of his life. Hell, if he has a heart attack and dies this very moment, he would die the happiest man.

Sometimes, while you’re fucking, Taehyung gets a sudden rush of jealousy. Jealous that he wasn’t the one to ruin your innocence. Jealous that someone else other than him got to, or still gets to, fuck you like this.

He pulls on your tie so that you fall over him, lips colliding to remind himself that he’s the one fucking you right now, the rest shouldn’t matter. The way you moan into him reassures that no one has ever, or can ever, fuck you the way he does.

Then a messy whimper leaves you like a symphony, and for the third time tonight, you come undone, unravelled.

“Fu-u-u-uckkk.” You cry, arms looping around Taehyung’s neck, holding on as if he’s your lifeline because you yourself are unsure how much of this you can take before you drown.

“Baby, you’re so good, cumming for me again.” He sings, knowing that words like these thrums something in your core. You lap up his praise, smiling against his teeth despite yourself. It’s honestly a miracle how your usual brusque controlling self is suddenly transformed into his docile little girl, especially after a round of orgasms. “I’m going to cum again too.”

“Daddy, fuck, please. Cum inside me.” You pant, hips bouncing as fast as your aching muscles allow. Truth be told, no one has ever finished inside you before. And you are dying to find out how it feels.

Taehyung seems to know this. He grabs onto your waist, holding you in place, and plunges unforgivingly into you, penetrating your walls so ardently that you are shoved near the brink of yet another orgasm.

A grumble rippling through the room, finally, you feel a hot jet shoot into you, squirt after squirt of his thick cum filling you up. He frowns, a hoarse cry from the immense pleasure arriving at his cock, taking over him. Fucking hell, this is hot.

And kind of really intimate.

However, you notice that his pace has yet to slacken.

“I’m not done with you yet.” His eyes open to reveal pupils glowing with vehemence. Your clit throbs.

Still inside you, he turns you over so that you are both on your sides spooning, one of your legs hoisted up by his rough grip. The slap of your skin rings crisp and clear as he continues to fuck you. You lean back into him, ignoring the sticky coat of sweat coalescing your skins. His cum lubricates each thrust as you feel some spill out of you. His fingers start to stimulate your clit to help you reach your ultimate climax, viciously rubbing your sensitive swollen bud so much that you begin to see stars.

For him to keep fucking you even after cumming despite his tremendous sensitivity… Taehyung is going wild tonight.

“Are you going to cum one last time for me, baby girl?” He pants heavily in your ear.

“Yes, daddy.” Your own cunt is leaking profusely its tears of joy; you don’t think you’ve ever been this wet before.

In a few more thrusts, Taehyung is cumming inside you again, this time naturally less than the last, yet from his loud coarse groan, you deduce is much more intense. He pounds slowly yet robustly, milking every last drop into you. Due to the sheer oversensitivity, he has no choice but to pull out of you immediately after, leaving a spurt of his cum surging out of you.

“Oh my god.” He moans into your neck, both your heads spinning from the vigour of your intercourse.

But he knows you’re still a minute away from your orgasm. And never one to disappoint, he quickly sits up and spreads your legs open.

“Holy fuck.” Taehyung freezes at the sight of his cum slowly trickling out of you. To him, it’s a sign of possession, ownership. Apart from his ex, he has never fucked without protection, certainly not those random one night stands. To him, it’s a sign of intimacy.

Catching his white liquid in two fingers, he inserts it into your already gaping mouth, smearing it all over your tongue. In your cute little braids, you swallow it willingly, and Taehyung swears that he could fuck you again right then and there.

“You like that?” He asks, sticky fingers entering your core, feeling how clenched you are due to the pent up pressure.

“Mhmm.” You nod, hips lifting off the bed so that he can reach deeper. His thumb massages your clit, long digits moving in a come hither motion, stretching your walls in cusps that his cock did not have the ductility to reach. “Ahh, shit.”

Determination worn on his face despite his tiring limbs, Taehyung fucks you with his finger as you thrash beneath him. Your clit is already exploding with sensitivity from the previous rounds, and on top of that, with his thick knuckles push into you again and again, you are clawing at him while your whole body convulses.

The coil within your finally snaps. The ecstatic sensation exploding within you, flooding your every fibre until tears spring out your eyes. A clear liquid shoots out of you to both your surprises, and sprays its droplets towards Taehyung. His eyes widen, marvelling at your beauty as you cum not only on his fingers but all over him.

“Jesus Christ!” Chuffed with himself evidently, he leans in to kiss you, deep and desperate, while his fingers slow their steady thrusts to let you ride out the remainder of your high. His mouth is warm, a familiar taste as you regain your sense of self and surrounding that you tend to lose during sex.

As your brain begins to function again, the first thought you register is how much you don’t want to stop kissing Taehyung, how much you don’t want to let go of him.

“Taehyung…” You whine, bottom lip in the possession of his teeth.

“Feeling good?” He lets go of his bite, but lips remain dearly magnetised to yours. Dragging out his fingers, the wet noises of your clenched walls ring. Taehyung sucks on his dripping digits as you push his sweat-dampened fringe out of his face to survey his eyes. Full of yearning. And the way he is sucking… appears almost as a last display of submission after completely ruining you. A last shred of I’m yours.

“So.” You peck him. “Fucking.” Another. “Good.” Peck. Your bodies naked, your skirt creased and skin claggy, you refuse to release each other from your embrace. “But Taehyung…”

“What it is, my baby?” From on top of you, he is looking down at you as if you’re some delicate little buttercup in a barren field, a ray of joy radiating from his smile.

You tense. My baby.

You two might be kind of screwed...

But you’ll think about that another time. Right now, you just want to be held and kissed and looked after.

“It’s not fair. This was meant for you, but you made it about me.” You don’t know what’s taken over you but you pout at him, the same way he would do to you when he wanted something. But why, of course, it’s just like Taehyung to make you come four times despite it being his birthday sex. You don’t even know what to expect for your own birthday.

His own hair dishevelled, he tucks your loose braids behind your ears, a gesture of affection. “Nothing gets me off more than making you feel good. This was about me. This was everything I wanted. Best sex I’ve ever had. But in what world would my best sex not include making you squirt?”

Your don’t know why but you feel incredibly vulnerable right now, your hard edges softening. It’s the after-sex glow that you’re seeing everything in. You feel warm, bubbly, tender.

And now your chest feels weird, like something itching to rupture out of your ribcage. You want it to stop, yet also don’t.

“Taehyung…” You whine his name again. “No fair… You can’t be like this.” Your brain offers no explanation as to why you’ve adopted his usual saccharine manner, other than the fact that he has fucked you completely senseless.

“Like what?” He asks, egging the rare words of sweetness out of you.

“Like… You know… So giving and nice and perf…” Your voice trails off when you notice his excited smirk. God, what the fuck are you saying? You flush in embarrassment.

“Perf…? His smug grin only grows at your shyness.

“Stop. You know what I mean.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Stop teasing me.” Taehyung chuckles at your frustration, taking the chance to kiss the tip of your nose before you try to squirm out of his arms like a cat.

“No, go on. You need to be better with your words. Tell me how you feel.”

Your entire face is heated.

“I… You’re just… You treat me so well. How am I supposed to sleep with anyone else anymore?” You immediately wish you didn’t say it out loud. Because your phrasing implies that you want monogamy, commitment. It’s not what you meant at all, you don’t think. You just meant… You don’t know what you just meant.

You search his eyes frantically, in fear that he’s thinking the same, only to find them calm, content. “I mean, I guess I’m pretty fucking awesome. Thanks.”

Rolling your eyes, you’re grateful for his childish humour obstructing any serious consideration of your words.

“Don’t make me take it back, moron.” You scoff, pinching his round cheek between your knuckles.

“Too bad, it’s my birthday, everything I say is the law.” Still hovering over you, he presses gentle kisses all over your face, delighting in the way you pretend to hate it even though you can’t suppress the smile. When he stops, his face is sincere, the playfulness gone. “Y/N.”

“What?”

“Thank you so much, honestly, from the bottom of my heart. This was… the best birthday I’ve ever had. Not just the sex, but the whole time with you, the dinner, the party, everything.” Your heartbeat quickens, unable to hold his gaze so you focus on the curve of his collarbone instead. “Even better than the pirate-themed birthday party my parents threw me when I turned eight.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Honoured. It was my pleasure.”

“Seriously, I lov-”

Taehyung catches himself before he could finish that sentence. Those unspoken words hang over your heads like a puppet.

Because for some reason, although you’ve said ‘I love you’ to each other a plethora of times in the past, this time feels like a different connotation is implicated. The line between platonic love and romantic love feels blurred. And neither of you know which love is meant.

Taehyung is a sentimental guy, you tell yourself. Of course he means he loves you as his best friend. And that’s surely what you mean too when your eyes are pleading him to keep kissing you.

There’s a moment of silence, for you both to gather your scattered thoughts, staring at each other, unsure what to say.

You clear your throat, dispelling the tension in the air.

“Lets go clean up.”

“Yeah.” Taehyung rolls off you, avoiding your eye as much as you are avoiding his.

The clean up is wordless, both pretending to be too preoccupied to spare the unspoken words any thought.

Except they’re all that’s playing at your mind.

Taehyung didn’t mean it like that. Taehyung doesn’t love you like that. You’re just overthinking. And he’s overthinking about you overthinking. You two are fine, you’re normal.

Examining the purple clouds he had imprinted on you, a stream down your neck, a cluster around your breasts, then the large ones between your thighs, you’re surprised to find not one drip of annoyance. A scary thought dawns on you. What if you like them? What if you like being marked by Taehyung?

What the fuck is happening?

You wait for him to crack a joke to ease up the awkwardness, glancing up at him in the mirror as you dry your hands on the towel by the sink. He doesn’t. Instead, he’s perched on the edge of the bath tube. Zoned out.

Have you finally taken it too far? Finally overstepped that hazy nebulous line that you perhaps should have set more clear?

“Hey, Taehyung.” His head snaps up at you, eyes large with uncertainty. “You okay?”

You want to reach out to touch him, brush his cheek, kiss his forehead. But you hold back. Not wanting to fuel the fire of confusion. But then he tugs you towards him by the hem of your skirt, corner of his lips turning up, imbuing you with a gust of relief.

“Just thinking.” His fingers crawl up your legs, holding onto your hips like his hands belong to nowhere else. “Come here.”

Chest pounding, you walk towards him, let him sit you down on his lap. Though you wish not to look at him with his face so close to yours, your eyes cannot pull away from his striking beauty. They say the eyes are the windows to the soul, but Taehyung’s feel more like the front door to your home. When you look into them, no matter how you’re feeling, whether you’d been fighting or kissing, you just feel embraced in a cloud of clarity, security.

You don’t want to think about the complication between you two at the moment. You just want to be looking at him, touching him, holding him.

You watch him glance at your lips, hesitancy playing at his mind. You know he’s thinking the same.

“We’re okay, right?” Throat tight, you ask, rather pointlessly.

“Of course. We’re great, same old us.” His arm around your waist feels warm and safe, and when your mirror his growing smile, you almost believe him.

But when your lips gently press against his, you know it’s a lie.

You’re not the same old you.

Taehyung feels different. Skin smoother, tastes sweeter, mouth softer. The roughness of his usual kisses is gone, replaced by an inexplicable tenderness that makes you feel things in your gut. You swat those feelings away.

Something is changing. And as much as you don’t want to acknowledge it, you don’t think you can ignore its booming presence.

You don’t dare make a sound as he carries you back to his room. You don’t protest when he throws one of his t-shirts over your head. Nor when he holds you into his chest, lips tracing your forehead with a soft sleepy smile.

Noting that you’re being uncharacteristically quiet, he pokes the nub of your nose. “Who stole your tongue?”

Act normal. Just be your loud annoying self.

“Uh… You.” You murmur, unable to meet his eye even with strenuous effort

Well, fuck.

“Okay, let me give it back to you.” Before you can protest, he is kissing you again. And you want to push him away because you feel your heart lurching to your throat, and you don’t think it is healthy. But your feeble hand that was meant to shove him off lands weakly on his pec, and somehow with a mind of its own, snakes up to his neck and pulls him in. His tongue unfurls onto yours, gently sweeping away any logic.

When his lips finally leave yours, you’re out of breath.

You don’t know what’s happened to you. Since when did you react like this to Taehyung?

Forcing your usual smirk, you try to wear a convincing facade that you feel nothing out of the ordinary. “I’m expecting great things for my birthday, though to be honest this is going to be hard to beat.” The underlying dishonesty tastes sour. You’ve never had to put on a front with Taehyung, and doing so now feels… alien.

“I’ll start planning it tomorrow, don’t you worry, your highness.” Taehyung pretends to roll his eyes at your demand, though the circles he’s rubbing down your back is telling of his genuinity. He isn’t an classically romantic guy, not one for flowers and chocolate, but more a sentimental gift that leaves a deep meaning. You know you’ll love whatever he plans. It worries you that you’ll perhaps love it too much. “But seriously, thank you for everything. The easel? How much did that cost you? I’ve looked at that brand before and there’s no way it was cheap.”

“It doesn’t matter how much it costed.” Warmth is creeping up on your cheeks again. You try to excuse it as Taehyung’s radiant body heat. “Let’s just say I had to resort to prostitution to pay for it, okay?”

Bodies shuddering in laughter, some tension in the air is thankfully alleviated by your humour, filling you with hope that things should and will return to normal in no time. You just need to stop overthinking.

“Hey, can you sleep here tonight?”

You freeze at his request. Because despite your constant fucking around with each other, one clear boundary has been that you don’t physically sleep with each other after sex. If you do sleep over, it is always just a completely platonic gesture. No kissing or fondling. Something about falling asleep in each other’s naked bodies is too mushy and couple-like. The type of thing that make you puke.

“Why?” You frown defiantly at him. “It’s not even your birthday anymore, it’s past midnight. So technically, I don’t have to treat you like royalty anymore.”

“Why not?” Taehyung rebuts, that cocky expression making you want to nipple-cripple him. This difficult son of a bitch, does he not know that the line is going hazy between you two?

“It’s weird, we just had sex.”

“So? What do you have against sleeping together after sex? Scared that you’ll fall in love with me?”

Your chest sinks to your stomach. You swear to god, Kim Taehyung is going to be the fucking death of you, stupid shit. How could he even say something like that so casually?

“In your fucking dreams, prick. If anything, you’d be the one to fall in love with me first, I just made you cum three times.” Taehyung chuckles at the flash of fury in your eyes, amused by how easy it is to strike a nerve in you.

“Do you want me to fall in love with you?” Though his tone is playful, and the wiggle of his brows suggests his mockery, you don’t know if he is completely joking anymore. And suddenly, everywhere that you’re touching - your entangled legs, his hands on the small of your back, your chests pressed on each other - everywhere starts to burn.

“Shut up, I’ll fucking sleep here, okay?”

And so this night, for the first time in the seven months you’ve been on-and-off fornicating alongside your unwavering friendship, you rest in Taehyung’s bed, your frame tucked snugly in his, his arm reposed on your waist. And despite your fatigue, it takes too long for sleep to find you as you watch his shoulders rise and fall in the dark, lips slightly parted, beckoning you to kiss them.

26/12/19

@taexxxiiaa @shookpreme @taetaeobsessed @tangledsparkles @nonexistentfucks @evilkookie @nbiased95 @taehyungmakesmeoof @itscalledgayhoney @tahaing @deliciouslydisturbed365 @expensive-bangtan-girl @jwlmnbt @herakimkim @dnyad @kaepjjang365 @expensive-bangtan-girl@gingerpeachtae @spring2787 @askingtheimportantthingshere @casualminiaturetimemachine @xblackclover13x @vasysauce @deadinsidebitch2412 @emiyooa @i-dont-even-know-fck @chimycthulhu @gixanjos @hisunshiine @xtaeyi @softjellyjimin @bluemooncnblue @malfeitofeitto @bangtanfancamp @keopitae @out-of-jams

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tuiccim · 4 years

Text

Santi (Part 2)

Pairing: Bucky X Reader

Words: 4430

Warnings: Fluff, flirt,

Summary: The team leaves for a mission leaving you and Bucky alone at the tower.

Santi Masterlist

After bidding the team goodbye the next morning you and Bucky head to the kitchen for breakfast.

"How was your first night in the new place?"

"Good. Slept okay. How'd you sleep?"

"I have a hard time getting to sleep any given day but once I did last night I was good."

In the kitchen you pull out a frozen breakfast burrito to heat and grab an apple and peanut butter. Bucky fixes a huge bowl of cereal.

"Why aren't you on the mission?" Bucky asks.

"You want the official answer or the truth?" You ask.

"The truth, always."

"Steve didn't want you to be alone so he asked me to stay."

"You were okay with that?"

"Well, you know, my 'particular skills are not needed for this mission'" You say imitating Steve.

"You don't mind being my babysitter?"

"Well, first, I'm not your babysitter. You're a big boy and can wipe your butt all by yourself. Second, I don't mind having some time to take it easy. It's usually hard to come by. And, lastly, the rest of the team has worked with you before. I like that it gives me the chance to get to know you. Not the file or news reports or rumors, but you as a person." Bucky seems taken aback by your answer. "You said you wanted the truth, always." You smile and Bucky seems to relax a bit.

"Thanks." He pauses for a minute but then smirks, "Wipe my own butt? You always had that mouth on ya?"

"All my life." You smile at him.

"Apple and peanut butter?" Bucky asks as he watches you eat.

"It's delicious!" You pick up a fresh slice, scoop some peanut butter onto it. Leaning over the table you hold it up for Bucky to take a bite. "Try it." He eyes you as he bites into the slice you are holding out to him.

"Okay. Weird but good "

You giggle at his expression and pop the other half into your mouth.

"Are you always happy like this? You always seem to be on the verge of laughing." He asks suddenly.

"No. But, I don't know, I guess I've had the privilege of living my life unlike you and Steve. It's given me the time to work through things, figure out what makes me happy. I guess I've just lived long enough to learn contentment. And I think that's the basis of happiness."

"Lived long enough? You're what? 25? 30?"

Your face falls. "You haven't read my file."

"No."

"Have you read any of them?"

"No. It feels... invasive. Like I'm prying."

"It's not. It's just basics. Nothing overly personal. Abilities. Skills. Things you need to know in the field." You say emphatically. "For example, let's say we're on a mission. I get shot. Femoral artery hit. Bleeding out. What do you do?"

"Apply a tourniquet. Determine if I can complete the mission without you dying."

"Wrong. You just wasted time and possibly cost us the mission. You do nothing. I don't need medical attention." You take a deep breath, "I'm a Gifted. I have healing abilities. My body will force out the bullet and the wound will be repaired within 90 seconds. Blood supply restored in minutes. You and Steve heal fast but I put your abilities to shame there."

"Do you have any other abilities?"

"Additional strength, not your level but decent. Increased metabolism. Slow aging." You pause and look directly into his eyes, "And empathic telepathy."

"Like Wanda?"

"Wanda's a little different. She's more telepathic in the sense of reading minds and forcing waking dreams. My ability allows me, if I choose to, read people's emotions. And I can imbue people with emotions."

"Force them to feel things?"

"Ye...yes." You say hesitantly and then look him directly in the eyes, "Look, I have read your file and I know you've had your mind messed with enough. I will never, NEVER do that to you without your consent. Never."

You stare at each other for a moment before Bucky gives a slight nod.

"Is it helpful?"

"My specialty was deep cover. Being able to force trust, calm, caring. It makes getting to the inner circles easier. But after doing it for so long I had to get out. I was other people so much I started to lose myself. So, I told Fury that I wanted out. And then the world blew up and I ended up right back in the middle of it. I think I'm where I'm supposed to be now."

"How do you do it?"

"I just think it and I kinda push it to the other person. It's even easier when I'm touching them. If a person can somehow resist me mentally, once I touch them the resistance fades."

"What all can you make them feel?"

"Any emotion. Several if needed."

"Fear? Panic?"

"Yes."

"Pain?"

"Emotional pain, yes."

"Love?"

"Yes."

"Pleasure?"

You look at Bucky and raise an eyebrow at that one before replying in a low voice, "Yes."

"Have you done it to me?"

Voice strong again, "No. Never without your permission."

"Our teammates?"

"Only with their consent. Most people want to try it at least once."

"I have nightmares sometimes." Bucky says quietly.

"Yeah." Your tone softens.

"Could you calm me if that was happening?"

"I can, yes. I can also help you sleep. Do you want me to?"

Bucky stares into his bowl of cereal for a moment. When his eyes flicker up to you there is a tinge of red to them. He gives a slight nod. Reaching over you curl your hand around his wrist. "You're my teammate, my friend. I'll do anything I can to help you. Anything, okay?"

Bucky gives a small nod.

"Okay. Time to get some training in. Don't want Steve to think I'm slacking the first day without him." You start clearing your breakfast dishes.

"He's a real drill sergeant, huh?"

"Sometimes."

"Wait, how old are you? I take it, older than 25."

You laugh, "That's sweet, Buck. I'm 62."

"So Sam was including you in his geriatric patients?"

"I think you have to be over 65 to be in that category. You and Steve are still the geezers of the place." You smirk at him. "I'll catch up with you later."

"I'll see you in the training room in a bit."

"Sounds good." You say as you walk to the elevator. Your heart hurts a little for Bucky knowing it had to be hard for him to ask for help. You hope he knows how strong he is, how brave to ask.

Before Bucky heads to the training room he detours to his room. Going to the desk he pulls out the stack of files Steve had given him and quickly located Santi's. Flipping it open he read:

Name: Bella Santi Delarosa

Last known address: Stark Tower

Date of Birth: November 1, 1957

Place of Birth: Mobile, Alabama

Status: Active

Title: Agent

Aliases: The Saint, Lucia Roman, Marie Frances, Eve Lastra, Elana Romano.

Document Citizenship: United States

Height: 5'8"

Weight: 140 lbs

Gender: Female

Hair: Black

Eyes: Brown

Languages: English, Spanish, French, Italian, Russian, Portuguese, German.

Identifiable Markings: Triangle shaped birthmark right shoulder.

Family: Parents, Marco and Giulia Delarosa, deceased. Brother, Luca Delarosa, deceased.

Classification: Gifted

Abilities: Healing. Increased strength, stamina, reflexes, balance, and accuracy. Decreased aging. Empathic telepathy.

Skills: Multiple forms of Martial arts, acrobatics, expert marksmanship, espionage, infiltration, tactical coordination.

Bucky closes the file and heads to the training room. He spots Santi lifting weights and joins her. "So, 'The Saint', huh?"

You laugh, "You read my file?"

"Yeah."

"That's what you took away from it? My code name?"

"Bella Santi Delarosa. Beautiful Saint of the Rose?"

"I was born on All Saints Day. My parents were Catholic." You shrug. "Any other questions?"

"I noticed the slight southern accent so Alabama made sense. Did you grow up there?"

"Until I was 13."

He wanted to ask what happened but knew it wasn't the right time to get into it. Deciding on a subject change, "Expert marksman?"

"You bet your ass."

"I was gonna bet lunch, actually."

"Knives or guns?"

"Knives."

"Yay!" You clap your hands as you move to the weapons cage to pull out knives. "Let's start with a target and we'll see if we need to get to trick shots to determine a winner."

Bucky glances at the body shaped training target at the end of the range, picks up a knife, and says "Right eye." The blade finds its mark with barely a glance.

"Left eye." Hit.

"Left shoulder." Hit.

"Right shoulder." Hit

"Center mass." Hit.

"Same." Hit within millimeters of his knife.

"Nose." Hit.

"Mouth." Hit.

Getting an idea you move in a bit closer as he says "Forehead" and aims. As he's preparing to throw you reach on tiptoe and blow in his ear. The knife hits the target's groin.

"I'm sorry. Did you say forehead or foreskin? If it was forehead, you were a little low on that one, weren't you?" You say still right next to Bucky's ear. Bucky turns eyes wide and swallows hard. You smile innocently up at him.

"Wouldn't you call that cheating?" Bucky's voice is gravelly as he stared down at you.

"I'd call it winning. After all, out in the field there's all kinds of distractions. You have to get used to them." You say in mock innocence with a sweet smile.

Bucky tries to keep a straight face but a chuckle slips through. "Fine. I'll give you this one, Doll."

"I accept your defeat. There is this great diner right by the Museum of Natural History. They have phenomenal burgers and then we can go to the museum."

"I thought the bet was for lunch."

"Well, I figured I'd take you to the museum as a consolation prize. After all, I did cheat."

"I'm not taking you away from any plans?"

"Those were my plans. Now, you get to pay for lunch though."

Bucky laughed and his heart warmed a little at the thought that you had planned out the day with him.

"Let's finish training and then we can get ready to head out." You say heading back to the weights.

Three hours later, you arrive at the diner and both order burgers and fries.

"Can I ask you something? Personal?" Bucky asks, glancing at you nervously.

"Anything. I'm kind of an open book. Which is unusual in this group."

"Yeah." Bucky says on a short laugh "What happened to your family?"

You knew it was coming at some point. "You want the short or long version?"

"Long if you're comfortable with telling it."

"Yeah." You pause to collect your thoughts. "You read my file so you know I grew up in Mobile, Alabama. My parents were Marco and Guilia and I had a brother named Luca. He was two years younger than me. My parents wanted more kids but it just didn't happen. We were a big Italian family. Steve always says he knows I'm Italian because I'm loud, always eating, and am touchy-feely."

Bucky laughs "Sounds right. You've never shied away from touching me."

"Sorry." You say feeling a slight blush creep up. "Please let me know if I make you uncomfortable. I just don't think about it much."

"No, I like it. Most people don't get very close to me. Keep going"

You smile blushing a little more but continue with the story. "My grandparents, my dad's parents, had a bakery. Most of the family worked there. I loved it. I had 8 aunts and uncles, a million cousins. Big, big family. Nice life, ya know. Lots of love and lots of drama. Then when I was thirteen, we were driving home from my cousin's birthday party and our car was hit by an 18-wheeler. My parents died on impact. Luca…" you pause and swallow hard willing the tears away. Clearing your throat you continued, "Luca died while they were trying to get us out of the car. He was such a sweet kid. Tender-hearted and quiet. I should have died too. My injuries were severe but that's when my mutation kicked in. Before they even got me out of the car my injuries healed. I didn't understand what happened. The doctor explained the mutant gene while I was in the hospital. I was so wracked with guilt that I lived. I didn't want to hear anything about it. Then my family… they were scared of me. I could feel it. They turned me over to the state. They didn't want anything to do with me. I was put in a group home and first chance I got I ran. Ran for nine years before SHIELD found me. They took me in. Taught me that my mutation was a calling not a curse."

The food came at that point and you both dug in hungrily. Bucky looked up after a few bites. "What'd you do the nine years you were running?"

"Petty theft, lot of trespassing, might have been a grand theft auto somewhere in there, and then I joined the circus."

Bucky laughed, "Serious?"

"Yeah. I got a job helping set up and take down for a circus and when they left I kinda stowed away and they let me stay. I grew up dancing and doing gymnastics, so they taught me aerial silks and rope tricks. I ran errands, took care of the animals, cooked, and eventually even performed."

Bucky narrows his eyes at you, "You're pulling my leg."

"No. It was the 70s. I'll show you some pictures when we get back."

"What exactly are aerial silks?"

"They're sheets of silk you use to perform contortions while kinda flying in the air. I'll show you one day. I still love doing it." Bucky still looked skeptical. "What?" You finally ask when his face was still scrunched up.

"You really have pictures?"

"Yes. Tell me about when you and Steve were kids." Trying to get the subject off of you for a minute.

You looked across at Bucky and saw a genuine smile on his face for a moment. He launched into a story and was more animated than you had seen before. It was endearing the way his face lit up talking about pre-serum Steve and their antics. He looked young and happy for a few minutes.

The spell was broken when the waiter delivered the check. Staying true to the bet, Bucky paid and then you walked to the museum a block away. You had already purchased the tickets online and went right in. It was only 12:30 and it seemed to be a slow Tuesday as you were nearly alone in every exhibit. Bucky was enthralled. He went from display to display pointing out observations, wondering at the discoveries, and fascinated with the history. Sometimes even grabbing your hand to follow him. You were enthralled by him. It seemed like for a few hours the weight lifted from his shoulders.

You stay at the museum until closing and then head back to the tower. Bucky talks nearly the entire way back about the museum exhibits. You thought your heart would burst that your outing made him so happy.

Heading to the kitchen you look in the fridge. "What do you want for dinner?"

"You pick."

"If I pick, we're ordering pizza."

"Sounds good to me. What movie do you want to watch?"

"You're not sick of me yet?" You smile, amazed that he wanted to spend more time with you.

"No! I mean, you don't have to watch a movie with me. I just thought, ya know, pizza and a movie. You had, uh, mentioned the Star Trek movie yesterday, so I thought maybe..." He trailed off.

"Sounds good to me." You echoed his earlier sentiment and he smiled at you.

You sat on the couch eating pizza and watching the movie. After a while you ended up shifting to lean into Bucky and rest your head on his shoulder.

"You okay?" He asks.

"A little cold. I'm sorry, am I making you uncomfortable?" You say, moving away a little. He doesn't answer. Instead he grabs his hoodie and drapes it and his arm over you giving a little squeeze. You snuggle into him. It's a little harder to concentrate on the movie enveloped by his warmth and smell.

After the movie was over, Bucky looked over at you, "Tired?"

"No, not really. You?"

"No."

"What'd you think of the movie?"

"It was interesting. I'd like to see the next one. Right now, I'm interested in seeing some pictures someone told me they have."

"Oh, yeah. Let's go to my room and I'll find them." You stand and stretch your arms over your head bowing your back. When you look at Bucky still sitting on the couch his eyes aren't quite on your face. You clear your throat ostensibly and his eyes snap up to yours while his cheeks gain a little pink tinge. "Come on, Buck." You turn away smiling to yourself.

You get to your room and find the photo album with pictures from the Seventies in it. Placing it on the bed in front of both of you, you skip the first few pages and flip until you find pictures from the circus. They're starting to fade with age, but there you are riding an elephant, another showing you contorted in the silks, one where you are surrounded by clowns, cooking in a tent, and a few more showing your circus life.

"You weren't kidding!"

"Of course not! It was actually a pretty fun time in my life. It was easier being accepted there. Once I got past being first of May."

"First of May?"

"Green. New. Takes awhile for circus folk to warm up but they're good to you once they do. They were like a big family."

"Why'd you decide to leave?"

"SHIELD. They could help me learn to control my powers. And to be able to use them for something good."

"What are these other pictures?" Bucky asks as he flips back to the beginning of the album.

"Oh!" You say in surprise. You reach for the album but Bucky is already looking at the pictures. Resignedly, you explain, "That was the last family portrait we took."

Bucky looks up at you sorrowfully, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have." He goes to hand you back the album.

"No, it's okay. It's been a long time since I looked at them." You point to the next photo. "That was my grandparents 50th wedding anniversary."

"Is that the entire town of Mobile?

"No, that's just my grandparents, their kids, and all my first cousins."

"First cousins?!?"

"Yeah, they were prolific. What can I say? My parents were picked on because they only had two of us."

"How old are you here?" He points to a picture of you holding a stuffed bunny.

"Three, I think." The next picture is you holding a baby Luca. You reach out and touch his little cherub cheeks but only feel the cold plastic covering the photo.

"You miss him?"

"Yeah. I guess you never stop. Losing a sibling sucks, ya know? They're the ones that are supposed to be with you through it all. You expect grandparents and parents to die, but your siblings are supposed to be there. Do you?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I miss Rebecca."

"Sorry. I shouldn't have brought that up."

"No, it's okay. But I probably should get some sleep."

"Yeah."

Bucky gets up and puts the album back on your shelf. "Night, Santi."

"Night, Bucky." You say in a small voice.

"Hey." He waits until you look up at him. "You okay?"

You force a smile, "Yeah, I'm good."

He hesitates, studying you.

Finally, you give in to yourself. "Actually, can I have a hug?"

"Absolutely!" He walks over to you taking your hand and pulling you up before wrapping his arms around you. You put your arms around his waist and your head on his shoulder. After a minute you feel a soft kiss pressed to your forehead. "Sweet dreams, Doll."

"You, too." You say as you reluctantly let go. You change into a sleepshirt and get ready for bed. Knowing sleep won't come for a while you pick up a book.

A couple of hours later you feel your stomach twist in knots and a loud grunt issues through the wall followed by "NO!" Getting up quickly you knock on Bucky's door, "Bucky, are you okay?" You listen for a second but only hear another grunt. You knock again, "Bucky?" You say a little louder.

"Стоп!" Hearing the Russian word from Bucky made your decision. You turn the knob and walk in. Bucky is thrashing a bit on the bed. His right hand is clenched around the sheets.

"Bucky, wake up. Hey. Come on, Buck." You put a knee on the bed and lean over to shake Bucky. The moment you touch his shoulder he sits up. The knife in his left hand lands with a thunk in your side. You hiss at the pain but stay still. "Buck. Bucky, hey." His eyes are far away and you know he hasn't come out of it yet. You put your right hand over his hand gripping the knife and your left on his shoulder suffusing calm into him. "Buck, I'm calming you. You said it was okay. Look at me, darlin'. Hey, hey." You see his eyes begin to focus. Finally, he looks at you. "Good. Hey, love, I need you to let go, okay?" You gently nudge his left hand which is still firmly holding the knife in you. You see him glance down and panic blanches his face. Suffusing calm again you take your left hand and touch his face drawing his attention to yours. "I'm okay. I just need you to let go. Bucky, talk to me."

"I'm so sorry!" Comes out in a panicked whisper as he lets go.

"Bucky, I'm fine. Healing ability, remember?" You gather the ends of your shirt and brace to pull out the knife. "Mmmm...had to be a serrated one, huh?" You press the shirt to the wound to staunch the blood flow and look at Bucky. He looks shattered. "Bucky, everything's okay."

"I stabbed you." He whispers.

"Better me than anyone else." You give a humorless little laugh. You wipe the knife on part of your shirt and set it down on the nightstand.

"I stabbed you."

"90 seconds, Bucky. 90 seconds and I'll be healed. No harm, no foul."

"I stabbed you and you're laughing." He looks at you incredulously.

"What's a little stab wound between friends?" You smile but he still looks lost. "Bucky, another empathic part is I can let you feel how I'm feeling. Can I show you?"

He nods and you put a hand on his. "What do you feel?"

He looks in your eyes finally, "Calm. Caring. Worry for me."

"Exactly. I'm fine. Now, are you okay? You were having a nightmare."

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm okay." You pull him into a hug keeping your bloody side away from him. He puts his right arm around you and runs his left hand up your arm to your neck. Pulling away he looks into your eyes, glances down to your lips, and then back with an almost questioning look. It doesn't take empathic ability to know what he's feeling and your heart twists a little. You raise up a bit and kiss his forehead like he did for you earlier that night.

"I'm gonna get cleaned up. Can I borrow a shirt?" You stand up and that's when Bucky notices you had bunched your shirt up to stem the wound exposing your legs and a pair of peach colored panties.

Tearing his eyes away he stands up quickly and pulls open a drawer. "Yeah, here, Doll."

You look in the drawer and pull out a black ribbed tank from the top. "This will work." You say as you head into his bathroom.

Bucky watches you walk away thinking with the peach colored underwear it almost looked like you weren't wearing anything down below. He shook the thought away. Nice, Buck, you stab her and then ogle her, he thinks to himself.

You take off the shirt you are wearing and grab a cloth to clean off the blood. After washing your hands you slip on the tank. It comes down just past your butt and almost looks like a dress on you. A very short dress. Staring at yourself in the mirror for a second you can't deny the feelings developing in you. Bucky is...you can't even describe it. Beautiful inside and out. But too often your empathic abilities had interfered with real feelings. You had wanted to kiss him in that moment but the emotional charge was too much. What if that's all it was? The heat of the moment? It was too soon. You'd known him for less than 48 hours. Sighing, you shake off your thoughts and walk back out. Bucky eyes you from where he is sitting on the bed.

"You okay?" He asks.

"Yes. See? No harm, no foul." You lift the tank up to show him.

He raises his left arm and touches your side. The cool touch from his metal hand breaks your skin into goosebumps. You cover his hands with yours and for a moment get lost in his eyes when he looks up at you.

Breaking eye contact you pull the shirt back down, saying softly "It's late. You should go back to sleep."

"I don't think I can." He says.

You sit next to him on the bed. "Lay down. Get comfortable. I'll help you."

He lays on his side and hugs his pillow. Running your hands through his hair, you suffuse calm and see the tension slip away a bit. Giving him a minute before suffusing lethargy, you watch as his muscles start to relax. Finally, you suffuse a sleepy feeling. You can't force sleep but have found that when these three feelings combine they make a fairly good sleep cocktail. Bucky's form slowly relaxes and you continue to run your hands through his hair suffusing the sleepy feeling until his breathing evens out. You retrieve your ruined shirt and bloody cloth from the bathroom and the knife from the nightstand. You don't want him to have any reminders when he wakes. Switching off his lamp, you reluctantly head to your own bed.

Part 3

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shoichee · 4 years

Text

GoMs + Kagami as Persona Users

Headcanons on the Generation of Miracles (and Kagami) if they were to become a persona user in the world of the Persona series (Kuroko and Momoi included)

@akichan-th THIS IS FOR YOU

Warning: KNB series spoilers !!

Kuroko Tetsuya

since his presence is nonexistent in the real world, as a phantom thief, he’d probably desire to be a noticeable hero, you know? even in the 22.5 OVA, he told Kise that passing around wasn’t fun but he was going to do it for the sake of the team

his phantom thief outfit would be flashy in a sense of maybe eye-catching color schemes, or bold patterns

his attire could be baggy/oversized navy blue/black street clothing with TASTEFUL neon-colored accents and his mask would be a neon-colored huge sports shades/goggles situation (i was about to say some trendy sunglasses but sunglasses don’t stay on at all); he’s a skater boy ???? basically??

like, his PT attire could very well be a Persona 5 Dancing in Starlight DLC outfit 👀 it has those vibes

persona element is curse and let me explain why: he doesn’t have the gifted physique like the other GoMs and he’s cursed to rely on others for him to make a difference, and his motif has always been “shadow” ALSO he’s the PHANTOM sixth player YOU CAN’T CONVINCE ME OTHERWISE

he’s a front-line battler, but his skills are very support heavy: support skills that increase attack and defense for his teammates; i also wanna say he has spells that inflict dizziness ailments because in the anime, players are always losing their shit and whipping their heads around to find this tiny boy LMAO

he would definitely have a signature move that would direct all enemy attacks and status moves to himself for a set amount of turns to aid his teammates

his persona would have an extremely high Endurance and higher than average Luck stat but everything else is an all-time low

i’m going to say it, his shooting weapon is gonna be a paintball gun filled with neon paint just to fuck with the shadows and still make it HURT

code name would be “Umbra” (which means innermost part of a shadow) or “Ghost;” imagine some PT member shouting, “Oh no! Umbra’s knocked down!” and all the shadow sees is this brightass, neon kid on the floor

i would love his codename to be “Shadow” but there’s already the term shadow to describe the monsters in the metaverse

Kise Ryota

he views a “rebel” as your basic punk

since he’s a model, he knows japanese punk fashion very well

guess who’s gonna come into the metaverse being this hot ass punk boy? Kise motherfucking Ryota

black spike collar

lots of those tiny chains and harness/buckle action somewhere

ripped black leather pants that give Joker’s own leather pants a run for its money PLUS WITH SHINY BLACK BELT

lots of patchwork and stuff

THIS IS WHAT MORE OR LESS I’M TALKING ABOUT IF YOU WANT VISUAL REFERENCES

his mask would totally be a visor goggle to add further to the punk theme

part of me is biased that Kise is a blondie and “kise” is based off of “yellow” and Ryuji is blonde and so now i headcanon him as the electric element

okay, but since he’s an “all-rounder” he’ll probably be able to access mid-tier level attacks of all elements, including almighty to an extent

but if i was basing his element off of personality, he’d be ice for sure; he’s actually cold-hearted to people whom he doesn’t consider “worthy” and the anime only showed his friendly side because most of the time, he’s shown talking to his friends and people he respects

speaking of all-rounder, his stats would be all high all around, with his Magic stat peaking the highest

Midorima Shintarou

this boy is a bit tricky to figure out what his PT attire would be

he doesn’t have any time to think about “what he would be as a rebel” type of thing

however, if he were to desire to become something, i’d say he would want to be a supernatural being who can distribute good luck for himself every day

think of those JRPG wizard/mage/warlock outfit motifs (and they match up nicely with the idea of astrology and horoscopes); probably lots of brown/beige/hues of green scheme? or a black/various colors of purple for a FULL on witch vibe

it makes sense too because as someone who always shoots from afar and never dunks, mage classes always cast from afar and never attack up close to their opponent

and his frog puppets remind me of a witch’s animal familiars LMAO

there you have it

his mask would be a dark dark purple or a pure black domino mask that has little stars littered sparingly everywhere on said mask

his shooting weapon? my guy is stacked on staves ready to cast long-range spells

wind element for sure (because his basketball shots all catch air with lots of hang time | (• ◡•)|) with tons of gun skills

signature move would be a magic skill that never misses no matter what (his range is the entire metaverse)

his persona stats are also pretty well rounded but his highest stats would be Magic and Luck, with Endurance being a close runner up

Aomine Daiki

also hard to figure out a PT attire for this guy

according to KUROFES, his alternative career would be a police officer so i would think he despises criminals and the Phantom Thieves altogether ?

if anything, he’s more suited for the S.E.E.S. investigation team in Persona 3

Aomine doesn’t give a fuck, but he has a soft spot to protect others so like having a gun evoker definitely suits him more than a mask summon BRJWBDJW

i see him as a fire element, but his persona would have a lot more physical skills than anything else

bonus: since he used to be Kuroko’s “light,” he can have some mid-tier level bless skills

to make a reference his “formless” shots and forms, as well as his rapid changes of pace, his signature move would be a 5-hit physical skill that changes targets with every hit

statwise, his Agility stat is the highest out of everyone in the GoM, and his Strength and Endurance would be runner up stats; his Magic stat would be extremely dismal

Murasakibara Atsushi

this guy thinks about nothing but food and how he hates Teppei-species people basketball, so honestly he’s not interested in the Phantom Thieves business

like what? Murasakibara dressed in a getup? it’s a big “press X to doubt”

so i envision him to be more suitable for Persona 4, where he has to confront the other self that loves basketball and truly does care about people, and he had to be honest and accept that side for him to attain a persona

would he ever go back to the said “persona world” to go fight some shadows? unless there’s a good reason why he should or you bribed him with snacks, he won’t budge an inch

just give this man a Persona 4 school uniform and he’s ready to fight

his persona would primarily have physical skills, with lots of “wall” support skills, element “break” skills, and lots of passive skills (lots of nulls/resists) available for it to learn

highest stat for him would be Strength, then Endurance, and surprisingly have Agility as the runner up

he’s a huge tank of a persona user

Akashi Seijuro

i’ve talked about his PT outfit in this headcanon here, including his mask and why

hear me out, since this man is good at everything in school, and since there are archery clubs in Japanese schools, i wouldn’t be surprised if he was a Robin Hood with the scopes; what am i tryna say? his shooting weapon would be bow & arrows

i feel like people would automatically think he’s a bless/curse element like Akechi since “he has two sides,” but i feel like it’s not exactly right? if anything, i headcanon him to be more of a psychokinesis element

why? i want to attribute that to his emperor’s eye and his perfect passings, both each specialties from their respective “sides” of Akashi, and that requires extreme precision, almost to the level of “telepathy”

there’s also everyone thinking he can see the future too i mean

in the end, Akashi’s dual sides merged into one again, so having a whole bless/curse element wouldn’t even make sense anymore

but i will say, this man deserves to have a persona with almighty skills back to back

this guy isn’t the captain for no reason

so his persona would utilize psychokinesis and almighty skills, with special buff skills that increase critical rates for his allies (to refer to the fact that his passings enhance other players); his persona would also enjoy a large selection of passive skills to choose from to either be ultimate support or ultimate offensive sweeper

to also reiterate from the mentioned headcanon i linked, his code name would either be “Crimson” or “Scarlet”

his persona is a literal glass cannon, referring to the fact that Akashi is actually a mentally fragile basketball player; extremely high Strength, Magic, and Agility (but not as high as Aomine though) stats, average Luck stat, but extremely low Endurance stat

Momoi Satsuki

Momoi, i think, would envision herself in the metaverse as someone who’s never underestimated because of her usual demeanor or physical looks

even me, i got fooled thinking she was just only a fanservice girl and not this incredibly intelligent girl who was critical to her teams’ successes

so i would think she would imagine herself to be in a huge respectable position of power, like a lieutenant or general, who can command others and strategize to victory

her outfit would be similar to the attire from the Assassin’s Faith set from Love Nikki with the black Army Floppy Hat from the Army Major set on top (also from Love Nikki)

color scheming i can imagine a lot of black/white with gold trimmings/accents here and there

her mask is a Venetian eye mask i can literally see it; it’s so pretty with the gold plating !!

her role would definitely be a navigator + analyzer/tactician from the backlines, so while she isn’t in the battle most of the times, if worse comes to shove, she’ll be in the frontlines as a last resort

in other words, she’s a Futaba, but she isn’t a sitting duck and can fight if needed

she has an incredible Luck stat, higher than average Agility stat, but average stats for the rest (Magic, Strength, and Endurance)

ailment, healing, support, and buff skills are all at her disposal, along with some gun skills (which can definitely be broken when paired with her high Luck stat)

“Duchess” (a woman having a noble rank) would be a really cute codename for her

Kagami Taiga

why do i literally see him as a shinobi (ninja)

i have no idea why i do, but i think it’s just his name:

“While Kagami's name is associated with the ‘tiger’, Himuro's name means ‘dragon’. In Chinese mythology, the Azure Dragon of the East and the White Tiger of the West are eternal rivals. This rivalry is further expressed in their surnames: ‘Hi (氷)’ means ‘ice’ while ‘Ka (火)’ translates as ‘fire’.” - KNB wiki

so i literally see both Himuro and Kagami as rival clans duking it out

jokes aside, Kagami is a very honorable player, but he did at one point exhibited a “darker side” to himself, playing selfishly and being arrogant in the beginning

shinobis were considered to be “dishonorable” and “beneath the honor” of the samurai in their eras, so i feel that this could be a great image for what Kagami thinks is a “rebel”

being a ninja would make use of his jumping skills too

i imagine him in a fitted black halter neck top (so his abs are for us to see), with an iconic long red scarf wrapping his neck and hanging down to his waist at the back side

black forearm guards/wraps?

and then he has mahogany/dark red??/black???? loose cloth wrapped around his waist, like how you would tie a jacket over your waist ?? and then black nu-bakama pants and finally some dark boots for those pants to be tucked in

no one can convince me otherwise, but he’s gotta have a red full-face oni mask with black horns and some golden tiger stripes on the sides of the mask and around the eyes

HIS PERSONA ELEMENT IS BLESS BECAUSE HE IS KUROKO’S “LIGHT”

he would totally have some almighty skills and “Heat Riser,” a move that raises all of the user’s attack, defense, and accuracy/evasiveness (because the colors of the move’s animation remind me of Direct Drive Zone, something that was pretty much unlocked by Kagami for the team)

his persona is one of the OP/late game personas where all their stats are amazing across the board; even if his stats were high all around, his “lowest” would be his Luck stat

codename for him is “Tiger” no one cannot argue with me for this one NRNEIJFEO

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sunsetnest · 4 years

Photo

Box is a 26 year old chest cat. She is beginner friendly and uses she/her pronouns.

Appearance: As one might be able to guess from the name, Box is quite literally a cat within a chest. A chest and a cat merged as one! She’s essentially a brown, wooden treasure chest, except the treasure is her! When the chest lid opens up, her cat head can be seen within! With charming blue eyes, dark fur, and paws and a tail that pop out from the chest as well, she’s a real cutie! She’s a bit larger than your average cat, although she’s still of a size that she could sit in one’s lap. She has a long tongue compared to your average cat, and very sturdy legs, built more for steadiness than agility.

Personality: Box likes to consider herself a kind soul, and it certainly comes through in nearly everything she does; a cheerful, polite friend right off the bat, she loves a good conversation and quality time with those she cares about! While she can sometimes be a little soft-spoken, she’s generally a fairly assertive sort that loves to share her thoughts on anything new or on the subjects she’s passionate about!

She’s always curious and eager to learn new things, and it’s clear in how willing she is to listen to your passions and anything else you wish to share! While she can be stubborn about odd things, or will sass a bit whenever she disagrees on something, she’s still respectful and knows her boundaries.

Especially in the way she talks, Box can be considered a rather whimsical sort; she loves to see beauty in the odd and little things in life, and she has a unique view on life that paints beautiful pictures every time she gets thoughtful or deep! While she likely won’t go philosophical out of nowhere, if the conversation turns down such a path, she’s more than happy to share her experiences and worldviews, and in those moments its extra clear just what a lovely pal she is!

Species: Box is, as her name suggests, a cat in a chest. Except it’s not that simple, Box’s chest is a part of her body that she can control at will. While it is thick and feels like wood, it very much is her body that she can feel things through. Her cat body parts are attached, even if they can “retract” for lack of better words. Despite what it may look like, these Chest Cats can extend their heads and torsos far enough out of the chest to eat, drink, and do other things with their head. Doing so around another creature is considered a huge sign of trust as this is when they are most vulnerable. Even when though their chest part is alive like the rest of them, many chest cats like to use them for storage of items as well. Food, precious items, books, and many other items are often found. Mothers will keep their kittens in their chest for safekeeping until they get bigger and many Chest Cats will even decorate with posters or similar things, if they feel so inclined.

Family: Box is sisters with Ice, another chest cat that will be going up for adoption at the shop in a little while! While the two care for each other, they spend a vast majority of their time together bickering over menial things and generally annoying everyone around them, and as such, have decided to go to different homes! Family means a lot to Box, so she will still be visiting Ice often enough, but adopting both of them into your family will be a no-go. However, it is likely that she’ll mention her sister quite a bit, as they’ve spent many years together and know each other quite well despite their clear differences!

Past: Box and Ice were raised in a somewhat strict household on Earth. They were both raised with good family values like caring for those around you, caring for the earth, don’t take more than you need, and not to ask for things you know you shouldn’t. Despite this, Box had always dreamed of leaving home to explore and experience new cultures and events around the world. Thus she found her way to us.

Companionship: Box is looking for an enriching companionship where she can find a trustworthy and (hopefully) lifelong friend! She’s mostly looking for someone to share experiences and life stories with, and while she isn’t particularly looking to take on the position of a mentor, sees no reason not to share her knowledge if she knows anything about a subject you’d like to become more experienced in!

She isn’t looking to live together fully right away at least, but she is fairly flexible when it comes to arrangements, and is willing to do what feels right for everyone involved. She would prefer a slightly smaller spirit family, but it’s less about size and more about the quality of the time she gets to spend with her companion; as long as things aren’t too chaotic when you’re together, she may consider even those with larger families! Any level of experience is okay, although she would prefer a companion that’s comfortable using telepathy, as it’s her favourite method of communication and English isn’t her first language!

Communication: Greatly prefers telepathy and isn’t a big fan of tarot/runes or similar forms of divination that will always give an answer regardless of whether the spirit is actually there, but she’s willing to give almost anything a try!

From Box: “Hello everyone reading!! It’s so nice to finally be up for adoption, and I hope to meet many lovely souls! If you’re interested in becoming my companion, I would love it if you take the time to stop by to chat with me! Answering your questions will be fun~”

Likes: lighthearted banter, breathtaking sights, savory foods, homey feels, natural aesthetics, unique sounds, feelings like fireworks

Dislikes: a lot of trivial things that her sister - Ice - likes, being treated too much like a regular house cat (although a few cuddles never hurt!), lack of privacy and trust, mean spirited encounters, rowdy/overexcitable crowds, extreme weather

Hobbies: enjoys most relaxing activities, especially those that can be enjoyed amongst friends; board games, watching a movie, or going on a small adventure! She also loves bird-watching.

Magic: No particular specialties, although she does know a fair bit about certain practises.

Vessel: Just something that won’t be lost easily!

Vetted Since: 9/4/17 Posted: 2/28/2020

If you are interested in getting to know Box better, feel free to send an ask or talk to her in our discord! You can find other posts and asks about Box under her tag! Interested in applying for Box? Here’s how to write a good app! You can apply here or here! New here? Here’s out FAQ, shop info, mod info, and our reviews! Not feelin’ Box? Here are our other spirits currently up for adoption! Got further questions? Shoot us an ask!

website | discord | tumblr | instagram | twitter

#box the chest cat #spirit for adoption #spirit companionship #spirit companion #spirit work #witchcraft #witchblr #lorelei's spirit shop

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prettyboysdontlookatexplosions · 4 years

Note

Your tags on the Eliot flower post are so great. I haven't rewatched in a bit, but I know you've been for your fic -- do Eliot and Margo seem to have any kind of specialty/ies that become apparent? I know Kady's is battle magic, Alice is the light magic, Julia's is I-forget-its-name-but-it's-like-the-science-of-magic-itself-or-whatever... Penny's got his double-whammy of Traveling and telepathy, and Quentin is mending small objects... Oh, and Josh and his plants.

i don’t think that eliot & margo’s disciplines are ever 100% confirmed in the show beyond the obvious fact that they’re both physical kids - the general fandom assumption (do people still say fanon? am i just old) is that eliot’s is telekinesis, since we know it’s physical magic and he calls himself telekinetic when he’s recounting the logan kinnear bus magic origin story (which is funny bc the first magic we see quentin do is also telekinesis of some kind since it’s moving those cards around.... i love romance and true love). i feel like i might have also seen people assign him something fire related since we see him do that spell a bunch of times but that could just be... me, thinking about him, lol. when i’ve seen margo given a discipline it’s usually cryomancy i.e. temperature-control which i think is what her counterpart character’s discipline is in the books (eliot’s might be telekinesis in the books? idk i haven’t read them). which is ok i guess but idk i kinda feel like margo deserves a cooler discipline (in general i feel like margo’s magician-ness gets kind of short shrift among the characters because she does so much other huge shit... i find her “you forgot... I’M A MAGICIAN!” in 4x10 very gratifying for that reason lol). i don’t have any great ideas though.

also, someone correct me if they have a cite for this, but don’t think kady’s discipline is ever confirmed in the show! i’ve definitely seen battle magic called her discipline before... but when the others ask her how she got so good at it she says she spent ten years meditating to master her emotions, which i always took to be standard operating protocol for mastering using it on command and something she did on purpose because of how her mother sold her life as a tiny child magic servant to marina. also it’s illegal to teach battle magic (i think? i feel like this comes up via fogg when they’re researching the rhinemann ultra...) so it’s weird that brakebills would identify it as someone’s discipline. we do know she’s also a physical kid though because she moves into the cottage just in time to cockblock eliot from hitting on quentin lol.

#askbox

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null-whump · 5 years

Text

Felix –– Part Four

Start here, next

I got a little carried away and this one gets kinda brutal haha

Warnings: Broken bones, dehumanization, muzzling (continued from part three), non consensual mental intrusion (?) I’m not entirely sure how to label that last one. No sexual intention, I promise, but I wanted to put a warning just in case.

Word Count: 1,977

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I was awoken the next morning with a harsh kick in my side. Varren was standing over me, his cold eyes boring into mine.

“I don’t remember giving you permission to sleep,” he said calmly, and I felt my heart drop in my chest.

Incapable of speech because of the muzzle I was still wearing, I chose to glare at him instead, refusing to let my nervousness show. Varren kicked me again, hard, and I fell to the side. My attempt to push myself up only resulted in pain shooting through my broken fingers. The muzzle muffled my pained cries as Varren kicked me a few more times.

“Useless,” he scoffed. “I suppose you can’t do anything for me with your hands like that.” He walked over to his desk as I struggled to sit up with the least amount of pain possible.

I had managed to maneuver myself onto my knees when Varren approached me again, holding a book. One glance at the cover told me it was some sort of spell book, but I didn’t have a chance to read the title before Varren had opened it and shoved it towards me.

“Take it,” he snapped when I didn’t move.

I hesitantly reached out my hands and flinched as I took the whole weight of the book with my broken fingers.

“There’s a healing spell,” Varren said. “Learn it, and I’ll permit you to heal yourself.” He turned and walked back to his desk and sat down. “Maybe it will make you slightly less useless.”

I would have protested if I were able, shouted some indignant response, but the leather muzzle rubbing harshly against my face reminded me how impossible that would be. Instead, I carefully placed the book on the floor in front of me and began to study the spell.

I don’t know how many hours passed like that. There were no windows in the study so I couldn’t judge the flow of time, but I guessed it had been several hours. I was starving. I tried not to think about how I hadn’t eaten in a full 24 hours, but my hands shook whenever I raised them, and my throat ached with thirst. The words on the page were starting to blur together by the time Varren finally stood and walked back towards me.

“You must be hungry.”

I could hear the smirk in his voice without having to look up.

“I don’t see any reason to feed you,” Varren continued, walking closer. “After all, you haven’t done a single thing to deserve it. Just the opposite, in fact.”

I lifted my head and glared. He was bluffing, I was sure. If I died I would simply be sent back to the Realm and he would have to summon another familiar. Or was that his plan? I was weak and useless so he wanted to be rid of me, then he would summon another, stronger familiar. As much as I hated the thought of a slow death, at least I would be free of him…

“I’m not going to starve you.” Varren looked down at me, amused. “You may be a weakling, but I went to a lot of trouble getting you here, and I’m not getting rid of you anytime soon.”

I blinked, startled. This was the second time that Varren had said something almost exactly like what I had been thinking. It hit me immediately. ‘He’s a telepath!’ I cursed my stupidity for not realizing it sooner and furiously focused on my mental barriers. Telepathy was supposed to be my specialty, yet this witch had managed to get into my mind undetected – twice.

Varren dropped into a crouch in front of me. “Are you trying to lock me out, boy?” He seized my hair and pulled my head back, forcing me to meet his eyes. “What makes you think you have the right to do that?” He asked, his voice low and menacing.

I refused to be intimidated by his cold stare, choosing to glare into his cold blue eyes, unflinching. ‘I’m not letting you in without a fight.’

Varren’s gaze grew colder, somehow. “It’s amusing that you think you could hold me off. I could easily force my way into your mind, but I don’t think that would quite get the message across.” Varren tightened his grip on my hair. “It seems you need another punishment.”

I felt my heart jump, but I refused to give the reaction I knew Varren wanted.

“What will it be this time?” Varren inquired. “Should I whip you again? Force you to stop breathing? You have plenty more bones to break. Or maybe something new?” Varren tilted his head to the side. “I’ll give you one more chance because I’m feeling generous. What will it be?”

I almost gave in then. I wanted to, I wanted to avoid the pain I knew would come if I resisted, but my pride wouldn’t let me. So I steeled my mind and tried to prepare myself.

“Very well then,” Varren said calmly. In one swift movement, he pushed me onto the ground face-first and twisted my right arm behind my back. His knee was on my back, keeping me pinned as he gripped my arm. “Your arm will be first,” he informed me. “Then as many as I need to after that until you let me in.”

He twisted my arm and I could hear the crack as the bone broke. I heard myself cry out, the noise silenced by the muzzle. My arm hurt, and I almost didn’t realize that Varren was speaking.

“Well, boy? Convinced yet?”

I grit my teeth and focused on keeping my barriers up. A little voice in my head whispered how pointless it was, but I ignored it as Varren pressed his hand against my shoulder. I felt him gathering magical energy in his palm, the warmth tingling my skin through my shirt.

“This may hurt a little.”

The amusement in his voice turned my stomach before he released the energy and my shoulder was in agony. I would have screamed if I could and my vision flashed white.

“It’s remarkable that you can still make so much noise with a muzzle on,” Varren remarked. “And that was only one arm.”

I forced myself to breathe, my arm screaming in pain. I guessed that Varren had shattered the bones in my shoulder, but I had no desire to think about it more than I already was. Varren tugged on my arm, and the pain that shot through my body made me whimper past the muzzle.

“Should we start on the left arm now?” Varren pulled on my right again, forcing out another pained sound. I felt Varren lean down so that he was speaking right next to my ear. “Well, boy? What will it be?”

I hated it. I hated him, I hated what he was doing, and most of all I hated myself for being so weak. But it hurt, it hurt so much, and I couldn’t force myself to go through more of it. Slowly, reluctantly, I released my mental barriers. I shut my eyes tightly and felt tears in my eyes as I waited, dread coiling in my chest.

Varren laughed quietly in my ear. “Good boy.”

I felt his presence in my mind immediately, now that he wasn’t trying to hide it. It was intrusive, the way he slipped into my thoughts so easily, poking and prodding at every corner of my mind, uncovering all of my innermost thoughts and secrets. He wasn’t just reading my mind, he was invading it. I felt my breathing accelerate as his consciousness filled my head.

To go so deep into my psyche was something I had only permitted two other people to do, and him doing it like this was wrong. It was wrong, I hated it, it was supposed to be a show of deep trust and intimacy between friends and lovers, and he was violating it with complete disregard for anything as trivial as consent. I felt cold tears slip down my face as he pushed farther into my mind.

‘Please…stop…’ the thought slipped out, and I couldn’t do anything to hide it. I couldn’t hide anything anymore.

I felt amusement from Varren’s consciousness. ‘Not yet, boy. There’s still something I need to do.’

I nearly stopped breathing as I realized what he meant. ‘No – don’t!’

The laughter came again, harsh and cold. ‘Did you just give me an order?’

‘Please,’ I begged, ashamed of how low I had been brought. ‘Please, I already – please –’

‘Ah, I see,’ Varren’s amusement seemed to have only grown. ‘You already have a bond, with someone else…oh isn’t that sweet? You really love her, don’t you?’

‘Stop it!’ I was torn between dismay and anger, but powerless to do anything. I had let him in, and now I was paying the price.

‘Sam, what a nice name.’ Varren’s mocking voice echoed inside my mind. ‘Unfortunately for you two, I’m going to have to get rid of that bond you have.’

‘No, please!’ I was frantic at this point, so much so that I didn’t care about begging. ‘Please, please don’t, I don’t care what you do but please –‘ I felt Varren brush me off mentally.

‘Go on now, I’m ordering you to break it.’

He was ordering me, and that meant I couldn’t resist. ‘Sam…I’m sorry…’ I felt another sob in my throat as our bond crumbled away.

‘You really are pathetic,’ Varren scoffed. ‘Don’t you remember, boy? You belong to me now. Not just your body; your mind, your spirit, everything. The only person you need a bond with is me.’

‘You can’t,’ I thought weakly. ‘A bond requires absolute consent from both participants, even if you order me to, it’s not real consent, you can’t make me –’

‘Can’t I?’ Varren challenged. ‘Let’s test that theory, shall we? I order you to form this bond with me, willingly.’ He intoned the bonding ritual, and I could only listen, helpless, until he reached the end. ‘Now, do you accept?’

‘I…accept,’ I found myself agreeing numbly, and the bond was secured into place.

“Good boy.” I felt a hand on my head, and I realized Varren was speaking out loud.

He wasn’t searching through my head anymore, but he was still there. I could feel him at the edge of my mind, his presence and emotions now linked with my mind, as mine were to his. It felt wrong, and awful, and disturbing on so many levels to have him so closely linked to me. I could feel the satisfaction and happiness that Varren had, and I hated it. I tried to focus on my anger, wanting to convey exactly how I felt about what had just happened, but I only felt Varren’s amusement grow.

“Before you get any ideas…” Varren twisted the arm I had forgotten he was holding and I cried out. “Don’t even think about severing the bond, boy.”

Immediately all thoughts of cutting off the bond fled my mind, and I despaired at the hopelessness of the situation.

“Now now, don’t be sad,” Varren said. “I’m going to heal you, and I promise it’ll only hurt a little.”

A thrill of fear went through me, and I felt Varren’s excitement increase in response. He was enjoying this. Seeing me in pain, and seeing me afraid. He loved it.

“If you’re extra good, maybe I’ll even take the muzzle off and let you eat.” I felt Varren’s hand move to my hair and stroke it, like an animal getting a reward.

I didn’t have the energy or the means to protest, and I was forced to lay there, listening to Varren’s laugh and feeling all the enjoyment he got out of my hopeless, hopeless situation.

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Beginning of a tag list! If you want to be added just let me know :)

@castielamigos-whump-side-blog

#whump #nonhuman whumpee #tw; broken bones #dehumanization #threatening #my ocs: felix #pet whump

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ratherhavetheblues · 3 years

Text

ANDREI TARKOVSKY’S ‘STALKER’ “Prisoner? I’m imprisoned everywhere…”

Our protagonist, early on in this mammoth undertaking, and en route to a client, protests to an imaginary companion, “My dear, the world is so utterly boring. There’s no telepathy, no ghosts, no flying saucers… They can’t exist. The world is ruled by cast-iron laws. These laws are not broken. They just can’t be broken…” On reaching his customer, there is also a woman, in furs and with a cool sports car. He continues his rant, now addressing her. “Don’t hope for flying saucers. That would be too interesting…”She retorts, “But what about the Bermuda Triangle?” This annoys him. “You’re not going to contradict…” And she quickly declares, “Yes, I am.”/ “There is no Bermuda Triangle,” he insists. “There is Triangle ABC which equals Triangle A prime, B prime, C prime.” She yawns, “It’s all so tedious, so very tedious.” She might have added that it’s all very pedantic. It’s all very pushy, in a thrust that doesn’t yield power. Pedantic, to the point of desperation. Shifting back to his whimsy, he tells her, “In the Middle Ages, life was interesting. Every house had its goblin, each Church a God. People were young. Now every fourth person is old…” The client had placed his hat on her car; and, in the woman’s resenting the protagonist being so adamant, she races away from them, leaving his hat on the roof. That dogmatic display had been mitigated in several ways. Surrealism had landed with the hat. The triad of the Bermuda Triangle was also a breath of fresh air, a visit from a source to be seen soon. Telepathy, ghosts, flying saucers, all in the mix, somehow.

Beginning as we did, there requires now a more complete sense of the crisis. His career of being known as a “Stalker”—a term implying harsh measures—focuses down to his being a sort of pilgrimage tour guide. Whereas such a calling could be lucrative, one look toward our protagonist’s home makes very clear that money is scarce there. His bedroom and kitchen have been reinforced by a living room operating as a public bar. Could that polyglot become a manifestation of the passionate innovator himself? Whereas those typically doing pilgrimages rush to prove how old-fashioned they are, our Stalker finds a market (obviously not numerous) for those with a hankering of the rebellious. The saga of the missing hat would be a case of a lady’s man, a popular, wealthy writer purveying the chic and solid classical rational thought from many centuries ago. That he’s fond of “risk” is one thing; that he’s bought into the ways of the Stalker is a very different thing. The first visitor seen at that surrealist bar is the other client of the adventure, a scientist. Curiosity being smiled upon in that realm, where standard curiosity does not have a hope. Not about smidgens, but a new cosmos. Both would be proud to call themselves skeptics. Both would be impostors.

Insofar as being that, in my view, the core of this elusive film is concerned with a planet of impostors, we will attempt things in the most incisive and compelling way, that being left for the crisis and what to make of it, while beginning with an idiosyncratic triumph which does, in fact, form the ending.

“You came back,” says the Stalker’s wife in a needling way, and in the bar. Where did the dog come from? (He was feeding the dog.) “It tagged along. Don’t chase it away…” Though unimpressed by the new family member, she is concerned that he join her on a walk to carry her crippled daughter, Monkey, needing the elements. “Monkey’s waiting.” (The elements being contaminated by a striking, unabating force.) Mom smoking, pacing the floor of the bar. The two tourists being morose. The smoker asks, “Does anybody want a dog?” The Writer responds, “I’ve got five already…” The dog goes to the girl. Mom says, to the barman, with no enthusiasm, “So you like dogs.”/ “That’s a good one.” The Stalker gets around to, “Alright, let’s go.” The Family Man raises the girl to his shoulders. The Professor/ Scientist and the Writer watch nonplussed. The daughter and her crocheted shawl seem to be a haven. Their arresting and dashing procession, along a shoreline, frees the gala to its simple and graceful height. A ringing sound is heard. Cut to a wooden bowl being filled with milk.

In great contrast to the playfulness, back home the marching man complains to his wife, “If you knew how tired I am… Only God knows… They still call themselves the intelligentsia. Writers! Scientists!”/ His wife says, “Calm down…”/ He insists, “They don’t believe in anything. Their capacity for faith has atrophied.”/ “Calm yourself,” she tells him, in the action of his being overrun by the lack of focused emotional force. Surprisingly, one more room shows up—an impressive library./ “Stop it. Calm down. Don’t worry…”/ By now, he’s lying on the floor. She tells him, “It’s dark. You can’t stay here.” She helps him up. “Take it off,” she says./ Toward the bed, a surreal cave wall, rippled, primeval but also vaguely chic./ She helps him take off his pants. He lies down in their only bed. She touches his forehead. She sits on the bed. She adjusts the pillow. “Calm down. It isn’t their fault. They should be pitied, not abused. Their eyes are blank.” She gives him a sleeping pill./ He perseveres, “Their thinking how not to sell themselves cheap. How to get paid for every breath they take. They knew they were born “to be someone,” to be an elite!”/ She touches his temple./ He says, of them, “You live only once… How can such people believe in anything at all?” (Ambiguity here must be embraced.)/ “Relax, now,” she urges. “Try to get some sleep…” She sponges his face and forehead. “Go to sleep…”/ He argues, “Nobody believes. Not only those two. Nobody” [Tarkovsky, we must account for, could be using “belief” in a rare way]. Then he delivers a prayer. “Who shall I take there, O Lord… The most troubling is that nobody needs The Room [the great delivery of his product]. And all my efforts are in vain.”/ She argues, “Why do you say that? Don’t…”/ He pitying himself, “I’ll never go there again with anyone.”/ “If you want,” she says, “I’ll go with you. Do you want that?”/ “No, you mustn’t.”/ “Why?”/ “What if you fail, too?”

She sits down and has a smoke. She speaks to the void. Their void. Our void. “You know, Mama was very opposed to it. You’ve probably already guessed that he’s one of God’s fools…” (The footprints of Bergman’s theatrical dialogue; and the heavy woolens on her presence, in lieu of heating. As with Bergman’s films, dialogue is crucial in a film like this. Tarkovsky’s pictorial genius does not invite your guesses as to what he might be thinking. The depths of dialogue deliver exactly what he is thinking—a thinking not to be imagined as normal, nor a quick grab. The métier of the business of film-entertainment might as well be tricked up by Shakespearean garb, inasmuch as nothing has essentially changed in essence since more than two thousand years. Bergman and Tarkovsky [along with a few ignored figures hoping to make a change] know of another way, an emotive key having been in a form of long imprisonment. Here we have questionable nonsense; and overrated smarts. Closely following the dialogue is not a choice.) “Everyone around her used to laugh at him. He was such a wretched muddler. Mama used to say, ‘He’s a stalker, a marked man, an eternal jailbird… Remember, the kind of children stalkers have…’”/ “I didn’t even argue. I knew all about it—that he was a marked man, a jailbird, mocked by children. Only, what could I do? I was sure I’d be happy with him. I knew there’d be a lot of sorrow. But I’d rather know bittersweet happiness [pathos, a Bergman specialty] than a grey, uneventful life. (Moreover, far beyond personal distinction, the lift is an uncanny “zone.”) Perhaps I invented this later. But when he came up to me and said, “Come with me,” I went. And I’ve never regretted it.” (At the film’s beginning, she becomes hysterical about his stealing her watch for the current job… You gave me your word. I believed you…) There was a lot of grief and fear and pain. But I never regretted it nor envied anyone. It’s just fate… It’s life. It’s us. And if there were no sorrow in our lives, it wouldn’t be better. It would be worse. Because then there would be no happiness either. And there’d be no hope. So… (a little smile).

Cut to the daughter, reading at a table. (At first sight it seems a Bible. But on closer inspection it’s far from a Bible.) A freight train goes past their window. Flecks of light show up. Monkey’s voice-over, surveying her prospects.) “I love those eyes of yours, my friend. Their sparkling, flashing, fiery wonder./ Where suddenly those lids descend/ Then lightning rips the sky asunder/ You swiftly glance, and there’s an end… (Panning down, she in profile.)/ There’s greater charm, though, to admire/ When lovely are those eyes divine./ In moments kissed by passion’s fire;/ Where though the downcast lashes shine/ The smoldering embers of desire…” (She looks out the window. A pink color in the sky.)

On the table are three glass vessels: her medicine; a tropical fish; and an empty vase. A dialectical site, not as sterile as you might think. The pulsation from a train moves the medicine bottle toward the edge of the table. But the ensuing pause outside allows the bottle to stay in play. A second glass, containing the fish, also stays in play. (She places two fingers toward the window and the pink sky.) She places her head at one side of the table. The third and empty glass, devoid of substance, plunges to the floor. Is it a case of one’s frailty, or a case of one’s dead history? “Then lightning rips the sky asunder…” Is there a way for her to elicit that “greater charm?”A ringing bell. The table shakes, the glasses shake. The train shakes the table. “In moments kissed by passion’s fire…”

Stalker is far from the graces of Monkey. He and his two adventurers show us most graphically that being alive can be already dead. The figure of the Scientist, aka, the Professor, the early-bird, the typical go-getter, gives us a whack of big-reality in the form a Nobel Prize winner. “Was it a meteorite or a visitation from outer space? Whatever it was, in our small country there appeared a miracle—The Zone; imagined to be a singularity. Stalker went to work upon a mystique of that meltdown.

Right from the terminology of Zone, you know embarrassment awaits. In fact, the entire enterprise of that safari is one long episode of the concerns of Theatre of the Absurd. (That being a tonality very useful to the films of Ingmar Bergman, and now dawning upon Tarkovsky. Also, Bergman was not slow to see that Hollywood melodrama had unwittingly taken up an early version of the tendency of bathetic overkill, in many entertainments. The pathos of that moment of Monkey’s day, introduces something very unique.) Whereas the alarm of Theatre of the Absurd would be heavily involved by way of rational (and irrational) analysis, the Stalker’s approach derives from the possibility that, given enough woe, a frenzy of physical action can break through to serious truth. (He being far from coherent, his other notion becomes that when the magic field is found, the hero is given all the joy anyone would need.)

Rounding off the take-off, our two bold candidates declare statements of concern. The Writer admits, “I dig for the truth, but, while I do, something happens to it. The truth changes into a pile of… I won’t say what… I seldom think. It’s bad for me. The Scientist posits: “I’ve lost my inspiration. I’m going to beg for some.

In the course of stealing a side-car to access what is seen to be a magical place, they invade the large railway complex nearby in the Scientist’s jeep. The pollution count provides the making of film noire, but the actions in the railway yard are so hare-brained as to become a parody, a very young children’s entertainment. What does, though, amidst the jeep-hopping tracks and the Keystone Cops, is the intensity of physical motion, driven to crazy ends by the enthusiast, ends with potential, but light-years away. The atrocious dramaturgy opens the door to the realization that the clientele here—and everywhere—are dead in the water. (In the lull of the race, one of them blurts out, “If I don’t come back, tell my wife…” And, “Hurry, for God’s sake! Keep your eyes open!”) Finding this pitch to be only a specialty of the guide, the Scientist tells them, “What I said about going there… It’s all a lie. I don’t give a damn about inspiration… But how can I put a name to what I want or really don’t want. These are intangibles where the moment you name them, their meaning evaporates, like jelly fish in the sun. You’ve seen them around. My consciousness wants the triumph of vegetarianism. My subconsciousness longs for a juicy steak. So what do I want? I want world supremacy, at the very least.”

Having outrun the ruined land, they come upon a vital valley and fresh streams. Stalker feels like flexing the muscles of his arms. “Here we are, home at last!” The Writer adds, “It’s so still.” Stalker proudly declares, “It’s the quietest place on earth. You’ll see yourself. It’s so beautiful. There is no one here. The protagonist quips, “Three men can’t foul it up in one day.” The Writer contradicts, “Why can’t we? Sure we can… It stinks like a swamp…” The guide tells of an earlier client who trampled all the flowers there. As such, here is the point of leaving off the study as an adventure per se, and instead an exposure of the perversity of educated people finding their heavy preparations to be, in the final analysis, a farce. The bizarre and conflicting meanderings have been allowed to run amok in order to illuminate a quicksand having become supreme. Some mad duress by the leader forces the experience to freeze until twilight. In the hiatus, the protagonist going for a walk that becomes a sleep, the Professor ridicules the so-called businessman. “He was in prison several times. His daughter is a mutant, a so-called Zone-victim. They say she has no legs…” There is a cut to Stalker, body and face plunged into thick grasses. Consulting the elements. The Professor had a friend who had an idea the meteorite was a message to mankind… or a gift.

Making a trek into damaged military ruins of a distant war, the invasion had been forced to proceed in single file, as if that war were still in force. Along with the recent attacks of advantage, there was the protagonist, happy to be pushing around a notable physicist and a best-selling novelist, living in a big villa. “I’ll point out the path.” The advertised athletic force is nowhere to be seen, due to keeping up with big-mouths. “I said, don’t touch it! What, are you crazy? I said this wasn’t a place for a stroll… The Zone demands respect, otherwise it’ll punish you… Don’t try anything like that again!” / “Why can’t we go in a straight line. It’s right under our noses.”/ “I’m fed up with you nuts…”/ “Forget it. I’m going my way…”

This skirmish being the opposite of attempting to deliver disinterestedness by way disciplined, dynamic toil. The three of them settling into that what looks like The Three Stooges. Hollywood melodrama early; and Hollywood comedy late. “Keep the last pole in sight. You go first, Professor…”/ “No, you…” / “We’ll go roundabout.”/ “Why?”/ “Here the straight path isn’t shortest. The more indirect, the less risk there is.”/ “Is it fatal to go straight ahead.”/ “I told you. It’s Dangerous.”/ “Is the detour less dangerous?”/ It’s not, but nobody goes straight…”/ “You and you’re detours.…”/ “How about if I just go straight.”/ “Listen you…”/ “It’s risky here, risky there. What the hell… Forget it. I’m going this way…”

Being duped about a childish magic, the buyers recoup what they can. An assault from science: “You’re a fine one, Mr. Shakespeare. Afraid to advance, afraid to retreat…” A response from literature: “It might seem capricious. But at each moment, it’s as if we construct it accordingly to our own state of mind—the states of mind here overlook honest concentration, and therefore we have just another “fabulous” entertainment. The Stalker also finds a statement transcending Stooges. “All of them are death traps. I don’t know what happens here when humans aren’t around. But as soon as humans appear, everything begins to change. Former strengths disappear, new ones appear. Safe ways become impossible. The way becomes more easy, now confused beyond words.”

Making the best, after making the worst, the protagonist also grasps the sense of the capricious. “But at each moment it’s as if we construct it according to our state of mind. I won’t hide the fact that some people turned back half-way. Some perished on the threshold of the Room. But everything that happens here depends on us.” So far the sobriety holds. And now it doesn’t. It loses its purchase upon one’s readiness to embrace the kinetic. “So the Zone lets the good through, and kills the evil.” Stalker is somewhat amenable to revise that position. “I don’t know. I don’t believe that. I think it lets through those who’ve lost all hope. Not the good or the bad, but the unhappy. But even the most unhappy will perish if they don’t know how to behave here.” Pedantry gone wild.

The semi-anarchy holds to the point where more disclosure of the captains of wow can fall down a hole. The fantasy of the Zone allows the two customers some diversion. But it is the poverty of The Scientist and The Writer resuming their feud that matters. The man of science and technology addresses the writer, “You bedraggled hack, you home-grown psychologist, fit only to scribble graffiti in lavatories.”/ The Writer has his own way to portray the enemy’s being needing to be terminated. The ways of history. The Writer laughs, “That’s feeble stuff. Call that an insult?” (Before more childishness occurs, a dog runs their way. It sits with The Stalker. It easily steals the show. But the sensationalists all but ignorance it.) They’ll soon stumble upon, while in their supposed destination, a striking formation of undulating snow-white domain, in the cave being a supposed heaven. They haven’t a moment to appreciate the strange beauty there.) The Writer’s Response: “What are you after?”/ “All right. So I’m after a Nobel Prize. What are you after? Want to bestow on mankind the pearls of your bought inspiration?”/ “I spit on mankind. In all of your mankind, only one man interests me. And that’s me… Coming to the conclusion that his life is “shit,” the popular sweetheart comes to, “Know something, Einstein, I don’t want to argue with you.” This prompts the image-of-steel, to a militant overrun—the only like of, being religion. He concocts, lyrically, the heavens creating the mountains. “And from the wrath of the Lamb who shall be able to stand…. Truth is born in arguments, dammit! Happiness, but what kind of happiness?” The Stalker’s reverie: “And lo, there was a great earthquake…and the sun became black as sackcloth, and the moon became as blood… And the stars of heaven fell into the earth… And they said to the mountains and rocks, ‘Fall on us and hide us from the face of him that sits on the throne’…And it came to pass that Jesus himself drew near and walked with them, but they didn’t recognize him.” Dribs and drabs: “Mankind exists in order to create works of art. At least that’s unselfish compared with other human activities.”/ “You’re unable to think in abstract terms. Why don’t you teach me the meaning of life…”/ “You may be a professor, but you’re ignorant…”

The Stalker will back into something perhaps a little less hopeless. “Now, take music. It’s connected least of all with reality. Or, if connected, then it’s without ideas. It’s surely empty sound without associations. Nevertheless, music miraculous presents your very soul.” (An agency of force. What chord in us responds to its harmonics? Why is this necessary? )

The “climax,” of course, isn’t. The Writer pulls out a gun; and then throws it into a body of water. The Scientist pulls out of his rucksack a bomb. Much Three Stooges. A large, beautiful hawk comes by where they’ve buried themselves in the cave of nothing. The Writer blurts out, “They devour the film in your soul… What kind of writer am I, if I detest writing? I wanted to change them, but they changed me to fit their own image. The Scientist phones his office to divulge, crazy-heroically, that he had taken from the institute his brainwave. The speaker on the line exclaims, “You realize this finishes you as a scientist.”/ Now, having burned his bridges, he brazens, “Go on, do your dirty work…”/ From the zone of the “true,” the former colleague has a familiar good-bye: “I can see you hanging from your belt over a prison latrine.” The gunman could resume his effete vexation. The bomber, however, seems to have taken on a remarkable problem. Desperate ways. His last words to the messenger—”And not for money or inspiration, but to remake the world!—may still be wrongheaded and wrong hearted.

We’ll call it a day, with Algot, the hunchback-sexton in Bergman’s Winter Light (1962), when Tarkovsky was a young, eager learner. Here he saw some real innovative excitement, excitement like what was in store with Monkey. Algot’s discovery was, “that the Bible’s real sense pertains to one sensibility, Jesus, whose sensual virtuosity was never grasped by anyone as realizing that the spirit driving it all has nothing to do with human immortality.”

#andrei tarkovsky

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themerrymutants · 7 years

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In which Dave theorizes about what Dragon Riders of Pern would look like in the Marvel Universe

Because I apparently can’t help but theorize about what various sorts of fandoms, and their respective rp communities, would look like within the marvel universe. This is kinda long so I put it under a cut, and I know a lot of you are kind of ‘Dave knock it off with the Pern stuff already’. I thoroughly blame Under The Wings for this.

DRoP does exist. Rather like it is here it's a smol fandom but a loyal one

Anne did have mutants in her tales but they usually had very minor and 'acceptable' mutations (IE omniglot, Dazzler expie that she vehemently denied was a Dazzler expie, etc). It wasn't until Todd that the first 'drastic' (read physical) mutation was featured.

That being said the mutant still had a more 'acceptable' drastic mutation (swan wings) and was relegated to a background character that died the very next threadfall. (Baby steps I guess)

A large part of the fanbase pretends said death never happened and will figure out any means they can to make it so it only looked like they'd died but in fact they’re alive and well and they are just flitting around the caves like a wild child.

Mutants were largely considered unimpressable except under very rare circumstances by Anne herself.

Todd, on the other hand, made the rules more lax allowing them to impress greens and blues regardless of sexuality. There's a lot of discourse about what this might mean about what Todd thought (thinks?) of mutants since, at least in the books, greens and blues are often just cannon fodder and seen as the lowest ranks.

While both Anne and Todd denied Hear Alls being a metaphor for telepaths it doesn't stop a portion of the fandom, especially mutants, from having it be gospel fanon anyway. Anne gave up on policing this after a while since none of the things she approved ever involved that theory though it became much more widespread after her death.

Lessa is theorized to have been coded mutant and most mutant fans will cling to this like their lives depend on it. Anne hated this idea so, so, much.

There are rp forums still. A lot of them are wary of allowing mutants as there seems to be a lot of very powerful mutants coming in. On many sites there's a hard ban on telepaths as there's usually already Hear Alls (which are kinda telepaths tuned into dragonkin I'll admit). Sites as of late have loosened the rules a bit but creation of them usually involves either a very high post rank prize or a rather expensive store purchase to keep the numbers down

After the discovery that both sentient and non-sentient life, like aliens and animals, could be mutants there was a push from a small portion of the fandom to allow for dragonkin to have mutations more akin to human mutants rather than things found in our real world. Some sites embrace this wholeheartedly, others have a hard ban saying that since dragons are aliens it wouldn’t make sense. The approving side of the fandom points to aliens being shown to have mutants and the other side points to Kitty Ping’s thorough meddling with the dragon’s DNA and argue that their ability to bond with humans is a mutation in and of itself given it’s telepathy. Each side tends to stick to sites that are either close to their own opinion or share it entirely

It's highly frowned upon to directly expie real life superheroes. Some sites will allow you to expie their comic counterpart as they're usually highly fictionalized but a lot of people still find the idea creepy either way. Some supers have stated they're uncomfortable with the practice either way. Some supers, that do rp in the fandom, have taken to claiming an expie of themselves just to prevent others from playing them since they don't want to ruin the fun but seeing others pretending to be them can be off-putting. Especially when they get their personality all wrong.

The number of arguments over which superhero would end up impressing to what color are many and very very long. Some are joke guesses, some are novellas of evidence as to why X superhero would be a goldrider, others are just fun what ifs.

Thanks to how advanced the Marvel universe tends to be tech wise their Pern is slightly more technologically advanced even before AVIVAS shows up putting technology of Pern several thousand years after the arrival of the first pass settlers closer to the late 1800s to mid 1900s than the tail end of the dark ages to the 1700s.

Traditionalist sites tend to not allow for mutant candidates. This has led to some people working around this by making hear alls who just so happen to sometimes be able to do other things as well. Said things being within the realm of possibility for their bonded to be doing so they can't quite get accused of having made a mutant but still highly suggesting that it is indeed their character doing these things (telekinetics are highly favored for this since dragons have been shown to be telekinetic, wherhandlers tend to be straight out of luck on ways to explain away the odd occurrences).

Telepaths are surprisingly scarce on sites where they are allowed. It's possible that this is due to Hear Alls being a thing and dragonkin already filling the psychic niche. Empaths on the other hand are far more common at least among characters with psychic abilities other than being a hear all.

In the DRoP books human telepaths that aren’t tuned in to dragonkin (whers, flits, and dragons) are usually referred to as Hear All Humans. because the pernese just can’t help but have complicated names for not so complicated things.

Different possibilities I’m lumping together: Hear Alls are mutants with different specialties, hear alls don't exist in humans but are instead found in dragonkin with Hear All Humans (in the Pern books in the real world dragons can interact with humans other than the ones their bonded to but can’t hear the other person’s thoughts in this scenario Hear All Humans would be able to tune into all humans that are receptive not just the one their bonded to), or they just don't exist at all.

Alternate possibility instead of Todd having to retcon mutant impressability Anne made it so their were 7 canon ranks instead of 6. In this canon we’d still have Gold, Bronze, Brown, Blue, and Green with Whites being added as the color that strictly impressed mutants. For those not familiar with Pern: in the books in the real world there was a one off White named Ruth. As of late the sites that aren’t strictly traditional have pretty much accepted whites as canon. What color Ruth would be in the Marvel universe I’m not sure.

#ooc #universe headcanons #welcome to the queue age

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b4kuch1n · 7 years

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The Half Cat

TW for animal body horror; mild spoiler alert for mogami arc

general warning for weirdness and length. srsly dont expect anything going into this. honestly how has this thing become so fucking long I am delirious

also you can read this on AO3 just fyi

There was one point in those months when Shigeo welcomed any kind of change.

The TV was out of question: it had to stay downstairs, there wasn’t much on at that time of the day anyway, and he didn’t want to wake his family up just because he wanted to hear the statics. The big tuner was in his parents’ bedroom, so he couldn’t use it either. He contemplated saving up for a small radio, but with how frequently his power acted up lately during mealtime, his pocket money would have to go towards compensating for silverwares first.

Ritsu saved him from worrying over that, first of all by returning the spoons to their original shape whenever an accident like that happened, then by teaching him how to listen to radio on his phone. “The quality’s not too good, but it’s an alternative while we’re saving up for something better,” he said after pointing out to Shigeo the way to change the stations. “I think the pro-wrestler league has a website too, all of their podcasts should be there in case you need to find an older one… If that comes up I’ll help you with it. Don’t worry, nii-san.”

The pro-wrestler podcasts weren’t totally a lie. Everybody in the Body Improvement Club was at least mildly interested in them, after Onigawara introduced them to Musashi. Of course Shigeo wasn’t as familiar with the sport itself as Onigawara or Kumagawa, so in the end the podcasts became not much more than white noise to him; but as they were, they suited him just as well as a blank station sounding nothing but statics, so there wasn’t anything he could complain about.

He put his phone under the pillow the first few nights, the volume on as low as possible, then Master Reigen gave him a pair of headphones after their next venture. “Don’t listen to music for too long,” he told him, his tone spoke of someone who had made that mistake before. Shigeo believed him. There wasn’t any reason not to.

He listened to the podcasts through the night. The night was longer than what he used to remember of it.

There was something in the district. Something new.

It wasn’t the bus stops. The bus stops were pristine clean but always smelled of presences. Somehow presences made everything a bit older, a bit more private to an anonymous party outside of his knowledge. No trace stayed at the bus stops for too long; winds chasing after the last buses of the day always carried them away before any night lurkers cared to pursuit them.

It wasn’t the lampposts. They were like dust piled up, and people saw through them most of the time. The part that would ever attract attention to them was far enough above eye level to avoid scrutiny most of the times. They couldn’t carry indications of something new.

The bushes thrived and the tree kept standing quietly. Doors opened and closed. Pen scratched on paper.

There was something new.

Shigeo had gotten into the habit of listening to the radio while walking home. He started off looking for something cheerful, but then he realised he wouldn’t pay much attention to it anyway, so by this moment anything was good to him. The headphones Master Reigen gave him couldn’t keep out much of the noises around him, so as long as he still paid some attention to the road, there wasn’t any real risks.

Kurata had been talkative recently. Shigeo was glad of it, mostly. She came into club meetings with brimming enthusiasm for some urban legends said to be rather popular recently, convinced they were aliens in disguise. “We need to find a way to communicate telepathically as soon as possible,” she said to Shigeo, then put another chip in her mouth. She continued after swallowing. “We just gotta establish communication. Then it’d all work out fine. Just tell them they’re welcomed here with open arms.”

Her enthusiasm didn’t lead to a breakthrough in their ‘researches’, but it had to run its course before dying down. Shigeo was okay with hearing voices he was familiar with, so he didn’t stop her. For the rest of Telepathy Club, it was already par for the course.

When there wasn’t any clients at the Office, Shigeo put on his headphones. He could hear the keyboard and the cup of tea being put down on the desk every now and then through the music. It suited him just as fine.

His power kept acting up during dinner. That shouldn’t be something new.

“You shouldn’t listen to music that late at night,” Ritsu told him one day on their way to school.

It really shouldn’t have come to Ritsu telling him this, really; he hadn’t been replying to people as fast as he used to do. He hadn’t noticed Ritsu being disturbed by the sound at night - these headphones didn’t work too well anymore. Good thing he put the volume on low anyway.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Must’ve been keeping you up.”

“No, it’s fine for me,” Ritsu said. “It will disturb your sleep, that’s all. Putting music on while sleeping like that isn’t good for you.”

What he thought at that moment was it’d still be an improvement, but that seemed to be something people might worry over. So he said “I’m okay like that, don’t worry” instead.

He put the volume on even lower that night. Ritsu still worried. That was just him.

Kurata told him about the urban legend she was still interested in lately.

Shigeo could imagine it.

It was a cat. Well, half of one, if they could go by what the footages and the articles online said. White fur, chopped off tail, tiny human hands where paws should be. A stomach full of fireflies still lighting up feebly, if what the article said about that sagittal anatomical plane that should’ve stayed hypothetical was to be trusted. Usually spotted running down dark alleyways, the witnesses (four in total) having only two or three seconds to observe.

Some people had been digging up alleyways and crossroads to find the source of the legend. “Fools,” Kurata said, scrolling down the blog currently opened on her phone leisurely. “This can’t be a haunting. This description fits an interdimensional being too well to be anything else. Just you wait and see.”

Shigeo just thought the creature shouldn’t be disturbed like that. It wasn’t harming anyone, even if it was an urban legend. At least not until people started thinking it brought death or misfortune, like the human-faced dog. Beliefs were powerful stuffs.

He forgot most of it by the end of the day. It was hard to retain things nowadays. Almost like his brain was set on a monotonous track towards silence; if he didn’t actively try to remember details, they’d fall away as easily as dust. He didn’t want that - details should worth more than dust - but his wants wasn’t much to the rest of this show either.

Between that venture and the day he started listening to the radio, his dreams typically went like this:

He woke up alone. The streets he walked were quiet. The punches and kicks landed, but he didn’t feel them. People’s faces were muddled and faded. Some of them laughed, but he didn’t hear it. He was always on the ground sooner than he anticipated - or maybe his perception was just warped, this wasn’t real, and the road here was just too uneventful and too quiet to remember, this wasn’t real, and it broke out too quick, and it wasn’t real-- and someone pulled out a knife, and it ended up in his hand. So he swung it.

Then he woke up. Alone.

He didn’t remember much of his dreams since he started using the headphones.

Dimple came in through the window while he was putting his notebooks away. “There’s something new in the district,” he said, floating idly near the desk lamp. “I don’t know what, but it sure leaves a strong smell.”

“You haven’t seen it?” Shigeo asked him. He shrugged.

“Haven’t run into it yet. Might just be a new kind of pest - you gonna meet it the moment it causes a ruckus, knowing you and your ‘master’.”

Shigeo pulls the zipper on his school bag closed. “Maybe it’s the new urban legend. It seems pretty popular lately.”

“Oh, you’re interested in those things? Didn’t think you’re that kinda kid.”

“Kurata-senpai tells me about it everyday.” Shigeo didn’t know what the kind of kid the spirit spoke of was. “People’ve been seeing it around a lot more frequently. Kurata-senpai said someone in her class saw it yesterday on the way home.”

“Don’t tell me you believe all of that,” Dimple said.

“It doesn’t matter if I do or not,” Shigeo told him.

“Yeah, well, guess you’ve got a point there. Maybe that’s the thing I smelled, if that’s what urban legends smell like. Can’t tell. It’s been quiet around here.”

That reminded Shigeo - the Office hadn’t had a venture in a while. Most of their problems now were Master Reigen’s specialty more than his, and he had had a lot of opportunities to listen to the radio while in the consultation room. That wasn’t very usual, considering their record streak before.

Maybe that was the something new he had been feeling. Maybe.

There was a stray cat near their house. It started coming around recently.

Shigeo had seen it around before, in other parts of the city. At least he thought so - it looked and acted like the same cat, but it never stayed near him long enough for him to actually get a good look at it. It always appeared a bit ragged and roughed up, and it could act really difficult, but he liked to think it trusted him somewhat.

The cat was just a rustle in the bushes near his window at first. Soon it showed up near the pipes outside his window sill, looking inside with a wild look. It would run off the moment someone went near the window.

Shigeo made a bowl with an old plastic bottle. He put the milk he couldn’t drink outside for the cat.

It came around for the milk, but never stayed.

Sometimes he woke up in the middle of the night, startled by something. Might be his dreams, might not. He didn’t remember enough of them to tell.

What he remembered of them usually went like this:

He woke up alone. Statics filled the air. The streets buzzed. The punches never came, and he just walked the streets until he was on the ground, in front of an alleyway. The dusty lamppost stood between him and the entrance. The light flickered the way usual household light bulbs did, but slower.

Then he woke up, alone, the newest podcast playing on loop in his ears. The light was always off.

It really wasn’t much to go by.

“Whatcha listening to?”

Shigeo blinked slowly. It took him a moment to look up again. Master Reigen was looking at him from the desk, intertwined hands propping up his head. Music was still playing on the phone.

“Mob?” Master Reigen called again.

Took another beat for his mouth to work. “It’s just… music, shishou.”

Master Reigen stood up from where he was sitting. “You’ve been really into that lately, huh. ‘S gonna hurt your ears if you wear those headphones for too long. Put them away, we’re going out for something. How does oden sound for you?”

Took him a moment to answer. “It’s… good.”

The evening didn’t feel real without his headphones on. He ended up home, under his blanket, staring up at the ceiling before he knew it. Maybe his perception was just warped.

Kurata showed him another footage the next day. It was low-quality and shaky, and the only thing they could make out from the whole two minutes and thirty-seven seconds of it was a yellow-green-glowing white feline-looking small figure dashing past near the end.

“It’s awful fast,” Kurata remarked. “Even cats aren’t that fast.”

Shigeo and the club let her go on with her researches. By now she had filled up a whole notebook with citations, descriptions, images she printed out, notes, and drawings. She read them what she had collected, and somehow her enthusiasm was just a bit contagious. It kept the club’s spirit higher than usual.

In the end Shigeo ended up spending more time with the Telepathy Club than the Body Improvement Club anyway. While he was present for training, they talked about the podcasts in passing words. Onigawara and Kumagawa liked the same wrestler. There were more than 70 episodes of those podcasts by now.

Shigeo didn’t really listen to them anymore. It was now an unending track of mismatched sounds playing whenever he put on the headphones. It matched the noises outside well enough to blend into the environment whenever he stopped paying attention. And since the sounds didn’t make any real sense anymore, he was always inclined to do that.

“You haven’t been listening to the radio,” Ritsu said to him on a day when they went home together.

Shigeo was a bit slow to answer, “I… haven’t.”

He had. The headphones were always in place when he woke up.

Ritsu worried anyway. Shigeo wished he would stop worrying, but his wishes weren’t much to this show anyway.

After a night of rain, Shigeo put the makeshift bowl of milk on the window sill instead of near the pipe.

The cat was a bit wary, but soon it jumped up on the window sill to get its usual meal. Shigeo sat at his desk while it lapped at the milk. It looked dirty and malnourished, its tail (the tip chopped off crudely and healed just as messily) kept near its legs, as if it was trying to stop it from swishing around nervously.

When the milk had been finished, the cat looked up at him, body still as a statue. It dashed off the moment he stood up. He filled up the bowl again anyway.

The cat was back again while he should be sleeping: in the morning, the bowl was empty.

“I think I saw the Half Cat just now,” their dad told them over dinner. “When I came across the convenient store on the way home.”

That was what the urban legend was called now. Shigeo found that name a bit more amusing than scary. Ritsu wasn’t into urban legends in general, so he didn’t care much.

“I can’t believe you actually believe those stories,” their mom said with a sigh. “I’ve had enough of the neighbors telling me about that thing. It’s like the whole city had run out of things to talk about.”

“Well, it’s big.” Their dad shrugged. “The story, I mean. Not Half Cat. Still bigger than the normal half of a cat, but not huge.”

“How’d you know? All it does is running past people, it seems. They can’t even tell if it’s a cat or not.”

“Well it didn’t move when I walked past it,” Dad said, absentmindedly tapping his chopsticks against the bowl. Mom scowled at him to make him stop. “It just lie in the alleyway, glowing like a bunch of fireflies together.”

Ritsu’s face told Shigeo that he didn’t much like that image. “Don’t say that during mealtime,” Mom scolded Dad. He just shrugged. “Sounds so gross-- Shige!”

Shigeo looked down at his hand to see the spoon twisted into a knot. He blinked, then it seemed to vanish from his hand and into Ritsu’s. Another blink, and it was back into his grip again.

“Sorry,” he said, hazily, and wiped the spoonful of soup off the table with a piece of paper towel.

Statics woke him up.

He could barely catch the end of the buzz, but he remembered it even when his eyes had opened. Taking a deep breath, he held onto the memory of that sound, the rattles of empty sounds, so similar to rain he could almost lose it again in memories of downpours instead.

When he looked to the window, the cat was sitting there. It held itself awkwardly, as if it could tip out of balance at any moment, the short, ragged tail pointing straight up. Warm light from the lamppost outside made its ribcage look almost transparent. The bowl of milk sat in front of it idly.

The cat jumped off into the night the moment a knock sounded on his door. “Nii-san?” Ritsu’s voice cut through the wood, through the statics from the headphones. He took them off before standing up to open the door.

Ritsu looked inside. “I heard statics flaring up.”

Shigeo blinked. “My phone has never done that before.”

“I don’t think it can, actually… You’ve been listening to the radio while sleeping again?”

“I… have.” He didn’t know how else to answer. “Just to fill the silence. I sleep better when there’s noise.” He slept more when there was noise.

Ritsu looked at him. The silence seemed unreal after the buzz in the air died. After a moment Shigeo said, “Let’s go back to sleep,” and Ritsu apologized for waking him up, and he said he had been woken up by the statics anyway.

He checked out the bowl of milk after Ritsu had returned to his room. It was still as full as when he refilled it earlier. When he woke up again in the morning, it was empty.

Master Reigen bought a pair of speakers for his computer at the Office. When Shigeo arrived that day, a music station was playing.

“Oh, Mob, you arrived,” Master Reigen said as he walked in. “We’ve got a client in twenty minutes.

The music playing in the Office that day was probably the same as what Shigeo listened to on his phone everyday, but somehow it sounded different. He could actually hear the notes. They went through the shift without him putting on his headphones.

When he was about to put them on again for the way back, Master Reigen stopped him. “Let’s go out for some takoyaki. It’s been a while.”

It might really have been a while. Shigeo couldn’t recall.

“Weirdly clear night, don’t you think,” Dimple said while he was doing homework. He couldn’t concentrate enough on his homework or the spirit’s word to put his effort into either of them, but he tried anyway.

“Mm-hm.”

“Yeah, usually by this time of the year pests are already crawling around everywhere.”

“Maybe it’s the urban legend,” Shigeo replied, almost automatically, after a beat.

“You seems really for that huh.”

Shigeo was lost somewhere between his homework and Dimple’s voice; his head filled up with statics.

The cat came early. Statics flared right before it jumped up on the window sill.

Shigeo sat up, statics roaring from the headphones covering his ears. The cat stood under the light of the lamppost, dust floated up from its fur, glowing under the light.

Unplug it, a voice sounded hazily through the pouring buzz. Shigeo did what it told him to.

The statics stopped.

The cat stared at Shigeo, tail swishing around lazily. Then it looked down to the plastic bowl, and blinked slowly.

“You can drink it,” Shigeo told it. It tilted its head in a strange angle. “It’s milk.”

Something sounded in the headphones, like a person trying out a mic by tapping on it.

Shigeo stood up and went to his desk. The carton of milk was in his bag. He took it out, went back to the cat, tore open the corner carefully, and made the motion of tilting it to pour milk into his mouth. “It’s drinkable,” he told the cat.

It only stared at the already in the bowl, then at him again.

Taking a deep breath, Shigeo tilted the milk carton into his mouth again. Statics were picking up in his unplugged headphones as the taste washed over his tongue. He swallowed. His stomach didn’t seem to agree with what he just did.

The cat looked at him again, then jumped off the window sill into the night, leaving him standing there with an opened carton of milk in hand. For a moment the wind seemed to pick it up, but before he could register that sight, it was already gone.

He left the milk carton on the window sill. The bowl was empty by morning, and the carton nowhere to be seen.

“I heard statics again last night,” Ritsu told him on their way to school.

“I did too,” Shigeo said.

“Do you have any idea where it can come from? It’s just weird for it to happen like that in the middle of the night.”

Shigeo almost answered the urban legend by default, but then he thought twice about that and replied, “No idea, sorry, Ritsu.”

Kurata was quiet today.

Shigeo didn’t like it, but his will wasn’t much to this show anyway.

Inugawa told him while Kurata scrolled furiously down the blog opened on her phone, “Some sick assholes harmed a cat to set up for fake evidence on Half Cat. They’re all cuffed and hauled back to the police station by now, but President was still upset. Understandable, really. Who would even do that?”

Shigeo couldn’t say anything, even though he had the answer.

“At least they can’t do it again,” Inugawa said thougthfully. “There aren’t many stray cats on the street anymore. I haven’t seen one in a while. I don’t know where they’ve gone to, but if it means those kinda people can’t get their hands on them, I say good for them.”

After their first venture in a while, Shigeo found himself across the table from his Master, a half-eaten okonomiyaki in front of them. The TV of the store was on; the current show sounded like a period drama.

The store wasn’t as quiet as he thought it to be.

“You should sleep more, Mob,” Master Reigen said through his mouthful, pointing the chopsticks in his hand at him. “It’s important for someone your age.”

“I’ll try,” he replied.

The cook turned the TV off, and everything fell off his memory along with the sounds.

The cat didn’t drink the milk.

Shigeo drank it instead.

“Somebody in my office got into an accident,” Dad told them during dinner. “They were chasing after Half Cat. I think the thing doesn’t wanna be found.”

Shigeo soon found himself looking down that the mess his twisted spoon make, and Ritsu doing the same.

At this point of the months, Shigeo welcomed any kind of change.

His first dream without the headphones in a long while went like this:

He woke up. Alone. Statics filled the air. The streets buzzed with a jagged beat. The punches and kicks landed, and statics bursted out every time they collided with his body. Laughters blended into the background noises so well, they could almost be mistaken one for the other. Soon he found himself on the ground, and a knife in hand, and it weighed down on his hand like statics did on his mind. And he swung it.

And then he woke up. Alone. Statics roared in his ears.

The cat stayed just long enough for him to look at it, then it dragged the milk carton off the window sill and into the night.

He didn’t know if he slept any more that night or not. He couldn’t tell.

He came by a cat laying on the ground near a lamppost on his way home from the Office. Its fur was splattered with something like white paint and fluorescent powder. The tail was clipped short in a crude manner.

He stayed to look at it until it could stand up and walk away.

He didn’t dare putting the headphones on again.

Master Reigen let him sleep for a while on the Office’s couch. Or, to better recap the situation, he nodded off while listening to the music sounding from the speakers and Master Reigen let him be.

“You can’t be of any help like this,” he said when Shigeo woke up, startled by a burst of statics. “Go home, have some sleep. We have a big case tomorrow.”

What he wanted was to stay here, in this music, where there was noise - the right kind of noise - but, his wants… they aren’t much. They really aren’t.

“Go, before this music grates on your mind like it’s grating on mine right now,” Master Reigen said. Shigeo knew he was right. “They play these kinds of crap on the radio nowadays. A high trafficked road would sound better than this.”

Ritsu came by his room late into the night. Neither of them wanted to sleep.

“The statics didn’t came tonight,” Ritsu said. Shigeo didn’t really have anything to say to that.

When they both had settled against the wall near Shigeo’s desk, Ritsu pulled out his own phone to put up a podcast. It was one of the pro-wrestler league’s. Shigeo heard the mentioned wrestler’s name for the first time in… as long as he could remember.

They didn’t have any sleep that night, but Shigeo didn’t forget it.

“A kid from Saruta’s class almost got his head crushed while trying to follow Half Cat to the back of the Salt Factory.” Inugawa said, flipping through his comic while Kurata tapped on the table agitatedly. “He’s in the hospital now. They say he’s gonna recover, but if you ask me, it’s kinda scary.”

Master Reigen’s case led them to the other side of the city.

They skidded to a halt when the spirit they were after took a sharp turn into an alleyway. Statics filled the air as Master Reigen bounced forward to follow it suit, but the look on Shigeo’s face probably was what held him back.

“What’s it, Mob?” He asked. “Wait, I hear statics.”

His voice blended into the buzz.

Shigeo went into the alleyway after a burst of statics. His vision almost fizzed along with the air. The light at the end of it flickered like a household light bulb, but slightly slower.

Their client’s treasured ring lay on the ground. Shigeo picked it up.

The light approached them before they came to it. Out of it walked the cat, paws looking too much like human hands firmly on the ground, mouth opened wide, showing the jagged jaws.

Statics roared.

Master Reigen noticed the milk carton on the ground the same time Shigeo did. “Let’s get out of here,” he said to Shigeo, before statics drowned out everything else he said, and the steel balcony right above them creaked slightly. It didn’t fall until three days later, when someone else was under it to take a picture of the alleyway.

Shigeo drank his milk carton. He didn’t remember the dream he had in the morning, when he saw the bowl of milk still stand on the window sill, full to the brim.

Master Reigen brought back to the Office a cat bed covered with old rugs and tree barks and filled with milk cartons. “Can you feel anything from this thing?” He asked Shigeo.

There was nothing to feel. The cat bed was empty and silent. The sour milk smell was overwhelming.

Master Reigen found a way to burn it.

He wasn’t sleeping when the cat came into his room.

It was white under streetlight and moonlight, and even though there was nothing keeping its intestines inside, they stayed in their place perfectly. Its stomach buzzed with feeble light.

He was silent when it dragged the headphones to him. He was silent as he put them on and it jumped back onto the window sill, he was silent when he followed it into the night.

The street was quiet, even though statics buzzed in his headphones. His foot didn’t touch the ground - he shouldn’t soil his socks, they’d be hard to wash - as they moved deeper into the city.

They stopped at a bus stop. Shigeo could smell the spilled milk.

The cat looked around for a while, then sooner than he anticipated, it came back to him. It jumped on the bench, trying to get his groggy attention, and when it did, it opened its mouth to let a burst of statics out.

Shigeo remembered the cat bed. He almost couldn’t find the words to form the sentence he needed to say, but he did it in the end. “They’re... gone.”

The cat yelled a silent high-pitched mic noise. It hurted his ears.

“They’re… dead. They’re dead. There’s nothing…”

His voice was drowned out by the statics.

The cat nudged on his hand. It was shaking. It was vibrating with the lamenting buzz.

Please, he heard through the headphone. Someone tapped the imaginary mic. Please.

“I don’t want the other one to be all there’s left of you,” Shigeo said, not really sure where he got the words. Statics flared up.

But of course…

The cat nudged on his head again, and this time he rubbed what was left of its head. Like a zipper bag zipped open, light flowed out of it with his hand. When he took his hand off the tip of its tail, it had already dissolved completely.

The light from the lamppost flickered slowly.

He went home. The streets were quiet.

He woke up alone.

He left the headphones at the Office. Reigen put them away.

Ritsu came by his room again.

They slept.

The Half Cat came by his window one more time, and this time there was a carton of milk waiting for it. He watched as it wrapped its hands around the carton and lifted it up, then threw him a dark look before running off.

People learned to stay away from the urban legend before long. Kurata’s enthusiasm dried up just as quickly. “Maybe it’s better for it to stay away from people,” she said one day, while reading something on her phone. “Can’t trust the welcoming open arms of some folks.”

Sounds returned slowly to him, and with them memories. He couldn’t remember his dreams anymore, but the rest he did. He could keep himself from spacing out again. Ritsu worried a bit less.

The stray cats returned to the streets when they didn’t pay attention. So did the pests. Dimple was happy.

He drank his milk again eventually.

The cat never came back.

#mob psycho 100 #kageyama shigeo #kageyama ritsu #reigen arataka #mp100 fanfic #tw: animal injury #tw: body horror #@ qcatter hey here it is #I am rather confident that this is not what you were anticipating #so there it is #also idk why but teru isnt in this one #I guess I just cant handle him like this #also pls dont draw the half cat just let it rest in peace #actually u can do w/e Im just rly done for some reasons #Im gonna sleep bye

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echoeternally · 7 years

Text

Nexus of Lylat (Chapter 7)

Following the last chapter, Krystal explains something cool about herself, Falco doesn’t approve, and Star Fox decides on doing something.

My descriptions are flawless, I know. If need be, check back with the chapter index here. Otherwise, enjoy.

Gaping, the trio remained silent for a moment. Falco soon broke it, and uttered, “Just what was that about?”

“Like it? That’s telekinesis,” proudly introduced Krystal. “Not every telepath is capable of both that and telekinesis, so I wasn’t sure if I could ever pull it off. But, I’ve practiced focusing and moving objects with my mind a lot lately, just to see if I could help push it along and see if I could force it out.” She smirked and knocked on her head. “Guess when it finally decided to work?”

“Just today? Krystal, that’s amazing!” Slippy bounced and cheered. “Oh wow, this is the coolest! Can you pull off all sorts of psychokinetic tricks?”

“Not quite.” Krystal’s smile faded and her head lowered a bit. “Psychokinetic abilities refer to masterful manipulation with the mind, in which telekinesis is a derivative of. But, telekinesis is limited to the mental force of moving just objects, whereas psychokinetic abilities go beyond that.” She shrugged and folded her arms. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to get that far myself, since I’m still developing my telepathy as it is, and I just started telekinetic control, so…I’ve still got a ways to go.”

“This is still great work, Krystal,” complimented Fox. “Didn’t you just mention that you weren’t even sure you were capable of it? And now you can actually use it; even if you’re just starting, that’s extraordinary. You should be proud over making even that much progress.”

“Thank you, Fox.” Krystal beamed to him. “That’s sweet of you.”

“Yeah, well,” Fox chuckled.

“Great stuff,” piped up Falco. “But I think we’re all familiar with Krystal’s psychic specialties.”

“Aw, don’t you want to get reacquainted with them, Falco?” Krystal winked at the bird, who winced a bit. “After all, I was going to suggest some combat training to end the night.” She grinned wickedly. “And if you thought it was fun with me messing with your mind, just wait until I master messing with the objects around you!”

“…Can we not?” Falco pleaded to Fox. “Last time, she convinced me to keep hitting myself while chanting to stop, and I just…do I really need that now, since she can whack me with her jacket on top of that?”

“Yes!” Slippy clapped. “Even if she does the same to me, it’s worth it to watch her mess with Falco!” Krystal shared a laugh with him while Falco glared.

“We could probably use some hand-to-hand training,” admitted Fox. “But, I was looking to try out a dogfight to end tonight.”

“Now that’s more like it!” Falco smirked. “I’m all for flight and fight practice.”

“So, we go from picking something that I’d have an advantage with to something that Falco will probably ace at.” Krystal rolled her eyes and playfully glared at Fox. “That’s really fair, Fox.”

“Flying is everyone’s skill, not just Falco’s,” retorted Fox. “Even…if he’s the ace.”

“And don’t you guys forget it,” laughed Falco. “C’mon, let’s get right back out.”

“Fox, do we really have to? I already dented in my Arwing’s nose.”

“You heard the leader, Slip!” Falco opened the door back out again. “Flight practice is on, and we all need it! Now, let’s go!”

“Don’t worry Slippy,” whispered Krystal as she strolled out with the mechanic. “We’ll team up and take Falco out first.”

“Honestly, you should leave that to Fox,” advised Slippy, glancing back as their leader followed them to the corridor. “Falco may be the best flier, but Fox is probably the best fighter.”

“Well, sometimes,” mumbled Fox. “I’m not perfect at it, and some days I whiff it pretty badly.”

“Oh, quit being modest, Fox,” teased Krystal. “Slippy’s right, and it’s good that you are, or else we’d have a lot more trouble with missions.”

“Fair enough,” relented Fox.

Navigating back to the hangar, the three caught up with Falco and boarded their Arwings. Fox tapped at his controls to start the fighter up, with the rockets roaring back to life. He opened up the communications channel with the others, and checked his weapons supply.

“Remember guys, only fight until shields run out.” Fox glanced at his filled shield gauge and nodded. “No need for overkill.”

“We don’t need this reminder at every training session, you know. It was one time, Fox,” spat Falco. “…Peppy was really feisty that day.”

“He hit all of your nerves,” recalled Krystal. “What was it he mentioned about fried feathers again?”

“Listen, ‘Little Miss Psychic Star,’” fired back Falco. “You want get knocked out of the sky first? I’ll gun for you, if you’re looking for it.”

“Go on, I dare you.”

“Don’t worry, it’ll happen,” assured Falco. “But…I know you’re protecting Slippy, and he’s the easy one to knockout, so, you’ll go down after him.”

“Thanks for nothing, Falco!” Slippy unintelligibly grumbled under his breath. “Just wait. You’ll get yours.”

“Yeah, from who? You?” Falco laughed. “Not likely.”

“Are we going to smack talk the whole time, or are we ready to fly?”

“Ready whenever, Foxie.”

“ROB? We’re ready.”

“Affirmative,” announced the robot over the speakers. “Opening gates.”

Click here to continue

#starfox #star fox #krystal starfox #fox mccloud #nexus of lylat #falco lombardi #slippy toad #psychic powers #telekinesis #telepathy #great fox #sci-fi #drama

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thederailedtrain · 7 years

Text

The Magic Shop: Lost And Found [Three]

“I’m begging you to reconsider,” Kira said for what had to be the thirteenth time in as many days. And that was a conservative estimate. There had been a few positive responses in her quest to gain allies for the upcoming battle, but overall, it wasn’t looking good. It seemed like people were more concerned with their own safety than the safety of the world at large. Nothing pissed her off more.

So when she said that she was begging someone to reconsider, what she really meant was that she was begging herself not to chew them out.

Across a doily-covered coffee table, the Kovac sisters glanced at each other. Unlike Cedric and Salazar, Kira knew that their silent conversation hadn’t been forged by years of friendship - though they had certainly known each other as long. The unique specialty the Kovac sisters shared was that of telepathy. A mental link created when a single egg split in two in the womb. What was particularly interesting about their ability was that they could bestow it on others and set up whole mental networks.

Kira didn’t doubt that they were using it right then, holding a wordless conversation with every member of their coven. Actually, if Kira had to wager a guess, they were probably talking shit about her and Gus. They were one of those old magic, old money covens Kira was beginning to really dislike. But that didn’t make their ability any less incredible

An ability that would make them a powerful ally in the fight to come. That was why Kira was so insistent on getting the Kovac sisters and their coven to join them in the upcoming battle. Being able to keep tabs on everyone on their side at all times could easily tip the fight in their favor.

“This isn’t our fight,” Annette replied eventually, folding her hands in her lap with a certain amount of dignity.

“We don’t want to cause any unnecessary harm to befall our coven,” Zelda finished for her. The seamless way they transferred from sentence to sentence was still surreal to Kira, even after knowing them as Otherworld patrons for months.

But it wasn’t enough to distract Kira from their answer. She could feel her anger bubbling over and thrumming in her ears. Gus, perhaps sensing her mood or smelling some chemical change within her, shot her a worried look, but it was too late. Her mind was made up. Kira had spent the last two weeks losing negotiations. She wasn’t about to lose this one too.

“Bullshit, this isn’t your fight!” Kira exploded. Someone, she guessed it was Zelda, gasped at her outburst. Gus just sighed at the inevitability of it all. “The outcome of this battle will affect every Otherworlder in this Ward - maybe beyond. What will happen if they do manage to raise Layla? She might very well be powerful enough to plunge this entire world into chaos. And you still think this won’t affect you?!”

Kira had to stop there and take a breather, lest her voice got any louder. The Kovacs were quite traditional and every witch in that room had at least ten years on her. They required a softer, more dignified touch. But her patience for this kind of thing was really wearing thin after so many days. That outburst wasn’t just meant for them, but every Otherworlder who had been selfish enough to turn her offer down.

The witch buried her head in her hands for a second, willing her anger to recede. Cedric would probably be able to sway them, even without using his...sway. His temperament was so much steadier than her own. He could really connect with people in a way that Kira just couldn’t. All these lessons with him and she still hadn’t learned how Cedric dealt with people so easily.

Suddenly, there was a feeling of a hand at her shoulder. The touch was soft and hesitant, but it was definitely there. Kira glanced up out of the corner of her eye and spotted Gus, slowly rubbing circles onto her back. Like that, Kira figured, that was how she could connect to people.

“Alright, see Gus here?” Kira finally went on. She indicated to him, but Gus didn’t seem too enthused about suddenly being called out. “I’m sure you noticed it when he introduced himself, but he isn’t a witch; he’s a werewolf. And he’s been fighting this conflict even before he was turned. This fight doesn’t just involve agents of the Ward fighting off the Harbingers. It involves all of us. Gus knows that. Do you?”

The sound of a scoff across the room got Kira’s attention. Paula, Annette’s eldest daughter was grimacing in their direction. “A werewolf that nearly got a norn captured by the Harbingers he was trying to protect her from,” She scowled.

And just when Kira thought she was going to get her anger under control, they had to go and test her like this. “I’m sorry?” She managed not refrain from shouting again, but she definitely did spit that out. Kira looked back at Gus to see what his response would be. However, he seemed to suddenly find his own dirty fingernails more interesting. Well if he didn’t feel like fighting back, Kira sure did. “Could you repeat that? One more time.”

“I said; that werewolf there nearly got his charge captured by the same dark magic coven he was supposed to be protecting her from,” Paula sounded just as smug as she had the first time she said it and Kira couldn’t wait to knock that look off her face.

Sure, Kira had heard about Gus’s subway adventures with Agata, but they didn’t sound anything like that. The norns he’d delivered her to lived only a few doors down, though, so maybe they were gossip buddies or something.

“Actually, he managed to successfully protect Agata from Harbingers over fifteen miles of subway tracks. And he did it all on his own just weeks after he was changed,” Kira fired back, keeping her stare on Paula the whole time. Suddenly, she wasn’t looking so confident. Good, because Kira wasn’t finished. “What Gus did was stop the Harbingers from gaining access to prophecies Agata had seen, which may have tipped the balance of this fight in their favor. He did his part to protect this Ward. How are you planning to do yours?”

Another silence filled the room and Kira knew without a doubt they were holding another telepathic conversation. While they worked through whatever Kira just said, she turned to her friend. He was looking up at her even before the turned his way, smiling up at her more shyly than she’d ever seen from him. Kira didn’t really know if speaking aloud would be a good idea while the Kovac coven was communicating, so she just did what she could, offer Gus the best smile she could whip up and give him a hearty punch to the shoulder.

Finally, Zelda spoke up. “You aren’t quite who we’re used to dealing with in these situations,” She said.

“And Cedric would never use this kind of stick on us-” Annette added.

“Without giving us some kind of carrot in return,” Zelda finished for her. They both nodded at the same time.

While it wasn’t exactly the resolution she had been hoping for, Kira could at least work with this. “No, I’m not Cedric,” She shrugged, finally feeling comfortable enough to lean back against her chair. Kira may not have been Cedric, but she couldn’t help but feel his body language affecting hers. “I drive a much harder bargain...So what’s your choice going to be?”

It took another fifteen minutes, but Kira eventually managed to work the Kovac coven into an agreement. Annette and Zelda would not be participating in the battle, due to their age - the first viable argument they’d presented all evening, and one Kira was willing to accept. However, they would show up to the shop beforehand and cast a mental link over everyone who would be participating.

Several other members of the coven bowed out, citing the same reasons as their leaders. Paula straight out refused with no reason given, which Kira figured was at least partially her fault. Whatever, Kira figured. If that was the kind of attitude she displayed towards the greater good, it would be better if she wasn’t there anyway. But they did manage to pick up half a dozen other witches from the Kovac coven to participate in the battle. Not a lost evening, Kira would say.

After exchanging handshakes and “blessed be”s with everyone, Kira and Gus finally headed out. Halfway through the garden, Gus stopped short.

“No bloody way,” He muttered, walking in a direction that was definitely not the exit. And if Kira’s guess about what it was turned out to be correct… “Is that an actual unicorn?”

Of course. “I’d stop there if I were you,” Kira warned and Gus peered back at her, but didn’t stop moving. “That monster has bitten me every time I’ve met it. I wouldn’t want to get too close.”

Gus took about five seconds to consider, before deciding to go for it anyway. He held up a hand for the unicorn and the evil creature leaned down to sniff. Before Kira could yell another warning, it gently nudged against Gus’s hand with its silvery muzzle.

Well, okay then. Kira hadn’t expected that. She was guessing Gus would fare even worse than she had; that the unicorn would see Gus’s werewolf nature as a potential predator and react even more harshly. And yet, there she was, letting Gus pet her mane and nudging against him.

“My neighbor growing up had a few horses. Even let me ride on them occasionally,” Gus said by way of explanation. “I guess I still have a way with equines.” He flashed Kira a grin. “Or maybe she sensed I’m Scottish. Unicorns are the national animal of Scotland, did you know?”

No, Kira didn’t, though she wasn’t surprised by it either. But even more concerning than the bond forming between Gus and the Kovac’s unicorn was the smile on Gus’s face.

“You know, I think this is the first time I’ve heard you speak since we got to the Kovac’s,” Kira mentioned and she could see Gus’s hand suddenly stall on the unicorn’s mane. Bingo. “Keeping quiet isn’t like you. Something’s up.”

“Well, the last full moon was yesterday, so I’m probably still feeling it a little. Sorry about that,” Gus got out quickly, avoiding Kira’s eyes. Nice try, but Kira knew him too long to accept that answer. She just kept her eyes on him until eventually Gus had to look back at her. “Jesus, could you stop that?” Kira refused to yield and Gus let out a sigh. “When did you become so good at reading people?”

Kira offered him a shrug, taking one or two wary steps closer to Gus and the unicorn. “Spend enough time around Cedric and you pick up a few of his tricks,” She replied. This was officially as close as she wanted to be to that evil horned creature, so she stopped there. “Not all of them, as you probably saw back there but…” She trailed off, eyes glazing over with concern. “I can tell when something’s bothering you, so what is it?”

Again, Gus was silent while he petted the unicorn. Kira hated when Gus was silent, but if it was after a question, she knew that it was because her friend was trying to measure his words carefully. “Um, are you really sure that you want me?” He spared a glance at Kira. “You know, for the final battle?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Kira’s response was casual. Her brows pinched together. “Should I not be sure?”

The blond made a face, mouth flapping open several times as he tried to figure out what to say. “Well, yeah,” Gus shrugged, face earnest. “Kira, I’m not going to be much help out there.”

That made Kira pause. When had Gus ever been no help, much less slowed them down? “What makes you say that?”

“Look, Kira,” Gus breathed, pulling his hands back to wring them together. The unicorn, upset at a situation where she was no longer being petted, bumped Gus’s hands with her nose. “You know just as well as I do that I’m not much of a-“ A pause, followed by a sharp intake of breath. God, he really still had a problem with hearing it said aloud. “I’m not much of a werewolf and I won’t be much help either. I haven’t been at this as long as you have. I can make my eyes glow and I growl sometimes, but half the time it’s an accident. That’s not really all that threatening, you know.”

“This is about what Paula said, isn’t it?” Kira sighed. Gus didn’t say anything, but it was still a positive answer. Kira placed a hand on his shoulder, giving him a small smile. “Yeah, you’re a badass werewolf or whatever now, but you’ve always been a badass. Even when you were still just a human, you always managed to help when I needed help with the Otherworld. And you’re my friend, Gus. I trust you more than I trust myself half the time. If something goes wrong tomorrow night, you’re the one I want at my side - not someone from that poncy ass coven, alright? Just you.”

Gus nodded several times before the smile started across his face. “Just me?” He asked. “Yeah, I think I can handle that.” Then he let out a laugh. Kira was glad to hear that kind of laugh from Gus again. Or, at least, she was for all of five seconds before Gus spoke again. “I can’t believe you actually called someone poncy. Have you been hanging around any Brits I should know about?”

“Shut up,” Kira said, slugging him in the arm. The unicorn huffed at her in warning. “Don’t ruin the moment.”

“Alright, alright,” Gus relented laughing once or twice more. Then he took a deep, centering breath and looked at Kira. “Alright...I guess I’ve avoided it for long enough. Let’s go talk to Markas.”

The only reason Cedric had split up the work between himself and Kira was because it was the most practical decision. Really. She was his second-in-command, so she was the one he trusted the most to lead while he was out of town. And she’d been working by his side the longest, so her contacts were better than any of the other shop workers. Not to mention, he needed to keep an eye on Toni and stay by her side to give her credibility. Oh, and he had a car and Toni could teleport, which meant they were the best choices to make the trips out to the rest of the Tri-State area while Kira kept watch on the city.

See, nice, logical reasons to divide the work.

But even listing the reasons twice daily wasn’t enough to convince Cedric. He still knew he was lying to himself. And if the small sense of guilt niggling at the back of his mind wasn’t enough, there was that feeling like something was missing from his day. He didn’t have to think hard to know just what-

Shit, that was his exit.

Cedric slammed on the brakes, only barely managing to make the offramp. He muttered a Gaelic swear under his breath, thankful that it wasn’t rush hour and there weren’t too many cars for him to avoid.

At least one person seemed to notice, however. Toni, who had been dazing off and listening to music in the passenger seat, chose that moment to stop daydreaming and take off her headphones. The look she was sporting alone already had Cedric bracing for impact.

“Nice turn off, Dick Dastardly,” Toni commented dryly. Cedric could hear the bass pumping from her headphones, but couldn’t quite make out the melody. “Are you falling asleep at the wheel there? I have a license, you know. I can take over.”

“No,” Cedric said immediately. Not that he didn’t trust her - okay, actually he didn’t trust her - but he didn’t really trust anyone with his car anyway.

“Wow, fine, okay,” Toni replied, hands up in a defensive gesture. Cedric absolutely did not miss her mutter ‘touchy’ under her breath, but he was not going to comment about it. He thought that would be the end of it, but he should’ve known to expect nothing at this point. “But, just curious, why are we even driving to these guys? You know I can teleport us there, right?”

A red light up ahead had Cedric slowing the car down, a lot more gently this time. “Because we can’t teleport anywhere near the Bloodworths or the Fortiers without being attacked blindly. The sigil you have set up around Bethesda Castle? There are similar ones set up around both of their estates. Apparently it’s to keep out members of the opposite parties, but who knows with these guys.” Cedric sighed deeply, already dreading how this joint meeting was going to go.

Toni just shrugged, settling back into her seat. “Fair enough,” She commented. “Didn’t really stop Donnie from getting the hell out of there a while back.” Cedric actually had to take his eyes off the road for a moment so he could pin Toni under the full force of his glare. Not that it seemed to affect her much. “What? He was a Harbinger working under us the whole time. Of course I knew about his plan. I helped him draw it up.”

“It isn’t that I’m surprised by this knowledge,” Cedric told her, pulling through the intersection. “It’s your tone. You sound so proud of yourself, even though your actions these last few weeks seem to contradict that.”

“Don’t hold me to the same moral high ground you stand on, Mr. Warden,” Toni replied with a roll of her eyes. “I’m proud any time I can pull one over on someone. I’m just as happy with my win over Jasper at the Cloisters.” She breathed out, and suddenly her body language seemed to change. Shy wasn’t quite the right word for it. Withdrawn, maybe. “Besides, I quite liked that plot. No killing, minimal conflict. Of course, Jasper had to stick around to gloat, which lost us the damn book, but...not a lot of people got hurt. I liked that part.”

Now that was a surprise. He’d heard Kira mention Toni’s supposed distaste for killing before, but he almost hadn’t believed her. Of course he should’ve trusted Kira’s judgement. Though there was still one thing she’d said that bothered him. “You said you didn’t want to hurt anyone, and yet you attacked Gus and Alvaro. Bit hypocritical, don’t you think?” Cedric raised an eyebrow at her in the mirror and watched as she pulled a second eye roll.

“Like I said before, Jasper is an asshole,” She muttered dangerously. The threat in her voice wasn’t directed at him, but at the imaginary Jasper that Cedric assumed she was glaring at out the passenger window.

And just like every other time, just when he thought he’d figured Toni out, she managed to surprise him again. Cedric could tell from her emotions that she was telling the truth about Jasper’s part in that particular conflict. However, he just couldn’t get a solid fix on her with his empathy. It might’ve been due to her chaos magic, but there was also something Toni was hiding. And she was hiding it damn well if she could fool even an experienced empath like Cedric. He could only hazard a guess about what that thing was, but he was going to try anyway.

“You brother wasn’t the only reason for you leaving the Harbingers, was it?” Cedric pressed and - yep, there it was. Barely there, but Toni definitely jumped when the question was out of his mouth. “I’m an empath. I’ve sensed you hiding something for some time now.”

Toni grumbled something under her breath that was a little too low for Cedric to hear. He was just about to ask her what it was before she answered him. “No, Jasper’s attack on Lex wasn’t the only reason for me leaving,” Toni told him. “But that other reason is a secret. And it’s my secret, so I’d prefer to keep it that way.” She even snuck a smile his way. “Don’t worry, it’s not gonna affect anything for this upcoming battle. Or afterwards if we get lucky.”

“If we’re lucky,” Cedric echoed under his breath. The outcome of this battle wasn’t really up to them. It wasn’t even up to luck. It was up to fate and whatever she had in store for them. And if Kira’s visions were anything to go by, then the outcome of this battle had been decided at least five months ago.

And just like that, the conversation appeared to be over. Cedric honestly wouldn’t have minded if it was. He was perfectly content to just drive in silence while Toni listened to her bass-heavy music, but she didn’t seem happy with leaving it there.

“Speaking of keeping secrets…” Toni drawled, a smirk reappearing on her face. But it wasn’t the smirk he’d come to expect from the Harbingers. Cedric had a feeling this smug grin was her own and not the one Layla’s influence plastered across the faces of all of her followers. Didn’t give him any sense of ease, however. “When are you planning on telling Kira you love her?”

Despite the fact that Cedric was currently sitting behind the steering wheel, he was still very tempted to leave the car anyway. Unfortunately, Cedric knew there was no way out of this. He was going to have to muscle his way through it.

“I’m not in love with Kira,” Cedric got out through clenched teeth.

“Alright, fine, you’re not in love with her,” Toni conceded with an easy shrug. “But you’ve definitely got feelings for her. What’s that like for an incubus? Falling for someone else?” And now she was just playing with him. Wonderful. When he didn’t answer her in a suitable time frame, Toni went on. “Come on, you aren’t even trying to deny it.”

Toni kicked her boot clad feet up on the dashboard, which Cedric knew was just a way of getting him to speak, but he wasn’t going to crack. He wasn’t.

“Literally everyone’s picked up on it, by the way. That kiss when we had you chained up in the basement was a brilliant ploy, but it wasn’t just for show. I know that’s when I first spotted it. Jasper’s totally oblivious to human emotion, so it took him a little longer. Probably that night when we actually stole your grimoire. You know, when Kira broke through that contract of her own free will. It was because of you, ya know. She heard your voice and came running...”

Now she really was testing Cedric’s patience. But it was only a few more minutes to the designated neutral meeting spot and then he’d be free of this. Hopefully she wouldn’t keep going on the car ride home.

“Now, I haven’t read much of the grimoire. I left the Harbingers before we got the majority of the translation done. We were also pretty focused on those seal-breaking rituals, so I didn’t see much else. But I do recall one section on birth prophecies. Yours was in there. Not so sure about the translation, but if I’ve got the general gist down-”

“Don’t,” Cedric nearly roared. “Don’t you dare talk about something you know nothing about.”

Damnit, he was doing so well, but there was only so much he could take. He hated raising his voice like that, even with someone he once considered his enemy. But he was also bound to snap at some point. Of all the damn things to bring up.

Cedric could still feel himself shaking with barely controlled anger as he made the turn into the gated community. He had to be careful with how he maneuvered the car.

Far from being scared or shocked - or even guilty - Toni just looked satisfied. “Wow, that took a lot more prodding than I expected,” She said, nodding to herself. “Sorry about that, I didn’t think it wouldn’t take so much, but you really held out there. But you know what they say, admitting it is the first step.”

“When I told you not to talk about it,” Cedric ground out, eyes locked on the road ahead. “It wasn’t a request. I was being serious.”

“Oh, so was I,” Toni shook her head. “You gotta be honest with yourself about these things. And you should be honest with her. There’s only so much time left before the battle, right?”

It was surprisingly genuine. Cedric might’ve been touched if he weren’t so thoroughly pissed. Those conflicting feelings, well mostly his anger, kept him quiet on the slow drive up the McMansion’s winding driveway. He parked the car in silence, getting out without another word.

Toni appeared to be completely unfazed as she hopped from the passenger seat and fixed her leather jacket. “Alright, last meeting and we’re done,” She grinned slapping her palms together. “Time to get this Otherworld Jerry Springer episode rolling.”

Her enthusiasm was surprising. Just two weeks ago, he’d practically had to drag Toni kicking and screaming to their first appointment. And now she was more excited than he was - though that may have had something to do with the Bloodworth-Fortier drama Cedric had promised her earlier. It wasn’t much, but it was a difference.

Instead of stewing over everything Toni said, and everything she brought up, Cedric tried to focus on all the magical signatures he felt on the other side of the grandiose door before him. He needed to be Cedric the Warden, not Cedric the hopelessly romantic fool, for at least one more night.

Taking a deep breath, Cedric lifted up the door knocker and let it drop.

#writing #my writing #katie writes sometimes #the magic shop #n: the magic shop

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