#i haven’t even played ch. 2 yet

[kookslastbutton]

Too Late to Dream ༓ jjk (m) l ch. VI

✑ Summary: You did it. You married your college professor. You even bought a house together. Against all odds, everything had fallen into place. But after two years of marriage, you begin feeling something was missing. You want a baby but your husband can’t say the same.

Pairing: economics professor!jungkook x fem!artist!reader

AU/Genre: angst, smut, fluff, marriage au, age gap, series

Rating: M, 18+

Word Count: 6,192

Warnings: 8-year age gap, mentions of professor-student relationship (oc was a Masters student), kook gets pissed, jk mother is asdhjf!, mommy issues, lots of family drama/in-laws, fighting, manipulative parent, pent-up issues/desires, jk has daddy issues, jk being good hubby to oc, mild sexting, sexual content

Sexual warnings: bl*wj*b, jk c*mes on her t*tt*es, d*rty talk

Now Playing: Make It Right, Tryna Be, Infinity, It Will Rain, Heaven+

A/N: um so this got over 6k which i know isn't amazing but for me its big deal okay?! haha! Anyway Part VI here we go! No flashbacks in this chapter because of ch.V buuut, I have a little gift for you and me. Hope you enjoy!! 💞 also pls vote if youd be so kind 😙

<< ch. V ༓ ch. VII >> | series masterlist

Living in the country for over thirty years, the Jeons were known to be excruciatingly slow and cautious drivers. The town was tiny, roads were narrow, and no one was ever in a rush to get anywhere apart from maybe the farmers market.

Once when Jungkook first got his license he took one hand off the steering wheel and his mother almost had a heart attack, saying it was “reckless of him to put them in danger”. It was from that moment forward that Jungkook always made sure to drive at 10 and 2 or 9 and 3 when his mother was in the car. His father on the other hand didn’t care what he did as long as he didn’t go above 30 mph.

Jungkook was counting his lucky stars when he finally got his own car and the chance to move to the city where he could drive how he damn well pleased–responsibly of course. He had recently finished his Master’s studies and was offered a job as an economist in a major medical corporation. The only catch was that he’d have to relocate to Seoul which ended up being more than fine with him.

His parents moaned and groaned that he wasn’t sticking around but his mind was made up. He moved out of his parent’s tiny town one late June and headed to the city where life moved to a whole new beat.

Ten years later, Jungkook finds himself gripping the steering wheel with two sweaty hands again. Kudos to his parents who have been telling him which way to turn and how fast or slow to go for the past fifteen minutes. He honestly should have picked a brunch spot closer to home to avoid all the madness. Walking would have done them good.

“I’ll never get used to how you drive down here,” Mrs. Jeon grumbles from the back seat. “All these sharp turns and six lanes of traffic going 50-plus miles an hour. It’s a wonder you haven’t all gotten in an accident yet. It’s like I always say, the slower the better. You city folks just don’t get it.”

Jungkook peers in his rearview mirror before signaling to switch lanes. “We can’t afford to go too slow out here Mom. This is a highway and dropping down in speed will cause a safety hazard just as bad, if not worse. Environments are different out here than in the woods.”

As Jungkook merges to the right, Mr. Jeon watches the surrounding cars from the back seat window. “Ah son, son, son!” He hollers and reaches for the ceiling handle.

“What? What happened?” Jungkook asks with panic. He flickers his eyes to the mirror again to spot his father's distress.

Mr. Jeon slowly releases the handle and lets out a lengthy sigh. “It's okay now, we’re good. You did good son. You moved over with so little space I thought you were going to hit the car now behind us."

"I told you it's a mad house out here!" Mrs. Jeon adds, tone thick. Jungkook puts his eyes back on the road in front of him and does his best to ignore the irritation bubbling within him.

"I know what I'm doing," he says. "I've lived here for ten years so can you guys please trust me? And stop with the driving advice and yelling every time I do something."

"We're just trying to help Kookie."

"Well, you're not alright?" The snap in his voice has Jungkook's parents sulking back in their seats in silence. "I want us to get to the restaurant safely and I can't do that when you're both shouting at me! So please just let me do the driving. Thank you."

God, if one more person calls him Kookie in that condescending tone he's going to lose it! Kookie was his childhood nickname but for some reason, it stuck to him like glue until he was friggin' 22 years old. He absolutely hates it and the only person remotely allowed to call him by it is his wife because she makes anything sound like honey to his ears.

The next five minutes are nothing but awkward silence and the sound of tires running on hard cement. Jungkook checks his phone—there's still a good ten minutes left according to the GPS. He moves to turn the radio on to break the eeriness of the drive when an incoming call pops on his car screen.

"Who's that? Who's calling?" Mr. Jeon pipes up.

"It's __." Jungkook hits the answer button. "Hey honey! You're on speaker." He smiles a big, wide grin that says nothing less than he misses you.

"Hi! I'm on my lunch break and thought I'd give you guys a call. I'm stopping at the grocery store tonight, after work. Anything you need?"

“Some booze would be nice!” Mr. Jeon echos and looks at his wife who merely shakes her head. He hasn’t had a drink in twenty years due to his high blood pressure, yet he’s still making the same damn jokes. “Got any Soju? Or maybe Bokbunja?” He chuckles at Mrs. Jeon’s sour face.

Jungkook pays his dad no mind and replies to you. “Uhm….we're low on milk again. I drank the last one yesterday.”

"You went through all those gallon jugs in a week?!" You'd think you'd be used to the amount of dairy your husband packs away but every time, it shocks you as much as the first. You married a milk-lovin’ machine.

Jungkook chuckles. "I'm sorry. I can get them for you if you want. We're on our way to get brunch, then hitting the bookstore for Dad, and after we'll swoop back home. I can pick it up along the way.”

“No need, I’m already going out later so I’ll get it. Anything else?”

“There’s nothing else I can think of. How’s work going?” He’s hoping it’s not hectic given the fact that last week was an absolute sandstorm. He distinctively remembers you coming home with nothing more than tired feet and dark circles under your eyes. He drew you a bath that night.

“Eh, so-so. I have a meeting with my boss later but besides that, it’s the usual. I wish I could have come to brunch with you guys. I feel bad I’m missing it.” Well, you do and you don’t. If Jungkook was planning on talking to his mom about the happenings of last night you wanted to be around for support but it was also a matter that should be between a mother and her son.

“Us too, but we’ll see you ton–shit!” Jungkook slams on the break when he sees he’s about to crash into a black SUV. Everyone’s seatbelts lock at the sudden jerk. “Sorry, sorry!” He checks the mirror to find his parents clinging to their seatbelts.

“Are you guys okay?! Jungkook?!”

He scans all around him to find rows and rows of cars all trying to merge into each other’s lanes. Some are coming from the exit nearby whereas others are trying to squeeze through people in hopes to get ahead.

Dammit, Jungook cruses to himself.

“Yeah, we’re good honey. Everything’s okay but we’ve hit a traffic jam. I’m not sure why since it’s literally 11:40 a.m on a Wednesday but looks like we’re going to be stuck here for a bit.”

“We’d never have this problem at home.” Jungkook hears his mother mumbling under her breath to which his father replies with a nodding of his head. “If it weren’t for all this nonsense we’d be there by now.”

“Absolutely. We’d be there fifteen minutes ago,” his father adds with his hands in the air. “Isn’t there some kind of way you can get around this son, like a shortcut?”

Ah yes, shortcuts on the highway. Why didn’t he think of that? Let him just push the button that says flight mode and–no! Having enough, Jungkook holds his foot on the break and twists his body around to face his parents.

“Alright listen to me right now. This is not Tiny Town where there are a million dirt roads that pop from anywhere and all seem to lead to one other. Everyone drives at least seventy out here and that’s just the way it is because this..." He gestures outside the windshield. "This is what happens! We all get stuck in this congested funnel! But if you two can think of a way to get out of here that doesn’t involve attempting to bulldoze other cars, I’m all ears. Until then we’re going to sit here and talk about the weather because there's nothing else we can do!"

Jungkook looks back and forth between his parents. Mrs. Jeon simply stares outside her window while his dad gives a slow nod in understanding.

"Is it really that bad?"

Jungkook relaxes his body back to face the front when he hears your voice. "Yeah, it's pretty bad __." He lets out a long, exasperated sigh. This is going to be a very long day.

"Nice out today. Mind if I roll down the window?" The traffic hasn't got any better and it was starting to get stuffy in the car. Mr. Jeon desperately needed some fresh air in his face.

"Mhm yeah, go ahead."

"How about some music? Find out what's on the radio will you." He sticks his arm out the window, letting the gentle breeze hit his skin. When the first song blares through the speakers, Jungkook's mother breaks her deafening silence.

"Dear god! What music is this?"

Mr. Jeon immediately perks up. "It's PSY! Turn it up! Turn it up, boy!" Jungkook appeases his father's wishes and turns the knob a few more notches. "Oppa Gangnam Style! Eae eae eae e, sexy lady!"

Hearing his dad singing at the top of his lungs has Jungkook rubbing the side of his head. It's not that he sounded bad but he was singing so loud that everyone around them started pointing, laughing, or rolling up their own windows. "Dad, people are going to get annoyed. Take it down a little."

Deeply immersed in the song, Mr. Jeon continues singing regardless of his son's request. "Op, op, op, op, oppa Gangnam Style!" He starts rocking in his seat which causes a few middle schoolers in the car next to them to pop out their phones.

"Dad!" Jungkook hollers when he notices the kids taking pictures. If doesn't put an end to this now, his father's face is going to be trending all over the internet with god knows what filter.

"Op, op, op, op, on on on on!"

"Dad stop!" He tries again, this time turning the music down. Mrs. Jeon attempts to calm her husband down too, placing a hand on one of his arms but it doesn't take much for it to be ripped out of her grasp. Mr. Jeon ends up nearly whacking his wife in the face due to all his energetic dancing.

"Erotic sexy lady! Oppa Gangnam Sty–hey! Song wasn't done yet!" Jungkook's dad never looked so offended in his life. If he had adjusted his gaze just a few inches to the left he'd see the group of kids, the ones taking photos earlier, giggling to one another. But he was too pissed at his son for crashing his party that it went to the wayside.

"Honey, you were causing a disturbance," Mrs. Jeon says.

"A disturbance? In this traffic jam, I'm the disturbance?" He refuses to believe he's the annoyance when they've been in the middle of a highway, moving at 5 mph for the last hour. PSY has recently become his favorite singer and not enjoying himself would have been an absolute tragedy in his opinion. "It's all of you who should be thanking me for offering some shred of entertainment at times like these."

"The entire population of South Korea is going to be thanking you then." Jungkook creeps forward as soon as the car in front of him moves up a ways. Finally moving again, he hums.

"Hey!" An abrupt voice calls from a slight distance. Two teenage boys pull up in a Jaguar, greasy grins on their faces. "Great singing Grandpa! Really know how to move!" The one in the passenger seat flashes his phone playing a video of Jungkook's dad online.

"Wha–how–What?! You delete that right now!" Mr. Jeon is stunned, tripping over his words at the shock of himself actually being the center of the internet. The video is unexpectedly clear.

"Just ignore them, Dad." Jungkook rolls up all the windows in the car and inches up the best he can to get the teenagers out of direct sight.

"But-but how did they do that so fast? It hasn't even been five minutes yet!"

"It only takes seconds, honey," Mrs. Jeon sighs, realizing her husband has become famous over a re-rendition of a PSY song. Of all things, it had to be that.

"I'm starving."

"Me too."

Jungkook glances at the time–2:40p.m. It's now been three hours of sitting in traffic and they've only moved about ten miles. What on earth is congesting the highway this much?

"Maybe we should take one of these exits." His dad scrolls through the map on his phone. "Says there are a few restaurants down exit 6A."

Jungkook considers the idea. He wants to get off the highway, yes, but so does everyone else. The exit his dad is talking about is off the far right lane which means he's going to need to shove in front of everyone's way.

"You sure it's a good place? Wherever it is you're looking?" The reason why he asks is that his dad is notorious for leading them into the most ruin down places. The last time he was in charge of directions, they ended up in front of an abandoned pizza shop.

Mrs. Jeon takes the phone from her husband's hand and swipes through the photos of a quaint restaurant. "It's not bad," she concludes. "And if it means we can get out of this mess, then I'm with your father on this one."

Two against one. Jungkook turns his signal on and waits for someone to let him over. He earns a few honks when he manages to squeeze his nose over but does his best to give an apologetic wave.

After a few more lane changes he gets in the exit lane. He isn't the only one planning to take exit 6B though, being that there are at least twenty other cars waiting in line.

"Maybe we were better off back where we were. All these people want to get off the same place. If we keep going there's bound to be another exit with far less traffic."

Really? Jungkook feels himself ticking again. After all that shoving to get over here and this is what he gets? No, he's not moving back over. They're going to wait in this stupid lane until it gets them to where they originally agreed.

"We just got here and we're not moving back anywhere. This lane should clear up in less time than it would take to go back on the main highway," Jungkook says. "Also, I probably don't need to clarify this but, we're not going to make it to that bookstore you wanted, Dad."

"It's fine, son. We'll go another day."

Which means tomorrow, Jungkook half grumbles to himself. His parents are here for another day after all and he knows his father well enough to know that "another day" really means the closest day possible.

Despite its size, the restaurant his parents choose is charming with its floor-to-ceiling wood paneling and giant, bay windows. The odd hanging plant is spread throughout the open dining space as well, perfectly setting the mood of serenity.

The restaurant only seems to hold about a dozen people inside, however. So thinking it is best to avoid sitting in an overly crowded space, Jungkook asks for one of the tables outside.

“Oh now this is lovely,” his mother praises, pulling her chair up to the table. Jungkook can’t describe how relieved he is to finally hear something positive after hours of nonstop grumbling.

Mr. Jeon takes a seat next to his wife and across from his son. “I just saw someone get Samgyeopsal and it was huge! Let’s get that to share.”

His enthusiasm is short-lived when the scrunched-up face from his wife says she's not a fan. “That's too much food! We still have to be hungry for dinner so we can eat with __."

"Mom's right," Jungkook agrees reluctantly. "__'s stopping at the grocery store after work so we can prep for dinner tonight. I know traffic slowed us down so we're eating at a weird time but it's better we go with something light."

"Oh well, we can always take some to go! Surely __ will enjoy some beautifully grilled pork!" Jungkook's father is adamant. He wants nothing more than a heavy meal after being stuck in the car all morning.

"__ doesn't like pork Dad. And we all know as soon as we get a whiff of it cooking there's not going to be any leftovers."

"Alright, alright," his dad concedes. "I guess I'll try their bibimbap. What are you having hon?"

Jungkook checks his phone messages while his parents make small talk over the menu. You texted him earlier to see how traffic was holding up and he only able to get back to you minutes ago.

Wifey ❤️ : So I'm guessing you haven't talked to your mom yet?

Jungkook: No, haven't brought it up. She seems fine though with the way she's been acting. It doesn't take much for her to go back to her usual self

Wifey ❤️: Her usual self being...?

Jungkook: You know, really particular.

Wifey ❤️: So she's complaining again. I'm sorry 😞

Jungkook: When I was talking with her on the phone before we left, she was much more careful about what she was saying. I expected it to still be that way now. Must have been a mood.

Wifey ❤️: Sounds like she wasn't sure how you'd be reacting after what happened last night. Maybe she's just reverting to back what she's used to because she's unsure what else to do or say. I'd still try finding a way to talk to her. Does it seem tense?

Jungkook: Yeah, you have a point. But Mom's also had a good way of sweeping things under the rug. It's not tense but it's just uncomfortably normal?

Wifey ❤️: Hmm, strange. And your dad's fine?

Jungkook: Honey...have you been on any social media in the last half hour?

Wifey ❤️: No, why?

Jungkook: Might wanna check. We had a little incident while in traffic. I'm still in shock honestly 😅

Jungkook waits for you to find the video of his dad. He already had the guys blowing up his phone from it so he's surprised none of them at least forwarded it to you.

Wifey ❤️: oh my god! Jungkook what happened?! 😂 I hope you're prepared for your students to be all over this

Jungkook: oh shit, that didn't even cross my mind 😩 also it's not funny honey! Listening to my dad singing eae e sexy lady was traumatizing enough. Now I have to see and hear it every time I pop open my phone or some teen punks show it to me!

Wifey ❤️: Aw Kookie, they're just being kids...try not to overthink. And you know those videos come and go. Your dad will be at the bottom of the chain by next week. Until then keep him away from PSY 😅 But I'm sorry you're having a day, I love you 🥺

Jungkook: I MISS YOU SO MUCH 😭

Wifey ❤️: [sent an image]

Fuck! Jungkook chokes on his spit when he sees a blurry close up of your cleavage. Thankfully his parents are still too occupied by the menu that they didn't notice.

Jungkook: sexy af but this isn't the time to be sexting me baby!

He nearly saves the photo if it weren't for the fact that he already had an album dedicated to very sensual *ahem erotic* photos of you. You had let him take them himself —best motherfuckin' birthday ever.

Wifey ❤️: oh adhjjhj, sorry!! That was an accident. I'm such a klutz. This is what I meant... [sent an image]

"What's going on over there?" Jungkook merely glimpses at the new image before whipping his head up, hearing his mother's, sharp tone.

"It's just __. She's asking about groceries again."

With slightly narrowed eyes, Mrs. Jeon continues. "We're about to order if you're ready."

Dammit. He'll have to reply to you later. Jungkook swiftly pockets the phone. "Okay yeah I'm good to go."

"This is delicious," Mr. Jeon says, patting his mouth with a napkin. "Best bibimbap I've had in a long time."

"That's great Dad." Jungkook stirs his noodles.

"Ah, where's the restroom around here?" He asks the waitress as she walks by. She tells him it's in the restaurant, all the way to the back. Mr. Jeon pushes his chair from the table and excuses himself. "All that broth has me needing to go."

"Yes yes, just go." Why his father needed to explain himself every time he needed to use the restroom is beyond him. Jungkook peers at his mother, taking her time eating her own bowl of noodles–they ended up ordering the same thing. "How is it?" he asks.

"It's good."

"Not too spicy?"

"No, it's mild."

Jungkook gathers more noodles on his chopstick. He freezes halfway when he sees his mother eyeing him intensely. "Everything okay?"

Mrs. Jeon folds her hands in her lap. "It's occurred to me that we still have an elephant in the room. I was hoping we'd be able to talk about it while your father browsed the bookstore. But plans changed."

And here he thought his mother had been playing down last night when really she was biding her time. "You know Dad's gonna be back in like ten minutes right?"

Mrs. Jeon nods. "I know it's not the most convenient of times or places, but I'm afraid if we delay it won't get discussed."

"Okay." Jungkook sets his chopsticks down. "Well...where do you want to start?"

"An apology would be nice." Her voice is mellow but the words are a clear demand rather than an offer. Of course, he wants to apologize to her for all the things he accused her of last night. But he wasn't expecting her to be this forward with it, especially since she was guilty of plenty herself. "I'm waiting Kookie," she coos, taking a sip of water.

Jungkook knits his eyebrows in response, unsure of what he's hearing. His mother looks far too relaxed about this whole thing. He decides to give her the benefit of the doubt. "You're right," he starts. "I'm sorry for what I said last night. I shouldn't have spoken that way and I'm sorry for making you leave. I think you and Dad showing up all a sudden threw me off and I reacted poorly."

Mrs. Jeon cracks a tight smile and reaches for her son's hand. "Thank you, Jungkook. I accept your apology." She gives his hand a squeeze before moving to pick up her chopsticks. "Now that we got that settled let's talk about the reunion. I'm thinking about talking to–"

What....the fuck? His mom did not just glide over this whole issue. She did not just put everything on him. And she did not just bring up that damn reunion again, which he's made very clear he wants nothing a part of. "Is that all you wanted? For me to make my amends with you?"

"What else would there be Kookie?" She scoffs, eyes wide.

"Goddamn it." He struggles to maintain a hushed voice. "Can you please stop calling me that? And what the hell do you mean 'what else would there be'? I'm not trying to put the blame on you but there's a good amount you should be saying to me too."

"What things are you referring to? Don't tell me this is about the reunion again. Look, whatever it is that I said was because I just want to see you more. And no more swearing. You know I don't like that kind of language."

"How can you be like this?" Jungkook can't stop himself. He figured his mom and he would have a better, heart-to-heart than this. It makes his skin crawl that his mother continues to play the victim. "It's genuinely shocking me how....do you even love me?"

Mrs. Jeon pauses at that. "Of course, I love you Jungkook. Why–why would you ask that?" She blinks back the slightest hint of tears forming along the edge of her eyes. Never in a million years did she think her son would doubt something this crucial.

"I feel like–"

"Feel what? What is it?"

"I feel like you care more about what I can do for you than you do me, as your son." Jungkook sniffs. This is a lot harder for him to say than he imagined. "There's been so many times that you've–"

"Don't say this honey! I care about you very much!" She reaches for his hand again but he yanks it away. "What are you trying to tell me?" His mother waits for him to form the rest of the sentence.

Jungkook hesitates to look at her straight on because behind what appears to be concerned eyes is disbelief. She isn't taking any of this seriously. It's written all over her face, tone, and all the way down to the way she's focusing on an answer rather than his inability to comfortably talk to her.

"What have I done so many times?"

"Honestly at this point, what haven't you done?" With an icy glare, Jungkook can't hold himself back anymore. The pot that's been brewing, deep in the darkest parts of him is finally overflowing and it's not going to be pretty to behold. "Do you realize how many times you chose your job, your status, and even your friends over me? And you make Dad go along with literally anything! Is it so horrible for someone to say no to you?!"

The couple next to them shoot uncomfortable looks his way, whispering to each other. Jungkook ignores it and starts counting with his fingers.

"Never once have you ever taken responsibility for showing up uninvited, nagging me about this that, and the other thing, making backhanded comments about my life choice, and most of all pretending our relationship is peachy fine. Well, I'm sorry mom, I'm thirty-four years old and I don't need to live by your rules! Our relationship is barely hanging by a thread and being quite real, it's __ and Dad who are the ones clinging to that thread, making sure it doesn't completely snap."

Mrs. Jeon opens her mouth to interject but Jungkook doesn't allow it to happen. It's not exactly intentional that he's pouring out so much in the middle of people's lunch. Still, he's been shoved over a steep cliff, head first.

"I'm sorry mom, I don't know how many times I need to say it. I don't enjoy any bit of this. It's just been a long stretch of–"

"That's enough! I don't want to hear any more." Mrs. Jeon immediately grabs her purse and twists her neck every which way. "Where's your father? I want to leave."

"Mom I'm trying to talk to you! Why won't you let me talk?"

His mother doesn't reply. She doesn't look at him. It's the silent treatment, Jungkook concludes–it's fucking irritating. "I'm not trying to be hurtful," he says, forcing himself to calm down. "Mom look at me."

She doesn't move.

It only takes seconds for their waitress to near her way up to the table with anxious steps. "I'm sorry to be doing this but unfortunately, we've received a few complaints of a disturbance out here." The young girl clasps her hands. "To ensure all our guests are comfortable we're going to need to ask you to take your conversation elsewhere. I'm really sorry."

Fuck. How embarrassing. Jungkook clears his throat and stands up from his seat. "We understand and are genuinely sorry for the commotion. We'll pay at the front and be on our way. Thank you for waiting our table."

The young girl gives a nervous smile and retreats inside the restaurant. Jungkook makes a note to give her a generous tip.

"Hey, what's going on out here?" Mr. Jeon rushes over, hair blowing over due to the breeze. "I heard there was some inconsiderate party out here airing out their dirty laundry for all to see. I tell you, people these days don't know what privacy means anymore!" He shakes his head and takes a seat.

"Get up Dad we're leaving."

"But I'm not done my–––oh shit." Mr. Jeon clenches his teeth. "You two?"

Mrs. Jeon gets up from her chair, still wordless, and walks towards the parking lot. "I'll get this Dad." Jungkook stops his father from pulling out his wallet. "It is best if you go try to ease Mom. I don't think she'll be talking to me for a while."

Mr. Jeon puts a hand on his son's shoulder. It's his way of offering comfort. "You're mother has made things difficult for you, Jungkook. I'll try getting through to her. In the meantime don't let this eat you up. It's been a long time coming."

Jungkook doesn't get home until quarter past six. The drive home was better than the drive to the restaurant, but hitting the notorious five o'clock traffic slowed them down once more. He also had to drop his parents at their hotel which was no easy task. His mother barely gave him a glance before hopping out of the car. The amount of guilt settling in his gut isn't going away any time soon.

"Hey." Jungkook finds you searching through the kitchen cupboard. "I hope you're okay with spice tonight! I got this really awesome–oh baby what's wrong?" You stop what you're doing when you see your husband come up behind you with sunken eyes. He wraps his larger arms around you, desperately needing your scent.

"I blew it," he croaks. "She's so mad at me."

"I'm sorry Jungkook. I'm sorry I couldn't be there." You turn in his arms to pull him into a full embrace. His nose tickles the side of your neck but you don't laugh. "You wanna tell me?"

Jungkook takes your hand and sits you both on the couch in the living room. "The morning started out rough with three hours of traffic and the two of them in the back seat, telling me where and how I should drive. Then my dad got unexpectedly famous off a PSY song. We finally got to some restaurant about half an hour west of here before 3pm. Everything was going okay until dad went to the bathroom."

"Okay," you say, scooting closer beside him. You rub small circles on his upper back as he leans forward on his spread-apart knees. "What happened?"

"Mom suggested we talk about last night so I said sure." You watch as Jungkook fiddles with his hands. "But she didn't actually care about a conversation or what I had to say. All she wanted, all she expected, was for me to apologize to her so we'd be okay again. It all came out after that and I feel so horrible about it. We ended up getting kicked out of the restaurant too."

"Jungkook..."

"I tried __. I wanted to be patient and to be a good son but she can't even look at me right now." He falls back on the couch, staring at the blank wall in front. "Dad's convinced it was bound to happen."

"You are a good son, Jungkook." You comb a few strands of his soft, ebony hair. He closes his eyes as you do. "You're mom's the one who needs to readjust her view."

"I never thought I'd yell at my mom about all that stuff. And certainly not in public where everyone is trying to have a pleasant lunch. I'm a grown-ass adult and I should have had better control of myself."

You settle into his inner shoulder, laying a hand on his chest. "Even grown adults have limits and your mom's far surpassed those limits. Don't blame yourself for this."

"Dad said the same thing."

"Well, that's two against one."

Jungkook smiles. Two against one, that's where he got that from. Not that you're the first person to use the phrase but he never used it as regularly until you moved in together.

"I missed you so much today. I don't deserve you."

You cock your head up as quick as the words fly from his mouth. "Don't you dare say things like that! You're a good man despite how awful your mother treats you." You lean your face near his, eyes wandering deep into his dark brown ones. "If you're not otherwise too tired, I'm going to show you how much I love you."

Jungkook opens his lids at that–apparently not too tired. You smirk and get off the couch.

"Here?" His classic doe-eyes peer down at your kneeled position. Seeing you settle this perfectly between his muscular thighs triggers an intense blood rush that goes straight to his dick. Jungkook didn't think he was going to get horny tonight but here he was with his half-harden length in your hands in the middle of the living room.

"Mhm." You position yourself just enough for him to have a clear view of your tits. You had taken both your shirt and bra off before starting. You know how your husband likes it. "That okay with you?"

Jungkook groans when you grip his cock harder, gliding it from the base to the tip in repeated motions. "Fuck yeah. It's more than okay." You giggle at how quickly your husband gets in the mood. He thinks you're the bitch in the bedroom? You quicken your movements.

"Oh shit this feels so good." He grips the couch cushion, keeping his focus on you. "Need that gorgeous mouth wrapped around me baby, please. Shit–"

You honor your husband's requests and trace your tongue from the base of his cock all the way up to his tip. Once there, you suck lightly before taking him in whole.

"That's it. Take my cock, fuck." Jungkook goes on to praise you as you bottom out. You gag a little at first being that you haven't done this in what....weeks? Damn. Whatever happened to the days when you'd literally go down on each other every day?

"We need to get you reacquainted with my cock honey," he teases, bucking his hips forward to push himself further into your mouth. "All these weeks without my cock in your mouth has you gagging all over me. Been it's been too long hasn't it?"

"Mm," is the only thing you reply with, the weight of his thick length dragging back and forth on your tongue. By now your pussy is pulsating like crazy and you're tempted to just get up and fuck yourself on him. But tonight was about your husband–you're going to make sure of it. And Jungkook loves nothing more than getting head with your bare tits in full view, obviously.

A few sucks later and Jungkook starts fucking himself into your mouth. They began as soft, needy bucks of his hips but now they're rough, full-force thrusts. His length shoves to the back of your throat and you moan desperately around him. "Did you miss my cock baby? I bet you did. My sexy wife....you're mine and you're gonna make me come, aren't you? Fuck yeah, you are."

Your eyes water as you continue to take him, hallowing your cheeks the best you can. Jungkook has his eyes screwed shut and sweat dripping from his forehead. Your panties are so fucking soaked right now and your nipples are defiantly hard from sheer arsousal.

"God I'm so close baby. You're mouth is---fuck I don't even have the words. It's fucking magic! And your tits are so hot from this angle. Kinda reminds me of what you sent to me earlier. Can I come on them? I'm so close." Jungkook takes your broken moans as a yes and starts ramming into you two more times before pullout and covering your breasts with warm liquid. "Fuck fuck fuck," he grunts, spilling himself on you.

What a mess. You look down at yourself. What a motherfuckin' mess and you love it. Jungkook pulls you into a passionate kiss, tongue rolling with yours in heavenly harmony. "Thank you for this," he says between kisses. "I'll help you wash up, I promise."

"Mm Jungkook," you pant. "I think I need you inside me."

Hey, he got his dick sucked and he creamed your tits–it's mama's turn now, or excuse you–wifey.

A/N: this got nasty whoops. not sorry. Anyway LMK what you think, thanks for reading! 💞 also pls vote if youd be so kind

Masterlist

Taglist:

@frieschan @oldermenluverrr @tatamicc @kookswifesblog @llallaaa @sunnybyeol @namtaeh @exactlygreatcoffee @whipwhoops @yoongisducky @ktnj91 @junecat18 @thvlover7 @yoongiworshiper @ellesalazar @monbebe234-blog @parkinglot-nights @borahaexoxo @hobiswhore @kimseokjinbangtan @jjk97091 @mk-id @blueberry711 @givemethemaknaes16 @iammartian07 @jjkluver7 @itsdingdong @jiminshi20 @sweet-sourhotcoco @lubtou @lovingkoalaface @starsinsky1999 @rockstarrgyu @chaconnelatte @kaithezaftig @skzthinkr @babystarcandykookie @glossyyyymin @siudema @justanotherkpopstanlol @sh1nedreamsm1le7

P.S. I'm sorry but I'm not sure if I'm able to tag all of you!

no reposting, copying, or translating my work– © kookslastbutton

#bangtanbathhouse #jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #jungkook x reader #jungkook angst #bts smut #bts x reader #bts imagines #bts fanfic #bts au #fic:toolatetodream #kookslastbutton

[euaphoric]

lust.

✩‧₊˚ pairing — jungkook x f!reader, strangers to ??? (wtv they got going on in this dynamic)

✩‧₊˚ warnings — i was planning to make this way happier but i was in a sad mood so im sorry if it’s a little angsty? some fluff ig, sm*t, mentions of alcohol & smoking (cigs), dom!jk & sub!reader, hookup culture, slight corruption? oc cries a lot, spanking, ch*king, just a lot of freeky stuff, koo is a little mean in this oops

words: 3.2k // literally the longest thing i’ve wrote so far. also irdk what this is but i just kept going and couldn’t stop, kinda feels rushed toward the end cause i just wanted to get to the freaky parts sfsfjgs i’m sawry y’all

it happened 2 years ago, yet the memories of that fateful day still carry on with you as if it were yesterday. vibrant recollections of those slender, jewelled hands clasped around your neck as you cry out for him, body subconsciously submitting to all of him - breaking every barrier you’ve built up within. of all your years of existence, that night was the only time you’ve felt truly alive, shedding every ounce of innocence away in one night for a man whose name you didn’t even know.

do you regret losing your virginity to someone who only saw you as a temporary plaything? partly yes and partly no. you were conflicted on the fact you never exchanged info after he left but other than that, nothing regrettable came out of it. the only issue was that he’s set your standards far into oblivion, you’ve yet to find a lay as memorable as he was. it’s not as though you haven’t tried getting over it in the past - you’ve been desperately wishing to forget. suppressing your inner desires with all kinds of self pleasure methods; even going so far as to banging other hot strangers you meet from the bars/club - but even then, you couldn’t replicate how you felt with him and you still couldn’t reach your climax without thinking of your first time.

you catch yourself daydreaming of him daily. the raspy tone of his voice, the intoxicating scent of expensive cologne, the fluorescent, animated ink that adorned his arm along with a silver pierced lip and eyebrow, his sublime sense of style. everything you could’ve ever wanted, slipped away from your grasp forever. that was, until you were met face to face with him again - a total of 882 days later (yes you did the math). you went bar hopping downtown with all your girl friends, looking for an eventful weekend. little did you know you’d be running into him again, the nameless man that gave you a night to remember. you were definitely the first to notice him, it felt quite peculiar but as soon as you walked in you got struck with a weird deja vu moment. it all felt so familiar to you, even down to the symphonic melodies of jazz music playing in the distance, everything brought you back to that gloomy autumn night.

you’d try your dearest not to stare but your mind was not complying with any rationality, one look at his broad physique and it was endgame for all your sanity. it didn’t help that your body went inert, lost in a trance of him indefinitely, wanting nothing more than to worship him and give in to his every need. you reminisce about him telling you how much of a good girl you were for taking all of it, sucking on his fingers as you completely come undone underneath him. he left you begging for more that night, crying and pleading for at least a goodbye kiss - which you never got the pleasure of getting. “i told you this was a one time thing only.. besides, i’m leaving the city tomorrow for good so you’ll probably never see me again. it’s for the best anyway.”

his cold last words left more than a lasting impression on you. it sent you into an endless spiral of overthinking, analyzing any and everything you could’ve done wrong. did that night really mean absolutely nothing to him at all? all the countless times you’d touch yourself to vivid recounts of his face pressed into your thigh, plastering wet kisses all over them and sucking on your bruised skin. he’d spank each thigh one by one as a punishment, proudly smirking at the way you’d wince out in pain mixed with so much pleasure. he thrived off the idea that he was the first to corrupt you like this, a girl he hasn’t even known for a span of 24 hours willing to give up just about anything she had to offer. had you shamelessly wrapped around his finger like an brainless puppet.

you still don’t understand how someone can look so divine, even when doing nothing but just standing. you watch as he sips Viognier out of an oversized wine glass, gazing at the crowd, ruffling his fingers through his hair from time to time. then it became unreal when you locked eyes with him, catching him stealing a glance when he realizes who you were. you look almost exactly the same as you did a few years ago, the only part that’s different about you now is the recent butterfly tattoo you got on your lower back. that’ll be a pleasant surprise for him to find out. his eyes never drifted once they landed on you, he was in just as much shock as you were - maybe more. he’d made an internal promise to himself to keep you as a forever one time fling - nothing more just that, but if fate wasn’t real then why would the universe send you back into each other’s lives?

no, not a romantic kind of fate. the fate you get when someone you’ve mindlessly lusted over for ages has finally found its way to you again. a fate that doesn’t occur by chance, or coincidence, it was pure destiny awaiting to happen.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

“wow, you haven’t changed at all have you?” he says nonchalantly, acting as if you were an old friend he was catching up with. you weren’t sure how to respond, the surrealism of the moment brought you everywhere but reality. all you really could do was blink, fluttering your lashes at his towering figure over you. though there was a sea of people in this packed, lively bar, it felt like only you two existed in this confined space. he tried striking up the usual basic conversation with the typical, how’re your studies going? work’s been treating you well? anything exciting happen in your life recently? you gave as much of a vague answer as you could, barely putting any thought or effort, you were only giving him the same treatment that he gave back then. he would often come off as bored or condescending at times, it felt good to take back just the little bit of power you upheld.

you quietly observe as he orders another drink, two actually, not even bothering to ask what you wanted. he hands you a glass with a salted rim, the clear liquid made you believe it was either vodka or tequila, either way you gulped it down in no time and squeeze the lime on the side as chaser. you didn’t have much to drink but his presence alone was already enough to make you feel tipsy. “i thought you said you were never coming back to the city?” you blurt out, instantly scolding yourself for bringing up the past this quickly. it was just the undying curiosity of wanting to know the inner depths of him, not the stonewall of a persona he portrays to be. “i don’t know, guess i just felt like visiting. also had some unfinished business to attend to.” there he goes again with those subtle answers, toying with you so easily. his responses have always annoyed you to a certain extent but this feels even more strange for some reason. what’s the “unfinished business” he’s referring to?

“so” he pauses, never actually finishing his thought. “so..” you awkwardly mimic, hoping he’ll spit out whatever the hell he has to say. it took some time before he clears his throat and takes a sip of what seemed like his fiftieth drink tonight. “soo, do you…maybe wanna get out of here?” you’re not sure what’s with the shy act suddenly, he wasn’t this timid when you first met him. it’s like you’re meeting a whole new person. “uhm, sure i guess” you spoke hesitantly, taking his hand as he reaches out for yours. bumping into loads of drunk people while he weaved you through the crowd, it felt like multiple eternities before you’ve found the exit. he lights a cigarette before heading down the vintage spiral staircase, still hand in hand with you. “goddamn… look at your fine ass. still just as sexy as i remember you last time mamas.” he gracefully compliments, walking slightly behind in attempts of getting better sight at the back view of the form fitting dress you wore. his hand left yours in favor of wrapping around your waist. “t-thanks.” you reply sheepishly, hoping that he doesn’t notice how flushed your cheeks are.

before getting in his car, there was one more thing you needed closure with, the one thing that constantly kept you up at night. “i don’t mean to be this straightforward but, i want to know your name. i know this probably sounds really lame and pathetic but it’s been eating me up inside since the day we met and… i just- i think i deserve the right to know is all.” you wanted to scream at your poor delivery, sounding nowhere near as confident as you did in your head. the cigarette was still tucked between his lips, taking another long drag before answering you. “damn, even after all this time i still occupy your mind sweetheart? that’s adorable,” he teases, reveling in on your confession. “but i suppose i can agree with you since i did keep you guessing for so long. it’s only fair you should know, right?” that sly little smirk never left his face, he knows exactly how to mess with you. “it’s jungkook. and you are?” ah, so he really does have a name. “y/n.” you mutter, looking down at the pavement. “that’s pretty, i like it. suits you well.” his hand raises yours to his lips, kissing it gently, “nice to formally meet you y/n.” your eyes dart at him reluctantly, hoping your palms weren’t too clammy. “you too, jungkook.” none of this still felt real to you, you wanted to pinch yourself and wake up immediately. “it’s kinda hot the way you say my name.” he casually admits, the grin on his face deepens, “that won’t be the only thing you’ll be screaming at the top of your lungs tonight though.”

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

this certainly wasn’t the first (or last) time you found yourself like this. getting severe brush burn from the carpet by being obediently on your knees, swiftly bobbing your head as tears stream down your face, ruining your precious mascara. the only audible sounds were his groans echoing in the room of this giant suite at the four seasons. it gave a sense of familiarity, and oddly enough you found comfort in being in such a compromised situation. especially with him again. “fuck, you’re so pretty,” he grunts, grabbing a fistful of hair, never taking his eyes off you. “look even prettier with my cock stuffed deep in your mouth.” his words sent chills, all you wanted to do was keep pleasing him. your mind goes hazy from the end of his shaft hitting the back of your throat, other than the tears, you showed no outright emotion—you had to endure this, you’ve been praying for this moment since your first ever encounter. big doe eyes look up at him innocently as you suck the soul out of him, all the shiny gloss you wore on your lips now completely transferred onto him - in this perspective, you were utterly perfect.

“shit- you’re so good at this..” he hisses, watching as you kneel beneath him, saliva glistening on your chin as you gag all over his cock. you do the best you can to fit all of him, you did learn from the best after all. you hum against him in response, feeling his cock twitch from the sudden vibrations. if you keep going like this he’s bound to cum for sure, but he doesn’t want to give you that satisfaction - he wants to have all the power and control. “get up.” he spat harshly, if you swirl your tongue around him like that one more time he feels as tho he’s about to combust. the choice of only taking him further in made him even angrier. “did you not fucking hear me? i said get. the. fuck. up.” he pulls your hair tighter to yank your head back, forcing a semi-loud *pop* with your lips as you detach from his cock, swallowing the string of drool from the corner of your mouth. silly you for keep going, you should’ve listened the first time. now your forever fantasy of getting to suck him dry and drink his cum has sadly been cut short... “since you’re so damn greedy for this cock why don’t you go stand up against that window while i fuck you, hm?” your face becomes mortified when you haven’t realized just how big those windows truly were. it took up a quarter of the living room and the curtains were never closed which you also failed to notice. you were at the top floor of this 52 story building but still, you were rightfully nervous out of your mind.

the next thing you knew, your body’s pressed up to the cold glass, his big hands caressing both sides of your waist and trailing kisses to the exposed skin on your back. you watch the faint reflection of him toying with the hem of your mini dress, slowly pulling it up then stopping when he gets to a certain point. “oh.. what’s this here?” he asks, glancing down at your butterfly tattoo, his fingertips lightly brushing over the fresh ink. “guess you aren’t so innocent as i thought you were.” you shook your head, biting your lip when he gropes your ass, “n-never was i-innocent.” you quietly mewl. “oh yeah?” he breaths warmly against your neck, hiking the dress up further. “then be a good little slut for me and don’t speak unless i tell you to.” the palm of his hand slaps your cheek hard enough to leave a visible print, pushing you up against the window more. you were enjoying every single minute of this, you were so elated that you could cry again. you feel his touch down lower, grazing over your folds to feel how wet you are. “shit, you’re already dripping like this just from sucking me off? always knew you were such a filthy whore.” two fingers slid into your heat with ease, pumping them in and out. “nngh~” you moan lowly, “shh, quiet for me doll. wait ‘til i fill you with my cock then you can scream all you want.” when he pulls them out his chest collides with your back, rubbing himself between your folds and bringing his drenched fingers up to your mouth. of course, you open eagerly to suck on his sleek digits, you remember doing this exact thing last time. history truly does repeat itself.

once he fully settles in, the clench of you around him makes his brain all fuzzy, you feel so warm and inviting, could stay like this forever. “fuck.. so fucking tight” he husks, firmly gripping at your waist before he begins moving. first he goes at a normal pace, stuffing you nice and slow with delicate kisses to your shoulders. he soon built up more momentum, thrusting in and out of your soaking cunt as bodies clash together. you arch your back more as he his cock hits your walls deeper, mumbling a bunch of gibberish as he fucks you completely dumb. “what’s that doll? i can’t hear you, speak the fuck up.” he orders sternly, producing another harsh, loud slap to your ass - never letting up on his stamina. “ughh f-fuck! you’re so b-big, feels sso goood.” you whine, feeling nothing but cockdumb at this point. “yeah? you like the way i stretch this pussy out? gonna cream all over my cock just like you did for me last time baby?” his strokes get rougher with each question. “yes…yes.. oh fuck- jungkook! jungkookk!” you chant over and over like you’re casting a spell, the ring of his name slips on your tongue smoother than the pungent liquor you drank earlier. “only i can fuck you as good as this right? have you acting this obedient and submissive? bet you were manifesting this shit all long, just can’t enough of my cock can you?” the questions just won’t stop, and the waterworks soon start up again, you’re not sure how much more you can endure.

“don’t even fucking answer, i already know anyway.” his cockiness really pissed you off but at least he had the evidence to back his arrogance up. his pace grew relentless as he watches himself disappear in you, still gawking over the pretty design of the butterfly. you felt so close - that same knot tied in your stomach like you felt before; you haven’t had this feeling since the very first time, as if only he was the one to unlock this level of passion out of you. “g-gonna cum s-soonn.” you alert him, tasting the faint bitter saltiness from your tears pooling down. a pair of strong hands connect around your neck, wrapping tightly as he rams in harder, making your whole body tremble and shake. “go ahead, do it.” jungkook encourages supportively, “cum with me doll face.” those words were all you needed to hear to let go, screaming out his name and a slew of more curses. you feel your release drip down your leg, mind completely blank from the buzz taking over you. he quickly pulls out, dumping all his white seed onto your back as you whine from being empty again. you could honestly go for another round if he asked you to right now. it was fun while it lasted though, looking over at the skyline view while getting your back blown out - seemed like a literal dream come true.

the aftermath was quiet, you didn’t say much and neither did he, you reverted right back to your shy demeanor. when you cleaned up yourself in the bathroom you grabbed your purse to rummage for your house keys but he stops you mid action. “where’re you going?” that only confuses you more, where else would you be going? “uh, home?” you meekly respond, unsure of his real intentions. “don’t be like that, you can stay the night here.” he suggests, “my plane leaves in the morning though but you can sleep here for as long as you’d like, i’ll book this room for an extra day.” it was sweet of him to do that for you, it was the least he could do to mellow your sorrows. you were hoping to be with him for a bit longer but what were you expecting really? he’s just someone who comes and goes, taking everything you had to give, just to leave you high and dry all over again. “come here.” jungkook directs assertively, patting his thigh for you to sit on his lap, you waste no time in propping yourself onto him. “don’t be sad doll, cheer up. we’ll meet again sometime yeah?” you nod, feeling so hopeless and broken inside, he’s only saying this because he probably just wants to fuck again. that’s all you are to him, a fucktoy and nothing more. even though he sees you in that light, it still makes you feel validated in some twisted kind of way. at least right now you have all of his attention, it may just be momentarily but it felt so good. one thing was definitely made clear by him though - he was deeply, undeniably, in pure lust with you.

#jungkook x reader #jungkook x female reader #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook smut #jungkook angst #jeon jungkook x reader #bts smut #bts x f reader #bts x reader #jungkook fic

[eddies-house]

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7 | Ch. 8 | Ch. 9 | Ch. 10 | Ch. 11 | Ch. 12 | Ch. 13 |

Smoke Signals

Chapter Eight - Sweet as Apple Pie

W/C: 6.9K

Eddie x Fem reader - Grumpy!Bartender!Eddie x Shy!Reader

Honesty ensues well into the quiet hours of Halloween.

A/N: this chapter is so full of dialogue....do y'all prefer a lot of dialogue throughout chapters or more scenery descriptions? Or a good amount of both?

Masterlist

Prev | Next

The living room was only illuminated by the flashing, gory scenes from the TV playing A Nightmare on Elm Street.  It wasn’t your first choice and you had made that clear as you talked your way through the intense parts, keeping your focus on the popcorn bowl in your lap as you scavenged for a melty M&M.  You preferred something more lighthearted but your unintentional guest insisted that with it being Halloween and all, it was ‘like the law’ to watch a horror movie.  Perhaps you were somewhat okay with it, at least you didn’t have to pretend to have fun at a party and you were in fact cozied up on the couch watching a movie while eating your Halloween candy like you’d longed for in the first place.  The only difference was the blood and violence playing out on the screen that you hadn’t planned to endure.

“You’re not even paying attention.”  Eddie tosses a pillow your way, sending popcorn and M&Ms tumbling all over your lap.  

“Eddie!”  You scold.

When you glare at him, you’re met with an expression that can only be recognized as the kind someone exhibits when doing all they can to contain their laughter.  Crinkled eyes and pursed lips ready to explode in a fit of boyish giggles.  He wasn’t drunk anymore, no longer able to escape your incessant teasing should you choose to hold it over him.

A handful of popcorn mixed with candy is flung at him, a piece successfully clinging to his hair and several M&Ms rolling down his chest into the crevices of the couch that would never see the light of day again.  There’s no ignoring the adorable pout on your lips and the way you’d become such a stubborn thing from the smallest inconvenience.  

“Haven’t I been through enough tonight?”  He frowns, dramatically picking the snack out of his hair to toss it toward you, landing somewhere on the rug below for you to some day clog your vacuum with.

Ignoring his question, the bowl is abandoned on the coffee table, movie long forgotten about as you bring your legs up to your chest and shift your eyes directly to him.  Beneath his remaining eyeliner, you can make out the exhaustion forming under his eyes, bags growing more intense with every waking hour, his chapped lips parted ever so slightly as the light from the TV flashes over his features. 

You begin to feel selfish for changing into your fluffy pajamas earlier, your pants a checkered orange and black pattern while you opted to wear a well loved gray t-shirt with faded letters that could barely be made out anymore.  Eddie remained in his black jeans and tattered cut off, his jacket that previously adorned your shoulders hung snugly on the hook near the door.  

There was no way you had anything that would accommodate his long legs although you could probably get by with offering him one of your larger shirts.  You wonder if his skin is covered in goosebumps or if he tends to run hot and remain unbothered by the chilliness of your home.  Embarrassingly so, you hadn’t learned how to use the fireplace yet.  Blankets were a necessity and you found yourself cuddling up with nearly five at a time as the weather grew more frigid.

“I meant to ask, what is your costume?  Yourself?”  You question.  An attempt to ease into offering him something warmer to wear as well as genuine curiosity.

“No?”  He leans forward laughing, his attention bouncing between you and the movie.  “Ozzy.  Ozzy Osbourn.”  He states proudly.

His tattoos draw you in as he brings his arms up to cross over his chest, his posture uncharacteristically comfortable on the opposite end of your couch.  You were sure he was almost sober so it must have been sleep deprivation allowing him such luxury.  A laugh bubbles in the back of your throat as you process his costume, something so convenient as it was practically his actual wardrobe, only a tad more revealing than what you were used to him wearing.

“What, so you just smudge some eyeliner on and you're Ozzy?”  You giggle.

“Oh.”  He scoffs.  “And you put your hair in pigtails and you’re Dorothy?”

“Um, no?”  You cock a brow.  “A lot of work went into my costume.  It just looks like you shredded up your poor shirt and smudged black all over your eyes.” 

A giggle vibrates through his body, an actual giggle, almost a squeal as he buries his head in his hands.  Another postcard for the space in your brain that was becoming larger with each interaction.

“Also, aren’t you cold?  I’m fucking freezing and I’m covered in layers–”

Eddie continues to laugh, the image of a slap happy boy becoming clearer and clearer.  His heavy hand makes contact with his thigh, deep chuckles following as you study the crows feet forming at the corner of his eye.  Extra prominent tonight.

“I am–I’m fucking cold.”  He throws his head back.

It’s contagious, the energy lingering in the air as you join in.  You’re unaware of what’s so funny; it seems the mundane act of being alive is hilarious.

Tears threaten to spill, the kind that don’t come around very often; the kind that hold pools of joy, seas of dopamine longing to spill down your cheeks.  A salty mess that would paint the prettiest memory, glossy eyelids and parted lashes more immaculate than any piece of art Eddie could imagine.  Before you can allow him to indulge in such a sight, fat tears of euphoria are sucked back in, any excess wiped on the pads of your fingers.  

“Do you…want a shirt?  I-I dunno if I have any that’ll fit comfortably but…if you’re cold?  Or I might have a sweatshirt!”  You hop up, recovering from your fit of laughter in your moment of realization.

You don’t give him time to answer, immediately retreating to your room.  His heart feels as if it's gnawing through his chest at the way you worry about him; the fact that you would even be concerned for his well being is still something he would never get used to.  Not many people have offered him that courtesy throughout his life, always equating his family name to something undeserving of any friendly gesture.

When you return, an oversized navy blue sweatshirt in hand with a grin on your face, he swears his heart convulses on the spot.  And when your fingers brush against his as you offer it to him, his lungs are rendered breathless, the desire to linger a little longer pulling him in like gravity.  Your soft skin against his rough fingertips is enough to mess with his brain chemistry, reducing him to a useless man at your mercy, though he’d never admit it.  Not because he didn’t want to but because he was him, and why would someone as delicate and kind hearted as you ever settle for someone as damaged and twisted as him?

Someone so dainty, so lovely, would never in a million years look at him and find him desirable.

When he thanks you, it comes out as an ungrateful mumble, his eyes suddenly glued to his lap in insecurity.  That look on his face that you’d come to recognize, a look of absence.  His mind fed on him and sucked him dry of emotion, eyes blank and devoid of the life that just seconds ago they were so full of.

“You okay?”  You ask, a gentle approach, voice velvety soft with hints of concern.

He doesn’t give you a verbal answer, only nodding while his gaze stays on his lap, the sweatshirt held weakly between his ringed fingers.  His silence is reason enough to believe that it was a lie.  You just couldn’t put your finger on what exactly had happened in the time you’d left the room to you handing him an article of clothing.

“Do you want…to go to sleep?”

The question pierces his doughy brain, stuffed with self depreciation and alienation, only a smidge of room available to process your words.  But even as the words puncture his thoughts, the self hatred won’t deflate fast enough.  So he stares.  He stares at you, those big chocolatey eyes dipped in sadness and self loathing, the ambience now melancholy.  An ache seeps into your chest, traveling up your throat and stinging your eyes at the sight of such a sorrowful man who had just moments ago blessed your ears with his deep laughter and looked at you with such glee.  Suddenly he was gone and once again, he was chasing his inner monologue, you could tell by the way he stared off into the distance, how he had removed himself from the room momentarily.

“Hey, what’s going on?”  You crouch in front of him, the blue light from the TV the only thing allowing you to map out his features.

“Nothing.”  He whispers, snapping out of his trance.

His irises warm up, only slightly, but you can still make out the muted glaze cast over them leftover from his moment of despair.  He isn’t out of the woods yet.

“I-I’m fine.  Sorry, was just…thinking.”  He mutters, slipping the sweatshirt over his head, the material fitting comfortably over his torso, hair now frizzier than before.

“What are you thinking about?”  

You almost lose him again, thoughts swallowing him and nearly drowning him right before you.  But the touch of your hand over his pulls him out, a token of your kindness.  A wordless reassurance that reels him back in.  

“Everything.”  He sniffles, head shaking as if to ward off the waterworks.

Eddie doesn’t let any tears fall, withholds them.  Forces them back into his tear duct, regretting the vulnerability he was further pushing onto you.

“Like what?”  You gently push, thumb stroking over the back of his hard working hand.

Moments follow your question, contemplation behind his gaze while he hesitates.  The world seemed to never be patient enough for him.  So you would.  

For him, you would.

As the gap of silence grows larger, you only give him more encouragement in the form of your thumb continuing to stroke his knuckles, your stare soft on his profile.  There was no rush, not when he’d just hours ago welcomed you into his tortured past.  Not when his nose crinkled as his eyes grew wet again, lashes coated and lip bitten between his teeth anxiously.

“Um–”  He chokes out, not a single tear allowed past his waterline.

You offer a squeeze of your hand, sympathy pouring from your touch into him.  He only tenses up at the sentiment, its effect foreign to him.

“I should go.”  Dragging his hands down his face, he’s puzzled when you stop him from standing.

“Eddie.”  You maintain eye contact with him, even as his eyes dart around the room, you attempt to keep him focused on you.  “I don’t know what’s bugging you but…it can’t be anything crazier than what you’ve told me tonight.”  

Uncertainty pools in his dark irises, honey hues nearly gone in the almost-dark room.  The TV lighting only offers you the tiniest crumb of espresso and swirling caramel that usually brought him to life.  Though, you aren’t entirely sure they’d even be there had you turned the lights on, his grim demeanor clearly yanking away any happiness he had experienced moments prior.

“I-I–why…why are you trying to help me?”  He struggles to get the question out, appearing to be engaged in an internal battle, almost as if he was blindly attempting to make his way back to you, his mind holding him hostage.

You can’t hide the surprise taking over your face, the utter horror at the fact that he would ask such a thing.  Maybe he regretted sharing everything now that he was allegedly sober again?  But that didn’t change your feelings on the topic, you cared.  Whether he word-vomited due to his scattered brain thriving off the alcohol or whether he was stone sober, his feelings mattered to you and you wanted him to know it.

“Because you’re a person, Eddie.”  You begin, once again taking his reluctant, clammy hand and draping your touch over his knuckles.  “Any person deserves compassion.  So what’s bugging you?  I won’t judge.  Promise.”

Holding your pinky out, an empathetic smile paints your lips.

“Pinky promise.”

Within seconds his eyes go from dark discs of despair to those famous honey pools of fondness.  You take note the way he doesn’t hesitate to wrap his pinky around yours, warmth blossoming in your chest and spreading all throughout your body.  And if he needs another moment of quiet after that, he doesn’t communicate it but you gladly welcome it.  

My feelings.  My feelings are bugging me.  Taking me hostage.

It’s what he wants to say but realistically he shoves the dreadful words into the back of his throat as he comes up with something else, another way to convey his thoughts without simply outing himself, making a fool out of himself that you would surely laugh at.  

“I-uh, I’m not very good at this.”  Eddie tries to escape the conversation.

To be fair, he did the same thing with his therapist, it wasn’t anything personal.  It was his own flaw.  But you may have better luck than his therapist, he regrets.  Simply because he would become something he didn’t want you to see him as: an emotionally stunted boy with too many complicated feelings, love drunk on the first girl who had given him more than the time of day.  Just because you were nice to him, didn’t entitle him to reciprocated feelings.

“That’s okay.  I don’t think anyone is.”  You whisper.

Eddie’s eyes shut tightly, his thoughts too painful to voice yet he forces them out–or rather they claw their way out of his throat the second he looks into your begging eyes.  Wordless pleas reach out to him as his brain threatens to shut down any and all communications.

“I just–I don’t…I shouldn’t even be here.”  He sighs deeply.  “I-I don’t deserve to be here.”

At his admission, you find it difficult to voice anything comforting.  Any words you had waiting for him were swallowed at the raw emotion he was displaying.  The look on your face forces him to continue, he needs to fix the situation but he fears he may just make it worse and chase you further away.  He had been digging his own grave for some time now, never learning when to just stop and lay in it.

“Chrissy–um, Chrissy.”  He whispers, eyes fluttering shut.

None of it made sense and he was trying his hardest to wrap things back around and allow you to make the connection in your head.

“You–you remind me of…C-Chrissy.”  A tear trails down his cheek, his hand rapidly wiping it away as he pathetically attempts to repair the conversation.

Instead of offering another squeeze to his hand, you make your way onto the couch next to him, thigh dangerously close to his as you run a hand up and down his back.  You expect the discussion to end there but he only continues.

“And–and that scares me.  Cause, it-it should’ve been me, I should’ve been dead–I should be dead!”  Eddie’s face grows more red, the topic clearly weighing heavy on his heart.  “I can’t–I can’t do it again.”  More tears flow down his tinted cheeks, uncontrollable at this point.

“It feels–it feels l-like it’s going to–to happen again.”  He becomes more and more worked up, barely breathing while he rushes the words out in one breath.  “Like–like the universe or some shit i-is gonna punish me.”  

Your eyes sting, that uncomfortable frown beginning to pull at the corners of your mouth as you watch him self destruct before you.  Something you’d never ask of him though he was voluntarily spilling the contents of his bleeding heart into your hands.

“Okay, okay.”  You begin to soothe.

“I d-don’t get good things.”  “G-good things don’t–don’t happen to me.”  He hiccups.

“Shhh, you don’t need to get upset with yourself.”

Bravely, you go to use the corner of a nearby blanket to blot at the tears trailing down his face to which he flinches away, shaking his head.  That alone would normally be enough to send you to the other side of the couch, bashfully avoiding eye contact until he took the initiative.  But something within you realized that he shouldn’t be left to take the initiative.  Not when he was displaying such pain, such vulnerability that you were convinced not many people had ever seen.  

“God, so pathetic.”  He utters under his shaky breath.

“Hey.”  You softly scold, hand wrapping around his forearm.  He doesn’t flinch at your advances this time.  “You are not pathetic.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Eddie.”

“Don’t throw me a pity party.”  He grits.

“I am not throwing you a pity party.  Stop that.”

It’s out of character, the way you stand up to him.  If it were anyone else you probably wouldn’t have made it this far into the conversation but you can feel your blood boiling as he dismisses his emotions.  You can’t sit by and allow him to continue throwing punches at himself.  Your sudden anger appears to silence him, his glassy eyes glancing at you in disbelief but still obeying your demand.

“I’m being a hypocrite but I-I just…stop.”  You whisper, the devastated look on your face enough to bring him to his knees if he were standing.  Instead he remains seated with his focus solely on you.

“I know…”  You search for the right words.  “I know what it’s like to feel like you don’t deserve good things.”

Eddie doesn’t interject your speech, only listens intently with sad eyes and wet cheeks.  He doesn’t deserve the time day let alone your dedication to his sorrows and worries.  

“I, um, I grew up practically raising my siblings.”  You begin to explain.  “And, um, that responsibility really makes it feel like your needs come last.  And it just gets worse and worse as the years go on because…it’s hard.  Feeling emotionally neglected while tending to everyone else’s emotions.”

His gaze doesn’t once wander, completely devoted to you, to your story.  There’s not an ounce of judgment seeping out of him.  The familiar feeling you were so used to when you opened up every once in a blue moon where you felt deeply misunderstood and silently criticized was nowhere to be found.  All you could make out was pure empathy.  Compassion.  Curious brown eyes searched into your soul, not just scraping the surface but fully diving into the depths you so willingly lead him to.

“I-I don’t know what it’s like to lose someone like that–like you did Chrissy.”  You tread carefully, as if you were afraid to even mention her name.  “I mean–I lost my dad recently but…I didn’t witness anything and it was because of health issues.  We weren’t close and I actually…really hated him.”  You nod, staring meanly into the carpet.

“But, I, um, I know what it’s like to keep people out.  It’s not fun but it’s all we know isn’t it?”  You chance a laugh, earning you the tiniest upturn of his lips.  “And I mean, things are fine with my siblings and my mom, I guess.  But it still feels like I need to shut them out.  To protect their emotions.  And for some reason it just…makes sense to leave them out of it?  I dunno.”  Your voice trails off, confidence wavering.

“It does make sense.”  Eddie speaks up, voice scratchy.

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”  He bites his lip, canine digging into his own flesh before releasing it to speak again.  “Feels like they wouldn’t get it.  Or they shouldn’t have to.  At least that’s how it feels with Wayne.  I know I can tell him anything but…why bother him with all the shit going on in my life when the man has already gone through hell because of me?”  

He takes in a deep breath before sighing and continuing.  “Fuckin’ had to raise a kid that wasn’t even his.”

There’s a certain disappointment to Eddie’s tone, a condescending scowl splayed across his face, only directed at himself as he twists his rings around his fingers.  

“Um.”  He pipes up again, seeming to snap himself out of a trance he’d lured himself into.  “‘Nough about me.”  A smile spreads over his pretty lips, not a genuine one.

“Eddie.”  Like silk, your tone is soft.

“Stop doing that.  You don’t have to do that.  Not around me.”

His chest deflates with an exhale, his pretty eyes still wet and wandering around the room.  There’s a lost child hidden within them, someone desperately trying to cling to the current adult reality but appearing to get lost in the process.  That look was too familiar and there was a sliver of relief in knowing you weren’t the only one who wore it but it yanked on the most tender parts of your heart to know Eddie was suffering just the same as you, if not more.

“T-tell me about Chrissy.”  You whisper.  “Only if you want to.”  

When Eddie’s roaming gaze finally lands on you, he never would have expected to be met with such sincerity.  Not a drop of malice in your voice, not one trace of aggression.  The kind that he was buried in when forced to confront a whole town who suspected he was responsible for her death.  Every mention of her name was always followed by an accusatory finger and seething anger, pitchforks practically aiming for him.  The worst part was he didn’t blame them.  Now, he didn’t mention the hellish underworld beneath Hawkins to you and had explained that the earthquake took Chrissy with a vengeful force right in front of him.  You had no reason to believe him, but you did.  You could’ve believed he was a murderer as everyone else.  You didn’t.  A piece of him wishes he could go into detail about the horrors that once lurked under Hawkins but he’d already breached his contract enough telling you that he was attacked by “creatures”, never going into full detail and telling you that they were gigantic bats.  And you didn’t seem to mind, never pushing for further explanation, only taking what he was willingly giving to you.

“I…”  He begins.  “I…she…she was…”

“I’m sorry, you don’t have to–”

“No.”  He whispers.  His fingertips swipe underneath his eyes, collecting a fair amount of running eyeliner.  “I-I uh, I want to.”  He nods to himself.

“Chrissy was uh, was one of the good ones.  Not a mean bone in her fuckin’ body.”  Eddie starts.  “Even if she was in the ‘popular crowd’ she never bullied anyone.  She thought I was mean and scary at first but…she never…she never showed it.  She’d wave to me every now and then.”  He laughs at the memory, only making your soul ache.

“Now that I think about it, maybe she only waved because she was scared of me.”  He chuckles in self deprecation.  “Can’t blame her.  Everyone’s scared of me.  Always have been.”

“I’m not.”  

Your sudden interruption has his brows knitting together, a softness overcoming his eyes.  He was a mess of a man and you continued to tend to him as if he was deserving of any of your attention.  He wasn’t, and he truly believed that.

“What?”  Eddie attempts to buy some time, stupidly racking his brain for something of some kind of intelligence.

“I’m not scared of you.”

“I–thought you were.  I mean, I wasn’t exactly…nice to you when you first moved in.  I yelled at you all the time–you don’t have to lie to me.”  

“I used to be, yeah.  I’m scared of practically everyone before I get to know them so it wasn’t just you.  But I’m not anymore.”  You explain honestly.  “Keep telling me about her.  If it’s not too much.  She sounded like she was a lovely person.”  

“Yeah.  Yeah, she was.  Had a crush on her for like forever.  Like since middle school when we kinda hung out at the talent show.”  Suddenly, he’s shaking his head again, as if to erase his previous thought.  “It’s stupid.  ‘M twenty four and I’m whining about–”

“Stop.”  You whisper, a bold hand squeezing at his knee.  The action sends his nerves into a frenzy.

“Nothing you say is stupid.”

No one has ever been so patient, so accommodating over his feelings and deepest tragedies showcasing themselves in his darkest hours.  It’s strange enough that he begins to wonder if someone is pulling a prank on him.  If he’s being played like a violin only to be laughed at when the curtain is pulled back.  He couldn’t help it, it was all he had come to learn after all.  Eddie knew you didn’t have it in you to commit such a heinous act against another individual but his mind had been poisoned time and time again, only sending him into a spiral of ‘what-ifs’ any time positivity lingered just out of his reach to grasp if he was brave enough.

“I barely even knew her.”  He seemingly gives up, hand lightly smacking down on his thigh.  Your touch remains on his knee, burning a hole into his bones as he stares at it.

“That’s okay.  You clearly care about her.” 

It makes him want to scream, the way you validate every sentence he utters out.  It’s not what he’s used to, his therapist never even gives him this amount of attention.  And it’s not fair that a soul like yours had been damned to hear his problems and witness everything that made him ugly.  Eddie was convinced that his soul was tainted and if he imagined what it looked like, it was an inky black stain on reality with hardly any signs of life.  If he only knew that in the two months you had known him, he was the most vibrant and adoring soul you had ever come across.

“I–we just–we really connected.  Right before she died.”  He manages to struggle through his mind demanding that he internalizes his thoughts.  “It felt–good.  She saw me…for me.  Instead of some–some motherfucker that poisoned the town’s precious ecosystem and she didn’t see me as…a freak.”

You offer a nod, an encouragement for him to keep going.  His heart that he kept locked up tight in his chest had been slowly oozing out of him, trickling into your living room.  

“She, um, she had a boyfriend.  Jason.”  He clears his throat, staring at the ceiling.  “He was an asshole.  Not to her, he treated her real nice.  But when Chrissy wasn’t around he was a douchebag.  Started a manhunt for me when shit went down.  He thought I—he–he thought I killed her and—and sacrificed her?”  Eddie almost questions, as if he couldn’t believe his own words.

“All because…I was the leader of a Dungeons and Dragons club.”  He admits bashfully.  You only let your thumb glide over the rip in his jeans, a comforting gesture.  “Everyone, uh, thought it was a cult.  Satanic panic and all that shit.”

“That’s fucked.”

“I agree.  Super fucked.  Especially because it dragged everyone down with me.  Dustin basically put his life on the line for me, I’ll never be able to make it up to him.”

As he expresses his gratitude, Eddie pulls his right arm out of the hoodie sleeve, pulling the material up to display his bicep to you.  The one with the very badly doodled character, somewhat resembling a gnome.  

“But…”  He drags out, slapping the ink proudly.  “This did really excite him at least.”

You examine the drawing, taking his bicep in your hand without a second though as you try to determine exactly what you were looking at.  You didn’t want to offend him but you genuinely couldn’t make out the picture.  It was messy and scribbly and could have been created by a five year old.  “Eddie, I’m sorry but–what is it?”  

“Dustin drew it.  It’s his D&D character.”  

“Oh!”  You smile brightly.

“You don’t have to pretend it's good, he’s a shit artist.”

“Not shit.  Just…inexperienced…maybe?”  You joke, wincing at your own words.

“Very.”  Eddie confirms.  “Dustin’s more of a brains kinda guy.  Gareth and I took care of all the artwork, y’know like logos for the club and our band–”

“You had a band?”  A grin sneaks past your lips.

“I–uh–yeah.”  He admits with defeat, his shoulders slumping.

It’s only then that you realized you still had been tracing your fingers over the inked drawing, not one protest stopping you from doing so.  In fact, Eddie only glanced down briefly and smiled, his cheeks tinting pink.  It wasn’t clear whether it was because of your touch or because of embarrassment.

“Hang on, when did this all end up being about me?”  He glares at you with mock anger.

“No, no, no.  Don’t turn this around.  What was your band’s name?”

“Jesus Christ.”  He whispers, distress evident in his tone though his face only conveys amusement.

Eddie didn’t have to entertain the playful conversation that had suddenly engulfed the two of you.  He didn’t have to banter back or let you touch his arm.  He didn’t have to talk about Chrissy even though his mind was plaguing him and he was the one who brought her up.  Nothing was required of him and you made sure he was aware of that.

But oh, how you reveled in his endearing blanket of an aura as he allowed you to peek behind the oh so heavy curtain that hid his deepest and most tragic thoughts.

–

Marvin’s Grocery had become more and more familiar with your frequent trips over the weeks.  You were determined to perfect an apple pie recipe that would make anyone melt at the taste.  Donnie had extended an invite to her famous Thanksgiving dinner and though it was weeks away, preparations were still under way, your oven enduring more use than it ever had in its short lifetime.  

Guilt ate away at you as you placed the freshly baked pie on the counter to cool.  You didn’t want to be an intruder but Donnie was so insistent when gracing you with the plans back at the supermarket.  It would be your first Thanksgiving away from home and you were set on spending it alone, preparing to create a one person feast and pig out all by your lonesome.  Now, you were going to be faced with at least 30 other guests according to Donnie.  That was intimidating enough and when you tried to reject her invitation to save yourself some embarrassment, she only interrupted you, stating that everyone is going to love you and that even your short time in the spotlight at the Halloween bash left a great impression.  That everyone wanted to get to know you.

Then she bestowed the responsibility of one dessert upon you.  Everyone was required to bring at least one dish, store bought or homemade…it didn’t matter as long as you contributed.  You had weeks to perfect it and though you didn’t need to go through the trouble, the people pleaser in you raged on.

Cinnamon and nutmeg graced your nose, a comforting scent that had you salivating and yearning for a piece of warm, gooey apple pie.  The kitchen was a mess, bowls scattered along the counter top and a bag of flour leaking onto the floor.  You were usually consistent in keeping clean as you worked but the daunting task of perfecting your pie held your complete and undivided attention.  

Buttery, flaky crust called your name as you finished folding your laundry.  The TV blared some popular sitcom that had to have been new as you didn’t recognize it.  Regardless, the pie had interested you more.

It came out beautifully, nearly commercial ready with the criss cross crust and everything.  This was your best outcome yet and you only hope it tasted just as delicious as it looked.  You’d finally perfected the design and it didn’t completely deflate on itself this time, a win in your book.

Regretfully, you cut into the perfect dessert, forming the perfect triangle and plating it as delicately as possible.  This was your baby as far as you were concerned and the passion that had gone into it was going to be recognized, even if only by you.  A quick dollop of whipped cream is placed on top, the only thing missing was ice cream although you weren’t the biggest fan of pairing the two treats, satisfied with just the baked slice of heaven.

It was too flawless, the slice had been perfectly cut and presented like a five star restaurant had prepared it.  Such perfection could not be recreated and you simply needed at least one witness to applaud your work or at the very least acknowledge your newly discovered baking skills.  

–

Two knocks and no movement.  Yet…

The breeze nips at your cheeks, leaving you to regret not throwing a sweater on even if only for a few seconds.  Your hand shields the fresh slice of pie, a desperate attempt to conceal its warmth.  Your masterpiece would not be spoiled at the hands of the inevitably changing weather.  

Another two knocks.  A bit more urgent this time.

You can hear shuffling just beyond the door, an eager shiver running down your spine.  Irritation begins to build within you at the stinging sensation at the tip of your ears, the temperature being especially unforgiving.

Two more knocks.

“I’m comin’, I’m comin’.”  

You hear the grumble and can’t help but feel your spirits lift.

“Wha–Bambi?”  Eddie reveals you, a shivering mess on the porch with your hair in disarray and a plate of pie in your trembling hands.

Without hesitation, he steps to the side and waves you in.  There’s a certain coziness to him, his hair extra frizzy as if he had been laying on it and his eyes a tad puffy.  Almost like a large teddy bear.  His black sweatshirt swallows his torso although he’s wearing shorts, a psychotic move in this kind of weather.  

“Try this.”  You demand, holding the plate out in front of him.

His eyes only stare widely at the treat, grogginess obvious in the way he rubs his eyes and yawns.  Another postcard moment.

“What is it?”  He asks gravelly.  It just about melts you into a puddle on his floor.

“Apple pie!”  

Your enthusiasm takes him back, a surprised expression pulling at his features as he hesitantly takes it.  It crosses his mind that you mentioned taking on baking recently, a slow shift at The Bourbon pulling you both into mindless talk as you cleaned.  He gathers that you were at the peak of your sugar rush, no doubt stealing licks of batter and tastes of sugar as you baked.   If this was the result of you baking all day, he needed a minute to wake up.

“Okay, okay.”  He sighs, brushing past you to set the plate on his kitchen counter, snatching a fork from one of the drawers.

“Why do you need me of all people to taste test?”  He asks a bit unkindly.  He doesn’t mean it but you did wake him from a deep slumber, one of the best naps he had in a while.  Probably the only nap he’d taken in a while as he recalls.

You don’t seem to recognize his irritation, thankfully too caught up in the bubbling excitement around your homemade treat.  “Cause it’s for Thanksgiving and I really want it to be good.”  You explain, bouncing on the balls of your feet impatiently.

An eye roll has you blushing–it shouldn’t–but it does.  All of Eddie’s little quirks whether they were forming out of grumpiness or not, only made him all the more endearing.  The fork finally meets his mouth, heaven about to bless his taste buds–or at least you hope.  

As he chews, he makes it a point to keep a straight face, watching you squirm with anticipation being far too fun for him.  

“How is it?”  

Eddie shrugs.  Okay, maybe not all of his quirks were endearing.

“Eddie!”  You wail, hands gripping the edge of the counter.

“Alright, alright.”  He mumbles, taking a step back as he swallows.  The crust crumbles just right on his tongue, warm gooey apple goodness filling his taste buds and sending him right back to his childhood.  The happy parts.  “Really fuckin’ good.  You have any more?”  He asks, going in for another bite, a smug grin displaying across your face.

“No, you were being rude.”

“Wh–c’mon.”  He just about whines as you steal the plate from his reach, tucking it behind your back.

“Say sorry.”

“I’m not sorry, now give it back.”  An adorable frown pulls at his mouth.

“Eddie.”

“Bambi.”

Big brown eyes stare into yours, stubborn intent evident behind them.  It instantly fades when you give him your best pout, your eyes shining with a silent plea.  With a deep sigh and another eye roll, he gives in.  It was like stealing candy from a baby except even easier as he fumbled his stoic expression and contorted his face into something more apologetic.

“‘M sorry.”  He mumbles.

“You’re what?”  You smile, acting oblivious.  

“I’m sorry!”  Eddie throws his hands up in surrender.  “Happy?”  

“I guess.”  You sigh, placing the beloved dessert back on the counter for him to devour.

“Why you baking so much?”  

His mouth is crammed with pie after he asks, crumbs resting at the corners of his mouth and whipped cream decorating his upper lip.  You determine that he’s a messy eater, sloppily shoveling pie into his mouth until it physically can’t hold anymore.

“Thanksgiving.  I’m in charge of a dessert.  What are you bringing?”

“Nuffin’.”  He mumbles through a mouthful.

“Why not?”  You practically whine.

With a rough swallow, Eddie licks his lips, leaving no trace of the coarse sugar that was previously sprinkled on the crust.  When you glance down, the plate is empty, the pie had vanished into Eddie’s stomach.

“I’m not going.”  He says simply.

Not going?  If he couldn’t go back to Indiana for Thanksgiving, where was he going to go?

“I don’t uh, I don’t do holidays.”  He elaborates.

“Don’t do holidays.”  You scoff.  “You did Halloween just fine.”  

It should gross you out when he retrieves a carton of milk from the fridge and starts chugging it straight from the container.  It doesn’t.  Wiping his mouth with his sleeve, he sets the milk on the counter, eyes meeting yours as his elbows come to rest on the counter, his head propped up in his hands.

“Then that’s the only holiday I do.” 

“You have to go.”  You whine like a child, stomping your foot.

“I don’t have to do anything.”  There’s a certain kind of attitude in his tone, a playful attitude that wasn’t actually meant to offend you, only to spur you on.

“You have to go or else you can’t have any more pie!”  You complain.  “Please Eddie!  You’re like one of the only people I’ll know, you can’t not go.”

Your worried eyes and pouty lips are convincing enough though he might as well have a little fun.  Get under your skin.

“Now you’re being mean.”  He juts out his lip.

The look on your face is priceless, eyes widening and mouth hung open in shock.  “Am not!  You’re going to Thanksgiving because if you don’t then I’m gonna feel guilty the whole time I’m trying to pig out.”

“Guilty?”  An amused grin plasters itself to his face, his figure returning to tower over you as he ceases leaning over the counter.

“Yeah, you can’t spend Thanksgiving alone.”  

He swears there are tears in your eyes, making it unexplainably hard for him to tell you no.  Then again, he always found it hard to tell you no.  Just last week you and Jett begged to decorate the bar with pumpkins and other Fall objects.  The only reason he said yes was because you looked up at him with those perfectly pleading puppy dog eyes, your hands behind your back as you swayed back and forth.  And because you offered to use the pumpkins from your porch, the bar’s dwindling budget sure to be untouched.

“Tell you what…”  Eddie begins his proposition, you listening eagerly as you lean over the counter with your head propped in your hands as he had done seconds ago.  “If you make me my own personal pie—“

“Done.”  You chirp.

“I will consider it.”  He finishes, glaring at you.

“How about…I give you the rest of the pie I have sitting at home right now and you promise you’ll go?”  You light up at your own idea.

“I will consider it.”  He repeats.

“No deal.” 

You cross your arms stubbornly, eyes closing as you tilt your head up in a snobbish manner.  A groan escapes him, you peeking an eye open only to see his nose scrunched in defeat, his tongue licking the back of his teeth and clicking.

He lost the battle.

“Fine.”  He sighs, exhaling through his nostrils in annoyance.  

You don’t miss the tiny smile tugging on his lips as he collects the remaining whipped cream from the plate and licks it from his fingers.  His front was faltering, the big scary dog ready and willing to fall at your feet if you just said the word. 

~end~

Masterlist

Prev | Next

tags - @gravedigginbbydoll @ohauggieo @spicysix @lunatictardis @ali-r3n @batkin028 @mrsjellymunson @witchwolflea @emma77645 @emxxblog @eddiesxangel @angietherose @lottie-90 @sheneedsrocknroll92 @pullingattheroots @avalon-wolf @vintagehellfire @cryingglightningg @foreveranexpatsposts @winchester-angel @mmunson86 @witchwolflea @kurdtbean @micheledawn1975 @tlclick73 @erinekc @hazydespair @whenshelanded @corrodedcoffincumslut @ms1oftheboys @lma1986 @uglypastels @aysheashea

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fic #eddie x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x fem reader #eddie munson au #eddie munson series #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x you #stranger things fic #stranger things au #smoke signals

[oddinary4bts]

The Forgotten Spaces | ch 14 (jjk)

☆summary: you've been dancing on the same dance crew since your teenage years, and you finally have an important role in it. It feels like life is taunting you when your rival comes back after disappearing for a year, ready to tease you every chance he gets. Will the teasing turn into more, or are you going to take him down with you?

☆pairing: photographer and dancer!Jungkook x dancer!female reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI, there is mature content in this chapter)

☆genre: slow (SLOW) burn enemies to lovers, college!au, slice of life!au, angst (oop), smut and fluff

☆warnings: things might get emotional in this one, jungkook's photo exposition, oc's mom call once, laura is there but we don't care about that anymore, do we?, curse words, explicit content: mentions of pain kink and choking kink, dom!jk, brat!reader, hair pulling, oral sex (male and female receiving), mouth fucking, fingering, edging, unprotected sex (don't be stupid)

☆word count: 13k

☆series masterpost here

☆a/n: It's the last chapter and I am so so so emotional about it. The Forgotten Spaces was a journey, and I can't believe it's coming to an end. To think I started writing this in January... it's been forever. Thank you for reading me, for sending me all these asks and interacting with me so much over this fic. It means a lot! I hope you'll enjoy this last chapter just as much as you've enjoyed the others <3

☆a/n pt 2:Thank you to @moonleeai for her beta reading on this fic, I won't ever thank you enough, you're the best <3

☆Read What Was Hidden here, the fic that inspired this whole story, written by @daechwitatamic, one of my fav human beings on this app <3 It follows the story of Jo and Taehyung before The Forgotten Spaces

☆☆☆☆☆

For this meeting of our end of the world

It's with you that I want to sing

On the threshold of the memories the dead of today

Them that breathe for us

The forgotten spaces

Je t'écris - Gaston Miron (rough translation by me)

☆☆☆☆☆

Saturday, December 1st

                You’ve been feeling Jungkook’s eyes darting to you almost every minute now, like he’s synchronized with the minute hand of a clock. You’re studying in your apartment, finals inching closer with every passing day. Yesterday evening, you went to buy a real Christmas tree, and the aroma of the branches has been playing with your nose since you sat down at the coffee table to study. Jungkook is sitting at the kitchen counter, and he’s long stopped looking at his laptop in front of him. The screen went black, but he doesn’t seem to care.

You catch his gaze when his eyes dart to you once more, and you cock an eyebrow in question. He chuckles, and his eyes slide to his dark screen.

“What’s up with you?” you ask.

He shrugs, and taps on the touchpad. His screen comes back to life, and he types in his password. “Nothing.”

You squint your eyes, glancing at the book you’ve been highlighting from. You reckon you could use a break, so you put the highlighter down, getting up from your spot to walk to where Jungkook is sitting.

“Doesn’t seem like it’s nothing,” you whisper, and you wrap your arms around his neck, resting your head on his shoulder. He’s studying for his anatomy final, and you read along with him as you wait for him to reply.

He shrugs, and his tattooed hand shoots up to hold onto your wrist. He traces figures with his thumb on your skin, and turns his head to look at you.

“What do you want for Christmas?” he asks.

His question takes you by surprise. And you don’t know what you want, you’ve never had a boyfriend to get gifts from and give presents to.

A boyfriend… You haven’t used the label yet. At least not out loud. But you think both of you know without needing to say it.

“Mmh,” you hum. “I don’t know. I didn’t think we were doing presents.”

You can hear the frown in his voice when he speaks. “I want to treat you.”

You laugh, pressing a peck to the side of his neck. “Can I choose an activity instead of a gift? I like spending time with you.”

“You want me to take you out on a date?”

It’s not something you’ve been doing a lot. The honeymoon phase led to you spending more time alone, at your place. Never being able to get enough of the other, passion and desire leading the dance between you two. But you reckon you’d like to go on a date with him, to go to museums and laugh at the art together. To grab dinner with him in a fancy restaurant, and pretend you know anything about wine.

Well, you do, a little. But you’ve never seen Jungkook drinking wine before, which gives you an idea after all.

“What about a wine degustation? I’ve heard there’s a nice little winery just outside of the city.”

“I don’t drive, and I assume you’d want to drink, no?” he points out.

You press another kiss to his neck, and watch the goosebump forming on his skin. “We can go by train.”

He shifts a little, turning to fully look at you. “Alright then. I’ll take you to a nice winery, and I’ll get you some nice wine. That sounds like a good present for a good girl.”

“Kook,” you whine, and you pull away to punch him playfully on the shoulder. “You’re annoying.”

“You love me.”

You glare at him, as he just offers you that lopsided grin that makes you all giddy inside.

“Do I?”

He grabs your face, kisses your forehead and pulls away. “Yes.”

You hum, shrugging. “Maybe.”

He pouts, and you brush it away with your thumb. Your hand lingers on his cheek, and his face falls serious. You lean closer to kiss him softly and he melts under you. He pulls you so you’re in front of him instead of behind, as his lips work against yours.

You’ll never get tired of kissing him.

“What do you want for Christmas?” you ask once you’ve finally pulled away, and his forehead is resting against yours.

“I won’t be as cheesy as you,” he teasingly answers. “There’s this game I’ve wanted for a while? Maybe you could get me that. It’s multiplayer, we could try to play together?”

“Isn’t Tae your gaming buddy?” You’re teasing him, because in truth you’d love to game with him. You’ve liked watching him play so far, and you reckon playing with him could also be fun.

“You could be one too!” he insists. “We could get Jo to play with us, I’m sure she’d love it.”

You laugh, softly, before pecking his lips once more. “Sounds good. I’ll get the game for you.”

He pulls you closer, wrapping his arms around your waist. His thighs are on each side of you, and you can’t resist but run your hands up and down, feeling his muscles.

“You’re the best.”

When he kisses you again, it feels different. More intense, languid, and you immediately know where it’s going to lead. You reckon you’ve wanted a break, and indulging in Jungkook seems like a good way to do it. So you let him press you against him, while you keep dragging your hands on his thighs.

He pulls away, and you move to his jaw, and then to his neck, leaving a trail of hot wet kisses behind. He breathes in sharply, tilting his head to give you better access.

“Should we go to your bedroom?” he breathlessly asks, and you nod while you suck a mark on his skin. He hisses, and his gaze is dark when you step away from him to head towards your bedroom.

He follows you, hand finding yours so you can pull him behind you. The moment you’re in your bedroom he loses all restraints, grabbing your face to crash his lips against yours. You think you can taste blood, but it’s hard to form coherent thoughts when he kisses you like that, like he’s been starved for so long. Like he needs you to replace the oxygen in his lungs and the blood in his veins.

It’s mind-numbing, and you hold onto his shirt, clutching it in your fists. You almost want to tear the fabric off his body, but you like his shirt – he looks good in it. You don’t want to ruin it. But the way he’s kissing you right now… you’re pretty sure he wants to ruin you. And you want to let him do it, want him to use you.

He’s good at it. Sex with him just keeps getting better and better, as you get to know each other’s body more every day. You know how he likes pain – whether it’s your nails digging in his back, your teeth in his shoulder, or your hand clutching his balls while you suck his dick. He knows you like it as well, especially when he chokes you or slaps your ass. It works well together, and you feel like he was made for you, through every aspect of your relationship.

Jungkook is perfect for you, and you’re going to show him right now.

You pull away from the kiss, immediately dropping to your knees. The impact on the hardwood floor hurts, but you’re already busy pulling his joggers down his legs. Jungkook’s tongue is poking at his cheek, the only indication that he wanted to be the one pleasing you, but he doesn’t resist. He brushes your hair over your shoulder, before tangling it into his firm grip.

He’s soft. The bulge in his boxers is already big though, even if you know it grows a lot whenever he gets hard. He watches you carefully as you pepper small kisses on him through his boxers, hands caressing his thighs. You follow the line of his scar on his left line, massaging it gently as you tease his dick with your teeth, looking up at him innocently.

“Take them off,” he commands, and you tilt your head to the side.

“Why should I?”

A storm passes in his eyes, and he pulls on your hair, once. It hurts, but you hold onto the smirk on your lips, because you like being a brat with him. It makes the sex ten times better.

“That’s how you want it to be, uh?”

You bite your lips as one of your hands moves to the bulge. You palm him, and he sits heavy in your hand. He’s growing semihard already, and when you press a kiss to the tip, you’re pretty sure you’ve tasted precum. Just to make sure, you lap at him, and a satisfied smirk grows on your lips when Jungkook hisses.

“Don’t tease,” he warns, pulling on your hair once more. “I want to see your pretty lips wrapped around my cock, mmh?”

“Do you?”

He clenches his jaw, tilting his head to the side. “And you want me to bring you out to a winery. Going to have to punish you first.”

“We both know you like it,” you tease.

His silence is answer enough, and you decide to finally give in to him. You hook your thumbs in his boxers, pulling them down in one swift motion. He steps out of them and kicks them somewhere in your room, while you look at his dick sitting prettily in front of your face.

He’s still just semihard. You’ll be able to deep throat him, and he sees it in your gaze as you grab the base of his dick.

“Be nice,” he warns. “Ease into it, baby.”

“Anything for you, Kook,” you purr, and then you dive in. Heading for one of his balls, sucking it in your mouth and twirling your tongue around it as you start jerking him off lazily, with not nearly enough pressure for what he likes.

He lets you do it only because you’re sucking on his ball, and when your teeth graze the sensitive organ, he pulls your head back so hard you actually wince.

“Sorry,” he immediately apologizes, releasing your hair. “Are you okay?”

You lick at his slit, tasting the precum. “I deserved it, uh? Don’t you want to punish me?”

“I…” he trails off when you suck hard on the tip once, hollowing your cheeks. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

You pull away. “You’re good, Kook, you know I like it rough. I’ll tell you to stop if it’s too much.”

He doesn’t need more to grab a handful of your hair again, pushing your head towards his dick. “Then be a good girl and suck my dick, baby.”

You smirk, before obeying. He’s already gotten a little harder, so you take most of what you can in your mouth, jerking off the part that doesn’t fit. You tease the underside of his dick with your tongue, before swallowing around him. He grunts, throwing his head back, and you watch his Adam's apple bob up and down as he swallows.

You keep at it for a while, feeling his dick getting harder and harder with every swipe of your tongue, every hollowing out of your cheeks. He’s grunting, breathing heavily, and it’s a melody to your ears. To know you’re the one pulling that out of him, the only one at that, makes you feel important.

“You want to take me all the way in?” he asks, voice dark and husky as his arousal starts to take over his mind. “I could fuck your mouth.”

That makes you pull away. “You could eat my pussy at the same time. Let’s see who’s going to come first.”

He smirks down at you. “We both know that’d be you. I already know you’re dripping for me.”

You are. You can’t lie. So you squeeze your thighs together, moaning softly before stuffing Jungkook’s cock in your mouth once again. You loosen up your throat, taking all of him in this time, and when he hits the back of your throat, you hold in the gag reflex.

His other hand finds your head too, and he holds you there, circling his hips slowly.

“Your mouth feels so fucking good,” he praises. “I’ll never get tired of it.”

And he doesn’t have to. You love sucking him dry, love swallowing his hot seed whenever he decides to come down your throat. You love pleasuring him, love everything when it comes to him.

Your eyes are tearing a little when Jungkook’s hips move back, but he still holds your head into place. When just his tip is still in your mouth, he says, “Can I fuck your mouth a little before we move to the bed?”

You nod, and he pushes back in, slowly. When he hits the back of your throat, you moan around him, and the grunt he lets out is heavenly.

And then he really starts fucking your mouth. Thrusting in and out, as your drool rolls on your chin. You just keep on moaning around him, trying to keep eye contact even though your eyes are tearing up more and more. Soon, his grunts morph into moans, and you almost think he’s going to come down your throat.

But he suddenly pulls away, his breathing ragged. “We got to stop here, I really want to fuck you.”

You pout. “I don’t mind you coming in my mouth.”

“After I’ve at least got to fuck you, babe. Then I’ll come down your throat and you’ll swallow everything for me.”

Mischief lights up your gaze as you nod, getting up. “Sounds like a plan to me.”

He’s back to kissing you in no time, his tongue assaulting your mouth. You suck on it as his hands grab at the meat of your ass, massaging it and forcing you to step impossibly close to him. His cock rests against your stomach, and you just want it to be buried inside of you already. So you force yourself to pull away from the kiss just long enough to say, “Bed?”

Jungkook nods, and then he picks you up swiftly. You giggle a little, because you know exactly what he’s going to do. And he does it, throwing you on your bed like your weight is nothing to him. You reckon you might seem weightless to him – he works out a lot, with the help of his physical therapist. It’s helped him with the pain in his leg, though he does sometimes complain about the itching and pulling of the scars still.

Whenever he does, you make sure to show him just how much you love his scars. And you think he’s started to love them too.

He takes off his shirt before joining you on the bed, hands pulling on your ankles to make you lie down. You yelp a little, mostly because it surprised you, but when he pulls your pants down, the yelp morphs into a small breathy sound. Especially as he presses soft kisses to the inside of your thigh once you’re naked, revering every inch of your skin. He’s left your panties on though, and you almost feel his gaze burning you through the fabric.

“You’ve soaked your panties,” he comments. “Always so ready for me.”

“I just want to have your cock buried in me,” you whine as his kisses move closer to your core.

He smirks against your skin, before softly biting into it. When you hiss, he uses his tongue to lap the sting away. “Then you shouldn’t have been a tease.”

You want to curse him, to tie him up on your bed so you can sit on him, so you can use his dick to pleasure yourself, but when he wraps his lips on your clit through your panties, you moan.

He’s quick to pull your panties to the side, tongue lapping at your entrance twice before he’s moved up to your clit. He draws circles on you, presses on the sensitive organ.

“You taste so good,” he praises. “So sweet.”

Your teeth dig in your bottom lip when he sucks hard. “Kook…”

“Baby.”

As if to reward you, one of his fingers finds your entrance. He teases it for a few seconds, before pushing in, ever so slowly. And then he arches it, finds the sweet spot that makes you see stars, and makes it his mission to make you come as quickly as he can. He pumps his finger, alternates pressing on your clit and sucking on it. A knot starts to form in your lower stomach, and he adds a second finger, adding scissoring motions to the ordeal.

That’s when you start moaning, unashamedly. Loudly, even though you think your neighbors might hear. You don’t care about that, just care about the feeling of the knot tightening and tightening inside of you. It’s about to snap when Jungkook entirely stops, pulling away from you, denying you the orgasm.

“You’ll come around my dick instead, uh?”

“Fuck,” you curse.

He’s only smirking, as he kneels between your legs. “Take off your shirt.”

You bite on your lower lip, sitting up just enough to pull on the fabric. Jungkook helps you, and when your breasts come into view he lets out an appreciative sigh.

“Always so fucking hot. I knew you weren’t wearing a bra.”

It’s your turn to smirk. “I know you like it when I don’t.”

“A good fucking girl indeed.” He bends down to kiss you stupid, and when you fall back on the bed he remains kneeling. His large hands cup your breasts, pushing them together. He seems to like what he sees, because he says, “One of these days I will have to fuck your breasts.”

You look down at yourself. “Don’t think I have enough for that to work.”

“Oh, trust me, baby. You’ve got plenty enough.”

On that note he aligns his dick with your entrance, holding your panties to the side once again. For some reason, he likes doing that. Fucking you while you’re still wearing your panties. Likes to ruin your underwear, until both of your juices are soaking them up.

Today is no different. He pushes all the way in, making your eyes fall shut at the sudden intrusion, and you moan loudly as he lets go of the panties to hold your waist instead.

“Now, you’re going to come around my dick, okay?” he tells you. “Tell me what to do to make you come.”

“Kook,” is all you can say as he pulls almost all the way out before fucking into you hard again. “My…” He starts going back and forth, quickly, and your mouth falls open on a broken moan. He’s stretching you wide open, and the usual burn only turns you on further, only brings back the knot in your stomach. You try to focus, and it takes you a few seconds before you’re able to form a sentence. “Rub on my clit,” you say.

He stills deep inside of you. “Ask nicely.”

“Please, Kook.” You reach down, about to do it yourself when he grabs your hands, before holding both of them over your head. When he’s sure you won’t touch yourself again, he starts fucking into you, and he does rub on your clit with his thumb. His touch is light at first, testing your sensitivity, and when you beg for him to go harder, he obeys, timing the motions of his thumb with the back and forth of his hips.

Your hands find purchase on a pillow over your head, and you clutch it tight as you feel the knot returning. With his free hand, Jungkook grabs your neck, holding you into place. And when he starts feeling your walls clenching on him, his fingers dig into your arteries.

“Come for me, baby.”

You choke out a moan, as the sensations suddenly grow tenfold, and then everything snaps inside of you. You cry out his name, and he relaxes his grip on your neck as you come undone, walls pulsing around his shaft. He stills deep inside of you, probably in an attempt to not come too, and when you’re finally coming down from the high, he meets your gaze.

“Still want to swallow my cum, mmh?”

“Kook, fuck.” You chuckle a little. “You’re ready to come already?”

His features grow even darker, and you watch as beads of sweat roll on his cheek and on the side of his neck. “Nah, I think I want to fuck you stupid some more.”

“Shit,” is all you have time to mutter before he’s going at it again. Quick, hard, and he pulls your legs on his shoulders to hit inside of you at a better angle. You’re soon a moaning mess again, and your walls clench around him some more. He holds your legs in place, fucking into you so hard you think he’s rearranging your guts. He’s a grunting mess, and you watch him for a few seconds. He looks so good fucking you like that, chest flushed red, inked arm wrapped around your legs. His other hand is on your hip, fingers digging in the supple skin. Some of his hair sticks to the sweat on his forehead, and if you weren’t focused on letting him pleasure himself, using your pussy, you’d reach out between you to brush the hair away.

But you don’t care right now. You’re fucked out, blissed by the orgasm you just had and the pleasure he’s still bringing to you. You’re still sane enough to think about his leg, to be concerned that it’s going to hurt later, but Jungkook doesn’t seem to care at all.

It takes a while before he slows down, and his movements are slow and languid when he speaks again. “I want to see your lips around my cock again.”

He lets go of your legs, pulling out of you. You miss him right away, but you want to pleasure him far more than you want him to be fucking you right now. So you get on all fours, before sitting back on your heels. Jungkook gets up, standing on the side of the bed, before holding out his hand for you to take.

You grab it, gently, and he pulls you closer to the side of the bed. Because it’s easier for him to come when he’s standing, and you know he’s holding the orgasm in already.

You sit on the side of the bed, before massaging his thighs once more. Eyes meeting his as he’s looking down at you, towering over you. You ignore his dick, but when he moves closer, tapping it on your lips, you can’t resist to lick at him.

All you taste on him is yourself, and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t turn you on even more.

“Suck me, baby. I’m so close.”

“Fuck my mouth, then. Use me.”

“You think you can’t make me come?”

Oh, the little shit. You’re going to make him come just fine.

You look down, eyes following the vein on his dick. It’s glistening from your juices right now, and when you wrap your lips around his tip, you really do taste yourself. It’s a taste you’re getting used to, because Jungkook really does like to come down your throat.

You grab the base of his dick in one hand, using the other to palm at his balls. His insufferable smirk melts away as you start working on him, alternating sucking on his tip and playing with his frenulum with your tongue. He’s rock hard in your mouth, far harder than he was earlier, and you know he’s going to come in no time.

So you start bobbing your head up and down his shaft, swallowing around him whenever he hits the back of your throat. He’s a grunting mess, a moaning mess, by the time you start squeezing his balls, and you hold eye contact as you pleasure him.

“I’m in love with that fucking mouth of yours,” he says, and his eyes flutter shut. “You’re so fucking good.”

You moan around his dick, which in turn makes him hiss. And when he starts moving a little, his motions sloppy, you know he’s about to come. So you squeeze harder, suck harder, and moan around him as hot shots of his seed hit the back of your throat. You swallow it as he comes, listening to the chorus of moans and curses he’s letting out, with your name laced into it. It’s sinful, hot, and you think you could also come just listening to him like that.

When you’ve milked the last of his orgasm out of him, Jungkook pulls away, your mouth making a popping sound when he’s out. He chuckles, bending down to press a kiss on your forehead, before grabbing your jaw.

“You swallowed everything?”

Ever the obedient girl, you open your mouth to show him that you indeed did. He seems satisfied, and he kisses your forehead once more, before grabbing your hand. You already know he’s going to pull you to the shower, and you follow him, eyes falling to his ass.

He’s got a great ass. Not necessarily big, but it’s muscled, defined, and the thighs that complement it turns it into a work of art, in your opinion. You love Jungkook’s body, love the care that he puts into it, and you don’t think you’d get tired of looking at him.          

He glances over his shoulder. “Like the view?”

You roll your eyes at him. “Shut up.”

“You’re the one that’s staring at my ass! Even I don’t do this to you.”

You frown, digging your heels in the ground to stop in your spot. “You’re annoying.”

“I’m right though.”

He isn’t. You know he likes watching your body too, likes revering every inch of it with his lips and hands and gaze. He makes you feel like the most beautiful girl in the world, and you reckon he deserves you making him feel like this too.

“You aren’t,” you finally say. “But, why can’t I look at you? You’re hot.”

“I’m ‘hot’,” he repeats. “Wow.”

“It’s a compliment!”

He bursts out laughing, before pulling you into a hug. “I know, I’m being a little shit. Thank you.” He adds your name sweetly, and then presses a peck to the top of your head. “By the way,” he says against your hair, “Do you want to come to my photography exposition next week?”

Your heart melts in your chest, and you wrap your arms around his waist to hold him flush against you, even though he’s still sweaty from the sex. “Of course, Kook. I’d love to come.”

You look up to meet his gaze. He’s smiling softly, with that lovesick look to his eyes that makes you feel like you’re swimming in ecstasy.

You want him to look at you like this until the day you die. Want to look at him like this too. Because, truly, you become the most important girl in the world when he looks at you like this. The most important girl in that world of you two, that space that belongs just to you.

“Thank you,” he finally whispers, and then he kisses you softly. “Let’s shower now.”

You chuckle, before following him into the bathroom.

Friday, December 14th

                Jungkook is anxious. He’s been wanting to show you his photography for a while, but he’s always refrained from doing it. Partly because he still remembers you nagging him in Chicago about taking so many pictures of you, but mostly because this exhibit feels personal to him. It’s a collection of moments he experienced throughout the year, and when he looks at it, he feels like it’s his soul bared. And even though he’s bared his soul to you countless times before, it’s different like this. He doesn’t even know if you’re going to like it.

He sighs, shakily, before wiping his clammy hands on the fabric of his dress pants. They’re pale, and his light blue dress shirt is tucked neatly into it. It’s a little too tight on him, and he’s been getting looks from some people a couple of times, but most people avoid his exposition.

Mostly because Laura made it clear that he was an asshole, and all of her photography friends started hating on him too. Before, he would have probably been angry about it, upset with Laura, but now he feels like it doesn’t matter. He knows his friends are all going to come anyway, and though it’s been stressing him out, he knows that it’ll be fine.

The first friend that gets here is Namjoon. Namjoon, the biggest art nerd. Somehow, it soothes Jungkook that he’s the one here first. Because if the exposition is trash, he knows his friend will give an honest review.

Namjoon claps his hand and pulls him into a bro hug, his eyes going over the pictures. He smiles appreciatively, glancing at Jungkook.

“You should really become an art photographer. I told you you’re good at it.”

The praise makes Jungkook’s eyes well up with surprising tears. “Joon…”

“No, I’m serious!” Namjoon insists. He looks at the exposition again. “It’s a cycle. Twelve pictures, with light changing ever so slightly in all of them. And the centerpiece? You’re a goner.”

Jungkook blushes deep red, and he digs his hands in his pants. “Uh… It just felt fitting.”

Namjoon smiles, nodding slowly. “Of course. I’m happy for you, man.”

“Thanks,” Jungkook chokes out. “I’m… so fucking anxious for her to see it.”

Namjoon playfully pushes him. “Every time I’ve seen her she just looked at you with hearts in her eyes. She’s gone for you just as much as you are for her.”

“Is she?” Jungkook asks, toying with his piercing, though he already knows. He’s seen the switch in you – the way you grew softer around him, the way you take every opportunity to be with him and cherish it like it’s the last. You make him feel like he was born one day to find you, like you were the purpose of his life. It’s an intense feeling, a scary one, but he reckons when he was younger he always believed that he’d know when he was going to meet the right one.

Well… He didn’t know it right away with you, right? It took him what… seven years? Eight? He doesn’t even remember. But when the switch happened in him, he knew right away. He knew right away that you were the one, that he’d have to spend the rest of his life making sure that you know that. Making sure to prove it to you. He thinks he’s been doing it now, though he has to admit he was too scared at first. Hurt you instead of loving you. But he believes he’s been doing better now. Believes he’s redeeming himself a little more every day.

He stops his train of thoughts, because he’s getting emotional and you’re not even here yet. Namjoon tells him he’s going to look at the rest of the exhibition, and that he’ll come back when the rest of the friend group arrives. Jungkook watches him go, before grabbing his phone out of his back pocket to occupy himself.

[5:47 pm] You: i’ll be a little late. i’m stuck in traffic, but i’m close! [5:47 pm] You: i’m sure u’re doing great! my dad told me to wish u good luck

What you don’t know is your dad told him himself. They’ve been talking, from time to time. Mostly because your father believes he should come to California for the Holidays along with you. Jungkook hasn’t decided yet, because he doesn’t want to impose and he doesn’t want to make you feel forced to welcome him. Your father says he’s sure you’ll accept, but he hasn’t had that conversation with you yet.

He feels like if tonight goes well, then it might be the moment to ask.

[5:48 pm] jkonthebeat: joonie is already here! i think jo and tae should get here soon [5:49 pm] You: jo told me they’ll get there with jimin and scottie, and scottie just texted me that he saw laura and feels like murdering someone

Jungkook almost laughs out loud, but he stops himself just in time to see that Scottie, Jimin, Taehyung and Jo indeed just got here. They all wave when they see him, bright smiles on display, laughing about something they probably were joking about before they saw him. Jungkook waves them over, and the anxiety spikes once more as they take a look at his photography.

When they all compliment him, Taehyung and Jimin clapping him on the back and telling him that they’re proud of him, his anxiety calms down once more. He’s relieved, and at this point he’s pretty positive you’ll like it too. Because if his closest friends, who take every opportunity to tease him, tell him that he did a good job, then he reckons he did.

They all stay with him, and Namjoon comes back a moment later, as they all talk and joke around. Jungkook can’t help but feel gazes on him: Laura and her friends. He’s pretty sure Laura would murder him if she got the chance, and he only knows it’ll grow tenfold when you get here.

The presence of his friends grounds him, and when the examiner comes to look at his exposition, Jungkook’s speech is strong and steady, as he explains everything that he wanted to represent in the pictures. He explains how the light follows the hour of the day, and his emotions at the time. Each picture represents a month, last year. It starts in January, when he wasn’t doing great at all. The pictures are darker in the beginning months, then gradually get lighter in May and June. They’re hopeful, those pictures. One of them is a picture of the frogs under the bridge next to the dance studio, and he remembers when he walked with you, after dance practice all those months ago. He remembers the hope he felt, how his steps were light for the first time in months.

Then it all grows dark again in July. The picture isn’t unhappy. It’s the night sky at the cottage that he photographed with a long exposure tape. It isn’t sad, no, because it does remind him of you. But he chose it because July was sad, too, as were the following months. Dark pictures for August and September follow. A stormy night when he couldn’t sleep, and he knew Laura was asleep in his bed when he took the picture, yet he couldn’t sleep, didn’t want to be with her.

He was thinking of you, hating himself for choosing her.

October becomes lighter again, slowly. A picture in the shade in Chicago. You’re in it, as are Taehyung and Jo, with your backs turned to the camera. He’s titled it ‘Where I learned to live again’. Because truly, that’s how it felt to him. That trip to Chicago… it made him feel reborn.

November is a picture he took from the window of your apartment, of a bright, golden setting sun. That one he titled ‘Where I found hope again’. Because he found hope while being with you, more than you can imagine.

The last one is a picture of a bright, snowy day you spent with him a week ago. The storm hit unexpectedly, and you stayed with him, at the house with the other boys. It’s a picture of the backyard, with you all laughing around as you’re making snow angels. The picture is focused on you, with your big grin and rosy cheeks from the cold.

This one is called ‘Where I learned to love again’, but to be fair, he started to love again way before that. And it’s represented in the picture in the middle of the twelve, the one he chose to put there months ago. Back then, he didn’t know if he wanted to present his project at the exhibition, but with how things have evolved with you, he decided to do it.

It’s a picture of you, laughing, that he snapped in July at the cottage. He’s written a text next to it, a dedication to you, and that most of all is the reason why he’s anxious for you to see it.

In the forgotten space between then and now, her smile lingers. Healing, shining, like the sun after a long winter. Months that led to her, and now warmth clings to the world. The sun rays refuse to go away, and they shine ever so brightly after the darkness. Her light gives life, her smile gives hope, and her heart gives love.

It’s cheesy. Now that he thinks of it, he almost regrets writing that. But he knows that art blossoms where there’s love, and you’ve been his muse all year. Because most pictures, starting in April, are related to you. A story of how you got to where you are now.

His exhibit is called The Forgotten Spaces. It’s about how while he experienced those moments at first, he didn’t know. Didn’t realize what they meant. How he forgot that they meant something. Now, looking back, he knows that all of these moments meant everything. Meant everything to you and him, as they are your forgotten spaces, and he doesn’t care what anyone thinks about it.

Doesn’t care that Laura has been throwing him side eyes, and how he might have gone too poetic on the project. He’s proud of what he did, and he just can’t wait for you to see.

When the examiner walks away, with a “Good job” and a bright smile, Jungkook once again relaxes. His friends are still nearby, and their chatter dims out the rest of the room, until he’s only focused on them. They’re talking about getting drinks after, to celebrate, and Jungkook can’t help but start feeling excited.

It only grows tenfold when he notices you walking in. You look so pretty standing there, scanning the room as you search for him. You’re wearing dark pants, with a pale blouse you’ve tucked into them. When your gaze meets him, you light up like you’re the brightest star in the night sky, and you wave at him as you make your way closer.

You do notice Laura too. To Jungkook’s surprise, you offer her a smile, and then walk past as if you don’t care about her. And he reckons maybe you don’t anymore, after all that’s happened.

“Hey,” he greets you when you stop next to him.

Your gaze hasn’t moved to the pictures on the wall behind him yet. You’re entirely focused on him, and he senses his friends taking a few steps away to allow you two some privacy. You grab his hand, a thing you do in public because you’ve told him you don’t like public displays of affection, but that holding hands doesn’t count. He still can’t resist but pull you a little closer, and he grabs your other hand.

And then his heart starts beating wildly in his chest, because you look over his shoulder, tiptoeing to see the wall. And he sees thousands of emotions moving on your features, until you just turn fully red.

“Oh my God, Kook,” you let out. “Is your exposition about me?”

His heart sinks in his chest. He feels like he did something wrong, like he shouldn’t have taken pictures of you, but then you add, “You’re so fucking cheesy, what the hell.”

It’s like a weight is lifted from his shoulders, and he smirks down at you. “I mean, how could I resist? You’re my muse.”

“Stop!” you say, punching him in the chest. You then walk around him, taking a proper look at the pictures. “Is that why you didn’t want me to see, before today?”

Because you’ve asked. Countless times, but he always told you he’d rather not spoil the surprise. And when you turn and offer him a smile so sweet it tastes like honey, Jungkook knows he did the right thing.

“Yeah,” he says, and he turns around to motion at the pictures. “All of them are titled? And the one in the middle…”

“Wait,” you let out. “Wait, did you write a poem about me too? Jungkook, what the fuck?”

If he couldn’t see your teary eyes, he’d think you’re angry. But you clearly aren’t – at best, you’re probably just overwhelmed.

“I mean, it’s not a poem?” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Just… It kind of explains the whole thing, and why I chose those pictures.”

At that you take a step forward, to look at the pictures closely. He lets you do it, lets you read the titles, following the chronological order of the months of this year. He can see your blush deepening when you get to the pictures where you can be seen clearly, and then you’re reading the text in the middle closely. He thinks you reread it a couple of times, because it takes you a while before you glance at him again.

You’re still teary-eyed when you do, and you extend a hand towards him. He takes it gently, raising it to his mouth so he can press a kiss to your knuckles.

“Don’t cry,” he says softly. “I didn’t want to make you cry.”

You choke out a laugh. “This is just… Everyone can see this.” Another rush of anxiety moves through him before you add, “I just can’t believe I get to be with you. Like…”

You turn towards the pictures, and point towards the one from April, which is just a picture of a street light in the fog. “I hated you then. I hated you so bad, wished you had never come back into my life. And then… and then we fell in love, we hurt each other bad, and fell in love some more. Like…” You pause, because tears are moving on your cheeks. He reaches to dry them, and then you continue. “I can’t believe we’ve been through all of this, and finally figured it out.” You look away from him to say the next words. “I can’t believe I was afraid at first. There’s nothing scary about being with you.”

Your words echo in his mind for so long after you’re done talking that he just remains frozen next to you. They calm his heart, warm his soul, and make tears form in his eyes too, tears that he blinks away before scraping his throat in an attempt to get rid of the lump that was forming there. He murmurs your name then, for just you to hear.

“I love you,” he breathes out.

You look startled to hear the words. It’s the first time he’s told you ‘I love you’. You usually tiptoe around the words, using other ways to say it, like “I’m in love” or “text me when you’re home”, but now that they’re out in the open, they feel like the most natural thing he’s ever said in his life.

“Fuck, Kook,” you say, and you chuckle as a smile move on your lips, making your eyes shine from within. “I love you too. Thank you for being patient with me.”

He blinks his tears away. “Thank you for wanting to be with me, after everything. I’m still not sure I deserve it, but I really love you.”

“I know,” you say, nodding your head slowly. “But you deserve it! Like…” you trail off, motioning at the pictures. “Who would do this?”

“Is it… too much?” he asks, voicing his fear.

You laugh. “I mean… it’s a lot? But it’s so artistic and pretty, and I can’t believe I inspired you to do this.”

He echoes your laugh, shrugging his shoulders. “It was easy. I actually had almost everything done in October? I was just waiting to get the perfect pictures for November and December.”

“I can’t believe you used pictures of me,” you say, shaking your head. “Now everyone’s going to see my face.”

He pulls you closer, instinctively. “And they’re all lucky for it. But if you want me to take the pictures down already, I understand.”

“No.” You tilt your head to the side. “You’ve worked on this for so long, I won’t force you to take it down. It’s just… strange to see my face. But you’ve edited the pictures, right? No way I look this good.”

He rolls his eyes, gently nudging you with his elbow. “You do. And my camera is good quality. But honestly you barely needed any editing.”

You clearly don’t believe him, and you blabber on about it for a while. He just lets you speak, smiling fondly at you whenever you gaze at him. You eventually apologize for talking so much, and he laughs as he pulls you into his chest for a quick hug.

“Don’t apologize,” he reassures you. “I like listening to you. And…” He glances at the pictures. “I’m glad you like the project. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you it was mostly about you before? Maybe you wouldn’t have been a blushing mess then.”

“Jungkook!” you yelp out, and you pinch at his side in retaliation. He cringes, and then bursts out laughing as you aim for his sides again. He blocks you, grabbing your wrists and holding you in place. “I’m blushing because there’s pictures of me and your ex is here! And like… all those strangers too. Doesn’t mean I don’t like the project.”

“I know,” he says, chuckling. “I’m teasing you.”

He likes doing that. Teasing you. It shows him how, all those times he did it when you were younger, he probably meant something entirely different and was just too immature to realize it. To realize that you were the one for him. Now that he knows, teasing you fills him with giddy happiness, like a kid on Christmas morning. Mostly because you usually tease back, and you don’t disappoint tonight.

No, you end up bickering, until Jo tells you that you’re acting like an old couple. You both glare at her, but it stops the bickering, long enough for Jungkook to actually present his project to a couple of other people that have moved closer.

When the evening is over, and the last of the visitors are leaving including his friends, you stick around to help him take down the pictures. You hand them to him, though you hold onto the July night sky for far longer than he thought you would.

He glances around, satisfied to see that Laura’s left, before stepping closer to you.

“You can keep it if you want,” he tells you, and he steals a kiss on your temple.

You don’t even whine like you usually do in public. You just sigh, looking up at him. “I miss this weekend,” you admit. “It was so fun.”

“Maybe we can go next summer again?” he suggests. “I’m pretty sure everyone would be willing.”

It makes you smile, and you say, “I’d love to!” Jungkook is about to speak, but you quickly add, “And JK?”

He cocks an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“I…” you trail off, looking around, and your cheeks turn crimson once more. “I wanted to ask you something?”

You say it like a question, and it makes him chuckle. “What?”

“I know you’re… not going to go to Korea for the Holidays and…” You nibble on your bottom lip, meet his gaze once before letting yours drop to the floor. “Would you like to come with me? To California? I… my dad told me to invite you, and I’d like to have you there.”

His eyes well up with tears once again, and this time he doesn’t blink them away. “Of course! Of course, I’ll come.”

You step closer to him, wrap your arms around his middle and rest your head on his chest. “I know the plane tickets are expensive, but dad said he’d get one for you? So you don’t have to worry about it.”

“I can buy the ticket.”

“It’s a gift!” you insist. “Besides… he’s already bought it.”

Jungkook is surprised, because your father didn’t mention it last time he talked to him. But at the same time, he does understand why he wouldn’t have said it – your father probably wanted you to ask him yourself.

It’s understandable, and you look so cute fumbling with your words like that that Jungkook can’t help but press soft kisses on the top of your head. “Did he now?” He chuckles, and presses a kiss to your forehead when you gaze up at him. “Well, I guess I’m going to have to accept the gift, uh?”

You smile. “Yep, you’re going to have to,” you agree. And when you pull away, you let out an excited yelp that has him burst out laughing. “We’re going on a trip together!”

“We are,” he echoes, nodding his head. “I hope you don’t mind me sleeping on the plane ride. Planes make me sleep.”

You frown, and then chuckle. “You’re so weird.”

“That’s why you love me, uh?”

You look up at the sky as if annoyed, and then start giggling when he tickles your side playfully. “Stop!”

“Just because you’re cute,” he says, and he pecks your nose before pulling away.

He’s gone. He’s gone for you. He knows, his friends know, and sometimes he thinks the whole universe knows. And maybe that’s what happens when you’re destined to be with someone – when you finally reach them, when your paths finally cross and mesh to form one, it feels like the universe finds its meaning. And it does, for you. At least that’s how Jungkook feels, and that’s what inspired his photography project.

That night, when you lie in your bed, Jungkook makes sure to hold you close to him as he big spoons you. And when you mutter, half asleep, that you told your father your boyfriend will indeed be coming for the Holidays, Jungkook fights tears.

“Your boyfriend, uh?”

You nod against him. “You are, aren’t you? I think it’s time we make it official.”

And though it’s not like people didn’t already know, Jungkook still says, “So you’re my girlfriend, uh?”

You chuckle. “You did tell that girl at the Halloween party that I was your girlfriend, didn’t you?”

He had. He was embarrassed for a few seconds, until lust had taken over him, thanks to the alcohol and weed in his system.

“True,” he hums. “Well, then I’ll tell my mom that we’re dating? She’s been nagging me about you.”

“You… you talked to your mom about me?”

He presses a kiss on the back of your head. “Of course. I told her about you for the first time in June.” He pauses, then chuckles. “Well technically, she already knew who you were. I think I’ve been talking about you to her for years.”

“Kook,” you whine. “She probably hates me.”

He pulls you closer. “Nah, trust me. She loves you. She’s already talking about having us over during the summer break.”

He’d love to do that with you. To visit his home country, along with the person that feels like home to him. He thinks you’d like it there, even though you don’t know the language.

“Oof, you better teach me some Korean before then,” you say, and you both laugh. “All you’ve taught me so far is how to say hello and some curse words.”

“Got to start somewhere.”

You laugh again, and then you sigh, as you hold his arm a little tighter. “Indeed. Too bad I have nothing to teach you before we go to California.”

He chuckles deeply, and you talk the night away like that, even as you both grow tired. When you start yawning more than talking, Jungkook presses another kiss to the back of your head.

“We should go to sleep,” he says, and he fights a yawn. “We have to study tomorrow.”

You whine a little, in that cute way of yours. “Gosh, fuck studying. But yeah, we should go to sleep.”

“I… I love you,” Jungkook says tentatively.

He can hear the smile on your lips when you reply, “I love you too. Good night, Kook.”

“Good night.”

Monday, December 24th

                The house is loud, even though there’s only five of you. You think it’s mostly because Jungkook is playing with Louis, your father’s son. Your brother, sort of. They’re screaming in the living room, as Jungkook imitates the sounds Louis makes.

It’s adorable, it really is, and you reckon you like seeing how Jungkook acts with a kid. Even though you don’t want any, it just… rubs you the right way, you guess. Makes you want to hold him close to you, but then again you always want to hold Jungkook close.

Your father is currently working on something in his office. Even though it’s Christmas Eve, the grind doesn’t stop for him, and you know it won’t stop for you either once you graduate. Especially as you’re considering more and more to follow in his footsteps, as he suggested getting you in touch with the firm he was working at when he lived back on the East Coast with you and your mother.

That leaves you with Isabel, his new wife. She has been sweet to you – an angel, truly. Referring to you as her step-daughter, saying she always wanted a daughter and is really happy that she has you. You don’t know what your father told her about your relationship with your own mother, but you reckon it feels great to receive some motherly love, no matter how unexpected it is.

And she’s been giving you a lot. You got here three days ago and at first, it was a little overwhelming. But you’re already getting used to it, and you think it’s for the best. Because you do need it, especially in the middle of the Holiday season.

After all, it’s the first time you spend it without your mother. Even though you’ve never really received love from her, it still feels strange to be away, but you’re more accepting of it every day.

You haven’t really talked to her since she’s kicked you out. You don’t want to, and Mary agrees that it might be best for you to cut ties for now. She’s not opposed to you reconnecting in the future, as long as you keep a safe distance from your mother. For now, you don’t see that ever happening, and you feel comfortable with that. You don’t need your mother – she’s never really been a mother to you anyway.

“I don’t know who’s louder, your boyfriend or Louis,” Isabel complains and you chuckle as you glance at her.

You’re in the kitchen, and she’s putting the turkey in the oven for later tonight. You’ve been helping out a little, but she affirmed that she got it covered, so now you’re mostly just sitting on a bar stool, watching her work.

“Pretty sure it’s Jungkook,” you say, and you laugh as he indeed shrieks. “I think he prefers Louis over me.”

Isabel laughs, a crystalline laugh that sounds like she’s rehearsed it a thousand times. It’s pretty, and you’re a little jealous, knowing most of the times when you laugh you snort like a pig.

“Stop it, he’s head over heels for you,” she says, tutting. She rinses a cutting board, before putting it away in the dishwasher. “It’s actually kind of adorable.”

You feel the blush creeping up your neck, until it reaches your cheeks and turns them deep crimson. “Is it?”

Isabel nods widely. “It is! I wish your father still looked at me like that.”

“He does,” you reassure her. “He really loves you.”

Isabel smiles shyly, and she busies herself with washing some dish that she doesn’t usually put in the dishwasher. For a time, you both just listen to Jungkook and Louis, and then she speaks again. “I hope… I hope it doesn’t make you uncomfortable?”

You hear the question mark at the end of her sentence, and it makes you look down at a random spot on the kitchen island in front of you. “Uh… I think it used to. But… being here right now helps?”

“I’m glad,” she says softly, and when you gaze up you find her smiling fondly. “I didn’t want to push the relationship before, but I think you deserve having your father in your life more. We’re happy to have you over whenever you want to.”

For some reason, you used to think she’d rather not have you over. It makes you blink away sudden tears, and you chuckle awkwardly. “Thank you. I wish I could host you three at home too, but my apartment isn’t big enough.”

“Yet,” she teases with a wink. “If you follow in your father’s footsteps you’ll be able to get a nice house for yourself and Jungkook.”

The perspective of a future like that, alongside Jungkook, makes butterflies arise in your stomach. “That’d be great. I can only wish I’m half as good as him.”

“And you know, if you really want to do international law instead of something in a firm like your father, you can too! He’s got great contacts at some embassies in Europe.”

You know that he does. But the need to get away, to live abroad, isn’t as strong as it once used to be for you. Because now you know that that was why you liked international law so much. Though you still find it interesting, you don’t wish to move away anymore. Not when you have Jungkook here at home.

“Honestly,” you let out slowly. “I think I want to stay here. In the US, I mean? I guess it depends on where Jungkook wants to go. He’s really close to his friends, and I wouldn’t want to force him to move away.”

Because the option of breaking up isn’t even there, and you don’t even want to consider trying long distance. No, you think Jungkook and you are made of stuff that lasts, of stuff that you can build a whole life on. He feels the same way – last night, he told you that one day he’d like to marry you. He was a little tipsy, that’s true, but it’s proof enough that he wants to spend the rest of his life with you.

“What about your friends?” Isabel asks.

You think of Jiho. Of Jisung and Heather and the rest of the dance crew. Of Jo, Bridget, and even Kiko. Of Jungkook’s friends too, because they’ve become your friends as well. You reckon you wouldn’t want to move away from them either. They’ve grown to be your family, even though you’re realizing you’ve always had a family here, in California.

“I love them too much to leave,” you admit, and it feels strangely relieving to say it. As if you’re allowing yourself to truly care about them, to truly accept that they occupy an important part in your life. “I think I’ve got a good future ahead of me, if I stay home. Yes, it’s hard because it’s close to my mother, but it’ll always be home.”

“And that’s totally okay!” Isabel says, offering you a bright smile. “You’re allowed to want to stay.” She pauses for a few seconds, before adding teasingly, “Even if your father really wants you to move here.”

You laugh along with her, and when silence rises around you again, you glance towards the living room. From the kitchen, you can only see a small part of it, and you can’t see Jungkook or Louis. But now that the turkey is in the oven, Isabel and you move over there, and you end up playing Just Dance with Louis, even though he’s a little too young to actually dance. Isabel says he loves the game, and Jungkook is happy to oblige.

You watch him as he dances. His movements have gotten more fluid over the last few months, as if all the physical therapy that he did has finally caught up to him. It’s to the point that you’ve discussed with him and the crew about taking him back in as a dancer, but he hasn’t decided yet. Everyone said they’d be happy to have him dance, but Jungkook seems like he’s been appreciating his spot as the choreographer more through the months.

Maybe because you’ve won an award because of his choreographies.

Jungkook catches you looking, and he winks at you over his shoulder. You smile as your cheeks tint pink, and then he’s back to focusing on the dance, even though he’s purposefully missing every beat to let Louis win.

Still, Louis doesn’t, but the toddler doesn’t care, only wanting to dance with you next. So you do, and Jungkook and Isabel talk together on the couch while you entertain Louis. Your father eventually joins the group, and you spend the rest of the afternoon playing around, until it’s time for Louis to take a nap.

You and Jungkook actually decide to take a nap too, mostly because Louis was throwing a fit at the fact that his sister didn’t have to sleep. He only agreed once you said you will sleep too, and you reckon you could use a nap in the comfort of your boyfriend’s arms.

And you do fall asleep quickly, as he’s holding you tight against him. It’s way too warm and you wake up drenched in sweat, but you don’t care. You take a shower while he remains in bed, bringing the clothes you’ve chosen for Christmas Eve along with you so you can get dressed right away.

It’s an ugly Christmas sweater, and Jungkook got one too, because your father insisted that you needed to dress with one to be welcomed at the table for dinner. To compensate for the silly look, you decide to put on makeup and curl your hair, and when you’re finally done, you exchange spots in the bathroom with Jungkook.

He quickly kisses you on the way in, telling you that you look amazing, and then you leave him to his own shower. You go back to your room to put away the clothes you were wearing earlier, and you’re about to head downstairs when your phone starts vibrating in your hand.

You freeze as your mother’s name appears on the screen, and as your heart drops down to your stomach.

It’s Christmas Eve, you think. She probably only wants to wish you a Merry Christmas, because surprisingly enough, she’s done that every year. Probably because Christmas is her favourite holiday. And it’s probably only because it is indeed Christmas Eve that you decide to accept the call.

“Hello,” you say as you put the phone against your ear.

She says your name, and she sounds relieved, as if she didn’t expect you to pick up at all. “How are you doing?”

“I’m great,” you tell her, but you don’t ask her the question back.

You don’t think she deserves you asking and, frankly, you don’t care about the answer enough.

“I’ve heard… that you’re not going to be at your aunt’s tonight?”

You sigh. “No. I’m visiting my father in California.”

“Oh,” she lets out. “Well then, Merry Christmas.” She pauses for a few seconds, as if she thought you were going to wish it back. “I was hoping to see you.”

“Why?” you ask, and you hope she doesn’t hear the tremble in your voice because, in truth, what she just said is breaking your heart.

“To… make amends?” she says. “I regret what happened earlier this year. It was mostly because I wanted to sell the house.”

You didn’t know she wanted that. It still doesn’t justify her actions – she could have just told you that instead.

“Ah,” you let out. There are a few seconds of silence, and then you add, “Have you?”

“Not yet,” she admits. “I haven’t been able to.”

You wait for her to say more, but she remains silent. You eventually cave in, asking, “Why?”

“Because I’ve been living there for a long time,” she explains. “It’s a place that’s dear to me, even though it holds a lot of bad memories.”

You scoff. “You know, you’ve got a lot of balls to tell that to me.”

“I don’t want to fight,” she quickly says. “I… I’ve been going to therapy. I’m still early in the process, but I don’t want to fight with you anymore.”

Your heart breaks a little more, and you move to sit on the bed.

“I want to make efforts,” she continues. “I have been a horrible mother to you, and I know it’s too late to change the past, but I hope I can make the future better.”

“Listen mom,” you say, stopping her before she actually makes you cry. “I appreciate that you decided to get therapy. It was way past time. But… right now, I’m not in a place mentally where I want to allow you to be in my life. I really hope therapy helps you to become a better person, but it doesn’t mean I have to let you be in my life.”

She sniffles on her side of the line, and you think it’s the first time you’ve ever heard her cry. It’s hard, almost makes you take everything that you said back, but you’ve worked too hard with Mary to just give up right now.

“I understand,” she eventually says. “If there ever comes a day where you think we can talk, I’m just a phone call away. We could grab coffee. I have a lot I want to tell you, and I don’t think it justifies how I acted, but maybe you’ll understand.”

The thing is, you don’t care. You want to keep your peace of mind, but you reckon it’s Christmas Eve. You don’t have to tell her this today and ruin her favourite holiday.

You really are the most mature out of the two of you, aren’t you?

“Okay,” you choose to say. “I’ll call you whenever I’m ready.”

“Thank you,” she whispers in the phone, voice heavy with emotion. “I’m sorry.”

Her apology hurts more than anything else could have. “Don’t apologize,” you tell her. “Instead, work on yourself, and prove to me that you mean it. If that can be the Christmas gift I ask for this year.”

“Yes,” she immediately says. “Of course.”

A long silence follows that, and you hear the shower turning off in the bathroom. You don’t want Jungkook to come back while you’re still talking to your mother, so you say, “Listen, I have to go now. Merry Christmas to you too.”

She wishes you goodbye, and she tells you to say hi to your dad for her. You know you won’t do it, because your mother will always be a sensitive subject when it comes to your father. But you still let her think that you will, because you don’t need to be a bitch right now.

You could be, you’re aware of it, but you think it’d upset you more than anything else. You don’t need the negativity right now.

You’re still sitting on the bed when Jungkook comes in, and it takes him one second to see your face and ask, “What’s wrong?”

You sigh, and you meet his gaze. “My mother called me.”

He looks startled, eyebrows shooting towards his hairline. “What did she want?”

You tell him everything about the conversation, and once you’re done, you ask for his opinion. He sits on the bed next to you, grabbing your hand and toying with your fingers.

“I think you’re very strong, and I’m proud of you for standing up for yourself,” he carefully says. “And it’s actually a good thing that she’s in therapy, but honestly, I don’t think you need to let her back in. You don’t have to, and you should never feel forced to.”

Your eyes fill with tears, and you rest your head on his shoulder. “Thank you, Kook.”

He presses a kiss to the top of your head, and even though he’s done it countless times before, it ignites a warm fire in your chest. A comfortable fire, one that can chase away any cold and darkness your mother brings to you.

“I got you,” he whispers in your hair. “Always. Whatever you need, tell me and I’ll get it for you.”

“You’re cheesy,” you tease him.

“You love it.”

You do. He knows that well enough.

You sigh, and then you sit straight once more. “Should we head downstairs? We could set up the table for Isabel.”

Jungkook nods, and he quickly pecks your temple before standing up. “How do you like the sweater?”

“You’re adorable in it,” you compliment him, standing up too. “I love it.” You wrap your arms around his waist, and he quickly hugs you back.

“Not as adorable as you, but thank you,” he says, and he giggles when you pinch his sides.

“Just take the compliment.”

He’s pouting when you look up at him. “Sorry, I can’t help myself. You really are adorable.”

You blush a little, and when he leans down to kiss you, you hold him tighter. Let him lead the kiss, though he keeps it soft and slow. It makes you feel reborn, complete, and when he pulls away, you sigh dreamily.

“I love you,” you whisper.

“Love you too,” he whispers back, and he pecks your forehead once before he leads you downstairs.

The evening ends up being a blast. You forget all about your mother as you’re laughing, chatting and eating along with everyone, with Christmas music playing in the background. When the subject of Jungkook’s exposition comes to the surface, you feel yourself turning beet red as Jungkook shows the pictures he used.

You still can’t believe he used you as a subject. Loved you enough to make you his muse, and to risk failing a project that was supposed to be a little more serious. Luckily enough, he passed with flying colours, and he even got a museum asking him to take pictures of their art for them, so they can put them on a web platform in an attempt to make their museum virtual.

Opening gifts has you all laughing till you are teary-eyed, with Louis being the receiver of most of them. You and Jungkook got him a small truck and a plush toy, and he’s been trying to fit the plushie in the truck, but so far he’s been unsuccessful.

To your surprise, Jungkook hands you a gift, a sheepish look on his features. You open it with a cocked eyebrow, because you don’t know how a trip to a winery fits in a box like this one. When you find an octopus plushie, one of those you can revert to make it happy or mad, you offer him a small pout, telling him you love it.

Luckily enough, you got him a gift too, with the help of his mother. She wanted to get him plane tickets for Korea, and asked you to give them to him. It was an awkward conversation, and you still have no idea how she got your phone number, but even with the language barrier you still managed to talk to her. She was sweet, kept saying how she can’t wait to meet you, and now you know you’re going during Spring Break.

Jungkook tears up when he sees the tickets, and he kisses you deeply in front of everyone else. Louis makes you laugh, letting out a disgusted sound and throwing his own plushie at you. It makes you pull away from Jungkook, though you keep hold of his hand for the rest of the evening. At a certain point, Isabel and you go upstairs with Louis since it’s way past his bedtime. The only way to get him to actually sleep is to tell him that he needs to be asleep for Santa Claus to come, and he begrudgingly says that he is going to try and listen for the reindeers on the roof. It’s adorable, and you refrain from telling him that the house doesn’t have an actual chimney for Santa to climb down in, refusing to be the one to kill the childish magic that Christmas still holds for him.

After that, you move to the other side of the house, to a private room with a bar, a pool table and a board game table. You settle at the board game table with Isabel, Jungkook and your father, and it’s there that your father gives you your gift, saying that he preferred not giving you that in front of Louis.

You understand why. It’s a bottle of whiskey, the whiskey you’ve seen him drink countless times growing up. You always asked him for a taste, and he always refused, saying that when you’re old enough, you’d get your own bottle. You cry a little when he pours you a drink, and then wince at the strong taste of the alcohol. Everyone laughs, and you tell your father it’s the best gift you’ve ever received, because frankly, it is.

You go to bed late that night, even though you have a dinner planned with Isabel’s family tomorrow night. You didn’t want to go at first, but since you’ve been getting along with her so well, you accept the invitation and then wish her and your father good night, before going to the room you share with Jungkook.

Jungkook groans as he plops down on the bed, face hidden in the covers. “That whiskey hit hard,” he complains.

You laugh, and you sit next to him, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. “It’s strong, yeah. No wonder he never let me drink it as a child.”

“You would have died,” Jungkook agrees. He turns his head to the side, looking at you with a sweet lovesick smile on his lips. “This is fun.”

You’re confused, and your brows meet over your eyes. “What?”

He glances at the door, before looking back at you. “Everything. Your family, the vibes. Getting to spend time with you.” He pauses, then precises, “Getting to spend the holidays with you.”

You smile, scrunching up your nose shyly. “Right? I’m so happy.”

“And the plane tickets?” He looks away, hiding his face in the covers again. “How the fuck did you manage to do this?”

“Your mother called me. No idea how she got my number,” you tell him. “She asked me if I could give them to you, as a gift from us both. As if I thought of it. It was all her. But she said you’d be happier if you received them from me.”

You can hear the grin in his voice when he says, “Told you she loves you.”

“I can’t wait to meet her.”

He turns to lie on his back, one hand behind his head. He looks heavenly like this, and you climb on his lap.

“Oh,” he lets out.

“What?”

“I don’t know,” he says, chuckling. “Merry Christmas to me.”

“Is that so?” you tease, and you grind your hips against him.

He looks alarmed for half a second before his expression turns dark. “Oh, is that where this is going?” he asks, and his hands find your waist. “In your father’s home? You’ll have to be extremely silent.”

“Good thing we’ve got pillows, I can hide my face in one of those.”

It doesn’t take you long before you’re rid of clothes, and you’re back on Jungkook’s lap, kissing him languidly. He guides himself to your entrance, and when you sink on him, the lack of foreplay makes you wince in pain. But he soothes it right away by gently caressing your thighs, and when you kiss him again, it’s slow and sweet.

You make love that night. Like that first night at your apartment, emotions, passion and desire driving all of your moves. And for some reason, while you’re impaled on him, the lines of his poem, his dedication to you, come back to your mind.

In the forgotten space between then and now, her smile lingers. Healing, shining, like the sun after a long winter. Months that led to her, and now warmth clings to the world. The sun rays refuse to go away, and they shine ever so brightly after the darkness. Her light gives life, her smile gives hope, and her heart gives love.

You make love, hands holding his cheeks, rocking of your hips slow and steady. He reaches deep inside of you, filling you with pleasure and hope and life and love. Your forgotten space, where you’ll always meet. The forgotten space of your world ending, together. Of you and him, becoming just one for this last and first dance. Your boyfriend, your person, always and forever.

When you’re lying next to him after, you think about the months, about the hurdles. About the pain and that July night sky. About dancing, with him, about loving him. About getting to be his person, getting to spend your life with him. You think about everything, your soul filling with love – yours and his, entwined in the most beautiful tapestry. You think about his scars – the ones on his heart, on his body. The ones on your own heart. They’re beautiful, all of them. They make him, they make you, and they make the both of you together. You love him, deeply, more than you’ve ever thought you could love. You know that for the rest of your life, you’ll show him that love. Shower him with it, gift it to him without asking for anything back even though you know he’ll give it to you, no questions asked.

You know then, that you were put on this Earth for a reason. Like a fated connection – your souls meant to latch together, to mesh until they’re just one.

You can only hope that he knows it too. You hope that he knows his light gives you life, his smile gives you hope, and his heart gives you love. From this moment, until you dwindle away into the void of eternity.

You sit on the threshold of your memories, with him. Them that breathe for you. Your forgotten spaces.

Prev | Teaser for the sequel When the End Comes

☆☆☆☆☆

The way I am crying right now as I finish rereading? This story, I'm telling you... it makes me far too emotional. Thank you for accompanying me on this beautiful journey. For the last time, I'll ask you guys, what did you think? Did you like it? Was the healing enough after the angst?

All rights reserved to @/oddinary4bts, 2023. Do not copy, repost or translate.

Taglist (strike-through means dumblr isn't letting me tag you my bad):

@pamzn | @whoa-jo | @sugaluvmyg | @kelsyx33 | @mafameal | @allisonstonex | @daisies-and-dandelionpuffs | @nadzzzblog | @bloopkook | @synnfulqt | @ggukiepie | @quarter-life-crisis2 | @amylouisecullen | @melodiesforari | @chimchimmarie | @jk-190811 | @notbotheredtho | @jjkluver7 | @chiefdreamercherryblossom | @soland1s | @kingofbodyrolls | @diorjgguk | @babycandy111 | @mindiary

#btswritersclub #btsafterdarknet #the forgotten spaces ch 14 #the forgotten spaces #jjk #jjk fanfiction #jjk fanfic #jjk fic #jjk smut #jjk angst #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jungkook #jungkook fanfiction #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fic #jungkook smut #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jeon jungkook #jeon jungkook fic #jeon jungkook smut #jeon jungkook angst #jeon jungkook fluff #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x you #the forgotten spaces series

[vgfm]

A Lily Gilded: A Review and Analysis of Undertale Yellow

The Short, Spoiler-Free Review (TL;DR)

Any Undertale fan who owns a PC should play Undertale Yellow, even if they previously weren’t interested or have any doubts or reservations.

No criticism that I levy at Undertale Yellow, big or small, is intended to dissuade anyone who hasn’t played it from trying it: you should play it and there is no reason not to aside from a lack of free time or not owning a PC.

Although I have some criticisms of Undertale Yellow, my overall opinion of it is still very positive. I’m glad to have experienced this game.

If you haven’t played the game yet, then I recommend starting with the neutral route. Pacifist is much harder in this game and there are story segments exclusive to the neutral route that make it worth the time investment.

My analysis from this point forward will include spoilers for all three major routes of Undertale Yellow. It will also be very long (close to 60 pages), so be warned.

My Background

I’ve completed all routes of Undertale, Deltarune (Ch 1-2), and Undertale Yellow

I primarily engage with UTDR fandom by reading and writing theories. I like to think that I’m decently knowledgeable about the series, at least

I have no professional background in game development

I’m usually a purist when it comes to games and the topic of fangames and mods. I’m a “picky eater” in particular when it comes to UT/DR fan content:

I’ve never played an Undertale fangame prior to Yellow

Most UT and DR fangames have either not appealed to me personally or have not been finished

I don’t engage with most story-driven Undertale/Deltarune Aus or fanworks if I feel they don’t capture the spirit of the original games

Saying Something Nice

Undertale Yellow is the best fangame that I’ve played in recent memory. I think it’s very likely that Undertale Yellow is not only the best Undertale fangame ever made but that it will remain the best Undertale fangame of its kind for the foreseeable future. It’s not just a good fangame but a good game in general--had Undertale Yellow been a completely original game with no ties to Undertale, it very likely would have become a cult classic in its own right.

Of the long-form fan content I’ve seen, Undertale Yellow is among those that come the closest to replicating the style and tone of the original game without feeling like it’s simply cribbing the story or jokes.

It goes without saying that Undertale Yellow’s spritework and animations far surpass those of Undertale in sheer effort, and at times they rival and surpass those of Deltarune as well. There are some stylistic differences between Yellow and the canon games, and I wouldn’t go so far as to say Yellow’s visuals are always better in every conceivable aspect, but the general quality difference is night and day.

Yellow’s music comes close to rivaling Toby’s work, though frankly I think this is a barrier that no fangame will ever overcome for me. It’s a better impression of Toby’s style than most who’ve tried, but it’s still noticeably an impression. One thing that I immensely appreciate is that Yellow has battle theme variants for each major area in the game. “Enemy Approaching” is a fine song, but I always start to get sick of it by the time I reach the end of Waterfall in the original game.

Most of all, what I respect about Undertale Yellow is when it shows restraint: the restraint to largely omit cameos and callbacks to Undertale’s characters except when it feels warranted to do so. I respect that the game doesn’t try to smuggle in characters or worldbuilding elements from Deltarune and instead sticks to its guns as an Undertale prequel. I also appreciate that, for the most part, it sidesteps the trap that most prequels fall into of trying to tell a bigger story than the original—the story of Undertale Yellow still feels impactful and meaningful, but it does not overshadow or diminish the events of Undertale.

I wanted to frontload my praises for this game because a lot of my more detailed analyses to follow will come across more negative and nitpicky. Admittedly, it’s much easier to point out something that doesn’t work in a story or game that’s otherwise good because it sticks out like a sore thumb and takes you out of the experience. Additionally, so many things are done well in this game that I’d be here all day if I listed every single thing that worked. If there’s an aspect of the game that I don’t comment on then just assume that I found it at least serviceable, if not great.

My Criteria

Since Undertale Yellow is based on the world of Undertale and borrows many gameplay elements from it, it’s virtually impossible to review or analyze the game without inviting at least some comparisons to Undertale.

Having said that, I’m going to avoid criticizing differences between Yellow and the original game if the criticism would boil down to “it’s different from Undertale, therefore it’s bad.” There are things that Yellow does differently that I find worse, but I’ll argue those on their own merit rather than pointing solely to the fact that they’re different. On the flip side, there are a few places where Yellow differs from the original game because Yellow does something better—I’ll be sure to point out these instances as well.

Overall, I’m grading Undertale Yellow on a curve because I can’t help but compare it to the original game. I don’t feel it’s unfair for me to do so, since Yellow relies on Undertale not only for its conceit but also for some of its story beats—Yellow would not make sense or feel complete as an experience if Undertale did not exist.

If Undertale Yellow had been a completely original game, with whatever tweaks or rewrites would have been necessary to make it such, my overall tone would probably be more positive, since I’d be comparing it to the average game experience rather than to one of my favorite games of all time. This is not to say that Yellow would have necessarily been better as an original game, nor am I saying that it should have been—it just would have made the comparisons to Undertale less warranted.

Lastly, I’m going to try to avoid comparing Undertale Yellow to Deltarune. I feel like this is a less fair comparison since Deltarune is not a finished game and Yellow lifts very little from Deltarune beyond a run button and the charge shot.

Bosses

Undertale Yellow’s bosses were the most contentious issue for me during my initial playthroughs. Subsequent playthroughs caused me to warm up a bit to some of the problematic ones, but most of my gameplay-related gripes are tied to its bosses.

My three biggest issues with this game’s bosses are the strategies for sparing bosses, the telegraphing of their attacks, and the attack variety that each boss has.

Sparing Strategies

To start with the simpler complaint, half the bosses and minibosses in this game have pacifist fights that consist of waiting for the boss’s dialogue and attacks to run out before you can spare them, sometimes requiring a token act only at the very end of the fight.

This is a problem because it reduces these fights to waiting games that can be brute-forced with a full supply of healing items. Annoyingly, these same fights also come with 2-3 options in the ACT menu that often do nothing and in most cases don’t even prompt any reaction or different dialogue from the boss.

By comparison, Undertale’s pacifist route only has two (and a half) bosses that require waiting out the opponent: Papyrus and Muffet, and both of these fights have alternate completion conditions that can be used to bypass the wait.

Conversely, Napstablook’s fight requires acting, Toriel requires constant sparing, the Snowdin dogs all have unique acts, Mad Dummy requires redirecting her attacks back at her, Undyne requires running away, the Royal Guards require acting, Mettaton must pass a ratings threshold tied to unique acts, Asgore and Flowey require fighting; Asriel’s fight is half waiting but the second phase requires the lost soul segments to be completed.

Every Undertale boss felt like a puzzle on pacifist and some like Undyne and Mad Dummy were genuine brain-teasers. None of Yellow’s fights ever quite scratch that itch, though a couple come close like Guardener and Axis.

It baffles me a little that this issue is even present because the common enemy encounters in Yellow don’t fall prey to this. In fact, a few enemy encounters in Yellow cleverly require using multiple different acts in a specific (and usually intuitive) order to achieve victory—something that even Undertale seldom did.

It seems that most bosses in Yellow were designed around distinguishing themselves via their attack patterns rather than their spare method, though this leads into anther major issue: how these attacks are conveyed, paced, and telegraphed to the player.

Attack Telegraphing

Undertale Yellow is meant to have harder combat than Undertale, which had me a bit wary going in. The average enemy encounter in Yellow feels harder than Undertale, and the same is certainly true of the bosses. However, I’m not sure if I’d say any of Yellow’s hardest bosses quite rival the Sans fight in terms of sheer difficulty, at least in terms of the number of attempts it took me to complete them.

This could be chalked up to me coming into Undertale Yellow with more experience than when I first played Undertale, or Yellow’s 1.1 patch toning down a few of the harder fights. For the record, I’ve beaten all fights in Yellow without the use of the game’s “easy mode” option—I used it for certain bosses in my very first pacifist and no mercy runs, but I later replayed those runs with the setting disabled in order to have a “proper” experience.

Many fights in Yellow, big and small, feel less “fair” than the fights in Undertale and even now I’m not 100% sure I can nail down why. A lot of this boils down to the “feel” of the fights, but part of this could be due to me already being familiar with Undertale’s attack patterns and not Yellow’s. OG Undertale does have a handful of battle moments that feel “unfair” or not designed as optimally for new players as they could have been, which is easy for a player like me to gloss over after I’ve become familiar with the game. One such example is the Lemon Bread amalgamate, which (imo) is one of the hardest fights in the pacifist route.

Still, I noticed many instances in Yellow where incoming attacks would give little or seemingly no warning before they were able to hurt you. Some examples off the top of my head would be Mooch’s moneybag attack, Guardener’s triple stomp attack that fills the whole box, Starlo’s horseshoe attack that blends into his head before it drops, and Ceroba’s paralyzing diamond attack.

The only consistent way I found to avoid attacks like these was either to know in advance where they were going to enter the bullet box or to already be moving before they appear. It doesn’t help that often attacks that come from outside the bullet box will spawn in immediately outside the box, minimizing the travel time where players could see them coming and act accordingly.

Another common issue I found is the frequent use of blue and orange attacks, often paired with each other and/or with regular attacks, and often without properly telegraphing which will be used until they’re already onscreen. In contrast, Undertale generally used these types of attacks one at a time or, in Asgore’s case, clearly telegraphed them before they were used in tandem.

Yellow’s approach presents a problem because dodging orange and blue attacks demands either movement or lack of movement, which can force the player to take a hit if there’s already another attack onscreen that demands the opposite. In my experience the solution was either to know in advance where the blue and orange attacks would come from (and when) to get into optimal position, or simply tank the hit and hope you make up for it later.

Speaking from my own personal experience, I struggled for a time with Ceroba’s No Mercy fight when I went in blind—she has multiple deadly attacks with little to no telegraphing as well as color attacks that can overlap each other if you’re not already in an optimal position. I was only able to complete this fight on normal after I watched a no-hit run so that I could memorize her patterns. This is something I’ve never had to do for any Undertale or Deltarune fight, including Sans, and it doesn’t really feel like it’s in the spirit of the franchise. I always try to go into each of these games blind and I don’t think it’s unreasonable that a new player, even on a harder route, should be able to intuit what is expected of them in a fight. A few attacks might be challenging or counter-intuitive at first, but having to rely on rote memorization or a guide just doesn’t feel fun or organic to me.

On that note, some of you may be nodding toward the Sans fight as an example of some of the things I’m complaining about, particularly the lack of proper telegraphing and a reliance on memorization. Well, let’s unpack that.

To start, I’ll say that the Sans fight is not my favorite fight in Undertale from a pure gameplay perspective and that I don’t fully agree with some of its design choices. One reason I don’t play fan battles in general is because many of them seem to emulate the style of the Sans fight or double down on it without understanding it.

Despite my minor issues with it, I find the “unfair” aspects of the Sans fight to be more justified and acceptable within the context of Undertale than I find the seeming “unfairness” of Yellow’s harder fights to be in the context of that game. One reason is that the Sans fight is the only fight in Undertale (or Deltarune) that works the way that it does, whereas Yellow has several, even if they’re overall less hard than the Sans fight.

More importantly, the Sans fight has proper buildup, feels appropriate for the character and story, and (most important of all) the game itself acknowledges the fact that it’s unfair and the fight is designed around that admission. Sans literally has over a dozen different dialogue variations depending on how many times you die in his fight and when.

The game is even aware of the fact that most new players won’t survive Sans’ first attack and creates multiple variants of just the dialogue before and after that attack. Undertale fully anticipates your deaths and cultivates a unique experience for you along the way as you learn Sans’ patterns.

To put it simply, the Sans fight is the exception that proves the rule: it makes you realize how much fairer the other fights in Undertale are and how easy it is to take those design principles for granted. Conversely, the attack patterns in the hardest Yellow fights didn’t feel radically different or radically “less fair” in philosophy from Yellow’s moderately difficult boss fights—both feel varying degrees of “unfair,” but the harder fights are just “more” with the occasional twist added on top.

My platonic ideal of a challenging boss fight in an Undertale game would be Undyne the Undying. Undyne the Undying is a massive difficulty spike in her respective run, at times she requires ridiculous reaction time, and it’s easy to psych yourself out and get double-tapped by her barrages and die quickly. Nonetheless, her fight feels fair—it’s a culmination of the rules you’ve been taught and it doesn’t needlessly subvert them. Even though she has her dreaded reverse-arrow attacks that trip up new players, these are still properly telegraphed and manageable. Looking at footage of it now, it’s surprising how this fight looks more honest and straightforward than many of Yellow’s later boss fights.

Attack Variety

Another contributing factor to my issues with Yellow’s boss fights is the sheer number and variety of attacks that some bosses have, particularly in the latter half of the game. To wit, most bosses in Undertale have about 4-5 unique attacks that are repeated with variations, while Undertale Yellow’s bosses can have upwards of 9-10 unique types of attacks, not including variations. Ceroba alone has ten completely different unique attack patterns in just the first phase of her pacifist fight—every single turn is a completely different attack requiring different dodging strategies and none are repeated.

Some may be asking why this is a problem. Isn’t more variety a good thing? This just shows that the Yellow team put more effort in, right? My issue here is that many of these attacks don’t seem to exist for any reason except for the sake of artificial variety and because the devs (presumably) thought they’d be a cool-looking thing to dodge. If you’re confused as to the point I’m trying to make, let’s look at how Undertale utilized its attack patterns with Mettaton EX.

The Mettaton EX fight is a favorite of fans and mine, and one reason I like it so much is for how it uses eclectic and seemingly chaotic attacks to teach the player new mechanics while offering a spare mechanic that relies on strategic thinking to optimize. The fight offers the following types of attacks: moving legs, bombs, boxes, miniature mettatons, gates, a disco ball, and Mettaton’s heart. Not counting the joke/gimmick turns like the essay or break time, this is seven main attack archetypes, each with their own variations and crossover with each other.

Note that all seven of these attack types interact with the fight’s core mechanic: the yellow soul mode. More importantly, each of these attacks teaches the player something about how the soul mode works with no need for an onscreen prompt. Boxes and bombs teach you that there are some attacks you should shoot and some that you should not. The hand gates initially teach you that some bullets are unaffected by your shots, but later you’re given gates with yellow buttons that will open them, teaching you that some targets require precision. The miniature mettatons teach you that some attacks will become a bigger problem for you if you don’t take them out right away. The moving legs teach you that shooting can stop certain attacks from moving and that the timing of your shots is important. The disco ball builds on this lesson, requiring the need to plan your next movements when shooting the ball. The heart serves as the culmination, featuring the bombs and mini-mettatons from before while also giving you a precise moving target to hit repeatedly.

All of Mettaton EX’s attacks tie into a common theme and reinforce one another—learning to dodge and utilize the mechanics of one attack will make you better-equipped to deal with the others. It’s by no means a perfect fight, nor does it teach all of its lessons perfectly—I remember it taking me several attempts to complete and some mechanics like the disco ball and legs didn’t “click” with me immediately, but there’s clear intent behind every attack and it’s remarkable how utilitarian the whole thing is structured, despite its reputation for being one of the game’s longer and more self-indulgent fights.

Let’s bring things back to Ceroba for comparison. Her first phase has 10 unique attacks, only half of which feature mechanics that appear in the later phases: her paralyzing diamonds, her spinning bullets that circle around you, her bells that create colored shockwaves, and the vortex that opens in the center of the arena.

The other attacks are only used once, have little-to-no pattern commonality with each other or with her later attacks, and teach nothing other than how to dodge each of these one-off attacks. At most, a few attacks share a flower motif but move with completely different behaviors (straight line, fanning out, circling, homing in). While this isn’t horrible design, I can’t help but find it a bit wasteful considering what other fights have done with less and how chaotic the later phases of Ceroba’s fight get—something that players could have been eased into by having her first phase present more of her later attacks in a more controlled environment.

In the end, I remember being frustrated with the Ceroba pacifist fight when I first played it. Part of this was due to my own mistake of going past the point of no return without a full stock of items, but the lack of cohesion in the first phase and its lacking relevance to the mechanics of the second phase made it hard for me to “gel” with the gameplay and, as a result of my own frustration and confusion, I had a harder time getting invested in the narrative. I’ve seen some fans label the Ceroba fight the best fight in the series, but I wouldn’t even put it in my top 25, despite the overwhelming effort on display from the developers.

To bring the comparison home, I cried the first time I saw Mettaton say goodbye to his call-in viewers, but not once did I cry during Ceroba’s fight. A flamboyant robot making a single pained expression leaves a bigger impact when his attacks are unintrusive to the experience, and a lovingly-animated grieving fox’s backstory doesn’t hit as hard when I’m distracted by a hodgepodge of visually stunning but incoherent bullet hells. Less is more.

I realize I’ve been a bit mean to Yellow during this segment. In fairness, I did replay the pacifist route and tried the Ceroba fight in a more prepared state. I enjoyed the fight more my second time around, but I still would not rank it among my favorites in the franchise. And to be clear, I don’t hate this fight at all—I just think it represents the excesses in Yellow’s battle design and how they can sour a first-time experience, which is the most important experience for a narrative-driven game. Even the weaker aspects of Yellow’s design are, by and large, serviceable by the standards of typical game design. Compared to Undertale, though, I was disappointed in the areas where it lacked or, more accurately, overstepped.

Having fewer types of attacks is not a result of less effort—it allows more room for variations on each type of attack and it can make difficult or poorly-telegraphed attacks more forgivable if the attack is used multiple times with the first instance training the player for the future variations. I feel that having too many unique attacks for each boss resulted in each attack not receiving the necessary polish and balancing that it should have, and it also made each fight feel less instructive and lacking in a clear design goal.

To close this off, I’d like to give a positive example of a boss fight from Undertale Yellow: Axis. For the most part, Axis successfully walks the tightrope of Yellow’s more complex late-game fights while still maintaining a consistent theme and introducing concepts to the player gradually. The whole fight revolves around blocking Axis’ attacks with a trashcan lid—first with a ground-based lid, then with a lid that rotates around an axis (get it?). As the fight progresses, new types of projectiles and hazards are introduced, usually first using the ground-based lid to avoid overwhelming the player.

As if that weren’t enough, the fight comes with its own unique sparing strategy where players fill a meter by blocking attacks and then attempt to reflect an orb back at Axis once the meter is full. The fight’s not perfect—there’s still the occasional one-off attack that doesn’t really teach any relevant lesson to the player, the orb reflection mechanic is finicky, and the fight is perhaps slightly more difficult than I’d prefer from a typical boss fight, but if all Yellow bosses had been of a similar caliber then I wouldn’t have needed to go on this massive detour about boss design in the first place.

Since some might ask, I might as well weigh in on Yellow’s most controversial boss: El Bailador. I initially had difficulty with this fight due to my lack of experience with rhythm games (and the lack of preparation that the game gives you). I also found the need to press a direction key and the Z key for each note to be a tad clunky. Beyond that? I actually didn’t mind the fight all that much. It introduces a simple concept and builds upon it gradually in a way that felt satisfying to me as I began to master it. The last turn maybe goes on for too long, but I can’t say that I hated it. I promise I’m not trying to piss off the Undertale Yellow fandom (who, if memes are anything to go by, seem to despise this fight), but I found the simplicity of Bailador refreshing considering how chaotic the later fights get. That said, I turned on the auto-rhythm setting in future playthroughs to make this fight less of a difficulty spike.

Themes

To start off, I’d like to acknowledge the fact that Undertale Yellow largely avoids most of the “meta” themes that Undertale and Deltarune touch upon, nor does the game try to go in its own direction in regards to metatextual concepts. Undertale Yellow generally leaves the topic untouched, aside from continuing to use in-universe mechanics established in Undertale such as saving and EXP/LV. Some fans might view this as disappointing or even a betrayal of the tones and themes previously established in Toby’s work. Me? I don’t mind at all, honestly. If anything, it’s refreshing to see an Undertale fan project that takes the setting of Undertale at face value rather than trying to outsmart it or put their own meta spin on it. Far too often have I seen fanworks that swing the pendulum in the other direction and have characters just flat out address the player and shatter the verisimilitude of the setting with no buildup.

None of this is to say that Undertale Yellow is lacking in themes. The most prominent theme I noticed, unsurprisingly, is that of justice. Undertale strongly implies that the yellow human soul is the soul that represents justice, and fanworks ever since have ran with the idea. Undertale Yellow represents the culmination of this concept by turning each of its routes into differing interpretations of what justice means.

As a refresher, Undertale Yellow has three main routes with four endings: true pacifist, “false” pacifist, neutral, and no mercy. I see each ending as its own realization of and commentary on the concept of justice.

Neutral

In Undertale Yellow, the neutral ending acts as something of a “bad ending” from classic video games. These are the kind of endings you get when you fail to 100% complete a game and you’re told to go back and do it again, complete with Flowey’s laugh imposed over the “Thank you for playing!” end credits message.

Who wore it better?

Thematically, the neutral route represents justice as subjective and personal—Clover can spare or kill whoever they wish. It’s hard to argue that any one monster in Undertale Yellow is more guilty than any other in this route, so killing monsters in neutral largely comes off as the capricious whims of Clover rather than being based on any consistent law or greater principle.

This outlook ultimately blows up in Clover’s face when they come to a head with their foil in this route: Flowey, who exercises his own form of justice, or “judgment” as he prefers. Flowey only cares about freeing himself from his current situation and will use any means to achieve this goal. In his eyes, your failure to follow his directions or be of further use of him is a slight against him that demands punishment as he sees fit.

Fitting this individualistic outlook, Flowey takes “might makes right” to its logical conclusion by trapping you in his own personal hell while he acts as a wannabe-God looking down on high. Ultimately Clover can only escape when Flowey wills it, cementing Clover’s status as a pawn subject to the whims of the powerful despite their illusions of independence. Without laws to protect them, the weak will be trampled by the powerful.

Pacifist

Pacifist presents two outlooks depending on whether Clover spares or kills Ceroba in the final battle. Of all the monsters Clover meets, Ceroba is the most culpable for a serious real-world crime other than Asgore and Axis (the latter of whom may not meet the definition of culpability or competence to stand trial).

Clover lacks the fore-knowledge that Ceroba’s daughter will likely survive thanks to Alphys’ efforts, so Clover would view Ceroba’s actions toward Kanako as manslaughter, or at least reckless endangerment. Unlike the neutral route, Clover’s choice can’t solely be chalked up to their own personal whims—actual harm has been done by Ceroba, but more harm may yet be done if she’s killed.

False Pacifist

If Clover kills Ceroba, then this choice seems to represent justice as following the law to the letter, for good or ill. Starlo, who’s most upset by Ceroba’s passing, reluctantly echoes this sentiment:

Even if Clover stands by their choice deep down, it’s reasonable to assume that hurting Starlo this way left a bitter taste in their mouth. Not long after this, Clover reaps what they’ve sewn as they come face to face with their foil for this ending: Asgore.

Initially I thought it was strange that Asgore doesn’t appear if you spare Ceroba, but this ending illustrates why Asgore’s entrance is most appropriate here. Asgore finds himself in a similar situation as Clover. Asgore is keeping his word to his people for good or ill, and a king’s word is law. In all likelihood, Clover probably hated killing Ceroba in much the same way that Asgore hates killing humans. But both are trapped within the confines of their own rigid principles.

Martlet, who acts as an onlooker, first argues on behalf of Clover’s killing of Ceroba on the basis of the law, but just as quickly turns around to plead that Asgore bend the rules of his kingdom to spare Clover. In the end, she can’t have it both ways. No one is happy with how things turn out and the only thing served is the letter of the law, rather than the spirit of justice.

True Pacifist

If Clover spares Ceroba, it might be for her own sake or because killing her will benefit no one and will only serve to harm Starlo. In much the same way, killing the monsters who harmed the five humans won’t bring any benefit to monster or human alike and will instead only fan the flames of war.

Clover came to the Underground armed in search of five humans, no doubt willing to enact justice on anyone or anything that harmed them. Instead they find a world of good-hearted people who have ample reason to distrust humans. Through acts of kindness, this distrust is cast aside and many friendships are made.

In the Wild East, Clover is presented with the classic trolley problem. Starlo emphasizes that Clover could let a large group of monsters die while incurring no personal responsibility. Clover didn’t tie those monsters to the tracks in much the same way that Clover is not personally responsible for monsters being trapped Underground. However, Clover can save them by sacrificing a single life—an anonymous other, but eventually Clover is faced with the possibility of becoming that sacrifice willingly.

Clover choosing to give up their soul is not only an ultimate act of selflessness but also interprets justice as a principle higher than any mere law or person’s whim—laws should not exist solely for their own sake because laws should be a means for the betterment of all. Any “justice” that loses sight of this higher principle has no meaning or value, so one must act in service to the greater good.

Clover doesn’t deserve to die, but sitting on the sidelines so that monsters or the next fallen human can suffer in their place would be a greater injustice in their eyes. Ultimately they decide that their own sacrifice, while tragic, will create the best outcome for everyone and act as a step towards restorative justice for monsterkind.

No Mercy

No mercy was a bit of an enigma for me initially. It starts off largely the same as Undertale’s no mercy route, only without the one-shot kills and commentary on completionism. It’s not until Steamworks when the aim of this run starts to come together. We see a role reversal where Clover chases down Axis, and Flowey of all people questions Clover’s craving for destruction.

When fighting Axis, we see him admit that he had killed a previous fallen human. Although this information can be uncovered through a hidden tape in the pacifist route, here we see this revelation enrage Clover to the point that their LV increases on the spot. Normally I’d nitpick something like this, since Undertale states that cruel intentions can make a human’s individual attacks stronger but their LV is tied to their EXP. However, I can overlook this since the rules are bent in service of a good character moment that defines the run for me.

This moment and the ending recontextualize the whole run up until now: Clover isn’t killing indiscriminately like Frisk was. On the contrary, Clover is quite discriminate with their killing: they specifically want monsters (and their creations) destroyed, but not humans. Up until now we haven’t had an Undertale protagonist who is unabashedly pro-human. Chara was very much the opposite and some lines in Deltarune imply Kris may feel similarly. Frisk seems ambivalent, but from the beginning Clover has been acting for the sake of the five missing humans.

In neutral and pacifist, Clover judges monsters on an individual basis, but in no mercy all monsters are deemed guilty. What distinguishes this run from the others, besides the brutality of Clover’s actions, is that their actions can’t solely be chalked up to dogmatic obedience of the law or their own selfish desires.

Throughout the run, Clover can choose to steal from shops, commit armed robbery against Mo, and even cheat in their “dual” with Starlo—all of these indicate some degree of underhandedness or dishonor, but Clover’s outlook is seemingly that monsters don’t deserve fair play or the benefit of the doubt.

Conversely, we see from the ending that Clover goes out of their way to free the five human souls—they don’t leave them behind or try to go on a power trip and use them for their own ends (as far as we’re aware). No mercy is a dark reflection of true pacifist, where “justice” has transcended the letter of the law as well as personal desires. Instead of “justice” being in service to the greater good of all, it’s in service to division, tribalism, and vengeance.

Even so, one can debate whether Clover’s actions are motivated more by a love of humanity or purely by a hatred of monsters. Asgore points out that Clover’s actions will only worsen the conflict between humans and monsters, and more humans will die in the future as a result.

This doesn’t seem to give Clover any pause, so one can assume they either don’t believe Asgore or they don’t care—they’re here to make monsterkind pay, and if more conflict arises then that means more opportunities for payback in the future. Make them pay and never stop making them pay.

Characters

Character writing is a crucial component of any Undertale-adjacent game and it’s often the biggest stumbling block I encounter when I’ve tried to get into fanworks. I mean that in no way as a slight against fan creators, but rather to illustrate how high the bar has been set by Toby. This is a bar that’s set just as high, if not higher than Toby’s musical abilities, imo. In all the ways that I would describe myself as a “picky eater” when it comes to Undertale content, I’d say character writing is where I’m by far the pickiest.

To give Undertale Yellow a fair and thorough analysis, I’ll be going over all of the major characters one by one to give my impressions of them as well as what I feel works and what doesn’t, starting from the top:

Clover

There isn’t a ton to say about Clover compared to the other characters, but this isn’t a bad thing. What’s apparent is that Clover has more personality and initiative on display throughout the game than Frisk did, though in some ways not as much as Kris—Clover is something of a middleground between the two canon protags. At several points we’re only given a single dialogue “choice,” meant to illustrate when Clover has made a decision on their own.

We’re told Clover’s surface-level motivation: to find the five humans who disappeared, but we’re not given any context as to what connection (if any) Clover has to these humans or what their own history is beyond one or two vague bits of flavor text.

Clover’s motivations can evolve or outright change course depending on which choices the player makes throughout the game. I already went over this in the themes section, but the fact that Yellow largely eschews the broader metatextual commentary found in Undertale means that Clover’s actions are much easier to attribute as their own in-universe decisions, rather than something imposed on them by a controlling entity.

Beyond this, we also see Clover display various quirks via their character animations, such as kicking their feet while seated, tugging on Ceroba’s sleeve, or standing on their tippy-toes when handing their hat to Martlet. We ultimately can’t say much about Clover’s overall personality or interests outside the context of game events, but these little flourishes help to make the character memorable.

By default I’d argue that Clover’s “better written” as a character than Frisk was, barring the metatextual baggage attached to the latter. Overall, not a bad start.

Dalv

I wasn’t sure what to make of Dalv initially. Confession time: Dalv was the deciding factor that led to me not checking out the Undertale Yellow demo when it first dropped. I’ve got nothing against the guy, but at the time I didn’t really “get” his character—I wasn’t sure what his motives were and I couldn’t even understand what his first lines of dialogue were meant to convey.

Even now I’m still not 100% sure whether his first line of dialogue is him rehearsing a conversation with another Ruins monster, with the monster that used to leave him corn, or with the previous human that he encountered. The fact that Dalv is known by the other monsters for talking to himself and having imaginary friends only blurs the lines further, though this doesn’t feel intentional.

This is part of a broader, though minor, issue with some of Yellow’s writing where characters will allude to events and other characters that a first-time player wouldn’t be familiar with. To be fair, Undertale does this as well early on but usually with enough context clues to help you figure things out—Papyrus namedrops Undyne and Alphys in Snowdin, but we learn from context clues within Snowdin that Undyne is a monster of authority that Papyrus knows and Alphys is a doctor and apparent inventor.

To draw a more direct comparison, we know early on that Toriel is a motherly figure and we see in her house that she has taken in other children who’ve met an unknown fate—this mystery leads to some first-timers speculating whether Toriel is the one responsible for said fate. Right before her boss fight she explains her motives more clearly--her actions, though overbearing, have been to protect Frisk. You can also infer, though not stated directly, that her actions towards Frisk may be some attempt on her part to recreate or make up for her past experiences with children that she’s lost. Later on we learn that she’s Asgore’s ex-wife and lost her two children tragically, but this is not something that needs to be spelled out in order to get a basic grasp on Toriel as a character.

Dalv, on the other hand, has an implied backstory that is never outright stated but instead needs to be pieced together from context clues given much later in the game, some of which are tied to optional secrets and randomly-generated fun events. In short, Dalv was a monster living in Snowdin who met Kanako when she and Chujin came to visit. During that visit, Dalv was attacked by a human (implied to be the one carrying the blue soul), who was later killed by Axis. It’s implied that this experience was so traumatic that Dalv retreated into the Ruins and cut off all contact with those around him. Conceptually? This is a solid backstory. No notes. It’s a shame, then, that most players don’t even seem to be aware of it after finishing the game.

Now, a character doesn’t need a tragic backstory in order to be likable or compelling. In fairness, I do enjoy the aspects of Dalv’s character that are given upfront in his house—his neatness, his social awkwardness, his creative side, and his “imaginary” friends. The problem is that we don’t see these sides of him until after his boss fight, when most players likely won’t see him again for the rest of the game.

Characters don’t need to front-load their entire personality or backstory into their first encounter, but doing the opposite isn’t helpful either. First impressions matter in fiction, and unfortunately Dalv gave very little for me to latch onto for most of his screentime. It’s really only through hindsight that I began to appreciate Dalv as a character, but even then he isn’t one of my favorites in Yellow, let alone comparable to Undertale’s core cast.

Martlet

Martlet is the most recurring character in the game aside from Flowey. Although her personality is quite different, I get the sense that her role is meant to be analogous to that of Sans and Papyrus, namely as a comic relief character that drops into your adventure regularly and presents a crucial turning point right before the game’s ending.

Martlet’s introduction gave me flashbacks of Dalv—namely that she never even interacts with Clover until the end of Snowdin, making me fear that once again a new character’s story was going to be backloaded into their final appearance before they disappear from the narrative. Thankfully this wasn’t the case. Martlet’s in it for the long haul and her boss fight is more of an introduction to her character than a conclusion.

So what do I think of Martlet? I’d say that I like her more than Dalv, or at least she’s better utilized than Dalv. Still, it took a while for Martlet to “click” with me. I think what I got hung up on was that a lot of her early gags revolve around royal guard protocol and the handbook that she keeps around. In many ways this feels at odds with what’s later established about her character, namely that she’s scatterbrained, wishy-washy, and lacks long-term goals or planning skills.

Martlet doesn’t seem like the type of person who’d follow a handbook in the first place, given how often she disregards it anyway. Perhaps the intent was for Martlet’s “arc” to be her unlearning what she’s learned from other monsters regarding humans and for her increasing disregard of the handbook to symbolize this. While I think the former is true—she says as much on the apartment rooftop at the end of the game, she seems to waffle back and forth on following her royal guard duties as the plot demands—ignoring them when it means accompanying Clover but following them when it means having to be separated from Clover.

I think this ties into a bigger issue that I have with Martlet, which is that at times she feels like she’s a character of convenience for the story rather than a character acting on a clear want or need. I think this is most blatant when viewing the various “abort” points in a no mercy run.

No matter how badly you beat Martlet in Snowdin and how resolute she is at stopping you, she’ll turn on a dime if you’ve aborted a run prior to Oasis or Hotland just so that she can play out her allotted part.

Other times it feels like she’ll show up just so that there’s someone for Clover to talk to and someone to react to what Clover sees. Now, it would be reductive of me to write off Martlet as a mere plot device—she isn’t, and any appearance otherwise is more so a flaw of the narrative than of her as a character.

You’ll notice I haven’t said much about how I feel about Martlet’s personality, her dynamic with other characters, or her overall “vibe” and honestly she’s just… fine? It’s hard for me to say anything because she feels a bit lukewarm to me—she’s not undercooked like Dalv, but she’s not as memorable as many of the other characters either. She says some funny things, but she’s not the funniest. She has some great and heartfelt lines during the pacifist ending, particularly this one:

But as a whole? She’s just fine. She's competently written, no major complaints.

I think maybe what Martlet lacks is a “larger than life” quality to her character. I’m not saying that her role within the setting should be larger than life, but rather she could use at least one exaggerated trait to help her stand out from the pack—Papyrus has his bravado, Sans has laziness and jokes, Undyne has intensity, Alphys has awkwardness, and Mettaton has his showmanship. Not every Undertale character is like this, but I feel like Martlet was intended to fit a similar mold—we catch glimpses of it, like her overly long “P.S.” messages amended to her first puzzle, but imo she doesn’t go far enough consistently enough (assuming that was the intent).

One last thing that I want to touch on is Martlet’s contingency plan for Clover that comes into play in the No Mercy run, where she injects herself and becomes “Zenith Martlet,” as fans have dubbed her. Conceptually I’m fine with the idea of Martlet having an ace up her sleeve that she’s too indecisive to actually use in most scenarios.

This feels in-character for her and I can even look past a scatterbrained character with no planning skills having a plan like this since it’s largely Martlet appropriating another character’s plan. The main thing that I find questionable about Martlet’s plan is that it relies on Alphys’ determination extraction experiments.

We the audience know what that is, but how does Martlet know about them or even what to look for? We do know that underground residents were asked to donate fallen down monsters to the lab, but seemingly nothing is revealed to the public about the nature of the experiments. Even Ceroba, who had a vested interest in learning all she could, seems to be completely in the dark. In the pacifist ending, Martlet offers to investigate the experiment for Ceroba, implying she didn’t know the full story either. I also question how Martlet would’ve been able to venture into the true lab seemingly without running into a single amalgamate, given that she never brings them up in pacifist.

Now, my issue here is not the supposed “plothole” that this creates. My main issue is that a more reasonable solution was sitting right there: Chujin’s monster serum. I legitimately wonder if earlier drafts of this game’s story had Martlet using Chujin’s serum instead of Alphys’ extract, because the former would bring everything full-circle and it would tie in more naturally with the flashback scene of Martlet with Chujin.

Now, the obvious answer is that Chujin’s serum was never completed, but I can’t help but wonder if perhaps this wasn’t always the case. During Ceroba’s flashback, we can see a case with two syringes—one full and the other seemingly empty.

This is just my own speculation, but I can’t help but wonder if it was once intended for Ceroba to use one syringe on Kanako and for Martlet to have taken the other. Obviously this doesn’t jive with the story as it’s currently written—Martlet is clearly taken aback when she learns of the experiments that Chujin conducted. Still, part of me wonders if an earlier draft had Chujin entrust Martlet with a prototype of the serum to keep her safe.

I think it’d be fitting if the no mercy route were to reveal that Martlet was a lot more privy to Chujin’s less savory actions than she let on, and that even in pacifist she kept this knowledge to herself of self-preservation or shame. This would fit with a line of hers in the no mercy fight after her flashback of Chujin:

It would be fitting for the NM run if we were to learn that there was always a seed of doubt and mistrust between Martlet and Clover, even during the best of times.

The Feisty Five

I’ll be brief, but when these guys first showed up my first thought was “great, I’ll never remember all these new characters” and I’m glad I was wrong. While they don’t have quite the depth that the main characters do, they’re all memorable in their own way. They’re also the first characters in the game to get a serious chuckle out of me and I wish we got more of them. If we’re comparing quirky miniboss squads, these guys clear the Snowdin canine unit and Sweet Cap’n Cakes. There, I said it.

Starlo

This is the coldest take ever and I won’t even try to bury the lede: Starlo is the best Undertale Yellow character. He’s funny, he’s charming, he’s flawed, he has layers, he has great moments of pathos with Ceroba, and he has a backstory that isn’t tragic yet still feels necessary to his character.

Here’s another cold take: Dunes/Wild East is the best part of the game. Dark Ruins and Snowdin, while not bad, still feel very much like typical fare for a romhack or fangame. Wild East is the first area that truly feels like Undertale, which is ironic since it’s also the first completely-original area.

By extension, Starlo is the one original character who feels most like he could be an Undertale character. It’s easy to take for granted all the little nuances that Toby injects into his characters to make them stand out, which is probably why I felt so lukewarm towards Yellow’s cast up until Starlo’s introduction.

One thing I admire about Undertale’s core cast is that each character has their own unique manner of speaking, to the point where you can identify a character’s dialogue without needing a dialogue portrait or typer sound. Starlo shares this trait, speaking in a semi-stereotypical drawl while occasionally misspelling words (FEISTYJ, dual vs duel). It’s a small touch but it goes a long way to endearing me to the characters in these games.

Although Starlo is mostly a comedic character, he still has plenty of depth. Another hallmark trait of Toby Fox characters is that they have multiple sides to them that seem contradictory at first glance but actually tell you something profound about the character (Papyrus’ bravado masking his loneliness, Sans’ joking to cope with his harsh outlook, Alphys’ awkwardness stemming from her guilt).

Starlo also fits this trend, first presented as a dashing and charismatic lawman that is nothing more than the mask of a nerdy and immature farmboy. And I would say Starlo’s fatal flaw is immaturity—not because of his interests, but because of his attitude. Starlo treats his friends like playthings, takes what he wants from Clover and Martlet when he first meets them, and he acts utterly irresponsible with his (or rather, Blackjack’s) firearms.

We learn from Starlo’s mom that he once pined after Ceroba and that he took a long time to move on.

It’s also implied that Starlo had a grudge against Chujin, which could have been due to the two having differing opinions on human culture or Starlo’s own jealousy over Ceroba.

We can also see this immaturity reach an ugly conclusion if Ceroba is killed in the so-called false or “flawed” pacifist ending. Starlo previously trained Clover to carry the weight of taking a life and also taught them the value of sacrificing one life to save many, but Starlo immediately throws this out the window as soon as Clover acts (as far as he’s aware) in self-defense.

This is a case where I’d argue that Starlo is right but for the wrong reasons. Starlo’s not so much recanting his earlier philosophy as he’s simply upset because someone he cared about was sacrificed this time—had it been a stranger or a ne’er-do-well like Vengeful Virgil then I doubt Starlo would’ve parted ways with Clover so bitterly. That’s just my interpretation, anyway.

None of this is to say that Starlo is always immature. When it comes to his interactions with Ceroba he’s often the most sensitive and emotionally-mature person in the room, which is a trait that we only see grow in him after he gets a reality check in the Wild East. When trying to talk Ceroba down we see Starlo give his respect to Chujin, despite their past differences, and he’s patient and understanding to the utmost once the fight is finally over.

This doesn’t mean that Starlo is a doormat for Ceroba either, as we earlier see him confront her and call her out when he suspects foul play involving Kanako—he clearly cares for Ceroba a lot but won’t sit idly by while she ruins her life or the lives of others.

Honestly, Starlo’s bond with Ceroba is a contender for the most wholesome relationship (platonic or otherwise) in the entire franchise—yes, I’m actually saying that there’s an aspect of this game’s writing that rivals and perhaps even surpasses Undertale and Deltarune.

I realize a lot of my analysis of Yellow’s writing has skewed negative, but as a reminder I am grading this game on a curve because it’s a companion piece to one of the best-written games of all time. To give Yellow a bit more praise, I think it might actually do a better job than Undertale at portraying characters’ moments of vulnerability and allowing them to cut to the emotional core of an issue, as seen with Starlo and Ceroba’s late-game interactions as well as Clover’s ultimate fate and its aftermath.

Unlike Undertale, there was no moment in Yellow that quite made me cry, but moments in the pacifist ending came close. I consider this quite the feat because the final outcome of Yellow’s pacifist ending is easily predicted from the start and the way that it plays out is a concept that would be difficult for any writer to sell. Yellow was backed into a corner by being a prequel, whereas Undertale had free reign to tell whatever story it wanted. In many ways I feel Yellow’s ending did just about the best job it could with the hand that it was dealt—it’s not perfect, and in one or two areas I feel it overplays its hand (which I’ll cover shortly), but the writing succeeds far more than I would’ve thought it would have with such a concept.

Axis

This’ll be another brief entry, but I wanted to include Axis since he always seems to get left out of fanworks. I enjoy Axis but I’m not sure I fully understand him. His overall arc and goals are very straightforward, but for the life of me I can’t really nail down what his personality is. He’s funny and memorable, which goes a long way for me, but I can’t really wax poetic about him beyond saying that he’s your stock quirky robot. It is a bit of a shame that, like Dalv, he’s largely isolated to one area and has little to no interaction with the rest of the cast.

I suppose one thing that bothers me is how robots in this game aren’t treated as people, which feels at odds with the broader themes of Undertale. We’re taught that amalgamates and even a soulless flower are still people, so having robots that lack free will and don’t even count as EXP kinda rubs me the wrong way. I generally don’t like when fictional works treat sentient robots as less than human or “soulless.” In my view, the true point behind sentient robot stories isn’t to debate whether robots have souls, but rather to question what a soul is and who gets to decide who has one and who doesn’t, or whether they exist at all.

Robots in fiction are meant to be a reflection of humans, and the robots in Yellow could have been presented as a reflection of video game characters as a whole—can free will exist when you’re programmed to fulfill a function? Unlike in our world, souls are a scientifically measurable quantity in Undertale’s universe, so I guess Yellow’s portrayal of “soulless” robots works on a technicality, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.

Ceroba

I don’t think it’s a stretch to say that Ceroba is the most controversial character in the game, and I find my own opinions of her (and her family) to be polarized as well. In a neutral run she’s barely noticeable but in pacifist she eventually becomes the main focus of the story. I’ve seen some people criticize Ceroba’s level of focus, but I’d liken it to Alphys and Flowey’s elevated level of focus in Undertale’s true pacifist ending. In other words, it doesn’t bother me.

Ceroba’s personality is a bit of an anomaly for me in the sense that she’s not quirky like a typical Undertale character, and yet I feel that aspect of her works for the story that Yellow tells. Previously I mentioned how Martlet didn’t really “wow” me as a character in part due to her lacking a sufficiently “larger than life” personality, but I feel Ceroba succeeds where Martlet didn’t for me because (1) Ceroba is clearly not intended to be a comic relief character and (2) Ceroba often acts as the straight man to other characters like Starlo and the Steamworks machines, whereas Martlet often feels like she has no one to work off of her besides Clover (for whatever that’s worth). In many cases, Ceroba’s understated reaction to things or her attempts to parse or explain them rationally end up making scenes funnier, such as when Starlo cuts off her piece on the ethical quandary of his trolley problem.

Having said that, I do think it’s a bit of a missed opportunity that the game doesn’t expand more on Ceroba’s own interests or quirks outside of her family. While showcasing a character’s hobbies can sometimes feel like checking an item off of a list, it helps add a bit of texture to a character that makes them that much more believable.

Not knowing this information doesn’t “ruin” Ceroba or anything, but it’s a bit disappointing that most of her “talk” dialogue in the steamworks, while interesting, pertains to her immediate surroundings or her family and friends instead of herself. The most we get is that she used to have a gym membership and (if I recall) she was once a waitress. We later get to see her room and all that’s in there is a bed, a photo, and her clothes. After seeing all the loving detail put into Papyrus and Alphys’ living areas in Undertale, it’s such a shame to see Ceroba’s opportunity squandered.

Oddly enough, if there’s one existing bit of characterization that I think could’ve been retooled sightly, it’d be Ceroba’s dynamic with Clover. Ceroba is a mother who lost a child around Clover’s age (or younger) but she’s also distrustful of humans and had a husband who hated them. You’d think that Ceroba would react strongly to Clover one way or the other, either distrusting them as a human or having a soft spot for them due to Clover being a child, or feeling conflicted between these two outlooks. Instead Ceroba seems utterly casual around Clover.

Initially her laid back attitude served as a nice contrast to the overbearing wackiness of Starlo and the Feisty Five and helped endear Ceroba to me as a character, but it begins to feel a bit out of place when she says things like "I respect the hell out of you" to a child.

Maybe I’m overthinking it, but the way Ceroba treats Clover makes sense for how she’d treat a stranger who was a monster, given what we see of her personality, but I’m just not sure it makes sense that she’d treat Clover that way specifically. I’d be fine with it if the narrative unpacked the idea—maybe she’s casual around Clover because she’s too world-weary to muster a strong reaction, or maybe she’s forcing herself to act casual to hide her true plans for Clover, or maybe she never fully agreed with Chujin’s rhetoric on humans and is acting against them out of pragmatism, or maybe she never liked kids until she had one of her own, etc.

Speaking of kids, I guess there’s no avoiding the elephant in the room: Ceroba’s backstory. If I had to guess, I’d wager this is probably the most controversial portion of Undertale Yellow’s entire narrative, and I have a lot to say about it.

To start, I’ll say that I really like the way that (most) of Ceroba’s backstory is doled out to the player piece by piece over the course of a playthrough. As early as Snowdin you hear mention of Chujin, then in Wild East you can piece together from various bits of dialogue that Ceroba had a family that she’s reluctant to speak about. Steamworks fleshes out Ceroba and Chujin’s pasts considerably, albeit mostly hidden behind optional talk dialogue.

Steamworks also has one of my favorite scenes in the game when Ceroba learns why Chujin got fired—it technically doesn’t contribute anything major to the main plot, but it helps illustrate Chujin’s flawed methods that Ceroba willfully overlooks so that she can double down on furthering his “legacy.”

Right before Hotland is when the other shoe drops and Starlo confronts Ceroba—this was the moment that had me hooked on uncovering the mystery of Ceroba’s past. This leads right into the abandoned Ketsukane estate, which is another of my favorite sequences in the game. I was always a huge fan of Undertale’s True Lab and Ceroba’s house scratches that itch for me. The two locations have a very different tone and style of gameplay (or lack of), but both are dripping with unsettling atmosphere and environmental storytelling. Maybe it’s just me, but I’ve always been creeped out by abandoned houses—not decrepit haunted mansions per se, but places that were abandoned so recently that you’re not sure whether someone might still be lurking inside.

Unfortunately, I start to run out of nice things to say about this storyline as soon as Clover and Martlet enter the estate’s basement. Before we descend into that chasm, I want to make one thing perfectly clear: I am not a “Cinema Sins” kind of guy. I do not go into a work of fiction looking for inconsistencies to complain about. My philosophy is that I can overlook the occasional plothole or retcon or bending of the rules if it’s done in service to a good story or memorable character moment.

If anything, I find it annoying when a story tries too hard to cover all its bases with exposition out of fear that some smartass is going to find some plot detail to complain about—this just draws more attention to potential “plotholes” that could’ve easily been ignored. I don’t care if the eagles could’ve carried the ring to Mordor and I don’t care whether the ark of the covenant would’ve killed the bad guys in Raiders if Indy wasn’t there. At the end of the day, if a story is well told then I can overlook things like that, and if it’s not well told then my mind wanders and I begin to notice those sorts of things, but those nitpicks (more often than not) are not the underlying cause of the problem—lack of a compelling story or believable characters is.

So, getting back to the basement. Here we see Chujin’s tapes and the plot begins to lose me. Chujin wants to create a serum that will strengthen monsterkind and give normal monsters the power of a boss monster. All well and good. Where I start to take issue is the convoluted method of creating this serum and what it means for the story.

As a point of comparison, I always thought that the rule in Undertale of requiring a human soul plus a monster soul to pass through the barrier felt a little convoluted and contrived, but it seems to exist for the sake of forcing a “kill or be killed” confrontation between Frisk and Asgore as well as explaining why Asriel passed through the barrier with Chara’s soul but (presumably) Chara alone couldn’t. In this way, the rule acts in service to the story and creates memorable character moments with Alphys and Asgore and gives Frisk a stronger temptation to kill Asgore during their fight. The two soul rule is a bit clunky, but I can begrudgingly accept it. Chujin’s serum fulfills a similar purpose but is clumsier in its execution.

To start, Chujin’s serum also requires a human soul and a boss monster soul—this makes sense, as the goal is to turn monsters into boss monsters and one can assume that human souls have some kind of preserving property that would keep the serum stable.

On top of that, the human soul must also be “pure of heart, uncorrupted.” I thought nothing of this line initially until it was reiterated during Ceroba’s flashback and I realized why it was in the story.

This concept bothers me for a number of reasons and it’s technically not even a plothole or inconsistency. It feels out of character for Chujin to frame things this way given how he views all humans as evil, and this purity rule seems to exist solely as a plot device to explain why Ceroba enacts her plan in pacifist but not in neutral runs. I feel like the story could’ve come up with a more organic method of explaining why Ceroba couldn’t be present or was otherwise occupied during the steamworks section in a neutral run, plus I feel like she wouldn’t let something like “purity” get in the way of attempting her plan if she was that dead-set on it, given how rarely humans appear in the Underground.

Lastly, we learn that Chujin and Kanako are both boss monsters, or at least “carry the boss monster gene,” which is an odd concept to me. You could argue that this revelation technically doesn’t contradict anything established in Undertale, but like the pure soul rule it just bugs me. Maybe it’s because it reminds me of the early days when the fandom thought that all bosses in Undertale were boss monsters instead of just the Dreemurr family. I won’t waste time rambling about the particulars of boss monster lore, but I think what bothers me with Chujin and Kanako is that it feels like yet another contrivance to explain why Ceroba’s actions had to involve Kanako specifically.

I’ve mentioned that Undertale’s two soul rule feels somewhat like a contrivance. One could argue that the Barrier requiring seven human souls to shatter is also a contrivance, but I think what makes that easier to swallow is that it’s a rule that’s established fairly early in the game. The reveals of the Barrier’s two “rules” are spaced apart from one another and each are given dramatic weight and time for the player to dwell on their implications.

The mechanics of Chujin’s serum, on the other hand, rely on multiple contrivances that are all spilled out onto the floor at once in the final stretch of the game right before they become necessary to explain Ceroba’s motivations, which only makes their narrative purpose feel all the more transparent.

Getting back to Ceroba, we’re left with her plan and what she did to Kanako. Now, I’m going to give the benefit of the doubt here and say that I don’t mind the particulars of whether Ceroba’s plan involving Clover would have worked or not—as far as I’m concerned, Chujin’s plans could have been doomed from the start even with a “pure” soul. The point wasn’t whether Chujin’s plan would’ve worked but rather how Ceroba’s grief has turned her own life (and by extension the lives of her family) into a sunk cost—she feels that she has to go through with her plan or else all her family’s suffering was for nothing.

In many ways this makes the contrived requirements for Chujin’s serum feel less necessary, since the serum’s mechanics could’ve been kept vague or it could’ve even been implied that Ceroba was simply repeating the same experiments as before hoping for different results.

I’ve put it off long enough, but it’s time to talk about that scene. You know the one: the big reveal flashback at the climax of Ceroba’s pacifist fight. Again, I’ll try to be charitable and say that I don’t absolutely hate the idea of Ceroba testing Chujin’s serum on Kanako. I mean, I would hate the act on a moral level if she were a real person, but I don’t hate the idea as a story concept. Still, my charity has its limits.

I’ll just come right out and say it: the scene where Ceroba injects Kanako is hard to watch—not because it’s tragic, but because it’s just not a good scene. My original write-up for this part was far harsher, but I’ll spare the vitriol. This scene has been memed to hell and back by people more critical of the game and… I can’t disagree with them—this is my least-favorite scene in the game.

(Image from ScottFalco's "Undertale Yellow with a side of salt" video)

The most obvious criticism I’ve seen is the fact that Chujin specifically told Ceroba not to do the exact thing that she does. That’s a fair point and honestly, yeah, I think the simplest writing fix would’ve been for that line not to have been in Chujin’s tape to begin with so that Ceroba doesn’t look willfully ignorant on top of being recklessly negligent.

Tbh, it feels a little out of character for Chujin to say something like that because I got the impression that Chujin wasn’t always the most thoughtful or attentive dad. His own tapes mention that he didn’t keep an eye on Kanako when a monster was attacked in Snowdin, and even then Chujin was more preoccupied with tracking down the human than with comforting his own daughter. He made nice things for Kanako, sure, but even that could be explained as him being more wrapped up in the work than her. It’d be wrong to say that he didn’t care about Kanako at all, but I got the impression that he had the wrong priorities and it’d be fitting if Ceroba’s own actions followed that pattern.

That being said, I can’t solely blame Chujin’s warning for why Ceroba’s flashback doesn’t work. The scene as a whole is just dreadful, even when viewed in isolation from the rest of the narrative. There’s so many issues big and small with this scene, like Kanako being able to read the word “corruption” but not “extract,” Ceroba’s immediate turnaround after the slightest prodding, or the predictable outcome of the whole thing that’s dragged out for what feels like an eternity.

You know, I’ve heard some people critical of Undertale say that the true pacifist ending to that game felt maudlin—I disagree, but in some places I could see where they were coming from. Calling the Kanako flashback maudlin would honestly feel like letting it off easy. If I wanted to be mean I’d call it manipulative, but honestly I think a more fitting term would be a comedy of errors. It feels less like tragedy and more like dark humor bordering on self-parody of what an Undertale character’s sad backstory would be.

So what should’ve been done differently? The easy and safer option I’ve seen suggested would be for Kanako to stumble across Chujin’s research and inject herself, with Ceroba feeling guilt for allowing it to happen. I would prefer this over what we got, but I said earlier that I don’t completely hate the concept of Ceroba experimenting on Kanako, so how can that idea possibly work? Besides getting rid of Chujin’s overly-specific warning, I honestly think the best fix for this scene would simply be to not show it. Don’t remove the events from the backstory, but just don’t reenact them onscreen. Normally it’s better to show than tell, but there have always been exceptions to that rule.

I’m reminded of how Undertale didn’t show us Asriel’s death or the Dreemurrs’ divorce, and only offered a glimpse of Chara’s buttercup plan. These were cases where less was more—letting the players imagine these events in their heads sidestepped any potential tastelessness and seeing the aftermath of these events and how they affected the characters involved painted a vivid enough picture. I think Ceroba would be a perfect fit for a similar approach.

If we need to see something, then either portray it via montage like Asriel’s memories or only portray Kanako finding Chujin’s basement and Ceroba stumbling upon her after she’s viewed the tapes. Ceroba could then explain to Clover that Kanako pleaded with her for months or even years to let her help with Chujin’s experiments. With time Kanako only become more stubborn and their relationship more strained. The whole time Ceroba knew that only Kanako’s soul would work for the experiment but she tried to remain in denial and hope an alternative would present itself. After countless research dead-ends used up all but one vial of the leftover human soul extract, Ceroba gave in to Kanako’s demands in a moment of weakness. And that’s all it took—one moment she was there and the next she was gone.

Not to toot my own horn, but I feel this kind of summary would’ve worked better because it leaves things up to interpretation. Was Kanako still a child when this happened or was it many years later? Did Kanako understand what she was signing up for? Is Ceroba’s recounting of the events reliable or is she merely rationalizing her actions after the fact? It’s not perfect and it’s still somewhat “safe” compared to the game’s swing for the fences. Unfortunately, a big swing means nothing if it misses, and even less if the bat goes flying and hits someone.

Despite what I just said, the Kanako scene doesn’t ruin Ceroba for me as a character. It blemishes her boss fight for me, though I have other issues with that fight besides the flashback (as I’ve mentioned). When thinking back on this game’s characters and story, I mostly just ignore the particulars of the Kanako scene unless if I need to sit through it again. I view it as the equivalent of a flubbed line read or a boom mic visible in a shot--I can see the pieces that were meant to be there underneath the lackluster execution.

Surprisingly, Ceroba’s still my 2nd favorite original character in Yellow, though a lot of this is owed to her dynamic with Star, and part of me wonders if I like her more for the character she could’ve been rather than the character we got. Still, I’ll always remember the buildup to the mystery of Ceroba’s backstory, even if the reveal failed to deliver.

Flowey

Flowey is one of my favorite Undertale characters as well as the only character from Undertale featured in a recurring lead role in Yellow, so I was curious to see how this game would handle him.

When this game was first announced, many fans debated the “canonicity” of whether Flowey would have encountered the human who fell prior to Frisk and whether Flowey would retain his save abilities in such a scenario. Often this debate overshadowed the other aspects of Flowey’s portrayal, so to avoid doing the same, I’ll just say that I don’t believe Toby ever intended for Flowey’s save abilities to function in relation to a human like how they’re portrayed in Undertale Yellow. However, I don’t take issue with this “lore contradiction” because I feel that the way Flowey is utilized in this aspect works for the story that Yellow is trying to tell. Flowey’s role is to limit Clover’s own powers and to keep their story on-track.

It’s easier to tell a prequel story where the main character is destined to die if that character doesn’t also have the ability to return from the dead at will or turn back time, so having Flowey fill that power vacuum makes sense. Despite this, Clover is still given plenty of agency. Flowey only railroads their story in two notable instances: whenever Clover is going to live with Toriel or when Martlet offers to have Clover come live with her in a neutral run. Both outcomes would be a bit of a cop-out for the game’s main conflict and would be the boring option as well (sorry fanfic authors)—Flowey agrees with this sentiment, making it feel justified that he’d intervene.

Having gotten that out of the way, what do I think of Flowey’s portrayal? Compared to Undertale, it’s interesting to think how much more screentime Flowey receives in Undertale Yellow, despite Flowey being the main antagonist and ostensible central character of Undertale. Since Flowey’s story can’t be allowed to conclude in Yellow, his character is kept in some degree of stasis—in many ways, Yellow’s portrayal can be seen as “Flowey, but more.” That might sound like a pejorative, but for the most part I think it works here. Flowey’s interactions with Clover honestly make him feel a little underutilized in Undertale by comparison.

That said, Undertale was a game intended to have moments of isolation, so having Flowey chime in at every save point likely would have diminished that effect and also made Flowey less threatening due to overexposure. I think Yellow can get away with giving more screentime to Flowey because for most of the game his mask hasn’t dropped—he has every bit of ill intent that he did in Undertale, but for the sake of his plans he has to play along at being your friend for far longer than he did in Undertale.

The result is that very little of what Flowey says in Yellow can be taken at face value once you know his aims. Until that point, however, I think the game does a good enough job at keeping you guessing as to how far gone Flowey is and at what point in his moral decline this story is meant to take place. If someone played this game without playing Undertale first, they’d probably chalk up Flowey’s mannerisms to him just having an odd and occasionally morbid sense of humor, which isn’t far from the truth.

One thing that I appreciate about Yellow’s portrayal of Flowey is his dynamic with Clover—the game manages to thread the needle of not making their relationship an also-ran of Flowey and Frisk or Flowey and “Chara” from Undertale’s No Mercy run. For most of the game you get the sense that Flowey views Clover as a means to an end that he’s forced to humor and put up with, but that deep down he likely has some small sentimentality towards them (mainly shown in the pacifist ending).

I think Flowey’s relationship with Clover in neutral and pacifist gives us a look into how he likely acted around the other monsters of the underground back when he tried to solve their problems or form bonds with them—he can’t fully relate to them but is willing to fake it ‘til he makes it, or rather until they make it to the outcome that he wants. If I were to draw a more direct comparison, I think Flowey’s bond with Clover might be the most similar to his bond with Papyrus—he’s implied to have spent a lot of time with each of them and found them each amusing in their own regard, but ultimately Flowey isn’t above using them or casting them aside.

What I find especially compelling about Flowey and Clover is the turn that their partnership takes in Yellow’s No Mercy route. Here Flowey initially seems to be cautiously optimistic about Clover’s rampage, but as his advice is ignored he grows increasingly exasperated with their actions. It’s strange to say, but it’s a refreshing dynamic to see Flowey outright grow to hate his human companion—while he voiced plenty of insults and disdain towards Frisk, it came off more as condescension or an attempt at intimidation.

In Yellow, however, you can really feel Flowey becomng absolutely fed up with Clover, not just for their pushiness and disobedience in the no mercy route but also for the hundreds of runs where Flowey has had to string them along and, in the process, be strung along himself. This development is much better-paced in Yellow than Flowey’s turn toward fearing Chara in Undertale—it’s amazing what can be done when you’re allowed to have more than four conversations with a character.

That said, I don’t think there’s any one Flowey moment in Yellow that quite lives up to Flowey’s speech in New Home or the conclusion to his story in the form of Asriel—those two moments will forever be peak Flowey to me. When comparing Undertale Flowey to Yellow Flowey, it’s a case of quantity vs quality, but in this case the “quantity” is still pretty good.

If I had to voice any complaints for Yellow Flowey beyond a broad “it’s not as good as something near-perfect”, I will say that when Flowey’s mask does drop in Yellow, he doesn’t sound quite as crass or childish as he does in Undertale—something I feel is important to him as a villain, but this is a very minor nitpick since he has plenty of lines in this game that go hard. I didn’t even notice the difference in speech styles until I went back and watched footage of Undertale and realized “oh yeah, I guess he sounds a bit more childish here.”

I suppose there’s one other thing I should discuss regarding Flowey. This is a topic that I intentionally saved for last since I find it’s a perfect capstone for Undertale Yellow and my opinions on it: Flowey’s boss fight. If ever there was a case of “Flowey, but more,” it would be this fight. For years Undertale fans have speculated and wished and wondered what a fight against plain old vanilla Flowey would be like. Countless fangames and fan battles have tried.

Yellow opts for an unorthodox approach by centering the entire fight within Flowey’s mind—this framing is used to its fullest and then some, allowing for interface-screws and psychedelic attack patterns showcasing Flowey’s twistedness, his self-loathing, and his various forms of retraumatization.

Players are attacked by phantoms of any bosses that they killed, complete with Floweytale-esque corrupted designs. This aspect of the fight dovetails perfectly with Flowey’s comment about only enjoying the moments of Clover’s run where they “gave in” to their violent urges, and clearly these moments are etched in Flowey’s memories for Clover to relive.

Afterwards we’re treated to a peek behind the curtain at Flowey’s subconscious, featuring a collage of his first runs as a flower—this whole sequence adapts my favorite Flowey moment from Undertale while not tipping its hand too much by revealing Flowey’s true identity, as it easily could have in less-skilled hands. We’re given just enough to ponder without spoiling things for the mythical gamer who tries playing Yellow before Undertale.

Next up is a brief horror fakeout where Clover “reunites” with Martlet. I don’t have much to add other than the telegraphing being a bit obvious but not in a way that majorly detracts from the moment. Overall it just makes me consider that this fight as a whole might be scarier than anything in Undertale

Finally we have the climax of the fight. I’m not quite sure what to call it. Photoshop Flowey 2.0? To be brief, the visual spectacle shown in this phase surpasses not only the visuals of any sequence (so far) in Undertale or Deltarune, but I think it’s unlikely that future chapters of Deltarune will feature anything with visual flare on the level of this finale.

That’s probably the highest praise I’ve given to Undertale Yellow so far, which is what makes this next part so difficult. I’m sure this will go down as my hottest take in this entire review, and it breaks my heart to say it given the clear effort on display from the developers, but…

I did not care for the Flowey fight.

How can I even say that? Was all of my prior praise just a lie? Not at all—I meant every word of it and then some. So how is it possible that I didn’t like this fight? You’ll notice that I broke down the Flowey fight into its individual phases and aspects, praising each in isolation. You might also notice that my praise was aimed at the spectacle and underlying concepts of the fight, which are fantastic, but I had very little to say about the actual experience of playing the fight—and that’s because I found the fight to be an utter slog to get through. In hindsight, it might actually be my least-favorite fight in the entire Undertale franchise if we’re solely talking about the gameplay. I’d rather fight a Jerry than have to fight this thing again.

I’ll admit up front that I sucked at this fight when I played it. I sucked at all of Yellow’s final bosses and initially didn’t care for their gameplay. I eventually warmed up to Ceroba and Martlet’s fights as I got better and learned to beat them without needing easy mode, but the Flowey fight never clicked for me in the same way despite arguably being the easiest of the three.

So what’s the problem? There are little things here and there—I found some of the phase 1 attacks a bit obnoxious to dodge, though nothing major. I found the collision detection in the vine chase sequences to be a bit clunky, resulting in one or two deaths that felt unearned, but none of these issues are enough to sink the fight.

No, two major missteps that come to my mind are length and repetition.

Out of curiosity, after my neutral run I looked up gameplay videos of the Yellow Flowey fight and the Omega Flowey fight from Undertale: on average, Yellow’s fight took players twice as long to complete as the Omega Flowey fight. The difference is so stark that a “no hit” speedrun of Yellow’s fight with dialogue skipped, the intro cutscene edited out, and no attacks from killed bosses is still longer than an Omega fight played normally.

I want to be clear that my criticism here is not “it’s different from the Omega fight, therefore it’s bad.” The Omega Flowey fight, in my opinion, already drags at times, and it’s probably my least-favorite final boss in Undertale despite having the most effort put into it. I already take (minor) issue with the Omega Flowey fight for overstaying its welcome, but Yellow’s fight is beyond the pale. One nice thing I can say is that Yellow’s fight at least tries to break itself up with an intermission of sorts in the middle, but the whole experience is still technically one fight, so in some ways this just feels like padding, particularly the Martlet scene.

To give a non-Undertale point of comparison, the Flowey fight reminded me (oddly enough) of Darth Vader’s hallway fight scene in the film Rogue One. For many fans this scene was considered the highlight of the entire film, but a vocal minority at the time criticized this scene for being irrelevant to the film’s central characters and unnecessary to the overall plot—it was just something thrown in for fan service that could have been cut at no detriment to the overall narrative. While I can understand the latter perspective, I have no issues with the Vader scene at all—if anything I think it enhances the third act’s feeling of desperation. but overall it’s just a cool scene and that alone makes its inclusion feel warranted.

So why do I feel different about Vader’s scene compared to Flowey’s fight? After all, both are action-heavy “scenes” featuring the main villain of the original installment doing what they do best at the end of a prequel that wasn’t centered on them. The difference is that Vader’s scene is less than 2 minutes long. It’s closer to 60-90 seconds if we only count the portion where he’s onscreen and it’s less than 1% of the film’s runtime. Conversely, there’s a no commentary neutral run of Undertale Yellow on Youtube where the Flowey fight takes up about 15% of the overall run. Had Vader’s scene been that long, even if it were expertly shot and choreographed while being broken up with bits of pathos, I would’ve been checking my watch and waiting for it to be over.

Still, I could forgive the Flowey fight’s length if it had variety and was building toward something. Surely this is true of the Yellow fight, right? Well, I would say that the Yellow Flowey fight probably has the widest variety of total attacks in the game—it has six unique photoshop phases as well as copied attacks from previous bosses in the first phase. The problem is that these are part of his total attacks but not necessarily his most common attacks—half of the ones I just listed are optional depending on who you killed and the other half are for brief one-off phases.

For the majority of the fight you’ll be dealing with Flowey’s other attacks: his standard attacks, which are recycled ad nauseam with little variation and no iteration. In phase 1 this isn’t too noticeable if you only killed one or two bosses, but if you killed most (like I did) then every unique boss attack is sandwiched between a standard Flowey attack and a vine chase sequence, which really bloats the runtime of the fight. Still, I’d argue that phase 2 is the worse culprit in this regard.

For those who’ve played, let me know if this sounds familiar to you: four vines shoot up out of the floor, four piranha plants emerge twice spitting up bullets, two hands scroll across the screen lazily scattering pellets, three guns materialize and fire at your location, a bomb with an “X” or “+” shape detonates, a small circle with spikes orbiting it homes in on your position, and two cowboys riding horses gallop by until one explodes, all while the song “Afterlife” plays from the beginning. Now tell me: which part of the fight am I referring to? If you guessed “more than half of all attacks in the 2nd phase,” then you’d be right!

Now, some of you might be questioning why I’m complaining about lack of “variety” when I just listed off seven individual attacks and earlier I complained about Yellow bosses using too many types of attacks. Well, the problem is that these same seven attacks are all used in sequence with each other over and over and over with no progression—each phase of this lasts 25-30 seconds and it’s repeated at least 7 times in the fight (more if you die).

Combined, no joke, this one sequence of attacks lasts 3 minutes, longer than an entire pacifist Toriel fight (dialogue included). Don’t believe me? Look it up on Youtube. You spend at least 10% of the Flowey fight dodging this one attack pattern. You literally spend an entire Toriel fight dodging just one prolonged attack pattern. And as the cherry on top, “Afterlife” always starts over from the beginning each time this sequence plays—just to drill into your head how repetitive this all is.

To be fair, Omega Flowey has a similar problem of repeating a ~25 second attack phase multiple times, but I find it more bearable there because:

Omega Flowey randomly uses 3-4 types of attacks from his larger arsenal per phase instead of trying to cram nearly every single one in every time like in Yellow, which (ironically) makes the Omega sequences feel less samey

Omega Flowey makes use of loading, which spices up the encounters by feeling unfair initially until you notice the save messages in the corner that telegraph them

Each of Omega’s sequences has a Fight button that, though optional, acts as a goal and motivator, as opposed to the player just impotently killing time until the phase ends, and

Omega Flowey’s music doesn’t start over from the beginning each time he attacks.

Those last two might seem minor since they don’t directly affect the overall gameplay, but I honestly think they’re the most crucial because they give the player a goal and a feeling of progression, even if it’s illusory.

Probably my biggest issue with Yellow’s Flowey fight, even more so than the length and the repetition, is that it ultimately doesn’t go anywhere. It pretty much can’t be allowed to go anywhere due to the aforementioned “stasis” of Flowey’s character arc. Flowey can’t suffer a grand defeat or learn a lesson that impacts his character in any major way, which only makes me question why this fight is here at all.

Omega Flowey, while feeling hopeless and repetitive in some places, has a clear progression, goal, and conclusion that leads to Frisk either reinforcing Flowey’s beliefs or causing Flowey to seemingly question them and offer a path to the true pacifist ending. There’s a reason why the song “Finale” is considered an underrated gem—because it shows a clear turning point and building momentum in that fight. I’m not saying Yellow’s fight needed to copy this same moment, but instead it just peters out with nothing to show for itself. I mean, do I even need to say anything when the game itself basically makes my case for me?

So what would have been better? Personally, I think the first phase of the fight is largely fine as-is. Phase 1 is by no means without its flaws, but it’s the phase that’s most relevant to Clover and the overall story on a thematic level—the boss attacks are a consequence of Clover’s actions and the vine chases (though repetitive) are meant to symbolize Clover’s endlessly repeated runs. And the thing is? The pieces are already there for the fight to end in a more natural way that respects the player’s time.

If the fight were to be given a page 1 rewrite, then I would end it at the section with Flowey’s subconscious that shows his past. Why?

It’s a great scene on its own that should be kept,

The scene would actually be relevant to the fight instead of it going unremarked on like it currently is (seriously, Flowey has nothing to say about it?),

It would fit the central conceit of the fight—Flowey is able to peer into Clover’s memories but Clover can do the same to Flowey and that scares him, and as a result...

It would be a more believable and character-driven “off ramp” for Flowey to back out of the fight.

This last point is especially important because we see throughout Undertale Yellow that Flowey is constantly hiding from other monsters—he clearly doesn’t want to entangle himself with them or have them interfere in his affairs. We can also pick up from his dialogue in Undertale and, to a lesser degree, Yellow that Flowey doesn’t want to talk about his past life as Asriel.

Having Clover intrude upon that territory would likely spur a strong reaction from Flowey, to the point where he’d rather abandon his plans, albeit temporarily, than open up that side of himself to a stranger. This would not only make the fight shorter and end it on a more emotionally resonant note, but I feel it also makes more sense for the narrative and themes of Yellow.

Flowey’s rationalization for letting Clover go could be something to the effect of needing to “tidy up” his head space before he’s ready to share it with someone else. Perhaps in the process he could drop a hint that he’s only opened himself up like this once before (with Chara) or that he had thought he had buried those old memories for good.

I also feel like this explanation would work better in the greater context of Flowey’s actions—Flowey quitting the fight out of boredom raises the question of why he’d repeat the fight on future neutral runs or why he’d be so confident that he could absorb the six souls in Undertale if one was too stubborn for him. Instead, having Flowey be emotionally unprepared for his plan but trying to find a workaround would lend itself better to him trying again in the future—to him it was just a little slip-up that he can overcome with enough attempts.

I don’t want to give the impression that my critique here is “the Flowey fight wasn’t done the way I’d have done it, therefore it’s bad.” My suggested “rewrite” to the fight is merely piggybacking off of what was already there, which are great concepts that I could never have dreamed up myself. The problem is that there’s just too much. Way too much. It feels like not enough was cut during the planning stage and what we’re left with is the epitome of “less than the sum of its parts.”

Of course, my rewrite omits the 2nd phase entirely—something that couldn’t be done with the current fight since it’s the most visually stunning segment of the entire game—like it or not, that genie is out of the bottle.

If I had to give any suggestions to improve the fight that we currently have? I’d say that I don’t think the “afterlife” portions of the 2nd phase need to be repeated so often. I think the phase would be better paced if afterlife only occurred at the very beginning and very end, and instead each mini-phase just brought you right back to Flowey’s petal roulette wheel to take you into the next mini-phase.

None of this is to say that I hated the Flowey fight overall. I still love many of the concepts that the fight brings to the table and I’ll watch moments of it on Youtube from time to time, but I just don’t care to experience it again firsthand any time soon, which is pretty much the opposite of how I felt with the Omega Flowey fight.

Looking at Yellow’s final bosses now that I’ve completed them all, I think my favorite might actually be Zenith Martlet? Which is insane to me because I hated that fight the first time I tried it—anyone who shared a Discord with me can attest that I was complaining nonstop when I attempted that fight.

Even now I’d say the Zenith fight is sloppy and the bandaid solutions for it in the 1.1 patch only illustrate how unbalanced this fight originally was. I’ve never beaten it on 1.0, nor do I intend to, yet in 1.1 I’d say I probably enjoyed myself the most with this fight. It doesn’t overstay its welcome like Flowey, nor does it have anything as egregious as the Kanako cutscene in the Ceroba fight. It respects my time, it has great music (though that’s par for all the bosses), the attacks (while chaotic) mostly stick to a consistent handful of themes, and the narrative context of the fight works (minus the bit with Alphys’ lab).

At first I found the Zenith fight unfitting for Martlet as a character. I thought “what? Martlet isn’t some hidden badass,” but that was exactly the point—this isn’t who Martlet is, and reality catches up with her. The 2nd phase is my favorite part of the fight as we see, in typical Martlet fashion, she didn’t plan ahead and can only hopelessly flail about as the “enemy retreating” motif overtakes her theme. It’s a somewhat understated and undignified ending to the character and that’s exactly what makes it work—it’s another example of the game showing restraint and being all the better for it, as opposed to overreaching.

That said, if I wanted to cheat, I’d say my real favorite final boss is the Asgore “fight” from the false pacifist ending. It’s focused on the characters and their goals and it doesn’t try to be anything too flashy. It’s an even more understated yet fitting final boss than Martlet, though the rest of the “false” ending outside of Asgore is a bit lackluster since it’s just a glorified neutral ending.

Conclusion

To wrap things up, I’m sure you’ve all noticed the throughline here: Undertale Yellow is at its best when it’s tasteful and restrained, and at its worst when its ambitions run wild. Of course, that’s easy for me to say from the outside looking in. It’s likely that many of the things I enjoyed about Yellow were ambitious in their conception but were handled carefully enough to appear restrained and effortless. I have no intention of downplaying that—the project as a whole was ambitious, given the time and effort lovingly poured into it.

As I mentioned in the beginning, my criticisms are not intended to dissuade anyone from trying this game. I would not want this game to be forgotten, but I also would not want it to be uncritically praised as some flawless masterpiece that eclipses the original game—that not only does a disservice to the people who worked on Undertale but also to the people who worked on Undertale Yellow. Both games were carefully crafted and both games have their triumphs as well as their flaws.

The last thing that I would want any fan creator to take way from Undertale Yellow OR the original game would be “this was perfect, just copy what they did.” What’s important is understanding why things worked and where they could be improved. Despite Undertale Yellow’s reverence for Undertale, it takes risks and finds places to innovate over the original game. Not all of it works, but I can respect the effort.

And that sums up my overall opinion of the game—it’s a game that I like but a game that I respect even more. The best complement that I can give is that even the parts of the game I didn’t like still had good ideas evident within them. The pieces were there.

With some tweaks, fine-tuning, and the courage to reign in a couple aspects, I honestly think this game could be made to rival the original one day. But even if that day never comes, Undertale Yellow is still a fine game as-is. It’s not a game I consider “canon” like some fans have argued, but I still plan to replay it alongside the original in the future, and I can’t think of higher praise to give than that.

#undertale yellow #undertale #starlo #ceroba #martlet

[bookish-bogwitch]

an ask game for writers to procrastinate working on your WIP(s)

thanks for tagging me @wellbelesbian!

1. 🦈Tell us the name of your/ one of your WIP(s): Basil Pitch's Diary. It's literally my only WIP.

2. 🍄Describe your WIP/one of your WIP(s) in the format of “___ + ___ =___” Bridget Jones's Diary + Carry On = We Love Baz, Just As He Is

3. 🌍What tags or warnings will one of your WIP(s) need if you intend to share it? Internalized homophobia, gaslighting, self-hatred. 😬

4. 🧭An alternative title to one of your WIP(s)? I never considered an alternative title to BPD, but the one that comes to mind now would be a huge spoiler. The alternative title to the next chapter is "I Fortunately Know a Little Magic," which is sassy and snappy (R.I.P. Howard Ashman) but less thematically relevant than the title I chose.

5. ⚠️Which WIP your most likely to finish or update next? Basil Pitch's Diary. Literally every other fic I've ever posted has been while "taking a break" from BPD, which could go on indefinitely if I let it, so I am bound and determined to finish this fucker before starting something else.

6. 💾What is your document of your WIP/ a WIP called? (not the stories actual title but what you’ve saved it as) I have a list for BPD called "Chapter Checklist." It contains subtle insights "Baz is an UNRELIABLE narrator."

7. 🖍Post Any sentence(s) from your WIP. Here's Baz and Dev in ch. 7:

“Will you stay for dinner?” 

“Can’t. Dev and I…”

As Niall told me about their plans I grabbed one of the football’s nylon loops and let Rusty tug on it as we walked. It seemed too late for Niall to have a date all the way in London, but what do I know about dates.

“Come with us,” said Niall. 

I grimaced. “No thanks. I’ll catch up with Dev when he’s not on molly and climbing down your throat.”

“You don’t ‘catch up’ at Beast Night. You dance.”

“With whom?”

“Men.”

8. ♻️A scrapped idea for your current WIP. I just looked in the trash folder of the BPD Scrivener project and found this note I don't remember writing:

Renée Zellweger would play Baz. People would be skeptical but she’d fucking nail it. Gaining weight for a role? How about growing eight inches, sprouting a happy trail, and joining the legions of undead. (Might as well cast Oscar bait.)

9. 🤔What’s a story you’d love to write but haven’t even started yet? A Watford-era get-together magickal mishap involving animal transformation and beloved children's literature. So, you know. The usual.

10. 🤡How many WIPS are you actively working on? Just the one. @facewithoutheart and I have a secret side project going that involves back-and-forth writing and it's stalled out on me. It's very fun and silly and I plan to return to it when I need a break from some of the angstier parts of BPD.

11. 🛠Is there a scene or anything in the WIP you are struggling with right now? I'm not working on any one BPD scene right now, but trying to map out the rest of the fic in greater detail so that I can roll from one chapter to the next. I was struggling for a couple of weeks with how to make an unavoidable canon plot point emotionally relevant to Baz's arc, but I think I figured it out last night. Phew.

12. ❤️Not a question, just a second Kudos to send. Kudos and tags to @cutestkilla, @thewholelemon, @whatevertheweather, @brilla-brilla-estrellita, @monbons, @onepintobean, @ileadacharmedlife, @ivelovedhimthroughworse, @skeedelvee, @im-gettingby, @imagineacoolusername, @iamamythologicalcreature, @youre-an-apocryphal-concept-223, @rimeswithpurple, @goblindad-emoshit, @facewithoutheart, @artsyunderstudy, @alleycat0306, @erzbethluna, @ebbpettier, @emeryhall, @f-ing-ruthless-baz, @hushed-chorus, @hertragedyconnoisseur, @ionlydrinkhotwater, @ic3-que3n.

#tag game #writer asks #baz pitch #simon snow #indulging myself #procrastination

[thtgirlllmona]

Love in the Line of Fire

(Ch.2)

Story Summary: Two of the most powerful women in the world, Shuri and Y/N, have a bond that is both unusual and intense. As S.H.I.E.L.D. assassins, they have seen and done things that most people can't even imagine. Despite the obstacles they face as women and as lovers, they have proven time and time again to be a powerful force to be reckoned with, but when they are assigned to take each other out, everything changes. Despite their promise to never become pawns for S.H.I.E.L.D, they find themselves caught in a storm of conflicting emotions as they face the ultimate test of their loyalty to each other and to the agency. With their passionate marriage at stake, the reader and Shuri must navigate a treacherous world of political intrigue and danger, where the lines between friend and foe are blurred, and their survival hangs in the balance. Will they be able to overcome their differences and work together to survive, or will their love for each other be their downfall?

Series Warnings: Knife play, mentions of death, smut (eventually), fighting, etc..

Current Taglist: @inmyheadimobsessed @Mysticalmarss @shuriandririswifey @Undercover-introvert @Cuddl3s4shur1 @Bubbleblowinggirl @Ange1icbabe @6-noir @luvvspice @hunikiz @blackqueensforeva @nrc-06 @motheroffae @Shuris3leg @Tishsrealwife @Cafehyunji @shuriislut @blackqueensforeva @mxyx-rx444 @euph0ricx0 @missudaku

If you want to be in the taglist for the next chapters, click here!

Word count: 4.7K

Author’s note: LMAO NOT THIS COMING 4 MONTHS LATE 👀 anyways I hope y’all enjoy and let me know what you think ☺️🫶🏼

Sincerely,

M.

—————————————————————————————

6:00 AM 

Wake up. Act normal no matter what.

Ignorance is bliss. The past night, the phone call, everything that has transpired since – none of this is real. Instead, I am choosing ignorance. I choose to lay in bed today, waking up alone as usual, staring at the cracked glass on the window we still haven’t fixed yet. In laying here, I choose to ignore what Shuri and I are and focus on what we were. The night we met, our first “date”, the night she proposed and we promised each other to never become the people we are now, the night we got married, even the night we found out I was pregnant. Maybe I’ve been ignorant this whole time. Maybe I was so sold on what we could be that I never enjoyed us for what we were. The night we met, we bonded over the pain of losing family and, in the process, losing ourselves. No one ever understood what I felt except her. She felt everything I felt in a place no one can visit but us. When she left Wakanda to M’Baku’s rule, she secretly promised to never return. The pain she felt being in her homeland superseded any want to stay in touch with everything that molded and made the woman she is. The woman I fell in love with. Although I never met her before the pain, I can feel who she was in the moments when it's only us. When we are quietly sitting in our room, solely listening to each other’s hearts, I can hear how her’s used to beat differently. The space in between where her heart races slightly like that of a kid. When it skips a beat, I can feel her in the past. Although I never met this version of her that didn’t experience pain, I fell in love with that person. Most importantly, in those moments where her heart beats, I can hear the fear barricaded deep, only coming out slightly, almost unrecognizable in each exhale of breath from her tired lungs. The fear of losing anyone she even attempts to care about. She took every emotion and trained herself to keep people at arms length, never getting close to anyone no matter their persistence or the attraction felt. Then I came along.“You ruined my plans.” One night as we sat atop the tallest building in a city in Columbia, staring at the skyline after finishing an intense mission, Shuri uttered those words to me. When I just stared at her waiting for a further explanation, she finally turned her gaze to me, a look that I couldn't quite decipher plagued her sharp features. Grief? Admiration? Both? “Becoming enamored with you wasn’t supposed to happen, usana.” Shuri spoke hushed, breaking my concentration on solving her. I attempted to solve everything in life and Shuri was the one puzzle I could never fully understand. That’s when it hit me. Shuri couldn’t be solved by me alone because, according to her, I am the piece that completes her. That is what makes her different from everyone else. Shuri and I are two parts of one grand art piece. I realized in that moment that the same look, feelings, and everything else she was giving me, was the exact same thing I gave her. We are a mirrored version of love that I have never heard of. 

—————————————————————————————

8:20 AM 

Call out. Assassins need a day off too.

The bed sank and I moved my gaze over from the window to the alarm clock next to the bed. I then felt two strong arms wrap around me as I laid on my side, one arm briefly coming up to move my untamed curls out of my face before settling back around my waist, interlocking hands with the one that snaked its way through by going under my body. I felt a chaste kiss placed against my forehead before her cheek slowly pressed flat against mine after. A deep, soft sigh left her body as I saw our reflection in the window. My wife. In all her glory. Before Shuri I didn’t believe in Gods, or anything for that matter, but every time I see her face,it's as if the shadows themselves retreat in reverence, acknowledging her ethereal beauty that transcends mortal realms. Her presence eclipses the very essence of my being, a constant reminder of the abyss that awaits us all. And yet, with every stolen glance at her, I'm reminded that even in the midst of this fleeting existence, a specter of happiness lingers, entwined with the impending darkness.

“You should’ve left for work by now.” I said in an assertive tone.

Silence. That is what my words were met with. Although the silence was deafening, so much was understood. Red flashes and Alerts went off in my head alerting me that she was as conflicted as me. Suspicion rose but Shuri is smarter than that. I know this woman from cover to cover. I have studied her in every way possible, she's stronger than me in some ways while I severely outrank her in others. Whenever she gets a new target, she learns everything about them but has she ever been in a predicament where she already knows her target better than anyone else? More importantly, what would she do if placed in that predicament? I turned slightly, now laying on my back, so I could look God herself in the face. She held onto me without issue but when I looked at her, her gaze remained on the cracked glass. Studying her features, she is just as conflicted as me. For a moment, I imagined following through with my assignment, taking away the one I love. Her heart that I have studied for years listening to every beat as a lullaby just… stopping. It’s almost as if I cursed God because for a moment I couldn’t hear it. I couldn’t feel it. My gift was taken from me in an instant. Her heart stopped beating. My heart stopped beating. She finally looked down at me and looked over my stoic face and features, hiding every emotion swimming behind my facade. She spoke so gently that if I breathed, I would’ve missed it.

“Bast, you’re so beautiful” Shuri spoke before leaning down slowly to kiss me with a ferocity that shocked my conflicted heart back to life. Every scarce moment our lips parted, we breathed life into one another. How could I kill my lifeline? My own personal anecdote to any pain I experience in this dangerous world. Our lips separated abruptly when Shuri’s hand found its idle place around my neck, squeezing tightly for a moment causing me to gasp while her lips curled upwards in an appeased and fascinated way. Our eyes found one another like magnets, both of us trying to break down the walls behind our dark irises. For a moment, I see a replay of our life through her. Much like the cracked glass in the window to our left, we both have a broken look that desperately wishes for repair. I saw it in that moment, our makeshift wedding that to everyone may have looked like a hot mess but for us… for us it was everything. The old record player was stuck on one song that played over and over again and for the whole night, Shuri and I danced to it as if it was the first time it played. Everyone eventually left but Shuri and I stayed and danced slowly, our foreheads pressed against one another, one of my arms around her tall frame while the other found her hand and interlocked our fingers. Her arm and hand placements mirrored mine with her arm around my waist, resting her hand on the small of my back. She occasionally lifted her head from its meeting with mine to kiss my forehead and whisper promises of tomorrow that neither of us kept. In her eyes I see the fountain she proposed to me by. I see the hearts of two broken kids, molding together to create one heart that beated for them both. Shuri was a giggling mess, watching me throw coins into the fountain to make wishes as she did the same. It was so infectious the way her smile wrapped and the sounds of her blissfully happy by us playing “hookie” with SHIELD, thinking no one knew where we were. I couldn’t help but smile looking at her and asking what was so funny. She looked me in the eyes and for a moment, the world stopped. She walked towards me and grabbed my hands and asked me to spend the rest of my life with her. It was that moment that changed it all for us. That was the moment we became the us we wanted. Looking up from Shuri’s eyes, I see the small wrinkles on her forehead due to the sleepless nights she spends in the lab with her eyebrows furrowed. The same lab she worked upwards a year to create a way to produce our then miracle. The miracle that was stripped away from my body because of one mission that I swore to Shuri I could handle, simply out of spite for trying to bench me. I am one of the most powerful people in the world and I lost everything to the hands of one careless, miserable lowlife. No, that is false. We lost it all to my pride. Shuri attempted to recreate the process but it was no use, the cuts to my abdomen won’t ever allow me to carry a child. Our child. That moment is what made us who we are. Maybe ignorance has always been our bliss. Shuri pulled me out of our memories by caressing my face lightly,

“Tell me usana, what is wrong?” Shuri whispered as if her volume would shatter this picture we are stuck in.

The smile I gave is laced with grief, “Why do you ask questions that you know the answers to?” 

She looked down before meeting my gaze again, appearing as if she was trying to chase the confidence to continue on, “You didn’t come downstairs.” 

Shuri’s statement disguised itself as a question. What she truly said in her deflection was, “You and I are feeling the same and I couldn’t leave either” but, she’ll never say that.

“Took a day off.” My response was one of true irony. There are no days off as an esteemed assassin.

Shuri chuckled at my response before getting up, removing the warmth between us and allowing the fog that her presence brings my brain to clear up. I know she never got to process in the way she wanted because Shuri never allowed herself to feel genuine grief after her mother passed. She pushes it away and into work. I have no room to judge because I do the same. Shuri turns her grief into pure anger and motivation towards fulfilling every target mission assigned to her. Makes me the perfect target, right? 

“SHURI!!” I screamed as I felt my body get lifted off the bed suddenly, Shuri displaying her undeniable strength from the herb as she carried me to the bathroom, sitting me on the illuminated counter.

“Get ready, we have to get to a meeting to discuss The Consortium,” Shuri says before pecking away my obvious pout at being removed from my designated spot for the day, “And don’t get back into that bed.” She said sternly, arms on either side of me as she leveled her gaze with mine. 

“Or what exactly?” I responded, crossing my arms with a tiny grin finding its way across my lips. 

She smirked slightly, “I’m sure you’d like to know but I promise you don’t want to find out.” She said, getting to my face as I bit my lip, equally moving to close the distance. She stopped suddenly and popped my thigh before retreating and turning towards the door,

“Ngoku!” (Now). Shuri shouted behind her, missing my sharp eye roll. I turned slightly to look at my appearance, almost scared to see what stared back at me. Upon first glance, my hair is unruly and pointing in every possible direction, the bags under my eyes brim a steep purple, and the frown lines are so deep that it appears a smile has never graced my lips. Traveling deeper, the story in my eyes says differently. My eyes bore a dark gaze but swimming past that, you can see the slight golden hue that screams of a time that bliss was all I knew. I hopped off of the counter and did what I do every morning, I slightly raised my shirt viewing the slowly healing reminder of what could have been.

—————————————————————————————

10:00 AM 

Suck it up. Assassins need a day off too.

Being in a place that feels so foreign yet nostalgic is exactly what I am experiencing at headquarters. Yesterday was a normal day until I got that call asking me to end her life. I made my way to Fury’s office after pretending to be interested in paperwork for the mission regarding "The Consortium." While walking, everything felt like it was in slow motion. The anger, confusion, and guilt is making me paranoid. Everyone is staring at me. Everyone knows. No, no one knows and no one is staring but my heart is racing a mile per minute and the palms of my hands are sweating gallons of water, further making me dizzy from the inevitable feeling. I’m scared. Arguably, the greatest assassin in the world is…  scared. Fuck that, I am petrified. As I mustered the courage to regain my composure, I knocked twice on Fury’s door to alert I’m coming in regardless of whether he’s busy or not. Opening the door, I felt all color flush from my face and the strings holding my heart together finally gave way, allowing it to plummet to my ass. Shuri’s back was faced to me, hushed toned conversations ceased and Fury deadlocked his gaze onto mine. Without moving any other muscle, Shuri gently turned her neck to the side, still looking at the floor over her right shoulder before slowly moving her eyes up at the wall. Like a machine, she changed in a mere moment to a warm smile, “Did you need something, Usana?”  

Oh.My.God.

My Lifeline is trying to Kill me.

How could I be so stupid? Of course if I got the call, so did she.

She used grief to distract me.

My question is answered. 

What does Shuri Udaku do when she already knows her target? She makes you believe she doesn’t.

“I had a few questions about the paperwork on my desk and Agent Hill mentioned Fury wanted to see me yesterday.” Everything was moving in slow motion. Shuri simply nodded her head once and then proceeded to turn back towards Fury for a moment before turning her whole body towards me with an expression that could trick a snake into thinking nothing was wrong. Her warm smile only lit the fire further that is burning inside of me, full of pure furry. She walked towards me and kissed my forehead which proceeded to remind me to play dumb for just a moment. I smiled up at her and she matched it back while looking at me with low eyes before she made her exit.

My smile faded away as I stared at the man across the room who is actively trying to make my Wife and I’s recent encounter nothing more than a bittersweet memory given his game of elimination. I opened my mouth ready to let the fire within me burn the very walls of S.H.I.E.L.D to hell. 

That’s when it finally clicked.

As quickly as I opened my mouth, I shut it. I could confront Fury and potentially make a bigger mess or I could play along for a bit and figure out where this sudden urge to kill off the best people on his team arose from. For the sake of everything I have worked for, it is surprisingly morbid how I imagined what death would feel like. In the few seconds between my thought process and final choice, I thought about what death would truly feel like? Would it be like a break? A long vacation? Would it be lonely or decorated with all the best moments of my life? Would it be dark and punishing? Would I burn in the eternal fire that some have banished me to from the moment I kissed my now wife? In this moment I let today’s theme of allowing ignorance to be bliss dictate the bold decision I made next.

“There was a letter on my desk about new information concerning The Consortium?” I asked with a stone clad face, shielding me and my true emotions from the likes of him. 

“After seeing your wife standing in here suspiciously, that’s your first question is?” Fury eyed me inquisitively with amusement lacing his words.

“ I stated that that was the reason I came in here. Is there something about my wife’s presence in her boss' office that is suspicious to you that you’d like to share?” I spoke with pure absolution. Fury smiled and took a seat. After a few seconds of silence, Fury motioned me to sit across from him. 

“What about the letter is confusing Agent Udaku? I’m sure all the need to know information is stated clearly in the document.” Fury was doing this on purpose, he knew what I really wanted to discuss but I know better. 

“The document is mostly blacked out. I have top clearance, why is it that I don’t have a copy of the sheet before alterations?” Fury sat back with his arms crossed as his head tilted a bit, studying me and my words.

“I take it your wife hasn’t informed you?” He stopped for a moment sensing the confusion I was displaying through my facial expression, “How she was just made in charge of the case entirely and decides who has clearance to any and all information?” 

There it was again. The fire that was beginning to ash out was ignited again with a flamethrower. The hearty laugh from Fury is only furthering the intensity of the flames. He took my silence as his hint to continue talking his shit,

“You really weren’t aware of your own wife’s newest promotion? Well to make it simpler, she’s your boss so take up clearance with her.” Fury stated while sitting up and discarding my presence as he started fumbling through papers on his desk. My thoughts began to drift but soon my focus was brought back by Fury snapping in my face from his seat,

“Y/N? You can go now… if that was all, of course?” He looked at me with the same questioning look he had earlier.

Without a word I stood and began to walk out but before completely exiting, I heard the light laughter coming from Fury but I’m not too fazed, those who laugh now will cry harder later and it is my dying mission to bring Fury to his knees in tears. 

—————————————————————————————

1:20 PM 

Lunch. Try not to kill the Wife.

After all was said and done with Fury, I walked back to my desk and thought about everything that was shared with me. Questions flooded me from all directions. Of all things to keep from me, why would Shuri keep her promotion from me? Why would she limit my clearance? Is that what she was guilty about or was it the new target call? Did she get a new target call? If she’s willing to keep something relatively small from me, what else is she hiding from me? Do I still know my wife? Have I ever?

The questions were getting too much and distracting me from rational thinking, so much so that I ended up in front of Shuri’s office door and I hadn’t even realized until the name Udaku and my eyes were a straight line from each other. I raised my hand to knock on the door and lowered it immediately. I closed my eyes and allowed the anger to drive my sweaty hand right back up to the door and knock. A strong enter was heard, moving my hand for me to the doorknob and turning it open. There she was, in all her glory. Sitting at her desk in front of her floor to ceiling windows with the sun glistening on her soft skin. Head low as she sat back in her chair, reading a document. Gold rimmed reading glasses sitting on the bridge of her nose, curls perfectly set atop her head, jaw flexing to show its God-like resemblances. Sleeves were rolled up on her silk dress shirt, displaying all her wonderful tattoos, our matching vibranium tattoo, in place of a ring, shun like pure metal in the sun. Her gaze moved up to my eyes as she lowered the paper down. 

“So beautiful.” She spoke in a low voice. The irony. I smiled slyly at her comment before moving closer to her and walking around her desk to be on the same side as her. She rolled her chair back a bit to allow me between her and the desk. I moved to sit on the desk in front of her and used my heeled foot to pull her chair closer. She smirked as she neared me, placing the paper on the desk next to me as she placed her hands on my thighs, slowly inching them up and forcefully parting them at the top. My bottom lip that was placed in between my teeth released itself as response to her action, moving to spread into a smile as she stood, now standing between my parted thighs, hands still placed on my thighs, rubbing them as she got closer. Her lips grazed mine as hers spread into a smile matching the sultry one on my face. I moved my arms up to wrap around her neck while my hands found solace in her curls. She moved her hands to trace the line of the underwear under my black dress  I should be wearing but to her surprise, there was nothing in the way of her and me. She smiled and finally connected our lips in a hungry kiss. As a false sense of security, I let her believe I was putty in her hands as our tongues began their dance of domination but just as her hand began moving down a bit further, I pulled rather hard at her curls, disconnecting our lips with a line of spit connecting them. Her hand halted its movements but never moved from its comfortable spot. 

“Why did you stop me, my love? Hmm? We were getting to the good part.” Shuri stated as her eyes moved down to where her hand was continuing its journey. 

“Look at me.” I commanded. Her eyes slowly moved back up to, taking in everything between my eyes and her hand.

“Why did you alter my clearance on The Consortium case?” Shuri’s eyes changed for a moment as her movements halted, millimeters away from my core. She looked down and back up, revealing the same look in her eyes before I said anything. She stood still for a moment before removing her hand and placing it on my thigh, mirroring her other hand. My fingers still locked into her hair as she sighed.

“My love, it was for your own good.” Without even a moment in between, I responded,

“Says who? Fury? I am entirely capable-” She cut me off with a tight squeeze to both of thighs,

“Me.” 

“You what?”

“I am the one who decided it, no one else.” I removed my hands from her head and folded them across my chest. Pissed is an understatement.

“After the last mission, you have been lost. You don't even want to talk about-”

“So that’s what it is,” I unfolded my arms and my expression changed, it all makes sense now, “ You are mad at me because I lost it.”

Shuri looked offended at my words as if acid was thrown on an open wound. She moved back, removing her hands and sitting back down in her chair, leaning back. We sat in silence but I needed her to say it.

“Admit it… Say it… SHURI-”

“WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO SAY?” Silence clouded over us again. After a few moments, Shuri began giggling and then full on laughing. I sat there, staring at her. This went on for a while until she finally looked back up at me with tears in her eyes but they weren’t from laughing.

“Y/N I am not mad at you for losing… I am not mad at you at all. I am mad at myself.  I am fighting with the fact that I didn’t see him coming. I am mad at the way I stood there, shocked, as you stared at me when the knife made contact. I am mad at MYSELF for telling myself that you were still pregnant so I could sleep. I am mad at myself for picking out names with you. I am mad at MYSELF because I can’t change what happened, I can’t take away the pain, I can’t give you hope of trying again, I can’t-” Shuri abruptly stopped and wiped the tear cascading down her face. 

My face mirrored hers with tears brimming in my eyes, I snorted them away while quickly looking away and wiping my eyes to eliminate the possibility of a tear dropping, revealing the hurt and truths I too struggle with. Shuri stood again and walked back between my thighs, lightly grabbing my face to move my gaze back to hers. My folded arms dropped into my lap as she kissed my wet eyes.

“Baby I can’t give you clearance because I can’t lose you too” Shuri’s eyes bore into mine, dripping her sincerity into my soul. We sat there staring at each other until I reached my arms up and caressed her face with my hands.

“My love, I understand where you are coming from but you can’t decide for me nor keep me from working. Doing this, doing what we do… that’s all I know.” She smiled solemnly at me, bringing our foreheads together as we both closed our teary eyes,

“Losing the ones I love is all I know.”

—————————————————————————————

5:15 PM 

Go Home. Assassins have tough days too.

The ride home was silent other than the soft music playing. Silence seems to be our theme of the day next to the affirmation of “ignorance is bliss.” As Shuri drove, I looked outside at the sky and all the different colors that make the evening beautiful. “Be my Summer” by Snoh Aalegra played softly  as Shuri sat manspread at the wheel with one hand on the wheel and the other caressing my hand in her lap. After the interaction in the office, Shuri had a call and I left after placing a kiss on her cheek. The truth is I wanted to promise that I’d never leave her. I wanted to promise that I would never die but making promises like that hold no water. The truth is I don’t know when I’ll depart. I was made for this life and don’t know how to exist outside of it. Shuri and I tried to leave this life and pursue a blissful one  and look where that landed us. The truth is, I don’t know if Shuri got that damn call or not but I know that I did. I looked over at Shuri whose mind was somewhere other than here too. God she is so beautiful. How can I ever finish this mission? Killing her would kill me. I took off my seatbelt without looking away from her. This caused her head to turn and her gaze to meet mine. She looked confused as I got on my knees on the seat, moving my hand that is not intertwined with hers to caress her cheek as I leaned in and connected our lips. The kiss was soft and light. She drew circles into my hand, still intertwined with hers as our lips worked unanimously in sync. She pulled away for a moment,

“Griot, enable autopilot mode.” She said as our eyes remained on one another as I rubbed my thumb back and forth on her cheek. “Yes, Panther.”

—————————————————————————————

I'm so sorry I made you wait that long and I'll try not to do it again! Next chapter will be smut soooo 😁 okay bye have a great day :)

#Spotify #letitia wright shuri #shuri x reader #shuri black panther #shuri udaku #princess shuri #shuri fic #shuri x black!reader #letitia wright #assassin!shuri x assassin!reader #assassin!shuri

[moeitsu]

The Tie Which Linked My Soul To Thee

Summary: Kate and Arthur share a tender moment in the quiet of the night. Ao3   Wattpad Ch.1 Ch.2 Ch.3 Ch.4 Ch.5 Ch.6 Ch.7 Ch.8 Tags: Arthur Morgan/Original Female Character, Widowed, Original Character, Mutual Pining, Slow Build, Eventual Smut, Eventual Romance, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, High Honor Arthur Morgan, Friends to Lovers, Child Loss, Trauma, Canon-Typical Violence, Arthur Morgan Does Not Have Tuberculosis, Arthur Morgan Deserves Happiness, Chubby Arthur Morgan, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence

Ch 9 - A Hundred Months Have Passed

After a few days had passed, the ebb and flow of camp life settled back into its usual rhythm. The air buzzed with the familiar hum of activity—girls diligently tending to chores, men venturing out in search of employment. Micah, having wisely refrained from his lewd remarks, seemed to steer clear of Kate since the encounter with her blade at his throat.

Kate, ever the reliable hand, lent herself where needed: scrubbing alongside Mary-Beth and Tilly, deftly stitching with Abigail, and even lending a hand in Pearson's kitchen to ease Sadie's burdens. The oppressive heat of Lemoyne clung to everyone like a stifling cloak, making afternoons feel interminable. Yet, the proximity of the lake provided a much-needed reprieve, promising a cool respite at the day's end.

Arthur slipped back into the role of the camp's indispensable jack-of-all-trades. Strauss had once again tasked him with money lending duties, a responsibility Kate chose to abstain from this time. Arthur, sensing her unspoken concerns, pledged a new approach—doing things properly this time. His efforts brought a smile to Kate's lips; she recognized his earnest attempts to turn a new leaf, even amidst his continued forays into stagecoach heists and homestead robberies.

This morning, Dutch and Hosea, accompanied by John and Arthur, ventured into Rhodes at the deputy's behest, hopeful for legitimate work. Kate felt a surge of pride knowing they were earnestly striving for honest wages, unaware of Dutch's clandestine designs. Rumors of a longstanding feud between the affluent Gray and Braithwaite families had piqued Dutch's interest, his mind already scheming.

While the boys were occupied, Kate found herself free from chores, engaging in a serene game of dominos with Tilly and Javier. The late afternoon light filtered through the trees, casting dappled shadows across the camp.

“I don’t like being this far south,” Tilly commented, her voice tinged with fear. “I feel like we ain’t safe here. I ain’t safe here.”

“You’ll be alright, Tilly. We’re all looking out for you,” Kate reassured her.

Tilly sighed and shook her head solemnly. “This lot don’t like folk like me, Kate. My mother was a slave until she was 15 years old.”

“We’ll keep you safe, I promise,” Kate urged.

Javier, who had been quietly playing dominoes with them, placed his domino and joined the conversation. “I don’t think these folks like anybody who isn’t white, if I’m being honest,” he said with a dry laugh. “I’ve been called ‘greaser’ by almost every pendejo in this country.”

Kate sighed as she played her domino, earning a few points. “This town is full of a bunch of drunks stuck in the past. They never recovered from the war, and they’d rather hang onto their grievances than move on.”

Tilly placed her last domino, earning no points, and stood up with a grunt of frustration. “Yeah well, I just hope we don’t stay here too long. We’re supposed to be going back west, not south.” She walked away, her steps heavy with frustration.

Now alone with Javier at the small wooden table, Kate leaned back and blew out a breath. The air was hot and heavy, weighing down any motivation to work.

“Is that why you haven’t left camp much?” She inquired, her voice tinged with concern. “Because of the way people are treating you down here?”

Javier shrugged nonchalantly. “Sorta, but it doesn’t really bother me that much.”

Kate’s expression softened. She hadn’t known Javier well, but since the night of the raiders and borrowing his guitar, he had opened up more. She sensed he was a quiet presence, always listening but rarely speaking. She also noticed how much it bothered him when other gang members picked on him, especially Micah and Bill.

She chuckled softly. “Well, you certainly have a lot of patience. I’m amazed you haven’t stabbed Micah yet.”

Javier grinned and met Kate’s gaze. “Oh, I’ve thought about it many times.”

He leaned back, stabbing his knife into the table. “People like Micah don’t scare me. You know, it’s been five years since I left Mexico. Those men chasing me, I still have nightmares about them. Those are scary men.”

Kate listened intently, intrigued by his story.

“If I go back there, I’m as good as dead. They killed my mother, and I mourn her every day. But I never got to bury her. My sister married a man and ran away, and I hope she’s safe, but I’ll never know for sure.”

“Why were those men chasing you?” Kate asked quietly, curious about his past and how he ended up in the gang.

Javier scoffed, memories fueling his frustration. “My crime? My crime was wanting food and fairness—for myself and for my people. That’s why they hunt me. When I came here, I found that it was not so different.”

Kate nodded in understanding. “This land is wild, far beyond being ‘free.’ I know that as much as anybody, and like most, I learned the hard way.”

“Everyone here steals and lies. The only thing they do better here is make you think it’s not that way,” Javier said, his frustration evident. “Mexico could be a land of plenty, but those cabróns in our government won’t even pay us a fair wage.”

He looked at Kate with a sad expression. “I know I’m a thief. But at least I don’t steal the lives and hopes of others.”

Kate spoke before he could leave. “Do you think you’ll ever go back?”

He shook his head sadly, “I’ll be shot on site if I do.” Javier left her with those words.

Kate sat quietly, her eyes roaming over the camp. In the short time she’d been with this group, she had come to know many of their stories, and each one tugged at her heartstrings. There was no joyous reason that a band of misfits like them would ride together, yet the more she learned about each member, the more she understood their pain. They were all seeking a way to escape, all fleeing from something in their pasts. Some were orphaned, like Arthur and John, taken in by Dutch and Hosea. They were provided for, cared for, and yet, Kate couldn't help but doubt the sincerity of that care.

Dutch hadn't spoken to Kate since they arrived at Clemens Point. She wasn’t seeking an apology for Micah’s actions—Dutch wasn’t responsible for that—but his silence troubled her. During her time in the camp, she had observed how Dutch treated Arthur. He was dismissive yet domineering, always assuring Arthur of his position as his right-hand man, yet often prioritizing conversations with Micah. When Arthur approached Dutch for conversation, he always seemed preoccupied, only granting him full attention when there was work to be done and money to be made. Kate sensed a tension between them, a dynamic that left her uneasy.

As she gazed across the camp, Kate couldn’t shake the feeling that Dutch’s intentions for their group's safety and future were not as altruistic as they seemed. She wondered if their pursuits were leading them toward a better life or simply deeper into trouble.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

Arthur shook his head, a wry smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "You know, I think you have finally lost your mind," he remarked, eyeing Dutch with amused disbelief.

The boys had ridden into Rhodes earlier that afternoon, on a peculiar mission orchestrated by Dutch. The notorious gang leader had struck an unlikely alliance with Sheriff Gray, a key player in the ongoing feud between Rhodes' wealthiest families, the Grays and the Braithwaites. Their task? To reclaim stolen moonshine from the Braithwaites, which had found its way into the hands of Lemoyne raiders.

Dutch, ever the showman, had orchestrated their involvement under the guise of "helping the law." Now, adorned with shiny silver stars that marked them as deputized lawmen, the outlaws-turned-vigilantes cut an absurd figure in the bustling town.

"Amongst these drunkards, hillbillies, and slavers... good honest thieves like us, we’re bound to be moralizers in a place like this!" Dutch declared, arms outstretched as if claiming dominion over the entire town.

As they wrapped up loading the stolen moonshine into the wagon, John and Hosea offered to take the wagon to a secluded spot near camp, assuring the Sheriff that they would take care of "disposing" of the last of the moonshine. The Sheriff nodded knowingly, pocketing a couple of jugs for himself.

Before Dutch and Arthur departed, they couldn't resist indulging in their hard-earned spoils, taking more than a few swigs of the fiery alcohol to celebrate their successful mission before making their way back to camp.

“Hey you know what, why don’t I race you back to camp,” Dutch quipped, saddling his horse in an unsteady manor. 

Arthur, equally unsteady on his feet, chuckled and climbed into Belle's saddle. "You're on," he agreed, a mischievous glint in his eye.

Later that evening, Arthur stumbled back into camp, his usually confident steps a bit less steady. The setting sun bathed the campsite in a warm orange glow, adding to the relaxed atmosphere. A faint scent of moonshine lingered on his breath, a testament to the drinks he and Dutch had indulged in before returning.

Kate looked up from where she sat near the fire, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. "Welcome back, Deputy Morgan. Looks like you've found yourself a new career path," she teased, giving a playful flick to the shiny silver star on his chest.

Arthur chuckled, brushing off her comment as he settled beside her by the fire. "Ah, quit it. I ain't cut out for lawman duties."

He turned slightly towards Kate, a warm glow in his eyes fueled by both the alcohol and the comfort of her presence. "How was your day, Kate? You tired of being surrounded by outlaws yet?" he asked, steering the conversation. 

Kate smiled warmly, her eyes reflecting genuine contentment. "Honestly, Arthur, I've never been more grateful for the company," she admitted, her voice softening with sincerity. "After so long on my own, it's nice to be part of something, even if it's a band of outlaws."

Arthur nodded slowly, his gaze fixed on the flickering flames of the fire. Despite the daily lively chatter and the camaraderie of the gang, a pang of loneliness tugged at his heart. He had always been surrounded by people, yet somehow, he often felt a deep sense of solitude. The only time he felt seen, felt solace, was when he was with Kate. Her presence made him light up, whether it was a fleeting smile in the morning as they greeted eachother before going about their duties. Or on evenings such as this, when they talked about their day by the fire and simply enjoyed eachothers presence. She calmed the raging storm in his heart, and each day he grew more and more fond of her company. 

The warmth of the fire and the alcohol in his belly emboldened him slightly. "Well, if it's all the same to you, Kate, I quite enjoy your company," Arthur admitted, a bashful smile playing on his lips as he shifted closer to her, their shoulders nearly touching.

Kate's eyes sparkled with amusement as she leaned in to meet his gaze. "I'll admit, Arthur, I enjoy your company more than most," she teased, a playful glint in her eyes. "But don't tell the others that," she added with a wink.

Arthur chuckled softly, the sound blending with the crackling of the fire. They settled against the log, warmed by the fire's glow. As the night deepened around them, they shared stories of their day. Arthur recounted their new duties as lawmen and the complexities of the feud between the two families, outlining Dutch's plan to navigate the situation without causing undue trouble.

The sun had long set, casting a cool, gentle darkness over the camp. Most of the gang had retired for the night, leaving only the crackling fire and the symphony of nighttime sounds—crickets chirping and frogs croaking.

Amidst the tranquil atmosphere, the peace was shattered by the distant voices of Abigail and John, their argument drifting from their tent and cutting through the night's quiet. Arthur and Kate exchanged a knowing look, their conversation momentarily interrupted by the reminder of the discord that often simmered beneath the surface of their makeshift family.

Arthur sighed, his expression a mixture of resignation and empathy as Abigail's voice rose in frustration. "Why don't you use that tiny brain of yours? Whatever you think is right and proper, do the exact opposite! Then, you'll raise a man!" Her words were hushed, as if she were trying to contain her anger despite the intensity of her tone.

John's retort came swiftly, equally filled with annoyance. "Just like your mama did? Raise a real man, like you?" His jab was met with a sharp slap from Abigail, the sound echoing through the camp.

Kate winced, noticing Arthur pinch the bridge of his nose in response to the escalating argument. Before she could interject, the soft patter of footsteps approached rapidly. In a flash, Jack emerged from his tent, clad in nothing but a nightgown, and flung himself into Arthur's lap.

Unfazed by the sudden intrusion, Arthur pulled Jack close, his voice gentle and soothing. "Hey kiddo, can't sleep?" he asked, his tone calming.

Jack nodded against his uncle's shoulder. "Mama is mad at Pa again," he murmured, his voice small and weary. Turning his head slightly, he glanced up at Kate. "Hi, Auntie Kate," he greeted quietly.

"Hey, little man," Kate responded warmly, brushing a stray hair from his eyes as his cheek rested against Arthur's shoulder.

As the voices of John and Abigail rose again, Jack buried his face against Arthur. Concern flickered in Arthur's eyes as he glanced at Kate, who suddenly had an idea.

"Why don't we go get Lorena ready for the night? You wanna help, Jack?" Kate suggested, offering a diversion to distract Jack from the tension brewing between his parents.

With a silent nod, Arthur rose from his seat, cradling little Jack in his strong arms. Kate couldn't help but watch the scene unfold before her. His towering figure enveloped the small boy with an unexpected tenderness and care. As Arthur held Jack close, his protective embrace painted a stark contrast to the tough exterior he often projected.

In that moment, Kate glimpsed a side of Arthur that stirred her heart. The way he handled Jack with such gentleness and love sparked a yearning within her. She imagined how Arthur might have been as a father—patient, kind, and devoted.

The campfire's warm glow cast a soft light on them as they moved away from the escalating voices. Arthur's features softened as he whispered reassuring words to Jack, his gaze filled with warmth and understanding.

Kate fell into step beside them, unable to tear her eyes away from the sight of Arthur's caring demeanor. Despite his gruff reputation, she sensed a depth of compassion that drew her in, melting away the rough edges.

As they approached Lorena, her mare nickered in recognition, sensing familiar company. Kate reached out, her hand running over the sleek mane of the horse affectionately. Before she could retrieve her brush from the saddlebag, Jack, nestled in Arthur's arms, spoke up with innocent curiosity.

"Does she like it when you sing her lullabies?" His voice was small and earnest.

Kate's smile softened at the question. "Yes, she does. It helps calm her down and makes her feel safe, knowing I'm right here to sing her to sleep," she replied, her voice warm with affection for the horse.

Jack looked up at her, a hint of sadness in his tone. "Mama used to sing me lullabies, but she says I'm too old for them now."

Arthur chuckled softly, his hand rubbing Jack's back comfortingly. "Well, you ain't a baby anymore, Jack. Yer gettin’ older and bigger," he reassured him.

Kate's gaze lingered on Jack as Arthur cradled him in his arms. It felt like a hundred months had passed since she held her own child, since she last sang a lullaby. A pang of longing swept through her. She understood Abigail's perspective—Jack was nearly five years old—but in that moment, Kate would have given anything to sing to her baby again, no matter the age.

Jack's eyes met hers, his innocence shining through. "Can you sing me a lullaby, Auntie Kate?"

Her heart swelled with warmth as she nodded in response. Jack reached out his small arms towards her, and without hesitation, Kate embraced him.

Arthur glanced at Kate, a hint of uncertainty in his eyes. He trusted her, but he didn't want to burden her with his nephew's needs. He had already come to terms with taking responsibility for the young child.

"Kate, ya don't have to—" Arthur began.

But Kate interrupted gently, reaching out to take Jack into her arms. "I don't mind at all, Arthur," she said sincerely, her voice warm with compassion.

Kate hadn't held a child since she laid her own in a dark casket with her father. The familiar weight of a child on her hip, his breath against her neck as he nestled his head on her shoulder, brought a mix of comfort and grief. She pushed the painful memories down, focusing on the present moment with Jack in her arms.

Arthur watched with a mixture of admiration and tenderness as Kate held his nephew, her cheek resting against Jack's head. As her eyes closed and she began to sway gently on her feet, rocking him as if he were a newborn, Arthur couldn't help but imagine what she must have been like as a mother—devoted, kind, and filled with love.

Kate started singing softly, her voice carrying a soothing melody into the quiet evening air.

When I was young, younger than before. I never saw the truth hanging from the door,

Now I’m older, see it face to face. Now I’m older, gotta get up, clean the place. 

I was green, greener than the hill. Where the flowers grew and the sun shown still. 

Now I’m darker than the deepest sea, just hand me down, give me a place to be.

I was strong, strong in the sun, I thought I’d see when the day was done.

Now I’m weaker than the palest blue. Oh, so weak in this need for you. 

Arthur studied her features in the soft moonlight, savoring every detail—the graceful movement of her lips as she sang, the way her hair danced in the night breeze. Kate's gentle circles on Jack's back gradually lulled him to sleep, his breathing slowing, arms going limp around her neck. A smile touched Kate's lips, and she continued to hum softly, ensuring Jack remained nestled in slumber.

As Kate swayed, Arthur felt something profound stir within him, a warmth he had never experienced. It was as though her presence kindled a fire in his heart, leading him closer to her warmth. In her company, he felt alive, radiant like the earth basking under the sun, humming with a joyful tune from the lips of a woman. For the first time in years, he began to reflect on all the moments he had missed with his own woman and child. 

Kate ceased her humming, her closed eyes and furrowed brow revealing the depth of her emotions. She released a shaky breath before speaking softly to Arthur, her voice laced with vulnerability. "When I held my baby girl for the first time, I saw her future branching out before me. Every possibility filled with something wonderful"

Arthur closed the distance between them, as if to shield her from the memories that still haunted her. Kate nestled her cheek against Jack's head, her voice trembling with unspoken sorrow. "I could have been a good mother," she whispered.

Gently, Arthur brushed his thumb across her cheek, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Kate's eyes fluttered open at his touch, reflecting the moonlight like shimmering pools of emotion. They held unshed tears, a testament to her resilience and the burdens she carried. Despite life's hardships, she fought to maintain her kindness, a quality that only deepened Arthur's admiration.

Moved by the connection between them, Arthur closed the final gap, his lips meeting hers in a silent embrace. The kiss was soft yet filled with unspoken longing, a gentle affirmation of the feelings blossoming between them. The world around them seemed to fade as they shared this intimate moment, each touch and breath carrying the weight of unspoken words and shared emotions.

Kate removed her hand from gently rubbing circles on Jack's back, finding a new warmth against Arthur's cheek. She tilted her face, deepening their kiss as Arthur's arm wound around her waist, drawing her closer. He smelled of moonshine and tobacco, a scent that mingled with the smoky air of the campfire.

As their mouths met, Kate sighed softly, feeling their connection deepen with each tender touch. Arthur's heart raced within his chest, the world around him blurring as if the only anchor to reality was the sensation of her lips against his. Her tongue brushed against his, a silent invitation for more.

Just as the kiss intensified, Jack stirred in his sleep, breaking Arthur from the spell. Reluctantly, he pulled back, his breath slightly labored, a silent turmoil brewing within him.

"Sorry," Arthur murmured, his voice tinged with a mix of desire and uncertainty. "I, um,” he hesitated, “I-I should take Jack back to his ma."

Kate nodded, her eyes reflecting a shared hesitation. "Of course," she replied softly, gently handing the boy back to his uncle.

Arthur carefully settled Jack more securely in his arms. He offered Kate a tender smile, though his eyes betrayed a hint of inner conflict. "G’night, Kate," he said, his voice a mixture of warmth and unease.

"Goodnight, Arthur," she replied, her tone gentle yet tinged with an unspoken question.

With a last lingering glance, Arthur turned and made his way toward Abigail and John's tent, Jack's form cradled protectively against him. As he disappeared into the shadows, Kate stood by her sleepy mare, her heart echoing the silent uncertainty that had clouded the moment.

Later that night, Arthur lay awake on his cot, the memory of their kiss haunting his thoughts. Moonlight filtered through the canvas, casting ghostly shadows around him. The scent of campfire smoke lingered on his clothes, a tangible reminder of the evening's events.

Arthur couldn't shake the yearning that had blossomed between him and Kate, nor the underlying unease that accompanied it. The fleeting intimacy they shared left him grappling with doubts about the future, and more importantly, about himself. He cared deeply for Kate, admired her resilience and kindness, yet the complexities of their lives and the dangers they faced loomed like shadows in his mind. 

His own truth ached to be revealed, how he longed to tell her about his own son, but the guilt and shame he carried with the memories clouded all means of opening up. Kate missed her family dearly, that much was painfully obvious to him. He feared if she knew the truth about him, she wouldn’t see him the same. He too had a family once, and his own recklessness cost them their lives. He feared she would not forgive him for being so careless. 

Lost in contemplation, Arthur sighed heavily, his thoughts drifting back to Kate's soft lips and the warmth of her touch. He couldn't deny the pull he felt toward her, a desire for connection amidst the chaos of his existence.

In the quiet solitude of his tent, Arthur wrestled with conflicting emotions, uncertain of what lay ahead for them. The night stretched on, filled with unanswered questions and the restless beating of his heart. He reached for his journal, its leather cover worn and familiar, and opened it to a blank page.

With a sketching pencil in hand, he drew an image from memory—the sight of Kate cradling Jack against her cheek. Underneath the tender sketch, he penned his thoughts:

Kate has a way about her that makes a man feel alive. She’s fierce, and she's kind. She’s strong and she’s passionate. She’s utterly beautiful. And she’s too sweet for me. 

I kissed her tonight, I don’t really know why. The way she was singin’ and cradlin’ little Jack, it made me think of Eliza and Isaac. For the first time in years, I thought about all the moments I missed because I was off being a fool instead of a father. 

I see things still haven't changed. You’ll always be a fool Morgan.

I think I’m falling for Kate. I just hope she can let me down easy. Maybe I’ll just close my eyes on the way down. 

Closing his eyes, Arthur tried to still his restless thoughts. He imagined Kate's smile, the curve of her cheek as she cradled Jack, the warmth of her presence against him. The weight of his feelings tugged at him like an anchor, both comforting and disquieting.

With a heavy sigh, Arthur surrendered to the embrace of exhaustion. The world around him faded into darkness, and for a fleeting moment, his turbulent heart found respite in the realm of dreams.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x original female character #arthur morgan x reader #dutch van der linde #fluff #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #angst #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #journal #archive of our own #fanfiction #fanfic #eventual smut #eventual romance #mutual pining #kisses #john marston #abigail marston #hosea matthews #jack marston #ao3 link #red dead fandom #red dead redemption community #x reader #hurt/comfort #angst with a happy ending #arthur morgan x oc #oc x canon

[bg-brainrot]

WHaBFHtLA - Astarion x GN!Reader - Chapter 16: More than Friends Pt. 2

Pairing: Astarion x GN!Reader (Elf!Tav)

Genre: Reincarnation, Angst, Mystery, Slow burn

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Tags: Gender-Neutral Pronouns, POV Second Person, Canon-Typical Violence, death mentions/violence, a metric shit ton of exposition, lots of feelings

WC: 7.9k words, 16/?? chapters

Summary: After talking through the previous night's tryst, emotions are confused, pasts are divulged, and everything comes to a head when your heart and soul want different things.

A/N: I know I put this warning in ch 1, but warning that the smut is always going to be more about their ~feelings~ than actual smut, so like, be forewarned and don’t expect too much 🔥!

Ao3 | [Ch15][Ch17] | WHaBFHtLA Masterlist

You wake up for your eighteenth day with Astarion noting the distinct lack of Astarion at your side.

Where he had been laying last night, you only see the vague outline of his shape in the sheets. The sight is enough to sink your stomach to the ground as the morning clarity hits.

Gods below, why did we do that? you think to yourself, gripping your face between your hands.

It had been too much too fast. Everything had happened so quickly, so desperately, that you can’t recall anything outside of his single-minded drive to devour you. You yourself had been in such a frenzy to forget, that you haven’t the faintest how Astarion might be feeling right now.

You knew going into this that he might never feel any love for you at all, romantic or otherwise– That was a risk you had been willing to take. Last night was just another risk you had been willing to take... Right?

But hells are you afraid that that risk came at the cost of all of your efforts thus far. You're a grown adult, you made your choice in the heat of the moment, but is it so bad that you regret it in the stark light of day?

And what a moment it had been– like nothing mattered except feeling alive in his arms. It was enough for you to lose yourself, feel like someone you weren’t and could never be. But you fear that it's gone a step too far this time. You hadn't even determined if you loved the man. Did you?

You sit with that question for a few minutes, staring off into space.

Eventually your stomach grumbles, and, after not having eaten at all the day before, you know you need to get up.

What am I going to say to him? you wonder, getting out of bed and heading to your wardrobe. You notice the previous day’s robes strewn across the floor haphazardly and your mind swims with images of last night.

What if he regrets it completely? Am I ready for that? you think, trying your best to shove down all images of his beautiful pale face, shiny with sweat and overexertion.

Your body aches and you notice marks from Astarion's bruising lips littering your body in trails– yet more proof of what you'd done. Will he even want to talk to me?

Dressed, spells readied, and stomach screaming for relief, you leave your room for the kitchen. You decide that if Astarion joins you, you won't avoid him, but you're not quite prepared to seek him out just yet.

When you open your door, you find the man waiting for you, leaning against the opposite wall with a book in hand.

The book snaps closed. "Good morning," he says, a cheery tone betraying none of his real emotions. "Mortal meal time is it?"

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak. 

The air is awkward, the previous night all but playing on loop in your head as you follow him to the kitchen. Astarion's posture remains straight, his eyes forward as he walks, and you wonder what he's thinking. If his thoughts are as lurid as your own.

The silence continues as you enter the kitchen.

It persists even as you prepare your meal.

You sit down after putting together your breakfast, unsure if you should be the one to break the silence or he should be.

After what feels like an eternity, he does so. “That was a mistake, wasn’t it?”

You knew this was a possibility. That Astarion wasn’t in his right mind when faced with loss. But it still doesn’t make your insides churn any less. It doesn’t twist your heart any less. “It might have been,” is all you can offer in response, distracting yourself with a spoonful of eggs.

Astarion considers you for a moment, as if he hadn't expected you to agree that easily. He clears his throat and continues, “We just were caught up in the moment.”

“We were,” you offer numbly, thinking of how the moment practically picked you up and threw you over its shoulder– at the very least of how Astarion threw your leg over his shoulder.

He watches you shuffle the eggs about your plate, waiting for you to say more. When you don't, he sighs and continues, “I was mad and I took it out on you. Mind you, I am still quite upset at you.”

Oh good, you think. Not only is he crushing every piece of my heart, but he’s also planning to blame himself and lecture me. You only focus on the blame, “You didn’t do anything of the sort.”

You don’t look up to see his expression, but if his tone is any indication, he’s getting frustrated. “I think we need some time to sort out… well, all of this. Should we take some time apart today?”

“Perhaps," you say, finally looking up from your plate to see his rich red eyes as conflicted as you feel currently. You half expect him to protest his own suggestion, to change his mind, for something to happen here–but it doesn't. He simply scoots his chair back.

“To be entirely honest, I don’t really want to.” He chuckles humorlessly as he gets up. “I’ve gotten quite… used to you being around. Though I don’t suppose ‘used to you’ is what you want to hear?”

“Not particularly,” you admit, though you're not certain what you do want to hear either.

He gives an uncomfortable nod and turns away from you. “I shall see you later then?”

“You shall,” you agree. You find that you don’t have a lot of words for him– Nothing that would make either of you feel better at least. All you do find is an ache deep in your chest, an ache comprised of regret and fear.

That's how you finish the rest of your breakfast alone, lost in thoughts ranging from the feel of his tongue tracing your body to how royally everything has gone to the Nine Hells.

You spend the rest of the day holed up in your room, practicing your magic, cursing yourself for falling into such a vulnerable position. To destroy everything you'd built with Astarion with your weakness was a sin you may never fully atone for.

__

On your nineteenth day in the house, you expect Astarion to avoid you again. After all, for you a single day apart had only led you deeper and deeper into a pit of guilt.

For Astarion, one day was clearly more than enough.

"Good morning, darling," he says, as you open your door. Unlike yesterday's cheer, this one seems genuine. "Right as rain now, aren't we?"

You raise an eyebrow at him, sure that you don’t look right as rain. You likely look like someone who couldn’t fall into their reverie all night and subsequently spent it cleaning clothes, foot by foot, with the Prestidigitation cantrip. “Are we?” you ask him, disbelieving.

“I certainly am,” Astarion says with a fanged smile. “I’ve taken some time to myself. To, ugh, think about things.” He gives a dramatic little eye roll, but you note a gulp run down his throat– he’s nervous.

Gods above, you think. This is it. The final blow he delivers as he tells me to leave and never return.

“While I won’t lie and say something saccharine about how much I love you, I think I know what I can do,” he says, giving you a sad, anxious little smile. “Can I come in?”

You nod, surprised at the turn in conversation. Why is he so nervous? You allow him past you into the room. Trying your best not to think about the last time Astarion was in this room, you follow. 

Luckily, you’ve cleaned the room thoroughly, folded all of your robes, even laid the Sending Stone on top for its return to Dalyria. If you didn’t know any better, nothing at all happened in this room a few nights ago. You sit on your bed, turn to him, and say, “So what exactly did you have in mind?”

"Yes, well, I've decided I know what I need to do to help me… move on," he says, expression uncertain despite his words. You distantly recall a memory of Astarion and your past-self making love on his grave, and you're momentarily horrified at what his idea might be. Seeing the look on your face, he clicks his tongue and says, "Stop that. Whatever you're imagining is certainly not it."

“Okay,” you start, moving over on the bed to make room for him, patting it as an invitation. “What did you have in mind?”

Astarion takes the spot next to you and says, “I think I need to tell you how your past-life died. To… process it in a way.”

You think you must have heard him wrong. Surely he isn’t about to answer the question you’d asked him nearly two weeks ago, the one that all but stabbed him in the heart? But he is, because he looks at you, eyes clouded over with sadness and perhaps a few tears. You can feel the determination in his gaze.

“I would really appreciate that,” you respond, honestly, but not too eagerly. “Whatever you can tell me.”

He settles in and you see his mouth work, as if tasting the words on his tongue before he commits to them. Eventually he says, “They died an early death, as you know.”

You know, but you also don’t plan on rushing this conversation, so you nod along. You debate holding his hand as a means of support, but decide against it, simply leaving your hand between you in case he needs it.

“They were… getting something,” he continues, and you can feel the hesitation as he gets the words out, red eyes darting toward you and away again. You can’t help but wonder how much of your day apart he’d spent trying to prepare for this. How much pain he had rehashed to try to right things between you.

“What were they getting?” you ask, tentatively. Something about the way he holds back makes you wonder if it’s because he finds it difficult to talk about or because he simply doesn’t want to offer the information.

“Does it matter?” Astarion replies, with a little wave of his hand. “All that matters is that they wanted it more than anything. Certainly more than I did.”

His voice turns bitter toward the end, and you regret prodding. Perhaps, at least while he opens up, you shouldn’t tread any further than necessary. All you can do is keep the conversation flowing and take a step back as Astarion explains. “They went to go get this… thing then?”

“Naturally,” he says with a sigh. “Where we were– you’re familiar with necromantic magic I presume?”

“Yes.” It’s certainly not your area of expertise, but you've studied it well enough. 

“We were in a place filled with it.” His voice grows distant, gaze settling somewhere in the far corner of the room as he recalls the events of the day. “Normally, it wouldn’t bother me– undead and all. But it chilled us both to our very bones. I wanted to turn back. We should have turned back.”

You hear the regret plain as day. The words he’s not saying, I should have convinced them. 

Astarion’s voice is flat as he continues, “But they insisted.”

“Of course,” you say, remembering your dreams. They had prepared. They had researched. Surely they wouldn’t have turned back at the eleventh hour. “They thought they could do it.”

He snorts and turns his head back to you. “I always end up with fools, don’t I?” You try not to let your heart thrill at the idea that you’re the other fool. “Yes, they did. And I… I got mad. I left them on their own. Maybe they would still be alive if I had stayed with them.”

There it is again, the regret. You wish you could clean the slate, wipe away whatever poisonous thoughts have burrowed into his mind in the past 150 years. But such is easier wished than done. “You might both have died.”

“Would that have been so bad?” he mutters a bit too pensively for your comfort. You want to respond, but he continues before you can, “I’m but a selfish man, darling. I’m not above resting on my laurels. I grew complacent. They never did.”

You can’t imagine they would– find it hard to imagine yourself growing complacent either, but you could hardly say so to Astarion. “So… what happened after you left them?”

A shaky breath. “They went off on their own to find what they wanted. By the time I heard their call for help, I was too late to make it back.” He drops his eyes to the floor before you, and you’re left unsure what to do, what to say. You recall your dream, his panicked cries as he searched for you, and you can’t help but get lost in the memory yourself.

“I dreamt that,” you finally say. “I heard you coming for me, but I couldn’t move, could barely breathe. I had no idea what was happening to me.”

“It was a trap,” he says as a way of explanation. “A Cloudkill that overtook the entire room. The doors locked, there was no leaving, no healing. By the time I managed to find them and get in, they were….”

They were practically dead already, your mind supplies easily. You want to say sorry, but how could you apologize? You know who they were, he knows who they were– their death wasn’t something Astarion could have prevented, any more than they could have forced him to do something he didn’t want to. So you don’t apologize, merely put a hand over his and squeeze.

He seems to appreciate the gesture, squeezing your hand back, lifting his head a bit, and continuing, “They told me to get out and I did. Maybe it was cowardice, maybe it was survival instinct.” He shakes his head, looking at your intertwined hands. “But if I hadn’t gotten out when they told me to, I likely would have died too.”

“Thank you,” you say. “For listening to them.”

He smiles at you, sadly, before continuing his tale. “I went back to retrieve them after disabling the traps, but it was too late to Revivify and the body was too damaged for Raise Dead. The necromantic magic ran deep– even Gale had no idea on how to counteract it.”

You wonder where they possibly could have been that even an archmage like Gale didn’t know what to do. And what in the hells could have been so important that they sought out such a place?

“I’m so sorry. You did all that you could,” you say, knowing full well that platitudes were meaningless when faced with such a loss. You hope they are some kind of comfort to him anyway.

Astarion’s cold hand leaves yours as he turns his whole body to face you on the bed. “No, I didn’t.“ His expression is hard as he continues, voice filled with anger, “I should have fought them. I should have assured them we didn’t need to be there. And if I wasn’t enough for them, I should have made myself enough for them.”

He looks to be on the verge of tears, eyes lined in pink, moisture pooling at the corners. You had already struggled to find the words before, but in the face of his real, physical pain, you are left speechless, as if your throat is filled with sand.

You’re suddenly reminded of one of the reveries you’d had all those years ago– of how your former self couldn’t stop weeping after witnessing Astarion’s heartache and pain upon killing Cazador. Again, it’s as if his pain is your pain, and you can feel rivulets of tears begin to spill down your cheeks. “Astarion…”

The vampire is surprised to see your tears, his red eyes opening wide as he reaches out to cup your face. “Darling, please don’t cry,” he begs, thumbing away each tear as it begins to drop.

You would stop crying if you had any sort of control over these tears, but you don’t. Your heart aches for him, for his grief. More than anything, you wish you could take the pain away. 

An ill-timed thought flits through your mind, asking you the question, so you do love him?

You haven’t the time to ponder it, because Astarion is frantically trying to distract you, his own tears dry before they even touch his cheeks. “I’m sorry, I thought that this would be helpful. It’s been a bit of a disaster, hasn’t it?”

You shake your head, still trapped between his hands. “No, I’m sorry. I–I didn’t mean to–” your voice comes out thick with tears and you swallow to collect yourself. “I didn’t mean to derail you, I just–” You just what? Care for him? Worse yet, love him? The words die on your lips and you simply shake your head again.

Astarion takes your silence as something else entirely. “You have no need to apologize. You’re right. I don’t have the right to blame myself. I suppose it’s easier than facing the alternative.”

You wipe away your last lingering tears and look at him intently. “The alternative?” you can’t help but ask, unsure of where Astarion’s mind is heading.

“That nothing I could have done would have mattered. That our love alone could simply never be enough,” he says, dropping his hands from your face. He looks at you with a miserable, wry smile, a smile hiding decades worth of pain.

You want to say, no, that that could never be the case. That their love was present until their very dying breath. But they’re all statements you’ve said before, statements that Astarion couldn’t and wouldn’t believe. So instead you ask him, “Why would you think that?”

“Because they were misguided,” he answers, his smile dropping a smidge. “They thought that they always needed to… help. They thought they were helping, but couldn’t see beyond that. I didn’t want their help, I just wanted them.”

His words have a beautiful, painful honesty to them, and you wonder if he’s ever said them aloud to anyone before. You would consider yourself lucky to have heard them, if only it wasn’t your soul that caused them. “I know it doesn’t mean much coming from me,” you begin, gauging his expression as you speak. “But I could feel their love for you in every dream. It was their love for you that brought me here.” In your mind you think, It’s their love for you that confuses my own feelings, even still.

Astarion looks at you, eyes soft as he absorbs your words. “Yes. I know that deep down somewhere, I suppose.” Then, after one more shaky breath, he stands up. “Well, that’s enough of that. That was utterly exhausting, wasn’t it?” he says with a laugh.

“Are we… done?” you ask, getting up after him. You still had so many questions, so many pieces of the puzzle were still missing.

He simply looks back at you with pursed lips and says, “What did you expect? A full reenactment? Gods darling, I’m talented, but not that talented.”

You blink at him, all but frozen in place as you debate what to do. You can’t push him of course. Not only would it not be right, but you find that you don’t want to. He’s relived enough of his past today. But you also can’t let this lie while so many truths are still buried, waiting for you to uncover them.

I need to send a message to Dal tonight, arrange a meeting with her , you think. I’ll do it while Astarion is asleep. After all, what’s one more sleepless night for a scholar like yourself?

You finally follow after Astarion, as he already speaks of your plans for the day. He asks you what you’ll be having for breakfast, you answer casually. You’re surprised by how easily you go on about your day, almost forgetting what happened between you.

Of course, you can’t forget entirely. Every once in a while you catch his eye and a blush runs up your neck, or your hands brush and you jolt back as if you’d been hit by a Shocking Grasp– but he seems no different and life continues.

You even manage to give him a bit of blood, by the wrist again, after insisting you’re well enough. He only drinks a bit and complains the entire time that you’re too weak for it. So when you’re left a little woozy and lightheaded, you try your best to pretend otherwise. In the end, the two of you spend the day rather leisurely, reading and chatting, acting as if nothing transpired between you at all.

Maybe, just maybe, everything wasn’t ruined. Maybe you could move on with the remainder of your time here, then figure out what to do going forward.

Your heart hurts and you know that you haven’t put all of your issues to rest, but the peace is welcome so you embrace it.

That night you send Dal a message using a Sending spell, “Hi Dal, it’s me. It’s time we talked. Can you come over while Astarion is in his reverie?”

Her response is succinct, “Yes, I’ll stay up. Let me know when, and I shall head over.”

__

It’s technically your twentieth day in the house when Dal quietly slips through the illusory wall, tiptoes past Astarion, and makes her way to you.

You wait for her, holding your breath the entire time, lest Astarion wake up in a fury. You’d hoped that he would eventually be more amenable to your meeting with Dal, but after learning more about your previous death, you suspect that that may not be the case.

Dal meets you in the hallway, and you head to your room together. Once inside, you both exhale the breaths you had been holding.

“Thank you so much for meeting me, Dal,” you say, leading her to sit on the couch before the hearth. “And thank you for tending to my wounds after that fight.”

She shakes her head at you and takes a seat. “No, thank you. I knew you would help us, regardless of whatever Astarion said. I’m just sorry you got hurt at all.”

You smile at her in response, glad that she understands how much you care. “Think nothing of it. I’m only sorry I didn’t prepare more appropriately for the situation. But I suppose we can blame Astarion for that.”

You both chuckle at the man’s expense, understanding his stubborn, rash nature easily. It’s almost as if you’re laughing with an old friend. Perhaps you were old friends, seeing as your previous life’s relationship with her is why you asked her to meet you.

She looks at you with a warm smile, and you suspect she probably feels similarly. I guess she was something of a sister-in-law, wasn’t she? you think. You dare not say it aloud though.

“So,” you begin, folding your hands together in your lap. “From what I understand, you worked with my past-self on… something. I’ll confess, I don’t have any details. But I want to help the colony as much as I did in my past-life, could you shed some light on what we were working on?”

“I’m happy to help,” Dal says. “Though I’m not entirely sure where to start.”

“Maybe with my death?” you hazard. “Astarion was… evasive.”

“He spoke of it?” she says, surprise coloring both her tone and expression.

You nod. “He gave me a few details, but he wasn’t very clear at moments. I could tell he was avoiding something.”

Dal looks down sadly, her lips pressed together in a worried line. “It makes sense. Astarion blames himself for your death, as you may have guessed.” She wrings her hands together for a moment before continuing “For separating from you, for letting you take on the burden that he feels should have been his.”

“But why should it have been his?” you ask, pleadingly. “I know I loved you all. And beyond that, I could tell, it was somehow for him as well.”

“He never saw it that way,” she says, shaking her head. “Regardless, I’m glad he spoke to you of it, even if he wasn’t the most forthcoming.”

You thought as much when he spoke to you, that it was likely the first time in over a hundred years he’d uttered those words. It was a privilege you wouldn’t take lightly, and, despite what he may believe, why you needed to talk to Dal. “So, let’s start at the beginning then. What was my mission with Astarion?”

“Right,” Dal says, looking up at you with determination. She’s certainly sad, she must have loved you dearly, but unlike Astarion, she also seems to have overcome her grief. Her words come out factual, practical. “You were on a mission to an ancient wizard’s tower to find a means to make some sort of enhanced sunlight rings– ones specifically for vampires– that would be able to quell our thirst for blood.”

“That… exists?”

“Truth be told, we weren’t sure,” she says, furrowing her brows somewhat apologetically. “It was all but a myth. However with 7000 spawn to feed and a giant target on our backs as a result, we were open to finding anything.”

Gods, that would… that would have solved so many problems. Not only would the spawn not have to worry about their ever-present hunger, but they might not even have been seen as a threat anymore. They could have even lived normal lives in the city, not hiding in the Underdark for survival.

But it all sounds too good, the spawn aren’t running about the city, and Dal's use of past tense doesn't bode well to you. “Was it a myth after all of that?”

“Well, the wizard turned out to be a necromancer." Ah, one of the bad ones, you can't help but think. "One who was obsessed with undead, vampires included. He’d clearly done a lot of research on vampirism and we were able to find some of his notes and journals on your… erm, body.” You can tell she’s uncomfortable speaking of you as if you’re dead, but she also can’t seem to separate you from your past self.

“Oh, that’s great then. Isn’t it?” you say, head perking up as you sense a puzzle just waiting for you to solve it. “Have you reached an impasse on figuring out his notes? I could help–”

She interrupts you before you can get too far. “It seems that his research, his secret formula or what have you– it was all useless, hocus pocus from a demented wizard. Sorry, no offense.”

“None taken.” I think. “Could they have been in code or something like that?”

"We took the notes to Gale once and he didn't see any rhyme or reason to them. Just another part of why Astarion was so mad. It felt like you sacrificed yourself for nothing."

The words sit between you for a moment. Had they sacrificed themself for nothing? They still had believed in their mission, even in their dying moments. You're sure of it.

You break the silence between you, “So… when you met me down in the cells, why did you want my help?”

“Because that can't have been it. I refuse to believe that that's how it ends," she says, with a fervor you hadn't expected from her. "Myself and the rest of my siblings, we’re still hopeful. We can’t keep living like this forever– you’ve seen the situation. We can’t hunt or we’ll risk exposing ourselves. We can’t defend ourselves without making ourselves out to be an even bigger threat. We’ve been surviving for the past several centuries. We would like to live.”

You nod vehemently, recalling the hunger you saw, the very conflict you were in just a few days ago. “I understand. What can I do to help then?”

“Well, maybe it's too hopeful, but I always thought there might be something in here. Right?” She reaches into her bag and pulls out a massive stack of papers, notebooks, journals, diagrams. "Maybe you left us something. Something that would help us figure it out, or set us on our next steps. You knew more than any of us by the end of your life. We couldn’t piece it all together, but if you have the memories… maybe you can.”

The stack grows as Dal continues to add papers atop it, and your nerves tingle with excitement. “What is all of this?”

“It’s your old research. Every note you took, every time you tried to design a ring or an alternative solution for us. I made sure Astarion couldn’t burn it or bury it.” She smiles at you proudly, and you're certain your mouth is agape.

You’re baffled. This was practically your life's work– such a big part of your life that is just completely missing from your memories. “How is it that I never learned about this in my reveries?"

"Perhaps you didn’t understand it. We spoke in code, wrote in code. The risk of being associated with a dark myth about vampirism was only liable to get the colony caught. As a result, only a handful of us were involved.” She ponders for a second. "Really just my siblings, yourself, and Gale."

You take the papers and start to sift through them, unable to read much of anything. Still, you know the enormity of this gift, can feel a thrill run up your spine at the sight of familiar handwriting. “This is amazing,” you say. "But how am I to read it all?"

The woman hands you a slip of blank paper. "This is a cipher. You can activate it using a light source. Memorize it, then burn it once you're done."

Turning the blank paper in your hand, you want more than anything to light it now, start to work, but you carefully tuck it in your bag for use later. "Thank you," you say with a slight bow to your head. “I don't know what I might uncover that you haven't already, but I'll try my best with the time I have left here…" You try not to think of your dwindling window of opportunity and instead focus on the task at hand.

This is a chance. A way to help those in need and, as much as Astarion has resisted, help him as well. He may not be starving like some of the spawn, he may have a life of relative ease, but you've seen the hunger in his eyes, the way that his tongue runs over his fangs absentmindedly. If this is something you can do for him, you would stop at nothing to do it.

You're in the midst of flipping through parchment when Dal pulls you back to the present, "We've continued our research, of course. Leon and I have searched for anything: something that could help blood be more filling, something that could store or duplicate blood. It's been fruitless."

You nod, familiar with how difficult blood magic could be, an area of necromancy that could lead to dark places if not handled with care. You try not to think of the types of things that could have gone wrong with that research and instead focus on what you can do going forward. "I don't blame you all, anything is worth a shot," you say. "Anything you could share might be helpful. And… I know you said they were worthless, but do you have the demented necromancer’s notes in here too?”

She seems hesitant, but still reaches down and pulls out another set of notes from her bag. They look horrendous, drenched in blood that could very well be yours, and nothing but a light scrawl on razor thin parchment. From a glance, you suspect it may not be made of paper. “This is all that we found on you.”

“Wow," you say, taking the notes gingerly from her. "These are…"

"Yes, they're… something," she finishes with a grimace.

You place them carefully on your stack, not sure how you'll be able to read them through the blood stains, but you'll figure it out. "Thank you, Dal," you say, truly grateful to have answers, to have a piece of the puzzle finally fall into place.

It seems like you're set– everything Dal has bestowed upon you sits waiting for your curious eyes, and she seems pleased to have delivered the cache. The woman begins to stand up, prepared to leave you to it, when a thought strikes her.

“One more thing…" she begins, a bit cautiously. "You should consider, erm, ‘obtaining’ Rhapsody.”

You recall Astarion’s begrudging safekeeping of it, and you wonder if Dal might be part of that. “Um, I'm happy to try, but why?”

“We didn’t get much from the notes, but we did gather that the necromancer thought that the blood from a vampire lord was important. It might be worth having," she explains.

You blink at her, confused. “Not to diminish your request, Dal. But the blade isn’t exactly blood."

Dalyria gives you a slight chuckle, shaking her head. "Gods, sometimes I forget you aren't them," she says. You're not certain how that makes you feel, but your heart does ache a bit at the words. “Scarlet Remittance, the dagger’s ability, absorbs life essence. The last person who the blade killed was Cazador Szarr.”

“I see," you say, thinking about the dream you'd witnessed for the second time today, vividly imagining when Rhapsody drove through the bastard's chest. If Astarion's act of vengeance had any role in solving the spawn's situation, you would steal the blade one way or another.

She turns to leave again, when a thought strikes you this time. You get up in a rush to pick up the item you'd borrowed from her during the defense of the colony.

“Don’t forget this!” you say, holding out the Sending Stone. You suspect that she needs it far more than you do.

She takes it gratefully, nodding at you. “Thank the gods, I'm glad I don't have to take another trip up that ladder for this!"

Then you watch her go, quietly pondering all that you’ve learned today.

You remember your own years of research, about past lives that linger after a great regret. This is it, you think, staring at the stack before you. They left this unfinished and it's up to you to complete it. Or at the very least figure out what they left behind and set the spawn on a path forward. The problem is, you haven't the faintest where to start.

I suppose I should start with the cipher, you think with a loud yawn. Though maybe I should wait until I'm less exhausted to learn it…

So you hide all of the paperwork in your Bag of Holding and head to bed, hoping to rest at least a bit before Astarion arrives to wake you up.

As you lay in bed and try to trance, you think about your past self. They had given every bit of themselves to trying to improve the spawn's situation, to their very last. You understand Astarion’s anger at them a bit better now, but that doesn’t stop the righteous fury in your heart. I need to help the spawn. They don’t deserve the kind of life that Cazador burdened them with. I won’t let them spend another lifetime in the darkness.

You only wish that your past self had shared more useful memories, like what to do with the recipe or any further leads. But you think you understand your dreams a bit better now. They needed to guide you to Astarion, to care for him as much as they did, to want to finish their goal as badly as they did or all of that information wouldn't matter. Well you’re here now. And gods do you care.

As your reverie takes you that night, you don’t dream of the Hero’s LIfe, much to your disappointment. You’re back in the forge, hammering away on an anvil, muscles aching and temperament steady. It would likely also help you for the days ahead.

__

When you actually awaken for your twentieth day in the house, you’re still tired. 

Astarion knocks on the door at your usual hour, and your shortened reverie leaves you sluggish and gaunt.

"Did I drink too much from you yesterday?" the vampire asks, giving you a once over. 

"No, I just couldn't get much sleep," you respond, trudging after him to the kitchen.

"Well, I'm going to need you to liven up a bit, we have work to do today," he says, holding open the door to the kitchen.

"Work?" You set about preparing your breakfast, trying to ignore how much your eyes burn.

"Yes, darling. Someone, I won't name names, has destroyed a substantial portion of the keep," he looks at you pointedly and you try to dodge his gaze. "Now that you've had your rest, we need to pivot our expansion plans to be repair plans."

You nod, thinking of all of the other work you'd rather be doing. Work which Astarion likely shouldn't find out about. "Very well, I'll pull myself together. I just need some breakfast."

That's how, as much as the Bag of Holding burns at your side with the secrets it holds, you spend your day alongside Astarion. 

The two of you continue with the same rapport you had yesterday, as you continue to try to ignore the thrills his touch sends up your spine. Despite your best efforts, you still find yourself flinching or jolting upward when his hand grazes yours. You would chalk it up to exhaustion, but it may just be your imagination working a bit too well with all of the new, salacious thoughts of Astarion you have at your disposal.

Astarion would have to be blind to miss your reactions to him. And, not one to miss out on an opportunity to tease, takes every opportunity to brush against you on ‘accident.’ Gods you wish you could go back to before his hands had touched every inch of your body. 

All the same, the day is nice– normal even, for the two of you. His teasing keeps you awake despite your lack of sleep, and by the end of it, his hands begin to linger. If you didn’t know any better, you might think that he… likes touching you. 

But you’ve already messed up enough this week, so you ignore the sensation and focus on your work. 

You finish your work too late and too tired to begin studying the cipher just yet. You vow to wake up early tomorrow morning to memorize it.

__

At the start of your twenty-first day in Astarion's house, you wake with a jolt when you hear a pounding at your door.

Rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, you sit up and call, "Astarion?"

"We need to talk. Now," he says through the door. His words come clipped.

What's gone wrong?! You think in a panic, scrambling out of bed and running to the door. Could the spawn be under attack again?

You're disheveled and breathing in huffs when you make it to the door, fear already coursing through your body. However, when you open the door Astarion doesn't look worried, he looks mad.

"Astarion?" you ask again, confused as you try to understand what's happening. Something about the way he is looking at you has you taking a step back into the room, putting space between you.

"I received a message from Dal this morning," he says, placing a hand on the doorframe and staring you down.

Did something happen with the spawn? No, why does he look upset at… me? You're not sure what could have occurred, so you ask anyway, "Is something the matter?"

"DON'T," he starts, voice raising. He catches himself, continuing in the same tight voice once more, "Don't you dare play the fool with me. You had her Sending Stone last, I saw it when I was here the other day."

Oh gods , you think, realizing the implication of his words, the connection he's clearly already made. How could I have not considered that he would have noticed the stone? It had been right there.

When you don't respond immediately, Astarion lowers his voice, a deep, unsettling calm in his tone. “You spoke with Dal then?”

“... yes," you say, looking at him head on. You won't hide from it, and who knows? Perhaps, after all of this, Astarion will understand. You just need to be honest with him, get past the initial shock.

“I suppose it wasn’t a pleasant little chat about the weather," his words are biting, forced through teeth that are all but bared at you. "What in the hells did you speak to Dal for?”

The anger building in his voice is chilling, beyond just shock. Maybe you shouldn't have been so honest…

“Cat's got your tongue?" He releases the doorframe, leaning into the room further, but never stepping in. "Or was it about the same, silly. Little. Project that your soul can't seem to let lie?" 

He punctuates each word with daggers, and you're nearly positive that there isn't any understanding to be gained here. If only you could get through to him.

Your words come out hurried, a flurry of anything you can think of to calm the situation. “Astarion, please listen. I promise that I'm not doing anything dangerous. And I understand the situation better now–”

“What did I tell you?” His voice is deadly as he cuts you off like a sharpened blade.

“You said I shouldn’t get up to anything with the spawn,” you repeat, before diving into your next slew of words. “But I thought that maybe– after we talked about it–”

“No!" he yells, taking a step toward you now. You can’t help the step you take back in response. "I told you because I wanted to be honest. I didn't want you to make the same mistakes as they did!”

“It's not a mistake," you start, pleading with him. "Not if it means that the spawn can–”

“ENOUGH!” he snaps. Even when he got mad at you for staying here or when he got mad at you in the Underdark, he’d never raised his voice like this. It was like a tidal wave had just crashed over you, leaving you soaked, pathetic, and small in its wake.

You freeze.

“I warned you.”

You can't speak, a lump catches in your throat as you try to take a breath.

“I gave you explicit boundaries and you crossed them.”

You wish you could say something, but there's nothing to argue with there.

"I held back my anger when you ignored me, followed me into danger. But this? This is too much."

"Astarion," you whisper, finding a small fraction of your voice. He's right, you've been defying his every wish since you set foot in his house. You’ve been nothing but a burden.

“I don't want anything more to do with you,” he growls, baring his teeth. “I should have known better.”

Your heart drops to the very pit of your stomach. This can't be it. Please don't let this be the end. “Please Astarion, let me explain.”

“No. This was a mistake,” he spits out. “Maybe you've always been a mistake, in your past-life and now. I was just too much of a love-struck fool to see it last time. I refuse to be made that fool again.”

“Astarion…” you whisper, swallowing past the tightness in your throat. “They loved you so much. I–"

“What? Do you 'love' me?” Astarion asks, sneering at you with all of the contempt of centuries of pain. “No. You're just like them– as soon as another pitiful little case comes along you leave, off to greener, more pathetic pastures . What good is your help? Your love? It’s worthless when you’re nothing better than an idealistic hero.”

You thought the sharp stab of his rejection was painful, but the pain of his hatred is on another level entirely. You feel like you’re suffocating, trapped in a device of your own making. Because you can’t help who you are, what soul you now feel saddled with, any more than he can change you.

Perhaps he’s right, this was wrong in every single lifetime.

“I’m sorry,” is all that you manage in the face of the complete and utter desolation that is his rancor.

“It’s too late for apologies,” he says, tone icy. “I’m done.”

With that, Astarion turns away from you. You want to call out, reach for him, pull him into your arms. But it would be a mistake, just as you've been, as your time together has been, as your feelings have been.

It’s all you can do to watch him walk away, tugging at the painful chain wrapped around your heart with every single step.

The room begins to blur, and tears begin running down your face before you're ready for them. They pool in your eyes, stain your cheeks, run down your neck. You don't bother wiping them, because another torrent will simply replace them.

You drop to the floor in sheer defeat. What am I to do now?

Sobs shake your body, and you weep silently for some time before it all catches up to you. Your hands claw at the damnably familiar rug. You’re upset of course, but, gods, are you also angry. Why won’t he listen? Why does he refuse to try anymore? And why does he refuse to understand that this was all for him?

Because he didn’t ask for this help, your mind answers. Because he was happy, and you shattered that happiness. In your past-life and in your current one.

The thought only brings the tears down faster and you’re left a sodden mess. You cry until you don’t think you have any tears left to cry– it feels as though you’ve been wrung out and laid out to dry like an old rag.

You don't see or hear Astarion for the rest of the day, but you also don't venture out of your room. Like the despondent, broken hearted ghost you are, you spend the rest of the day laying on the couch, the floor, the bed– haunting each in a cycle of sheer misery.

You're dead on your feet when you lay down for an early reverie, but you still feel the need to document the week in your journal before you meditate. It's difficult to put your emotions into writing without starting the tears again, and the entry turns out rather pathetic compared to your two previous entries:

A lot happened this week. I think I love Astarion. I also don't think it matters anymore. I've ruined everything. He hates me now and yet somehow I wouldn't change a thing. I can’t leave these spawn to centuries more of pain and hunger. What am I even supposed to do?

#astarion #astarion x tav #fanfic #astarion fic #astarion x reader #astarion fanfiction #astarion fanfic #astarion masterlist #gn reader #astarion x gn reader #astarion x gn!tav #astarion baldurs gate #bg3 astarion #when he's all but forgotten how to love again #whabfhtla #reincarnation trope #elf!tav #astarion x you

[talesofesther]

play our record, just one more time | ch 2

Eddie Munson x Reader

Series Summary: Your dreams know the sound of his voice, even if you haven’t heard it closely in years. His fingertips still tingle when they remember the feeling of your skin, like a poorly healed scar. Or, the story of how you and Eddie fell apart, and found each other again.

A/N: Slowly, the story is starting to take off, hope you like this part, let me know. <3

Masterlist | Read Part 1 here

Monday mornings had to be on the bottom of most people's list of favorite times of the week, you weren't any different, but today had to take the cake for the worst Monday morning.

First of all, you slept in; either your alarm didn't work or you turned it off and didn't realize it. It left you with just about half an hour to shower, eat breakfast, get ready, and go to work. You managed to take a poor excuse of a shower and put on the first clothes you saw in your wardrobe. All so you could eat your cereal — even if it was not what you wanted — while fixing up your hair.

You absolutely hated to start the week off like this, sometimes it felt like a bad omen. You were holding out hope for stopping by your favorite coffee shop to quickly pick up something to drink, but even that didn't happen, they were closed for renovations.

So with a scowl the size of the world on your face, you pushed open the door to Family Video, a small backpack hanging off one of your shoulders. There was sunshine right in your eyes, it reflected against the glass doors and made you squint. The bell above the door dinged when you walked in, but your eyes only adjusted to the different lighting once you were a few steps further between the rows of movies.

You could hear Steve talking to someone, his voice way too excited for this time in the morning. You looked up, one hand tucking rogue strands of hair behind your ear. Oh yeah — you froze, sneakers scratching the floor when you suddenly halted on your steps — today's the day. Because of your morning rush, you had momentarily forgotten.

Eddie was leaning on the counter, just beside the little display of snacks. His hair was pulled back in a ponytail and he was wearing the green vest of the store over his leather jacket, and he managed to look good doing it. His lips parted when his gaze landed on you, he went all tense and stiff. Steve didn't see it, too focused on happily introducing you two. But you knew Eddie, and you knew that look in his eyes and that twitch on his hands; he wanted to run.

Honestly, you weren't too far off. Seeing Eddie again after so long was similar to the feeling of waking up from a good dream and not quite remembering the ending, and as the seconds tick by, you forget more of it — it's that feeling of loss and frustration and longing — but what happened sits there in your stomach, you know it's there. That's how it felt to, after all these years, have Eddie finally looking you in the eye again.

Steve, bless him, just kept talking, big smile on his pretty face; "and she'll be the one to teach you the ropes, she's the best of us here so I promise you're in good hands. I'm sure you guys will get along perfectly." He finished, gaze moving between you and Eddie.

Robin was sitting behind them, her curious blue eyes watching you as the computer in front of her was forgotten.

Before the silence could stretch too much and prompt Steve to ask questions, you took in a steadying breath, stepping forward so you were closer. "Hey Eddie, it's… been a while." You grimaced at your own tone, wanting to dig a hole to disappear in.

Eddie's Adam’s apple went up and down as he swallowed. "Hi," he responded, the motion of his lips stretching the reddish marks on his cheek and neck. Not yet fully healed scars. You wondered where they came from, if they were the same ones you saw that day, the thought of Eddie being hurt still made you nauseous.

"Wait," Steve chuckled, pushing aside a few stacked tapes so he can lean on the counter, "you two know each other?"

"Yes."

"No."

You and Eddie said at the same time.

You let out an indignant huff and met his gaze with a raised brow; so that's how it's gonna be, huh?

Eddie had a frown on his lips. His sweet brown eyes, though colder than you remembered, twitched on the sides as if he regretted it.

"We uh- we used to share a few classes," you told Steve, who was looking more puzzled by the minute, "that's all." You finished, then excused yourself to the back room with something between a grimace and a smile so you could let go of your backpack and put on your work vest — but in truth, you just desperately needed to breathe.

You roughly pushed open the door making the old hinges creak. Your bag was thrown somewhere on the left corner before you leaned back on the shelves, knocking over a few newly released tapes that still needed to be put on display. The back of your head bumped the shelf when you looked up, sighing audibly, "fuck."

"I'm definitely sensing some tension here."

Robin's voice made you jump, you didn't even hear her following you or coming in. She sat down on a wooden box, raising an inquisitive eyebrow at you.

You groaned; "no tension to be sensed, Robs."

"Oh yeah, totally," she hummed, leaning her elbows on her knees, "what's the story?"

"There is no story, Robin, like I said, we just shared some classes," you shrugged, avoiding her eyes because you knew she would see right through the lie.

"Eddie is as pale as a vampire out there and you're hiding in the back cursing the wind, that doesn't look like 'just a few classes' to me." Robin made air quotes as she spoke and stood up, reaching out to take both of your hands on hers.

You dropped your head on her shoulder once she was close enough, "we used to be friends, it's just… just weird seeing each other again," you chewed on your lip, considering saying more but deciding against it, "that's all." You didn't know anymore if you were trying to convince them or yourself.

Robin didn't press again, even if she had an inkling this was just the tip of the iceberg. "You know I'm here if you need me, yeah?" Was all she said.

"I know."

_

Meanwhile, behind the front counter of Family Video;

"Don't pass out on me, man, what the hell," Steve said, urgency in his tone as he frantically fanned Eddie with a VHS tape.

Eddie swatted him away with both hands, snatching the tape from him, "stop it, stop it, you'll scare away the customers."

"The store is empty and you look like you've just seen a damn ghost, excuse me for being worried," Steve countered, in the same voice he used with Dustin when the boy tried to put himself in danger.

A ghost. Eddie could feel his chest weighing down on him, because in parts it was true; today was the first time in years that he spoke with you, and in all honesty, he didn't know what to feel — or he was feeling too much, and couldn't choose just one emotion to focus on. He wanted it to mean nothing, was trying to convince himself of it. He couldn't, because once you truly, genuinely love someone, it never really goes away; the sentiment might twist and turn, shape itself into something more bitter and sharp, but it's always there, never lessened.

"Care to share with the class?" Steve tried.

Eddie clenched his jaw and rubbed his sweaty palms on his jeans, wishing he could grab the knots in his chest and rip them away. "Not really."

Running a hand through his hair, Steve patted Eddie's shoulder to try and make him look at him. "Listen, if there's one thing I've learned, is that it's worse if you keep all that shit bottled up alright?"

Eddie gave Steve a small smile, one that held more sorrow than it did happiness; "there's nothing left for me to bottle up."

_

When the first customer of the day walked through the front doors, it was like a switch was turned for you and Eddie.

The professional in you kicked in and you showed him a little bit of everything, getting him acquainted with all of the movie sections and the main ones people usually came looking for.

You showed him around the arcade and how to reset most of the games in there, given that he'd probably be giving you a hand with them as well.

Eddie even got to test his skills with a young girl who came in looking for her favorite movie. He could feel Steve's and Robin's stares on his back most of the time, they were anything but subtle.

Eddie didn't see you though, smiling all sweet and proud watching him work and walk around Family Video as if he'd been there just as long as you. For a moment, your reality bubble didn't go as far as the store walls. And it felt nice. But it was a fragile thing, bound to burst sooner or later.

"So, here is where we catalog the movies that each person rents," you explained, opening the customers' page on the computer, "we put on the date that it was rented and the date that it's supposed to come back, so if it doesn't, we can charge the fee."

You were drowning in a sea of golden hues, the store's glass facade allowed the last bright streaks of sunlight to shine through and into the computer screen, making it just a tad harder for you to navigate.

You hardly noticed the time passing by. It sent a shiver down your back, because days with Eddie used to be like this; endless in the utopia of his bedroom or the empty lots of the trailer park until your mom called when you went past your curfew.

Right now, he stood beside you, looking at the screen from over your shoulder. Well, Eddie was supposed to be looking at the screen, but in reality, his gaze was fixed on the lone strand of hair that escaped from behind your ear. It was a little thing, bouncing each time you moved, grazing the apple of your cheek.

His mind wanders to the days you'd sit behind him in class, careful fingers working little braids in his hair. He'd feign some annoyance, but deep down, he'd go to bed those nights thinking about it. Today, the memory made him wonder why exactly you lost each other.

Eddie remembers something you told him a year after his dad left for the second time; you said that memories exist outside of time, and that they don't really have a beginning or end. He doesn't know you're thinking the same thing, trying to find comfort in the saying just as much as he is.

"Once the movie comes back, we check it here and take it off of the person's file and put the new movie in," you turned your head to look at Eddie, sucking in a shallow breath when you noticed him closer than you expected, "if- if they rented a new movie, that is."

You gulped, looking down at your hands. He wasn't touching you, he actually made sure to avoid touching you the entire day, but the warmth of his presence was still there. You missed him, that much was evident from the moment you saw him this morning. "It's easy, I'm sure you'll get the hang of it in no time." You said, if anything to fill the awkward silence.

"Yeah, don't worry," Eddie turned his back to you, finally putting some distance between you, "I won't mess it up for you."

You were taken aback by the sudden venom in his words, blinking as if he'd slapped you, "I didn't say you would."

"Don't have to," Eddie's not sure what prompts him to say it, what scorched and poorly healed part of his wound had reopened. Maybe it's just the old routine of arguing with you, the one that was settled by the end of your friendship and kept him safe. It was the easiest option then, it hurt just a little bit less than accepting how much it had broken him when he lost you.

Everyone leaves, you're the only one he hasn't recovered from yet.

"I know you're thinking it."

"Except I'm not," you crossed your arms, realizing you said it just a tad louder than you should when the eyes of Robin and the old lady beside her in the novels section glanced at you. Cursing under your breath, you stepped up to Eddie, "you're just doing it all over again, putting words in my mouth that I didn't fucking say."

Eddie recoiled as if you'd burned him, sitting up on the counter and lifting the corners of his lips in the way he knew got under your skin; "just saving you the trouble, I can see how much you hate having me here," he tilted his head, a few curls that'd gotten loose from his ponytail going over his eyes, "staining your image and all that… again."

You were hot with anger, because how dare he. You raised a finger to his face and walked into his personal space, "you know what? I do hate having you here, but not-"

"Y/N!" The bell above the main doors dinged as Keith walked in, calling your name at the same time. "We gotta talk." He waved you over.

Eddie quickly hopped down from the counter, nearly bumping into you. He gulped and stumbled backward as much as he could, trapped between you and the wooden edge.

Eddie's looking down at you as if he's seeing you for the first time all over again, literally, the first time. Where he's just a lonely kid and you're offering him a seat beside you. Where it's just you and him. And it hurts, because this you just said she hates him.

Your face does something complicated, like you don't know how to feel about this. You watch Eddie drop his gaze and curse quietly, probably thinking you'll tell Keith he's not employee material.

It gets you angrily biting back a sob as you walk away from him without another word, circling around the counter and disappearing into the back room with Keith.

You tell Keith that Eddie is a quick learner, that he's good with people and already memorized where all the movie sections are; you tell him Eddie will do good here, that you're happy to have him.

The last hour before closing time goes by with you on one end of the store, and Eddie on the other. He's stacking up movies in the horror section, you're putting up a new poster.

"I think we messed up," Steve mumbled, scratching his cheek.

"No, come on," Robin swatted at his arm and leaned closer to his ear, her eyes fixed on Eddie while Steve's are fixed on you, "I mean, Eddie needed the job, and how were we supposed to know they knew each other?"

"Yeah but, I don't know if it'll be much fun to work every day with this dark cloud of bad vibes in here." Steve subtly motioned at you and then Eddie before he crossed his arms.

Robin chuckled beside him, as if she was in on a special secret; "oh I'd give it a week, tops, for them to be making out in the back room."

"Ew Robin, now I don't know what's worse."

"Have you seen the way they look at each other, dingus?"

_

For a Monday — which was supposed to be the slowest day here — you were pretty damn tired as you put on your hoodie and picked up your backpack to go home. You figured most of it had to do with a certain long-haired boy.

Steve had just driven away with Robin, he offered you a ride, like he always does, but it was a nice evening and the walk to your home was considerably short. You were on the sidewalk, with one hand on the doorknob as you waited for Eddie so you could lock up. Your eyes were on the sky, on the fading of the orange as it was replaced by purple and dark blue.

Eddie came out running, almost toppling over you. You didn't meet his eyes as you turned the key on the doors, it was a lazy motion, you even feigned a snag on the lock to give Eddie the opportunity to just leave, but he never took it.

Instead, he waited until you were forced to turn around and face him when there was no more stalling to do.

Honestly, Eddie looked like a kid who was caught stealing from the cookie jar, all big brown eyes shining under the streetlights, hands buried deep in his jacket pockets.

"I don't wanna fight with you," he averted his gaze as he spoke, only looking back up at you after a beat of silence.

You made a sound that landed somewhere between a chuckle and a hum, "could've fooled me," you answered, tone free of any teasing; there was no fight left in you anyway.

Somewhere not so far, a cat knocked over a trash can. The noise was loud, both you and Eddie simultaneously looking toward it. You could almost feel him tensing up beside you, his shoulders squaring as he took half a step closer to you while he surveyed the deserted parking lot. His right hand was on its way to your forearm, an easy grab to pull you behind him. You didn't comment on it, or on how he looked genuinely terrified for half a second. It was gone as fast as it came anyway.

Eddie sighed, shaking his head as if to clear the fog from his mind, his curls — now free from his ponytail — bounced around. "I mean it, okay? We're gonna work together." He pursed his lips in an attempted smile, "and I want it to work."

"For old time's sake," the words tasted funny on Eddie's tongue, like they never should've existed at all. "Just uh-" he extends a hand to you, and it's all kinds of weird and painful, "keep it profesh?"

It feels a lot like a goodbye, you think. A lot like tearing apart a fragile flower you were trying to save. It feels like a loss. You take Eddie's hand anyway, his skin is smooth and warm against yours, you kinda wanna cry and you think he does too.

"Deal." Is all you tell him before he's briskly turning around to get into his van, and you're walking the other way hugging yourself through your hoodie, because the night is suddenly a lot colder.

⋆*☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Curious for the next part? ;)

Feedback and reblogs are very much appreciated. <3

Eddie’s taglist: @milkiane @bookfrog242 @alicefallsintotherabbithole @science--hoes @tssf-imagines @astream-ofconsciousness @fentyreligion @fantasylovestoryme @justabeautiful-letdown @crazyrapunzel @jakebasement @zervopoulouu @forverdaydreamer-blog @fromthedt @oeuryale @mcueveryday @witchbinchstories @call-me-magpie @loveshineslikethesky @tvserie-s-world @agirlsguidetolove

@hallothankmas @sweetpeapod @forsaken-letters @hazydespair @fangirling-4-ever @ollyoxenfrees @twinkofmydreams @paola-carter @masterlistmanic @xceafh @andraimeide @eddielives1986 @totallynotkaibiased @just-love-reading @murnsondock @tayhar811 @luceneraium @bimbobaggins69 @iunaelumen777 @violetsandroses8 @myrrh-dock @lifeandfanfic

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x you #strangerthingsedit #stranger things #imagine #fanfic #fluff #angst #eddie munson fanfic #eddiemunsonedit #joseph quinn #stranger things x reader #st #my story

[livyjh]

Unexpected Visitor ch.6

Din Djarin x Reader

Rating: EXPLICIT 18+

Word count: 2k

Entire work can be found on ao3 here

Chapter links listed at top of first chapter

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You wake up, only confused for a second by the cloth over your eyes before remembering. You feel around the cot, searching for Din and he’s not there.

“Din?” You call out to the ship.

“Cockpit!” You hear a modulated voice reply. Okay, it’s safe to take the blindfold off.

You remove it and sit up, still naked but covered with a blanket. You get out of the compartment and get dressed before heading up to the cockpit to find Din and the baby.

“Hey.” You finish climbing up the ladder and enter the small room.

“You slept longer than I thought you would.” Din turned to you.

“How long was I out?”

“Maybe 5 or 6 hours.”

“Oh. Whoops.” You laugh a little. “How long did you sleep?”

“About 2.”

You hum and nod, looking at the baby’s cradle and smiling at him. He coos and smiles back, showing his cute, tiny teeth.

It had just occurred to you that you didn’t even know his name. Din just referred to him as “the kid” or “the child”.

“Um… does his name need to stay secret like yours does, or?” You ask and sit down.

“No, um… I haven’t given him a name yet. Or actually, haven’t found out what his name is.” The Mandalorian sighed.

“Oh. Okay.”

“After this bounty I’m going to try and return him to his own kind. Whatever that may be. I was quested to do so.”

“Quested?” You ask, it sounded so official.

“This is the Way.” Din nods.

“This is the Way.” You whisper to yourself, remembering that that’s a Mandalorian’s motto.

A few minutes of silence pass, you decide to pick up the baby and hold him on your lap.

Din settles back into his chair and looks at the two of you.

You look at him and smile, turning your attention to the baby again after a long moment. You noticed Din just kept watching you. Looking as you gently rubbed the child’s head and long ears. It made you want to smile like an idiot, but you held back. Mostly. You still had a small grin on your face when Din spoke up.

“You look… happy.” He points out.

You glance at him, “I am.”

“You’re radiant.” He sets his hands in his lap.

You roll your eyes. “Such a charmer, you are.”

“I mean it.” He shrugs.

You smile wider. “Thank you… but the reason I’m happy is because of you.”

“Yeah?” He tilts his head.

You pause but then nod. You were giving yourself away but you really didn’t mind letting him have you.

Din made microscopic movements as he studied you, a twitch of the finger or the slightest tilt of his helmet up or down.

You couldn’t seem to stop yourself. “I thought a lot about you… after the first time we met.”

“Tell me.” He spoke softly.

You put the baby back in his egg shaped bed, folding your hands over your lap. “I mean… the sex was… well, you know.” You laugh to yourself a little. “But then after I got home that night, I just kept wondering if I’d ever see you again. Either at work or just in the city somewhere.”

Din nods slightly, showing he’s listening.

“After a month I kinda lost hope. But I’d sometimes… well, I’d play this horrible game with myself. Horrible because it only made me want you more… I’d stare at the door at work and just imagine you walking in. I’d be thinking, ‘okay, this next one’s gonna be him’ and then… it wasn’t.” You pause and look up from your hands. “Until it was.”

You could almost feel him smiling.

“I spent all those months hoping I’d see you again.”

There’s a silence, and then, “Why?” Din asks.

It’s not meant to hurt your feelings, but for some reason the question stings a little. Did he not think he was worthy of being wanted?

“Why?” You repeat back at him. “I mean at first it was because you’re like… one of the best I’ve ever had.” You start. “And then after a couple days, I started wondering where you were. What you were doing. If you’d come back. If you pay for sex often. If that was your first or last time doing it.”

You sit up in your chair a little and stare at his gloved hands. “I wondered if it was against Mandalorian code to have sex without being married or something. Or if you had to be married to show your faces. And I just…” you laugh at all you’ve revealed. “I just couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

There’s a long pause before Din speaks. He just needed a second to think. “I thought about you, too.”

“You don’t have to say that, it-“ You start to return.

“It’s the truth.” He interrupts you. “To answer some of your questions, I was on Coruscant for a bounty. I wanted to come back but I didn’t have time after we first met.”

Din leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees, looking up at you through his visor. “That wasn’t the first time I’d paid for sex… but I haven’t slept with anyone else since the first time with you.”

This made you melt, in a good way.

“I’m… not supposed to remove my helmet in the presence of other living things.” Din sighs. “Even blindfolding you with it off was taboo.”

Your heart started beating a little faster. He’s breaking the rules for you. “It means a lot that you trust me the way you do.”

He’s not sure what to say to this, you can tell by his body language. He keeps thinking for a moment.

“It’s part of my job to know people, inside and out. Whether I’ve just met them or have known them a long time.” He explains. “When I’m hunting a bounty, I have to get inside their heads. Think like they would think so I can catch them in the right place at the right time.”

You’re sure this is the most you’ve ever heard him talk.

Din starts again. “I can read people. And you have a good heart.”

You smile at him as you lean over in your chair and mirror him, resting your elbows on your knees. You lean forward just enough to rest your forehead against his helmet. You wished you could kiss him again.

***

The rest of the day is spent entertaining the child, you and Din taking turns feeding him or playing with him and his favorite silver ball.

Din informs you that Tatooine should only be one more days trip. You didn’t mind spending time with him, it was just weird being on a ship for so long.

The last day before you get to Tatooine, you wake up in the cot in the cargo hold and wish Din was there next to you.

You get up and go to the cockpit, insisting Din take a turn sleeping while you watch the baby. It’s been a day and a half since he last slept.

“If he falls asleep… come down and lay with me.” Din says as he starts heading down the ladder.

“Will do.” You reply before shushing the baby in your arms. He was fussy and you could tell it was because he was tired.

After an hour, the kid finally fell asleep and you put him down in his cradle. You sneak down the ladder to find Din in the open compartment on the cot.

He’s taking up most of the space, being a broad man with several armor plates attached to him. You try and crawl into the bed carefully but accidentally wake him anyways.

“Oh. Hi.” He mumbles, getting closer to the wall against his back and putting out his arms for you to cuddle up in.

“How can you sleep with that thing on? I’d get claustrophobic.” You laugh a little about his helmet, settling down against him as he wraps his arms around you and pulls you close.

“I’ve gotten used to it.” He explains. “It’s not the most comfortable though, you’re right.” He sighs, readjusting his body to make himself comfortable again.

The compartment is a little tight but it feels nice to be squished up against him.

After 15 minutes or so, you think he’s fallen back asleep and you’re tempted to do the same. But someone should be awake in case the baby starts crying.

So you lay there, just daydreaming about the Mandalorian next to you and all the wonderful things you’ve done with him.

Incidentally, you start getting turned on. You roll over to face away from Din, waiting a couple minutes to make sure he was still asleep while you reached down into your panties.

You started touching yourself, rubbing your fingertips over your labia and finally your clit. You let out a quiet sigh of pleasure, continuing to work on yourself.

You weren’t sure if you wanted to finish, you would easily be loud enough wake Din. You’d just play with yourself a little bit.

But then, a modulated voice startles you. “Sweet girl…” Din’s hand reaches around to gently grip the wrist of the hand down your pants.

“I- uh-“ you begin, unsure of what excuse you’re going to make up.

“It’s okay.” He coos, moving to take his right glove off and reach down your pants where your fingers are paused against your clit.

“Guide me. Show me how you like to touch yourself.” He hums.

“O- okay.” You breathe out shakily, moving your hand on top of his.

You push his hand down, guiding his middle finger between your lips, rubbing from your entrance to your clit and back again.

“Always love how wet you are.” Din’s voice is gravelly and low.

You guide his finger inside of you, moaning at the feeling. Your hips roll down against his hand.

“Thought you were gonna have some fun? Without me?” Din asked evilly.

“M- maybe…” you stutter.

He hums at this, fingering you faster, rubbing against your g-spot. “Like that?”

“Fuck. Yes…” you trail off, eyes closing as you tilt your head back. You were getting close but you needed something else.

“Slow down… rub my clit.” You tell him sweetly.

He pulls his fingers out and your hand splays across the top of his once again, fingers lined up together.

You guide him to press two fingers to the sensitive bud at the top of your pussy, pushing down and rubbing in circles.

“Y- yeah. Like that.” You nod, moving your hips in the opposition direction of Din’s fingers, creating lovely pressure.

Your hand moves away from his to wrap around his wrist as he rubs you in just the right way. “Harder.” You plead.

He doubles down and soon you’re whimpering with each breath, orgasm approaching.

“So close.” You sigh and he speeds up, and that’s all you need to cum.

“Fuck-!” You gasp, “Ah, Din… fuck.” You’re whining his name as he continues rubbing in little circles.

As you come out of it, he slows down until stopping, running his fingers up and down your sensitive wetness.

Your breathing begins to even and he pulls his hands out of your pants, wiping them on your underwear. He wanted to taste you again but he wouldn’t be able to get his helmet up with his other arm beneath you.

“Felt so good… you always take care of me.” You smile and roll over to face him again.

“Of course, cyar’ika.” He whispers.

This word, you recognized. It was a Mando’a term of endearment meaning “sweetheart” or “darling”… even “beloved” some would say.

You smile at him, placing a hand over the side of his neck.

You wondered if he needed to get off too, or if that was just for you. He wasn’t pushing to go any further, so you figured he was too tired.

“Get some more sleep.” You whisper back. “I’m gonna eat and then watch the kid.”

“Okay. Thank you.” Din nodded as you crawled out of the bed. He closed the compartment from the inside, shutting the light out.

You hum to yourself as you grab an apple and some spiceloaf, moving up to the cockpit.

The kid was still asleep so you sat and ate, smiling about your budding feelings for Din.

[sameheart-sameblood]

Missed Connection

Missed Connection Ch. 2

pairing: carmy berzatto x f!reader

summary: after being best friends since culinary school, you and carmy have had somewhat of a falling out. while opening up a restaurant in chicago, you try to make amends and get your friend back

words: 2k

warnings: 18+ eventually but nothing of real note in this chapter, some angst, eventual friends to lovers, dummies who can't just say how they're feeling, slow burn, me not knowing how restaurants or chef things work

a/n: sooooo this was meant to be self-indulgent porn. but i should know by now i can't write porn without plot. it's my curse. also i just love carmy so much that i wanted to spend some more time with him. this might only be two chapters, but i have a feeling it'll be more than that. only time will tell!

read on ao3!

“Well well well, if it isn’t Food & Wine’s Best New Chef.”

Carmy’s head snaps up, almost comically, ready to fight whoever is bringing up that damn accolade yet again. It’s been almost ten years, for christ’s sake. 

You smirk playfully as his eyes find you. His soften and you see the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. But Carmen Berzatto doesn’t show his emotions easily. Thankfully, you’ve known him long enough to be able to read the ghosts of expressions that play at his face. You didn’t just learn how to cook at culinary school. You learned how to decipher your enigmatic friend. That’s what years of cooking together side by side will do. 

Carmy comes around the counter, ignoring the obvious stares from his co-workers. He pauses in front of you, then pulls you into a tentative hug. Your smirk disappears, replaced by a comical look of surprise. Chefs aren’t known for being touchy-feely people, Carmy least of all. But you haven’t seen him in almost a year, people change. 

You awkwardly return the hug, which ends all too quickly. Carmy studies you, like you’re an old recipe he hasn’t attempted in years but once knew by heart. “Long time, no see, Rosy.”

Smiling at the nickname he gave you in school, you answer back with his pet name. “Right back at you, Bear.”

*******

Carmy introduces you to his staff. Everyone greets you with different levels of enthusiasm. Marcus, the pâtissier, grins at you as he shakes your hand, instantly offering you a piece of his cake to give your thoughts on. 

Before you can enthusiastically oblige him, Carmy is pulling you away to continue the introductions you know he’s feeling awkward about. Syd, the sous chef, offers you a half smile but seems much too busy for you. As a chef yourself, you take no insult to this. The food comes first. 

Tina also has no time for you, giving you a quick once over before yelling at whoever stole her stock pot. Richie smiles knowingly at Carmy as he greets you, calling “sweetheart” and offering to show you how the kitchen works. 

“She’s Chef de Cuisine at a three Michelin star restaurant, cousin. I think she knows how a kitchen works.”

Richie holds up his hands “I don’t even know what the fuck that means. Was just being friendly.” 

Last is Ebra, who gives you his name then asks you point blank if you and Carmy are dating. Carmy sighs a Jesus fucking Christ as he pulls you into his office and slams the door shut. 

Once safe from prying eyes, Carmy quickly clears off a pile of papers from a chair and offers the seat to you. He takes one opposite you and lets out a sigh. Running his hands through his wild hair, he smiles ruefully. “Sorry. They’re a great staff but they can be…a lot.”

After the kitchens you had been in through the years and the jerks you had worked with, the crew at The Original Beef of Chicagoland seemed like goddamn angels. “Nah, they seem nice. If just a bit nosey.”

Carmy nods, huffing out a small chuckle. You study his face, the familiarity of it making memories rush back from your shared past. With those memories comes a funny feeling in your stomach. For years, you had mistaken that feeling for anxiety. It was the only feeling that was always a constant in your life as a chef. 

Carmy was always there alongside you, so you just assumed the environment caused that tingle in your gut. But slowly, you had realized the difference between your anxiety and your feelings for your friend. 

The anxiety felt cold and empty, like a bottomless pit you might never claw your way out of. The feeling Carmy gave you was the polar opposite. His presence left you feeling warm and surrounded, completely taken care of. You had missed that this past year…

You could dwell on your crush later. Right now, your main focus was getting your friend back in your life. He stares at you and you realize you’ve been gawking at him for entirely too long. “Not that I’m not happy to see you but…” He glances to the clock. 

“Lunch rush, huh?” it’s less of a question from you and more of a commiseration. No matter how long you’ve been in a kitchen, the lunch rush is always the most dreaded. Carmy nods, fidgeting in his seat. 

“I know you’re busy but I’m gonna be in town for a bit and just wanted to say ‘hey’” it sounds lame. Saying ‘hey’ after not speaking for a year is pretty weird. 

Carmy’s eyebrows knit together in worry. “Work ok?”

You hurriedly nod, sorry you caused him anxiety when he already looks so run down. “No, no. It’s good. Great, actually. We’re opening up a location here and I’m taking point on it.”

His worry doesn’t fall away like you expect it to but he nods “That’s great, Rose. Happy for you.” You choose to believe his words rather than his expression. 

“Thanks…” you look into his eyes and search them for permission for the next subject you want to broach. You want to talk about why you’ve both been so silent this past year when you’d been best friends for the last decade. 

But his eyes dart back to that fucking clock and you decide against it. This conversation deserves all the time it needs. 

You get up, understanding Carmy’s time is precious and you’ve already eaten up enough of it. He jumps up, more worry etched into his face. “You’re leaving already?”

You look between him and the clock. “I just…lunch rush, right?”

Carmy nods dejectedly. “Yeah, those sandwiches won’t make themselves.” As if on cue, you hear a pot fall in the kitchen and the sounds of muffled yells. Carmy once again runs his hand through his hair, seemingly as a way to self-soothe.

You’ve seen your friend stressed beyond belief before. But this is something different. He looks like his tether to sanity is fraying and fast. It breaks your heart and so before you know what you’re doing, you’re blurting out an offer that you’re sure he’ll refuse. 

“I can help with prep if you want? Many hands and all that.” You see him thinking it over, certain he’ll rebuff your offer. He was never one to ask for assistance. But he surprises you with a gentle nod. 

“That would be great, Chef. Thank you.”

******

The lunch rush is…insane. You’re not sure what you had been expecting but it wasn’t this. How much business could one little hole in the wall sandwich shop do you had thought before service started. 

The answer is a whole fucking lot. 

Regulars crowd the tiny shop as tourists meekly try to edge their way in as well. 

You help with prepping the vegetables, knowing it’s one of the most hated jobs in the kitchen. It’s also the perfect job for staying out of the way but being helpful. 

The rest of the staff instantly love you for this except for Tina, who studies you as if trying to figure out what your angle is. You’d love to explain to her the only angle you have is spending time with your best friend whom you’ve missed dearly. But before you can open your mouth, Carmy is yelling out for more orders and it’s back to business. 

At the end of the rush, the kitchen is in shambles. Your face is flaming hot and flushed, like a tomato come to life. It’s how you earned your nickname in culinary school. You hated it at first but then learned to love it, realizing you looking like this meant you’d put in the work, got the job done and made the customers happy. 

Everyone else in the kitchen looks completely exhausted. But the strange thing is they’re happy. You’re not used to these vibes. Exhaustion is always a given. Maybe you’ve worked in mostly toxic environments but usually by now, everyone would be at each other’s throats. 

It’s not to say the chefs here don’t give each other shit. An outsider listening in on them during the rush would have thought the day would end in murder. But to an insider, that’s kind of just how kitchens sound. But the chefs at Original Beef are able to weather the insanity of lunch and still crack jokes and thank each other for their hard work at the end of it. 

You watch them happily as you all clean up, feeling like one of the crew already. Watching Carmy leading them makes you long for the days where you two worked together. But you know that’s probably never going to happen again and you push aside the brief sadness and revel in the joy that you got to work side by side with him again, if just for the day. 

“Thank you for your help, Chef,” Carmy leans against the counter next to you, smiling tiredly. 

You take off your blue apron and fold it neatly, handing it back to him. “Anytime, Chef.”

You’re due back at your hotel to change before you meet up with the investors. Once again, the tension is back between you two. God you miss the days where there was never an awkward moment between you and Carmy. 

He accepts the apron, looking small as he clutches it to his chest. “Duty calls?”

You sigh soullessly. Cooking is what you excel at, not business. You were flattered when your boss asked you to take responsibility for the opening of your Chicago location. You just didn’t realize how much handshaking and negotiating you’d have to do. “Time to wine and dine the investors. Really important, world peace negotiating level type stuff.”

Carmy smiles at you. It’s tiny and doesn’t quite reach his eyes but it’s a start towards what you two used to have. “You’re putting the work in. Gotta get through all that bullshit to get to the stuff that really matters.” The food.

He’s right and you nod, accepting that fact. You don’t want to leave him yet but it’s your turn to be distracted by the clock. “It was great cooking with you again, Chef.” 

Carmy smiles again but this time the sadness under the surface is evident. “Just like old times, huh?”

“Yeah. Well, I’m in town for the next few weeks at least so…”

“Dinner sometime? Or, you know, any meal that works best for you.” 

You think on the offer and counter your return. “Hey why don’t we do get brunch tomorrow? Mimosas are on me.” 

You let out at laugh at Carmy’s look of horror that quickly morphs into a relieved grin as he realizes you’re taunting him. “Fuck you.”

Grabbing your jacket, you throw a “dinner sometime would be great” over your shoulder. 

Your chest feels full in the best way as you realize you and your best friend are back together again. All might not be right with the world but it’s as close to perfection as it’ll ever be. You stop and turn to the tired chef. 

“Hey, Bear?”

He watches you, blue eyes sparkling. “Yes, Rose”

“Fuck you, too.” 

It’s as close as I love you and I missed you that you’ll get. Carmy grins as you laugh and turn reluctantly towards the exit. Neither of you have ever been good at conveying your emotions. But you know he can read between the lines and decipher what you really meant. He just hopes you know it’s what he feels too. 

******

#ok im on my third rewatch of the bear someone help me #going to be out of town a lot these next few weeks but hope to get the next chapter up asap #carmy berzatto x reader #carmy x reader #the bear #the bear fx #allie writes #carmy berzatto

[yume-x-hanabi]

I thought of simply copy/pasting my twitter thread but you know what, we’re on Tumblr, we’re allowed proper paragraphs, so let me just ramble like in the good old days :p

Assorted B²TSM Headcanons pt.1: Worldbuilding

Honestly the funniest thing about this fandom is that the entire canon consists in four skits, two music videos, and a song. That is to say, BARELY FUCKING ANYTHING. Guys, I’m used to a video game with extensive lore developed over several games, eight guidebooks, thirteen Drama CDs, five short story series, and some manga. I cannot begin to tell you how different this experience has been 😂 Anyway, as frustrating it can be to have barely anything concrete to go with, it also means… it’s free real estate, baby 😎

A. The Time Machine

So, I’ve been thinking about the mechanics of the whole time-travelling thing for a bit longer than is healthy, and I’ve developed some potential ways it could go that could be fun to play with.

But first, a crack theory I’ve become very fond of: the "time machine" gave them new young & healthy bodies, but the creation of those bodies was influenced by whoever was operating the machine at the time. That's why they all look vaguely like Brett or Eddy—I mean, Bang YG and his assistant. That would also explain the fact they can all speak modern English (+ the accents).

Now let’s look at a couple ways they could have been brought to the future:

1. Actual, full-fledged time-travel

They were plucked from some point of their lives and dragged to the future with no warning. That opens up a few possibilities:

1.a. Continuity errors. Plucking them from their past lives will alter the timeline, and probably change the world of classical music irrevocably. Basically Bang YG u done goof. You’re gonna need forty Ling Ling stones to fix that mess. Oh boy.

1.b. The timeline is not affected, which means they’re fated to go back to their own time at some point, probably with some very convenient memory loss (this was a common plot in HP time-travel fics when I used to be into it /tangent). This one comes with high angst potential: knowing their time here is limited, having to make the most of it, and the worst is that they won’t even be able to use future knowledge to make their past lives better when they go back. Oh the drama, oh the angst.

1.c. The timeline is not affected, because this basically creates a parallel universe, in which history up to the use of the time machine remains unaffected.

Whichever scenario you go with in this category, this means they were brought over when they were still relatively young, and likely haven’t yet composed some of the great hits they’re known for. Imagine Tchaik and Shosty talking about Beethoven’s 9th symphony, meanwhile he’s like “huh, I have no memory of this piece”. That can lead to some complex feelings, knowing such-and-such famous piece is yours but in a way it’s not (not yet). Or, worse, learning about facts from their personal lives that haven’t happened yet. Momo realizing he’s got about five years left to live when he goes back to his era (in scenario 1.b.)

2. Kind of a reincarnation AU

So this summer I watched Paripi Koumei, which is a very fun and light-hearted anime (highly recommended), and I bring it up here because I really like the concept and think it could apply here. The premise of the anime is that famous strategist Zhuge Liang (Kongming) from the Three Kingdoms is reborn in modern-day Tokyo after he dies. He basically spawns in modern Shibuya with a youthful appearance and all his memories. So, I thought this could be a way to go with how the “time machine” works here: it brings the guys’ consciousness from the point of their deaths and gives them a younger body (a copy of their own, or *see crack theory above*).

That means they know exactly what they did in their past lives. That also means that they remember their own deaths. Very trauma, much angst.

On a brighter note, that means they’re here to stay. They’re basically given a second chance at life, in a world that’s hopefully a bit easier to live in than their past one.

B. The Band’s Concept

I can’t imagine the public being told they’re the real deal. I mean, imagine if people learned that there was a time machine out there that could bring loved ones back to life. That would cause unending chaos. And that’s if they’re believed to begin with—the most likely reaction would be to dismiss it as a prank.

So, the “official” version they’re going with is that it’s simply the band’s concept, that they’re roleplaying the composers (like I think there’s a kpop group whose concept is that the members represent the zodiac signs). So, in essence, they’re pretending to be random guys who’re pretending to be their actual selves XD

Regarding roles, there is much debate about who the maknae is. Is it Shosty, because his birth date is the most recent? Or is it Mozart, who’s the youngest in terms of actual years lived in his previous life? I like to think that the company never confirms either ways and lets the fans argue about it to their hearts’ contents. It’s part of the mystery~

(In truth, the actual members don’t give a damn about “roles”, they’re just there to make music.)

(Maybe that’s part of their unconventional side that makes them popular among some people.)

Also, Pag wasn’t meant to be brought to the future, it’s a result of a time machine mishap. He basically barged his way into their debut because “How dare they form a band without me, greatest violin virtuoso Niccolò Paganini?! Mamma mia…” and now he’s hanging around. Not quite an official member, but often heavily involved (whether they want it or not). Mozart says he’s their mascot. No one is sure how to feel about that statement.

Lastly, since so far they’ve either been using their last names or nicknames to address each other, I’ve developed some headcanon that their last names are their stage names, but also simply the names they go by now in their day-to-day lives. Like they’ve shed their first names, it’s a thing of the past, an identity they can’t truly assume anymore. Maybe that’s why they’re so fond of nicknames, because it gives them a more personal touch (Mozart started the trend, and it caught on very fast after that). They do still use full names from time to time in certain circumstances, and that’s what’s on official documents, but… it’s complicated. I like to think they eventually start reclaiming their full identity between themselves as time passes and they grow more comfortable in their new circumstances and their bond grows closer. (Names as a sign of intimacy, in my fandoms? It’s more likely than you think!)

Anyway that’s it for the worldbuilding side. I have a few more posts planned about different aspects of this universe and their characters.

Feel free to share your thoughts on this, and your own headcanons if you have some!

#in which i subject my whole follow list to my new obsession #feel free to mute the tags if you're only here for Tales lol #anyway i have way too many feelings about this dumb fictional band #b2tsm #b²tsm #b²tsm headcanons #if we're not careful i'll have a ship manifesto ready by the end of the year #that's how deep i am atm #long post

[bulgariansumo]

Back at it again, editing Episode 1 of Galactiquest. Version 3.0 patch notes:

-Removed all unnecessary epithets (Hopefully. I found one instance of brunet that I thought I deleted the last time around)

-Toned down the amount of exclamation points

-I think I slightly pared down a scene in Chapter 4? But I added a new one over it, so that probably cancels out

-Gave other characters a little more dialogue, especially Leon

-Changed descriptions around to be more concise, less repetitive, and less verbose (For these being Leon's chapters, I got weirdly fancy with some of the prose)

-New scene 1: In Chapter 1, a girl talks to Leon while he's waiting in the spaceport, eventually leading to him realizing he's late. This finally gave me a chance to explain why the Interstellar Forces is called that and set up that it is struggling somewhat. I think this also the first time I've gotten to mention that the IF was banned from having weapons.

-New scene 2: In Chapter 4, Jun questions why the IF would let such an inexperienced group go to Neptune (in nicer wording, but still). It sets the tone for the trip in a way that was lacking before.

As much as it stung to realize those chapters were a little rougher than I thought, I'm glad I did this. It's not a complete overhaul, but it brought the quality a little closer to my current stuff. I'm grateful some people were still able enjoy them despite rough edges.

In the times that I've asked for feedback, a few people mentioned Chapters 3 and 4 being a bit of a slog. I... did not trim them down as much as I intended. Every time I tried, it went something like this:

Hopefully, adding that section to Chapter 4 will help it feel a little more worthwhile. That being said, if I'm compelled to edit again, I know there's a few scenes in Chapter 4 that probably should go.

For people who want to see the new scenes without reading the whole episode again, I'll post them down below. If you do want to read the full thing, here's a link.

---

New Scene 1 [Bon Voyage, Celestion-5] Ch 1. Boarding for Takeoff

A monitor nearby played an informational video about Earth’s one and only moon colony: Lunaria, the city of his dreams. Though so far away, he felt like it lay within his grasp for the first time. What choice did he have but to be captivated by it?

“Are you heading to your first deployment?” The girl a few seats over might as well have appeared from thin air.

“Hm? How’d you know?” He shook his head out of a daze. Only now did he realize his mouth had been hanging open for who knew how long.

“You seemed pretty enthralled by that video for a star ranger.”

“Oh yeah. Some nights, I spent so long looking at the dome through my telescope, I’d dream about it.” He sighed. “Even now, I can almost breathe that artificial air.”

“I’ve heard it’s cool. My aunt’s paying my way. I bet you’re glad you don’t have to pay those ticket prices either, huh?” She had a pretty laugh.

“Gosh, I thought I’d have to spend my life savings just for a visit. Thank goodness for the IF.”

“You know,” she tilted her head, “I’ve always wondered, why’s it called the Interstellar Forces when we haven’t gone past Mars yet?”

“We’re supposed to dream big now and grow into it later. It worked for me, so…!” he ended with a shrug. “And who knows,” he knew, “we might be going past Mars soon.”

“That’s cute. Sorry about the budget cuts, though. No more weapons, I get, but you guys don’t even have your own ships anymore? They’re just deploying you with us civilians?”

“My ship’s kind of a special case.” Out of curiosity he decided to check his phone. “But I guess it wouldn’t hurt to che–”

His eyes widened in horror at what time it displayed. It was 25 minutes past when he should have boarded.

“Is something wrong?” asked the girl.

“Sorry, I gotta go.” He gathered his bags and hurried over to the receptionist. “Excuse me. This is the boarding area for the Celestion ships, right?” Maybe everyone else was just late. “I was supposed to be boarding a ship 25 minutes ago.”

“Oh, no sir. Are you with the Interstellar Forces? All military spacecraft are located on the opposite end.” The receptionist motioned directly behind him.

“Thank you, thank you so much,” He shook the receptionist’s hand vigorously. “Seriously, my career is in your hands. And yours too,” he sped past the girl, “have a nice trip, bye!”

New Scene 2 [Bon Voyage, Celestion-5] Ch 4. Tour's End

“Quick question.” The oddly familiar one smoothed dark, wavy bangs out of her face… or his face? Leon couldn’t tell at this angle. The androgynous voice didn’t help. “The Celestion crews were chosen by chance, yeah?”

“There’s a coupla exceptions as you’re no doubt aware,” Emil winked, “not to mention the captains, but yeah, most of us are random picks.”

“Right, cool. So, like, not to harsh the vibes, but I noticed that none of us except you and the captain are ranked higher than rangers.”

“I almost ascended to corporal~” Allen spoke up.

“I know, Rox.” The familiar one addressed Emil again. “I dunno, I kinda assumed we’d get stationed on each ship based on our experience and ability level.”

That did surprise Leon when he first heard about the opportunity. Described by his old warrant officer as ‘remarkably average in all abilities,’ he never dreamed he’d be offered the chance to go to Neptune. No one from his base deployed to space in years. He hadn’t even earned the star on his uniform yet. No way would he let such good luck pass him by.

“Huh,” Emil pinched one of his curls, “that does make sense.”

A click from the ceiling brought with it Captain Galhardo’s voice. “Randomized crews are a key element of the Celestion Project. Though each captain, including myself, went through a series of tests to ensure our capability.”

“Well, there you have it. Besides, as long as my brother’s piloting, we’ll make it back a-ok. Nothin’ to worry about.” In only a few strides, Emil made his way to the cooking area. “Over here we have a microwave, an oven, dishes, other kitchen-y stuff–Oooh, guys, I gotta show you something!”

He stuck his arm over the stove, to the confusion of Leon and most of the others, and to their horror, turned it on.

#bsumo's creator blog #galactiquest

[igniting-quill]

for the writing meme thing

“This will sound weird, but you’ve got…” Quinn’s eyes darted over to Ace’s cracked skin. “Magic flowing out of the cracks on your arms. It’s like your’re an orbula orb or something.”

Magic always flowed out of Ace. But back during their orbula days, Ace used to bandage the cracks in their skin up every time they occurred. But then their skin became more brittle, and more cracks showed up regardless of what they did.

“Why, I would be cheering with delight if you had told me that during my time with the Winster White Claws.”

She brushed some of her hair behind her shoulder. “Are you taking care of yourself? Is there anything I can do to help? Any way to reverse this? Or…”

“No.”

She bit her lip. “Well, I got your request a few weeks back.”

“Ah yes. How much would that cost?”

“I mean, renting out an entire bar? Harley and I have never done that before. But we agreed on this: drinks will be on the house.”

“Your bar, The House?”

Quinn grinned at the pun. “It’s the least I can do.”

from The World Orbula Cup

This ask is from the writing meme here.

I have so so so much to say about this! To spare people looking at my blog from scrolling forever, I’ve kept this to a Read More. Click to find out what I have to say.

I had this great one shot idea back in 2022 during the World Cup, like the real world event in Qatar and everything. And as we all know, beloved Ace from Unprepared Casters has this thing with really wanting to compete in the equivalent of the World Cup and for it to be their last and final moments before they pass away.

I struggled, and am still struggling haha I promise I haven’t ditched this fic (yet), to describe how to show this incoming death. How Ace would handle telling their friends, or maybe they wouldn’t even do that. Sometimes I look back at ch 2, which is where you quoted this from, and I find some pieces too rough/ not handled for a topic like death. But, sometimes the other part of my inner voice is just like, yeah. Death doesn’t ever have a nice streamlined process. It’s tradition and it’s agony. 

^Don’t quite have the words to describe this. Yet. 

Alright with my kind of “behind the scenes” out of the way, I don’t want to reveal too much because my fic isn’t over (yet!!!! Future Quill hold yourself accountable dammit YES I KNOW YOU’RE IN COLLEGE), let’s talk about the passage itself.

I mentioned the cracks in Ace’s body, because it was a sort of flavor thing that Bri (who plays Ace in canon) added onto her character. For example, they have this crack in their ear from Aster’s attempt at piercing their ear. Russ is also sometimes pretty carefully with the typical contact-filled celebrations sports teams usually share (hugging, chest bumps, etc.). I thought it would be a cool visual to show that Ace is being whittled down physically instead of just disappearing into the unknown. Like, if I was a Dungeon Master of this scene instead of a writer, I’d have Ace run these constitution checks to last longer. Bri had the intention of Ace dying during the awards ceremony during the World Orb Cup (not canon btw! Everything about this is my creation and Bri hoping to have an equivalent of our world’s World Cup in Hyranor), so I thought that by that point Ace would already be kind of in their last moments. 

“This will sound weird, but you’ve got…” Quinn’s eyes darted over to Ace’s cracked skin. 

So, as Ace meets all their friends, they are too nice to bring it up to their face, especially during Arc 4. But I think Quinn’s the most caretaker-y (literally one of two in this party with access to healing spells), and would care about Ace’s physical breaking skin. It’s awkward, and she feels it when she brings up the injuries Ace has.

This magic bit is also a bit of flavor. Like, Ace is made of magic. The idea of cracked skin is kind of morbid, and blood flowing from them is even more so. That’s kind of what the magic is in place of honestly: Ace’s life is slowly being drained away from them.

She brushed some of her hair behind her shoulder. “Are you taking care of yourself? Is there anything I can do to help? Any way to reverse this? Or…”

“No.”

I still kind of worry that this fic sounds too much like a suicide note, and maybe that’s why it’s taking me so long to write the next few chapters because it’s been hard to walk that fine line between. Otherwise, in every scenario, if someone is on the verge of death people keep pushing for you to stay alive. Quinn, as I said earlier, would also try. As I said earlier, out of the good of her heart, she sees this scenario sort of like a sickness to be cured, or something to fight against. She doesn’t see Ace’s close death as inevitable.

Ace’s abrupt response, just a simple “No” is enough to get Quinn to stop. They might have been friends for a short time (not for Ace, but for Quinn), but their friendship ran deep. Like if I actually wanted to revamp chapter 2, I’d add a bit more to Ace’s response. (I’m not going to as of now I want to focus on completion instead of perfection) But Bri played Ace as a very straightforward, sometimes even rude or cruel without meaning to, character. I tried to incorporate the sort of Aetherborn philosophy of not being sad that their lifespans are short, but rather being fearful that they haven’t truly lived while being alive. Ace is pretty fulfilled at this point. (in all honesty, I don’t think they are satisfied, but at least on a surface level with what they could do with their time alive, it was pretty impressive). What’s the point of extending their life a few more days if there’s nothing to do, truly live for, with all those moments alive? 

She bit her lip. “Well, I got your request a few weeks back.”

“Ah yes. How much would that cost?”

“I mean, renting out an entire bar? Harley and I have never done that before. But we agreed on this: drinks will be on the house.”

I researched Aetherbornes a little bit before writing this fic. Before they die, usually they host a party. Since Quinn opens a bar, no proof of this in canon but Grace (who plays Quinn) really likes the idea and has brought it up in the Verbal Component + the Battle Royale livestream. So yeah, I thought it’d be a cute idea if she just opened it up as Ace visits. I had the idea of not-that-interested in orbula Quinn and Aster to be in Tyle, the capital, for less travel distance. The drinks being on the house is kind of a continuation of Quinn feeling horrible. She’s the least ready for Ace to leave I think. (They’re all not ready to be honest, but she’s in this space of some denial about it.)

“Your bar, The House?”

Quinn grinned at the pun. “It’s the least I can do.”

It started to get really sad here, and I felt like Ace would never let it get that dark with their death. Of course they bring up the pun, as Quinn established earlier it was named the House. The reason why it’s called the House is directly from Grace’s idea of Quinn establishing a bar called the House of Aces. I planned the kind of outline for this fic before I realized… hey if she names the bar the House of Aces after her friend Ace, that’s a little weird if they’re still alive. So, you know she’s young and such, so maybe it didn’t used to be called that. Going from a bar called “The House” to “The House of Aces” is not that big of a stretch.

Thanks for letting me info dump this was so fun! I also wrote this all in one go, so apologies for any typos/grammar issues. If you have more questions (both you heather and anyone else reading this), feel free to ask. My inbox is open!

#World Orb Cup #ask #fanfiction ask #thank you for asking #writing ask game #WORB Cup #The World Orbula Cup

[idrellegames]

When I say I have never been this genuinely impressed when playing a game like yours, I absolutely mean it! My best friend and I have been been playing Wayfarer since the very beginning, and the way our runs have been completely different has baffled me! Take Aeran for example - I’m trying to romance him while my friend just wants to be best buddies. Somehow, I make Aeran way too stressed out (those approval dips hurt lol) while my best friend has incredibly high approval despite not trying very hard lol. I even switched up my play style (read: not being myself) to see what I was doing “wrong,” and I’m starting to see that Aeran is a very particular person to romance. That, coupled with the insane, spiraling branches of Ch. 1 and Ch. 2, it almost made me wanna give up pursing him haha. Hell, I wasn’t even aware there was a reconciliation scene, and I’ve replayed Ch. 2 seven times! I can see why he’s explicitly not considered an LI. Ah, at this point I probably should make a discord just so I can see the walkthroughs/paths for the game (I’m always surprised there’s more I haven’t seen yet) because listen I’ve replayed this game many, many times over, and although each time it’s fascinating to see where I land, I’m not exactly where I want to be at. In truth, I strongly believe this just goes to show the ingenuity of your beautiful craftsmanship. You are amazing and I’m delighted - no matter how frustrated and near in tears Aeran makes me - to be on this fascinating journey with you!

Thank you so much! I admit, I've been struggling to figure out how to reply to this ask, but I do want to say: thank you, from the bottom of my heart. 💕 It means so much to know how my game has impacted players, and that folks are going back to replay again and again and continue to discover new paths and new outcomes.

Part of the game's design is to intentionally encourage players to let go of pre-planned results and destinations, and follow what makes sense for their MC's characterization. Invest in the roleplay--even if it means falling out with the character you wanted to romance or befriend. Sometimes the thing you think was right for your character isn't the path forward for them.

#wayfarer #wayfarer if #wayfarer episode 2 #wayfarer spoilers #answered