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em-writes-stuff-sometimes · 9 months

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darilaros (princess) │ Chapter 3: Pyre

terms of endearment ‘verse: see my Masterlist for the correct series order!

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Chapter 1 │Chapter 2 │Chapter 3 │Chapter 4 │Chapter 5 │Chapter 6 │Chapter 7 │Chapter 8 (COMPLETE!)

Synopsis: As the second daughter of King Viserys, you experience firsthand what it means to belong to the House of the Dragon. You struggle with the passing of your mother.

Hello! My apologies for the wait. My laptop broke, so I had to go get a new one. It took me a bit to set it all up how I like, and then I had a busy time of it at work + a bit of writer's block. I hope the chapter makes up for it! Keep in mind there are some untranslated bits of HV in here, but I'll make a post + link transcribing all that for those who want. Thank you to @ewanmitchellcrumbs for giving this the go-ahead!

TRIGGERS: character death, exploration of child grief, dysfunctional family dynamics.

It is very quiet now that Mama has died.

Brella is quiet. Septa is quiet. Ana and Peony, the maids who come to make your bed neat again and pick up all the dresses you’ve worn, are quiet. Ser Harrold is quiet—but then, he usually is. None of Papa’s guards seem to want to make a sound now. Neither do Papa’s Councilmen, like Lord Corlys or Lord Lyman, who you sometimes see walking down the halls with very sad looks upon their faces.

You wonder if, when Mama died, she took a part of all these people with her.

She has taken a part of Papa, and of ’Nyra, too. Suppertime is so very quiet that you are afraid to breathe in case everyone can hear it. They both just stare at their plates, eyes puffy and red like yours are when you cry, which means they have been crying, too. They eat their food like someone else is moving their mouths, and when they swallow, it looks like the most painful thing in the whole world.

Papa and ’Nyra haven’t spoken to you since the day of the tourney. You try not to be sad about it, but it’s hard. Now that Mama has gone away, they are your family, and it hurts that your family won’t look at you or say anything to you. It’s almost like they have forgotten all about you.

“They’re grieving,” Alicent tells you, taking your hand in hers as you walk towards the Sept. The stairs are very hard to climb, so she had to help you up, and it was nearly like having Mama again when she pulled you into her arms and held you tight. “Their sorrow has made them blind to all else.”

You don’t really understand what she means. “To me, too?”

“Hm?”

“Their sorrow. It’s made them not see me?”

Alicent stops. Something very soft and sad makes her face droop, and she bends down so that she can look you right in the eyes. “Oh, Princess. They see you. And they love you. But your mother”—she takes a breath that sounds shaky—“she was very important to them. They miss her very much.”

“I miss her, too.” You wonder when Mama will return. How long is ‘never’? No one has ever explained it to you. Hopefully it is soon.

“I know you do.” Alicent stands and grabs onto your hand again, leading you toward the table where so so many candles are.

The room is very hot, all the little fires making you sleepy even though it is only morning time. There are two stools right before the table, and Alicent kneels on one. You try to do the same on the other, but it means you cannot see the candles anymore.

“How about you stand on it instead, Princess?” Alicent asks. She lets you hold onto her shoulder so that you can get up on the stool like she said, which makes it much easier to see. Then, she folds her hands together in front of her chin and bends her head, so you do the same.

It isn’t very interesting to stare at your fingers at first, but after a while, it’s nice. You count all the little folds in your skin—there are a lot—and trace the edges of your thumbnails with your mind over and over. Time goes funny, and you cannot remember why you were ever sad before you came here.

It might be minutes or hours or days before Alicent speaks. “Would you like to light a candle? For your mother?”

“Why?” you ask, frowning. Is candle-lighting how to get Mama to come back? Will she see the light and know it’s me and return with baby Baelon? Is that why so many people pray in the Sept?

Alicent picks up a candle that hasn’t been lit. “To remember her. You light the candle and… she’ll see it.”

“From where?”

“From one of the Seven heavens.”

“Where’s that?”

“I… do not know.” She stares at the candle like she is trying to light it without moving. “Somewhere far away. My mother is there, too.”

“Oh.” She sounds very sad, so you reach out to grab hold of another unlit candle. “Can I light this one? For Mama?”

That makes her smile just a little. “Of course, Princess.”

Alicent takes one of the lit candles and tilts it into yours, making sure not to spill any of the hot wax on you. You hold very still, because fire is dangerous which means you can get hurt, even though you touched it once and it didn’t feel like anything but warm. The little string at the top catches fire, burning orange and gold and swaying gently.

She lights her own, too. “Now, you place it on the altar, like so.” She carefully sets both candles down and closes her eyes for a moment, and you think she must be thinking of her own mama.

You nudge your candle back to where you took it, watching the flame dance about. I lit a candle for you, Mama, so you can see it. Do you? Do you see me?

Where are you, Mama? When are you coming back?

The candle doesn’t answer. It just sits there, the little fire bobbing about and then finally falling still. All you can hear is the sound of your own breathing. When you are done, Alicent helps you step off the stool, and you leave the Sept with the candles still lit behind you.

Just outside, you find Uncle Daemon waiting for you.

While ’Nyra and Papa are grieving and Papa’s Council are planning and everyone else is doing whatever it is they do away from you, Uncle has been making sure that you are ‘well’ by telling you stories and teaching you more High Valyrian and sitting at the table to watch while you and Brella play with your dolls together. He never stays for a long-long time, but it is still very nice.

“Farewell, Princess.” Alicent lets go of your hand and turns to curtsey to Uncle, who bows his head but says nothing, just stares with a not-exactly-kind look on his face. Then, she leaves, her footsteps fading away and then dropping as she goes down the stairs. You listen until the noise disappears entirely.

Uncle’s brow raises. “What were you doing in the Sept with only Hightower’s daughter for company? Where’s your sister?”

He never calls her by her name. You wonder why, sometimes.

“She took me because ’Nyra is napping again from crying so much, and I was by myself. So, we went to the Sept so I could light a candle for Mama,” you say quietly. “So that she’ll see it and come back.”

At that, he softens. He crouches down so you can see his face more clearly. “She’s not coming back, sweetling. You know that, don’t you?”

“Why not?”

“She…” He grunts. “Do you remember the stories about Aegon the Conqueror, and his sister-wives Visenya and Rhaenys?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

“Right.” He rises, gripping you below your arms and lifting you high so that he can carry you away from the Sept. It makes him uncomfortable, though you don’t know why. “Tell me what happened to Rhaenys.”

“She tried to—to get Dorne to say that Aegon was their King, so she rode Meraxes to them.” Uncle hums approvingly, so you keep going. Your voice wobbles with each step he takes. “But they were angry at her for burning the grass and the trees and the buildings and the people and the sheep and the horses and th—”

“Yes, yes, she lit Dorne aflame.” Uncle rolls his eyes. He bounces you extra hard in his arms so that it feels like you’re about to fall, and you squeal and wrap your arms tight-tight around his neck so that you don’t. “Leave the boring bits out. Tell me the rest.”

“She—Dorne took a big, big arrow and hit Meraxes in the eye, and Rhaenys and Meraxes fell all the way to the ground from up high and died.”

His lips twist at the way you say the last word. “You’ve been paying attention. Good girl.” You’re out in the courtyard now, away from the Sept. It isn’t any louder out here, which is strange, because it is usually always loud and full of people. “Did Rhaenys ever return to Aegon and Visenya?” he asks, moving towards the doors that lead to Maegor’s Holdfast where your rooms are.

“No…” you say, unsure. You don’t think she did. “Why didn’t she go back?”

Uncle sighs, slowing down so he can look at you properly. “That’s what it means to die, sweetling. Rhaenys didn’t go away. When she hit the ground, her body ceased to function. She stopped seeing, feeling, thinking, moving, breathing. She became… nothing.” Your belly twists. You don’t like what he’s telling you, not one bit. Whatever your face is doing, it makes Uncle keep talking. “It’s like your dolls—you can touch them and see them, can’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“But when you speak to them, do they speak back?”

“No.”

“Do they have beating hearts?”

“No.”

“Do they eat or piss or shit?”

You gasp. “That—that’s naughty, kepus!”

He rolls his eyes again. “No, they don’t. They’re things, not people. And your mother… she’s no longer a person. She’s a body; one we must put to rest today.”

The funeral is soon. Uncle has been reminding you lots and lots, and when you asked, he said a funeral is what people go to so they can say goodbye to the person who has died and put their body back where it is meant to go. And because Mama is a Targaryen like you and Uncle and Papa and ’Nyra, her body has to be put on fire so that she can go back to the wind.

She’s not a person anymore. She’s a nothing. It scares you.

You sniffle. “But… I don’t want her to be gone like Rhaenys did. I want her back.”

“I know.” Uncle hugs you then, pulling you so close that your nose gets stuck in all his hair. When you breathe in, all those hairs go up inside your nostrils and make them itch. You hope he never lets go. “I know.”

Put on the dress, then sit in the carriage, then walk up the Hill, then stand quiet. Put on the dress, then sit in the carriage, then walk up the Hill, then stand quiet. Put on the dress, then sit in the carriage, then walk up the Hill, then stand quiet.

You keep saying it over and over in your head, just like Uncle had said. He is the only one who would tell you what is going to happen at the funeral, because he knows that you like to know things even when you’re afraid of them. It makes you feel better, makes you feel a little less scared.

Uncle never told you how many people would be here, though.

Everyone comes to watch you and ’Nyra and Papa and Uncle walk through the Keep to the carriage—the maesters, the maids, the pageboys, the lords and ladies that like to stay in the city—but they stay silent as you pass. You wonder if pressing yourself against the wall and thinking really hard about being made of stone will turn you invisible, which is when you can’t be seen. You wish you could. There are too many gazes on you, and it makes all the hairs on your arms and legs and neck stand up. Uncle has to press you forward when you slow down to look for an escape.

You sit in the carriage beside ’Nyra while Papa and Uncle sit at the front, because Papa is the King and Uncle is his heir. She is very pale, almost blending with her hair except for her red eyes. You slip your hand into hers and she squeezes hard, but you try not to show her that it hurts. She looks less sad holding onto you, so you don’t mind at all that her fingers pinch.

It is the first time in a long time that you have been able to see any of the people outside the walls of the Keep. Before Mama died—before Mama’s belly got too big and she had to stay in bed—she used to take you just beyond the gates to where the really poor commonfolk would line up every sennight on the day of rest to get their alms, which Mama says is an important part of being good. She would say that you have to give coin and food and whatever else the people might need so that they are well and happy, because that means they will support the King’s reign and be peaceful. You don’t know what that means, but Mama is always right.

You miss it—giving people things, letting them pat your cheeks or your hair and calling you the People’s Princess. Because Mama is Queen and giving alms is what the Queen is meant to do, no one else could take you when she stopped going out of her chambers. And, when you went with her, the people were always very loud and cheerful and smiling, and they thanked you with tears in their eyes when Mama let you give them the pouches of coin yourself.

As the carriage takes you through the city today, the commonfolk are quiet.

None of them are smiling, or happy. They watch on as the horses take you through the streets, and some of them even cry when they see the long box that the cart ahead of you is carrying. It is the biggest, nicest box you’ve ever seen, made with dark wood and borders that look like real gold, glinting in the sun. Uncle told you that the box has the bodies inside it, the ones of Mama and baby Baelon.

You think that the people miss Mama very much. Maybe they miss her almost as much as you do—but not the same amount. You think you miss Mama most of all, even more than Papa or ’Nyra, because at least they have Lord Otto or Lord Lyman or Lord Corlys or Alicent or Betha Strong or Ser Harrold to keep them company. All you have is Mama and sometimes Uncle, and now Mama is gone.

After a while, the carriage starts to take you up and up, which means that you are almost at the point where you will need to stop and get out and walk the rest of the way. This is because the horses cannot pull so much weight up Visenya’s Hill. Uncle said it would be hard for you to walk, being so small when the hill is so large, but that you have to so that everyone can see how brave you are. “Targaryens don’t show weakness,” he says.

He is right—the walk is hard. At first, when you get out and take ’Nyra’s hand and start to follow Papa up the hill, it isn’t so bad. But then, it gets steeper and steeper, almost so steep that you feel like you need to use your hands to climb the rest of the way. Your legs burn so much that you want to cry, but you don’t. Uncle said you cannot be carried, either, so you don’t ask ’Nyra to pick you up. You must be brave. You must be brave.

By the time you reach the top, the men who were made to carry the box have opened it up and taken out the things inside. There are two funny-shaped objects covered in brown cloth lying in the middle of the pyre that has been built for the funeral—one is big, bigger than you, while the other is very small. They are the bodies of Mama and Baelon, and you have to hold on tight to the memory of Uncle’s words to keep from running over and trying to shake them awake.

“What remains of them will be set upon the pyre, yes—but remember, they’re not people. They’re just skin and bone and meat now. You must let them burn as all Targaryens burn.”

’Nyra’s hand feels like ice around yours as a man in a strange dress with a hood comes forward, past all the lords and ladies and past Uncle and Papa to stand right in front of the pyre. Two other men wearing dresses that look almost the same go with him, but stay one step behind.

“Tubī Arryno Lentro Dārie Aemme se Targārio Lentro Dārilaros Baelon perzyrty mōrqittot…” he says. You don’t know all the words, but you think he must be talking about the way Mama is a queen and baby Baelon is a prince, which seems silly to mention now that they’re not real anymore. “Sȳndor zijosy rēbarose, Dāria Aemma eglio ilvot trēso Dārilaros Baelon zȳhos gūros se tegot…”

Syrax is standing on the very top of the hill above everyone else. Because it would be very rude to look around at the others—Papa’s Councilmen and Alicent and the men who live on Dragonstone, your family’s special home, and Princess Rhaenys too, who is very scary, as well as so so many people you don’t know at all—you keep your eyes fixed on the dragon, admiring how pretty she looks in the sun. Usually, she makes lots of noise and is very mischievous, which is another word for naughty, but today she is quiet like all the rest. You wonder how she knows about funerals when she cannot speak in Valyrian or the Common Tongue or any other words that people can understand.

“Targārio ānogro rȳ ōrbrar ojāris, sētenondi hen ībī iemnȳ nȳmas,” the man says. His dress has what looks like an eye sewn on the chest, which seems an odd thing to want to wear. No one else in the Keep wears eyes.

The two men behind him step up with jugs in their hands, and they walk around the pyre pouring what is in the jugs over the cloth. It turns the brown even darker brown. After they bow, they move back, and no one speaks for a while.

Finally, the man with the eye on his chest says one last thing. “Hen perzȳ sīdas. Va perzȳ āmāzissi. Hen prānot istas, vapār drējī mōrī iksis.”

Something about fire, you think. Maybe he is saying your House words in High Valyrian. Fire and blood.

It is silent then, nothing but the sound of the wind whistling filling your ears. Everyone is still, from the lady with the kind eyes that remind you of your own on the other side of the pyre to the funny men to the side. No one speaks. You wonder what is supposed to happen now.

Uncle puts his hand on your shoulder, leaning in to whisper in ’Nyra’s ear. “They’re waiting for you.”

At first, you think she hasn’t heard him—she doesn’t move or do anything at all, just keeps staring where Mama and baby Baelon are. You nearly jump when her fingers tighten on yours. “Ñurho valonqro paghyro jēdunna, lo tolijī kepa ñuha kirimvī rhēdos pendan.”

My brother lived, father found happy. It makes no sense, but Mama told you once that it is rude to listen to other people’s conversations, so you try not to listen too hard.

Uncle speaks too low for you to hear him, to which ’Nyra replies with something you do understand. “Trēsy dōrī kesan.” I will never be a son.

She sounds very, very sad. Poor ’Nyra, you think. I will never be a son, either. I’m just a daughter, a girl, like you. Maybe Papa would be happier if ’Nyra or you had died instead of Baelon, if your body was wrapped in the brown cloth on the pyre and you weren’t real anymore.

’Nyra lets go of you. She looks to Papa, but all he is doing is staring at the pyre where Mama and Baelon lie. Her face is very red, which means she has been crying. When she steps forward, Uncle takes your hand and pulls you back to stop you following her. He is warm, so you try to hug onto his leg in a way that doesn’t make you weak like he told you not to be.

Syrax makes her chirping noise, all of a sudden paying attention to what her rider is doing. ’Nyra tries to speak, but it doesn’t come out. “Dr…”

She looks at Papa again, so you do too. He still hasn’t looked away from the pyre. You wonder if he knows you and ’Nyra and Uncle are even here, because he hasn’t so much as glanced at you since the night he came to your rooms and told you that Mama and Baelon had died. Not once.

“Drakarys.”

Syrax rumbles, and then begins to climb down toward all the people. For a moment, you’re worried she might try to eat someone, but the Dragonkeepers are here with their spears to stop anything bad happening. She opens her mouth, and fire comes bursting out.

The pyre lights up, and Mama and Baelon disappear in bright-white-orange.

“Mama?” you whisper, eyes stinging and throat feeling strange, like you want to be sick but not. “Mama?”

The only thing that you can hear is the sound of burning.

Papa bends his head, and ’Nyra looks away. You think that you may be the only one who keeps watching the fire as it takes your Mama away from you forever.

(When you are grown, you will not remember this day. You will not remember the ache in your bones or the wind in your hair. You will not remember the faces of the commonfolk you passed along the way, or the sorrow in Rhaenyra’s voice when she called down dragonfire upon the hill. You will not remember the cold that leached into your blood as you stood beside what was left of your family, a slow freezing that will take its toll over the days and moons and years of your existence.

Even so, the sight of the bodies on the pyre and the smell of burning flesh will remain etched into the very fabric of your person forevermore.

At night, you will sometimes feel as though ash clings to your tongue, the taste of rot lingering in your mouth. In dreams, you will see brown cloth and a faceless babe wiggling beneath wrappings as it burns to nothing. You will wake in a panic, near to choking on the air you cannot seem to make yourself breathe, looking about wildly in search of the horrors that had plagued your slumbering thoughts. Melancholy will follow you, lurking just beyond reach, haunting, nameless.

But you will not remember this day.)

After the funeral, Uncle Daemon leaves.

You don’t know why, because he didn’t say goodbye and no one will tell you anything. When you ask ’Nyra, she tells you she doesn’t “want to talk about him” and walks away with Alicent. You ask Brella, but she just says, “Not right now, Princess.”

You don’t ask Papa, because he is still grieving for Mama and baby Baelon. For you, that means he doesn’t want to tell you about anything at all. But whenever someone says Uncle’s name in front of him, he gets very, very angry and storms off with his boots making a lot of noise on the ground, so Uncle must have done something very naughty.

A big ceremony is happening today, though, which makes it harder to be sad that Uncle isn’t here. ’Nyra told you that Papa has decided to make her the heir, even though Uncle is supposed to be. Maybe that is why he left. It has been very busy in the Keep because everyone came for Mama and Baelon’s funeral, but they are being made to stay for the ceremony so that they can swear fealty to Papa and ’Nyra. And, for the first time ever, you have a special role, too.

“… promise to be—to be faith–faithful to King Viserys and his named heir, the Princess Rhae-nyra. I pledge fealty to them and shall def—defend them against all e-ne-mies in good faith and without de-ceit. I sw–swear this by the Old Gods and the New.”

Alicent claps, smiling. “Well done, Princess! Much better!”

’Nyra comes out from behind her screen wearing a pretty red dress, like the colour of the dragon with three heads on your House sigil. “Just try not to stutter so much, little sister.”

“Trying,” you say grumpily—the words are hard—but ’Nyra isn’t paying attention. Instead, she is looking into the mirror as Alicent helps her with the laces at the back, staring at herself in a way that doesn’t look very happy.

Alicent stops and hugs her. “You will be fine. This is what you were born for.”

“I wasn’t, though,” ’Nyra says, frowning. “Was I?”

They both go quiet, so you say, “You look very nice today.”

That makes ’Nyra smile, finally. “Thank you.”

It doesn’t take long for Alicent to finish lacing up her dress and helping her with her gold cape and jewels. When she is done, ’Nyra leaves the room and Alicent moves toward you so she can take your hand. “Come, Princess,” she says. “Let us walk to the Great Hall together.”

When you get there, the room is full of people. You wonder if every single lord and lady in the whole of Papa’s kingdom is here, all together in this one place. It is only because you are a princess that you don’t have to stand with all of them, and Alicent leads you over to Ser Harrold so that you can stay next to him by the Iron Throne. There is even a little chair just for you there, in case your legs get tired.

“Princess,” Ser Harrold says. His voice is funny, like a growl, and it makes you giggle every time you hear it. And, every time you giggle, he smiles, which makes all the wrinkles on his face deeper, which is even funnier. He does it again now.

A big bang at the door has everyone go very quiet.

“Presenting—Princess Rhaenyra of House Targaryen!”

No one speaks when ’Nyra comes through the doors all by herself, chin lifted straight up and walking down the middle of the two groups of people. Everyone stares at her, even Papa, and you think that it’s only right that they do because she looks so so pretty today. She curtseys to Papa at the bottom of the Throne, and then turns to face the people.

Without a word, Lord Corlys comes forward and kneels. “I, Corlys Velaryon, Lord of the Tides and Master of Driftmark, promise to be faithful to King Viserys and his named…”

You decide to sit in the chair while you wait. All the lords here have to say the same words you do when they pledge fealty, but you are going last because you’re the most important person to say it, which is what Alicent told you.

Lots of men and some ladies come up to the front to kneel and say the words to ’Nyra while Papa watches. It takes a long time, so you spend it looking around at all the different faces and dresses and coats that you can see. There are all sorts of things sewn onto the chests of people’s robes—you see a black stag on a yellow coat, a yellow lion on a red one, a grey wolf on a white one, a flower, a bird, even some boring ones like plain stripes or dots. Some of the ladies are wearing dresses that look very strange—the neck comes far far down so you can almost see some parts that are not proper for a lady to show. When those ones say the words, most of them are actually saying them while looking at Papa instead of ’Nyra, which is very rude because today is all about ’Nyra and not Papa. No one tries to make them stop, though, so maybe only you notice it.

When it is your turn, Ser Harrold taps you on the shoulder. All of a sudden, you feel very scared. So many people are looking at you now, and it makes you feel small and weak like you’re going to be smacked if you do anything.

But you must be brave. If Uncle were here, you’d want him to be proud of you.

You kneel in front of ’Nyra a little closer than everyone else did, but you think that no one will mind very much because you are her sister. Besides, your legs are feeling very shaky, and you might fall over if you have to go any further.

For a moment, the words won’t come out and you panic, but ’Nyra smiles. It is the only smile she has shown the whole time, and it’s just for you.

You find the words.

“I promise to be faith-ful to King Viserys and his named heir, the Princess Rhaenyra. I pledge fealty to them and shall defend them against all e-ne-mies in good faith and without… deceit. I swear this by the Old Gods and the New.”

You rise up, feeling like water is rushing in your ears, almost like it does whenever you have to take a bath. A sound like a heartbeat is all you can hear as you walk back to your spot, but you don’t sit down. ’Nyra said that you have to stay standing for the final part, the words that Papa has to say.

Your sister turns around to face the Iron Throne and bends her head to Papa. He says nothing.

Then, Papa stands, his sword Blackfyre in his hand and pointing down into the ground. “I, Viserys Targaryen, First of his Name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm”—so many titles go after his name, you think, glad that you only have ‘the People’s Princess’ after yours—“do hereby name Rhaenyra Targaryen Princess of Dragonstone and heir to the Iron Throne.”

Everyone bows their heads, so you do, too. When ’Nyra turns around, all the lords and ladies and knights and guards clap.

Beyond the noise in the hall, you think you can hear a dragon roar.

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van-yangyin · 19 days

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LightTree Head and Lights of Tree Accessory 【For all ages】

This is a LightTree Head set that contain a LightTree head and Lights of Tree Accessory for all ages. Hope you enjoy this one! 💗

From a planet far away from Sixam, called Lerighett, reside these tree-headed beings of light. They're said to be of many varieties and species, though the best known is the LightTree. If they have more lights around them, you may have encountered a very powerful one of which they're very difficult to see, though not impossible. Or, on the contrary, they may have been inherited from a weaker lineage, who aren't as powerful. 🟡🌳

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LightTree Head

General Info:

104 swatches

Base game compatible

Located on Detail Skin, Forehead

all ages

disable for werewolves (don't show good on them)

all LOD's

All Maps (Diffuse, Normal, Specular)

Mesh and texture made from scratch

Custom Thumbnails

Compatible with higher and lower game sliders

Known problems: Some parts of the trunk may go deeper into the skin. Since is placed in Skin Details, Forehead, both packages are shown, no matter the gender, but they're written as Male Frame and Female Frame on thumbnail so that they can be easily recognized. Try to use them properly so they don't look bad unless that is the result you want to achieve.

LODs Info: LOD0: 7232 poly | LOD1: 3615 poly | LOD2: 1806 poly | LOD3: 903 poly

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※Choose download the one/ones you want the most or only download Merged: "_T-E_Merged" or "_AllMerged" where all the files are together.※

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Photo in in-game CAS and in-game:

If anyone is wondering, yes, the infant is flying!

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Lights of Tree Accessory

General Info:

9 swatches

Base game compatible

Located on Detail Skin, Crease

all ages

all LOD's

All Maps (Diffuse, Normal, Specular)

hats are disabled

Mesh and texture made from scratch

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LODs Info: LOD0: 2880 poly | LOD1: 1440 poly | LOD2: 720 poly | LOD3: 360 poly

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hanjizoo · 1 year

Text

“white lace”

(ship: bang chan x male reader)

(synopsis: reader is a solo porn star who goes live every once and a while. chan stumbled across this boy toy, and after a session or two, knew that it was worth the run of his money. one live, (y/n) decided to surprise his viewers with something special and caused chan to make a dumb impulse decision. was that impulse decision the best decision of his life? he won’t admit it…)

(genre: smut, with a plot? maybe?)

(note: before you read, just wanted to say that i was recently diagnosed with a couple of health conditions. i’ve been dealing with them for a while, so it’s really put a hinder in the consistency of my writing/posting. i have gotten a few requests, and i promise i see them! i am trying to keep up with them as much as possible and finish them for you, my lovelies. i hope that my inconsistency isn’t too much of an inconvenience for you all. thank you for reading this!)

(disclaimer!!: this is smut!! so, there are mentions of: both heterosexual porn and solo gay porn. various words such as pussy, cock, dick, balls, tits, daddy, sir, etc. reader is a “femboy”, wears woman’s lingerie. reader imitates breasts with his own, acts of dirty talk, dildo riding, masturbating, cum-eating, etc. if you do not like any of these topics, do not read and do not comment anything hateful!!)

it was a stressful day for bangchan. he dealt with a lot of working in the studio, practicing choreography, and looking after his other 7 members(children). all he wanted was to go to his dorm room and sleep. though the closure of sleeping was what chan truly wanted, he has nightly ruts that get in the way of that closure. chan was never the type to take time in jacking off. it was more of a one-and-done kind of thing. no motivation pictures, no porn, not even an audio…just straight imagination and the dull process of jerking his cock until he came.

it seemed every session got more and more un-relieving. he did it to relax his tense muscles and anxiety after all. strictly jerking wasn’t enough to even make chan cum after a while.

that’s when he decided to dive a little more into the side of porn. it was typical to watch porn, though chan never had time nor even have the desire to. it was only a faded recollection of his teenage years. but he thought that it would help him in his dilemma down south…

chan messed around and scrolled for a long while, finding something perfect that really got him going, though there wasn’t much. there are many sides to porn that chan found basic and seemingly effortless; nothing motivational enough for his soft dick. pages upon pages of monotonous porn and basic brags of “step sister with a tight pussy” accompanied with “jerking off my hard dick.” nothing set chan off, nothing made him hard.

that was until he found the glorious wonders of “imyour(y/n).” bangchan knew he liked (y/n) because of the instant twitch in his dick whenever he saw one of (y/n)’s thumbnails. (y/n) was a solo-pornstar, had an intense following, lots of viewers, and even an onlyfans that was expanding amazingly. men took a liking to this boy toy (y/n). bang chan took a liking to this boy toy (y/n).

many times did (y/n) satisfy bang chan. chan even went to the extreme of donating every once and a while just for (y/n) to say his username as he plastered cum all over his hands. (y/n) was smooth and smart with his words, always saying the right things in order to motivate his viewers and make them cum. every live and every video was a surprise, he loved pleasing his viewers.

so, of course, after long and hard days of working, chan always looked forward to reaching his dorm room, locking his door, and immediately watching one of (y/n)‘s videos to jerk off to. accept this time (y/n) was live. bang chan felt his heart skip a beat just seeing that he was live. he was overly ecstatic and already hard.

“hi, cuties. i see a lot more of you have joined, should i start now? i think i might. i’m getting a little hard.” (y/n) giggled as he watched the chat flood with horny comments of “show us your dick”, “take off your shirt”, and “moan my name, i’ll donate.” (y/n) was a sensation beyond many horny doms who wanted a boy toy like himself.

chan felt himself getting hard just at (y/n)‘s voice. he was flirtatious, and it was obvious how horny he was through his voice.

“right, i should start. i have a surprise for you all anyway.” (y/n) started. he slowly stood up, his head being cut out of frame and presenting his body instead. he was still dressed but only in a small jacket low enough to cover his crotch. he began to slowly unzip his jacket, each second he proceeded revealed a small, white lingerie. it was very obviously a woman’s lingerie set. he liked that it covered less of his body. it only covered his bulge, and loosely fit around his pecs. the straps wrapped around his body nicely.

chan loved that. instantly, his dick twitched and he felt silly little butterflies in his tummy. arousal started to take over chan as he fantasized about grabbing (y/n)’s small hips and slamming into his ass like there was no tomorrow. he grew harder with each progressive thought, and started to palm himself through his pants. he kept his eyes glued to his computer screen, watching intently as (y/n) started to also palm himself through his panties, body still in frame. the dim room, lit by led lights, didn’t do (y/n) any justice when it came to a clear view. chan wanted to see every detail of (y/n). he wanted to see his dick up close, leaking just for him to see the detail of his face to help his fantasies of cumming on it.

“do you like it? i bought it just for you, sir. i knew you’d love how revealing it is on me. do you like how hard i’m getting? it’s all for you.” (y/n) began to caress his body, pushing his pecs together like they were tits. he slid a hand down to under his panties and slowly massaged his dick and the other one massaged his pec through the bra. massaging his dick caused (y/n) to push his knees together in order to keep his balance as he was still standing.

“fuck it” chan thought. he quickly unzipped his jeans, pulling them, along with his boxers, down to his knees as he sat in his gaming chair. he gave his cock a few strokes, adding a few drops of lube. chan never used lube too much but he began to need it more to help the fantasies of being in (y/n)‘s warm, lubed-up ass.

(y/n) sat back down in his gaming chair in front of his monitor. he began to read more comments that were flooding in. of course, all horny. he smiled a bit, his cheeks flushing.

“you do like it? i’m so happy you do. i just want to make you happy, daddies…should i show you my cock? do you want to see how wet and hard it is for you, sir?” the comments began to flood with many “yes”’s.

(y/n) giggled, “hm, okay. but i only will if i get three $10 donations, okay?” chan thought about donating. he contemplated it for a long while until his opportunity was over due to 3 other users instantly donating. chan loved donating to (y/n) but he wanted to hear (y/n) say his name tonight. “i should save my money for the later donation” he thought.

“oh wow, so quick. you are so good to me, daddies.” as (y/n) read off the usernames who donated and thanked them, chan couldn’t help but feel a bit jealous. chan secretly wants (y/n) all to himself, but he won’t admit that to himself.

“since you were so kind to donate to me, i’ll let you see my cock now as promised.” (y/n) said, getting up from his chair and leaving only his body in frame again. he slipped off his panties slowly, taking his time and teasing his viewers, teasing chan. the moment his dick was set free, it bounced up and hit his stomach than bobbled back down to a semi-hard stance. he shook his hips a bit, making his dick wave from side to side to show it off.

“see how wet i am?” he asked. chan could see the light reflecting off of the small dribbles of cum on his tip. chan stroked his dick tightly, palming his tip every once and a while. chan was loud when he jerked off but tried his best not to be. but when it came to (y/n), he struggled to hold in his moans. these weren’t moans of lazy pleasure anymore, they were moans of pure high of arousal. chan felt dumb when he saw (y/n) stroke his beautiful cock. his cock was smaller than chan’s but chan found it cute. it was because of (y/n) that chan began to prefer little cocks to dominate rather than bigger ones.

(y/n) sat down again, his webcam gave a perfect view of his dick, thighs, torso, and face. chan could see everything he needed in order to motivate his cock. chan’s tip was red and hungry for (y/n)‘s ass. all chan wanted right now was to pound into him and shoot his seed into him.

(y/n) moaned, “ah~ god, im so wet already…do you like my cock, daddies? don’t get impatient, okay? i promise i’ll let you see this ass too.” he giggled, giving a smirk. (y/n) already looked blissed out and drunk on dopamine. his breath was unsteady and his moans were let free.

chan continued his strokes, covering his mouth as he felt butterflies invade his stomach again. it only made his cock twitch more.

after some more stroking and moaning from (y/n), he slowed, looking at his monitor. he scanned the comments, many of them by now were asking to see his ass.

he giggled, “oh, you want to see my ass, hm?” he pulled his panties back up, forcing them up high, the waist band fitting loosely above his hip bones.

he stood up, slowly turning around and shaking his ass a bit. chan admits, his ass is fairly big. definitely has a bubble butt for how small his build generally is. chan loved it of course, he loved thinking about slapping it while doing doggy and absolutely destroying his hole.

with the thong pulled up, his ass was fully out, fabric tucked within his ass cheeks. he massaged it, making it bounce up and down a bit. the recoil almost made chan cum on the spot. “fuck, his ass is so hot.” he said under his breath.

(y/n) turned to face his webcam again, this time turning the webcam to point towards his bed. his bed was decorated with a few stuffed animals and a white, satin sheet. his body was forced into frame, now with a dildo in his hand. it was realistic, a few veins running up the side, about 8 inches(20.3 cm) which was perfect for chan’s imagination since he was 7.5 inches(19 cm). (y/n) plopped himself up on his bed, setting the dildo next to him. he lifted up his bra above his pecs, pinching at his nipples accompanied by the massaging of his pecs. he forced them together, faintly imitating the shape of breasts.

“do you like them? do you like how big they are for you?” this made chan’s dick twitch. since he was bisexual, it was expected, but chan felt that this turned him on a little too much. he sped up the strokes on his dick, throwing his head back every few minutes. the room was filled with scant moans and whines, along with aqueous-sounding strokes. keeping his eyes glued to his screen, he watched as (y/n) lubed up the dildo in his hand, twisting his hand on the tip and slowly jerking it off. chan slowed his pace down to mimic what (y/n) was implementing on the dildo. chan closed his eyes and listened to (y/n)’s voice as he imagined (y/n) stroking his cock instead.

“your cock feels so good in my hand. it’s so big and wet. i can’t wait to feel you in my ass, daddy.” (y/n) moaned. he made intense eye contact with webcam. this was typical for him. (y/n) would make eye contact with the webcam every session to make the process more personal and seductive.

by this time, chan’s grip on his computer chair handle tightened, making his knuckles turn white. he had to edge himself just to hold himself off from cumming, even at this slow pace, chan was unbelievably close.

continuing to slowly stroke the dildo, it generating a lewd, wet sound, (y/n) announced, “i’d love to continue, but you all know what time it is, don’t you?” chan knew exactly what (y/n) was talking about. every time he went live, he asked for a $45 donation from chat, and whoever donated first was the lucky one to get their name moaned as (y/n) absolutely destroys his ass and cums all over himself.

chan’s stomach dropped, he wanted to be first. he wanted to go over the top just for (y/n), but maybe that was just the arousal making chan so desperate and dumb.

dumbly, chan scurried in order to be the first to donate. chan, dick still in one hand, hardly had to think about it before he ended up donating $100 to the boy. shock took over chan as he realized what he had just done, but simply stared at (y/n) and waited for his reaction.

chan watched as his username popped up in the corner of the screen, “call.me.chris donated $100!” it read. the small alarm of the donation pinging, getting (y/n)’s attention.

“oh my, $100?…thank you, sir…” it was obvious that (y/n) was flustered and shocked, but he tried to hide it the best he could in order to keep his provocative persona.

“well since you were first to donate, i should get ready for you then, shouldn’t i, chris?” chan hearing (y/n) say his name made him whine lowly, covering his mouth as he felt the heat radiate from his cheeks.

(y/n) prepared himself by picking up his dildo once again, stroking it a few times to warm up the lube, and turned his body around and proceeded to get on all fours. his ass was pointed up high. chan had a clear view of his beautiful asshole, and divine ass. (y/n) reached around, using his hands to spread open his cheeks to showcase his asshole some more.

chan sped up his strokes once again, moaning into his hand that was still covering his mouth. chan had a kaleidoscope of butterflies fill his tummy as he watched. he felt so incredibly special to (y/n) in that moment. he got what he wanted: (y/n)’s attention.

(y/n) arched his back, forcing his ass up high. a few of his fingers were still wet from the lube on his dildo, so he used it to massage his asshole, slowly inserting his middle finger. moans fell from (y/n)’s mouth as he continued to force his finger in and out of his ass. the lube made him slick and easy. chan wanted so bad to see (y/n)’s face as he fucked himself.

chan threw his head back, eyes rolling in the back of his head. he continued to please himself, imagining that it was (y/n)’s ass that was pleasing him instead. the sounds that chan was hearing only motivated him to cum even more.

after a few minutes, and a few more peeks at (y/n)’s ass from his monitor screen, the sounds hushed. this got chan’s attention of course, forcing him to find the source of the pause.

he was presented with a pulchritudinous sight. within those few moments of silence and rustling, (y/n) must’ve gotten a little too needy for chris’s dick. he was exposed: legs spread open, on his knees, and was lowering himself onto the dildo that was only help up by his hand on the base of it.

chan paused and watched in awe as he saw (y/n) lower himself onto the dildo, it slowly disappeared in his ass. it was slow, moans and whines slipping from (y/n)‘s lips as his dick pointed straight up and leaking pre-cum.

once (y/n) got to the base, he paused, “your dick is so big, chris.” he giggled, smiling at his webcam. chan was now just a puddle; putty. he felt weak in every aspect and couldn’t even bring himself to continue jerking off, just watch in fascination at (y/n) as he moved slowly up and down, the dildo disappearing and reappearing in his ass. his legs were wide open, giving chan a nice look at all of him: his dick, his balls, his ass and the dildo deep inside of it.

“god, you feel so good. do you like seeing me like this for you, chris? do you like seeing me take your cock so well?” (y/n) asked rhetorically, looking at his webcam once again. chan felt special, he felt like it was only (y/n) and him in his room. chan, for once, forgot about the concept of porn in all of its counterfeit. he forgot about the other 5,000 viewers that probably felt the same way as chan in that moment. it felt real to him, and maybe that’s what pushed him over the edge. he felt like he could cum in seconds if he started to jack off again, and he didn’t want to cum yet. he waited, taking in (y/n). he watched as (y/n) would lift himself off of the dildo,

only to force himself back onto it, the base meeting his ass. every time (y/n) pulled up, strings of lube stuck. it was messy and chan loved it. the small boy was covered in sweat, causing his hair to stick to his face. only the sweet sounds of (y/n) forcing himself onto his dildo and loud whines and moans were heard through chan’s monitor. still riding the dildo, (y/n) rested his arms in front of him to hold him up, forcing his pecs together in order to mimic breasts forced together. they bounced a little from the constant motion of (y/n) pounding himself on his dildo.

(y/n) looked up again, “do you want to fuck yourself between them? cum on them? i’d let you do anything you want to me, chris.” he smiled, blushed cheeks and sweat accompanying his face as well.

this triggered something in chan. he usually wasn’t the one to pursuit so called “femboys.” he was bisexual, sure, but he loved both the feminine aspect of some women and the masculine aspect of some men. he never thought to let it interchange with one another, but chan wasn’t so sure anymore. seeing (y/n) wearing a woman’s lace bra, even the smallest detail of the bounce his pecs would do when he’d slam himself back onto his dildo did something to chan he couldn’t rightfully explain or fully comprehend. though, he didn’t really care either. all he wanted in that moment was to cum to (y/n).

chan’s eyes switched every so often. he didn’t know what he wanted to keep his eyes on more: (y/n)‘s glistering pecs or his bouncing dick. curses fell from (y/n)’s mouth, notioning that he was close.

“fuck, you feel so good, chris…holy shit…please don’t stop, please don’t stop.” drive took over chan, and he couldn’t help but to indulge and please himself to (y/n). he was desperate and wanted to cum, so he started out as rough and aggressive with himself. each pounding (y/n)‘s ass would take only caused chan’s dick to inch closer to release.

“haa~ fuck, so close. mm, please, chris, cum in me. please~” hearing (y/n) beg caused the already present knot in his tummy to accentuate. he felt himself come close, his tip throbbing and profusely leaking. he wanted nothing more than to fuck that small ass of (y/n)‘s; wanted nothing more than to make him cry all because of his big cock.

chan threw his head back, fucking into his hand like it was the small boy on his screen.

“fuck- gonna cum. please, cum with me, chris. please, fuck me until you fill me up.” (y/n) begged. his voice was shaky and raised a few octaves now. his whines were beautiful, chan could of swore that (y/n) was crying at one point from how needy his voice sounded when he begged.

small trails of curses were whined under (y/n)‘s breath before it all came to a stop, the continuously clumsy slaps of (y/n)’s dildo meeting his ass and chan’s sloppy fucks still quietly heard in his room.

chan knew that (y/n) came and was continuing to ride out his high of his orgasm. (y/n)‘s whining and moans pushed chan over the edge, forcing his dick to twitch and coat cum over chan’s hand and a bit of his shirt as well. chan groaned deeply, trying not to be too loud in caution of the other members.

as chan rode out his high, slowly stroking his cum-covered cock, eyelids slightly closed and breath heavy, he watched (y/n) again. he was now trying to catch his breath as well, and slowly raised himself off of his dildo. he sat it next to him, and raised his hand that was also coated in some of his cum. he forced his fingers into his mouth, tasting and swallowing himself.

“you taste so good, chris. i wish i could’ve felt your cum coat my insides though.” he continued to wipe some off the cum that was dripping off of his cock, and wiped his on his tongue, showing his audience. (y/n) never took his eyes away from the webcam, and continued to lick his fingers like it was the best meal he’d ever have. his eyes were semi-closed, and his body was very clearly tired from getting pounded into.

(y/n) lightly giggled, “my body’s so tired from your dick, chris. i’m always tired after i cum, but i think your cock really did a number on me. i can hardly hold myself up.” it was true. he was hardly able to keep his eyes open, let alone get up to end the live.

still in nothing but his bra, he struggled to find steady composure as his knees were wobbly and he began to limp. he picked a blanket up from his bed, wrapping it around his slim body. (y/n) was undoubtedly cute in chan’s eyes.

(y/n) mustered up enough strength to approach his desk where his webcam was located.

“i really hope you enjoyed, chris. thank you for donating, sir. i hope i can pound myself to you again soon, your cock was amazing…bye, sir.” (y/n) waved lightly, his body was giving in to the comedown of his previous orgasm. (y/n) kissed his viewers goodbye and ended the live.

chan looked at the end screen for a bit, trying to take in everything he has just done. he was even still shocked that he donated $100 to (y/n). he decided it was best to shower to rinse himself free of his cum. no matter how tired he physically was, chan couldn’t put off the thought of (y/n). he replayed the whole scene in his head, eventually needing to jack himself off again due to how hard he got due to a simple thought of (y/n). maybe chan was more intrigued with (y/n) than he thought.

(potential part 2?!)

xo, kai <3.

#skz smut #stray kids smut #bang chan x male reader #bang chan #male reader #skz #skz hard thoughts #skz imagines #skz fanfic #stray kids #stray kids imagines #stray kids fanfic

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jccatstudios · 5 months

Note

I have been following your soc comic adaptation and it just so good!!! I love how you draw them!

I have just one question: Why did you not include Inej's opening musings about Kaz on the first page? (Kaz Brekker didn't need a reason etc) I actually really like how there is not text on the first two pages, it's really atmospheric and moody so this really is not a criticism, I don't want to insult you. I guess I was just wondering what the thought process behind that was?

Oh, I've been wanting to talk about this for a while! Buckle up, this is gonna be one of my long comic rants. (Also, no offense taken at all! Anyone's welcome to question my artistic choices and I'm always happy to take critique, even though that isn't your intention.)

So, the thing is I actually planned on including that first paragraph into the comic! Here's when I first shared the thumbnails on here. Just for the sake of this post, I'll insert them here too.

The boxes are meant to be where excerpts of that introduction would go. When I was creating the thumbnails, I was thinking about how iconic these lines were and how well they introduce the world and characters. I even finished the pages with the intention to include those lines. This is from my original csp file.

When I lettered it all out, I felt like something wasn't right...? Hard to explain. I wanted silence for the opening and the narration took that away. I then thought about the reader who'd go into this without reading the novel first, wondering if they'd be thinking, Who's this Kaz Brekker guy? Is it this character on the page? It's clearer in the book, but I didn't think it paired well with what I drew. I didn't want any confusion. It's also Inej's chapter, and while Kaz's parts take up most of it, I still wanted it to feel like her POV and her story. We can hold off officially meeting Kaz until page four.

But the main reason I took it out comes down to my philosophy when it comes to comic adaptations. I believe that an adaptation should use the original story in the best way for the secondary medium. A comic adaptation should play to the strength of comics, not the original source material.

Time and time again, I see a lot of comic adaptations of books try to use a book's strength instead of a comic's. When that happens, you get pages upon pages of narration boxes and exposition that could've easily been told in a single panel's image. If you want to read excerpts from the original novel, go do that! They're beautiful and well-crafted and you should be reading the original anyway! If you're making a comic adaptation, make a comic, not an illustrated version of the novel (that's a whole field of its own).

This whole thing really ties well into what I'm doing for Chapter 3. Kaz is such an internal character, his chapters have a lot more exposition that isn't setting description or character actions. I've had to do a lot more of my own writing for this chapter than the last just to turn that exposition into his own voice as an internal monologue. Sometimes, it's just a change from "he" to "I," but there are other times I've had to write new dialogue and find ways to naturally flow between thoughts. If I didn't do the work to adapt the expository text and instead just put in narration boxes of text from the book, there would be a greater disconnect between the reader and Kaz. Third-person limited works great in books and doesn't separate the readers from the story, but in comics, first-person internal dialogue keeps the readers inside the scene better.

If I were to redo Chapter 2, I think I would try to find a way to incorporate the information from the chapter intro better. I think by losing the intro I initially planned to include, I didn't establish certain ideas very well. Ketterdam and Kerch are established later on pages 4 and 5, but I don't think I ever go back and mention The Barrel. Also, the idea that Kaz is deliberate, even if his reputation says otherwise, is important too. I've made sure to fix this kind of issue in Chapter 3 and keep record of what kind of information I'm losing as I adapt it.

#comic rant over!#thanks for the ask I really love talking about this stuff #soc comic adaptation #asks #comics talk

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thecluelessdoctor · 5 months

Text

CHRISTMAS MOVIES

Now as much as I rip and hate on chrismas at times, I need to admit there is not a better feeling than experiencing a childlike wonder again. Seeing beautiful hand crafted clock work decor and extraordinary snow globes, or seeing those mechanical trains youd see in the movies, nothing beats the feeling like that.

I'ma talk about the movie Klaus. A personal favorite of mine, not just for chrismas.

Klaus was released on Netflix about four years ago (I feel old)

I love this movie. It breaks the Christmas movie stereotype and it does it well. I love it from animation, to story, to duologue to characters, it's amazing.

So to start off, let's start with animation and style.

Uhm.

I can't explain it just look

youtube

Stupid thumbnail. But yeah. Watch it. Beautiful.

Story!

The story is beautiful.

It starts, with a letter. Just a letter.

And a man.

The plot starts with Jesper, the snotty son of the owner of a huge postal company. Jesper is failing postal school, before being told to be a post man in a town in a island called Smeerinsberg, and have 6000 letters done in one year.

Smeerinsberg is a violent town, a large feud between two family's that go back generations living there.

Jesper has a hard time getting letters at all. Until that is a small child drops his drawing out the window and towards Jesper. Remember this. Jesper tries to get the child to mail the letter, before he is attacked by the child's father's dogs. Before this he meets a character named Ava, who was a attempted teacher

Weeks pass by, and he finds out about the old woodsman cabin, and desides to go there, finding many hand crafted toys.

The woodsman comes home, holding his large axe, and scaring jesper. Jesper flees, dropping the drawing from the child.

Things happen, and the woodsman, Klaus, tells jesper to bring him to the home of that child to deliver a present. Jesper does so (unwillingly) and nearly dying.

The next day, jesper wakes up to a few children saying they have letters for Klaus. Montage of Jesper bribing kids for toys lmao.

Jesper then goes back to klaus's home, pleadunf to be able to take the toys to the kids and shiz. Klaus agrees, and they'll do it at the dead of night.

Word gets around about Klaus, no one knowing it's actually jesper that's going into the homes lol.

One day he's getting letters, and meets a little girl named Márgu, who is Sámi, and Jesper cant understand her. He also learns some of the children can't write and read, so he sends them to Ava's school.

He also remeets a kid who told him to go home earlier in the movie, who he gave coal, and ends up making a thing called the Naughty list, sorta as a explanation.

Children all over town start doing good deeds, and soon after, the adults follow after. The two family's have dwinled, the large fued basically being ignored. The two leaders of the families make a truce to put a end to this peace.

Jesper is then at Klaus's cabin, rambling about his idea called 'Christmas'

After this, Jesper and Klaus get into a argument, and jesper goes home to find Márgu there. Jesper sorta vents, before deciding to try and figure out what Márgu wants. He goes to Ava's school, who helps translate a letter basically

Jesper goes home, and attempts to make what Márgu wanted, even though he doesn't know how to work wood

Klaus comes back, and helps him make Márgu's gift, and they go to deliver it, seeing her excited. They are later back at Klaus's cabin feeding the reindeer, and jesper is obviously happy that he made Márgu happy.

More stuff happens, and after a bit, Márgu's people have come to Klaus's cabin to help. They make him a sleigh, and a outfit similar to theirs, as well as help with toy making.

Though during this, what's left of the two family's finds out about jesper's goal of 6000 letters, and end up 'helping' him.

It's December 24th now, daylight, and suddenly jesper's dad comes to collect him, saying he's done 14000 letters. Klaus, Ava, and the Sámi people feel betrayed, and are mad at him

He goes to leave, but looks extremely sad, sadder than when he came to Smeerinsberg. His dad gives him the look, and he ends up staying.

Márgu went to go find him, trying to stop him. But looks like he missed his ride.

He ends up seeing the mob planning to get rid of the gifts, and trys to intervene, que drama scene with lots of tension, before it was revealed it was all a decoy, and jesper ends up regaining everyone's trust, and they go to deliver the gifts.

Years pass, and word spread, and they had to expand, just as they had hoped. Ava and jesper are in love, and jesper gets a mustache at one point (in which Klaus remarks 'what is on your face')

But suddenly, by the 12th year, Klaus's time has finally come, and he goes to join his wife. To anyone other than the viewer though, he seems to have just.m disappeared.

We cut to later, in a Christmas eve with jesper's kids. Him and Ava tuck them into bed, and Jesper goes down, to stay up for the night, the movie ending with the line 'but once a year, I get to see my friend'

Truly a beautiful movie.

I can't express how much I love this movie, and I can't even explain how good it is.

It's a 20/10, go check it out

#Klaus #klaus movie #jesper johansen #christmas movies #film review #movie review #presents #festive #christmas tree #xmas #holidays #christmas time #christmas gift #christmas ornament #Youtube

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oh-three · 2 months

Text

TBB S3E5:

Omg, Echo's in the thumbnail. Yay!

It's so satisfying to see Omega sleeping with Lula in her arms at long last.

Not Omega looking after Crosshair and trying to help him adjust 😭

Ayyy, AZI.

The familiarcy in which Crosshair's talking to Omega. The way he trusts her enough to tell her that he knows the others don't trust him, and the way she knows him well enough to know it bothers him 😭

Echo !!

"What? No hug for me?" Lmao. Echo made him smile, omg.

WHY DIDN'T WE GET TO SEE CROSS FIND OUT ABOUT TECH.

WE'RE GOING BACK TO BARTON IV.

"Don't hold it against him. He's only worried about you." Damn, never thought I'd hear Crosshair say that.

SHE CALLED HIM LITTLE BROTHER.

Barton IV 😭

Crosshair looking good in his old armor 😭 ❤

STOP INTERROGATING CROSS ABOUT BARTON IV.

"He started it." Lmao. True though.

The helmets are all still there 😭😭

Ice vulture theme reprise. I hear you.

Hunter backing off when he realizes Crosshair's behavior is grief is everything to me. Our man misses Mayday as much as the rest of us.

Something tells me they shouldn't have powered down those censors.

Avalanche?

HUNTER, CALM DOWN.

"I tried to warn you, Hunter. I risked everything to send you that message. You ignored it. You let Omega be taken to Tantiss. She went through what she did because you failed. You're angry because she escaped with my help, not yours." Honestly, if Hunter's gonna go at him, Crosshair deserved to get a couple jabs in there himself. Even if he is wrong.

Oooh, a checks notes wyrm.

Hunter still agreeing to work with Crosshair on getting the wyrm out despite the argument they just had. My man's already taken it all personally (because there's no way he's not blamed himself before) and shoved it aside.

All those posts about Batcher following Crosshair around were so right.

Wrecker is giving me Jurassic Park vibes restoring the power the way he is. Been a while since I've watched JP.

"You'll try?" / "Glad you heard me properly." 😂

JUMP.

Whoever built that outpost, whether it be Republic or Empire, knew what they were doing with those perimeter beacons Lmao. I wonder if Mayday knew about the wyrm.

The way Hunter looked at Crosshair after realizing that he saved his life without qualm. The way he's realized that Crosshair really did come back to them.

"And I don't even see any blood this time?" Damnnn, do they usually get into fights???? Checks out.

Echo praising Omega and telling her exactly what she needed to hear. That he, who's been saving all the clones, doesn't blame her for getting out while she could. That he doesn't blame her for leaving them.

"All we can do is keep trying to be better." 😭

The episode ending on the ice vulture music makes me wanna cry.

#bad batch spoilers #tbb spoilers #the bad batch #star wars

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ninebluehearts · 1 year

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Hi so I was reading some of the stuff you wright (which btw it’s all freaking amazing) and I was wondering if you could do a Joel x ftm reader where they were dating before the outbreak and then the outbreak happens. the day Joel and Tommy got separated Joel thought it would be best if reader went with Tommy (due to what happened with sarah thinking he couldn’t protect him and he doesn’t want to loose the only other person he loves) be safe even though Joel and reader were both heart broken reader agrees. Later on when Joel gets to Jacksonville Ellie all ready know all about reader so after Joel hugs Tommy reader yells out his name and they hug for a long time crying and just happy to see eachother. Little bit later reader find out about Ellie being infected and Joel and Ellie get scared (mainly Joel) that reader isn’t going to like that but instead reader asks her how long she’s been infected and Ellie tells her however long and reader says something along the lines of ‘ longest I’ve ever seen a kids last but hey try being infected for 2 years’ and Joel and Ellie are both confused and I just turns out reader is infected I really wanted to ask you cause I like the kinda touch or spark you add to your fics!

Sure thing, my love!! I love this idea so much tbh 🤌💗

Warnings(MDNI): Some smut, violence, miscarriage (pig, not human though), just proceed with caution :)

-------------------------------------------------------

"I'm home!" Sarah called out, taking off her muddy boots before she made her way into the kitchen, where you were already working on making her a snack.

"Hey baby! How was school?"

"It was alright, I guess. Mrs. Addison was talking about predicates again." She plopped down onto the barstool across from you, setting her backpack on the seat beside her.

"Speaking of, did you get a grade on that homework we worked on the other night yet?" You asked as you slid a plate of fruit towards her, all of them cut into many different shapes, though stars seemed to be the most common.

"Yeah, I got a ninety-two." Sarah tossed a piece of kiwi into the air, catching it with her mouth.

You huffed, your hands coming up to rest on the curve of your hips. "How? Which one's were wrong?"

Sarah's lips began to curl up into a slow smirk. "Now, I don't get to say I told you so very often. But..."

"Nope." You began to pull dishes from the sink, organizing them onto the counter beside you as you filled the sink with hot water and dish soap. "I know for a fact that the answer wasn't B."

"So, you're saying Mrs. Addison is wrong?"

"Yup."

"The same woman who's been teaching English for twenty something years?"

"Yup."

Sarah shook her head, chuckling as she began to pull her homework from her backpack. "Did Dad say what time he was gonna be home?"

"I think he said around seven, but you know how your father is." You said, scrubbing at a stuck piece of food on a plate with your thumbnail.

Sarah simply nodded, eating another piece of fruit from her plate before gently pushing it to the side, replacing it with her pre-algebra workbook.

You always loved how easily you and Sarah could work around each other, both of you working on completely different tasks, though you could still enjoy each other's company.

You and Joel had been dating for over three years now, and though that may not seem like a very long time, you were still very much so considered family all the same. Sarah called you Mom and Tommy liked to call you 'sis' every now and then.

You knew that Joel was a little nervous when it came to the topic of marriage. Things didn't end well with Sarah's biological mother, and he didn't know if he could go through that again with you. Though with his not-so-subtle hints, you had a feeling that would all change soon.

It was nine when Joel came home.

Both you and Sarah were curled up on the couch together, the end credits of Breaking Dawn part one rolling down the TV screen before you.

Joel gently hooked his arms under Sarah's back and under her legs, successfully detaching her from your embrace without waking her up. You on the other hand, woke up with a start, immediately reaching out for Sarah.

"Shh, I've got her." Joel whispered, smiling at how possessive you were over her.

You simply nodded, a yawn taking over once you relaxed.

Joel disappeared upstairs for a moment, leaving you to pick up the dinner mess you and Sarah had left on the coffee table and in the kitchen. As you began to wash the small load of dishes in the sink, you felt familiar arms wrap around your waist, causing you to jump at first.

"Jesus Joel! I didn't even hear you come down!"

Joel chuckled into the crook of your neck, taking a deep breath as he molded his body against yours. "You're cute when you get scared, you know that?"

You shook your head, placing a dripping plate into the rack beside you. "You're late, my love."

"I know."

"Again."

Joel let out a long groan, pulling away from you so he could lean against the counter next to you instead. "Chris gave us the wrong parts again. I swear to God, Tommy nearly kicked his ass. Fucker had a vein popping out on his forehead and everything."

You both laughed at that, soon allowing small talk to take over as Joel helped you clean up the rest of the kitchen. You soon both fell into your same old routine: Joel showers while you do your skin care, you both brush your teeth together, then Joel picks you up bridal style, carrying you to bed.

"Do you have to do this every night?"

"Damn right I do." Joel suddenly dropped you on the bed, climbing on top of you in an instant. "Why? Do you want me to stop?"

You shook your head, slipping your fingers into the damp waves that were Joel Miller's hair.

"Good." Next thing you knew his lips were on yours, his hand haphazardly reaching over to turn off the lamp, knocking over a couple of books and a tissue box in doing so.

The next morning you stared at Joel's sleeping face with a smile, taking in every detail; every wrinkle and scar. He was truly the most beautiful man you've ever seen.

The way the streak of morning sunlight lit up his features made butterflies erupt in your stomach, making it nearly impossible for you to not reach over and touch him. You brushed a strand of his hair away from his eyes, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to his nose.

You watched as his eyes fluttered open, a look of confusion that quickly turned to lust crossed his gaze. "G'mornin' baby doll." He slurred, sleep evident in his tone.

"'Mornin' honey. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you yet."

"S'ok. I needed to get up anyways." Joel rolled onto his back, groaning as he extended his arms out to stretch, soon settling back into a comfortable sleeping position once again, his eyes fallen shut.

"Hey." You crossed your arms and rested them on his chest, setting your chin on your forearms as you looked at him.

Joel hummed, not opening his eyes.

"Happy Birthday." You said, pressing a kiss to his shoulder.

"Mmm, thank you, baby." Joel lazily brought his hand up to stroke your hair, brushing the stray pieces behind your ear. "I love you."

"I love you too." You murmured, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. When neither of you pulled away, you sat up on your forearms, deepening the kiss as you slipped your leg over Joel's hip, his hand coming up to grab the back of your thighs, pulling you closer.

The blankets fell to rest on your lower back, reveling your upper half to the cool air. You pulled away from the kiss as you sat up, placing your hands on Joel's chest. "Want a preview of your birthday present now?" You asked with a smirk, gently biting your bottom lip.

"Damn right I do." Joel reached over and grabbed a good handful of your ass, shivering at the low moan you let out.

A loud knock sounded from your bedroom door, making both you and Joel jump. "It's seven thirty! Come on, I'm making breakfast!" Sarah called out, knocking on the door one more time for good measure before she went downstairs.

You sighed, a small smile tugging at your lips. "Rain check?"

Joel nodded, his hand unexpectedly smacked your ass, making you yelp as you climbed off of him.

"Don't push your luck."

"It's my birthday. I can do whatever I please."

By the time you got home from work, Joel was still out on a job with Tommy and Sarah was presumably still next-door, helping Mrs. Adler bake cookies.

With nobody home, you decided to take some time for yourself. You cleaned up the house, threw dinner in the oven, then headed upstairs for a shower. By the time you came back downstairs, hearing the ovens timer sound off, you walked in to see Sarah already pulling the dish out of the oven for you.

"Oh, hey! When'd you get here?" You squeezed your hair with the towel one more time before you draped it over a nearby chair, walking over to the cabinets to pull out two plates.

"Just now." Sarah pushed a container of cookies towards the top of the counter with a grimace.

You raised your eyebrow, finding it strange that she wouldn't want a cookie. "What did you guys make?"

"Rasin."

You nodded your head, a look of disgust crossing your own face this time. "Well, you could give 'em to your uncle. God knows he'll eat anything."

Sarah gave you a small smile, hooking her finger on the edge of the plate full of pasta and dragging towards her. "By the way, is there anything going on today? There's a lot of police out for some reason."

"I noticed that too! I'm sure it's nothing. That new mall opened up downtown, so it could be shoplifters again." You picked up your own plate before heading into the living room. "Come on, we've still got part two to finish!"

And with that, Sarah picked up her own plate and followed you, brushing off the previous conversation.

You and Sarah turned to look at Joel when he walked in the door, silently taking off his coat and dropping his keys in the bowl besides the door.

"You're late." Sarah crossed her arms, trying her best to seem firm.

"You're cute." Joel said as he walked by, ruffling her hair before kissing the top of your head, plopping down on the open seat between you and Sarah.

He went on about why he was late getting home again, mumbling something about the wrong sized headers as he took off his boots. "Ah, never mind. Doesn't mean anything to ya."

Sarah glanced around the room, raising her eyebrow. "So. Where's that cake you promised?"

Joels hands came up to rub his face, a deep groan sounding from behind his palms.

You and Sarah exchanged a look.

"Come on, man."

"I know, I know." His hands fell to his lap, fixing his gaze on her. "Look, I'll pick us up one in the morning. I promise."

"Swear? Or else you won't get your present."

Joel sat up, a smile creeping onto his face. "You got me a present?"

"Swear."

"On my life."

Sarah reached behind the pillow besides her for a moment before retrieving a small box, silently handing it to Joel.

Joel glanced at you with suspicion; you held up your hands. "I dunno what it is."

Joel opened the box to reveal his old watch, though instead of the shattered glass and dead battery, the watch looked almost brand new.

"I got it fixed for you."

Joel picked up the watch and held it against his ear, a soft look of confusion washed over his features. "Did you?"

"What?" Sarah grabbed his arm, pulling it towards her so she could examine it. Once she realized the watch was fine, she rolled her eyes, plopping back against the couch.

Joel let out a laugh. "Gotcha!"

"You're lame." Sarah said, all three of you laughing along.

"Where'd you get the money for this?" Joel asked Sarah, silently asking for your help to buckle the watch on his wrist.

"Drugs. I sell hard core drugs."

You rolled your eyes, giving her a disapproving Mom look.

"Better than what I do." Joel muttered, admiring the watch.

"It was only twenty dollars.. Which I stole from you." She elaborated once she saw the look Joel gave her. "I could've stolen sixty, but I put the change back because I'm an honest thief."

"Mhm."

"Besides, it's the thought that counts. You were never gonna do it for yourself, so.."

Joel stared at her, letting the room fall silent for just a moment. "Thank you." He went back to fidgeting with the watch; Joel was never amazing at showing his emotions, but both you and Sarah could tell he was grateful.

You nodded at the pillow behind Sarah, watching her eyes light up. "Oh yeah! There's one more." She pulled out a DVD case from behind the pillow, causing Joel to grab it from her once he realized what it was. "I borrowed it from the Adler's."

"Oh! This is the one with the deleted scenes!"

"Yeah, imagine how bad those have to be."

Joel handed you the case, excitedly showing you where it said ''deleted scenes.''

"Come on. Pop it in; we've gotta celebrate your birthday." Sarah said with a soft smile.

You got up and shoved the disk into the player, plopping back down on the couch when you were done. Both you and Sarah curled into either of Joel's sides, causing a wide smile to spread across his lips.

"Now, you guys can't fall asleep now."

"Of course not. It's too riveting." Sarah said, making both you and Joel huff out a laugh.

Of course, you and Sarah fell asleep.

It was midnight by now, both you and Sarah remained huddled up against Joel's sides, your soft snores buried under the screams from the movie.

Joel's phone began to vibrate on the coffee table, making Sarah stir beside him.

"Hello?" Joel whispered when he answered, trying not to wake the two of you.

You woke up not a moment later, Joel's conversation and the TV became loud enough to wake you. You listened closely, hearing Tommy's muffled voice on the phone.

With the way Joel let out a long sigh and the rambling on the line, it sounded like Tommy got arrested again.

"Okay." Was all Joel said before he hung up, mumbling a quiet, "Fucking idiot." Before trying to figure out how he was gonna untangle himself from the couch.

"Who was that?" You whispered, sitting up so you could stretch.

"Fucking Tommy got into another fight. I've gotta go bail him out." He slowly slid off of the couch, turning to gently pick up Sarah.

You silently followed him upstairs, opening Sarah's door for him before making your way to your own room. Knowing Sarah was asleep, you didn't bother closing the door as you got changed into your pajamas.

"I'll be back in an hour, okay?" Joel said from the doorway, watching as you pulled on a pair of cotton shorts.

"Alright, just be safe, alright?"

Joel gave you a quiet nod, which put your mind at ease.

You walked over and gave him a kiss on his cheek. "You know I love you, right?"

Joel pressed his palm against your cheek, kissing your forehead in return. "I know."

You both nodded, saying your goodnights before you made your way to your bed, hearing Joels keys jingling from downstairs.

Knowing he wasn't home made you anxious. You couldn't help but think back to the conversation you had with Sarah earlier, about the police and such. You had a bad feeling in your gut, but you had no choice but to push it away.

Nothing bad is going to happen. Everything is fine.

You repeated the mantra in your mind until you soon fell asleep.

Your eyes snapped open when you heard Joel scream your name from downstairs, his boots thumping against the stairs as he jumped up them.

You reached over and turned on the light, looking back to see Joel racing towards you.

"We've gotta go right fucking now."

"What? Why-"

"Now!" He grabbed your arm, pulling you out of bed and back downstairs.

You managed to grab your coat and shoes before you got outside, seeing that Sarah and Tommy were already in the truck.

Joel helped you into the backseat before he climbed in next to Tommy in the front, yelling at him to drive, though he was already stomping on the gas pedal.

"What the fuck is going on Joel?" You asked, sitting on the edge of your seat so you could see where you were going.

You watched as Tommy turned around in the yard, turning back onto the road. The headlights of the truck illuminated the Alder's yard; both Mr. and Mrs. Adler stumbled out of their home and towards the road, both of them covered in blood.

"Holy shit, Joel! We have to help them!"

Joel still didn't say anything to you. "Drive." He told Tommy, making both you and Sarah's eyes go wide.

Tommy hesitated for a moment, but then stomped on the gas, successfully hitting Mrs. Adler.

You held your hand against your stomach, a wave of nausea washing over you. Your ears began to ring, making it nearly impossible to hear what they were saying.

Sarah kept asking if you were all sick, Tommy yelled at the car that almost hit the truck, Joel tried to comfort Sarah and give Tommy directions. It was all such a mess.

You slid over a seat, wrapping your arms around Sarah to comfort her. You were both shaking, fearing the unknown.

"I've got you, baby." You whispered, gently dragging your nails along her back. Though she melted into your embrace, she continued to shake, her quick heartbeat thumping against your shoulder.

Soon you were in the city, where hundreds of people ran around the streets like chickens with their heads cut off; some were even covered in blood. Some seemed to be chasing the others.

Some were eating people in the streets.

You covered Sarah's eyes, refusing to let her see such a sight. It took everything in you not to throw up yourself.

Time moved by so fast it all felt like a dream.

And god damnit you hoped it was.

Tommy and Joel fought over where to drive to as crowds of people flooded the streets. And over all of the screaming, you could hear a quiet whistling sound.

Against your instinct, you turned to look out the back window, seeing a plane rapidly heading nose first towards the ground.

"Joel!" You screamed out, making Joel turn to see what was wrong.

His eyes went wide. "Fuck! Tommy, go now!"

But it was too late. The plane crashed into the ground with a squeal, making all of your ear's tense. That was the last thing you remembered before you blacked out.

When you finally came to, Sarah was lying next to you in the flipped truck, watching something outside of the shattered back window.

You turned to see what she was looking at; the sight draining the blood from your face.

A man was sitting on top of a woman, his mouth firmly planted on her neck, causing blood to stream down her collarbone and shoulders.

You recognized the man. He had come into the store this morning, telling you about how his wife had suddenly fallen ill with some kind of flu, you recalled.

"Sarah?" Joel called out, grabbing his daughters' hip. "Shit guys. Don't look at that." He started untangling Sarah from the vehicle, trying to quiet her whimpers as he worked.

Tommy pried open the door closest to you, hooking his arms under your shoulders and dragging you out.

You screamed in pain, your arm twisted out of place.

"Ah fuck!" Tommy muttered. "This is gonna hurt like a bitch.." And before you could register what he was doing, he grabbed your arm and twisted as hard as he could, snapping it back into place.

Your breath caught in your throat; the pain so sharp you couldn't even make a sound. Tears welled in your eyes as your arm throbbed in pain. And though you didn't want to get up, Tommy pulled you to your feet anyways, making his way over to the end of the truck.

"Is she okay?" Joel called out, trying to look for you.

"I'm fine!" You called back, finally catching his gaze for a split second. And in that one, single moment, you felt safe.

"We have to get off of the street!" Tommy yelled out, a cop car slamming into the end of the truck not a second later.

The cars were stacked on top of one another, both of them engulfed in flames. You and Tommy searched for a space to see Joel and Sarah, the smoke making it nearly impossible.

Once Tommy found a clear space between the two vehicles, he told Joel to head for the river and that he'd meet him there.

"What? We can't get separated!" You protested, looking at Tommy as though he were crazy.

"We ain't got much of a choice!" Tommy pulled a gun out from behind him, handing it to you. "Come on!"

He grabbed your good wrist and dragged you towards the ally, though you still tried to protest.

"Fuck, no Tommy! I can't kill anybody!"

"Again, you ain't got much of a choice." You both ran through the streets, trying to hide from the masses.

You had to stop to breathe for a moment. You were shaking and hyperventilating, the stress made your body begin to shut down.

"What the fuck are you doing? We have to go now!"

You tried to run again, but your vision was beginning to go out; black slowly closeing in around you.

"Fuck." Tommy muttered, wrapping his arm around your shoulders so he could drag you along with him.

By the time you got to the river, you saw a man towering over Joel with his gun pointed at him; Sarah laid in the grass nearby.

Tommy shot the man without hesitation, all of you standing there in shock.

Sarah's sharp, quick breaths filled the air, turning your attention to her. "No."

You raced over and dropped down besides her, covering her bleeding stomach with your hands. "Baby no!"

Joel was suddenly next to her, his eyes wide as he stared at your blood-covered hands. "We've gotta go-" He tried to pick her up, but Sarah screamed out in pain, pushing him away. "Come on babygirl! You've gotta get up!" His voice cracked as he yelled for her to get up, desperately trying to find a way to make it better.

You placed your hand on his shoulder, your throat tightening as tears swelled in your eyes. "Joel honey.."

"No! Look, she's okay! See? Come on baby, tell 'em you're fine!" Joel hugged Sarah against his body, tears streaming down his cheeks as he muttered please over and over again.

You wrapped your arms around Joel and Sarah as best you could, breaking down when you felt Joel's hand squeeze your arm for comfort.

Seventeen Years Later...

"No, I'm fucking done with this shit!" Tommy said, shoving the door open as he stormed out of the broken-down building, you and Joel hot on his heels.

"You ain't got a choice Tommy! What else are you gonna do? Settle down somewhere nice? Huh? Let me remind you that the only other life there is out there is in another fucking QZ!"

"So, you'd let them murder innocent people rather than fight for a better life? All because you're too scared of some government?" Tommy asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

Joel scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Nobody's innocent."

"No, but everyone's a survivor. And I don't know about you, but I'd like to revive the human race, not help end it!"

Tommy had been aiding the FireFlies for the past three months now, claiming that they were trying to bring peace to QZ's around the continent. And though you agreed with them in theory, you thought they were going about all of this the wrong way.

You gently wrapped your hand around Joel's arm. "He's not wrong-"

"Jesus Christ! Now you?" Joel tore his arm away from you, stomping just a few feet away from you both. "I mean fuck! Y'all act like I want to do this shit!" He let out a humorless laugh, rubbing his hands over his face.

Tommy walked over to him, setting his hand on his shoulder. "Come on man. We'll leave these bastards behind, and we'll figure out something else- something better, okay?"

Joel shook his head, shrugging off his hand. "There ain't nothing out there Tommy!" A vein began to show on Joel's forehead, making your heart clench.

"Then you can keep doin' this shit on your own, because I'm done." Tommy stormed back inside to grab his stuff, leaving you alone with Joel.

"Listen-"

"You're going with him."

"What?" Your brows furrowed together; confusion evident on your features. "I'm not going anywhere without you-"

"You're goin'!" Joel snapped, surprising both of you with his tone. "And that's final."

You stormed over to him, pointing your finger in his face. "You don't get to tell me what to do. I can look after myself just fine, thank you."

"Good. Because you're gonna need to."

"What are you saying Joel? Don't you want to be together?" Your rage quickly faded as you studied his features, realizing what he meant. "No. Joel, we've been together twenty years- I can't lose you now. Not when we've come so far."

Joel placed his hand on your shoulder, finally allowing his eyes to meet yours. Seeing the tears welling up in your eyes hurt him on so many different levels. "I'm sorry." He pressed a kiss against your forehead, his entire body trembling against yours.

"Don't do this." You whispered, closing your eyes as the pain of losing him washed over you.

Without another word, Joel turned around and walked down the street, leaving you in tears.

"Joel! Fuck! Please come back!" You screamed out, your voice cracking as a sob began to rise in your throat. You felt Tommy's hand on your shoulder; you turned, hugging him as tight as you could as each sob wracked through your body.

"He'll come around." He said, though he didn't know how much he believed that himself.

About two months later, you and Tommy ran into a woman named Maria in Jackson, Wyoming.

You and Tommy had been walking for hours at that point, trying to find some kind of civilization that wasn't completely corrupted by the people or its own government.

You had asked if you could take a break for a moment, deciding that the open field that surrounded a river would be the perfect place to breathe.

Tommy reluctantly agreed, saying that you had five minutes while he went to find a place to 'take a piss,' in his own words.

You laid back on the ground for a while, closing your eyes to take in all of the smells and sounds of nature, trying to ignore the chill that always seemed to creep in through your heavy layers of clothing.

Though when you opened your eyes, a woman stood behind your head, pointing a gun in your face. You'll admit, Maria always knew how to make one hell of an impression.

She invited you and Tommy to come and live in the commune that the two of you hadn't even noticed; it's enormous gates only stood but two miles from where they had found you.

It's safe to say you both accepted. Though you agreed to keep an eye out for anything suspicious.

It had been months since then, and Jackson life seemed to be a perfect fit for the both of you.

It didn't take long for Tommy and Maria to begin dating, though you always knew there was something between the two of them.

And while a few different men in the commune tried to worm their way into your heart, you made it known that you weren't looking for any tenants at the moment.

Two years later and you still couldn't seem to let Joel go.

You had no idea if he were still alive at this point, but you held out hope. He had to be out there somewhere; you could feel it.

And while Jackson was absolutely perfect, you didn't get to stay here for free. You were paired up with a farmer named Kenny, the both of you tasked with taking care of the pigs and chickens, making sure their pens were clean and they had plenty of food and water.

"Morning Kenny! How's Miss Q doing this morning?" You asked as you closed the pen's gate behind you, reaching over to pet one of the pigs that were happily munching on their lunch.

"She seems to be doing a lot better after your last goodnight kiss." Kenny gestured towards the pig in question, who was playing in the mud with her baby piglets.

"Ahh, I'm glad to hear it! I was worried about her for a while there." Miss Q the pig lost one of her piglets during birth two weeks ago and she seemed to be in a funk ever since.

"You're tellin' me." Kenny said, handing you a shovel. "You start on the chickens while I refill their feed?"

You simply nodded, taking the shovel and heading out towards the chicken coup to clean out their pen.

On your way over, you heard men yelling commands to one another, and not a moment later the gate was open, allowing a group of people to come inside.

They already made a supply run the other day, so you didn't have a clue as to what they could be doing outside. Deciding to mind your own business, you walked on, making a mental note to ask Tommy about it over dinner.

That was, until you heard it.

"Tommy!"

Your eyes went wide as chills ran down your spine, your breath caught in your throat. You dropped your shovel, walking down the street towards the gates.

The closer you got, the more you believed it could actually be him. You saw Tommy holding the man in a tight embrace, carrying on a conversation you couldn't make out the words to.

You picked up your pace, now racing towards the men as fast as you could.

Hearing the sounds of boots stomping against the ground, the man looked up, his wide eyes staring straight into yours, making you stop right in your tracks.

"Joel." You whispered, your soft pants causing little white clouds to block your vision for a moment.

Joel pulled away from Tommy, gently brushing past him as he made his way over to you.

"Darlin'-"

You practically jumped on him, digging your nails into his back as you held him impossibly close, tearing up at the soft chuckle he let out.

"I'm here baby, it's alright." He whispered into your hair, holding you just as close.

You stayed like that for a while, neither of you wanting the moment to end just yet. You've wondered around for the past two years feeling as though you were missing something- like you weren't complete. And this was it; Joel was your missing half.

"Sooo, this is her, I assume?" You heard a girl say from behind you. You turned to face her, smiling at how cute she looked with the millions of layers of clothing.

Joel cleared his throat, introducing you to Ellie.

You shook her hand, giving her a warm smile. "I'm impressed, honestly. You're the oldest kid I've seen in a while that isn't completely stuck in a QZ."

"You should be. It isn't easy trying to survive with this asshole." Ellie said, making Joel roll his eyes.

"I got you here in one piece, didn't I?"

"Eh, the jury's still out."

You couldn't quite put your finger on it, but there was some kind of connection between the two of them. Even when you all were eating dinner in the cafeteria later on that night, you could see it.

And when it finally hit you, you couldn't help but tear up a bit.

You vividly remembered all of the dinners you had with Joel and Sarah over twenty years ago, listening to their playful banter and having to step in when one got offended.

"So," Ellie began, pulling you from your thoughts. "What happened?"

"What do you mean?" You asked, taking a sip from your glass of water.

"How did you and Joel get separated. Bastard won't tell me."

"Ellie." Joel warned, staring at her with a dangerous gleam in his eyes.

"What? I'm curious!"

"Things just didn't work out, honestly. We both needed time away from each other I guess." You felt Joel's attention shift to you, though you couldn't bare to look at him in that moment.

Of course you were glad he was back, but that didn't make two years of heart break just go away with a snap of his fingers. It was going to take time.

Disappointed that your answer wasn't as interesting as she hoped, Ellie went back to eating her dinner.

"So, you never told me what brought you all the way out here. Tell me everything." You looked between Joel and Ellie, resting your chin on your fists.

Joel cleared his throat, glancing at Ellie before focusing on you. "Marlene wanted me to bring her out to Salt Lake with the other FireFlies."

"Why?"

"Uh- You know how Marlene is; she doesn't tell any of us much of anything-"

"You know Marlene?" Ellie asked, suddenly interested in the conversation.

"Sadly." Your eyes slightly squinted as you stared at Joel, looking him up and down with suspicion. He was always a horrible liar. "She always had a stick up her ass last time I saw her."

"Really? She was chill with me. She didn't even freak out when she saw that I was infect-"

Joel let out a loud cough, turning in his seat to look at Ellie with wide eyes.

"You're infected?" You asked, a small smile beginning to tug at your lips.

"She is, but listen-"

You held up your hand, cutting off Joel. "For how long?"

Ellie glanced at Joel, almost as if she were asking for permission before answering. "A couple of months."

You watched as Ellie pulled up the sleeve of her shirt, revealing a scarred over bite mark on her forearm.

You traced your finger over the skin, marveling at all of the cordyceps veins that spiraled around the bite. "Hm." You leaned back in your chair; Ellie pulled her sleeve back down. "How do you feel?"

"Fine, I guess. It's a little weird to know it's there though."

"Eh, you'll get used to it. Try being infected for two years." You said with a laugh, taking a sip from your drink.

"What?" Joel sat up straight in his seat, his eyebrows furrowing together.

"Oh, yeah!" You stood up and set your foot on the table, rolling up your jeans to reveal your own bite mark that lay just above your ankle.

Joel stared at your leg for a while, your conversation with Ellie was nothing but mumbles to him at this point.

It was his fault. If he hadn't been such an asshole then maybe this never would've happpened..

Joel stood from his chair, hurrying out of the room without saying a word.

"I'll be right back." You told Ellie, hurrying after him. When you got outside, Joel was leaning against the side of the building, a hand on his chest with his eyes squeezed shut. "Jesus Joel, what's wrong?"

"M'fine. Go back inside." Joel waved his hand out to dismiss you, trying to conceal his pain.

You placed your hand on his back, frowning when he flinched at your touch. "Hey, look at me."

"Baby-"

"Look at me, Joel."

Joel finally looked up at you, meeting your piercing gaze.

"Breathe with me?" You asked as you took a deep breath in, following up with five more when he began to copy you.

He took another deep breath by himself this time, standing up straight. "I swear, I don't know why those keep happening."

"They're panic attacks, baby. I'm sure everyone in the world gets 'em at this point." You pressed your back against the wall, crossing your arms over your chest. "What caused it?"

Joel shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Was it my bite? If so, then you have to know that it wasn't your fault-"

"Of course it was my fault." He put his hands on his hips with a huff. "If I had just- been there, then maybe things would've been different.."

"But I'm fine, aren't I?"

"And if you weren't? What would I have done then, huh?" Joel snapped, now inches from your face. "I can't live in a world without you. I've lost too much already."

"C'mere." You grabbed the edge of his shirt and pulled him close to you, leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek. "I'm safe. You're safe. We're safe. Okay?"

Joel stared at you for a moment, fear evident on his features. He pressed a kiss to your forehead, holding you firmly against his chest. "Okay."

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bleaksqueak · 1 day

Note

This is going to seem like a dumb question lol but you are just such an incredible artist. The fact that you do this comic on your own blows my mind. But I was wondering, do you ever still struggle with your art? In terms of self confidence or skill? Or do you ever still need reference for things? You just seem so experienced and established lol

Thank you so much! The good news is I don't do it entirely on my own all the time, the pages I've been working on lately were thumbnailed for me by @elanorpam , who also made some of the frequently used 3d assets (aether vials, a couple of locis, etc.!) Ofc I'd still kill for full assistant style work for some things (flats, lettering, applying the final touch details from my asset sheets lol), but for now I do those. anywho, I think every single person will struggle from time to time, even someone who looks like an art god. If they say they never struggle, they're lying lol. There's always going to be bad art days, things you don't know how to draw yet, or a difficult angle you're having trouble composing. The good news is that when you accept that as the truth, you stop caring beyond a healthy stride for improvement, and you carry on knowing this is simply a fact of art. I'm confident in the sense of knowing I draw and paint because I both have to and because I want to. As long as I make something I either had fun doing, was proud of, or taught me something, then I'm pleased and the next comic page or illustration is taken on with a goal of repeating that or bettering it. With comics especially there's always going to be some mistakes and wonk since there's not time to obsess over correcting it. Due to this I only ever bother correcting major mistakes or mistakes that don't convey the point (expression is way off, body language way off, important detail missing. That kind of things.) Accepting those things and having fun with the act of doing it and the goal of improving leaves me confident in my work. It isn't perfect, but things don't have to be perfect to feel confidence in yourself. Flaws and strengths make us who we are, and it definitely applies to art. I've been posting my artwork on the internet since the late 90s, though, so I've had a while to build up a healthy mindset around it. That's not a requirement though, so just go have fun with your art! and thank you again.

#asks #art stuff #gonna schedule/queue this one too! 3 am ask brigade

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rokhal · 3 months

Text

ANGR Magical Girl AU: Wrong Universe

The Robbie I usually write wakes up in the Ghost Rider Magical Girl AU.

I figured that in Magical Girl AU, Robbie is likely to go to Lisa to ask for help walking in heels (assuming Johnny's tips are less than useful) and Lisa gets so excited at the prospect of Robbie participating in drag and he denies that's what he's doing but refuses to explain so in her desire to be supportive she ends up stalking him so she can cheer for him at his show and ends up finding out that he's a magical girl which somehow makes a lot more sense. She becomes a valuable member of the team because she has social skills. Of a sort.

If anything here contradicts any other ideas anyone else has in the works, MULTIVERSE BAYBEE it's noncanon :) The Sharpie thing is purely a case of Great Minds Think Alike though. I saw that in Moose's fic and was like, twins!

This is way too long 😭

As Robbie scrubbed the brake cleaner off his hands, the axle grease wiped away and so did the black Sharpie he’d hastily scribbled onto his fingernails that morning. His bright pink fingernails. If it was nail polish, the brake cleaner should be taking that off, too; he scrubbed hopefully at his thumbnail but this was as useless as the acetone he’d tried before resorting to Sharpie.

He’d woken up feeling more normal than he had in a long time. The pleasant sensation of a full night’s rest had faded as he’d gotten dressed and made Gabe breakfast. His bad eye was mysteriously back to normal and the scar on his forehead was completely gone, but his goatee was shaved off, he had some kind of jewel embedded in his chest, his fingernails were pink, and. And Gabe wasn’t his Gabe. It was Gabe’s face, and Gabe’s smile, but instead of cartoon and comic book heroes filling his shelves and plastered all over his door, it was sparkly anime girls and Japanese motorcycle riders; he was happier, stronger legs and steadier hands, and he didn’t second-guess Robbie’s every expression and movement or double-check his identity after every time Robbie left his sight. Robbie spent half an hour tossing the bathroom looking for his epilepsy meds before he checked the app on his phone where he tracked expenses and found that this Gabe had been off them for an entire year.

The apartment was mostly the same; same view across Hillrock Lane out the apartment window, same pile of automotive magazines on the coffee table—now with manga mixed in—same thrifted art on the walls. Robbie had wondered if he was still asleep, and dreaming, or better, if the last two years had been a long and vivid nightmare, until he noticed the time and realized that he’d missed Gabe’s bus and was about to be late to work. He’d stuffed a stale tortilla in his mouth and gnawed on it while grabbing a pair of coveralls and helping Gabe into the Charger to get to school. He’d dropped Gabe off and made it all the way to Canelo’s before he realized that he hadn’t heard from Eli all morning.

He stood now under a half-disassembled Chevy Tahoe, scrubbing desperately at his glossy pink fingernails as though with enough solvent and friction he could wipe himself from this world and return to his own body, his own curse, his own Hillrock Heights, his own brother. He simply had no better ideas.

“Reyes!” Canelo barked from across the shop, and he jumped, dropped the can of brake cleaner. “Quit daydreaming!”

Eli would have had a snide comment about how Canelo ought to mind his own fucking business or risk getting disemboweled. Robbie checked the time and added up the hours he was due by the end of the day, for future reference in case Canelo rounded his pay down when it was due next week. If he was still here next week. He couldn’t be stuck here until next week but he didn’t know to do anything but work. Did his other self know anybody here who dealt with interdimensional travel and too-pleasant dreams? He wasn’t a Ghost Rider here, Johnny Blaze wouldn’t have any reason to have met him…

...But he was a something.

What the hell was he now?

He was on the clock, that’s what. He had a job he knew how to do, to provide for a brother he loved, even though neither of them were his, and he would reinstall this truck’s axles and wheel bearings and not get his alternate self fired and then he would, somehow, figure out how to get home. (Dread filled him.) (He hadn’t fantasized about murdering anyone all morning.) (The world felt brighter, his senses more vivid, his flesh and skin snug over his bones, and he could believe for the first time in a long time that he might be safe for others to be around.)

“You alright, son?” Canelo asked from two feet behind him, and Robbie hit his head on the Tahoe’s subframe. It didn’t hurt as much as it probably should have. Canelo was just standing there, frowning a little. “Take five, I’ll get you some ice.”

What the hell, Robbie thought, and no one answered.

Canelo did, indeed, return from the break room with an ice pack. No one else at the shop seemed to think this was unusual. Marty winced at Robbie and patted his own head, mouthing, You okay? and even Ramon grunted sympathetically at him. Robbie retreated to the bathroom where he pressed the ice pack to the starting bruise and stared himself down in the mirror. Without his beard, he looked young and delicate—that’s why he’d grown it. But it wasn’t just the beard; his eyes were brighter, his skin was smoother, the scar through his eyebrow had faded—all the scars on his hands were gone, too, the bashed knuckles and burns and scrapes that were inevitable if you worked with cars all day. He looked tender and undamaged. He looked like someone worth protecting.

He had a terrible thought and whispered, “Talk to me. I’m not doing this on purpose but if I know you’re in here I think I can give you your body back.” He stared uncomfortably into his own eyes, but the back of his mind was silent.

He got out his phone—same PIN as usual—and checked his contacts list. Johnny Blaze was on there, but Johnny Blaze had almost killed him and Eli the first time they’d met; how would Johnny react to some strange, murderous version of Robbie wearing the skin of the Robbie he knew? He couldn’t beat Johnny in a fight in the real world. He didn’t know how to explain himself. There was nothing to do but finish the Tahoe.

The day rolled on, he returned the Tahoe to drivable condition and did a couple tune-ups and oil changes, and he snagged a moment to Sharpie his nails black again. He wasn’t afraid of nail polish—he had black nail polish at home somewhere, eyeliner too—but pink was not his style and was liable to attract the wrong kind of attention, especially with how...how he looked, in this world. (What was he? Was he something that could fight, defend itself? There was no fire waiting under his skin to consume his human weakness.)

He was puzzling over a set of trouble codes from a fifteen-year-old Nissan Maxima when his phone buzzed. If this version of himself worked on the same logic, he’d set it up to mute unknown numbers but programmed in all Gabe’s teachers and therapists. He dug into his pocket under his coveralls and checked it. It was Lisa, saved in his contacts list with a photo he didn’t remember taking: familiar bright hair and smile, raising two fingers in a V in front of one eye while her other hand displayed a river rock with a large hole worn through the center, dangling from a pink ribbon.

This was not a conversation he was ready to have. He ended the call. A minute later, she called again. Robbie walked to the time clock and punched out as he answered. “Uh, what’s up.”

Screeching and howling and buzzing in the background. “Omigod where are you?” Lisa demanded. She sounded out of breath.

“Work,” Robbie said, baffled. “What’s going on, are you okay?”

“What do you mean what’s—” Banging, panting. “Where’s Eli?”

A chill unfurled under his skin, his hand grew numb as he gripped his phone case. “What are you talking about.”

“Did you lock him in the freezer again?” Lisa demanded. What. “I know he’s annoying—”

“That’s one word for it,” Robbie muttered, swallowing bile.

“—but he’s an essential member of the team!”

“What team?”

Lisa paused. “The, the team,” she said hesitantly. “The Guardians of Hillrock Heights. Robbie, you. You know what you do helps people, right?”

He was disappointing her somehow—no, worse, letting her down. “Yeah, of course, I, uh.” Eli existed here, but this Lisa knew about him; obviously this version of Robbie had trusted her more. Or she’d just stalked him and figured it out. “What do you need me to do?”

“Get to the Cecil Hotel,” Lisa panted. “Bring Eli. And stay and talk to me after you transform back.”

Transform. Robbie rubbed the hard pink jewel embedded in his sternum. “Right. Okay.”

He left the time clock and approached Canelo’s office, racking his brain for some excuse—a lie about Gabe? A medical appointment? When he opened the door, Canelo met his eyes and sighed. “Again? Well, go on.” Robbie stared at him. He wasn’t even scowling. “What do you want, a hug? Go do your thing.”

He ran out of the shop and threw himself into the Charger. As he sped out of the parking lot, he almost clipped off one of its mirrors against the security gate. He grabbed his phone and started to search for the Cecil Hotel while making a left turn onto Atlantic Boulevard and almost crashed head-on into an F-250; he couldn’t drive and use his phone at the same time anymore. The phone dropped to the floorboards and he pulled hastily to the side of the road, cursing.

His connection to the Charger was different here, too. Still there, but weaker. Possibly just in his head. He tried to stretch out into it anyway, feeling its vibrations, listening to the loping chug of its idle and the continuous hiss of its supercharger, but his consciousness stayed firmly in his human body.

He heard something clank in the trunk.

Atlantic Boulevard was not a good place for a street fight. Robbie found his phone, pulled up a route to the Cecil, took a detour in an alley behind a warehouse. He hit the gas and slammed the brakes a couple times before shutting down the car and sprinting around the back to pop the trunk, confront this alternate version of his uncle, slam the trunk on his neck while he was still dazed, kill him like this alternate Robbie wasn’t yet sullied enough to do.

There was no washed-up mob henchman wriggling in the Charger’s trunk. Robbie found a couple bags of school supplies, a tool box, and a big first-aid kit, nothing sinister, and then in the shadows, oddly, something pink and shiny—one of this Gabe’s collectibles? A Beanie Baby?

“FUCK,” the pink thing bellowed, and then it unspooled and slipped up over the edge of the trunk, hit the ground with a slap, and slithered away, S-curves glittering in the sun as it struggled against the smooth pavement. Robbie gaped, then chased after it. Him. Eli was making slow progress and Robbie caught up quickly, but he turned on a dime; Robbie headed him off away from a nearby dumpster and danced around him for almost a minute before he had the idea to shrug off his jacket and throw it on Eli’s head. Eli backed out from under it but by this time Robbie had him by the neck. “Look. Revenge is, you don’t got the mindset for it? There’s healing in forgiveness. It makes you more stable. Less prone to violent, emotional outbursts. Kid. Kid! We had our differences, but it was the situation, the close quarters, you know? You’d do the same in my position, I just wanted to live, I had unfinished business! And now, heh, you got a body, I got a body, we can go our separate ways. Kid? Hey?”

Eli was a shimmery pink snake about half-again as long as Robbie’s arm. He had round shining eyes in a hundred shades of rose, and the large scale between them was shaped like a heart. His forked tongue sparkled as it scented the air. His voice was exactly the same.

“You, uh. Look different.”

Robbie had a sinking feeling that stomping the snake’s head under his boot wouldn’t be doing this world’s Robbie any favors. He dangled Eli in one fist at arm’s length—an essential member of the team. “You don’t know what’s going on, either.”

“Believe it or not, I’m not the cause of everything that goes wrong in your life.”

“Lisa wants us at the Cecil Hotel,” Robbie said, returning to the Charger and dumping Eli on the passenger seat. “She requested you by name. We’re gonna take care of whatever’s going on and figure it out from there.”

“The Cecil, huh? Good times.”

“Don’t tell me you killed people there.”

“I won’t.” Eli awkwardly pressed his long narrow body against the door, slowly lifting his head toward the window. Robbie took a hard left and Eli slipped sideways between the seat and the side pillar. “Fuck.”

“Apparently you’re important for some reason.”

“Can you not act like my existence is an imposition for two seconds.”

Robbie slammed his fist into the steering wheel. “You exist because you committed human sacrifice.” Eli slithered out of view behind the passenger seat. Robbie took a breath. “You’re a talking pink snake here. You probably have magic powers.”

“Pink?”

“You color-blind, too?”

Eli was silent for the rest of the drive. Robbie hoped he was figuring out what magic powers he had, otherwise they’d just have to wing it.

Hotel Cecil was a trio of brick buildings spanning half a city block and joined by skywalks. The complex had probably been impressive before the invention of reinforced concrete. No longer a failing hotel for people falling down the ladder of society, it was being converted to affordable housing for people crawling back up. Robbie parked across the street and squinted up at it. He was pretty sure the walls weren’t supposed to be covered in gray goo, but there was a ghost tour or something right there on the sidewalk and none of the tourists were taking pictures. Maybe it was a maintenance thing? An art installation?

“Huh,” Eli said, finally squirming his way up onto the dashboard to take a look.

Robbie texted Lisa: Here.

Her reply was immediate. Fourth floor front building room 73

No emojis. That couldn’t be good. “Any ideas on how to get inside?” Robbie asked.

“Put on your spare coveralls and act pissy.”

Robbie could have thought of that himself, but he had no better ideas. He stomped through the graffitoed doors of the unassuming entryway and through the unexpectedly grand marble halls of the lobby floor, scowling like he’d been called in on his day off to fix a plumbing catastrophe that could have been prevented by routine maintenance the previous week, and glancing up now and again at the pulsing tangle of veins the color of neglected differential fluid that wormed between the ceiling lights and which no one else seemed to notice. Eli wrapped himself around Robbie’s neck like a scarf; uncomfortably close, but better, at least logically, than having him ride along in his thoughts like usual.

“Art nouveau,” Eli commented, peering up an angular gold-and-green wall sconce beside a statue in an alcove whose opening was carved to look like palm leaves and Egyptian columns. “Classy place full of staff who don’t ask stupid questions.”

“Shut up,” Robbie hissed. They reached the pair of elevators that served this part of the complex: just two, and one was out of order. A big brass dial on the top indicated that the elevator was on the eighth floor, and going up. Robbie stabbed the button irritably, then gave up and ran for the stairs.

On the fourth floor, the gray veins were so thick that the ceiling looked a foot lower than it should have been, and the light sconces were mostly covered. Somehow, the light escaped anyway, leaving the carpet brightly lit and the air at shoulder-height and above dim like twilight. Robbie watched a tall man in a business suit strolling down the hall, his entire head vanishing into the pulsing fleshy mass. “Keep your head down, there’s gray magical crap on the ceiling,” Eli informed him.

Robbie felt a moment of glee that Eli couldn’t just look out through his eyes anymore. “I noticed.”

“Try touching it. Left hand.”

Robbie poked one of the ceiling tentacles with his left pinkie finger as he advanced down the hall toward room 73, and cringed as the rock in his chest seemed to shudder in protest. The gray flesh was clammy and yielding, leaving his finger numb as he pulled away. Even if it was invisible, how did anyone walk around with their whole head swimming in this stuff without noticing? What was it doing to the people it enveloped?

He passed room fifty, and noticed that the higher the numbers progressed, the thicker the veins overhead pulsed and the lower they sagged, growing to fill more of the narrow space even as he watched. He crouched low and broke into a run. Room 73 was nearly overtaken; limbs as thick as ventilation ducts sprouted through the walls, heaving and pulsing and moaning, ozone and rot thick in the air. He had to kneel beside the door as he knocked. “Lisa! It’s Robbie. I’m outside.”

“Get in here!” Lisa yelled from within.

“They ain’t changed this lock since ‘98. You can shim it with a credit card.”

Robbie bypassed the latch and shoved the door inward against the mass of shifting tendrils packed against the ceiling. There was barely room to crouch inside; the rust-red carpet shone in the light of fixtures completely swallowed by the strange rot overtaking the hotel. He ducked as a gray coil twisted past his face.“Can you get to the door?”

“Kinda busy!” Lisa grunted. Someone else screamed, inhumanly long and somehow muted, the volume too soft for the cracks of agony in the voice. Robbie leaned down and spotted what looked like a clear space around the hotel bed. He army-crawled toward it. There was something wet and sticky on the floor—not blood, it smelled like solvent. White spray-paint, circling the bed. He dragged himself over the painted lines and got his first look at what Lisa was busy with.

There was a body on top of the blankets, a middle-aged white woman with hollow cheeks and loose skin rising in narrow folds where gray tendrils sank into her from above. Lisa had a broken bottle in one hand and was sawing at the thickest of the tendrils just above where it sank between the motionless woman’s eyes. With another, she held a flat rock with a hole in the center, scowling through it like a lens. From the nest of gray veins on the ceiling, a human figure sagged down, joined to the woman joint by joint with those tendrils. Its mouth was a formless hole, its eyes cold wet pits, its flesh the same sludgy substance as the rest of the hotel’s infestation. Robbie swallowed. “Is she alive?”

“For now,” Lisa said, scraping furiously at the tendril. Robbie noticed with horror that two other tendrils had descended from the ceiling to sink into Lisa’s shoulders; he lunged forward and ripped them away. The rock in his chest shuddered as his hand went numb. “Was it on me?” She turned around and looked at him for the first time. “Omigod, why aren’t you changed?”

Robbie took a deep breath and stared up at the vacant eyes of the abomination on the ceiling. He pulled out the blade on his multitool and joined in cutting the woman free; the gray stuff yielded like flesh to expose a tough stringy black core. “We can wrap her in the blanket and drag her out.” The human shape began to drag one of its hands down toward them, struggling against an unseen force.

Lisa grabbed his wrist. “Robbie, she needs an exorcism. You have to change.” He stared at the river rock that dangled from a long pink ribbon on her neck as she tried to meet his eyes. “She’s got kids who miss her, she’s turning her life around, you gotta help! Come on!”

“I don’t remember what you’re talking about,” Robbie blurted.

“Omigod are you cursed or something?”

The horror on the ceiling reached closer, closer, as black claws unsheathed from half-molded fingers. Then it drew back and tension shuddered through its body; the woman on the bed shuddered in synchrony. Its eyes fixed on the back of Lisa’s neck. It lunged, but Robbie was faster, slicing its wet palm with his knife as he pushed Lisa aside. As it swiped back to retaliate, he instinctively leaned into its path—baiting it with the Rider’s leather skin filled with the Charger’s fire ready to erupt the moment those claws released it to burn his enemy—and screamed as the talons sank into his human shoulder. He could barely feel the wounds through the hollow ache the creature’s touch carried, but the worst pain was the furious hum from the stone in his sternum, rocking and jerking like an engine that had snapped its mounts; he thought his chest would crack open from the force. His hand went limp and the knife dropped and stabbed blade-first into the bed. He punched ineffectually with his good hand as the creature lifted him. New tendrils sprouted from its body, seeking to plug into his own. He was as frightened and angry and frustrated as he’d ever been in his life, and though he was suppressing none of it since this Lisa was already enmeshed in his supernatural bullshit, the transformation wasn’t happening.

Eli slithered down his coveralls and escaped out his pant leg as he struggled. Lisa stared in horror through her river rock. “Eli! Help him!”

“Eh, sure,” Eli said, watching Robbie from the bedcovers while Robbie’s leg went cold and dead. “Rake its eyes! Behind your left shoulder!” Robbie flailed blindly with his working arm, hoping Eli hadn’t gotten his left and right confused.

Lisa stood up and grabbed Robbie by the waist, trying to pull him down. Blood from his shoulder soaked her hair. “What’s wrong with you two? Say the words!”

“What words?”

Lisa groped his chest until her palm pressed against his pink troll-doll gem. “Oh, thank God. Say it: Tie cloth nee, ya toys or chalk!”

“What?!”

“Say it! Tie cloth—”

“Ty glavny, ya tvoy suchok,” Eli interrupted. “Five words, you can do it.”

“Die glovny, a twoy sujock,” Robbie gritted out just before the ceiling monster’s limbs closed around his throat. For an instant, all he knew was aching cold and darkness. Then the stone in his chest sparked and a shockwave erupted through his body, driving away the clammy gray tentacles in a blast of warm pink light. It doesn’t hurt, he thought, shocked. Changing into the Rider in his own world was a cathartic blast of agony as his body cremated itself from within, but this, this was nice. He was weightless in a void of dancing blue-green lights. The pain of talons crushing his shoulder was gone, and so were the low-grade headache he always got about halfway through the work day and the tension in his spine and the knot on his head from banging it into the Tahoe that morning; he tingled all over with the contentment of an hour-long hot shower where he wouldn’t have to pay the heating bill. He stretched out, luxuriating in the feeling, and realized with horror that his body wasn’t there.

I’m hallucinating, he told himself. It was hard to think through the nice bubbly feeling, but he remembered that Lisa was right there trying to stop him from getting eaten, and there was a woman on the bed below who was dying, and he couldn’t see or feel anything but the bright pink gem illuminating the hollow space where his body was supposed to be. He thrashed, but it was like trying to fight the wind with a puff of smoke. He was nothing but thought, and he couldn’t even panic properly.

Solidity returned in jolts and starts: cool fabric twisting around his body and snugging him into shape. Protective gloves, leather boots long enough to save his knees from road rash, body armor, something to guard his forehead. The familiar handles of a pair of body hammers filled his palms, and the world snapped back into place. No time at all seemed to have passed; he was still suspended above the bed by the ceiling monster.

He was not the Rider, but he knew what the Rider would do. He jammed one hand into the mouth of the humanoid sludge stalactite and stabbed the spike of a body hammer through its skull. It moaned, and he stabbed again, flipped himself around, gripped its leg between his knees to anchor himself, and struck for the heart, the throat, all the vital targets that he’d trained himself to avoid whenever he gave in to the urge to beat down local thugs in Hillrock Heights. Black blood spattered into his eyes and trickled up his nose, reeking of mold. Its touch no longer chilled him; his touch seemed to burn it. He beat the creature until it melted away and retreated back into the ceiling, all the veins and coils and tree-root limbs draining away after it. Robbie landed hard on the edge of the bed, bounced, and rolled to his feet. His feet—

“Point your toes!” Lisa yelled, too late. He tripped over his own ankles and crashed face-first into the bedside table.

Whenever the Rider ate shit like this, he’d sink through his own shadow and reappear in the car like he’d meant to do it—not that he was embarrassed, just that he preferred not to take the time to pick himself up. Robbie pried himself up off the floor when he realized that his powers in this world did not include the ability to dissolve into the room’s nicotine-stained carpet. He was wet, disappointingly fleshy, and entirely alone in his head. His protective gloves were doing a poor job, already soaked through with disgustingly organic black slime, and his feet—

He looked down at himself for the first time. He wasn’t wearing protective gloves or work boots or body armor. He had the kind of delicate white cotton gloves that women wore with ballgowns in old movies, and thigh-high go-go boots over tights, and what looked like a women’s ice-dancing costume. The ankles of the high-heeled boots were decorated with pink rhinestones, and so were his white-painted hammers. The worst part was that under the pink satin bow where the gem from his chest had migrated, the black leotard bore the same staple-shaped white stripe as his favorite jacket. This was his ice-dancing costume.

He tried to get his feet under him to stand, but the heels were in the way. Whatever force had undressed him seemed to have a grudge against the stock geometry of the human foot; the boots were so stiff he could barely bend his ankles. When he yanked at them, they didn’t budge. He couldn’t find any fasteners. He was about to grab one of his spiked hammers and try ripping through the leather when he noticed Lisa looking down at him from the bed, holding Eli twined around her forearms like a pet corn snake.

“Get the fuck away from her,” Robbie snarled, lunging on his knees.

Lisa jerked back, carrying Eli with her. “Okay, what is your deal today? I thought you had amnesia, but the way you bashed up that genius loci—are you, like, possessed by your alternate universe evil twin with a goatee?”

“Basically,” Robbie said, retrieving one hammer from under the bed. “Put him down.”

“Hey, looks like we’re friends in this universe, too.” Eli rested his head in the crook of Lisa’s elbow and flicked his tongue at Robbie.

“Rrrrrrrr,” Robbie growled. It sounded ridiculous without the rumble of the Charger’s engine filtering through his throat. He could tackle Lisa and rip Eli away from her, bash his head into the wall—but she’d never trust him after that. “He’s not safe, he used to be a—”

“I know you are, but what am I?” Eli interrupted, and Robbie wavered.

Lisa passed him the box of tissues from the bedside table. “Wipe your face and exorcise Mrs. Sanchez so we can get her out of here.”

Robbie hated that this “change” had left him with a human face to wipe. He struggled to his feet, gripping the mattress for balance. The woman on the bed hadn’t moved; she stared vacantly at the ceiling, black veins spreading from the points on her body where the ceiling-monster’s roots had anchored. She was breathing, at least. Her lips were an unhealthy gray-purple. “Any idea how I do that?” he asked, glaring at Eli.

“Search me, I dunno what trigger words alternate-me picked.”

“You make a cross with your hammers,” Lisa said, demonstrating with her empty fists, “and say something like, eej an owie, sucker?”

“Idi na hui, suka,” Eli corrected her.

Robbie had a bad feeling that all his powers were activated by Russian vulgarities. He took careful crouching steps as he retrieved his other hammer, keeping one hand on the bed or on the wall as much as possible, then crossed his hammers like a priest in a vampire movie and did his best to parrot Eli’s words. There was a rush of wind that set his hair fluttering along with the skirt and pink bows of his leotard, and a fountain of pink sparks erupted from the hammers, right at the comatose woman’s bare face and the flammable-looking bedclothes. He had to separate the hammers, to turn off the power or at least point it in a safer direction, but his body wouldn’t obey him: his spine straightened and his shoulders drew back and his legs stepped wide into a power-stance despite the boots pinning his feet at an unnatural angle; he was spraying hot sparks at a defenseless innocent person and he was posing like he was proud of himself.

The seizure ended and he dropped the hammers and stumbled to the edge of the bed, ready to smother fires with his thin cotton gloves, brush off any burning embers from the woman’s hair. Lisa caught him by the shoulder. “Hey! Hey, look, you did it,” she said, examining the woman through her river rock.

There were no fires or burns. The infected gray-black marks were retreating up from her skin and trickling away into inert slime. “What did I do,” Robbie panted.

“You saved the day!” Lisa said brightly. She lifted her rock to check the ceiling; fresh veins had begun to ripple over the paint in a human outline that mirrored Mrs. Sanchez. “You saved...two thirds of the day. Eli, so your thing.”

Robbie hated that he knew Eli well enough to read from the tension in his sigmoid posture that he was taken aback. “My thing.”

“Bite her!” Lisa said impatiently, watching the ceiling.

“What?”

“His bites heal people.”

“Puta madre.” Eli stared at the woman in...probably disgust. “This is…” He cut himself off, looking up at Lisa. “Just what I’ve always wanted.”

“You are so full of shit,” Robbie hissed. Lisa glared at him, and Robbie glared back. “He is!”

“We don’t have time for this,” Lisa said to Eli, making a strange gripping gesture beside his head. “Hurry up or I’ll do it for you. Manually.”

Eli grudgingly fit his mouth around Mrs. Sanchez’ wrist and wriggled his lips and teeth around with disturbingly more mobility than Robbie had expected a snake to be capable of. Robbie clenched his fists as translucent pink fangs flicked into view before sinking into her wasted skin. Eli’s body glowed, and pink sparks shimmered along her veins, circled over her heart, and flashed twice before vanishing. Mrs. Sanchez opened her eyes and sat bolt upright, staring at Robbie.

“Uh,” Robbie said.

“Oh thank God you’re okay!” Lisa squealed, throwing herself between them and gripping Mrs. Sanchez by the torso. “Ma’am, you just survived a carbon monoxide leak, it’s absolutely imperative that we get you to fresh air, you may still be experiencing visual disturbances, first responders have been called, come on, let’s get you out, don’t worry about your belongings, let’s go. Go. Go.” She half-led, half-wrestled the confused woman out the door. Robbie took two steps after them before his ankles did a death-wobble and dumped him to his knees. “We’ll figure out your amnesia-whatever when I get back,” Lisa assured him. “If the hotel wakes up again…” She mimed bashing something with a hammer. “You got this!”

“I got this,” Robbie whispered to himself, stumbling to the nearest wall for balance.

“He can’t even walk!”

#ghost rider magical girl au #magical girl au #ghost rider #robbie reyes #lisa (ghost rider)#eli morrow #fanfic #my fanfic #Lisa is using a hag stone to view the ghost through and a magician's circle to create a defensive perimeter #Familiar!Eli made Robbie say 'You're the boss. I'm your bitch' as his transformation trigger #and 'Go sit on a dick' as the exorcism spell. Headcanon that Eli knows very little Russian that's not cursing #The Cecil Hotel has an unfortunate reputation as an incredibly haunted murder hotspot

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igotanidea · 1 year

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Closeness: Matt Murdock x fem!reader

Just a little something. May be the valentines vibe I get today (even though I'm not really into it). However, this is about different kinds of being close with someone, not only in the physical matter.

Warnings: nudity, but nothign explicit.

4 am.

4 am and he was not there, instead running around the Hell’s kitchen dressed up as the devil, protecting the city.

She hated it.

She hated every second he was putting his life on the line, even though he always claimed he’s doing it to keep the neighborhood safe. Her included.

She loved him, really, but those arguments were weak.

So instead of getting any sleep she was just pacing around the apartment in nerves, absentmindedly biting on her thumbnail, a bad habit from the past. Wondering if he’s going to get back injured, bruised or bloodied. Considering the possibility that she won’t be able to patch him up and she would have to call Claire for help. Something she hated since it made her feel so small, helpless and useless. It was hard to be in a relationship with vigilante.

Y/n didn’t really have much experience in relationship and maybe that is why Matt sometimes pushed on her boundaries to the point where she got frustrated and went to sleep on the couch. But still, she loved him deeply and he reciprocated with the same amount of flame. Their love however was something different from his previous relationship. When he was with Electra it was mostly about physical attraction, sex, the thrill of the cases and patrols they were on together. With Claire it was more of a heat of the moment. With Karen it was some sort of work-related fantasy. But with Y/N….. something entirely different. Something way deeper.

Even despite all his night missions and her busy schedule they always found a way back to each other. In the middle of the day, in the most crazy hours at night, there were always those little pieces of love and affection they left for each other.

Even despite the fact that Foggy was warning her she would suffer because of him, she never listened. Besides, Foggy was being dragged through Matt’s shit on a day to day basis and still stayed so who was he to give her advice.

Even despite his bad track record in relationship she was ready to fight for them. Setting some ground rules, but she would never strip him from his Daredevil part. She did not push to join him, knowing her poor to zero skills in fighting and she usually wasn’t the person to stress and obsess about his nights work, staying up and waiting for him. Nope. And maybe that was why it worked well. Until tonight.

Honestly, she had no idea why she woke up from her slumber. At this point she was used to him getting back to bed at the early morning hours, getting only a few more to sleep his tiredness away. She got used to getting up to the sight of his exhausted form, and kissing him goodbye softly before going to work. She was accustomed with him taking a detour from Nelson and Murdock to steal some time alone with her while walking home. So why was tonight different? Groaning in annoyance she wondered what to do to shut her racing mind up.

4.15

Obviously she could not call anyone to talk it out. Foggy would probably kill her if she woke him up and then, being the lawyer he was, he would figure out a way to get out of the murder charge. She couldn’t focus on the book she was reading before and music will only amplify her thoughts. So turning the light off she just laid back down, staring at the ceiling, illuminated by the street lamps, and suffused with the neon. It was unusually quiet, maybe because Daredevil was dealing with thugs who would cause any trouble. It was almost peaceful when she started slowing down her breath, a technique to deal with anxiety……

5.10

“Hi Mattie…..”

“Did I wake you?” he asked quietly, almost with guilt, laying on the side to face her, even if he could not see her.

“Yes. But it’s fine” she muttered getting closer to him. “Are you all right?”

“I am now.” He answered locking hands on her waist and burring nose in her messy bed head.

“Mhm. Sure, liar.” Y/n smirked “tell me where does it hurt.” Her soft, warm hand slowly moved up his bare thorax searching for the sore spot “guide me.”

And so he took her wrist and moved it to up to rest on his upper left side.

“The chest? Not your usual hurting place …..”

“The heart.” He whispered

“Oh, I don’t think I can do a lot about it. Maybe you should see a specialist…..”

“You already helping more than you think…..”

“Am I? You know what they say, there’s no joking with the matter of the heart” she smiled sleepily.

“Believe me, I know. But I think mine is in good hands.”

“You think so?”

“Mhm. I’m sure.”

“All right then. But something tells me you need something more from me, right?”

“I…..” he hesitated, getting a bit embarrassed

“come on, tell me, at this point nothing can make me blush anymore” she propped herself on the elbow “Matt” she called softly and he turned towards her “what is it?”

“I need to feel you.”

“Oh.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Like what?” she tilted her head “what exactly did you think I thought about? I believe you just need some cuddles?”

“I do…. But….”

“You want me to take my, well, technically it’s yours, shirt off? Is that what you meant?”

He just nodded, his cheeks a bit flushed. It was both funny and touching seeing this tough Daredevil turning into soft and gentle boy for her.

“Can you…..?” he could not force himself to finish “I don’t want to do anything, just….”

“Hey. Hey, Matt. It’s ok, it’s absolutely ok. I get it.” She lifted the shirt and laid back down next to him embracing him “it’s just new, but I like it. Does it make you feel better?”

He just hummed in pleasure. It was new for him as well. In any other case with any other person he wouldn’t be able to control himself, jumping right into action and going full physical. With her….. he just wanted that closeness that didn’t came from sex. The way her skin felt on his, her comforting hold, the way she trusted him. At this moment, he was just melting, feeling loved, accepted and wanted. Like a baby. This was kind of tenderness he never get to experience before. Unconditional. Intimacy that did not want anything in return, that did not lead to anything more than just two heart beating next to each other. Only so much and that much. He took a sharp breath not really capable of processing all the feels she was giving him.

“It’s ok.” She reassured him cupping his cheek “it’s ok, Mattie. You’re safe with me….”

Normally he would argue with that statement, but it was too much of a beautiful moment to ruin it.

“I love you….” he whispered grabbing her hand and kissing each of her knuckles

“I love you too, Mattie.”

“Can we just stay like this for a while longer?”

“Mhm. But I got barely two hours left till I have to get ready for work.”

“I’ll take whatever you give me. Thank you…..”

“Anytime, Mattie. Anytime” she yawned slowly drifting off in his arms.

#matt murdock #matt murdock imagine #matt murdock x y/n #matt murdock x you #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x fem!reader #matt murdock x oc #daredevil #daredevil x reader #daredevil x y/n #daredevil x you #daredevil netflix #marvel #marvel imagine #marvel cinematic universe #marvel mcu

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darklydeliciousdesires · 5 months

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Immortal Beloved - Chapter Three.

A huge thank you to everyone for reading, especially those kind enough to leave a little comment or review :)

Previous chapters - Prologue One Two

Tag list - In the comments

Words - 4,122

Warnings - 18+ only. Adult themes + vampire content throughout. Minors DNI!

“It was over three hundred years ago now.”

Her eyes flitted away from his, fixing upon a point over on the far wall, her body stiffening at the memory. “They captured me, used my blood to bolster their strength, kept me chained and collared in silver. It was only because one useless oaf forgot to place me back into my collar one evening, after I’d been blood let and fed again to replenish that I managed to escape my bindings. I chewed my way through both of my arms, killed as many of them as I could in my weakened state, and got out of there as quickly as possible. I have lived a nomadic existence ever since.”

John’s face was one of complete disbelief, especially at the coolness she’d recounted her story with. Vampires, so he was learning, were not quite as emotionally expressive as humans, though. “But...” stated, taking her by the wrists and giving her arms a little shake.

“We can replenish limbs. It is a gift, to be able to heal almost instantly. Limb growing takes about a week, though. Give to me the knife you carry, not the silver one.”

Reaching to his belt, he pulled out his blade, handing it to her in wonder over what she was about to do. His eyes widened a fraction when he watched her slice a cut against her hand, his mouth dropping open when after a few seconds, he saw the unbelievable sight of the wound closing, fading to nothing.

“Bloody hell!”

She smiled in response to his light amazement, handing the knife back. “No,” she started, when he went to clean her blood from it with a handkerchief, “I want to show you something. Cut your finger open where my blood stains the blade.”

His tone was baffled. “Why?”

“Just do it,” she nodded. “I want you to see what my blood can do for you. What it does for all humans, in fact.”

He watched her nod in encouragement again, shrugging before slicing the tip of his index finger open. It stung, but for all of five seconds, John dropping the knife from his grasp. Bryn reached speedily to grasp it, save it falling to the floor with a clatter. Laughing softly at his amazement, it was a sight she would never tire of, watching humans express amazement as her blood healed them almost instantly.

“Jesus bloody wept.” He examined it closer, rubbing his thumbnail over where the cut had previously marked his pale flesh, staggered by it. “The amount of men your lot could have healed on the battlefield.”

She cocked her head slightly, her mouth twisting in pinch. “If only we could trust humans enough to reveal ourselves at large.” He didn’t ask further on that assumption, and she gave no more, Bryn rolling the stem of her wine glass between her thumb and forefinger idly. “So, what are your thoughts about my proposal?”

He rubbed his jaw, pulling out another cigarette, offering the case to her. She politely held up her hand and shook her head in refusal. “I want to, because you are right when you say it’ll benefit both of us. My family, though. They’re a different matter.”

He swallowed hard, lighting the cigarette between his full lips, taking a long pull upon it. “Like I learned today, it was vampires who saw to the slaughter of gypsies up at the Black Patch, some of my kin included. Terrified me eldest brother, so much so he won’t speak of it. All I know is that there was some kind of blood pact that ended badly. That weren’t you, was it?”

“No.” Her statement was firm, absolute. “It was not me personally, although I used to know the vampires responsible. They were my friends.”

“Used to?”

She made a sweeping motion across her throat with her index finger. “Rasmussen’s. Your kin sold the vampires out for great profit to them, this is why the blood pact ended. They gave the daylight hiding locations of them, those particular vampires preferring to reside in the ground, as my kind did anciently.

“Purists, some might call them, those among the undead who remained wild, burying themselves against the dawn every evening as opposed to seeking the safety of a coffin, or the comfort of a bed within a blacked-out room. The Rasmussen’s came along and dug up those they could find, but did not catch them all. The ones they did not, they are the vampires responsible for the Black Patch massacre.”

“I take it the Rasmussen’s eventually found and killed them, too?”

She nodded. “They did, ensuring that vampires are even thinner in number than before. At least upon these shores. You must understand, John, I hold no malice towards you or your family. Your kin going back a few generations are a different matter, but you, your brothers, sister and aunt, you did not make those decisions. It was not my fight to begin with, though. I had no involvement and wanted none either. Trust me. When I am betrayed, I am savage and barbaric, but there has been no betrayal between us. For you, I am gentle Brynhild.”

His eyebrow fluttered. “Not too gentle, I hope.” Following his words with a wink, his appreciative look conveyed the weight of his lust, Bryn’s eyes flitting between his lips and his hands, wondering how it would feel to be pawed at unconstrainedly by them. “Look, I’ll put it to the family, but I can’t say for definite whether they’d want anything to do with it, though. I’ll try and persuade them.”

Her nod was earnest, placing a hand upon his thigh, stroking the lean, hard muscle beneath. “If they do not trust me at once – and I do not expect that they will – perhaps if they see that you remain safe and happy within my company, then I cannot be as bad as they assume. That is, if you wish to continue to see me?”

She knew the answer already, but truly did not want to be presumptuous. His confirmation was sweeter than she expected, his face nearing hers, pulling his toothpick from his mouth and dropping it upon the table before his mouth met hers. Their kiss deepened, John cupping her face in his hands as their tongues swirled, his pulse flipping wildly. The way she kissed made him feel as if he had wildfire scorching through his insides.

In her many centuries, Bryn had exchanged kisses with thousands, and those she shared with John made her nerves fizz in delight just as much as the best of them. He smelled divine, tasted delicious, the ache of arousal already throbbing within her core. The move of her hand to his neck to drag her nails softly over the column of his throat evoked a soft groan, and it was all she could do not to move herself astride him and begin taking off his clothes.

“Gods, we must stop, lest I lay you down upon the floor and fuck you right here.”

His mouth curled upwards. “I ain’t about to stop ya.”

A gentle hand slapped his chest. “You are incorrigible, John Shelby!”

He shrugged. “Oh ar. Bit of a bad lad.” His lips met hers again, the exchange a little softer this time. “But I reckon you like it though, right?”

“Mm,” she hummed, her tongue darting out to lick his cheek. “I like it greatly.” Saving the tired looking landlord from hanging around any longer, they thanked him and left, Bryn whisking them back to Watery Lane within a flash.

“I’d ask you to stop the night, but I need to warm them to the idea first. I ain’t in the mood for a load of shouting and all that bloody hoo-har,” he confessed as they stood in front of the door, Bryn sliding into his embrace. The feel of his strong hands stroking at the small of her back through the silk that swathed her body sent little darts of pleasure over her skin, leaning to kiss him with heat.

“It is fine, I do not mind. Besides, unless you have thick drapes or a blackout blind capable of keeping the sunlight at bay, it would not be safe for me. Perhaps you may wish to visit me at my home, the next time we make plans to see one another? I am tied to engagements for the rest of the week, but I have no commitments on Sunday.”

Flicking the gold clasp of her small, beaded bag, she pulled out a cream-coloured card, John reading the words laid upon it in black, embossed font.

Ms Brynhild Leifsdottir – Fine art & antiquities dealer

Georgian House, Park Drive, Little Aston

It was one of the most exclusive locations within Sutton Coldfield, John knowing of it only vaguely. He’d often thought of changing his own location from Watery Lane, now he had finances in abundance to be able to do so. Her address was not what piqued his curiosity, though.

“Art and antiques dealer, eh?”

She nodded humbly, her hands smoothing over his suit, her body hungering for what lay beneath. “I have amassed quite the collection of antiquities during my time.”

John didn’t doubt that for a second. It certainly explained how she came to live in such an exclusive area within the city. Pocketing the card, he leaned to her again, their kisses soon gaining heat once more, her hands slipping down and gently trailing over the bulge that became more prominent by the second.

“Well, my, my.” Her soft exclamation and wide eyes made him chuckle. “Someone is blessed, hmm?”

His grin couldn’t have been smugger if he tried. “Does the lady like what she feels?”

Bryn tickled her nails along the hard bulk tenting the dark grey of his trousers, watching the tendons in his neck twitch as blue fire crackled in his eyes. “The lady does. Undoubtedly, there is somewhere else she would like to feel it more, though.”

His eyes closed for a moment, imagining her beneath him, before him, atop him, flattened between him and a wall... God in heaven. “Then just you wait until Sunday rolls around.”

A silken pure of delight echoed through her throat, Bryn leaning to kiss him one last time. “Until Sunday, then, you beautiful creature.” He blinked and she was gone, John letting out a long breath on a whistle, chuckling to himself.

He sat upon cloud nine as he entered the house, but as soon as he stepped foot into the back room, he realised he was about to be brought down to earth with a bump.

“Where the fuck have you been? Waltzing back in here happy as Larry after leaving your brother waiting on you in the pub? Been out searching for you half the bloody night, we have!” Polly’s immediate, irately delivered words were coupled with a frown from Arthur, who stood up, shaking his head with displeasure as he walked.

“Now I know you ain’t dead, I’m going home.”

“Night,” John muttered, pulling off his overcoat. “Any tea going, Pol?”

She scoffed, folding her arms. “It’s one o’clock in the morning.” She looked him up and down, striding over, sniffing. Perfume. Expensive perfume at that. “You were with her, weren’t you?”

He rolled his eyes, moving to give the kettle a shake. There was enough water to half fill the teapot, at least. “So bloody what if I was? I’ve come home completely fine after spending the best part of seven hours with her, so what does that tell you?”

Moving to the armchair, she took a seat, her arms remaining folded. “That she’s wheedling her way under your skin, is what it tells me.” A sigh forced over her lips, Polly closing her eyes for a moment. “We told you, John. You cannot trust those things!”

He remained silent while preparing the teapot, moving then to the fire, holding his hands out towards the flames in an effort to warm up a little. “Until Bryn gives me a reason not to, I’m gonna trust her. You ain’t even met her! Fucks sake, it’s that thing, ain’t it, where people don’t like certain folk just because of what a few of them have done.”

“Prejudiced?” she spat, the word leaving her lips like it tasted acrid upon her tongue.

“That’s it.”

“I’ve got fucking good reason to be,” she replied, snorting lightly while pulling a cigarette out, wrapping her woollen shawl around herself a little more. “And just what kind of name is Bryn, for heaven’s sake?”

“Short for Brynhild.”

“Danish?” she inquired; her interest piqued despite herself.

“Norwegian,” he corrected, moving to sit down and light up his own smoke. “She’s really, really old. From the Viking age.”

“Jesus Christ, John!” Her splutter almost propelled the black cigarette between her lips across the room. “The older they are, the more powerful, the more deadly. End this, for the love of god!”

Resting his clenched fist to his forehead, he at least attempted to keep his fiery temper at bay. “I won’t.”

“You don’t know what it is you’re dealing with here.” Her mouth tightened, her eyes like glittering coal as she assumed a hard stare. “I mean it.”

To hell with being condescended to. “Listen, right! I ain’t a fucking kid no longer, and if I decide I want to keep seeing her then that’s my bloody business. If I end up dead then by all means, you can stand over me coffin doing a merry little fucking jig and singing ‘ha ha, fucking ha, I was right. John’s dead!’ but it’s not going to happen. She ain’t like what you’ve been told. Just give her a chance, eh?”

Her stance was firm. “I shan’t.”

Rolling his eyes, he had to laugh.

“Here we go again, with you not taking anything seriously. It isn’t bloody funny!”

“Yeah, it is. This coming from the woman who always said to make sure we included the black lads in our games while we were in the playground, because of the way all the narrow-minded folk viewed them. Now look at ya, Pol. You’re being just like them.” Rising, he stubbed out his cigarette angrily. “Fuck the tea, you drink it or leave the pot for morning. I ain’t sitting here listening to any more of this shit.”

“God, give me strength,” she signed, her hand finding the black Madonna around her neck, casting her eyes to the ceiling for a few moments. “I wish you were still here, nana. Maybe you might be able to talk a bit of sense into your great-grandson. Lost his bloody mind, he has.”

Sitting there at the hearth, Polly had to bitterly concede that John was a grown man, capable of making his own decisions. She could – and would – badger at him until she was blue in the face, but if he didn’t want to listen, there wasn’t much she could do about it. All she could hope is that he didn’t end up dead because of this Brynhild woman. She was not about to simply acquiesce, though. Come the morning, she aired her grievances to another of her nephew’s.

“He saw her again last night.”

Tommy lit a cigarette while entering his office, being none the wiser to John’s whereabouts since the previous evening, he had been out socially himself. His companion was a lot less deadly, though. He and Grace had been out for dinner after he had escorted her to Warwickshire, in order to view their new home of Arrow House. “And I take it he’s still breathing?”

“Wouldn’t be if I had my bloody way,” Polly muttered, her face sour.

He paused from taking a seat, scratching his head as he thought upon his words. “I intend to get to the bottom of this, one way or another. We can advise him against continuing this... whatever the fuck it is with her, but we both know John. He’s his own man, and when he sets his mind to something, he can’t be easily swayed. I’m meeting with Johnny down at Charlie’s yard in an hour, I’ll see if he knows anything. If there’s vampires around, then the gypsy community is going to have heard about it by now.”

An hour later, while dodging frozen piles of horse shit peeking through the liberal smattering of snow, Tommy looked over to the fire, where his old friend Johnny Dogs sat conversing.

“Morning, gentleman,” he began with a nod, pulling out a cigarette and lighting up. “Curly, if I could have a word with Johnny alone.”

“A private, private word, Tommy?” he repeated, nodding, fidgeting in his seat before he rose.

“If you don’t mind.”

Curly nodded, straightening his coat. “Yes, yes. I’ll see to the horse. A private word, private word.” Off he scuttled in the direction of the ramshackle stables, Tommy taking a seat. He was greeted by the usual wide grin from the lovable rogue that was Johnny, clasping his mug of tea tightly within his fingerless gloved grasp.

“So, what business have you brought me out here in the snow for?”

“The original discussion I wished for can wait. Firstly, I need to know if you, or the Lee’s, or any other gypsy family for that matter, have had any visits from the shadow walkers of late.”

Johnny’s eyes widened, making the sign of the cross upon himself. “Holy mother of god, Tom! Speak not of the shadow walkers...”

“Lest ye bring them into the light, I know the old saying well, Johnny,” he interrupted with, drawing idly on his cigarette. “We’ve had one watching the house for a fortnight.”

“Christ almighty!” he exclaimed, “I thought they were all gone now? I haven’t heard of anything in years?” Johnny Dogs. He was the only man Tommy knew who made every statement he ever uttered sound like a question.

“Apparently not.” The words fell from his mouth dryly, looking out at the partially frozen canal before him. “This one, she’s gone and got herself involved with our John.”

Johnny spluttered on the mouthful of strong, sugary tea he’d been sipping at, his eyes rounding further. “What? You don’t mean he’s... you know.”

The connotations were not lost. “Not yet, but it looks likely. He’s courting her, it appears.”

The sign of the cross was made once again. “Holy shit!” His eyes continued to widen. “To even think it? With those fucking huge teeth, too?”

“I know.” Taking his hip flask out, he took a hearty swig, splashing a dollop into the tin mug within Johnny’s grasp. “If he wants to risk his cock ending up with more holes in it than a fucking colander, then that’s his business. Trying to make sure he’s going to be safe while he’s doing it is mine, though. As well as finding out what the fuck she wants with my family while I’m at it.”

A hearty swig of the whiskey laced tea was taken, the gypsy wincing slightly as the alcohol and sugary brew slid down his throat. “Like I said, I’ve not heard anything personally? I can ask, though, keep me ear to the ground for ya as well.”

Tommy nodded. “Appreciated.” They continued with their pre-arranged business before he left, meetings to attend, leaving John in charge of the bookmaking offices as he and Arthur headed off. When they came back, it was to John waiting, wanting to speak with them of Bryn’s proposal.

After barely a minute of speech, Arthur was out of his seat and predictably not to return through the door he slammed in his wake, Tommy and Polly – to their credit - actually letting him finish.

“She’s been nothing but upfront. It ain’t about blood pacts or revenge, it’s about a protection during the daylight, in case the Rasmussen’s ever get wind of her whereabouts. You can get Alfie to vouch for her too, can’t ya?” he explained, pointing at the telephone upon Tommy’s desk. “He’ll be able to confirm whether she’s telling the truth.”

He wasted no time in studying Polly, for he knew from her face exactly what she continued to maintain in opinion, instead watching his elder brother carefully, Tommy considering his words. “If you could both give me a moment, I think perhaps it might be wise to consult with Mr Solomons, as you’ve suggested.”

He waited until his relations had left the office before lifting the receiver, giving the instructions to the operator before the call was put through.

“Yeah, ello?” Alfie barked on the sixth ring.

“Alfie, Tommy Shelby.”

The line became muffled, Tommy just about able to hear Alfie shouting. “Ollie, shut that fuckin’ door. Yeah, yeah that’s better. Can barely hear meself fuckin’ think.” The line cleared, Tommy awaiting Alfie to cease talking to himself. “What can I do for you, Tommy? I have to note, this, I think, is the first time you’ve ever called me on the ole’ dog, innit?”

“First time for everything.” He paused, lighting a cigarette. “What you can do for me, Alfie, is to tell me everything you know about Brynhild Leifsdottir.”

“Why’s that then, eh? You after a few antiques to spruce up that nice new gaff a little birdie told me you’ve recently purchased?” Alfie. He truly had ears everywhere. “She’s pukka, mate. Ain’t had no bother from her in that respect, or any other for that matter. She will insist that you only see her of an evening to peruse her collection, though. Ain’t nuffin’ to concern you. The lady has good reason.”

Tommy sighed at the tease in Alfie's tone, thinking he had one up on him, being in the know where he wasn’t. “I know the reason as to why Ms Leifsdottir does not accept viewings in the daytime, Alfie.” Oh, how he enjoyed playing aces in the badinage he and Alfie regularly found themselves revelling in.

“Oh, well, well,” the rugged Londoner croaked, sniffing. “Then I am to assume she’s put the same proposal to you that she did to me, eh, since you know of her slightly different circadian rhythms, and now she’s up in Birmin’am an’ all?”

It was a constant cause of mild irritation for Tommy, the way some southerners continually mispronounced the city of his birth. Birm-ing-ham. It wasn’t difficult. “That’s right, Alfie. I wanted to check the legitimacy from someone offering her this protection.”

“Like I said, Tommy. She’s pukka. Just needs someone to guard her house while she’s asleep, innit.”

“And how do I know that for sure?” Tommy mused, Alfie snorting softly.

“Well, because if she weren’t, right, I wouldn’t even be on the fuckin’ dog and bone right now, would I? Come on, treacle. Try to keep up. Also, before you go and state any more of the bleedin’ obvious, if it was a plan I was hatching against ya, in cahoots with the lady who’s got them whackin’ great big teeth, yeah, then tell me why any of you would even still be alive at all?”

The point Alfie was condescendingly making was one Tommy couldn’t ignore. The vampire was legitimate in her offer, it very much seemed. “Appreciated, Alfie. I’ll say goodbye now.”

It still niggled at him, closing his eyes, remembering. He was transported back to the Black Patch, reliving his horror, hearing their screams. They’d looked so terrified as they’d ran for their lives, while the creatures of the night had hunted them down and torn them to pieces.

Could she truly be different? Just because he was a Peaky Blinder, it did not mean every person who displeased him met the razorblade within his cap.

“I want to meet her.”

His statement upon finding John and Polly in the back room was met by disbelief from both parties, for reasons opposite upon the spectrum of reactions.

“Have you lost your bloody mind?”

John nodded. “Alright, I’ll arrange something next time I see her. I’m going to her house on Sunday, I’ll ask her then.”

“Fair enough.” Just like that, it was arranged, Polly’s protests falling on deaf ears, much to her annoyance. For John, though, he felt a sense of relief that at least one person in his family seemed agreeable to the idea of Bryn. Not that he would have minded much if they didn’t, but life was always better when easier. Tommy’s blessing did mean something to him, too, respecting his elder brother as much as he did.

He sat alone once Polly had gone after Tommy, drinking a whiskey, smiling to himself as he thought of the new lady in his life. Why couldn’t it be Sunday already?

#john shelby fanfiction #peaky blinders fanfiction #john shelby smut #peaky blinders smut #john shelby x ofc #john shelby fanfic #john shelby fic #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders fic #john and bryn #immortal beloved #peaky fucking blinders

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lixiepixiedust · 4 months

Text

Coffee and Charm

pairing — ot7 x minho; minsung leaning

word count — 3.5k

warnings — member x member, humour, dirty pick-up lines, minho's thighs, skz are sassy hot men

summary — Jisung flirts with the cute barista. Only to just be ignored. So he calls in his friends for backup. They all fall for Lee Minho so easily it's almost sad.

Here's the thing: Jisung knows that the barista is into men. He's wearing a little rainbow pin on his apron that says PRIDE, so Jisung is pretty secure in thinking he's at least bisexual. He also knows, after many years of insecurity and finding his confidence, that he is a good looking man. So, with those two things that he knows to be true, Jisung is left with one very big question. Why did the barista brush him off ?

He wasn't being a creep about it when he flirted. He had done it tastefully, he thinks, complimenting the man on his broad chest and soft brown hair. Asking him if any of the coffee the cafe made came in the same flavor of his honey-toned skin. He'd even giggled and played with his hair! All for the barista to just nod and smile and ask him if his latte was for here or to go?

The response had been so jarring that Jisung just stared at the man for a solid twenty seconds before stuttering out his answer. The barista had just nodded and waved him along so he could serve the customer behind Jisung. Three minutes later when his coffee came out in a to-go cup (even though he and Felix had planned to stay at the cafe), Jisung was still shaken.

The barista was gorgeous; tall, beautiful skin, toned arms. Definitely the most good looking man he's seen (outside of his own friend group) in a long time. If Jisung closed his eyes and tried to place the barista in a line up that included all of Jisung's modelesque friends - well he isn't sure he'd be able to say that the barista didn't belong.

With that being the case, Jisung wondered if maybe the barista just thought he was out of Jisung's league. Was Jisung just not good enough? He chewed on his thumbnail, now sat next to his soulmate and best friend, staring off at the man behind the counter. Felix reached to grab his wrist, tugging it from his mouth.

"Your manicure." He says. "It'd be a waste of money if you chewed your fingers to bits."

Jisung sighs, dropping his hand to the table.

"What is it?" Felix hasn't looked up from his book since he started speaking. It's some fancy novel about art in the renaissance that Jisung couldn't be paid to read, but it's holding Felix's interest well enough. He flips the page while he waits for Jisung to answer.

Jisung crosses his legs. "Do you think I'm hot?"

"Jisung," Felix says in warning. "What's this about?"

"Just answer the question. If I flirted with you - or say someone who was equally as handsome and maybe a bit taller and potentially a man who worked in a coffee shop - would you reciprocate?"

Felix's gaze flickered up to the barista. Jisung whined and bounced in his seat, telling Felix not to look at him. "That's what this is about? Did he shoot you down? If he did, he's an idiot."

"No, he didn't shoot me down." Jisung sighs. "He didn't even acknowledge that I said anything."

"Yikes. What an asshole."

Jisung bites his thumb again. Before Felix can pull his hand from his mouth again, Jisung drops it back down to the table. "You think he's just like - way too hot for me?"

"Jisung. Stop. Literally no one on this Earth is 'way too hot' for you."

He groans, dropping his head to rest on the inside of his arms. His latte is long forgotten, getting colder by the second. He's much too preoccupied trying to figure out how he could get shut down so quickly by the pretty barista.

Letting out an all too dramatic sigh, Felix sets his book down, slipping in his bookmark as he does so. "How about this," he says, placing a hand on Jisung's back. "I'll go up there, flirt with him, if he responds then we know he's just not into devilish twinks,"

"I am not a twink - how dare you."

"And if he doesn't respond, then maybe his little pin is just an ally thing. Maybe he's one of those straight guys who's really into gay rights." They stare at each other in silence for a few moments, before Jisung agrees and waves Felix towards the pretty barista.

Expecting a different response than the one Jisung got, Felix walks up to the counter with a bit of a swagger.

Felix has no doubt that Jisung is attractive, but if this potentially gay man wasn't interested in cute Jisungie, then he may be interested in Felix. He's not the exact opposite, but he can put on a bit of a show. Can deepen his voice, act a little dominant, run his hands through his hair - appear overall very menacing. If Jisung was a cute kind of sexy, then Felix could be a dangerous kind of sexy.

When he finally comes to stand face to face with the barista, he decides to pay a little more attention than Jisung did when he flirted. He looks past the little pride pin and reads the man's name tag.

"Hi! What can I get you?"

Felix smirks. This guy looked exactly how he imagined Jisung's type would be "Hi, Minho right?" The man nods. "Do you think I could get a raspberry scone?" Minho nods, leaning down to open the pastry case. Felix makes a show of watching him, pleasantly surprised with the view. "You're pretty standing up, but bent over you're a vision ." He says lowly, leaning farther onto the counter.

Minho straightens up. Felix is thrown a little off his game by the fact that Minho looks completely unfazed by what he's just said. He's COMPLETELY thrown off his game when Minho says, "Is that all for today?"

Too caught off guard - too unable to sputter out some other pick up line or compliment - he just nods and pays for the scone.

Jisung is looking at him hopefully as he approaches their table. "Any luck?"

Sitting, Felix takes a large bite out of the scone, crumbs cascading down down his lips and mouth and to the table below. He chews thoughtfully. "Do you think," he says, mouth still full. "That he doesn't speak Korean?"

Jisung slaps both of his palms into his forehead. "Felix, every word he's spoken so far has been in Korean."

"I know, I know, but hear me out - what if he's just reading off a script?"

"Are you being serious here? I'm being serious here. This is a real problem. How are we," Jisung gestures between the two of them. "This bad at flirting?"

"Are you sure that it's us? I'm still thinking he doesn't speak Korean."

Jisung wants to slap Felix. He loves his best friend, but holy crap he can be dumb sometimes.

Thinking, Jisung starts to come up with a plan. He whips out his phone and sends out a mass text. "Let's just get the others involved. If he can resist those them, then he might actually be just a robot."

"Good idea! If anyone can get a date with him it's the outstanding Prince Hwang."

They spend the time waiting for their friends in silence, watching the barista. He's great at his job. Quick, efficient, friendly. But whenever he's not speaking with customers he seems to just zone out and stare off into space. A few times he spaced out while pouring milk or creamer into cups of coffee, only to have the cups overfill and dump to the floor. When this happened, he blushed a deep red and made quick work of cleaning up his mess.

Nearly twenty minutes pass before two of the hyungs arrive. It's Changbin, dressed in black jeans and a dark red jacket, with Bang Chan, wearing a black tank top and basketball shorts. Changbin takes off his sunglasses and black bucket hat to greet the younger men. "Hey, what was that message about? Who's butt needs to be kicked for hurting my little Jisungie?" He reaches out to pinch Jisung's cheeks, but doesn't get to when said owner of cheeks smack his hands away.

"What did you even text everyone?"

"That my feelings were hurt because of some awful mean guy."

Felix rolled his eyes. "And you think I'm miserable."

The two elders took their seat at the table, setting all of their things down.

"So, who is it?" Chan asks, looking around the cafe. Felix points to the counter where Minho is currently fighting with the cappuccino machine. "The barista? Are you two that stupid? He's probably just turning you down because he's working."

"No, hyung, he didn't turn us down. He just ignored us."

Changbin raised a brow. "How so?"

"He acted like we didn't even flirt with him. I basically said I wanted to taste him."

"And I said he looked delicious bent over." Felix added.

"Subtle." Chan muttered.

Jisung throws his hands out in a way to say 'exactly'. "That's what we're saying! It's not like we were just saying he had a pretty smile, we were practically offering to fuck him."

"And you're worried that what - he's not into you?"

"That we're bad at flirting." Felix says.

Chan calls them both idiots with a smile on his face before standing up with Changbin and sauntering over to the counter. There's no line so they walk right up to Minho. They make a short conversation before Minho has them slide off to the side. The two don't even look back at Felix and Jisung while they wait for their coffee. In fact, Changbin doesn't look up from the floor until he sits back down at the table, cup in had. Steam snakes out of the little mouthpiece on the cup. "Are we entirely sure that he speaks Korean?"

Jisung could strangle him. Both him and Felix. "Is Seungmin almost here? I need someone with some brain cells."

"Hey now, I'm your hyung - and I'm being serious here. It was like everything we said that wasn't my coffee order just flew over his head." Chan spoke.

"What did you even say to him?"

"I asked if he would rather be tied up with silk or rope." Changbin stated.

"And I asked him if he was ignoring us because he would prefer to be dom" Chan said after Changbin.

"Yikes, maybe we shouldn't have called in the dom."

Jisung raised his hand to silence Felix. "You always call the dom during situations like this."

Just then is when Seungmin walks in.

He spots them, offers a little wave, then approaches the counter on his own. They watch as he orders his iced americano, waits patiently, then comes to sit with them. Jisung frowns. "Bro, you ruined it, you were supposed to come talk to us first before you spoke to him."

"Huh? I only came because you said you were at a cafe. What was this all for by the way?"

"The barista!" Jisung hisses.

Seungmin sips out of his straw. "Oh, yeah, he's cute. Kind of like a newborn cat."

"I know! That's the problem. We have all tried to flirt with him but he ignored us, we're trying to see what his type is. Or if we're all just terrible flirts."

Seungmin shrugs. "He didn't really respond when I flirted."

"You flirted?" Felix asks.

He nods. "Yeah, like I said, he's cute. I asked if he wanted to fuck or not and he didn't even say anything."

Chan laughs, hugging Seungmin and ruffling his hair. The younger boy groans at his hyung but doesn't make a move to push him off. "You're always so blunt Min!"

Felix jumps to his feet when the door to the cafe opens. "Hyung is here," he says, making his move to intercept Hyunjin - they don't want him to repeat Seungmin's mistake. He quickly fills Hyunjin in on the situation, including all the lines they've already used on Minho.

Hyunjin just laughs smugly at him and tells him to take a seat and watch the master. For the fifth time, one of the men approaches the barista with confidence bursting through the roof. From afar the table of already rejected men watch. Hyunjin the flirting master starts high, falters, and ends low. He leaves the counter with his tail between his legs and a cup of tea in his hand.

"Nothing, huh?" Felix asks. Hyunjin nods.

"I told him three - THREE - coffee based jokes and it was like I wasn't even there." He sits down at their table. "Am I not as good of a flirt as I thought I was."

"No, no hyung," Felix comforts him. "No, this barista is just a real life angel too busy for our bullshit pick up lines."

Hyunjin groaned. "Did any of you have luck?"

"Not even a little bit." Felix says. "He gave all of us the silent treatment - or rather the customer service treatment."

"I'm a customer he can service." Hyunjin wiggled his eyebrows.

"Oh my god, tell me that is not one of the lines you used."

"It wasn't, it wasn't - why? Do you think it's good?"

"I think that if you said that to anyone you'd be subject to a slap in the face and a permanent ban for their place of work."

Jisung crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. His legs were crossed over one another, foot on top bouncing to a silent rhythm. They did have one more person they could call. An ace up their sleeves, if you will. If anyone could get Minho to acknowledge their existence as someone other than a customer, then it was him.

The Baby Bread™.

Jeongin walks into the cafe with his head held high and his black hair freshly permed resting above his eyebrows. He's wearing a grey graphic t-shirt with baggy blue jeans and some silver accessories here and there. It was his typical style that made him look like a fashion model straight out of Pinterest. He shoots the group a glance then points at the barista. They nod in unison, then silently wish him good luck.

Much like the others, he approaches the counter with his confidence bursting through the roof. Jisung was kind enough to give him the rundown on what happened the rest of them. Apparently the barista had blown each of them off. Everyone from dark Changbin to sunshiney Felix. When hearing this, Jeongin had a few good ideas of how to play this out.

The barista isn't looking at him when he approaches and is instead trying to dry his milk covered apron. Jeongin clears his throat. Minho looks up and then offers his best customer service smile. "I'm sorry sir, one second I need to get a clean apron." He takes the apron off and tosses it to the floor, planning on picking it up once he was done with this new customer.

The group watched in horror as Minho removed his apron, revealing his plain clothes underneath. He was wearing a loose white t-shirt with the sleeves cuffed up high enough to reveal his beautiful biceps. And if that wasn't bad enough, the man was also wearing a pair of navy shorts. Shorts!

"That can't be safe," Hyunjin said, talking about the one thing they were all focused on. "He could dump hot water on those glorious thighs. They need protection." The others hummed in agreement. "Jeongin might need backup."

"It's too late," Jisung said, motioning towards Jeongin with a limp hand. "He's a goner."

Sure enough, Jeongin wasn't even speaking to Minho. Instead, he was ogling - moments from drooling really - at the exposed skin of Minho's legs. "Man down." Felix said, eyes also locked on the expanse of skin. "He needs an emergency evacuation."

Before any of them can get up and rescue their fallen comrade, Jeongin is walking backwards away from the counter, then shuffling over to them. He looks appropriately embarrassed and rubs his eyes to process what had just happened.

Jisung rested his hand on Jeongin's. "Did you even say anything?"

Jeongin shakes his head. "I'm sorry hyung, I think this guy might just be out of our league."

Resigned as a group, they decided to pack up and leave. Jisung mumbles something about returning the next day to see if maybe it was all just a fluke. Hyunjin is about to piggyback on that idea when the door to the cafe bursts open. A girl that looks a bit older than them runs past all the customers and tables to the counter.

Minho is completely oblivious to this until the girl taps on his shoulder. This seems to pull the barista out of whatever daze he's apparently been in all day, and his head pops up. "Mina? You're late." He pouts. "I have so much homework to do."

"I know, I'm sorry, I'll make it up to! Anything fun happen today?"

"Nope, there's nothing happening now either. Are you good if I leave, Noona?"

"Of course, have a good day! Don't study too hard!"

Minho disappears to the back part of the cafe, coming out a few minutes later with a backpack. As he walks past the group of flirtatious men, Seungmin reaches out and grabs his arm. Minho stops in his tracks, staring them all down and lightly tugging at his arm. Seungmin doesn't let go. "Can I help you?"

"Yeah," Jisung says. "You're Minho right?"

"Huh? One sec." Minho reaches up to his ear and takes a little white earbud out, then stuffs it in his pocket. "What did you say?"

"Um, you're Minho right?"

"Yeah! Do I know you?"

The group looks bewildered. "You - uh - served us coffee today. All of us - um well almost all of us." Jeongin looks sheepish.

"Oh, I don't remember sorry....while I'm working I listen to my recorded lectures. It's not technically allowed, but I can tune in and out for coffee orders."

Chan raises his hand. "Wait, wait. Question. Does this mean you actually didn't hear anything we said to you?"

"Probably not." Minho chuckles nervously, scratching the back of his neck. "Sorry. Did I miss something important."

Jisung nods, eyes wide. He can't believe this whole time Minho hadn't been rejecting them - he'd just be ignoring them. Which, arguably, wasn't any better. "I tried to - I did - flirt with you."

Minho blushes instantly, face and neck tinting red. "Oh, you - you did?" Jisung nods. "Shit, that sucks for me. You're like - super cute."

Jisung can't help it when he reciprocates Minho's blush. "Thanks."

"You're all crazy good looking. Are you sure it was me who you were flirting with?"

"Yes!" They say in unison.

Minho bites his lip. "Oh wow. That's a lot to take in. Sorry about ignoring you."

"It's okay." Seungmin says. "Can we maybe try it again?"

"What, flirting with me?"

"Yeah. I think you'll like what we have to say."

Minho is still blushing. "Okay, I'm not free right now, I've got some schoolwork to catch up on, but how's tomorrow sound?"

"Sounds great to me!" Hyunjin says. "We could all go out for coffee?"

Felix smacks his hyung with the back of his hand. "I doubt the barista wants to go to a coffee shop for a date."

"Is this a date?"

"Of course it's a date!" Jeongin says passionately. When everyone looks at him, he apologizes for his outburst, pouting.

Minho pulls out his phone. "In that case, you all should give me your number...so we can plan our date easier." Jisung snatches Minho's phone before anyone else can, quickly putting his number under the contact name 'Super Cute', then hands it off to the other guys. "So, uh, what was your line?"

Jisung smirks. "If you guys served coffee in the same flavor as you." Minho laughed. "Would it have worked?"

"Honestly you could've come up and spat in my face I'd probably still daydream about you."

Jisung can't help himself when he smacks Minho's shoulder. "You better be more than just a pretty face and thick thighs. If you turn out to be an empty shell I'm gonna be sorely disappointed."

Felix hands Minho his phone back. "I agree. I hope you're ready, we only let the best of the best into our group."

Minho licked his lips, glancing around the group of men. He would be more than willing to admit that they were the most attractive people he'd seen in a while. Not to mention the most attractive people that had fucking flirted with him in the last few years. "I will do my best to not be just a pretty face then."

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luvhhannie · 5 months

Text

“yn!” your underclassman, easel neighbor, hyunjin, whisper yelled at you. you averted your gaze from your phone to his figure as you turn off your phone.

“what is it, hyunjin?” you ask him. he shook his head in disappointment and pointed towards the brainstorm board that the art teacher has made for the class. it was mostly scribbled phrases about concepts and art intentions, as well as color theory and color intention. you raised an eyebrow.

“are you telling me that i’m stupid oorr?” you trailed off. hyunjin sighed.

“no, dumbass, but ms. dawn just told us that one of our pieces should be inspired or a recreation of an existing piece. i know damn well you weren’t listening.” he lectured as you made an O expression. you hummed and grabbed your sketchbook, making thumbnail sketches. he looked over and stared at your moving hands.

“for someone who doesn’t listen in class, i can’t deny the fact that you’re an amazing artist.” hyunjin complimented. the door suddenly opened and you heard murmurs around the room, but you disregarded it, as hyunjin’s compliment was taking over your brain.

“hell yeah i am,” you giggled “but thank you.”

“anyways, what piece are you recreating? what even is your theme?” he asks you. the easel beside you creaked as you thought of an answer.

“hmm…beauty of death and life…i need to do a research on it though.” you said, still making sketches on your sketchbook. hyunjin then began brainstorming on his sketchbook as well, when suddenly you heard voices on your other side.

“myungho-ah! how was paris~? i bet it was beautiful there.” a high pitched voice asked. hyunjin scoffed as your eyes softened. there was a program at your university where a selected few were given the opportunity to visit the louvre in paris. these people are considered artistic and inspirational, and you knew hyunjin deserved one of the spots, yet he never gotten the call.

“it was alright.” the voice simply said. you were too focused sketching on your sketchbook and going back to your phone researching romeo and juliet pieces to feel the other boy’s gaze at you. however, hyunjin noticed it. he suddenly nudged you, making you draw a line across one of your thumbnail sketches. your pursed your lips.

“what was that for?” you whisper yelled at hyunjin. he blinked at you and moved closer.

“myungho is looking at your sketchbook.” he whispered as you move your head towards the other male next to you. you and myungho held eye contact for a second when he went back to his own sketchbook. you shrugged your shoulders and went back to sketching.

“he probably wanted to see what i was doing? i don’t know man.” you said to hyunjin. hyunjin sighed snd continued doing his own thing. after an hour of brainstorming and researching, you finally settled on recreating millais’ ophelia. the beautiful death of ophelia and the liveliness of the flowers made you think that the piece would be perfect for your exhibition. you then got up from your station and walked over to the supply table, where your other station buddy was also at. he watched you as you wondered if you should use a flat canvas or a stretched canvas. you awkwardly stand beside him when suddenly he broke the silence.

“what medium are you going to use?” he asked you. you finally looked at myungho and smiled awkwardly.

“oh, uhm, i was thinking of using oils for my piece…” you said in a meek tone as he hummed. he then pointed to the stretched canvas you were holding.

“then i think you should use the stretched canvas. it’s perfect for oil painting.” he stated. you knew he was right, but you also knew that using a stretched canvas means that you have to readjust the canvas again. in three words, too much work, well, for you. you sighed.

“yeah, i think so too, but it’s just too much work, you know?” you complained to myungho as he chuckled. he grabbed the canvas off your hands and also grabbed another canvas, most likely for his piece.

“i’ll restretch it for you.” he said. you look up at him with wide eyes.

“really? i owe you my life man! thank you!” you said to him as you follow him to the mat table. he readjusted his canvas first as you watch him. you knew how to adjust and stretch canvases, it was just the amount of effort in it that makes you lose interest. he then proceded on to your canvas. he removed the staples from the wooden frame and removed the canvas fabric. he adjusted the fabric on the frame and hold on to it tightly. you were watching intently, not noticing that he raised his head to look at you.

“yn.” he called out your name. you looked back at myungho and just stared at him in confusion. he bit his lower lip and motioned his gaze to the canvas.

“can you let me know if this is good? i don’t know how stretched you want the canvas to be.” he said. you nodded your head, blushing from embarrassment, as you helped him. adjusting the frame and canvas fabric, he finally finished. he held your canvas to you as he smiled softly.

“here you go.” he said. you smiled at myungho.

“thank you, myungho! i really appreciate it a lot.” you said as myungho just walked back to his station and started sketching his piece on to his canvas. you also went back to your station and started sketching. during the whole class, you were able to finish half way blocking in the color on to your piece. during dismissal, hyunjin went up to you.

“you staying here at the studio, or back to the dorms?” he asked you. you mixed the colors on your glass palette as you replied to him.

“i’m staying here, i need to finish blocking in these shapes so it would be easier for me to add the deets during next class.” you said to him. hyunjin hummed and grabbed his canvas.

“okay, just let me know if you need anything. see you around.” he bid farewell as he walks out of the room. at this hour, there would still be a couple of students doing their pieces. right now, only you, myungho and a couple of students are in the room. you noticed myungho beside you organizing his station. he grabbed his canvas and bag and walked out of the room.

“huh, must be nice to be a good artist, not even worrying about the time.” you sighed to yourself as you continue with your art. as you were focused on your piece, you didn’t notice the talk frame behind you.

“woah! that looks so cool!” the person behind you said as you flinched in surprise. you looked behind you and sighed in relief.

“oh, it’s just you, mingyu.” you smiled at the tall male, who was holding two cups of coffee.

“i did tell you earlier i’m gonna visit you. anyways, how are you doing?” he asked as he placed one of the coffee cups on the table next to your easel. you thanked him for it and faced him.

“grab the stool over there and sit next to me, and i’m doing alright…uni is stressing me out.” you chuckled as he sits beside you. he looked at you with concern.

“oh, i get you. just don’t push yourself too hard, okay? i’ll always be here if you need help.” he said with a smile. you smiled at him as you take a sip of the coffee he gave you. sweet, you’ve always liked your coffee a little bit bitter though.

“thank you, gyu. you’re such a sweetheart.” you smiled as you two stare into each other’s eyes. he smiled back.

“oh, you flatter me, but i’ll always have your back.”

yes or no I x. minghao x reader - ophelia

𓇢𓆸 synopsis: where jaehyun is forced to be yn's wingman for mingyu, but unbeknownst to him, mingyu is also getting some help from his friend.

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𓇢𓆸 taglist (open!): @writingbarnes @90s-belladonna @leewonkyeom @to-mi-yo

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