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ambiguouspuzuma · 1 month

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The Cobbler

Cordelia wasn't supposed to be a pirate. Most pirates weren't, of course, but she imagined that they'd started out as sailors or thieves and transitioned in one direction or the other. For her part, she'd only been a cobbler, a mender of old boots: she'd never stolen nor sailed at all, let alone served as a buccaneering captain. But this ship had needed a crew, and so she'd cobbled one together.

It was all in aid of the mission, or so the prophets had explained. The Caterian Empire had hung for too long like a shadow across their coastline, lurking just across the water from the town where Cordelia had been born, raised, and hoped to one day retire, if they survived this voyage of the damned. Their island was small, and couldn't muster much of an army to slow the Empire's ravenous advance, which had already consumed so many of their peers.

But it could muster her - and she'd pulled together the rest.

"Why have you come to me?" she'd protested at the time, when the prophets appeared at her door. Cordelia had understood their warnings of imminent doom, the threat of conquest, the need for a chosen one to defeat the evil once and for all - she just hadn't understood why that meant her. "I'm not a soldier. I'm a shoemaker, for crying out loud. I'm not the sort of person who wins battles."

"Well, that's sort of the point," one of the prophets had replied, knocking one of a pair of boots off the shelf behind him. "Are you familiar with the concept of langrage?"

"Not unless that's you struggling to speak ours."

"It's a nautical term," he continued, ignoring her. "When a ship runs out of conventional shot, it loads its guns with whatever lies handy: nuts and bolts, cutlery and clockwork, anything that might tear an opposing sail to shreds. Even shoes, in a pinch. Sometimes they even do it by choice, a cannonade of loose ephemera over your traditional balls of steel."

"That still doesn't answer my question," Cordelia stood firm, demonstrating some of the latter. "Why are you in my home? What do you want from me?"

"We've studied the histories," another said, and from the lines around his eyes she believed him. "Any sufficiently potent evil, your archetypical dark lord or dragon, is always defeated by a motley band of unlikely heroes. Always and only. The soldiers on their own can't make it all the way. We don't know why, but something about having a mixture of backgrounds and skillsets works out better."

"Many organisations have found they benefit from diverse hiring practices," the first prophet said. "Why not an army?"

The other shoe dropped, and Cordelia leant against a wall, momentarily deflated. "You want to build an army... of people like me?"

"Well, sort of."

"A load of old cobblers?"

"We thought so too, but it checks out." The prophet paused to stack the boots back up. "But the point is to find people who aren't like you. A real assortment of profiles, you know? Think about all the tools you use in your craft, the rasp and last and awl and all of that. Each serves a different function. That's the sort of effect we're going for."

"But who, specifically?" she asked, still wondering why they'd chosen her. Perhaps they hadn't, and just knocked on a random door. "How will you decide upon this perfect, random mix?"

"Well," they said. "We were rather hoping that you would."

Cordelia tried her best to follow their approach. If she was planning this endeavour of her own accord - perhaps after some trauma to the head - she knew that there were certain people she'd look to recruit for her crew, and others who she wouldn't trust to scrub the decks. But if the prophets had chosen her house at random, she would have to do the same.

Her list of customers was a solidly mixed assortment of potential allies, and she thought about drawing names from a hat, before realising that she already had them in order: she had a schedule of commissions, and figured she'd just press-gang those who'd come to her. It would mean acting out a reverse Cinderella: choosing anyone who had a shoe that didn't fit.

She had to start somewhere, so she started with those who already owed her for repairs, including Aldous, the actor whose boots had been shelved by the door. A career of treading the boards had worn them down. She wondered how he'd feel about walking the plank.

"I've got your boots," she said, once he opened the door. There was no time for pleasantries. They'd have plenty of chance to catch up on the open seas.

"Ah, wonderful." He beamed for his audience of one. "You know, costumes come and go, but you absolutely cannot beat a comfy pair of shoes. One does so much of one's work on one's feet, and people really do underestimate-"

"Speaking of which," she interrupted, wishing to be spared the soliloquy. "Are you in the market for a new role?"

"Well, one would never rule oneself out at first blush, so to say, at least without-"

"Excellent. It's yours."

"Mine? I mean, one's? But what is it?"

"First mate."

"A nautical tale?"

"A pirate adventure."

"Oh, how marvellous! Yes, one always fancied oneself as a swashbuckler, but of course such roles are rare nowadays. When do we start rehearsals?"

"The ship is being readied as we speak. We leave at dawn, two days for now." Then, because it was important to maintain a sense of fun. "Please bring your own costume."

It hadn't been how she'd pictured it, until the prophets had explained. The Caterian Empire was a fortress, their borders well-defended, and even a small band of adventurers would struggle to sneak all the way into the palace at its heart. But sea was a different matter, and every now and again the Emperor found the need to travel to one vassal isle or the next, placing himself uniquely vulnerable to attack.

"If you challenge them under the flags of this island, there will be reprisals here first," they'd said. "But under a black flag, you can operate in the shadows. Befriend the others who live there, if you can. Form a pirate fleet, guerrillas of the sea, chipping away at the Empire's naval strength. If they can't leave the mainland, their armies are irrelevant. That is how you'll win."

"By starting at a disadvantage."

"The heroes always do. They're never under an official flag, the admiral of their own armada. They're rogues, rascals, underdogs against overwhelming odds. The less likely your victory, the more inevitable it will be."

Cordelia's next recruit came to her, which was convenient, although she wouldn't have chosen her in a million years. Janina worked in the citrus orchards, and was famously all fingers and thumbs with anything smaller than a clementine, but she just about managed to knock on the door with a pair of shoes in her other hand.

"I'm sorry to bother you with this," he said, handing one over with some gratitude. "But I'm afraid I've done something awful to the laces. They'd unravelled when I came to put them on this morning, and I seem to have made more of a mess trying to rethread them. Sorry, I know it's a difficult one."

"Mhm." Cordelia held her tongue, and inspected the eyelets around it. She didn't know much about sailing, but she suspected a pirate's life involved some quantity of ropes and knots. If she was choosing a crew from her customers, she might choose those who tied the neatest bows. But the prophets had stressed the hodgepodge nature of successful groups, thrown together by fate. She would have to trust in the randomness of shoe entropy.

"Oh, thank you so much," Janina said, once the first aglet was successfully laced back through. "I don't know what I'd do without your help. Is there anything I can do to make it worth your while?"

"Funny you should say that," Cordelia said. "I'm looking for a quartermaster, and a bulk order of oranges. have some concerns about scurvy."

So it was that she formed her makeshift crew. Aldous and Janina were followed by Leonore, a smith whose steel toecaps had come loose, and Florian, a draper who had simply lost his sole. As the prophets had insisted, they were a diverse mix of characters as well as trades. Leonore was a pillar of the community, as straight-laced as they came, whereas Florian had been a misfit his whole life - although Cordelia had given him some insoles to help with that.

"Have you ever made a sail before?" she asked, making her own stitches where the rubber had come away.

"I have many customers," he said, taken aback.

"No - I mean for a ship. I'm looking to commission one. I'll need help with the installation, too."

"Oh, well. Yes, I could certainly help with that."

She felt a bit of a heel, fixing his shoe for so great a cost, weaving him into her multicoloured tapestry. None of these people knew how to fight, or sail; life at sea would be hard for them, even without the dangers of rebellion . But she was in the same boat, and supposedly that was the point. They were bystanders turned to weapons: collateral damage that went the other way, a human sword instead of a shield. That was what the prophets said would work.

So it was they assembled two days later, arrayed across the deck like cards of different suits. The prophets had arranged the ship, and dubbed it in her honour: the Shoemaker’s Levy, for the rabble she'd been able to rouse. Not the island's most seaworthy individuals, nor the most skilled, but those who'd had the most trouble walking on land.

Those who hadn't already been assigned were quickly shoehorned into roles, but it would take a while before they could be called a crew. Even Cordelia would struggle to adjust to life as their captain: she'd always been a sole practitioner, only used to working with winklepickers and brothelcreepers, not actors and blacksmiths and the rest. She wasn't supposed to be a pirate, let alone their leader. But they would have to learn the ropes together, just as she'd once learnt about shoes. One foot after the other. One step at a time.

#writing #short story #writeblr #creative writing #original writing

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doodle-shenanigans · 3 years

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Son of a bitch RC cells are mercury

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1kook · 3 years

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skirt chasers — drabble iv

THIS IS A SKIRT CHASERS DRABBLE - FIND THE OTHERS HERE ! SUMMARY Jungkook was a man. A skirt chaser. He could only withstand so much torture before he broke, and seeing your gorgeous, smooth legs on display after so many weeks of starvation awoke an ancient being inside of him. WARNINGS JK POV!!!, attempted solo masturbation, k*ssing, jk’s extensive knowledge of pornos, grinding, cunnilingus, face sitting, spit kink, light choking, praise kink, self nipple play, a love for boobies, unprotected sex, use of the pull out method, i love u kink, its kinda hinted tht oc has a somnophilia kink? not rlly but tagging just in case -_- RATING m (18+) WC 6.3k this can't even classified as a drabble anymore wtf

NOTES i have had this in my drafts since may 3. it is december 21. everyone point n laugh. anyway i very much love stimbo sc jk and i think he’s very cool so here’s a whopping 6k of the inner mechanisms of his big nerdy, college hottie brain <3

He doesn’t notice you’ve drifted off until he’s three solid paragraphs into his semester-long research paper. “Babe, can you toss me my charger it’s over…”

Jungkook swears he’s gonna take every single one of those stupid skirts and burn them to ashes. They had done their duty well, had given him the girlfriend of his dreams, but now they were just pushing their luck. What was once the epitome of a cute and sweet girlfriend, has now become the bane of Jungkook’s existence. He loathed them, he hated them, he could go twenty million decades without ever seeing them again because the torture they inflicted upon him was borderline inhumane.

Holy fuck, he knew you were gorgeous— hello, he was your boyfriend, thinking you were gorgeous was very high on the list of requirements you searched for in someone of his position —but he’s absolutely positive that you’re probably the sexiest woman he’s ever seen in all his twenty-two years. And Jungkook’s seen a lot of porn. Like, a lot.

He can’t help himself. Before Jungkook knows it, he’s rolling his desk chair over to where you’re sprawled across his bed, skin so soft where it presses against his pillow, lips so plush, and he’s pretty sure there’s a tiny, tiny droplet of drool begging to escape from between your puckered lips. Normally, he’d tease you to hell and back for this, knows how flustered you become when he catches you off guard, but today he lets it slide in favor of focusing on something else about your dozing form.

It’s the soft curve of your hips from where you lay on your side, smooth legs tucked close to you, and that goddamn pleated skirt giving you absolutely no protection from the eyes of the world around you. Luckily, he made sure to lock the door to his room when you came over today. And he’s almost positive Taehyung isn’t home anyway. So there’s no potential roommate to see you here, cuddled against Jungkook’s teddy bear, blue lace panties tucked between your folds.

They were his favorite.

Adorable and soft, and he knows that particular style— the cheeky kind —is your preferred style, because it’s the one he sees almost every time the two of you fuck. Seamless, because you hate when they tug against your skin, and baby blue simply because it was your favorite color. He can’t recall the last time they had been so exposed like this.

God, how many times had this same situation occurred? You dropping by to encourage him to do his homework, before eventually falling asleep and leaving him to his own devices. A lot of times, Jungkook guesses, because each and every time you wake up and nab one of his protein bars from the stash by his bed. Jungkook’s gone through four boxes in the last month.

But how many times had this happened with you in a skirt? Never. This was a rarity.

As the year progressed and yours and Jungkook’s relationship reached new levels of intimacy and adoration, Jungkook is sad to say the skirts had begun appearing less and less. It was winter and, unlike the furnace that was Jungkook’s body, he’s pretty sure you were a cold-blooded reptilian at this point, always leeching off of him for warmth. So since you couldn’t stand the cold, the skirts slowly faded into the background, replaced by Jungkook’s second favorite: the leggings.

He was no complainer, Jungkook respected your decisions! He wasn’t going to pressure you into wearing those cute tiny skirts he loved so much just because it fueled some PornHub-esque fantasy in his brain, especially not as a harsh winter descended upon you and the days became colder. He would not risk a sick girlfriend in the name of a horndog daydream.

But holy mother of pearl, Jungkook was a man. A skirt chaser. He could only withstand so much torture before he broke, and seeing your gorgeous, smooth legs on display after so many weeks of starvation awoke an ancient being inside of him.

Sure he’d seen them every time you guys fucked— duh. But this was not the same. It was different, seeing the tender skin of your inner thigh when he knew you weren’t trying to, your skirt stuck between you and the bed as you shifted about. It was different, knowing he could so easily have you, just flip up the skirt and tug your underwear to the side, not having to worry about fighting your leggings or skinny jeans down your legs. It was different and it was good, so painstakingly good, to have you in the skirt, but the worst part was Jungkook couldn’t even do anything because you were fucking sleeping.

He’d subconsciously pictured you like this for weeks, sprawled out on his sheets in the flimsiest clothing and ready for him to just slide right in, but Jungkook was a good boy—you’d told him as much just last week when he’d paid the bus fare for that ragtag group of teenagers, smiling up at him like he was your entire world. Was he sometimes a little too mean, a little too wild? Yes. But at his core, Jungkook lived for your praise. He couldn’t just stomp on that title you’d so lovingly bestowed upon him, a title he’d worked hard for since!

Furthermore, even if Jungkook wasn’t a good boy, to touch you in your sleep just seemed wrong. You’d mentioned in passing once that you wouldn’t mind as long as it was him (“I’m yours,” you had purred at some party, hand crawling down his abdomen, “your doll, remember?”), but Jungkook couldn’t bring himself to when you were so vulnerable and just… not there. It wouldn’t feel right to use your body when you weren’t awake, and no amount of encouragement from you would change his mind.

So he does what all good boys do and prepares himself for a quick, self-administered handfuck.

Sue him, his girlfriend was hot!

It’d been a little over two weeks since the last time the two of you had fucked, and it was mostly his fault; clinicals and research papers had practically consumed what little free time he had in his schedule. And if Jungkook remembers correctly, he wouldn’t be that lucky this upcoming week either. Something tells him your period was approaching.

Jungkook doesn’t know what type of sorcery you’ve done to him, but in the time you’ve been dating, it’s become increasingly more and more difficult to nut without you. Whether that be fucking you, listening to your voice, or just imagining your pretty face in his head, you held a monopoly over Jungkook’s libido, one that he feared you’d never let go.

He had years stacked on years of browsing PornHub and Brazzers, can recall experiencing some of the craziest orgasms of his life while watching some girl get fucked. All things come to an end. Ever since he started dating you, not even his favorite video could make him hard anymore. Oh, how the great have fallen.

But with your blue panties before him, his cock hardens by the minute, nearly doubles in size when you move about and sigh a heavenly sound. Frankly, he doesn’t feel bad jerking one off to the thought of you. You were his girlfriend! He knows that you know that you’re the main character of all his right-handed adventures, and you’re not going to be mad at him for jerking off to you now. In fact, Jungkook imagines you’d be mad if he’d woken you up just for some frenzied quickie. This way, he’s blowing off some steam and you’re getting an extra ten minutes of napping. Everyone wins.

He’s barely tugged himself out of the confines of his sweats when a soft mumble of his name has his soul leaving his body. “Kook?”

“Baby,” he exhales, immediately tucking himself back into his underwear before moving closer towards you. You roll onto your back, skirt useless as fuck, he thinks, as it sprawls around your waist. “What’s up?” he murmurs, voice gentle, a hand carding through the nape of your neck because that’s how you always wake him up. Jungkook would be a liar to say it wasn’t one of the best feelings in the world.

You say something, but it’s a mess of gibberish and too quiet for him to understand, before turning on your side again and shuffling closer to him. Jungkook smiles, runs the tips of his fingers over your cheek, before moving to caress your back, massaging some feeling back into your muscles. Some more mumbled words, but this time he deciphers them as something along the lines of “c’mere.”

He chuckles, ducking down to kiss your cheek. “Don’t wanna interrupt your nap, baby,” he hums. “Go back to sleep.”

You whine in protest, suddenly catching his hand in yours. “Please,” you sigh, eyes fluttering open, but they’re unfocused as you gaze at him. Jungkook clenches his teeth. Technically he should be working on that twelve page research paper, and even just trying to jerk off right now would have been a huge setback. Crawling into bed with you, where you’re so sinfully laid out for him to take, would completely offset his plans until tomorrow. He had to be a responsible student here.

“I really gotta finish my paper…” he says, trying to let you down as gently as possible, flashing you an apologetic gaze. He thinks he has it in the bag, and your extended silence almost has him rolling back to his desk, when you suddenly snap into action.

“But what about your dick,” you murmur, and Jungkook chokes.

“My what—?” he splutters, voice a little too high.

You say nothing, craning your neck to release a series of cracks, soft huffs leaving your lips. Jungkook’s on edge the whole time, eyes following the movement of your neck, the hypnotizing expanse of skin that bares itself to him. “Saw your hand down your pants,” you say, eyes blinking open, and though they’re droopy with sleep, at least you can hold them open this time.

Jungkook laughs nervously, rubbing a hand against the back of his neck in embarrassment. “You saw that?” A soft hum. He wants to die. “Ah, baby, don’t worry about it. Know you’re tired, so just nap,” he sighs, caressing the back of your head once again, and he thinks he’s finally convinced you so he lets his guard down.

You moan softly, and he’s almost entirely sure it’s one of those waking up types of sounds, the ones you make when you’re stretching around the bed in the morning. “Want your cock.”

Jungkook swears he’ll die, right here, right now.

He groans, lowers his head to rest on the mattress. “Jesus, fuck, baby,” he huffs, has to count to ten to will the stirring of his slowly hardening cock away for the second time that day. “Don’t say stuff like that when you’re half asleep, please.”

You ignore him, the hand that had been wrapped around his wrist tugging him closer. You barely succeed, muscles still so weak, but Jungkook humors you and rolls his chair right beside your head, where he ducks down to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Noooo,” you whine when he draws away too quickly.

A laugh blossoms in his chest, and Jungkook proceeds to rain down a series of kisses on your pretty face before he can stop himself. You melt under his touch, his affection, and Jungkook adores the way your body is so soft and pliant like this, back arching towards him after he places a hand on your waist.

“Come here,” you urge, voice a quiet plea. So soft, so needy.

Jungkook malfunctions for just a second before he’s clambering over you on the bed, manhandling your body until you're both on your sides, facing each other, with you pressed tightly to his chest. Even with your hands brushing up and down his back in the way that sends every nerve in Jungkook’s body tingling, and your leg thrown over his hip, some stupid part of him convinces himself you’re just cold, trying to warm up after walking around campus in that tiny little skirt all day. He cuddles you as best as he can.

And even with his dick twitching in his pants and his caveman instincts yelling at him to thrust up into your inviting core, Jungkook remains as professional as someone in a relationship can be when in bed with their lover. He’s so stuck on his self-control that he almost doesn’t hear the snort you muffle against his neck.

“What are you doing?” you laugh, reaching up to pinch his cheek. Jungkook blinks, eyes wide like a doe caught in headlights. “Are we gonna fuck or what?”

He chokes. He doesn’t even try to muffle his reaction like other times, because the way you’re looking at him and the heel you press against the back of his thigh preoccupies his thoughts instead. Your hands are still tracing along his back, melting him with your dainty touches. “Baby?” you question after he’s been silent too long, distracted by the way you use that hooked leg to tug your bodies closer.

“You… you’re still asleep,” Jungkook says, though it’s definitely a question.

You scoff, a smile curling around your features. “Mm, definitely not asleep,” you tease, and shift to push him onto his back, wiggling on top of him until those baby blue panties are pressed against his quickly hardening member. “Why? Wanted to touch me when I was asleep?” you continue, and Jungkook’s eyes nearly burst out of their sockets.

“No!” he exclaims, hands clutching your hips in alarm. He can tell he surprises you, because your eyes go wide for a brief second. “Never…” he mumbles afterwards, looking away from your imploring gaze. “Only like you when you’re awake.”

You sigh, pressing a sweet kiss to his cheek that makes his heart flood with adoration for you. “You’re a good boy, Jungkook,” you say back, just as quietly. “A blueprint for the perfect man.” Another kiss, this time against the corner of his mouth that makes Jungkook’s hands twitch against your sides.

A soft moan tears itself from his throat, fingers digging into your hips as you slowly roll them against him. The heat emanating from your core seeps past the thin barrier of his sweatpants, makes his cock twitch in his boxers. He knows how it feels inside of you, has your body memorized like the back of his hand. But it’s in moments like these that he finds himself aching for you, desperate to feel the fluttering walls of your pussy, the pitiful whimpers that fall from your kiss swollen lips. And, well. The skirt makes it all too easy.

He places two hands on the backs of your thighs, runs them up until he’s pushing your skirt up over your waist. You pull away from his lips with a sneaky little smile, pointer finger stroking down the side of his face lazily. “Mm?” you tease, leaving a coy little peck against his mouth. “Now you wanna touch?” Jungkook rolls his eyes, snaps his teeth at your wandering finger when you draw it too close to his mouth. The giggle you let out is so damn precious, makes him want to put you in a glass case and never let anyone else touch you. Coincidentally, it also makes him want to rail you into the mattress until you cry.

“I’ll fucking ruin you, doll,” he settles on murmuring, subtly pushing you down against him. A soft giggle. Jungkook knows it’s your favorite nickname, even if you won’t admit it. He's the only one allowed to call you it, something about his intentions being pure or whatever, he’s not really sure. Anyway, you’re still so cute and soft on top of him, blinking slowly and prettily, so he’s dragging it out a bit, hoping you’ll become more alert in a few more minutes.

As sleepy as you may be, you never miss out on a chance to rile him up. “As if, doll,” you retort, his nickname for you rolling off your tongue seamlessly. It sounds heavenly, sparks this weird emotion in him that he never considered before. Him, a doll? No way. But there’s something about the sweet lilt of your voice, the starry-eyed gaze you level him with, that has him throwing all reservations aside. Put him on a shelf and call him Barbie, because he would be anything you wanted him to be.

Anyway, Jungkook’s sappy thoughts last all of two seconds before he’s rolling you over, successfully trapping you beneath his body. “Oh, so scary,” you feign, hands fluttering to clutch at your chest.

He glides his hands down your body, let’s them trail over your hip and down the side of your thigh. “Don’t get sassy with me,” he warns, thumb peeking beneath the hem of your skirt. Jungkook really wants to burn the piece of fabric this time, because after all that time it spent torturing him with its halfhearted attempts at covering you, it chooses now to do it properly.

Hands are thrown around his shoulders, the overwhelming scent of your perfume and body wash tickling his nose when you pull him in for another kiss. “Or what?” you purr, irises swirling with lust. “Gonna use your manly man strength to hold me down?”

He shushes you with a kiss, slow and languid just how you like. Your taste is familiar, feels like coming home, so Jungkook can’t be blamed for getting too carried away. It starts gentle— it always does. But then a tiny mewl gets stuck in your throat, the following moan swallowed by his tongue, and Jungkook nearly loses it. He nips at your bottom lip, waits patiently for you to open up for him, and when you do he wastes no time diving in. Your tongue against his is slick and wet, makes the most lewd sound. Your little sharp intakes of air fill the gaps, shuddery breaths that Jungkook takes as a good sign.

He strikes while the iron is still hot.

It’s amidst your lazy kissing that he secures his hands around your waist, two reassuring squeezes thrown your way before he’s abruptly rolling onto his back again. “Kook!” you squeal, clutching at the front of his shirt. A pouty frown paints your face, sleepy eyes narrowing him with a rather unimpressed look, tainted with the barest hints of confusion.

Jungkook grins, reaching back to yank his pillow out from beneath his head. “On my face,” he commands suddenly, and you snort.

“What?” you ask a little incredulously, leaning back to level him with an even more lost expression. “Since when do we do that?”

Jungkook shrugs. “Since I decided twenty seconds ago,” he answers rather bluntly. You still don’t look too convinced. It’s not a position the two of you have ever tried. You’re a little on the sappy side, always like to look at his face while you fuck, hold his cheeks in your palms, kiss him sweetly. On the one hand, Jungkook totally gets it; he’ll proudly admit that the sight of your orgasming face paired with your fantastic tits have done him many favors these past few months.

However, Jungkook is a lover of head. Giving or receiving, it’s very high on his list of sexual acts and whoever invented oral deserved all the praise in the world. Not only did you look drop dead gorgeous with his cock in your mouth— tears trailing down your cheeks, drool clinging to the corners of your lips —but you also looked absolutely sexy receiving it.

Kinda.

Probably.

Okay, so maybe Jungkook can’t really say, considering he always has a hard time catching a glimpse of your face when he’s down there licking and slurping your clit like a madman. Which is what leads him to this exact moment, an experiment weeks in the making. Jungkook has a theory that needs to be tested. “Please ride the fuck out of my face,” he tries, hoping the polite tone will win you over.

He’s met with an eye roll. Still, you’re kinder than you let on. “Okay,” you give in, and Jungkook will remember your heroism for the rest of his life. “But only because being on top is empowering.” He just barely contains an over-enthusiastic fist pump into the air, settling on a rather modest smile that has you leaning down to kiss him again. You reach for the zipper on the side of your skirt. “Just let me—“

“The skirt stays on,” he says quickly, hand on your wrist to stop you from removing his most favorite article of clothing.

“Baby,” you say, giving him a rather serious look. “It’ll cover your face.”

“It won’t,” he urges, reaching for the buttons on your blouse instead. Jungkook has had one too many encounters with tops like these, and has long since learned not to tear them apart like a crazed psycho. As much as he loves the sound of your buttons scattering across his bedroom floor, he can’t say he’s too fond of the scolding he inevitably gets afterwards. Anyway, the shirt comes off and so does your bra, leaving your tits in his face, tiny skirt on your hips. “Get up here,” he murmurs, ushering you up his body until your knees are pressing into the mattress right above his shoulders.

If it was up to Jungkook, he would have just grabbed your hips and shoved his face against your pussy. Luckily, it’s not, and your common sense shines through just in time. “One sec,” you say, and then finally, finally, the blue panties come off.

And then it’s just Jungkook and your glistening pussy.

“Holy fuck,” he groans, taking the opportunity to wrap his arms around your thighs. You squeak when he pulls you closer, hand instinctively reaching for the front of your skirt to hold away from his face. The view from here is heavenly, just your swollen clit, gorgeous tits, and shy face.

The muscles in your thighs are a little stiff. Or maybe you’re just nervous. Jungkook isn’t sure, all he knows is that it takes one encouraging tug for you to finally sit on his face. He doesn’t even register the surprised gasp that leaves your throat because he’s too busy tasting your pussy from an all new position. And it’s absolutely amazing.

Something about the position, having you carefully poised above him, does something to Jungkook. He likes to think he knows your body inside and out, knows what makes you melt and what makes you scream. He knows just how to lap at your cunt until you’re cumming, and how many fingers it takes for you to really feel it. But it’s like having you in this position changes all of that, rearranges all the tidbits of information Jungkook has spent months collecting.

(Jungkook is a meticulous man; he’s got a near perfect GPA right now that was the direct result of his carefully crafted note-taking techniques. Whether or not he abused the power of his perfectionist learning abilities to master the mechanisms of his girlfriend’s libido was no one's business but his own.)

One kitten lick against your swollen pearl makes you buck forward, clit brushing against his nose. Jungkook can’t remember you ever doing that on the first lick. “O- oh my—,” you cry, all airy and whiny. Your hand is pressed to the wall behind his bed, the other bunching the front of your skirt just above your mound. He’s rather happy to learn that, just as he’d hypothesized, this position does give him a better view of you.

He’s graced with the sight of your face, twisted up in pleasure. It’s the stereotypical eyes squeezed shut, lip caught between your teeth look. But there’s something different about it knowing that he’s gotten this reaction out of you with his mouth alone.

Jungkook quickly repositions you over him, tugging you back until his tongue is lined up with the front of your slit. You’re so warm down here, make him feel like he’s drowning with your heady scent alone. Tentatively, he lets his tongue dip between your folds, the very tip nudging your swollen clit. A moan tears itself from your throat, the hand that had been flush against the wall suddenly jumping forward to bury itself in his hair. “Oh- oh, fuck,” you shiver, hips jolting forward once more.

You taste good on his tongue, the arousal that coats your lips is sticky and sweet. When he laps his tongue along your folds, quivering hole to stiffened bud, you let out a sob that resonates deeply within Jungkook. And also Jungkook’s cock, which stirs beneath his trousers in excitement. What was once the focus of his mission, a quick handfuck to sedate himself before finishing his research paper, has long since been forgotten. It’s for the greater good, he tells himself, blinking up at you from between your thighs.

Eye contact lasts for exactly three seconds before you’re looking away bashfully, the fist clutching at your skirt trembling against your tummy. You’re so fucking pretty, Jungkook’s heart can’t take it.

And so he sets out on a mission to make you cum as soon as possible, abandoning his slow kitten licks in favor of suctioning his lips around your clit. “Kook,” you wail, tugging at his hair. Whether you do it purposely or not, Jungkook is a little shocked by how good the pain feels. It’s not an emotion he can ponder long, because then you’re using that same grip in his hair to tilt his head backwards, jerkily moving over him.

It’s rough and sudden, the buck against his face, but Jungkook loves it. The drag of your pussy against his lips, the wet glide of your juices smearing across his chin and Cupid’s bow. It all feels so good, and the fact Jungkook is getting a front row seat to the absolutely torn look on your face is just the cherry on top.

Jungkook has seen you make a lot of faces. He’s seen you shiver and drool as he nails you into your bed. He’s seen you sniffle and sob as he slowly fucks you in a rose petal filled bubble bath (a six month anniversary special planned by yours truly). He’s even seen your mirrored reflection fall apart as you bounced away on his lap in front of a mirror.

He’s never seen you like this before.

Needy and desperate, moaning his name softly, practically humping his face in your greed. Tiny skirt clutched against your waist, tits bouncing as you hurriedly grind against him. He has half the mind to burn this scene into his eyelids for the rest of his life.

He’s given up on doing anything with his tongue, simply sticking it out for you to do as you wish. Normally, he’s not a huge fan of letting you do things yourself. After all, Jungkook was your boyfriend. Making you cum was his job. But you’re moving so fast, so frantic, in your mission to cum. So Jungkook sits back and lets you go to town on his mouth as a series of moans spill from your lips.

And then something unforgivable happens.

Jungkook will admit it: he’s staring at you almost a little too dreamily, heart eyes and all. He thinks you’re fucking hot, taste like heaven and have these absolutely delicious boobs bouncing up and down. He’s a little distracted by your glorious figure that he doesn’t notice one crucial bit of information.

Your hand.

The desperate need to cum has your muscles weakening, thighs moving at a latent pace, and, much to Jungkook’s horror, hands trembling. It’s your own pleasure that lets the unimaginable happen: your skirt flutters down. Your grip on it loosens and before Jungkook knows it, the sight of your pretty face and nice tits are gone, snatched away before his very eyes. Even your wet cunt is impossible to see, his world suddenly shrouded in darkness.

Leave it to Jungkook to foil his own horny plan with, well, his horniness. If only he wasn’t so hopelessly in love with the image of you in skirts. Maybe then he could bask in the beauty that was you riding his face.

He acts fast, reaching for the material before he can miss out on anything. But the angle is weird, and without Jungkook’s hands holding your hips, you’re left weakly rolling forward instead. And he’s not the only one frustrated with this turn of events, your face quickly returning to its normal composed form as you level him with a frown. “Everything okay?” you pant.

Everything was not okay, but Jungkook isn’t sure how to tell you that without ruining this delicate moment. So he tries to show you with actions instead, releasing the skirt he’s got in his fist and letting it flutter over his face again. You giggle. “I told you so.”

It takes more willpower than he’d like to admit to pull away from your wet folds, pulling off with a lewd sound that has you biting your lip as you gaze down at him. “I told you so,” he mimics, a little mean but you don’t take it to heart. “Hold your skirt up.”

You hum, the grip on his hair loosening as you push away his dark locks instead. “Mmmm,” you hum. “No.”

“No?” he repeats, actually really scandalized. Okay, so he’s a little spoiled when it comes to you— it’s not his fault! You made him like this, conditioned him to think that you would always give into his every whim because you were just so sweet and considerate and wanted him to be happy. And Jungkook also wants you to be happy, and in his opinion, being happy right now means having him fuck your pretty brains out for ever getting sassy with him.

“I don’t listen to men,” you tease, followed by a cute little nod, skin still a little warm from your looming orgasm. Jungkook takes advantage of your tiny moment of weakness, and strikes like a viper.

A girlish squeal leaves your lips, hands stretching outwards as he knocks you backwards onto the mattress. “Jungkook,” you gasp, sprawled out artfully, beautifully, over his sheets now. He doesn’t waste a second longer, crawling over your body until you’re a shivering mess beneath him.

Hand against your throat, the other blindly reaching for the front of his sweatpants. “What is it, doll?” he drawls meanly, reveling in the way your eyes roll back when his newly-freed cock lands against your slit. A choked gasp leaves your throat, lashes fluttering wildly until Jungkook loosens his grip.

You’ve done a nice job riling yourself up, lips squelching wet and loose when he runs the tip of his cock along them. Your knees are pulled up for him, spread perfectly for him to fit between. You’re so good for him, Jungkook feels a little bad for how hard he’s going to fuck you now.

The sympathy doesn’t last long.

Once upon a time, you had been the epitome of a cute and sweet girlfriend. Had picked him up from class, encouraged him to do his homework, wore these cute little skirts around campus. Deep down inside, Jungkook knew everyone else was jealous of him— you were just so pretty and cute, a girl straight out of everyone’s dreams.

Until he sunk his horny claws into you. Jungkook will be the first to admit he spends a little too much time browsing porn sites— he’s a man, cut him some slack —which had never caused him any problems before. Even when the two of you were just friends (pining ones at that), you had never seemed even remotely affected by his extensive pornographical knowledge. It was a known fact among your friend group that Jungkook’s best friend was his right hand.

But then, of course, you started dating Jungkook and it was like a save file of all his horniest fantasies was downloaded directly into your brain. Which leads him to this.

“Spit in my mouth,” you shiver, got these huge, watery eyes pointed his way. His cock twitches.

There’s a little groan that tears itself from his throat when he leans forward, cock sliding along your folds, to grasp your chin between his fingers. “Open,” he commands, and you do. Your lower lip quivers, tongue pressed against it as you wait for Jungkook to spit down your mouth. He can’t say he regrets letting you peek through his porn stash, not when it leads to this, you whimpering at the hot glob of saliva he shoots down your throat. “Filthy,” he pants, memorizing the movement of your throat when you swallow like the good girl you are.

Before he can write another twelve sonnets about that dazed look on your face, he’s roughly grabbing at your thigh. You whine, limbs so pliant beneath his touch, letting him hike your knee over his forearm as he tugs you closer. “Fuck,” he groans, reaching down to align himself with your quivering hole. You’re still so wet, make the most lewd sound when he sinks into you. Not that Jungkook really hears it, the sound of your strained moans practically drowning everything else out.

“Fuck,” you cry, one hand clutching at his forearm, the other toying with your breast. It’s a magnificent sight, and Jungkook is suddenly feeling a little cocky when he realizes he’s the only one who gets to see this. It’s this presumptuous nature that fuels the first round of thrusts into your cunt, fast and full. He makes sure you feel every inch of him, tip to base, as he pistons his hips forward. “J— Jungkook,” you pant, back arching beneath him.

You take it so well, walls sucking him in every time he draws back out. “I’ve got you, doll,” he moans, hiking your leg further over his shoulder. Every roll of his hips has your tits bouncing back and forth, lower lip as well with the dopey, open-mouthed look you got on for him. And the damned skirt that got him here, fucking you with a punishing pace, sits perfectly around your waist. He has half the mind to take it off for you, briefly wonders if it hurts, but just looking at it reminds him of about thirty-seven pornos he’s seen. So it stays on, works alongside your lovestruck face to actively rewrite all those pornos anew with you starring in them instead.

It sure helps when you start your usual mindless babbling. “I love you,” you gasp, face screwed up in pleasure. “I- I love you so much.”

He’s contemplating doing a study on you and your weird mid-fuck confessions. You do this a lot, and while Jungkook doesn’t mind, it sure does leave him curious. “Love you too, baby,” he says anyway, repositioning his arms so he can hold your waist with both hands.

“Really?” you ask, voice so whiny, eyes brimming with tears. From emotion or your need to cum, Jungkooks not sure. (Hence the need for a study!)

Another brutal thrust that has you moaning loudly. “Really,” he reassures you, glancing down to watch his cock sink into your hole as he picks up the pace. Your arms are practically limbless, and his stomach is beginning to feel tight. The end was soon. “Love your pretty little face.”

Another whine, your fingers pulling at your pebbled nipples. “M- My pretty face?” you whimper, blink these long lashes up at him. They make Jungkook go a little mad, bring on a wave of jackhammer thrusts that cut your moans into choppy little cries instead.

“Prettiest girl I know,” he groans, not once stopping the movement of his hips. You’re quivering like a leaf beneath him, your entire body locking up as Jungkook guides you toward orgasm. “A fucking doll, baby— so beautiful for me,” he praises.

It’s exactly what you want to hear— secretly, Jungkook hypothesizes that you’re a little bit of an attention whore —crying out when he slows to a grind against you. Each roll of his hips has him rubbing over your swollen bud, leaves you trembling until you’re eventually unraveling beneath him. “Oh- Oh, fuck— Jungkook—“ you sob, writhing beneath him as you cream his cock.

Your tits look amazing, nipples stiff from your arousal and all the attention you’d been giving them. Your features soften, gasps framed by your pillowy lips. As Jungkook has said before, your pretty face was the most dangerous weapon.

He manages a few more pistons of his hips, mostly for reputation sake, before he’s eventually pulling out. His right hand, once the sole hero of his solo sessions, makes a valiant return now as he jacks himself off over you. It takes a few harsh pulls of his cock until he’s spurting his jizz over you, painting your tummy and your tits in white ribbons of cum. You flinch, a tiny whimper leaving your throat at the mess he makes. “Fuck,” he groans one last time.

When it’s over, you have the audacity to shyly pull down the front of your skirt. As if your tits aren’t out and about, but Jungkook pretends he doesn’t see it. Instead, he channels his energy into peppering your face in kisses. “Best girl,” he praises, even though he knows you hate the nickname. “My beautiful feminist queen.”

A pinch against his cheek. It hurts like hell, but he endures it for now, still very much in love with your performance today. “Get me a towel,” you huffily ask, uncomfortable with the jizz sticking to your tummy, as if he didn’t spit in your mouth a few minutes ago.

His research paper is waiting for him at his desk, the materials he’d spent weeks collecting waiting to be typed up. But his girlfriend is so soft and sleepy, asking him to stay for another nap.

There was never a choice.

#networkbangtan #bangtanhq #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook smut #jjk♡#jjk smut #jungkook fic #jeon jungkook fic #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook x reader #bts smut #bts fic #bts jungkook #mine #skirtfic

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c-optimistic · 4 years

Note

for your happy prompts ask, perhaps kara is a documentary film maker who follows ceo lena around for a doc and ends up falling in love with her by learning a bunch of little things she finds out during filming? also p.s. i absolutely adore your writing even when it tugs at the heartstrings. thank you for writing what you do! it makes my day everytime i see an update or get an email

She wasn’t allowed to see Lena Luthor until she’d signed so many papers that, if stacked together, would be taller than she was. She wasn’t even allowed to touch her camera around Lena Luthor until the woman herself, CEO extraordinaire, had personally vetted Kara out.

“You know,” Kara said as casually as she could, finding herself nervously adjusting her glasses when Lena’s cold gaze fell on her, “I usually have a whole team with me when I do this.”

“And I agreed to this on the condition that only one nosy filmmaker follows me around, not a whole team.” Lena’s reply was like everything else Kara had learned about the CEO thus far: she was blunt, a little harsh, tone and eyes cold and emotionless. She gave nothing away, not in her walk, in her mannerisms, in the ridiculously healthy food she ate, in the way she spoke to her employees or board members. She was cool, detached, wickedly smart, and utterly composed. “And I must approve the final result,” she added, gesturing to the mountain of paperwork Kara signed.

(Kara sighed internally, a tiny part of her sure Lena was a robot.)

“But it’s everything, right?” Kara clarified. “A total look into your life, no holding back?”

“You may follow me around to your heart’s content,” Lena said, leaning back in her desk chair, studying Kara intently.

“May I ask, Ms. Luthor, what made you agree to this, when you’re usually so distrustful of the media?”

Lena gave Kara a smile that didn’t touch her eyes. “What made you ask to do this when you know I distrust the media?”

Lena hadn’t answered, so Kara knew she didn’t have to either, but she felt it was important to establish some kind of rapport with the woman she’d be following around for the next few weeks. “I’m of the opinion that things are rarely as simple as they seem from the outside, that’s all.”

“Well,” Lena said, looking pleasantly surprised and offering Kara a grin (a real one, one that touched her eyes and transformed her face), “perhaps that’s why I agreed to you doing this.”

“You’re one of Ms. Luthor’s closest friends, is that right?”

“Yes.”

“Since before your daughter was born?”

“Yup.”

“So would you say you know her quite well?”

“Sure.”

“Do you plan on answering any of my questions with more than one word?”

“Nope.”

“Okay. So, in one word I suppose, how would you describe Ms. Luthor to a stranger?”

“Flawless.”

The rules of her arrangement with Lena were rather simple. For the next several weeks, Lena consented to having Kara around from the moment she woke up to the moment she went to sleep. In return, Kara was not allowed in certain meetings at L-Corp, was not allowed to bring her camera with her at all when Lena went down to R&D, and if Lena asked for her to stop filming at any point, Kara was bound to immediately do so and erase any footage she may have inadvertently captured.

For the first two days of the arrangement, it was actually rather boring. Lena was awake before the crack of dawn, she didn’t acknowledge Kara’s presence as she made coffee and toast (though she did push a cup and a plate towards Kara), and then spent the next fifteen or so hours in her office, sifting through papers, answering phone calls and responding to emails, and forgetting meals. It wasn’t until the third day that Lena’s routine changed slightly.

She received a phone call at breakfast, and whoever it was caused a bright red blush to bloom on her cheeks. Kara zoomed in slightly on Lena’s face as she answered the call. “Now’s not really a good time, Sam,” she began, falling silent at whatever this Sam was saying on the other end. Lena’s eyes flitted over towards Kara, but to her surprise, she didn’t ask for Kara to shut off the camera. “That sounds terrible,” she said, sounding truly apologetic, something about her countenance changing. She seemed softer, more open, calmer than Kara had seen her yet. “And Ruby was so excited too.” Lena fell silent once more, nodding almost as if unaware of it. “I agree with her,” Lena suddenly laughed, still nodding, “it’s not fair at all. But there’s no way I’m not going to visit. Do you want me to bring anything?” Lena laughed again, and Kara wondered if her camera was capturing the change she was witnessing with her own eyes. “As if I could forget Ruby’s chocolate.” A pause. “Give her all my love.” Another pause, a tiny smile on Lena’s lips. “All right, I will. Bye.” As she hung up, she looked over at Kara, as if daring her to comment, everything about her shuttering at once.

“Who was that?” Kara asked, not really expecting an answer. To her surprise, however, Lena’s eyes flitted to the camera and she let out a soft, resigned sigh.

“That was my CFO, Sam Arias,” she answered, her tone a complete 180 from what she was using on the phone. She studied Kara for a moment and must have read something on her face, because her shoulders deflated and she motioned towards her phone. “Sam is my best friend. Her daughter, Ruby, is my goddaughter. We were supposed to go to the animal shelter today.” Lena smiled softly, almost as if unaware of it. “She’s finally convinced Sam she’s responsible enough for a pet. It’s actually—” Lena stopped suddenly, her eyes shifting to the camera once more, any warmth that had managed to leak out dissipating at once. “In any case, she’s sick. So we’ll have to reschedule.” She waved her hand towards the camera. “Can you turn that off, please?”

“Uh, yeah, of course,” Kara said quickly, making a show of turning the Camcorder off and setting it aside. “Is something wrong?”

Lena shook her head, leaning against her kitchen counter as she eyed Kara with something like curiosity. “You know, I’ve seen all of your other work,” she said after a moment, frowning at Kara like she was a puzzle she couldn’t figure out.

(Had she? Seen all of Kara’s work? A part of Kara was curious as to how, after all, most of her stuff was tucked away in a closet back in Midvale, waiting to be opened up and viewed during Christmas, when Alex would laugh at the films she’d made in high school about how the boys’ sports teams were unfairly given more attention than the girls’. The others were projects for her degree and one or two failed attempts to get a real production company to take the risk on her.

In fact, if not for Cat Grant’s decision as ‘The Queen of All Media’ to get involved in filmmaking, funding a project from a no-name creator, Kara wasn’t even sure she’d have the film she was making now.)

“Oh,” she said inarticulately, not quite sure how to word what she was really thinking. How rich did you have to be to be able to bribe anyone into giving you anything?

Lena nodded carefully, her face a perfect mask. If not for the way her eyes followed Kara’s every movement, Kara would’ve even thought that Lena was bored. “You’re very fond of certain themes. Hope. Love. Endless optimism in the best of humanity.” She said it like it was a bad thing. And it was suddenly Kara’s turn to lean forward on the opposite end of the counter, feeling her head tilt to the side questioningly.

“Is that what you got from my films?” she asked, genuinely curious.

Lena seemed wary of the question, standing up straight and crossing her arms over her chest defensively. “Isn’t that what you intended?”

“You know,” Kara said slowly, “I don’t actually believe in all that creator’s intent nonsense. I think we search for parts of ourselves when we consume art. So if that’s what you got from my films, that says more about you than it does about me.”

If anything, this seemed to offend Lena. “So you’d deny having any sort of intent with your work? What about making something with meaning?”

Kara laughed, shaking her head. “That’s not what I mean, and besides, who says art has to mean anything?”

“Of course art means something,” Lena argued, narrowing her eyes at Kara. “What’s the point of doing it if it doesn’t mean anything?”

Kara shrugged easily, giving Lena a small smile. “I disagree. I think art says something. But meaning is up to the people who consume it.” She picked up her camera and pointed it at Lena without turning it on. “Doesn’t matter what I intended to say with my films, you got meaning from it. So I’d say there was a point in making it, don’t you think?”

Lena eyed her for a moment, apparently not liking that Kara wasn’t giving her an answer, wasn’t telling her what she was trying to say with her work. But then, after several long seconds, she relented, letting out a chuckle and shaking her head. “Well, fine,” she said, her smile touching her eyes. “As long as you don’t try to say anything silly like hope, love, or endless optimism in the best of humanity with this film.”

“I’m afraid I can’t change who you are, Ms. Luthor,” Kara said softly, turning her camera on and effectively cutting off any response Lena may have had.

(And when she looks at the footage weeks later, she’ll freeze that frame, breath catching at the look on Lena’s face: the softness of her eyes, the curve of her lips, and the pleasantly confused crinkle between her brows.)

“Do you spend a lot of time with your godmother?”

“Oh yeah, loads! She’s great.”

“What sort of things do you do with her?”

“I mean, normal stuff? She takes me to get ice cream all the time. The other day, she rented that new horror movie that came out and watched it with me when I stayed over. My mom went nuts when she found out.”

“So you like her?”

“No, of course not. I love Lena. She’s my aunt, you know? She’s family.”

“And if you had the chance, what would you want the world to know about her?”

“That she cares, so much. And that she’s funny and super smart and helps me with homework and after my mom she’s the very best person I know.”

The visit to Luthor Children’s Hospital was, as far as Kara was aware, unplanned and in fact gave Jess a great deal of anxiety. For her part, Kara was mostly frustrated and annoyed, wondering if this film was worth it at all. Because Lena Luthor seemed to be asking Kara to turn off the camera more and more, especially when her day deviated at all and she was forced to leave her office.

(Walks in the park, lunches with her goddaughter, a touching moment with the child of one of her employees...all locked away somewhere in Kara’s memory, but destined to remain there instead of on film, where it should be.)

She huffed a little bit as she leaned against the wall, watching Lena walk quickly towards the group of nurses and doctors. She didn’t say anything when Jess joined her, a contemplative look on her face. “She always does this,” Jess told Kara after a long silence, rolling her eyes fondly. “She’ll cancel meetings last minute because she heard one of the kids in the hemoc ward has finished treatment or that they’re out of toys to give to the new patients.”

“Why isn’t there any press if she does this often?” Kara asked, turning to Jess but watching Lena out of the corner of her eye. She was talking to one of the doctors now, looking comically out of place with her designer clothes while surrounded by colorful artwork by kids that littered the walls of the Children’s Hospital.

Jess fixed Kara with an unimpressed look. “You’ve met her, right?” she asked rhetorically. “She goes out of her way to hide these visits. She says that she has to keep it under wraps because she wants to keep it about the kids and not her. But I think the truth is she’s just worried people would mistreat the kids and their families for allowing a ‘Luthor’ within ten feet of them.”

“Oh,” Kara said dumbly, a little stunned by the new information, and feeling guilty for her thoughts earlier. “That’s...awful.”

“I’m not telling you this for nothing, you know,” Jess continued, frowning at Kara. “She’s been avoiding lots of her usual charitable work since you’ve been around. The whole point of this was to get everyone else to see the real Lena Luthor, but she’s ruining it by being humble and noble.”

(Kara wanted to groan, roll her eyes, or better yet go over to Lena herself and shake her until she understood what Kara’s job was.

How was she supposed to make a documentary about Lena Luthor if Lena Luthor was so determined to hide herself away from the world?)

“What would you have me do?” she asked, not voicing her frustration, though it seeped into her tone anyway. “We have a deal, and she doesn’t want me to film these things.”

Jess shook her head, looking terribly unimpressed by the answer. “Don’t you have artistic integrity? Would you allow anyone else to boss you around and tell you what you could and couldn’t film?”

Kara looked over at Lena, who was now smiling at a young boy who had ambled up to her with his mother and infusion pump stand in tow. She watched as Lena actually dropped to her knees to talk to the boy, nodding vigorously at whatever he was saying. After a long moment, she turned back to Jess and shook her head. “No,” she said finally. “I guess I wouldn’t.”

And after Jess had given her another significant look before walking off, Kara raised her camera and began to film.

“Mr. Spheer, you’re an ex of Lena Luthor’s, right?”

“Ah, I see this documentary is quite personal. Are you sure that Lena is okay with this sort of thing going into her movie?”

“Well, it’s my movie. But she’s free to ask me to take things out.”

“Fascinating. Yes, I am Lena’s ex. I was quite brokenhearted when she broke it off to move to National City.”

“Oh, she broke it off?”

“So curious, Ms. Danvers. Perhaps you’re interested in something beyond a mere film?”

“W-what? No, that’s—please be serious, Mr. Spheer—”

“It’s Jack to you, my dear. What else do you need to know about Lena? Her favorite flowers are plumerias, her favorite food is—”

“—oh that’s really not necessary. If we could just focus on who Lena is as a person. A friend. A former girlfriend?”

“Hmm, yes. Well, just imagine your perfect woman, Ms. Danvers.”

“Oh, um, I—”

“—exactly, you see Lena. That’s an universal experience, I’m afraid. Lena is simply...too good for this world.”

“So you’d say the treatment she gets by the public is unfair?”

“It’s unfair how much people attack pineapple on pizza, Ms. Danvers. The way they speak of Lena without knowing her? That’s a pure travesty.”

They were about ten days into filming when Kara saw Lena relax for the first time.

She was using the word ‘relax’ rather loosely, of course. Lena didn’t do what Kara did after a long week—put on a pair of sweatpants, order loads of junk food, and watch so much Netflix that it eventually felt the need to ask her if she was still watching. In fact, Lena’s idea of relaxing was more work. Just, fun work.

She was dressed in jeans and a blue shirt, knees pulled up to her chest as she sat at her desk, mumbling under her breath as she did whatever she was doing. (She hadn’t bothered to explain to Kara, had just sighed and acquiesced to the presence of the camera in her home office.) Perched precariously at the tip of her nose were a thick black pair of glasses, her hair falling to her shoulders in gentle waves.

She looked different. Softer, somehow. Gone was all the trappings of a badass CEO, and all that was left was a clever (and beautiful) young woman, working on the things she loved in her spare time.

Kara zoomed in slightly, focusing on Lena’s face, on the furrow between her brows, her lips twisted in concentration. There was something there, something different, and Kara just wanted to—

“Is that camera heavy?” Lena asked, looking up suddenly, a curious expression on her face. She was good at that, the polite looks, gently asking for more information. Tiny eyebrow raises, nearly imperceptible softening of her eyes, lips quirked the slightest bit, all intended to disarm her quarry, making them drop their guard long enough that they give everything held close to their chest away.

“Not really,” Kara answered, grinning at Lena. This made the other woman blink in surprise, clearly not the response she was looking for, that expression on her face shifting suddenly, becoming more calculating. “I work out,” Kara went on to explain, shrugging easily, careful not to jostle the camera. “Besides, it’s not that heavy, I think about five pounds.”

“What kind of camera do you use?”

“Oh, it’s a Panasonic AG-HVX—” she cut herself off. “It’s not that interesting.” Kara adjusted her glasses and made sure Lena’s face was still in focus. Somehow, this made Lena’s tiny smile reappear. She stood up and circled her desk, and Kara was forced to back away to maintain focus.

“You love filming, don’t you?” Lena asked, and Kara blinked, not quite sure where she was going with this.

“Ms. Luthor, as I’m sure you’re aware, this film is about you.”

If she thought this would in any way cow Lena, she was wrong. Lena just grinned, looking like she’d somehow won something.

“Do you know what I don’t understand?” she said with faux casualness, crossing her arms and tapping a finger against her elbow. “Why would you, someone Cat Grant speaks so highly of, be willing to agree to this assignment? Something most people wouldn’t touch with a ten foot pole.”

Kara frowned, not thinking as she responded. “It wasn’t assigned, Ms. Luthor. I pitched the idea. I wanted to do this.” Lena’s words sank in a moment later. “Wait. Cat Grant spoke highly of me?”

“Why?” Lena asked, no longer smiling.

Kara blinked at the change in tone. “Why what?” she asked, genuinely confused. This was, apparently, the wrong answer, because Lena chose that moment to begin pacing in front of her desk, looking more than a little bothered.

“I don’t get it,” she said as she paced. “I tried to figure it out, looked into you, into your work. I thought maybe you were doing this to build fame, but I’ve seen your work and even without a movie about the last Luthor, I have no doubt you’ll be very popular—”

“Oh, that’s nice of you, thank y—”

“—then I thought maybe you have a vendetta against my family and just want me to look bad,” Lena continued, barreling over Kara’s words and ignoring her entirely, “but the only connection between you and my family is your cousin, Clark Kent, and he’s the journalist who broke the story on my brother, so if anything I should dislike you—”

“That’s not exactly...Clark and I aren’t—”

“—so I really need you to explain it to me. Why did you want to make this film?” She paused her brisk pacing as she asked the question, meeting Kara’s eyes with a fierce look, one Kara was infinitely glad she was capturing on film. Because this, this glint in Lena’s eyes, was why Kara wanted to do this.

“Do you remember the speech you gave when you came to National City?” Kara asked, and judging from the way Lena’s eyebrows rose in response, she was rather thrown by the question. “Because I do. I watched it maybe a few dozen times. All those horrible questions, all the absolute certainty that you were like your brother, and you kept your head up and you promised to prove them all wrong, to make up for what he did.” Kara sighed, shutting off the camera and setting it aside gently. “I’ve never seen anything quite like it. I was...interested. I wanted to see more.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“Did I meet your expectations? Disappoint you? What?”

Kara smiled, unable to help it. “Does my opinion on you really matter?”

“Do you always answer a question with another question?” Lena shot back, eyes narrowing.

Kara’s smile just widened and she began to gather her things, preparing to leave for the night. Impressively, Lena didn’t question her further, just watched her then followed her to the door, looking rather cross. Pausing briefly to adjust her glasses and the strap of her bag, Kara turned suddenly and met Lena’s eyes. “You exceeded them. My expectations, that is,” Kara added when Lena offered only a quizzical look in response.

For a moment, Lena didn’t react, then that same look from her office—the softness of her eyes, the curve of her lips, and the pleasantly confused crinkle between her brows—overtook her expression, and she let out a laugh.

“Well, good then.”

“You went to boarding school with Ms. Luthor?”

“I don’t think that’s public knowledge, how do you know that?”

“Um, Ms. Arias told me about you. She mentioned your relationship with Ms. Luthor is unique.”

“Well, Sam would know, wouldn’t she?”

“Ms. Rojas, if you don’t want to speak to me, you don’t have to.”

“It’s fine. Look, Lena and I have been estranged for a while now. I...I did something to break her trust.”

“So would you say that Ms. Luthor is difficult to get along with?”

“No, I’d say that Lena values things like honesty and trust, and—you know that Austen novel? With the man who says that once you lose his good opinion, it’s gone forever?”

“Pride and Prejudice?”

“Exactly. Lena is like that.”

“Ms. Luthor is like Mr. Darcy?”

“No, she’s classic. No matter what’s going on, she’ll endure.”

“So...you were the one difficult to get along with?”

“Have you ever thought about taking your work to a whole new level, Kara? How do you feel about virtual reality?”

“Oh, um, I don’t have particular thoughts? But I’d love to know yours about Ms. Luthor. For the film.”

“She won’t believe this, or that I’m saying it coercion free, but Lena is...a visionary. More than that, she’s just a decent person. Which is more than most of us can say, don’t you think?”

After their conversation, Lena opened up dramatically.

(Well, dramatically was a stretch, but considering how closed off she’d been before, the difference was rather drastic.)

Kara filmed Lena’s visit to an animal shelter, capturing the way her fingers gently ran over the fur of the dog that immediately trotted over to her, placing its head in her lap. Lena had then explained that she went to shelters often, just to volunteer, as she was unable to adopt for fear of not having time to give the dog the attention it deserved.

Later that week, Lena let Kara stay later than usual, putting on some music as she got to cooking, going as far as to teach Kara the basics of the dish, laughing when Kara admitted that her skill in the kitchen was limited to making sandwiches. At one point she grabbed the camera and set it aside, dragging Kara into the kitchen, giving instructions and lessons as she swayed her hips to the music.

(It was silly, it was lighthearted, it was fun, and Kara couldn’t help it.

She forgot she was there to make a film.)

And as the days and weeks dragged on, when Lena showed off her skills at the piano—apologetically explaining she hadn’t had time to really play in months—or when she told Kara about her very ‘nerdy’ stamp collection or even when Lena seemed to ignore there was a camera between them and she began to talk about her day and her hopes for the weekend, Kara forgot that it was a job. She forgot that she was supposed to be making something, paying attention to more than Lena’s smile or the way her eyes lit up whenever she mentioned work she was particularly passionate about.

Somewhere along the way, Kara cared more about the opportunity to spend time with Lena than she did the film itself.

More worryingly, that realization didn’t even bother her.

“Why filmmaking?” Lena asked one morning, pushing coffee and toast towards Kara with a tiny smile. The camera was still in its bag, untouched since Kara had arrived nearly an hour earlier. “Why not journalism like your cousin?”

“My cousin and I,” Kara began awkwardly, adjusting her glasses, “well, our relationship is a little strained, I guess.” She didn’t need the slight tilt of Lena’s head to know that Lena wanted her to keep going, to explain further. She let out a soft chuckle and rubbed her forehead with the tips of her fingers. “Um, so my parents died when I was twelve. And Clark sort of...left me? I went to live with the Danvers instead, and they bought me a camera for my birthday.” Kara grinned at the very memory, still able to feel its weight in her hand, the eyepiece against her eye. “It was one of those old camcorders, do you remember? The ones with the tapes? I drove them nuts, filming literally everything. I don’t think they ever saw my face for the first few months I was with them, it was constantly behind the camera.” She didn’t explain why she wanted to document every moment with her new family, but judging from the way Lena’s eyes softened, she understood anyway. “From there it became serious. I started making films. School projects, etc. Now I’m here.”

“Why documentaries? Why not something like...oh, I don’t know, action movies?” Lena prodded, looking curious, looking interested, looking like the answer mattered.

Kara just shrugged, suddenly not able to look Lena in the eye. “I guess there’s a part of me that wanted to take after Clark.”

“How long have you been working for Ms. Luthor?”

“Um, this December will make seven years.”

“As her assistant, you have remarkable access to her. What’s she like?”

“Driven, ambitious, works way too hard. I don’t think she’s ever taken a holiday or even a break...but um, maybe don’t say that in the film.”

“Artistic integrity, remember? She works hard, that’s clear. But what about personally? Her relationship with you and the other employees? What kind of boss is she?”

“She cares a lot. A few years ago, before Lex Luthor, well. You know. Before all that, LuthorCorp was facing serious losses. Mr. Luthor wanted to just get rid of entire departments, but Ms. Luthor said the research was vital, and more than that, the researchers were important. She convinced her brother to keep them on—she won’t admit it, but it was more than being persuasive. She paid for it out of her own pocket.”

“So you’d say she’s charitable?”

“No, she’s passionate. And she fights for the things she believes in. Ms. Luthor likes to say that charity implies pity, and she doesn’t do anything out of pity. She just does what’s right by people.”

“Some would disagree, they’d argue that LuthorCorp, and by extension its new iteration, L-Corp, don’t care about people, but about profits. Do you think that’s a fair assessment of the company you’ve devoted seven years to?”

“Look. I get it, people are suspicious of L-Corp because it used to be LuthorCorp. But it’s not just a name change. When Lena took over, she gutted her company. There’s not a single program left from Mr. Luthor’s time as CEO. L-Corp is all Ms. Luthor.”

“So if L-Corp is Ms. Luthor, who is Ms. Luthor?”

“She’s a woman who’s been hurt all her life, Kara Danvers, and whose only goal is to keep as many people as she can from hurting too. Sometimes I just wish she realized she doesn’t deserve to be hurt anymore either.”

“Oh.”

“Also, I don’t care about your artistic integrity, that last bit does not go in the film.”

One afternoon, when Kara was dangerously close to dozing off on the couch in Lena’s office—camera turned off and set aside, not really needing more footage of Lena working at her desk—Lena suddenly jumped to her feet, an excited gleam in her eyes.

“They’ve done it,” she said, the smile forming on her lips so wide that Kara found herself smiling back.

“Done what?” Kara asked, fairly sure this would lead to Lena’s refrain of ‘that’s company business and I’m afraid you’re not privy to that information’ but instead, Lena looked at her appraisingly, then rolled her eyes.

“If I allow you to bring your camera in R&D, do you swear not to film my ongoing projects?”

“You’re going to let me film in R&D?” Kara said excitedly, jumping to her feet and grabbing her camera.

“Kara, do you swear?”

“Yes, yes, of course, Ms. Luthor. I absolutely swear.”

And the next thing Kara knew, she was filming in the one place she’d been told was off-limits, capturing the lab and Lena talking to her researchers animatedly about the advancement they’d made in gene therapy, not entirely surprised when Lena shoved the scientists towards Kara and urged them to brag about their achievement—while also warning them to be as vague as possible—and then sank into the background, clearly thrilled to have her scientists as the center of attention.

And later, when Lena decided to actually take a lunch hour as a ‘reward’ for the great strides L-Corp had made, she took Kara along, bought three different appetizers, and smiled her wide smile before she said, “It’s Lena, by the way. Just Lena.”

Mouth still bulging with the three potstickers she’d practically inhaled, Kara couldn’t manage much more than a nod, but later—when she was alone—she tried saying the name aloud, and it sent a shiver down her spine.

“Mrs. Luthor—”

“It’s doctor, actually.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Dr. Luthor. You adopted Ms. Luthor when she was four, is that correct?”

“I’m afraid I don’t have time for this nonsense. I consented to this interview only to say one thing: Lena was always the more clever of my children, but she’s foolish and soft, and this silly film is yet another example of that.”

“You agreed to meet with me to just say...that. Okay. That’s um. Fine.”

As the weeks dragged on, Kara had little reason to continue filming. Her deadline with Cat Grant was fast approaching, and she had more than enough footage. All that really remained was editing, of putting the final pieces together. But she found herself filming anyway.

Every day, she’d make her way to Lena’s apartment, making flimsy excuses about how certain footage was no good, or had been corrupted, and that she needed retakes of Lena doing ordinary things (like reading the paper, cooking dinner, or talking about her day). She knew that Lena could tell her excuses were just that, but mercifully, Lena didn’t seem to want to call her out on it, merely gave soft reminders not to stay up so late every night to edit (the ‘you could just as easily stop wasting your time here and be editing during normal hours’ going unsaid).

(Jess had rolled her eyes when Kara came by L-Corp and Lena mentioned offhandedly that Kara somehow hadn’t gotten a shot of Lena entering her building in all the time she’d shadowed the CEO, and wasn’t that odd?)

But what Kara knew, what made her stretch out these moments as long as she possibly could, was that once the final product popped into existence, once she showed Lena and got her okay to send off to Cat Grant, that was it.

No more Lena.

And that terrified her.

(So she gathered more footage, fruitlessly hoping that the final product would never be ready, dragging her feet at every step.

She edited, studying Lena’s every expression, tried to pinpoint the exact moment she’d started to fall for the not-so-detached CEO extraordinaire, and wished it didn’t all have to come to an end.)

Two days after Kara had sent Lena the finished film, she got a curt email from the CEO herself with only three words: come see me.

Jess gave no indication about how her boss was feeling when Kara arrived, merely stared evenly at Kara and gestured with her head for her to just go on in. When Kara tried to ask her, Jess shook her head, pointed at the door to Lena’s office, and made a shooing gesture.

“It’s odd to see you without a camera,” Lena said when Kara sat down across from her, trying to keep her hands from fidgeting.

“It’s odd to be in here without a camera.” Kara took a deep breath. “Did you watch it?” she blurted, unable to keep it in. “What did you think?”

“You’re really fond of certain themes,” Lena said, then she raised her eyebrow. “You also filmed quite a bit when I had asked you not to.”

“Artistic integrity?” Kara tried, and Lena...laughed.

“I don’t know if I agree with the way you portrayed me,” she said slowly as her amusement faded. “You took a lot of liberties.”

“I was very faithful to the subject of the film, Lena.”

“What do you think you were trying to say?” Lena asked, waving off Kara’s comment.

“What meaning did you get from it?”

Lena studied her for a moment, as if she was trying to read Kara’s mind. “I’m not some selfless genius, Kara.”

“Is that what you think the film is saying?” Kara asked her, not rising to the obvious bait. “Like I said, Lena. I was very faithful to the subject of the film.” For a long moment, Lena didn’t respond, and Kara felt the worry she’d managed to push away since sending the film to Lena creep back in. “Does this mean you don’t approve of the film?”

“Hmm?” Lena said, distracted. “No, I’ve already sent it along to Cat Grant, giving my okay. Even though you broke our agreement, I can’t deny the final result was very favorable to me.”

“I wouldn’t have made something that wasn’t completely true,” Kara said, somewhat hotly, most of her irritation bleeding away with the knowledge that Cat Grant was in possession of the final product, that the rest was up to her.

Lena smiled, eyes soft, and she nodded her head almost incredulously. “No, you wouldn’t. I know that.” She cleared her throat, seeming a bit nervous. “But I was thinking. I’ve been missing our talks about your work, and I know you don’t like talking about what you’ve made, but perhaps you’d make an exception for me. Would you be willing to give me a private showing of your film? Give me all the insider secrets? I know your subject quite well, it would be a fun exercise.”

Kara’s heart slammed to a stop, the jump-started at the sight of Lena’s amused eyes, that tiny curve of her lips. “A private showing, huh?” Kara mumbled, feeling a little dazed. “I still won’t tell you what I was trying to say.”

“That’s completely fair.”

“But I suppose I could give you some insight on my thoughts.”

“Only if you wanted.”

“It may have to be more than one session,” Kara said, trying and failing to stop the spread of her smile. “There’s a lot of footage you know.”

“So it’s a date?” Lena asked, and Kara couldn’t help her eager nod.

“It’s definitely a date.”

#thank you so much!#supercorp #fanfic

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itsclydebitches · 3 years

Text

YYH Recaps: Koenma Appears

Welcome to episode two, everyone! Before we get to the recap proper, I want to continue down Nostalgia Lane for a moment. Remember how last time I mentioned a Hiei bookmark I used daily back in middle school? Well, I tore through an old "treasure box" I created as a kid (a collection containing everything from a shark tooth to a small book on witchcraft. You know, the important things every child needs) hoping to find it... but I didn't. It's a hard life we lead.

However, I did find some other YYH relics that I thought you all might enjoy seeing. Behold — and, if you'd like, laugh at — my collection:

First up is a picture of young Toguro and Genkai that I wanted to use as my bookmark, but found that it was too wide. For the record, I didn't (and still don't) care about Toguro much, he was just the byproduct of finding a cool Genkai picture. Not shown is the back of the image with the names of my classmates because I made them all sign this along with our yearbook.

God bless my friends for putting up with me.

Second is a collection of very pretty trading cards that I ordered from god only knows where. I have vague memories of not finding any at my local comics shop and convincing my mom to let me order on The Olde Internet. Did I want the trading cards to trade them? Absolutely not. They exist to sparkle and make my heart happy.

Finally, I've saved what is perhaps the best for last. Now, you have to understand that grade to middle school age Clyde did not have the education that she would receive later on, which includes a knowledge of the ephemeral nature of fanworks and the importance of accurate record keeping. What this means is that I have absolutely no context for this. No author, no explanation... just the image itself.

Was this a standalone fanart? A part of a fic? Some specific request or just the will of the artist? I cannot answer these questions. I tried a reverse image search (which is, admittedly, the extent of my tech skills) and you know what the single hit I got was? "Fiction." Thanks, google. So yeah, I can only assume that my child self considered Kurama giving a de-aged Hiei a bubble bath adorable enough to save, but the artist wasn't important enough to jot down for future viewing. Sorry about that, mystery artist. And, as should go without saying, if anyone does know where this came from please let me know! Though I suspect that this is a case of a YYH-specific site closing down and the fanworks getting lost along with it. That happened a great deal before the age of AO3 when volunteers decided to put their time and talent towards saving fanworks of all sorts...

But enough of all that. Let's get to recapping!

As we established last episode, Yusuke and Botan are on their way to the spirit world to kickstart Yusuke's ordeal. Watching this after over a decade of consuming other media, I really appreciate that Yusuke acts like a human person and asks lots of questions about this. When Botan is cryptic for the sake of the audience — we're going to see "the person" who can explain everything — Yusuke is justifiably like, and what person would that be?? I mean, this is also a way to establish basic facts for the viewer and it simultaneously feeds into Yusuke being someone who is difficult for the sake of being difficult — "If someone wants to say something, they should come to me!" — but it's just nice to see a character who doesn't accept cryptic BS because the story needs them to. If Botan gives an unclear, but ~dramatic~ explanation, Yusuke is going to call her out on that.

So she explains that they're going to see King Yama and Yusuke is all whoa whoa whoa, there's royalty involved? Suddenly, he's not so adamant that they come to him.

Botan tries to reinforce this rare spark of humility and demands that Yusuke be on his best behavior from here on out.

Pff. Yeah right.

But “he can send you to oblivion forever if he wants to!” is a suitable enough threat to cow Yusuke for now. Which is interesting considering that a few hours ago he was happy to accept hell as his rightful ending. Granted, we could argue that there's a big difference between hell and oblivion — a character may not be afraid of punishment in the same way they are a lack of existence — but I'd say this ties more into Yusuke's development at the wake. Now that he's accepted that people care for him and that he should strive to return to them, the threat of having it snatched away actually means something. Even if that line is otherwise positioned as a comedic moment.

Botan flies them through a portal where we see the River Styx below and Yusuke comments on how big everything is. At first I was like, "What are you talking about? You were just flying over some major city in fictional Japan, wasn't that big too?" but this line makes more sense when they reach the palace and you realize that yeah, it's big. As in, the camera blurs while tilting down its length to show how insanely tall it is. Yusuke and Botan are tiny gnats at the gate's entrance.

"Oh man, what a pad!" Yusuke says and sure, that's one way to look at it lol.

Botan announces that she has a "new arrival" and the gates open for them, but so far there's no one else around. One part of me wants to question the time and budget put into this scene because shouldn't there be, like, thousands of people? Even just waiting outside? The idea that this is the hub of the underworld and that Botan is responsible for ferrying all the souls, yet she is guiding just this one (1) dude for a solid day is, from a world building perspective, kind of nuts. But beyond the need to develop Botan as a character (she can't be a part of the story if her job is treated realistically, with all the endless work that entails), I think this choice functions rather well from an atmospheric perspective too. Meaning, this moment is supposed to be rather tense for Yusuke. He just died, just found out the afterlife exists, just discovered a desire to get his life back, and is now about to meet a King who can toss him into oblivion if he's rude — which Yusuke always is. So this is a Very Dangerous Moment and their relative isolation feeds into that. As does the setting. Yusuke flinches back from the hallway, saying that it looks like a giant throat, so he is now literally walking into the belly of the beast.

Suddenly, the size of the palace isn't an indicator of awesome wealth, just general intimidation. Also, check out the spikey purple mountains in the background and the harsh reds of the scene, especially compared to the soft yellow of the river. All of it is designed to create an, "Oh shit" reaction in both Yusuke and the audience.

Yusuke's image of King Yama matches these surroundings:

Oh wait! Wrong character ;)

He's massive, red, shadowed, and poses a formidable threat. And how does Yusuke deal with threats? By fighting them! Even those he can't hope to beat. Remember, this isn't a situation where Yusuke has any power here, but he still desperately holds onto the possibility that he might. What if he gets off a punch on King Yama's nose? Then goes for his eyes? Yeah, that'll work!

Overlooking the fact that it absolutely would not — Yusuke's fantasy conveniently skips how he escapes Yama's clutches — what exactly is Yusuke hoping to accomplish here? Somehow take over the entire underworld? Escape as a ghost and live out his afterlife in hiding? We don't know and that's because Yusuke doesn't know. He doesn't think ahead, he just obeys this instinct to fight. An instinct that, crucially, overrides everything else. Botan has already told him that all Yusuke needs to do is be polite and everything will be fine, but it's not even that Yusuke believes that he can't achieve that; that he knows himself too well and, fearing a slip, starts planning for a potentially inevitable confrontation. There are simply no plans outside of battle plans. Yusuke just hears about someone vaguely intimidating and his brain jumps straight to, "How do I beat him in a fight?" no matter the odds, or that other options are readily available to him. Again, much of YYH's characterization occurs though its comedy, so outside of the general humor of witnessing this fantasy, it actually does a stellar job of reinforcing precisely who Yusuke is. In life the only thing he had going for him was his ability to fight. It was his one joy, his one skill, arguably the one good thing he did if we frame those reflexes as "saving" the kid... so is it any wonder that fighting dominates his every thought? It's all he knows.

And, as we'll see down the line, that single-minded obsession is very useful to the spirit world.

For now though, Yusuke finishes his absurd plans to take down King Yama and Botan asks what in the world he's muttering about back there. Which is an unintentionally hilarious line because by the end Yusuke is not muttering, but full on shouting. Botan. How did you not hear him?

Not important. They reach the next door and we get our first inkling that all is not as Yusuke (and we) expect when Botan leans into an intercom to say that they've arrived. Tech in a fantasy spirit world? This feels not only out of place, but rather... mundane? That's the point. When the doors open Yusuke expects his super scary monster, but gets... a whole lot of monsters that aren't scary at all!

The underworld is run by various demons (or ogres), though their looks are contrasted with the harried office worker personalities they've got going on. Someone is running by with a comically tall stack of papers. Someone else is shouting into a cell phone. The first two demons we see cross paths, looking like they're about to punch one another, just as Yusuke expects... except they're just dramatically getting out of the other's way, worried not about the hierarchy of this realm, but the fact that someone is behind schedule. The nerve!

"This place is a madhouse!" we hear somehow shout and yeah, that's the joke. The afterlife is just as chaotic, overworked, and — ultimately — boring as any human office. For all the strangeness of seeing hundreds of demons, this is familiar.

Which, alongside Botan's bubbly nature contrasting assumptions about the Grim Reaper, is one of the first instances of YYH undercutting the viewer's expectations in terms of looks. No one entirely looks the part they play in this tale and if you're trying to teach people to look past surface characteristics... there are worse ways to do it. Horrifying creatures with horns and sharp teeth? Nah, they're just chill dudes trying to do their job. Cutesy girl who looks like she belongs in a mall reading magazines? Nah, she's the Grim Reaper. Terrifying delinquent with a spine-chilling reputation? Nah, he makes faces at kids and saves them from cars.

Of course, the "nah" isn't accurate either. These are monsters with horns, Botan is a cutesy girl, and Yusuke is a delinquent with that reputation. The message isn't so much that people look like Thing A, but get to know them and you'll discover they're actually Thing B, it's the idea that you can be A and B (and C, D, E...) simultaneously. People — or rather, seemingly simple archetypes — can, in fact, embody multiple characteristics at once.

We'll get our third example in just a second.

Yusuke makes a comment about this being the "dead people stock exchange" — accurate — and Botan leads him to a more ornate door past all the desks. It's clear they've arrived at King Yama's office, since she's bowing and formally presenting him to... someone. Yusuke looks around for the giant beast he's imagined, only for a tiny voice to hail him from the ground.

Looks are deceiving!

“This is Yusuke Urameshi and he’s honored to meet you." Botan knows what's up. She knows Yusuke isn't going to express anything of the sort without some prompting. Too bad he's busy cracking up at this apparent child running the show. Side note: Yusuke has a fantastic laugh.

He even goes so far as to accuse Botan of lying to him.

“Why would I lie about such a thing?!”

“Why would the spirit world be run by a toddler?”

It's true! That’s a legitimate question! I love that Yusuke asks questions. The "toddler" goes on to explain that he's actually the "mighty Koenma," son of King Yama, though he's lived fifty times as long as Yusuke, "so watch your mouth." Assuming Koenma knows and/or remembers how old Yusuke is — fourteen — and is good at math, that puts him at seven hundred years old. He looks good for his age!

"And in addition to knowing the secrets of the universe," he says, "I am quite potty trained."

You've gotta love Koenma.

Yusuke's attitude changes drastically once they get down to business. Koenma produces an egg, saying that Yusuke's ordeal is to hatch it and face what comes out. The hatching part isn't difficult, all he needs to do is keep it on his person. The challenge is in the fact that this egg will feed off his spirit energy and that energy in turn will change what kind of creature develops. If his spirit is wicked and cruel, so will be the beast and it will devour Yusuke upon hatching.

However, if his spirit is good and kind, the beast will become a sort of guardian, guiding him back to his living body.

Note though that throughout this conversation the egg is always a "beast." It's a "monster." It's not necessarily intentional, but there's a strong bend towards the negative here in the description that really emphasizes the whole "ordeal" aspect. Koenma briefly reassures Yusuke that he can remain a ghost if he prefers, but he's already made up his mind. Despite another threat of being lost to a void — this time through spiritual digestion — Yusuke takes the egg almost without hesitation.

He regrets it later though.

"I can't believe I did that."

Can we blame him? I'd be nervous about some egg feeding off the energy of my soul too and I'm a former, almost straight A student (damn you, math) with no life-altering regrets and a general desire to put as much good into this world as I'm able. I’m boring. But what if those occasional, mean little thoughts you have add up? What if the prejudices you're still unlearning stack against you? Does the egg care about what you do, or only how you feel about the act? This sort of test would eat me alive!

Maybe literally.

Good thing Yusuke doesn't have time for an existential crisis!

Just as he's beginning to regret this decision, Botan points out that it won't matter if he passes if he doesn't have a body to return to. Now, why wouldn't he have a body? Maybe because his mom is set to cremate him tomorrow.

Whoopsie.

Yusuke is, understandably, distraught. We get another excellent exchange:

“Botan, is there any way for ghosts to communicate with living people?”

“Yes.”

“SO ARE YOU GONNA TELL ME?”

I swear, Yusuke is the only smart protagonist. I mean, he's dumb as a sack of bricks at times, but that's neither here nor there. Bless this fictional boy for reacting like an actual person.

Botan explains that people are more attuned to the spirit world when they're asleep, so Yusuke can deliver a message to someone in their dreams. Seems easy enough. They first head to Atsuko, but find that she's raging drunk and nowhere near sleep.

"You fool!" she yells. "No one gave you permission to die!" Atsuko continues to yell about how plenty of people survive car accidents, so why couldn't you? "Were you mad at me, Yusuke? Didn't I raise you right?"

Botan comments on how sad the display is. Yusuke's response?

“The only thing that’s sad is now she’s got one more excuse to act that way."

Y'all, that's some mature shit for a goofy shonen anime. Yeah, Yusuke recognizes that, while she's obviously heartbroken, his death has just given her another reason to do what she's been doing for years: drinking herself into a stupor. Toss in Atsuko putting the blame on Yusuke — "No one gave you permission to die!" — plus the belief that she did do a good job — "Didn't I raise you right?" — and it paints a rather bleak picture. This is by no means an uncommon theme. Negligent parents, whether they're framed that way or not, are pretty common in shonen series, but it's still rather jarring to re-watch this as an adult and go, "Oh. The situation’s like that." It's honestly a lot when you remove it from YYH's otherwise humorous, casual context.

Yusuke heads to Keiko's next and finds her sound asleep, commenting on how her room looks more "girly" than when they were kids. Check out that smile!

He's about to try and deliver his message, but Keiko is in the midst of a nightmare. “She’s crying… what’s wrong?”

Oh my god. Remember how I just said Yusuke is also the densest protagonist around? Example A right here. You just died, you fool! You just saw Keiko collapse at your funeral. What do you think is wrong??

We get a peek at Keiko's dream where she is — shockingly! — thinking of Yusuke. He's far out of reach, walking away and unresponsive to her calls. Keiko soon trips and Yusuke disappears completely.

Luckily, she has the real thing at her bedside. Yusuke tries talking to her and at first it's unclear if this supernatural stuff is really working. That is, until Keiko murmurs about how heavy he is.

Reassured, Yusuke delivers his message that Keiko needs to help Atsuko pull herself together and, most importantly, call off burning his body. We get this very soft and pretty background to establish their yet unspoken feelings for one another, though Yusuke gets close with, “I’m coming back. I don’t want to see you cry anymore" as he brushes her tears away. Aww.

Keiko wakes, thinking at first it was just a dream, but no, "I'm sure I felt it."

The next morning she heads to Atsuko's to explain the dream, only to first hear that Atsuko had a dream too, this one about Yusuke "living in some other world full of ogres and he kept knocking them down until he became their leader." It sounds absurd, of course, but it brings Atsuko some comfort to think of her boy in a place like that and Keiko backs down. Right, she'd only had a comforting dream too.

Now, there are two important parts to this exchange. The first is that this is an excellent example of how you let the characters drive the story, rather than forcing the characters adhere to the plot you've come up with. Meaning, in the latter situation, our cast would have needed to have their personalities twisted and the viewer's suspicion of disbelief tested to give Yusuke what he needs: a sleeping family member willing to believe his message. But it absolutely makes sense for Atsuko to be drunk rather than sound asleep, so Yusuke can't rely on her. Likewise, it absolutely makes sense for Keiko to be asleep, but not believe the dream once she's woken up. After all, how many times have we been persuaded by something in the dead of night only for things to look more logical and less likely in the morning? The characters act both like themselves and like people who do normal, people-ish things, which means that Yusuke runs into more conflicts. That's good! It not only raises the tension and stakes — now he has less than a day to convince someone — but makes his inevitable success feel that much sweeter. A less well written show (cough-RWBY-cough) would have had the characters change their personalities, behave in unlikely ways, or just come up with a sudden, contradictory solution because Yusuke needs to keep his body. Instead, Yusuke actually has to work for that within the bounds of the rules established and the likeliness of each plan succeeding. The first one fails? Move onto plan #2.

Second, this dream of Atsuko's has some cool implications within YYH's world. Meaning, we're about to learn in just a moment that some people are naturally more aware of the supernatural than others, even when they're not asleep. We'll also see down the line that spiritual awareness tends to run in families... so perhaps Atsuko possesses more than the average mother? I'm not saying it's necessarily intentional on the author(s) part, but we can choose to read this dream as evidence of spiritual awareness — true insight into the world Yusuke was just in and the fantasies he'd had about conquering it — rather than just a coincidental joke for the viewer. After all, Yusuke gets his own spiritual awareness from somewhere...

(Okay, so there's totally another, canonical reason for that, but we can have both!)

So, as Yusuke puts it, “This dream business isn’t gonna cut it.”

“There’s always the final method," Botan says.

“You always this vague?”

I am literally living for these interactions.

Botan explains that the more extreme form of communication is possessing a living person, but there are two rules attached: it has to be someone you know and the vessel has to be someone who is quite spiritually aware, as discussed above. Atsuko isn't a contender because the story hasn't acknowledged that she might be sensitive, that's just my own headcanon now. Yusuke outright says, “In that case I’m screwed. There’s no one like that!"

Cut to good old Kuwabara.

At first it looks as if he's just oh so conveniently sensing a spirit right when the audience has learned he has this power, but in reality it's Yusuke and Botan flying behind him that sets it off. Again: this show is pretty good about keeping things internally consistent, rather than making choices because That's Just How Stories Work, I Guess. Kuwabara's friends note that he's acting strangely and I love this detail that apparently one of the guys is new to their group because the other two need to explain that this is the "tickle feeling." Ever since Kuwabara was a boy he's been able to sense the dead around him. Some nice, some... not so nice.

He looks directly at Yusuke — even though he's not able to see him — and declares that what's following them is “A puny low-level ghost, like a haunted racoon or something.”

I'd support Yusuke's anger more if he hadn't just exclaimed his surprise that Kuwabara serves a purpose 😂

Yusuke is pissed enough though to proclaim that he won't do it, nuh-uh, no way is he possessing this guy's body. Botan's response is one of my FAVORITES in the WHOLE SERIES:

"Here's my impression of Yusuke: look at me, I’m burning!”

Literally 75% of this series is just about a found family sassing one another and I love it.

Obviously this helps Yusuke remember his priorities and he grudgingly agrees to the plan. Botan prepares Kuwabara's body somehow — idk, spiritual magic or whatever — and warns Yusuke that he only has an hour to find someone and warn them because a human body can't handle possession any longer than that. Sure. I buy it.

So Yusuke takes control and please ignore the incredible ethical issues here. The show will never acknowledge them again.

He blurts out, “Hey, check it out! I’m inside Kuwabara, feeling smooth!"

Istg I don't remember the series being this unintentionally gay. I don't even ship Yusuke/Kuwabara and I'm digging the possibilities here lol.

Back on track, his friends drag him with, “Looks like he’s back to normal” because again, 75%. What's not normal though is Kuwabara (Yusuke) suddenly charging down the street to leave them behind. He heads straight to the restaurant where Keiko's parents work, demanding to see her. They're rightly concerned about this stranger barging in and screaming for their daughter.

Upon asking who he is/why they should tell him, Yusuke makes his biggest mistake: “Because it’s me, you guys, I’m Yusuke!”

Obviously the time limit and raw emotion of knowing who he is has outweighed the knowledge that, you know, no one would believe that. Yusuke has spent the last two days bopping around as a ghost and familiarizing himself with some of the afterlife's insanity. The knowledge of what's normal for everyone else — AKA, not dead boys appearing in strangers' bodies — is not at the forefront of Yusuke's mind.

So, Keiko's parents react accordingly! The father in particular is disgusted by this claim, going so far as to threaten Yusuke with his knife and outright insult Kuwabara's looks: “Yusuke was never ugly like you… we were close family friends with that boy!" His wife chimes in that this kind of joke is particularly heinous on the day of his funeral. Between Atsuko drunkenly blaming Yusuke for his death and Mr. Takenaka grieving for what he might have been, this is one of the few times we see someone just sad for Yusuke's passing, exactly as he was and without regrets or criticism. "We were close family friends with that boy" paints a nice contrast to the delinquent persona Yusuke was cultivating.

As he's thrown out of the restaurant he says, “We should have special passwords for times like this!” Fun fact, my family does! Well, not this exact situation lol. I was given a password as a child to memorize in case my parents ever needed to send someone else to pick me up or interact with me in any way. If the stranger didn't know the password, I was to kick up a fuss. I rest easy with the knowledge that this password would not doubt assist me if I was ever in Yusuke's position!

With Keiko's parents a bust, Yusuke starts sprinting to everywhere she frequents with the hope of running into her. Or at least he tries.

Yusuke is suddenly waylaid by a group of nameless teens with a bone to pick with Kuwabara. And you know what? I like it. I wonder how much of my praise stems from coming off of RWBY Volume 8, but it's just so nice to watch a story where the plot — simple as it is — hangs together. We've established that Kuwabara is a street fighter. Last episode we watched him start a fight with Yusuke. Yusuke is on a time limit. Now Kuwabara's tendencies have created a new hurdle for Yusuke!

Needless to say, Yusuke kicks butt, even in Kuwabara’s body.

As one guy is passing out he says, “Man that hurt! I didn’t think anyone could throw punches that hardcore except Yusuke Urameshi."

Yusuke: “Darn, giving Kuwabara a good name." LOL

You think this challenge is finished though? Nah. Over the course of about half an hour Yusuke encounters a comical number of people trying to get even with Kuwabara.

As always, I like the nods towards this writing decision to help justify it, with Yusuke wondering how Kuwabara has pissed this many people off. If you want to pull off something that has a low chance of happening, it can help to give the characters a "Seriously?" moment. If both they and the audience are on the same page over how ridiculous this situation is, the audience is more likely to accept it once the character does.

By the time Yusuke escapes his hour is nearly up. However, thanks to some coincidental plotting, he spots Keiko's friends just across the street!

YYH does a decent job of making its characters feel like they have their own lives outside of what's immediately happening on screen and we get a good example of that here. We pick up the girls' conversation partway through, both of them worried about Keiko's state of mind and, given that we'll see in a second that Keiko was in the store with them, it implies that something happened to reignite this worry. They're off enjoying their day, doing their own thing, there was an event we're not privy to, and now we catch the response to that. It just helps make the characters feel more well-rounded even though they are, at their core, one-dimensional background characters who don’t even have names yet.

Case in point: the one girl is still concerned with their image. "People are starting to say things!"

Yeah, your friend's childhood friend just died. Hopefully they're saying, "Poor thing."

Anyway, Yusuke runs up to ask where Keiko is only for both girls to run away screaming. Turns out his face is messed up from the numerous fights and Keiko's friends are easily scared.

Luckily, Keiko comes out just a second later and Yusuke is faced with the challenge of how to convince her in, oh, about five minutes. Remember, we've already established through Keiko's parents that just saying, "I'm Yusuke" doesn't work. That's why he hesitates. It's not just drama for the sake of drama, he's stuck.

“I’ve known her my whole life, there must be something between us that only I would do!”

Yeeeeaah. About that 😬

Suddenly inspired (I suppose that's one way to put it...) Yusuke runs up behind Keiko and grabs her breasts. “Keiko, nice uniform! They’re so squishy!”

It goes without saying that, like flipping her skirt up, this isn't okay. More specifically, the problem lies in the story framing this as a joke for the audience, something to laugh at despite Keiko's discomfort, rather than the concept of two childhood friends actually be that comfortable with one another. But, as already established, this is one of the more ehhhh aspects of Yusuke's characterization that, luckily, will mostly disappear as the story goes on.

Note though that the show clearly wants us to think highly of this. Not just as a "joke," but as a smart solution to his problem and more evidence of their inevitable relationship — the background becomes the same soft, bubbly background we saw during their dream conversation. And, admittedly, it does work. Keiko instinctively slaps Yusuke hard enough to knock him to the ground and he starts laughing, saying that he doesn't care what anyone on the street says, she hits the hardest.

What I do like about this is that the assault isn't the only thing Keiko bases her faith on. Not only has she already had the dream, we get to see Yusuke from her perspective, showing all the mannerisms she picks up on by superimposing Yusuke's real body over Kuwabara's. Indeed, she says as much: “I knew it was you from the first time you spoke…and it’s not just your stupid gags, or how you laugh. There are ways you move and speak that in a hundred years I wouldn’t forget."

Catch me crying in this club!

Knowing she believes him and that he's almost out of time, Yusuke reiterates his message: please don't burn my body and also keep Mom on track. Only, you know, it's phrased far better than that lol. As he speaks, both Yusuke's and Kuwabara's voices overlap until the latter grows fainter and only Yusuke's voice remains. His body too. It's a nice touch, avoiding the awkwardness of Keiko having this moment with a stranger, even if that is what's happening on some level.

“I know I’ve been a bum to you at times, but please wait for me."

His hour up, now we can get the awkwardness! Kuwabara comes out of his weird trance thing to find Keiko crying against his chest. Wow, he thinks, this girl must be really into me!

God, to have the confidence of Kuwabara.

Of course, Keiko quickly realizes it's not Yusuke anymore and slaps him too for cuddling her closer. My favorite thing is that when she does this a crowd INSTANTLY appears. I mean they TELEPORT in. We needed an audience for Kuwabara's shame and YYH delivered, all logic be damned.

“Um, sorry about that!” Keiko yells as she runs away, because she's a good person who recognizes that weird spirit things just went on and Kuwabara isn't actually to blame.

“No, that’s okay. I probably deserved it," Kuwabara responds because he's also a good person and I didn't appreciate him nearly as much as I should have as a kid.

Keiko runs all the way to Atsuko's place where she finds her dressed for Yusuke's funeral. She blurts that Yusuke might still be coming back and Atsuko goes, "He already has." Turns out she opened his coffin to "smack him one more time for leaving me" — yikes — and found that his heart had started beating again, just as Koenma said it would.

Being in a shonen anime, they apparently decide to just trust Keiko's message rather than, idk, taking him to a hospital or something.

The camera tilts up to show that Yusuke has been watching all this, including that both women break down again and comfort one another. Aww. How heartwarming.

What's less fuzzy though is this mysterious egg. Yusuke takes another look and finds that it has developed a heartbeat too, presumably in time with his body's. He theorizes that he did decent things today, right? But Botan (teasingly) points out that he did beat up a lot of other kids. Rather than getting angry, Yusuke remains uncharacteristically pensive, emphasizing the magnitude of what this means for him. He's got to get it right.

No pressure or anything! We'll have to see how Yusuke balances his karmic scales in the next episode. Until then, I'll try not to put all my TV time into Star Trek: Voyager :D

See you then! 💜

#YYH #Yu Yu Hakusho #YYH recaps #mymetas

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heliosthegriffin · 3 years

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Himbo Dad AU; Breakfast

Achilles opens the door to his house, and then walks into the kitchen his father cooking at the stove, Heracles eating from his dog bowl, loaded full of sausages, bacon, pancakes, hash browns, and eggs, the dogs face covered in grease, Achilles could tell the dog was probably on his second or third bowl though, he’d probably need to eat one more before his food coma could start.

Achilles sat at the large table in kitchen and greeted his father with sleepy yawn. “Mornin, dad.”

Jaune looks over his shoulder at his son, his hands never leaving the stove in front of him as he was cooking enough food for a feast, and greeted his son back in a warm, fatherly tone. “Morning, sleepy one, did you stay up all night at your aunt Saphrons? Or did you get some sleep?”

Achilles blushed a little. “I got some sleep…”

Jaune rose a well-groomed eyebrow. “A little? So, you don’t need to take a nap when you go upstairs? Cause, after breakfast, I’m going on a 100k, and could always use a strolling buddy, if your up for it~”

Achilles paled. “Uh, uh, no thanks dad, I might have stayed up all night with Adrian.”

Jaune sighed and shook his head. “It’s bad for growing boys to stay up all night, but it’s the weekend. Just make sure your ready for school tomorrow.”

“Ugh, school. Why can’t I just go to Sanctum like Adrian yet?”

“You’re only ten, value your childhood while you can.”

Achilles whispers “Yeah, like you haven’t told me all that hundred times.”

Jaune turned his head at Achilles his eyes narrowed. “Hmm, what was that? Sound like back sass, and back sass sounds like another 100-kilometer run, mister. If you really want to give up your childhood and go to Sanctum, you’ll have to start doing those runs every day.”

His son’s tanned skin turned pale at the statement. “Uh, no sir! Sorry, sir! Please don’t make me run with you, it’s like trying to keep up with speeding bullhead!”

Crossing the kitchen with a couple of long steps, and ruffle his son’s hair and puts several plates in front of him. “I’m just playing Killies, I would never make you do something that you don’t want to do, but, I’m just not ready for my little boy to grow up on me. So, please, just stay a little boy for a little while longer? For me?” Jaune says kissing his son on top of the head.

Achilles bats away his dad with a blush, and mumbles out. “Fine… Just long as you train me like you are Adrian, please and thank you.”

Jaune lets out a beaming smile. “It’ll be my pleasure, my little warrior. Now eat up, and get some rest.”

Achilles looks at his plate full of food, with cooked bacon, crispy hashbrowns with cheese and onions, pancakes decorated with his crest of a spear breaking two arcs, with spear being made of strawberries and whipped cream and the arcs honey, scrambled eggs dusted with salt, pepper, and local spices, and then a tray loaded with fruit. Served alongside a glass of tea and orange juice.

Achilles found he didn’t need much convincing to eat up, giving a rushed thank you, and with no thoughts on why his father had made more than ten times the normal amount of food for himself, Achilles, and Heracles.

The boy didn’t notice as several newcomers entered the kitchen, with almost all of them taking a seat around the table, with one going up behind Jaune, having to stand on their tip of their toes, before slipping their arms around his neck, leaning their chest into his back, and laying their head on his shoulders.

“Mornin Handsome~,” Robyn said into his ear.

Jaune shivered slightly at the feeling of her breath on his neck. “Hey there, beautiful, not that I don’t appreciate what your doing, but let’s keep the PDA to a minimum, Achilles is back and I don’t want to give him any trauma today.”

“Oh, is that so? No wonder you had us screaming like little banshee’s last night.”

“First off, don’t make it weird, second off, I have my room sound and vibration proof. Third, I’m making you breakfast, you don’t have to seduce me, you’ve already won.”

“Maybe, I just miss your touch.”

Jaune rolled his eyes and with an impossible to follow speed, he had Robyn cradled in one arm while still cooking.

He gave her a little peck on the nose, causing a blush to run across her tan skin. “There, that make you feel any better?”

Robyn had nothing to say, and merely blushing deeper.

Jaune returned back to cooking, one arm full of a blushing mess.

Achilles finally took a break from inhaling his breakfast to see his table no longer empty, but full of his… He didn’t know what to call them really, first to his left playing his hair was Ms. Fiona who used to watch him when he was little, but still hung out with his dad a lot. He didn’t mind her playing with hair though it felt nice. “I’d envy hair this nice if it didn’t tangle so badly,” He thought he heard her mumble. It was weird seeing her wear dad’s shirts though.

To his right was Ms. Schnee, she liked to do business with dad sometimes, something about hunting for the Argus Military based. But, it always bugged him that an Atlas General liked to a sleepover with dad, besides why did the general deal with contracts for Argus Military base, when she could have people there, do it? When he asked, she just said it was important for Generals to maintain connections with independent powers. Then gave him some lien to go buy a video game or something. Why she wore dad’s pajamas was beyond him.

The rest of the table was filled with Ms. Schnee’s friends? And Ms. Fiona’s friends, and oddly enough Ms. Nikos, their next-door neighbor… Actually, it’s not that weird, she practically lived over here.

Why they were wearing more of dad’s clothes than dad was wearing, he was only wearing a apron and a pair of shorts, was a mystery for another day.

The table seemed to notice him and gave him a series of hellos and good morning, he greeted them back, and got back to eating before they started asking about his grades and stuff. His social-studies weren’t great. He’d have to call Aunt Weiss or Blake for some help, Aunt Weiss would understand, plus she loved to spoil him. He knew Aunt Blake loved him, but deep down he was sure that she held a grudge for he bit her ears as a baby.

The sliding of plates across the table got everyone’s attention, a personalized plate for each seat at the table, along with bowls full of rolls, scones, and biscuits, baskets of bacon, sausage, and ham, and various pastries on plates.

Jaune put down Robyn into a chair, appreciating how his shirt looked on her, and took in the rest of the table with a pleased expression, really liking how his girls were looking wearing his clothes.

With a clap, he got everyone’s attention. “First, off enjoy. Second off, don’t show weakness Heracles will steal your food. Third, if it goes into the air or floor, it’s Heracles. Fourth, if you have leftovers, put them in Heracles doggy dish, he will love you forever. We, good? Alright, everybody dig in!”

A wave of giggles took over the table, before the sound of forks and spoons clinking over took the giggles.

Robyn looked at her plate hungrily, it full of roasted, seasoned tomatoes, a personal favorite of hers, large slices of ham and turkey, eggs sunnyside up, several slices of toast coated in butter and jam, a couple slices of bacon, mushrooms, baked apple slices, and to top it off a large glass of ice coffee.

Robyn gave Jaune a saucy glance, “I’d kiss you, if you hadn’t bruised my lips last night, by the way, are you trying to make me fall for you? It’s working~.” Robyn said before digging in.

Jaune gave a playful roll of the eyes. “I don’t need to try for something I already have.”

Next to Robyn, May sat in Jaune’s white undershirt, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders to cover what the shirt barely covered with how loose it was on her. She groaned at her leader, but quickly resumed eating her breakfast of an omelette stacked full of ham, sausage, cheese, diced onions, and bacon on a bed of cooked hash browns, with a stack of pancakes on the side, with a ice vanilla latte on the side.

In-between Fiona and May, sat snuggly Joanna the only one besides Elm who could wear Jaune’s clothing without looking entirely ridiculous, but even then the flannel shirt was a size or two too big and she had to wear an undershirt underneath. She looked slightly amused at May’s annoyance and her leaders bad flirtation.

Her breakfast could be described as meat, all the meat and eggs she could have. Bacon? Check. Eggs? Scrambled, sunnyside up, omelet, and poached on toast. Ham? Yes. Turkey? An entire leg. Sausage? Links, patties, and summer sausage. Chicken? She had them on biscuits. Steak? With the eggs of course. Finally she had some Lox and other seafood, with a side of biscuits, various cheeses, jams, and a large strawberry protein shake and glass of water.

Fiona sitting next to Achilles wore little more than Jaune’s white long sleeve sweatshirt, not that she needed anymore as she wore it more like a dress from how big it was. She had given up on getting all of Achilles knots out of his hair, she had talked with Saphron and Terra before on how hard it was to get him to take care of his hair, she dreaded when Yang found out he started growing his hair out like her, but refused to take care of it properly. Anyway she was trying to get her lover’s son to open up to her a bit more.

Achilles was too consumed by eating to notice. Fiona let out a sigh and went to work on eat breakfast, Jaune was good to her, too good in fact and sometimes loaded up her plate more than she could eat, but she supposed growing up around seven sisters and then hanging out with huntress gave him a skewed view on how much she wanted to eat.

The plate was full of cooked mushrooms, baked tomatoes, a omelett full of leafy greens, onions, and vegetables, biscuits, muffins, pancakes, a yogurt parfait mixed with banana, nuts and strawberries, some scrambled eggs, sausage patties, and finally a large breakfast tea to finish it off. She had her work cut out for herself, but Jaune’s food was bar none the best in Argus.

Achilles was half way through his plate.

Winter scrolled across her Scroll, making sure her schedule was clear today… for reasons. She smiled when she saw that the day was clear along with tomorrow and most of the week, she pulled her, formerly Jaune’s pajama’s tight, and looked with a smile at her plate. She would never regret loaning Klein to Jaune so the man could learn the butler’s ways.

On her plate was a large waffle cover in chocolate custard with strawberries forming a heart in the center, her cheeks blushing slightly, Jaune always insisted she get all the love she was denied as a child. Also on the plate was sausage links, orange slices, blueberry muffins, some donuts, sliced ham, crackers, cheese, and some turkey. To drink was a simple black coffee.

To Winter’s immediate right was Harriet digging into her food, dressed only in a large red sweatshirt to cover herself. Her breakfast consists of toast, cheesy scrambled eggs, apple cinnamon oatmeal, berry smoothie, a couple bagels with cottage cheese, and some ham. A glass of water to the side. She was really hungry after all the, exercise she got last night. So conscious thoughts were a bit away.

Elm was the only one who was actually close to Jaune in size, but since he hit his second growth spurt he was almost a head taller than her, with even broader shoulders! That said while his clothes hung loosely on her, it wasn’t nearly as bad as say on Fiona. Elm wore a simple robe and undershirt with boxers on underneath. She wasn’t much of a morning person, but she managed through simple questions when asked.

Her breakfast was similar to Joanna’s, only even larger. With an omelet loaded to bursting with steak, and an ever larger caffeine chocolate protein shake, an entire plate with hashbrowns full of meat and cheese and the occasional onion.

Next to Elm was the last lady of the table, Thetis Nikos, mother to late Pyrrha Nikos. She wore Jaune’s robe and a black t-shirt. Her breakfast was a parfait loaded with fruit and nuts, a stack of pancakes, bacon and scrambled eggs, a muffin and a cup of coffee.

Finally Jaune had his own plate… Platter, he had a platter, full of every meat he had all sizzling, crispy and delicious, all the eggs, all of them! A waffles, pancakes, oatmeal, muffins, protein shakes and smoothies, sausage and toast, his plate full was nearing total collapses.

Breakfast went on for a while, everyone scraffing down as much as them could, Joanna, Elm, Jaune, Achilles, and Thetis going for second, eventually it was all gone with what little scraps being given to Heracles.

“You spoil us, you know?” Elm called out to Jaune, holding her full belly.

“Yeah, you don’t have to cook for us everytime we swing by. I'm down for going out for breakfast, I just don’t understand how you have the energy, when,” She wiggles her eyebrows at Jaune. “You do the most exercise around here.”

A series of groans emerged around the table. Achilles could only nod, his dad did work out a lot.

Winter coughed at that, and then spoke. “I concur with that statement, I feel the time could be used more, pleasantly.” A blush rose on her face. “If I ordered catering, you wouldn’t have to rise two hours early to make breakfast for everyone.” She then said under her breath. “And then you wouldn’t have to leave the bed so early.”

May smirked at her from across the table. “You just don’t wanna lose your big spoon? Do you princess bed hog?’ Her smirk growing deeper at Winter’s atomic blush.

“Alright, alright, I get it, but I like cooking for everybody,” Jaune said a pearly smile, making the women at the table go weak in the knees. “Anyway, I have get up early anyway, to improve myself, and keep my body top of the line.” The weakness came back in full force for the women, remembering the taste they got last night of how top of the line his body was.

“Now, who’s up for a 100k run!” Jaune asks.

Only for all of them to groan, as they felt the soreness across their bodies from last night.

“Fine, I guess you girls got plenty of exercise last night.” Jaune said with a smirk.

Achilles didn’t get why the women around his dad were so weird, but it didn’t matter to him that much, they were in a way family to him, sure they weren’t always around, but when they were he enjoyed it, and all of them united in their shared fear of his father’s insane physical routine.

#Jaune is a himbo #Himbo dad #Achilles Arc

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vindicatedvirgil · 4 years

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only fools rush in / part four: we deserve happiness, too

WHOAH HEY SLOW DOWN! have you read parts one, two, and three yet? no? go do that and then come back. it’s fine. i’ll wait.

okay now for those of you who are all caught up, it’s Sunday, so that means a new chapter!! this chapter is focused on Janus and Logan and (hopefully) it will answer some of your questions about timelines and stuff.

this is my first time writing about a queerplatonic relationship, so if i messed up in any way please let me know (they’re also both aromantic but they are not ace and this is important to note okay cool).

TW: mention of sex (no descriptors though), mention of suicide attempt

read to the end for the title of part five as well as a teaser~

Logan sat at their usual table at the café, his laptop in front of him as he typed quickly. With every opening of the door, the bell above it dinging annoyingly, he glanced up, but found himself disappointed when he didn’t see his partner. He worried that Janus’ oolong tea would grow cold as he took a sip of his own black coffee, and turned his focus to the research paper he was working on. Eventually, he felt Janus’ lips press to his cheek and then his body slid into the booth to the left of him.

“Sorry that I’m late, Lo. Virgil was having a rough night and I needed to make sure he was going to be okay,” he explained, picking up the mug of tea in his hands and taking a sip. Janus made no indication that the tea was too cold or hot, he just smiled before pulling his own laptop out of his bag. “How’s the paper coming?”

“Almost done, just need to edit the footnotes,” Logan responded plainly, taking another sip of his coffee. It was almost to the point where it was too cold to drink, but he needed the caffeine if he wanted to finish his work for the weekend. “Is Virgil going to be okay now?”

“I think so. Roman was arriving to practice for the auditions as I left, though I don’t think he saw me, he seemed pretty focused as he ran up the stairs,” he responded, starting to type on his laptop. “Have you eaten anything, Lo? You can’t just have coffee.”

“I’m not hungry,” the taller man responded, pushing his glasses up further on his nose. Janus frowned, then slid out of their booth and walked over to the main counter. Logan sighed, switching tabs to his research notes. He skimmed for the information he needed and by the time he had inserted a quote into the main paper, Janus had returned with two muffins; one blueberry, one banana nut. Logan wanted to ignore the grumble in his stomach but he knew Janus would bug him until he ate something, so he picked up the blueberry muffin and unwrapped it before taking a bite. “Thanks, Janus.” He continued writing, taking occasional bites of the muffin, and Janus was also working hard, his banana nut muffin consumed rather quickly, the oolong tea drained from the mug. Finally, Logan spoke again. “Did Remus tell you where he was planning on taking Patton today?”

“The botanical gardens and then here for lunch, I think,” Janus responded. He seemed to be in deep thought, his thoughts miles away. “He’s going to tell Patton about his past, I think.”

“He should, before Roman beats him to it,” Logan said, loosening his tie. “He almost did last night when we were helping him pick out his outfit.” He sighed, and felt Janus’ fingers trail on his thigh, and met his eyes.

“They’re all falling in love, aren’t they? How weird is that? Love and romance. Such silly concepts,” Janus mused, a playful smile crossing his face. “But… they all deserve it. Happiness. We found our own kind of happiness, they get to find theirs now.” Logan nodded, stretching his arms a little bit.

“We’re not broken, right?” Logan’s voice was hesitant when he asked the question, and Janus frowned at him, taking his hand.

“Lo, we’ve been over this. Just because love and romance aren’t things we want to or can feel, doesn’t mean we’re broken,” Janus’ words were like a song that Logan needed to play over and over, and he wondered if that feeling would ever disappear. Sometimes when he curled up in Janus’ arms he almost felt whole, like he realized that there wasn’t a black hole where his heart should be. There were days where he shut himself off from the world, hiding in his room that was littered with papers and science equipment, because he wasn’t sure that he could ever deserve the happiness he felt when Janus was next to him. “Lo,” Janus’ voice was calling him back into himself, out of the fog of his mind. “Lo, did you sleep at all last night?”

“Uh… I slept for an hour or two,” he admitted, eyes glancing down. He was ashamed of his own insomnia sometimes, but being a double major was draining. Luckily, Janus always knew how to take care of him, make him realize that there was more to the world than just romantic love.

“How much more schoolwork do you need to get done?” Janus asked rhetorically as he grabbed Logan’s planner, flipping to the page for the day. “Hmmm… not much, plus it’s only Saturday morning. Okay.” He closed the planner and then shut Logan’s laptop and then his own. “Come on, we’re going to your apartment to rest.”

“Jan–”

“Not mine, because Virgil and Roman are practicing and I want to give them space,” he explained, putting his laptop away. “No arguing this time, please. You need to take care of yourself.” Logan knew better than to argue, so he packed up his things and then the two walked to his apartment, fingers interlocked.

“Janus, this really isn’t necessary,” Logan grumbled as his partner removed his tie and unbuttoned his shirt, revealing the plain t-shirt underneath. “I need to get work done.” The shorter man ignored him, going to Logan’s dresser and pulling out some pajama bottoms. He threw them at his glasses-clad partner, raising an eyebrow.

“You need to rest,” was the only thing he said before resting his hands on his hips, glancing around the cluttered bedroom. There were papers littering the carpet, books stacked everywhere despite the open spaces on the bookshelves, and empty coffee mugs all over the desk, and Janus noted some spilled coffee stains on the surface. He was about to shrug out of his coat when two arms wrapped around his waist and Logan’s chin rested on his shoulder.

“You could… help me rest, maybe,” he suggested, voice low. “It helps my mind slow down a little bit.” Janus knew this, and he spun around in Logan’s arms, pressing his hands to his partner’s face. “If you don’t want to–”

“You know I’d do anything to help you, Lolo.”

Afterwards, Janus slipped back into his shirt and a pair of Logan’s pajama bottoms. He got Logan’s help in rubbing lotion over the left side of his body, hoping to quell some of the pain brought on by his eczema. Then he brought over his laptop, putting on one of Logan’s favorite space documentaries, and the two snuggled, Logan dozing sporadically. Janus ran his fingers through the other’s hair, feeling calm and collected, a smile plastered on his face. When he heard Logan’s stomach grumble with hunger, they ordered Chinese takeout and ate it in bed, Janus smirking when a noodle stuck to the other’s chin. They watched a few more documentaries, the sun lowering itself in the sky, and eventually, Logan dozed off.

Janus pressed a swift kiss to Logan’s forehead, the other softly snoring, then got to work tidying up the room. He started by putting the books onto the shelves, but he didn’t follow a certain order, he just wanted to reduce Logan’s risk of falling over the stacks. Afterwards, he organized the scattered papers into different piles and then put them into the file cabinet, labeling them for the class or purpose they held. He wiped off the surfaces in the room with wipes he had stored in Logan’s desk, and then carried all of the mugs in his arms and out to the kitchenette.

When he exited Logan’s room, he saw Roman lounging on the couch, flipping through the script. When the actor noticed him, he raised an eyebrow, but smiled.

“How’s Virgil doing?” Janus asked, setting the mugs on the sink and turning on the hot water. Roman got up from the couch and sat on one of the stools at the counter, watching.

“He…” Roman sighed, resting his hand under his chin. “He’s nervous about it all, of course. He doesn’t want to fall on stage, he doesn’t want to mess up.” His voice was hesitant, and Janus could tell that he was holding something back, but he didn’t want to pry; he focused on washing Logan’s mugs, smiling when he noticed the ones he had gifted him with nerd sayings on them. “Janus… did Virgil really… almost kill himself?”

The mug that Janus was holding slipped out of his hand, clattering into the sink. Thankfully, it stayed intact. He felt his throat constrict, the memories of that day rushing back through his mind, and he gripped the edge of the sink tightly, using one of his shaky hands to turn off the water. “He did,” Janus’ breath was heavy, too, and he couldn’t bear to turn around to look Roman in the eyes. “I… found him. It was… the worst day of my life.”

“How old were you at the time?” Roman’s voice sounded pained as the words left his mouth, and Janus chewed on his lower lip.

“We were 16,” he said, turning around and leaning against the sink, his eyes focused on his feet. “He’s… better now. Therapy and medication and all. But… I almost lost him.”

“He thinks he’s losing you,” Roman’s words came out before he could stop them, and Janus’ eyes snapped up to meet his, a frown on his face.

“What?” It was almost a hiss, Janus was feeling constricted again, and his defenses were rising. Roman held his hands out to try to calm him down.

“He just…” Roman sighed, lowering his hands, “Now that you’re in a partnership with Logan, he… thinks he’s not a priority in your life anymore. I did my best to tell him that couldn’t be true, but… you might need to talk to him.”

Janus ran a hand through his hair, sighing, but he nodded. “Thank you for telling me, Roman. I’ll… talk to him.” Roman nodded, then pursed his lips in thought.

“Our audition is a week from Friday… do you think that maybe… you and the others could sit in the back, where Virgil can’t see, and then be there when we’re done?” Roman’s voice was hesitant. He didn’t know Janus very well and had only spent time with him in small increments; it was Patton and Logan who spent more time with him, and Roman always found the sociology major to be… odd. But he meant a lot to Virgil. “He’s so nervous, I think he could do with some support afterwards.” Janus wondered why Roman was hesitant to be the only one providing the support to Virgil, but maybe it was a sign that Roman knew of his own limits.

“I… yeah, of course, Roman. I’ll make sure that we’re there.”

“Virgil?” Janus opened the door to their apartment later that night. Remus hadn’t returned yet, and Virgil was laying on the couch, holding a pillow close. Janus stepped out of his shoes and set his bag down, walking over. “I think we need to talk.”

“...do we?” Virgil made a move to sit up but Janus shook his head, pulling Virgil’s legs up and onto his lap as he sat down.

“Roman told me that you feel like less of a priority to me,” he said, eyes focusing on the taller man. Virgil’s mouth opened to respond but Janus shook his head.. “Virge, I need you to know that no matter how significant Lo, or anyone else, ever becomes to me, no one will ever be more important to me than you. Okay?” Virgil looked away, frowning, and Janus sighed, rubbing his feet.

“It’s just…” he took a deep breath, twisting his fingers in a manner that seemed very uncomfortable to Janus, but Virgil made no indication that it was. “You’ve got… someone to care for now, someone who cares for you in an equal manner, and… I’m just getting in the way.”

“V, you could never get in the way. Just because I’m with Logan doesn’t change the fact that if you needed me, I would drop everything to be there,” Janus’ voice was calm, and he rubbed Virgil’s feet and legs in a way that he hoped was comforting. “V. Look at me.” Virgil did, because he knew that Janus would keep at it until he did. Janus smiled warmly, his eyes meeting his best friend’s. “Please don’t forget how much I care for you. I know… things have changed, lately. I’m still figuring out the balance with Lo and everything, but… you’ll always be at the top of my priority pyramid.” Virgil smiled, recalling the drawing that Janus had made for him back when he was in the hospital for his attempt.

-flashback, six years ago-

“They don’t care, they never did,” Virgil was sitting up in the hospital bed, finally, bandage-covered arms crossed and a frown on his face. His parents had just left from their obligatory half-hour visit. “I’m not a priority to anyone.” Janus scoffed. He was sitting cross-legged at the foot of the bed, notebook in hand.

“You’re a priority to me, V,” he said, starting to scribble on the notebook. Virgil raised an eyebrow, peeking over to see a pyramid with words on several levels. “Okay, see? Bottom level is basic necessities like a roof and food. Then school and my family. Then me. And look, at the very top of the pyramid, it’s you. The most important thing.”

Virgil brought his hand up to his mouth to stifle the laugh that he felt rising up inside him, and he ignored the bandages on his wrist as he did so. Janus was surprised at the laughter; he hadn’t heard the noise coming from his best friend in weeks. “Jan, the most important and necessary thing goes at the base of the pyramid. Like in Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs?” Janus frowned, glancing down at his pyramid. Virgil reached his hand out, taking the notebook from him. “But… I understand what you’re trying to say. Thank you.”

-end flashback-

“I still have that pyramid drawing you did,” Virgil said. He moved from his laying down position to sit next to Janus, and despite their height difference he leaned his head on the other man’s shoulder. “Maybe… maybe I won’t need to rely on only you, J.”

“What do you mean?” Janus found himself not liking the idea. Of course, ever since Remus had pranced his way into their little group, into their apartment, Janus knew that it could never be the same as it was when they moved in together right out of high school instead of living in the dorms.

“I mean…” Virgil took a deep breath, a small smile taking over his facial features. “Maybe… maybe Roman will… care for me, too.” Janus turned his head a bit to give Virgil a confused look. “I think… Jan, I think he likes me.”

“He’d be a fool not to,” was the only response that Janus could muster up, but he felt strange about the whole thing.

Janus had just finished eating his breakfast when there was a knock at the door. Virgil was still in bed, and Remus had left early to go on a brunch date with Patton. He opened the door, and saw Logan standing there, a sheepish smile on his face.

“Hey, Lo, you okay?” He asked, pulling his partner inside and giving him a swift kiss to the cheek.

“I just… wanted to spend time with you,” Logan explained. Janus smiled, pulling him in for a warming hug. They moved to sit on the couch, Janus curled into Logan’s chest, an oceanography documentary playing in the background. “I was, um, thinking about the day we decided to… get together.”

“Oh?” Janus mused, playing with Logan’s fingers gently. “What about that day?”

“Just… the way you made me feel like I wasn’t broken. Like I deserve happiness.”

-flashback to early in the summer-

“I can’t help but feel… broken,” Logan sighed, laying on the floor of Janus’ room. “I know being aromantic is valid. You’ve helped me realize that, Janus. But… seeing people in romantic relationships are... they always seem so happy, and… will I ever feel happy like that?” Janus sighed from where he was propped up on his bed, pillows surrounding him. He clambered out of bed and then laid on the floor next to Logan, taking his hand and intertwining their fingers.

“You deserve the utmost of happiness. Regardless of what other people think, people like you and me do find happiness in our lives, even if romantic relationships aren’t appealing to us,” he said, voice soft and soothing. A few moments passed before he spoke again, “Logan… do you know what a queerplatonic relationship is?”

“Vaguely.” Logan asked, turning his head to look at the other, who was staring right up at the ceiling. “Why do you ask?”

“Well, I… thought maybe you’d…” Janus didn’t finish his sentence, instead closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. Logan propped himself on his elbow, laying on his side to look at the other one more closely.

“Janus, are you asking me to be your partner?” Logan asked. They’d grown closer since meeting in class and getting to know each other, and when Janus found out that he also identified as aromantic, they began to spend even more time together.

“I… yeah, I think so,” Janus replied, looking at Logan again. “We’d need to establish boundaries. But… I don’t know, I think… it could work, and maybe we could… make each other happy.”

“What kind of boundaries?” Logan pressed, not yet stating if he wanted to enter the partnership. “Like… sex stuff?”

“I- I mean, only if you want that, we don’t have to do any of that, and if there’s something you want we can try it, and if it makes us uncomfortable we stop, it’s… all subjective to change,” Janus kept tripping over his words. He’d been thinking of asking Logan this for months, and had planned so many things out to say, but Logan never ceased to amaze him with the questions he didn’t anticipate.

“Well…” Logan started, taking a deep breath. “I would like to try… because you deserve to be happy, too, Janus.”

-end flashback-

“Anyways, I have something for you,” Logan reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a rounded ring that looked like a galaxy. “You don’t have to, but, um, it’s kind of like…”

“A promise ring?” Janus took the ring into his own hands gingerly, a smile creeping onto his face. Logan nodded, then buried his face in Janus’ hair, mumbling. The smaller man said nothing but slipped the ring onto his finger.

“You make me feel happiness,” Logan said, face still buried in Janus’ hair. “I thought I couldn’t feel that, that I didn’t deserve it. But you and I deserve it, just as much as anyone else.”

---

teaser for part five: power outages can lead to some very bad things

When Roman got back to the apartment, all of the lights were out. Patton and Logan were nowhere to be seen, so he figured that they were both spending the night at the other apartment. He showered then got into bed, but laid on his back staring up at his ceiling until the sun started to bleed through the break in his curtains. He fucked up.

---

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marvelous-writer · 4 years

Text

Revenge With A Side Of Avenging

Summary: In which Peter is kidnapped and wakes up tied to a chair in an abandoned warehouse, struggling to remember exactly how he got there.

Word Count: 2,207

Genre: whump, emotional hurt/comfort

Link to read on AO3

A/N: Day one of @whumptober2020

The first thing Peter registers is pain, a horrible pounding at the back of his head, radiating to his eyes and all the way down his neck. It feels almost as if the throbbing is in sync with his heartbeat.

Peter lets out a groan as he goes to reach up to touch his head, but he finds that he’s unable to lift his arms. He opens his heavy eyes, blinking away the stubborn blurriness he’s met with, only to find that he’s wrapped in thick rope, bound to an extremely uncomfortable chair.

That doesn’t make any sense... how did he get wrapped up in rope?

He sluggishly blinks as he lifts his head, only managing to limply roll it on his shoulder. He’s in a large dark space, the only amount of light coming from the small windows surrounding the place. There are a few stacked boxes surrounding him, looking a little like a warehouse of sorts.

What’s he doing in a warehouse?

The last memory he can recall is walking off stage with the decathlon team after they won the final round against Cal Tech... and that journalist walking up to him and wanting to ask a few questions on their win... but something ended up hitting Peter on the back of his head when they stepped out in the hallway.

Oh, right—the reporter knocked him out.

But why would someone knock out and kidnap a high schooler from a decathlon competition, of all places? Unless it has something to do with Tony or knowing that Peter is Spider-Man.

That’s not good. Peter distantly thinks, panic freely flowing through him at the sudden realization.

May and Tony were both in the audience, so they have to know he’s missing by now, right? They have to. They were going to go to that new Italian place down the street from the Tower after the competition. Peter wanted to get some cannoli for dessert, too.

Mmh... cannoli, stuffed with chocolate and vanilla, topped with deliciously fluffy whipped cream.

No no no. He can’t be thinking about food at a time like this. He has to focus on getting out of this place, wherever the heck he is.

Peter closes his eyes, trying to listen for any sounds that could give him a clue as to where he is, but he’s met with an unsettling silence. He can’t smell any traces of salt in the air, so he can’t be near the Hudson. So... maybe he’s someplace upstate? Hopefully that means the team will be able to find him faster.

Maybe he could try to get out of these ropes? Surely whoever took him would have used something a lot stronger than rope if they knew he’s Spider-Man. So maybe they didn’t know that little detail.

Peter weakly pulls at the ropes, wincing as they painfully dig into his arms. This isn’t right. He should be able to break out of these easily. Either he got hit on the head way harder than he thought... or they drugged him. That would explain why he can’t think straight at the moment.

Peter drops his head forward in defeat as he lets his impossibly heavy eyes slip shut—he’s so tired.

Tony will find him. He’s probably out there right now with the team looking for him, and May—she’s probably at home, freaking out about where Peter is. They have to know he’s missing.

For now, maybe Peter can get a little more sleep since it looks like he’s not going anywhere. Maybe all his super-metabolism needs is a little jumpstart to get rid of whatever sleepy drug he was injected with.

Tony’s coming. Peter hazily thinks to himself, feeling the last remains of consciousness slipping away from him.

It’s the last thought he has before darkness consumes him.

….

Awareness comes back to Peter all at once, as well as a painful stinging on his face from someone slapping him. He opens his eyes with a gasp as all of his senses come back on all at once, lights and sounds attacking him from every angle. He slams his eyes shut with a pained groan, letting his chin drop to his chest.

“Ah, welcome to the land of the living, Mr. Parker.”

Peter jumps at the sudden voice, as much as the ropes around him will allow. He weakly lifts his head, squinting against the harsh LED lighting, suddenly realizing that there are way more lights than there were before he passed out. There are at least three tripod work lights surrounding him, all facing him.

“Well aren’t you going to say hello to our captivated audience?”

A figure moves out of the darkness to stand in front of one of the lights, blocking a little bit of the light, but not allowing Peter to get a good look at them. The figure gestures to something to his right, and that’s when Peter sees it—a video camera hooked up to a tripod.

This can’t be good.

Peter licks his dry lips. “W-Where am I? Who are you?” He asks, hating how raspy his voice comes out.

The figure laughs. “So many questions and so little answers. I’m afraid I can’t tell you that, Peter.”

A cold shiver races down his spine hearing his name. The figure steps away from the light, their shoes clicking against the concrete floors and echoing throughout the space.

“Why did you take me?” Peter asks.

“One word,” The voice says close to his left, causing Peter to flinch. “Revenge.”

Revenge? Peter thinks. Revenge against who? Spider-Man?

The figure’s shoes click against the floor again as they slowly approach Peter, until they’re standing in front of him, blocking the light from him. Peter looks up into the face of his captor, only to see a somewhat familiar face. The man is short, unruly brown hair with glasses perched on his nose. Peter’s seen this man somewhere before… but he just can’t remember who he is.

“I’ve been keeping my eye on you for awhile now, Peter. You’re smart—you won your Decathlon team a slot into the finals. I was very impressed at you hitting that buzzer and answering correctly every time. You’re the top of all your classes, with one of the highest GPAs in your entire school as a sophomore. I can see why Stark hired you to be his personal intern.” The man tells him, flashing a pearly white smile. “But let me tell you one thing about Tony Stark. When he finds interest in something, he’ll play with it for a while… boast and brag about it, until he gets bored with it and throws it away.”

So this guy’s clearly out to get Tony. Tony’s made a lot of enemies in the past, so there’s no telling what this guy’s problem is. Judging by the guy’s expensive looking suit and tie apparel, this guy seems like he means business. And not the good kind.

“For years, I’ve spent my life trying to get back what I lost. My career, my reputation, but it’s too late. Stark ruined me! He took everything from me!” The man suddenly yells, causing Peter to violently flinch as his voice booms off the walls. The man turns away from Peter and walks back to the camera, grabbing it and something off of a nearby table before walking back to him. He stops next to Peter and holds the camera out with both of them in frame, probably live recording. “You took everything from me Stark… so now I’m going to take everything from you.”

The sudden press of cold metal against the side of Peter’s head has him freezing, the air caught in his throat. He’s been in this position far too many times by now to know it’s a gun—but it’s somehow more scary this time around.

“I’m giving you until midnight, Stark. I want you to meet me at the Cold Storage Facility in Albany—just you, none of your fancy suits, no Avengers and no police. If you fail to meet my demands, the kid gets it.” The man says into the camera before abruptly turning it off. He turns to Peter, pressing the gun further against his temple. “And if you try anything funny, I’ll shoot you.”

When the gun drops from his head, Peter lets out a shaky breath, keeping his eyes on the man as he goes back to the table across the room, tossing the camera on it.

“What do you want from Mr. Stark?” Peter asks.

“I just want to have a little chat with him face-to-face,” The man answers with a grin as he grabs something off the table and walks back to him. “I’ll have him right where I want him—alone, weaponless, desperate, and completely vulnerable.”

It’s a trap. Peter knows Tony would do anything for him but he’s not stupid like this guy think he is. The team will be waiting nearby for the right time to strike and take this nut-job down.

The man bends down next to Peter and puts something underneath the chair he’s tied to, flipping something with a faint beep.

A bomb.

There’s an actual bomb underneath him that could go off at any second.

The man stands up and reaches into his pocket, pulling out a small roll of duct tape. “Just so you don’t ruin all the fun.” He says with a grin before he rips a piece off and shoves it on Peter’s mouth despite his weak protests. “You have approximately three hours until this bomb detonates, unless I come back and turn it off. So you better hope the next person who comes in here is me, or else it’s curtains for you.”

The man bends down and grabs a thin string, which is probably attached to the device, and walks across the space to an open door and ties it to the knob. Without another word, he slips outside and closes the door behind himself.

The warehouse is engulfed in a tense silence, the only sound being from the ticking bomb underneath Peter, taunting him with the very real and terrifying threat of going off at any second from just the slightest tug of that string of someone were to fully open the door.

…

Peter doesn’t know how long he sits there, listening to the sound of the ticking, trying to carefully wiggle his way out of the ropes. He can feel them going a little slack around him until he hears a noise outside. Peter freezes, tear-filled eyes widening as he stares at the door the sting is attached to. There’s another noise, sounding almost like someone walking on gravel.

“...has to be here. Sam, Clint, on my mark…” A familiar voice says from outside the door.

It’s Steve.

Before Peter has a chance to feel any kind of relief, fear shoots through him when he sees the door handle begin to twist.

“MMMH! MMMH!” Peter tries to yell around the tape.

When the door suddenly swings open, Peter’s stomach drops when he hears the string snap off and the bomb lets out a shrill chorus of beeps. He sees Clint run inside with Steve right behind him and before Peter registers what’s happening, Clint grabs him and throws them away, just as Steve drops his shield on top of the bomb, taking the brunt of the explosion.

Peter’s ears are ringing horribly as he lies on the ground, distantly aware of the hands on him, untying him from the chair. He opens his eyes as someone helps him sit up and carefully take the tape off his mouth, only to see Steve kneeling in front of him.

“S-Steve? T-Tony—he...he’s going to—”

“I know. We caught the guy that did this to you. Tony’s safe. He’s back at the compound.” Steve tells him in a gentle voice, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

Relief crashes into Peter like a tidal wave, flowing through every vein in his body. He closes his eyes as more tears spill out and throws himself at Steve, wrapping his arms around the soldier as a sob escapes from his lips.

Steve wraps his arms around him in return, rubbing a hand up and down Peter’s quivering back. “You’re alright, Peter. You’re safe now… you’re safe.”

…

It’s dark outside when Peter walks down the Quinjet’s ramp with Steve close at his side, stepping on the landing pad at the compound. Peter hasn’t been able to stop shaking since they took off in the jet, making it a little difficult to walk with how wobbly his legs are.

Peter looks up from the ground and his eyes settle on Tony, who’s already jogging over to meet them. Before he knows it, arms are wrapping around him, the familiar and calming scent of motor oil and cologne meeting his nose.

Tony.

A sob escapes Peter’s lips as he clutches the back of Tony’s shirt in his hands, feeling a hand at the back of his head. “T-Tony…” Peter cries.

Tony only hugs him tighter, his chin resting at the top of Peter’s head. “I’m right here, kiddo. You’re safe… I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

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joontier · 4 years

Text

“Dad!”

--> Pairing: Yoongi x reader

--> Genre/warnings: SMUUUUUUT, that is all, thank you

--> Words: 2.5k

--> Summary: Yoongi can’t keep his hands to himself even if you’re just sitting there beside him…sans-underwear

—> Note: I haven’t had the time to fix the links yet, but you guys can check parts 1 and 2 in my masterlist

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3

March 06, 2029

Yoongi sits up in bed, eyes squinting as he scans the dimly lit room, the sunlight trying to break through the curtain slits. You were snoring softly on a pillow, considering you stole the same from him the previous night. He yawns as he moves his foot around, blindly looking for the other pair of his slippers.

It’s been exactly three months since you gave birth to Byungchul, and the responsibilities of a father and a husband were taking its toll on Yoongi. Your husband’s stress levels definitely reached its peak this time and with the insane sleeping patterns – which he still hasn’t gotten accustomed to since the start of your pregnancy until your son’s birth – Yoongi looks worse than a clapped-out junkie.

Having had the mentality that all the fuss would’ve been over once the baby comes out, Yoongi was overjoyed when you gave birth on the sixth of December the previous year. One look at Byungchul was all it took before tears started rolling down his cheeks. Mainly because the realization of finally being a father overwhelmed him at that moment because he thought he would no longer have to deal with your midnight cravings and bizarre antics during your pregnancy.

Boy was he wrong.

First week into parenthood, Yoongi gulps down at least three mugs of coffee a day, rushing over to Byungchul’s crib when he hears the slightest of cries. Both your mom and mother-in-law demanded that you rest for a while after having dealt with nearly a day in labor. Hence, Yoongi had to take on the responsibility of taking care of Byungchul as well as most of the daily chores.

Although there were countless times when you offered to help your husband, Yoongi was caring and understanding enough to decline each time because he knew he’d end up doing it altogether if you did try to ‘help’ him. Just like that time when you said you’d clean up after ordering Chinese take-out for dinner and when he returns from putting the baby to sleep, he sees you snoring against the couch in the living room, clutching a pair of chopsticks to your chest.

Today seemed like an exception though. Your husband didn’t wake at the sound of Byungchul wailing for the first time in what felt like forever. When he tried to lie down again to get back to sleep, he just tossed and turned for a few minutes before sitting back up, realizing he wasn’t going back to his slumber anytime soon. It was like he was already anticipating Byungchul’s cries ringing through his ears in the middle of the night.

Heading over to the baby’s crib, he peeks and leans over the plastic columns and traces light patters on his son’s pajama-clad tummy. He smiled as he remembered the first photo of his son he released to the public. It was a photo of Byungchul sleeping with arms and legs spread in all directions, resembling a starfish. He’d accompanied it with a zoomed-in picture of his son’s bun-like arms, captioning it with a bread emoji.

Yoongi pats Byungchul’s head gently a few times before he heads to the kitchen to start the day early.

Flipping the last pancake with one swift motion, Yoongi sets the pan down and turns off the stove, bringing his plate of the Min-Yoongi-pancake-special recipe over the dining table. He sat down on the wooden chair and crossed his legs as he squeezed a generous amount of syrup onto the stack of pancakes.

He cuts a large slice from the stack with his fork, closing his eyes for a moment as he savors the self-proclaimed excellence of his own specialty breakfast. Yoongi hears muted footsteps on the carpeted floor, momentarily pausing his eating to watch you pad slowly towards the kitchen, solely depending on your sense of smell as your eyes remain shut.

Yoongi pulls out a chair for you beside him and you plop down and rest your head on his shoulder. Before your hands could grab a bite from his plate, Yoongi swats your hand away and slides his plate farther from you. He tells you that he’s left you another serving on the counter and you mutter a curse before getting up and stomping exaggeratedly towards the counter.

As you stand a few meters away from Yoongi, your husband’s breath hitches as he finally takes in what you wore to bed last night. It literally wasn’t much. You were wearing one of Yoongi’s favorite white large shirts. But the way its hem just reached your thighs and assumingly, the fact that you weren’t wearing anything else underneath so you cold-induced nipples were trying to poke their way out of the shirt made something snap inside Yoongi.

This was only one of the many charms you had that convinced Yoongi to ask you to stay with him for the rest of your life. He always let you knew that you looked sexiest when getting up from bed – despite the nest-like hair, flammable breath, and that line of dried saliva on your chin, there was no greater honor to him than waking up to that sight. Yoongi still loves you nevertheless, wondering how you always managed to look beautiful even in the unlikeliest of times.

It was driving Yoongi nuts, looking achingly seductive like that, even if he only saw your back and a glimpse of your side profile. Yoongi takes a swig of the water beside him as you rummage through the drawers looking for cutlery, eventually bending down to check the bottom ones. How could you possibly not know where they’re placed when you’ve been living under the same roof for nearly three years already?!

He isn’t even the slightest bit doubtful that you weren’t doing this on purpose (well, you had the tendency to be quite dramatic from time to time) and he gulps as you bend over one more time, his shirt riding up your legs and finally confirming that you were, in fact, not wearing any underwear, at all.

Well, shit.

He quickly looks away, blocking all the indecent thoughts before they consume him and failing miserably at that. As Yoongi tries to peek one more time, he comes face-to-face with you, eyes nothing short of worry for your husband. Instead, he sees a glint of playfulness in them.

“Yoongs, is something bothering you?”

Was that even a question? His eyes travel down your cheeks to your neckline and when he gets a glimpse of your breasts due to the looseness of his shirt on you, all hell seems to break loose. It’s been too long since he got to touch you, feel you. Yoongi doesn’t know how he lasted a year without sex if it weren’t for the busy schedule divided between work and taking care of you and Byungchul. You return to your chair when he doesn’t respond, acting as if the tension isn’t as clear as day.

Fuck, you looked so enticing just beside him. Sans underwear, hair tied up in a messy bun, smothering whipped cream all over the pancakes. There was nothing he could do when he felt his cock straining against his boxers, knowing that you were the only person in this world who could give him an instant hard-on doing the most mundane of tasks.

Min Yoongi is known to be an avid risk-taker, that’s why when he sees an opportunity, he grabs it – regardless of how it may end. Which is why when you accidentally spread whipped cream across your cheek trying to gobble up an entire pancake, your husband closes the distance between you two, swiping his tongue across your cheek to clean up your mess.

A giggle escapes your lips and his heart wrenches, feeling bad for having inappropriate thoughts this early in the morning. Of course, you probably still needed your post-natal rest – the unimaginable pain of giving birth recently. “You could’ve just told me Yoongs, no need to go Holly on me.” You reprimand him in a playful tone, pinching his cheek as you grab a napkin to wipe his saliva off your face. Yoongi gives you back your personal space, trying to picture Namjoon wearing a sailor moon outfit to get his dick back down.

While Yoongi proceeds to finish his cup of coffee, you muttered something that had Yoongi choking on his drink, spluttering drops of coffee on the table. “Don’t think I don’t see that problem of yours down there Min Yoongi.” He finds your hand slowly massaging his thigh, circling dangerously near his crotch. Ah, fuck it. He was about to get lucky this early in the morning, and Namjoon in that ridiculous costume isn’t about to spoil it.

Yoongi swallows when your hand travels inside his boxers, fisting his dick while you finish the rest of your pancakes. “Take that off for me,” you order, releasing his cock from your grip as you bring the plates to the dishwasher. When you return, you tilt your head towards the table, motioning him to sit on it so you won’t have to deal with sore knees afterwards.

Your husband slowly gets up from his chair and onto the table, cock already twitching in anticipation. Yoongi takes your hand and pulls you between his legs, kissing you feverishly. You waste no time in letting your hands roam his body, enjoying the way he’s gained weight since your pregnancy, indulging in your pregnancy cravings as well.

You lower down on your seat, your fingernails prickling his skin with goosebumps, enjoying his reactions. You lick your lips before you slowly dive in, teasing the tip and circling your tongue around the head, gauging your husband’s reaction. Yoongi grunts when you take more, throwing his head back when he feels his cock disappear between your lips.

He nearly loses it when you suck around his cock, a low hum escaping your lips. The feeling is familiar but foreign at the same time, a prominent baby bump proving to be difficult to deal with during sexy time with you. You’re still just as skilled with your mouth, though definitely hotter this time. Must be the post-natal glow - Yoongi notes mentally, picturing getting you pregnant again if that means he gets to reap what he’s sown so wonderfully.

You draw your mouth back slowly and sink down on it again, taking pleasure in the groan of bliss you draw out from Yoongi. Slowly and steadily, you fall into a rhythm of sliding his cock between your lips, occasionally taking a peek at your husband whose grip in your hair tightens by the second. He’s close, you reckon - tell-tale signs all etched in memory from your shared intimacies in the past. Yoongi gasps loudly when he cums, his whole body quivering as his cock softens in your mouth.

Yoongi hoists you up for him to sit where you’ve been and pulls you down to sit on his thighs. You feel his dick almost ready again as he sits you near his crotch, the only thing separating you is your husband’s oversized shirt. His cold fingers wander beneath the large piece of clothing where Yoongi finds the need to fulfill his desire of touching you, large hands groping your breasts and tracing outlines on the expanse of your skin.

“You’re so fucking wet,” Yoongi states, sliding a finger through your folds. Dangerously testing the waters by shallowly dipping a digit and removing it and repeating the action all over again. “Yoongi,” you hiss as your grip on his forearms tighten. “I need your cock. Now.” He spares no time in removing his shirt on you, knowing that you have a secret clothed-sex kink from a drunken rant he’d accidentally listened to while you were talking to your friend while he was away for a concert.

He lays you down on the table, feet dangling off the edge and legs already spread open for him. Yoongi slides into you with ease, resisting the strong urge to cum on impact. He nestles himself deep within your walls, reveling in the feeling of his cock a snug fit inside your warm pussy. It’s been so long and it’s with a particular squeezing of your walls that reminds him that his palm could never identify with how your pussy feels.

“God, princess,” Yoongi moans, steadily rocking his hips back and forth. He takes his time with you, pushing his cock so deep that every thrust still has you clutching on the edges of table. “Yoongi,” you moan softly as his eyes close for a moment, savoring the feeling. With one hand on your hip, he trails the other beneath your shirt, lifting it up a little so one breast is exposed and the other still hidden under its confines.

You can tell how much he’s missed this as much as you. He looks down at you with lust darkened eyes, chest rising and falling in time with his hips. As much as you enjoyed slow sex with Yoongi, you can’t help but goad him on whining when you tell him to go faster.

Yoongi grabs hooks his hands under your knees and straightens your legs so they’re resting against his shoulders. You can’t help the loud cry that escapes your lips when he draws back and thrusts into you at once, impaling you with his cock. Your vision is getting blurry as your husband continues to drill into you, that familiar feeling at the pit of your stomach growing drastically by the second.

It’s with this particular angle that Yoongi is hitting that sweet spot and in a few seconds you and Yoongi finally reach your high and it’s the most beautiful thing ever because you rarely climax at the same time. Yoongi continues to back and forth between your folds, riding out his high.

Your orgasm is so strong that your legs are still trembling slightly when Yoongi guides them down from his shoulders. He peppers kisses on your thigh first, then your neck and your cheek, sitting down on a chair when he deems his post-sex pampering over.

Yoongi looks blissed out, a lovely rosy tinge coloring his cheeks. He feels like he’s been provided with renewed strength despite what just transpired a few moments ago. You sit up, only to enjoy what a view Yoongi is after times like this. There’s a sheen layer of sweat on his torso, giving it a slight glimmer when the sunlight slipping through the curtains touches his skin.

You open your mouth to say something when you hear the baby’s first cry of the day. Yoongi looks up at you from the chair and gets up, assuring you that he’ll handle it. Once he’s taken a few steps away you call at him, “Where’s my dessert?!” Yoongi scowls hard as he turns back to face you, pointing a thumb against his chest. “That wasn’t enough dessert yet?” Yoongi’s scowl turns into a sinister smile before he walks away again.

“Better get ready for round 2 later then!” he says with a wave, disappearing from your sight.

#ksmutclub #bts scenarios #bts #yoongi fics #bts smut #min yoongi #bts imagines #bangtan

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faunusrights · 4 years

Text

OFFAL HUNT REMASTERED LIVEBLOG // CHAPTER 17

IN THIS EPISODE OF CRYING CAT GALLERY:

“Nice?” Cinder laughed under her breath once, and returned to examining her threads. “Oh, come on, Glynda. Favor isn’t in my vocabulary, remember? It’s just a shame about your cape. The emblem looked good, and your new outfit would look much better with it. That’s all.”

CINDER FALL IS REALLY BAD AT NOT BEING GAY ON MAIN

we’re bacc baby B) let’s hop right in

When Glynda awoke from her dream of being consumed,

alright calm down we’ve literally JUST started we’ve literally JUST woken up can we chill Out,

“Cinder?” she yawned, surveying the room.

sneak peek of that Sweet Domestic Life we dream of once this enemies-to-lovers malarkey reaches the ‘lovers’ bit but no we’re just surrounded by enemies. two of them being the writers!

Still, she couldn’t go wandering around Cinder’s apartment in only her underwear, but rooting through the drawers and closet didn’t seem—

STEAL HER CLOTHES BABY!!!! PRACTICALLY MARRIED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The clothes didn’t seem Cinder’s size or style; they were casual and soft, a black t-shirt and steel-gray sweatpants.

okay but the idea of cinder getting up and being like ‘do i have ANYTHING this Unit of a woman will fit into’ and like actually having to think abt it and then folding em up and leaving em there like ‘hope she finds em okay’????? peak. absolutely peak. shes so gay but does she know it? no,

The fabric had enough give to make it work, even if only barely, and she looked in the mirror to see the loungewear looking more like tight athletic wear. Funny that.

kc and diesel envisioning this: oh yes. oh YES. ohhohughohguhghuhu yessssssssss--

She had—trusted? Been trusted? She had told Cinder fragile little things, and had heard similarly earnest words in return. It had been strange. Nice.

i love glynda like. feeling out of the edges of her own comfort and Pleasant Feelings with this almost-wariness? like every word she uses to describe it just Edges a little closer to Softness but she has to taste the word first to see if it fits. her narration is SO fun 2 read yall what the shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit

This was Cinder’s house. It wasn’t just any house. These were Cinder’s belongings, Cinder’s resting places, and she was wandering around without Cinder.

Voyeuristic was putting it mildly. Glynda needed to find Cinder, fast.

HJGDKJGHDFSSDF GOD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! glynda just. losing it at such LITTLE THINGS is so goddamn funny jesus christ. this is cinders house!!! her THINGS!!! fuck she NAPS IN HERE. SHIT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

god i love how soft this is. i know exactly why this is happening and i know exactly how [REDACTED], but i’m living for this moment. living IN it.

Spread out on the table was a wanted poster with a mugshot of Cinder on it, defaced with black permanent marker and crease marks.

cinder: yeah they didnt get the eyebrows sharp enough and im mad abt it

“Well, your clothes are in the wash.” Cinder said, turning around, coffee in hand. It was so…domestic. “It would help if you had more than one set.”

shouting from a distance: you two should get MARRIED

“You’ve been wearing the same dress the entire time I’ve known you.”

look at these lil JABS... the JESTS... the JOQUES... i cant believe theyve been married 10 years already. im also deeply enjoying how very indulgent this section is. I Am Seeing,

Glynda scoffed, and when Cinder reached for the sugar on the counter, she gave it a subtle nudge with her Semblance. It slid out of Cinder’s reach.

JESUS CHRIST LOOK AT THIS WHAT THE HELL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! soulmates.

Cinder shrugged, still looking elsewhere. “Mercury thought it was funny.”

“Mercury?”

cinder: my son and BOY. and, one day, yr son and boy, tho he won’t take it lying down.

Cinder scoffed. “You just don’t appreciate my good tastes.”

i feel like the evidence is truly stacking up to very much prove this statement wrong but u kno what lets let her figure that one out for herself

“A souvenir from the brats,” she said. “And a letter excusing the mess they made of the place.”

KIDS KIDS KIDS KIDS

She said, “I just didn’t know you had kids.”

KIDS KIDS KIDS KIDS KIDS

“It’s fine,” said Cinder tersely, but not harshly. “It isn’t wise to advertise in my business, so keep it to yourself.”

KIDS KIDS KIDS KIDS KIDS KIDS KIDS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

GOD YES that little like... indirect admittance that em and merc r basically her own kids is a fucking BLESSING from ON HIGH are you SEEING THIS SHIT????????????? we have been fed today. my crops r watered and my lambs bouncing over the green fields as we feast. what a moment. wow. what a chapter.

When Cinder finally finished hers and rose to get another cup, Glynda allowed some of her thoughts to solidify. She said, “I want new clothes.”

as a side note, i think it rly shows the strength of the writing that the feeling of the narrative can change so much, esp when u take into consideration that we jump between the points of view of TWO characters? like with cinder we’ve gone from sheer fury to gruesome sickness, and with glynda we’ve gone from Complete Dissociation to this gentle and soft morning and you can feel it absolutely fluffing up in every word! still love how good the writing in this fic is its NUTS

Cinder shrugged. Her usual clothes were still in the wash; right now, she was wearing high-waisted black pants and a loose top tucked in.

diesel i want you to know im thinking abt what u said abt the high-waisted pants mods in sims 4 and im giggling

The necklace with Glynda’s earring hung from her throat.

i didnt mention it before but this is the... second time this chapter its been explicitly mentioned? and i know we could be like ‘ah the MEANING’ but honestly im like glynda r u rly not over the bobbies y

“You aren’t dead in there, are you?” came Cinder’s voice.

“No.”

“Well. At this pace, I will be before we get out of here.”

cinder, who probably once spent 7+ hours choosing an outfit: look its only cool if i do it, dipshit,

Unsnapping the lone earring left to her, she brought it to her collar and fixed it there, under the clasped button to dangle just over her sternum.

When she stepped out of the changing room, Cinder looked up. A slow dawn of interest eclipsed the boredom on her face. Glynda stood very still as her gaze flowed up and down again, pausing over the earring.

Cinder touched the matching one hanging from her own neck, almost in surprise. She cleared her throat. Her tone was very deliberately mocking: “Cute.”

OOOOOOOOOOOH MY GOD are we for SERIOUS right now??? jesus christ. jesus christ. we’ve moved on past married now this is ride-or-die shit right here what the FUCK. jesus CHRIST. theres- i- i have THOUGHTS on this matter that are spoilery and so i will SIT ON THIS EGG but HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOLY SHIT

“Nothing,” Cinder said, smoothing her expression into something unreadable. “I was just thinking—nevermind.”

no, no, go on, speak yr mind, please do, because if u were abt to offer to embroider that shit then PLEASE say it aloud for the audience at home

“If I was a cop, you’d already be in jail.”

“You’re welcome to try to take me in, darling.”

im sure its obvious but im BESIDE myself @ this flirting. im losing it. this is SUCH a treat and i KNOW that [REDACTED] [REDACTED] and [REDACTED] but AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

“That’s because of your—” Cinder was already gone. Glynda pressed her lips together, but watched her go. Rolling her eyes, she finished, “—Grimm tattoos.”

Whatever. She could gloat about figuring it out later.

/CHOKES

WHAT

@kc and diesel: CALL ME RIGHT NOW WHAT THE FUCK

okay okay. wait. okay. wait. theres. wait. okay. i cant. am i safe to say anything. probably not. so. im not gonna. but. you WILL be seeing me in dms, friends,

okay okay im moving on im gonna. keep going. okay. okay. im going. (but i will be in dms)

there was a brief discussion of dinner: namely, that neither of them wanted to make it.

oh god why is this me

“Give me your new cape.”

“What?”

Finally looking up, Cinder said, “Your cape. Let me have it, and I’ll put your emblem on it.”

THANK YOU MA’AM AND THANK YOU FOR READING THE FIC HAS ENDED ITS ALL OVER WITH!!!!!! WE DID IT!!!!!!! WE RODE THIS WHOLE TRAIN TOGETHER!!!!!!!!!!!!! UNFORTUNATELY IF ONLY IT WERE SO EASY.

Glynda ignored it for the time being and sent the vector of her emblem to Cinder.

i deeply love the idea of all hunters and huntresses carrying a vector of their emblem JUST IN CASE,,, SMTHNG HAPPENS,,, its right alongside the list of their next of kin and their will and testament,

Cinder Fall was a name built on Dust and money and extravagant demonstrations.

But Cinder Fall was also a woman with a family. A home. A favorite blend of coffee.

this is absolutely kicking me in the dick for reasons i cant say but also for reasons of SNOFT because oh my god. this is. like. this is why i rly vibe w. cinder in this fic and is also like one of my favourite characterisations of cinder of ALL TIME (which is why all my fav cinder fics typically have it as a Theme). shes SO good and SO dimensional and i just. god. GOD. i LOVE HER!!!!!!!!! ID DIE FOR HER!!!!!!!!!!!!! FUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAA CINDER FALL IS MY ANGEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEL

It felt like being told a secret, like being told a thousand secrets, and not knowing what to do with them. All she could do was hold them in her palms, delicate as she could, trying not to break anything.

GIMME ARMS TO PRAY WITH INSTEAD OF ONES THAT HOLD TOO TIGHTLY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! /goes apeshit

And because of that, Glynda asked, “Do you have any more stories?”

Without looking up, Cinder drawled, “About Witches?”

“Or dragons.”

Gold flickered her way.

👈😳👈

“They’d already been built by the Witches that came before her,” Cinder replied. “But she’d been a headmaster at one of them, and a teacher before that.”

Something in Glynda’s chest gleamed.

lore lore lore lore LORE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! lets GET THAT LORE as i peer blearily thru tears,

“...You haven’t just been pretending not to remember things, have you?”

firstly: called out lmao JHGSDFKJHGFSD and SECONDLY:

“The moon?” Cinder made a face. “I’m not sure if it’s that literal. Your soul is powerful, but it’s not a physical thing. Besides, the moon is…”

“Broken,” Glynda finished for her.

“Yeah.”

hm what a fascinating thing hm how interesting hm hm HMMMM 👈🤔👈

Even as they ate, they both seemed lost in their own heads, but somehow, to Glynda, it seemed perfectly clear that both of them were wondering the same thing.

wait glynda. hey glynda. did u uh. ever. did u uh. text winter back or w

WE DID IT CHAPTER 17!!!!!!!!!!! this was a Lot (4,500 words? yall better be careful before those 10k chapters return to Haunt Us) and was also, a Lot. holy shit. theres. i. id make a spoiler edition but tbh its just the SAME SPOILER thats like. rly driving this chapter. i know what its for. i know it. i feel it. dont trust winter more like dont trust the writers

ANYWAY I LOOK FORWARD (?) EAGERLY (???) to chapter 18, unsure when the vibes will turn rancid for the worse. when. honey. theres a big storm coming.

#rwby #offal hunt #liveblog #what the HELL just happened

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quarantinewithbean · 4 years

Text

The Beginning

Really, this isn’t the beginning, it’s just the beginning of this blog. I really wanted to blog about my fertility journey from the start, but I was always so consumed with the “next step” and my own frustrations with continually NOT getting pregnant that I didn’t ever make the time. I’m not sure, maybe I had a fear that writing about it would make it even more real that it wasn’t happening. Maybe I was afraid it would somehow make my fear of never being able to have kids somehow come true. Or, perhaps it was just because I’ve always had a habit of starting a diary/journal/blog with great intentions but not continuing them (I have a stack of diaries with about 10 pages written in each from various years). I’m guessing it was a combination of things.

Then, by the time we finally became pregnant this past October after 4 years of trying (”trying” meaning: having countless doctor’s appointments, having to see reproductive specialists, shedding more tears than I would like to admit to, going through multiple unpleasant and painful medical procedures to figure out the source of our infertility, eventually having a surgery to open one of my Fallopian tubes, going through multiple rounds of fertility medications, and basically owning stock in pregnancy/ovulation test kits by the end of it), I was so ecstatic that I did not want to revisit any of the painful memories of how upsetting it was to get that negative test month after month. So, I didn’t start a blog. I just reveled in the happiness that I finally had a little bean in my belly. Well, reveled in happiness and morning sickness for a solid trimester and a half. But even that incessantly burning nausea couldn’t wipe the smile off of my face.

Now, fast forward and here I am, here we are together, and the world has been absolutely turned on its head. (Actually, that is putting it lightly. If I am being real, it feels more like the world has taken a giant shit all over everyone and everything and just can’t stop. Sort of like the cast of the original Bridesmaids after they all got food poisoning. That is our world at present.) I now have an even more incredible opportunity to document what it is like to survive these times living during a pandemic, 6 months pregnant, working at a hospital. What a combination! But I figured it is a once in a lifetime chance to share my thoughts on a page in hopes that my little bean will be able to someday look back and read about how crazy the world was when he/she was baking in my tummy. I know that I always soaked up stories that my Grandma Max would tell about surviving the Great Depression. It is always fascinating to hear about a surreal time that someone else went through, especially if it is so much different than the current life one is living. It allows us to learn and can help spur powerful perspective shifts in our own lives.

Living in the rural Midwest, I feel like this COVID-19 pandemic is just beginning. Actually, when the virus first started circulating in other parts of the world, I think it was easy for us all to at first deny that it would get that bad here in the US. Seeing footage of overrun hospitals on the TV felt like we were just watching a bad movie. Now our realities are much different, and we are experiencing it first hand here, seeing what it is doing to our cities, to our healthcare professionals, to our economy, to our businesses, to our communities, to our people. We know it will inevitably hit us here, too, in the Midwest - things are just a little slower to show here than the rest of the country.

For those of you who don’t know, I work at the local VA hospital as a psychologist. Thankfully, I see many of my patients using telehealth/video sessions already and it wasn’t a huge shift to transition the rest of them to telehealth during this time to prevent potential spread of the virus. Half of my job is providing psychological services on a Home-Based Primary Care (HBPC) team, and half is also spent working in the hospital with patients at bedside as a medical psychologist on our long-term/continuing care/rehabilitation units. It is quite a tense environment for everyone at the hospital right now, for sure. I feel it when I arrive and leave my units there, and lately on my “hospital days” I get home and just feel sorta drained. The stress and anxiety is palpable. As you could imagine, any patient or colleague who coughs, sneezes, etc. basically causes everyone around to have a mini panic attack (or, maybe not everyone, maybe just me?? lol). My patients, understandably, are needing more support during this time, so I am having more frequent sessions and seeing an uptick in the number on my panel. This is fine with me though as I love what I do and giving therapy has a way of relaxing me as well. I am also very grateful that I will likely be able to see many of my hospital patients using technology as well (just seeing them via video from my office, which is located in a small secure building not attached to the main hospital.) I may still need to go to the hospital on occasion, but it won’t be as frequently as it was. They are trying to limit as much staff traffic as possible on the units I work because the population is so vulnerable, so the less people walking onto the floor the better. I really feel for my colleagues that are on the floor all the time, constantly prepping and waiting for the worst to hit. It feels like the calm before the storm over there - like when you see the sky turn purple in the distance and know that a tornado is headed your way.

Being pregnant in the midst of all of this is just another added layer of complexity for me. On one hand, it does make me feel more stressed about potentially contracting the virus, because it’s not just me in my body and I want to do anything in my power to protect my little babe. I honestly feel like I would not be nearly as freaked out about getting COVID if I didn’t have this precious bean growing that took so many years and effort and prayers and tears to create. I am grateful that the (very small amount) of evidence thus far does not suggest much for adverse outcomes related to pregnancy and the virus, but I am also fearful knowing that the data is quite limited. I do know that pregnancy suppresses my immune system and typically puts a woman at greater risk for complications with other respiratory infections/illnesses.

On the flip side, the opposite of being freaked out about being a pregnant healthcare worker during this pandemic, having this baby growing inside of me is such a welcome and happy distraction from everything! I love thinking about what it will be like when he/she finally arrives. I am nesting like a maniac at home, constantly cleaning and organizing and decorating our nursery and going in there and sitting in the rocking chair and imagining what our baby will be like. I’m singing to Bean, too, and it is so nuts - every time I do he/she just bounces all over the place! Either loves my voice or hates it. Lol. I am loving the time spent at home with my two favorite boys, too. Aaron has been making killer meals and Darwin is reveling in all of the mom and dad cuddle time (which, he had better soak up as his life is going to become quite miserable for him having to share his throne in a matter of months.)

Well, I suppose it’s time for me to get some rest before another crazy day at the office tomorrow. It is just about time for Bean’s 9 pm gymnastics session :) Stay safe, healthy, call each other, and STAY HOME!

Here’s a random pic of me during Aaron and my trip to Deadwood in October. We found out we were expecting just a few short weeks after this was taken :) It reminds me of the beginning of this journey. We are hoping to return to the Black Hills for a long weekend in May (as long as this virus stuff settles down).

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honeymoonjin · 5 years

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enjoy your stay - chapter two

A/N I finished a little early, so I figured I might as well put it out there and get working on chapter three!

ENJOY YOUR STAY ↳Boss!Namjoon, Chef!Jin, Receptionist!Hoseok, Bellboy!Jimin, Bartender!Jungkook, Accountant!Yoongi, Photography student!Taehyung ↳Some inappropriate language and cursing. Later chapters will have sexual content.

SUMMARY ↳Working the graveyard shift at a hotel isn’t the most exciting job in the world, but your coworkers are certainly happy to have you here.

CHAPTER TWO ↳Settling into your new job certainly takes time. Luckily, you’re getting on with the other workers. The only problem is your newest guest.

You had been working at the hotel for a little under two weeks now, 7 nights a week, and while you were getting used to the actual work, the upside-down sleep schedule was another thing.

You weren't usually one for coffee, but you found if you got it from the cafe down the road that had a million different flavoured syrups, you could disguise the bitter liquid as you inhaled it by the litre. Sleeping during the day was just plain weird, and it was probably naive of you to expect a smooth transition to a nocturnal timetable.

That being said, the warm, caring boss of yours was doing his best to ease the change, even once going so far as to let you take a nap in his office - while he was still working in there, no less - when you felt like you were about to fall asleep on your feet.

So far, the workload had been pretty straightforward, but as you would quickly come to learn, every night was different. Your regular tasks were mostly just checking up on everything and everyone, and passing along any messages between staff.

When Jin decided mid-dinner service to tweak the menu for the following night, he couldn't exactly leave and go find Namjoon to tell him. When Hoseok ran out of printer paper, he couldn't just walk away from the reception desk, as empty as the lobby may seem. That was the main reason why Namjoon had to hire a night manager. He found it impossible to be in a million places at once while trying to do his own work.

Your first couple of weeks so far had been you checking up on each of the six staff members (five, really, since you hadn't seen Yoongi since your first night) every two hours, and helping Namjoon out in the office with filing in between.

Currently, at 5am, two hours before you were free to go home and fall in a pile on your bed again, you were cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by haphazard piles of paper. Namjoon was at his desk, gazing intensely at his computer screen, fingers hovering over the keys. While his work was in dealing with current issues like payrolls, bookings, and maintenance, you had been tasked with the backlog of files. Namjoon, while a pretty organised guy in most aspects, had no respect for chronological and alphabetical ordering.

He had shown you a cupboard in the back of his office, with a stack of aging paper the height of a small child leaning dangerously to one side, and asked that you create a filing system.

Here you had been for the past three days, relishing the two-hourly break where you could work out the creaking in your knees and stare at something other than black ink on a white page. It wasn't difficult work, just menial and time-consuming. The paper-heap was a heavy mix of printouts of important emails, photocopies of Yoongi's financial reports, receipts, and, oddly enough, a smattering of Christmas cards every now and then to mark that you had trawled through another year of paperwork.

The pile in the cupboard was finally dwindling, but now your new task was to work out a way to put all the assorted categories away. As it was, every time one of you wanted to leave the office, you had to tiptoe your way through stacks of paper littering the carpet.

You groan and let out a stretch, wincing as you feel the vertebrae in your back and neck click. "Namjoon, I might need to pop down to the office stationery store to get some filing boxes. I think it'll take me the rest of the night to finish up the last of it and then put them away."

He blinks tiredly at you. "The office store closes at 5pm. You missed it by twelve hours."

You yawn. Yup, definitely not used to the nocturnal schedule.

He twitches his eyebrows. "Actually, you could pop down to the accounts firm. It's a two minute drive, and they've got a stationery cupboard. If I gave Yoongi a call, he could set some stuff aside for you."

"Oh, you don't have to wake him for that. I can go another time," you offer, shuffling out of your cross-legged stance to stretch out your legs, wiggling your feet back and forth.

He lets out a laugh that sounds more like a hum. "You don't know Yoongi very well. If you want to sleep, he's probably awake." He pauses. "And vice versa, actually." Namjoon sits up in his office chair and starts punching in a number on his desk phone. After a few moments of silence, his face lightens when someone speaks on the other end.

They share a brief conversation, you too sleepy to pay much attention, and you jump when something falls into your lap. A set of keys on a worn leather keyring. You look up at Namjoon in confusion.

"Take the company car," he explains, "looks more official than you showing up in your Corolla to sneak into the firm." He gives you a tired grin.

You nod affirmatively and pick your way out of the messy office.

The accounting firm is extremely large and well-off, which is probably due to the complete lack of competition in your small town. Surprisingly, there are at least six cars in the vast lot, and the building is totally lit up inside.

It's upon entering that you realise you have no idea where to actually go, so you awkwardly wander around the first floor until you find a young lady hunched over a computer in her tiny cubicle, and ask her where Yoongi worked.

Strangely, she guides you to the top floor of the building, even scanning her staff ID to be able to select the top floor on the elevator panel. Yoongi's office is massive, in the far corner of the floor, with his name engraved into the glass door.

You knock awkwardly, although it's not like he can't see you. He tilts his head to wave you in, then again at the chairs when you don't make a move to go further into the room.

Sitting on the plush armchair, you rub your eyes. "I'm just here to pick up some filing boxes for Namjoon?"

He gives you a small, bemused smile. "So you aren't just here for my company?"

"This is your company?" When he furrows his brow, you realise your mistake. "Oh man, I get what you mean now. I'm sorry, this new job has me tired all the time. I'm a little out of it, if you couldn't tell." Partly to emphasise your point, and partly to avoid his catlike stare, you lower your face and rub at your eyes.

He's silent for a moment, but then you hear his chair roll back and feel the warm weight of his hand on your shoulder. "I'll forgive you this time, sleepyhead. Here, I'll take you to our storage room."

The rest of your visit is filled with comfortable silence; you, too tired to make conversation, and him, probably wanting you to leave as soon as you could so he could get back to his own work. The rest of your shift goes quickly with that same silence, as you do one final round before leaving, drive home with your eyes as open as you can hold them, and collapse in your bed the moment you walk in your front door.

It's a little over six weeks before you see a single customer out and about between the hours of 11:30pm and 7am, and when it happens, you're completely bewildered. It's a young man curled up in the corner of one of the booths in the bar. He has a half-empty glass of some amber liquid, and a little bowl of nuts at the end of the table, and the space in front of him is covered by glossy photographs and a single, very expensive-looking camera.

You had almost forgotten what you were supposed to do when a customer was out of their rooms, and for a moment you hovered in the doorway, unsure whether you should ask him if he needed any help, or just not bother him at all.

In the end, it's Jungkook that makes the decision for you. "Oh, there you are! I have a message for you to pass on to Namjoon!"

The man looks up from the booth to see how Jungkook's speaking to, and you share a moment of eye-contact with him as you walk across the open space to the bar.

He's gorgeous. You selfishly hope that he's one of those customers that stays for a week or two, rather than overnight, in the hope that you get to see him again. His eyes stare deeply into yours, and it's you that looks away first. "What can I do for you, Jungkook?"

"Tell Namjoon Tae arrived."

You blink. "Is that a type of alcohol, or?"

Jungkook laughs. "What is it with you and assuming alcohol is on my mind 24/7? Just because I'm a bartender doesn't make me an alcoholic. No, Tae's that handsome gentlemen over there."

You can't help but sneak another look. The man in question, Tae, lifts his hand in a jaunty wave, but his face stays neutral, curious rather than overly friendly.

You nod at him and turn back to Jungkook. "Tae's here, got it. Anything else?"

Jungkook grins. "Tell him Tae is refusing to pay for his drinks."

"O- Oh. Do you need me to..." you trail off lamely, not sure what it is exactly you could possibly do about a customer refusing to pay.

"Force him to hand over his cold, hard cash? Feel free to try. I'd certainly love to see that."

You clear your throat in embarrassment, feeling the weight of Tae's gaze on you. "I'll go tell Namjoon," you muster, and hightail out of the bar.

Namjoon doesn't seem particularly shocked or concerned that there was a thief in the bar when you told him about your encounter. He just nods understandingly, and leans back deeper in his chair, swaying lazily back and forth.

"So, you know him then?"

His wry smile confirms it. "He's my little brother," he explains. "I give him free accommodation while he stays in school. He's doing a degree in fine arts, if you can believe it." He sighs. "Somehow he thinks it means everything in this hotel is free to boot. That punk."

"That's really sweet of you, Namjoon. I wish I had a brother like you, maybe I wouldn't have dropped out of uni."

He looks up at you in surprise. "I didn't know you went to uni."

"Well," you allow, "it's probably not a good look to put med school dropout on your resume."

"Med school, huh?" He gives you a soft smile. "I went to veterinary school, if you can believe it."

You think of his friendly disposition and caring nature. "I can, actually. It'll probably come in handy one day when Jin accidentally lets his fish of the day loose in the hotel."

He laughs for a few moments, but sobers up again. "Look, we have to put Tae in a different room from his usual because it's been booked already. Would you mind tracking him down and taking him to room 12? I'll set him up with a key tomorrow, well, today I guess, but for now he needs someone to unlock the door for him."

"Sure thing, boss." Your body is half out the door before he calls out to you.

"You don't have to call me boss, you know?"

You grin at him. "Sure thing, Joonie."

You leave before he gets the chance to take it back and stroll contentedly through the hallways, back the way you came. By the set-up Tae had before, you didn't imagine he had gone anywhere in the past few minutes.

You were right. He was still in his spot, Jungkook coming out from behind the bar with a bottle of something to top up the empty glass held in Tae's outstretched hand.

You intercept the bottle as its tipping, making sure the glass stays empty. Jungkook simply nods and pulls back, but Tae looks up when the pouring fails to commence and levels you with a heavy stare.

"Namjoon asked me to take you to your room. Room 12, this time."

He looks back at his elaborate set-up of pictures, then back at you slowly. "I'm busy, but thank you."

He nods meaningfully at Jungkook, who hesitantly holds up the bottle, but you hold your hand out to stop it again. "I know, and I'm sorry, but you need me to unlock the door for you for now, and I get off in twenty minutes."

"Then come back in twenty minutes."

"Uh... I would really prefer if you-"

"Relax, relax, I'm kidding." He shuffles up all the photos painstakingly slowly, disrupting their meticulously arranged display, and tucks them into a pocket of his camera bag. Once he's finished, he jerks his head at his empty glass with a cocky smirk on his face. "One for the road, if I may, ma'am?"

You shrug and shake your head. "Whatever, sure."

Jungkook pours two fingers into the glass, then disappears behind the bar. You stand, shifting your weight from one foot to the other, as Tae savours each mouthful, at long last draining the glass and standing up with his things.

You lead him to his room in silence, not in the mood to make your final few minutes of work go on any longer with his brand of nonsense. He doesn't notice, or chooses not to comment on, your brisk pace through the hallways.

When the pair of you arrive at the door, you unlock the door, and lean in to hold it open for him. Unlike most people who would try their best to shuffle in quickly without any necessary physical contact, he faces you as he slips his body past, breath hot on your face as he passes close enough for you to feel his camera bag push against your torso.

When he's in, you snatch your hand back and fail to say a proper goodbye before leaving.

The lobby is much closer than the service entrance, and so you take that way out in order to leave on time, forgetting to even let Namjoon know you were heading off.

You didn't know what it was specifically about Tae that made your blood boil, but you suspected it was the frustrating combination of an asshole that was devastatingly handsome. A man like that knew exactly what he was doing and how it would rile you up, but some part of you was still glad he was going to be hanging around for a whole semester. Maybe you were a sadist, maybe you were just sexually frustrated.

On your way out the lobby, Jimin is absent, but so is the luggage trolley, so you assume he must have hit the jackpot and got an actual customer for once. Unfortunately for him, it was also at the time he was meant to be heading off. An unfamiliar man in that familiar uniform and hat was hanging around the lobby couches waiting to take over.

Hoseok, however, was still at reception, although his legs were kicked up on the corner of the desk and he was stuffing his face with ramen from a takeout container. He lit up, cheeks full, and waved you over once he saw you.

Hoseok had a habit of making you hang around for ages whenever you did your rounds. Whenever he had anything that needed doing or messages that needed to be passed on, it always came with twenty minutes of backstory and digressions until he finally reached the original point. You couldn't ever get mad at him though, because he was just too lovely to you.

"Hey, muppet, you off?"

You gasp in mock surprise. "My goodness, Hoseok, what if a customer had heard you? They'd be outraged at your informality and they'd leave a one star review on Yelp!"

He narrows his eyes at you, shaking his chopstick like he's wagging a finger. "Don't be foolish. The customers don't come here for the hotel, they come here for my beautiful beside manner."

"You aren't a doctor, Hobi."

"In a way! Just instead of a surgeon of the body, I'm a surgeon of the...customer service."

You sigh at him. "If I understood what you were trying to say, perhaps I could've responded to it."

"Genius doesn't come to all of us, don't worry."

"Okay, Customer Service, MD., I'm going home to sleep off the memory of this conversation." You lean in and give him a side-hug, careful to avoid staining your dress shirt with his spicy breakfast.

"Bye bye, muppet. Maybe if Kyeong-eun arrives on time for once in her life, I can walk you out."

"You still owe me coffee for that one time I snuck out to get you a McFlurry. See you tonight, Hobi."

“See you.”

#bts scenarios #bts au #bts fanfic #bts fic #bts x reader #namjoon x reader #yoongi x reader #taehyung x reader #jungkook x reader #hoseok x reader #enjoy your stay

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lamptracker · 5 years

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Mother, may I please have some more boxer!tom x nursing student! Reader?

Since you asked nicely

“Okay, so. Tonight’s subject is...” Tom reaches into a bag and pulls out a random stack of flashcards you’d prepared, banded together by subject matter. “Maternal Child Health, Antepartum. You ready, darling?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.”

“Okay. Right, then, first scenario: You’re working in a women’s health clinic and you’ve got four voice mails to answer. Who do you call first: The sixteen-year-old calling for results of her pregnancy test, the 27-year-old pregnant for the first time complaining of a headache, the 32-year-old concerned she’s gained two pounds in the last week, or the 41-year-old who wants a referral to an infertility clinic.”

“Oh, that’s easy. The 27-year-old. A headache can be a sign of preeclampsia, especially in first-time mothers. She needs to come in right away.”

Tom flashes a grin at you. “Excellent job, love. Next one, okay. You’re with a patient who’s 12 weeks pregnant. She’s a vegan and she says she won’t consume any meat or dairy no matter what. What do you tell her?”

You ponder your answer for a moment. “Um... I would tell her that animal proteins are important for fetal development, but if she feels that strongly about it she should at least up her intake of nuts, grains, and legumes. That way she’s getting as much protein as possible.”

Tom smiles at you again. “You’re doing great, you’ve got this down. Third question, um... your boyfriend, who is a boxer, wins a match with you at ringside. After he wins, he calls you into the ring, drops down on one knee, and proposes. What do you do?”

“Is that on the card?” You snatch it from his hand, turning it over several times. When you finally look up, Tom has dropped to one knee.

“It’s not on the card. But I’m not going to wait for that scenario. You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me, you know that? You’re my biggest fan, both in and out of the ring. You patch me up after fights better than any doctor I could ever go to. You’re sweet, and hilarious, and you’re so smart, much smarter than I am. I know you’re going to make an excellent nurse, and I’d like the chance to prove I’m going to be an excellent husband. So, will you marry me?” He pulls a tiny black box from his pocket, opening it to reveal a beautiful diamond ring inside.

“How did you pay for this?” you ask softly, blinking back tears.

“Saved up some prize money.”

“It’s beautiful.”

Tom shakes his head and chuckles. “I can’t help but notice you didn’t answer the question.”

You laugh, tears of joy streaming down your cheeks. “Of course I’ll marry you, you giant goof.”

Tom grins widely as he slips the ring onto your finger; you cup his face in your hands, kissing him gently.

“The swelling in your lip has gone down,” you say. “And those stitches in your eyebrow are just about ready to come out.”

“How utterly romantic,” Tom grumbles; you slap his shoulder playfully.

“I can’t help it!” you exclaim. “I’m in full-on nurse mode right now.”

“Well,” Tom says, wiggling his eyebrow slightly, “how’d you like to be in full-on doin’ it mode?”

You burst into laughter. “That’s the best you can do?”

“Hey, cut me some slack, I get punched in the face for a living.”

You stand up and help him to his feet. “I love you, Tommy.”

“I love you too, darling. Now, uh...”

You shake your head. “Oh, alright.”

#tom holland #tom holland imagine #boxer au #grace-wheeze

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rimainaneko · 5 years

Text

The Rambles of a Tiny Bird CH2

Ao3 Link: HERE Homestuck Mature Jake English/Dirk Strider, MicroBird!Dirk, Jane Crocker, Roxy Lalonde Summary: A collection of ficlets and rambles from the MicroBird!Dirk art of Merupuri.

Chapter 2: Glowing Teapot 2

You wake up in your nest. The sound of gushing wind and rustling leaves is strong, the entrance to your nest inside the tree is covered by large leaves that you built in hopes of keeping the rain out. The clouds were thin yesterday, not as foreboding but your instinct is telling you it’s going to be a big one, but not so big that you think you would leave your current nest.

You curl and stretch your wings as much as your little hole would allow, your old feathers used as some sort of cushion for your small frame. You don’t think you’re small. You’re slightly bigger than a sparrow. You stand taller than a sparrow, though if you curled up on yourself you’d be the same size, give or take a few inches. You are significantly smaller than the other woodland creatures, that’s for sure.

You scrape the underside of your nest out of instinct, keeping your talons sharp just like a bobcat would scratch the bark of trees to do a bit of “exercise”. Meat isn’t really in your diet, the bigger animals eat those, but you prefer berries out of all the things you can scavenge in the forest. The only times you eat meat are when you follow campers around the area and they leave bits of dried meat around their camp.

They are wasting perfectly good food! You and the other birds usually help yourself to the food scraps after they are long gone, that is if the worms hadn’t gone to it first. There is a town a long way away from the forest, tall ashen grey forts and cold walls surround where the humans live. You can’t think of why the humans would want to isolate themselves from the forest. The forest is nice, it’s your home, and the animals live in harmony.

Now that you think about it, maybe there are a few things that would make the humans think it’s not good to live outdoors. There are occasional rabid animals on the loose, wreaking havoc amongst your neighbours. You have the high ground against the four-legged animals of the forest, plus, you can fly. Your house is discreet enough for squirrels and other birds not to try and trespass in your territory. Claw marks surround the entrance of your nest, warning the other animals that you are not afraid to fight back when they try to claim what you have.

The rumble of your stomach gives you a reason to start moving around to get some grub. Not literal grub, just, berries maybe, maybe some nuts too for some variety. The moment you stand up, you immediately feel that something is off. You know there is a storm outside, you can hear the wind causing some trees to lose their branches. It’s dark, barely any light in your nest, but your eyes let you see around the area. Everything is blurred around the edges of your vision. The time feels off, out of place, like your body is somehow not moving with the flow of time.

It dawns on you that you were in a dream. The things you see after that don’t stack the usual way it stacks before you.

Dreams are never something concrete. They often are abstract imagery and patterns of things you see every day. Your dreams always seem to depict spring, your favourite of seasons. Everything blooms, from flowers to animals. Bright greens and the rustling of leaves, the air filled with the smell of wet ground and flowers dripping sweet morning dew.

The other birds sing for the rising sun and you sing along with them. In your dreams, you fly higher than the trees but not so far lest you lose your way from your nest. In your dreams, your nest would be filled with berries, every kind of berry that you can think of. Sometimes you give the other winged creatures your leftover berries, but you absolutely hate it when they ransack your nest to steal your berries.

You dream of angrily chirping at the other birds for stealing materials from your nest. Your tone harsh for them to hear, to make it clear that you were unhappy with what they did. It seems endless for you, but it also feels there is no sense of time passing. Maybe after your burst of chirps and screeches, you had stopped at one point, never realizing that there was a layer of mist surrounding you.

You watch the dense veil of mist slowly devour what's left of open space in your dreams. You are still in your nest but your berries, one by one, turn into mist. You did not understand what is happening. You don’t understand why you try to understand what’s happening in your dreams when you are presently dreaming. As if it’s important to take note of what’s happening in your dreams. But you don’t remember why, you doubt you’ll remember why when you wake up.

There is no logic when it comes to dreams and you try your best to remember if there is something to be remembered. Reality, what is happening in the conscious world. What happened before you passed out. You cannot think clearly, your memory is like the fog invading your dream, dense and shapeless.

The surrounding area continues to be consumed by the heavy fog, darkening your vision. You can see wisps of something trying to form in front of you. You spread your wings in a threatening way, signaling whatever is in front of you that you are alarmed. This is a dream, but that doesn’t stop your instincts from kicking in. This is your fight or flight response, but you don’t know how you’ll be able to fight something that is not concrete.

Maybe you could command your brain to give it a proper form. Dreams are all supposed to be made inside the confines of your mind, right? You really do hope you’re right. The first thing that comes to your mind is a berry, a large and ominous looking berry, but you can’t give shape to it. Berries have never failed you, and all they’ve done is give you joy and fill your belly.

∞∞∞

Hands form from the heavy fog, reaching out to you. They look humanoid, five ghostly fingers on each hand slowly condensing into concrete form. The smoke stops reaching out to you in favor of standing still and allowing itself to stabilize. You don’t move from your spot, you have nowhere to go so what’s the point? You watch the figure spasm from all sides, the upper torso trying to align itself with the hands that were already formed. The head is egg-shaped until wisps come out to form wind swept hair, brows are indents on the face, stone grey is replaced by tree bark brown, the other edges of the face are contoured to reveal a rather charming being, you think.

More smoke gathers in the middle condensing itself to form a human torso. You definitely think they’re a “they” rather than an “it.” Especially since they seem to take a humanoid form as opposed to and animalistic one. You don't see any smoke going out and forming animal characteristics, so it seems safe to assume that this is definitely a person but not exactly human. You doubt any human would suddenly form out of smoke. To the best of your knowledge, every other animal and human comes from somewhere. The figure before you has to be something, rather, someone out of the laws of nature.

Their lower torso doesn't seem to be forming at all. It stays as a dense fog, or mist, or smoke, whatever term you can use. It's wide where the condensed shape of the upper torso meets the belt and rest of the smoke. It vaguely resembles a small cyclone except it's not moving at all, it just, floats there with the tip of it reaching down the ground without touching it.

You watch their face, stuck in a sleeping state, head tilted to the side in peaceful slumber. Their lashes are thick and dark, you can faintly see the white part of their eyes if you go closer to their face. You don't think they’ll be waking up any time soon. And you don't want them to wake up in case they try to hurt you for getting up and personal with their face.

More mist swirls around the body, forming light clothing that does not cover much of what is already revealed. The boundary of their torso is covered by a thin scarf that serves as a belt of sorts. Everything is surreal and almost makes you forget that this is your dream. You didn’t think your brain had the capacity to form such imagery like this. Right, you’re dreaming, you don’t have to flap your wings in a dream, and you can just float if you want to. So float you do, crossing your legs in front of the body that continues to form itself.

Funnily enough, the body’s posture isn’t sloppy despite them looking like they’re sleepwalking. You watch as their skin smooth itself out and forms a bit of a texture true to human skin and less of a ghastly apparition. You notice that the lower torso, or at least the smoky tail of a torso leads to something below the figure. It’s the lamp that you had rubbed a little while ago.

Wait, was it a little while ago? You don’t know how long you have been dreaming.

You spend a few minutes (you think) staring at the forming figure. They really are human, or the majority of them is human. From head to torso, dark human skin, and not to mention they have quite a strong build. They seem to be in a peaceful slumber. You put yourself in an upright position before approaching the figure. You touch their face, using the soft pads of your hands to get a feel of their cheeks. You do your best not to get your claws on any part of their face because you know from experience that your claws touching any part of a body would be bad and seem like a threat to other animals unless they know you intend to do no harm.

You watch their face for any sign of life. Even a little breath occasionally would be nice because you're starting to worry if this being in front of you might be dead. When is breathing a problem for beings in the dream world? You are suddenly very conscious of yourself currently not breathing at all. You're still getting a hang of being able to move around your dreams like this. But you wonder, you have way too much freedom in this dream and you're slightly suspicious that this might not be a dream at all, or you may be trespassing in someone else's dream. You wish for the latter. But whose dream might this be? Of course, there's only one other concrete abstract being in this dream right now, who is kind of floating in front of you, sans their lower regions.

You explore the lower parts of the body, particularly the dark thick mist that leads to the lamp. You test your hand out on the mist. There is something preventing you to go any further than the surface of it despite looking like smoke as you originally thought. You let your legs touch the ground and walk towards the lamp. It’s the same as you remember touching it, except it’s not glowing this time around. The color of the lamp is more of a bronze gold rather than pure gold.

Why is the person connected to the lamp? Why is there a barrier keeping you from really touching their body? The more you think about it, the more that you think of the person as someone who is shackled to the lamp. Except you don’t think a lamp is heavy enough to keep a person grounded. Who are you to know? You still have much to learn in this world and you’d love to learn as much as you can in your short lifespan.

You stir yourself awake from the weird dream. Your body is sore and your wings are not completely folded on your back. You find yourself curled up on some fabric that was probably taken out of a chest somewhere in this attic. The sound of boxes moved and opened alerts you of the presence of someone else with you in the attic. Even though you are sure you were alone when you first entered. The same man from your dreams is going through the boxes that he appears to have opened. He must have been the one who laid out the fabric for you to sleep on, he also put a handkerchief on you to serve as a blanket of sorts. You hold out the handkerchief and see the fine weaving and embroidery it possesses. It is beautiful if only it isn’t already rotting. The weave is weak, if you used your claw on it you are sure that you could tear a hole without much effort.

The storm did not pass while you were unconscious. The raindrops pelt the wooden roof of your temporary shelter, if you had stayed in your tree the sound would terrify you, but now that you are inside this place, it feels somewhat comforting. The window panes are rattling from the occasional gust of wind from the storm. The leaves from trees were whistling and rattling against each other. You didn’t notice but there is a small orb of light following the man. He is rearranging boxes and looking through open chests. He must have taken off a protective sheet of fabric from what appears to be a really old sofa. Much less a sofa since there is no soft cotton to sit on. Maybe a bench was more appropriate to use. You know what human furniture is and what it looks like, but words fail you and you doubt that anyone would understand you speech anyway.

You shuffle from your little bed and the man hears you somehow. You doubt he could hear much aside from the storm and his own shuffling about. You stare at him, and he stares back, the orb that was floating next to him moves from his shoulder to the middle of the room, glowing a bit brighter for both of you to see. Did he perhaps dim the orb so he wouldn’t disturb you sleeping? You watch as his mouth slowly turns into a smile, his teeth peeking out of his lips.

He pads over to you. You take note that he was wearing the same thing he was wearing in your dream, only now, you realise that what he’s wearing was rather translucent, light, and flowy. It looks like his clothes was moving from a breeze inside the attic, only, you don’t think there are any drafts, maybe you are mistaken since you haven’t explored yet. At first he sits down on the floor right in front of you, the light orb floating above both you.

Your find yourself sitting up like him, your neck straining and stretched just to look at his eyes. The man must have noticed your problem and he decided to lay stomach down on the floor, the fabric under both of you shielding his exposed skin so that it didn’t touch the cold and probably dirty floor. His eyes does not hide his interest in you, treating you like some kind of specimen, a thing, rather than a living being. It was unnerving, this obviously intelligent being is studying you. Is your kind really that rare?

Are you the only one of your kind?

You banish the thoughts from your head.

The more that the man was looking at you, the more your unease becomes annoyance. How dare he looks at you like some cute and harmless animal! You know a couple of otherworldly beings whose looks can be deceiving. One moment you’re just napping the afternoon away and the next would be birds flying out and away the inner parts of the forest because some animal decided to desecrate a forest spirit’s shrine in that area. Regular animals don’t really identify what is right and wrong, and you’re glad that you are intelligent enough to know what is what. And this man in front of you is just making you feel smaller than you physically are. You won’t stand for that!

You can see yourself from the reflection of his eyes. He looks amused about this situation. He turns his head to examine your body even more. You would think that he should have done that already when he first put you into a makeshift nest. Maybe he does have some bit of decency in him. You move your head mirroring his head movements, which does nothing for you since you see so little from the ground. Honestly all you see his skin which his clothes barely cover, and lots of hair. Body hair. No hair on his chest though. You take one look at your own chest, comparing your lack of hair anywhere aside from your head compared to the hair on his arms and legs, which you can see though the thin fabric.

He lowers his head and smiles at you. He looks like he is about to speak when he stops himself to seemingly think about something. Whatever thinking he did was short and he starts speaking to you using human language.

“Hi there! What a cute little thing I found!” he says in his accented voice. Actually, you don’t know what is the standard accent is. The people who pass by your tree always had a different accent. Adventurers, travelers, bandits, the latter having hushed voices and using some other language you are not familiar with.

Wait. Little thing?

How dare he call you a LITTLE THING. First of all, you had no control on what you would look like. Size doesn’t matter in this situation, it’s al about performance! You were able to survive for nineteen years and counting all in your lonesome. That has to amount to something! This man has fucking crossed the line and he deserves to be called a shitbag for that sentence. You don’t deserve to be belittled literally! He knows nothing about your life, while you, can assume that he probably did the dirty to a lot of things even non humans judging by how much skin he is revealing.

Isn’t that how humans attract mates? To expose as much skin as possible but teasing their privates towards the intended person they are seducing? You think he’s a massive Softie for small animals except you’re not an animal! Well, part animal, but still you don’t think you deserve such indecency coming from him. You take what you said before, he isn’t a decent person, this guy is a total dick bag and you are absolutely sure you are right.

You watch his amused expression turn baffled, before turning to a face that you can only describe as the face when you’re about to reprimand someone.

“You sir, should wash your mouth with soap after such dirty words”

“You can understand me?”

Author’s Notes/After story: There is a connection from the spout of the genie lamp to Jake’s smoky lower torso, keeping him bound to the lamp as to not let him escape his curse. It’s a weird dynamic but unless Dirk has precisely made his wish that somehow tells Jake to stay with him in the “surface” Jake cannot go far from the lamp.

Dirk just watches Jake's sleeping body, except Jake is technically conscious and just does not know how to not frighten the little guy. Jake is awake in the real world but is somewhat conscious in the dream world. He's debating on whether he tries to communicate with Dirk in the dream world or force Dirk to wake up, so they could talk in the real world. Going back to Dirk's POV, he just stares at Jake's face curiously, and then Jake decides that he needs to wake up Dirk *gently* so wakes his other self in the dream word.

There are some genie stories where once the genie has fulfilled their master’s three wishes they are granted freedom from the curse of the lamp. I don’t know what happens to those people, but I assume that the master will be the next genie of the lamp for this AU. Jake is aware of this and Jake had a history of masters that would only use two out of three wishes and passes his lamp to the next person. No matter how many times Jake tried to trick his old masters on using all three wishes his masters would get suspicious immediately. Since his new master, which is Dirk, seems to know nothing about that, he decides that maybe, just maybe he could trick the birb into using all three wishes. Dirk of course, uses only two of his wishes, because he is afraid of being alone for the time being, and eventually he will think that he would be alone for the rest of his life, and Jake is stuck with Dirk until Jake somehow gets another master. Jake is somewhat unhappy with the current situation but ends up pitying the young birb. Dirk was born with no one else to guide him. He was one of a kind wherever he goes, he saw no other humanoid birds throughout his life. Dirk’s maximum lifespan is 21 human years.

Dirk’s three wishes: 1. To be able to understand and speak human speech. Understand is flexible here and will include reading as a bonus. 2. For food of his choice to appear before him whenever he wants it. Berries for life. 3. The third, which is a silent wish, for the genie to not leave his side for the rest of his life. Which, is not long compared to human years, even more so compared to the years that Jake had experienced throughout his time as a genie.

Jake at this point can move around with legs for the first time in millennia. He explores the cabin in the woods with Dirk on his shoulder, looking around for interesting things and for Dirk to test out the effects of his wish. Dirk reads the books inside the cabin; Little Red Riding Hood is a nice classic that he attempts to read with Jake. Curiously there is also a copy of the Arabian Nights which Jake wants to keep in his lamp.

#homestuck #jake english #microBird!Dirk #jane crocker #roxy lalonde #fanfiction #homestuck fanfiction #rambles #drabbles #homestuck rambles #homestuck drabbles #merupuri

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blindspot-repata · 5 years

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High School Blindspot

Chapter 1 - Meeting friends

"Natasha, I didn't see you arrive yesterday, what time was it?" Her grandma heard when Natasha opened the door last night, but she wanted to know about the girl. She was worried, for a few days her granddaughter showed strange, quieter and sadder behavior.

"Don't worry, Grandma, it wasn't too late." Natasha tried to reassure her grandmother.

"Honey, I would never get into your dates, but you know I don't think Ricky is the right guy for you. You should date someone like Edgar, who is a golden boy.”

“Oh, grandma! You know he's just my friend.” The girl hurried to jam on a toast and hurried off. “And there's more, he's dating with a girl.”

"But that can change, my daughter! I'm sure if you give a signal it will be in your hand.”

“Bye!” - She blew Grandma a kiss and hurried out the door.

Edgar was waiting for her on the sidewalk. It had been that way forever, she and Edgar, inseparable. He was her great support when she and her brothers came to live with their grandparents, the circumstances were not good, they were taken from their parents for bad care and abuse, exposure to alcohol, drugs and violence. Edgar was there, met her in the neighborhood, helped her get in school, hugged her every time she needed to cry, and didn't want to worry her grandparents.

Natasha has also always been the support for Edgar. When he first saw the girl she was scared and not very friendly, but he was always solicitous coming softly and won her friendship. When he lost his father in a car accident four years ago she was by his side at the funeral at the seventh day mass, she helped him overcome the loss and showed him that over time the pain subsided. It was her first fuck with her, at age 15, they took a bottle of whiskey to the basement of Tasha's grandparents and got very drunk, the next day the hangover was so much that both swore never to drink alcohol again. For a while Edgar felt a platonic love for the latina, even rehearsed a way of declaring himself to her, but never had the courage. Over time he gave up and dated other girls and she, other boys. Today they were just best friends and confidants.

The two faced together all the adversities that appeared, after all was 1999, the end of the millennium and it was still not easy to be young in New York, much less for a black boy and a girl of Latin origin. Prejudice was everywhere, but they always defended and supported each other.

“Late again? Let's go or not take the first class. If Inspector Weitz sees us arriving late again this week, we're screwed.”

"I couldn't wake up very early today, I was too tired."

“What's this around your neck?” Edgar saw on the girl's neck a bluish mark that wasn't there yesterday.

“It’s nothing.” She didn't want to tell him what Ricky had done this time, better not get him into her problems. Natasha pulled the zipper on her sweatshirt higher so that the mark didn't appear.

"Natasha, you can say anything you want to me, you know." - The boy always made a point of showing her that he was there for anything.

“I know. Thanks. I just don't want to talk about it, not now.” She didn't want to worry him, because he already had his own problems, but she didn't know how long she could hide from him everything that was going on.

“I think I can already buy my car.” Edgar worked in a machine shop after class and had been raising money to buy a car. “I talked to Mr Nigel yesterday and he said he gives me an advance of what is missing so I can get my car.” The boy showed excitement in his face.

"Hmm. I won't even have the honor of walking with you anymore. It's gonna be a mess, all the girls wanting to hitchhike in your car.” Natasha always played with him about girls. When he became head of the school soccer team she kept mocking him, which would catch all the cheerleaders. But it was just a joke, she cheered and vibrated with him with each achievement. "By the way, how's Sarah doing?"

“I don't even know.” Edgar shrugged. "I don't think she wants anything more from me, she keeps avoiding me. You know, I won't insist on someone who doesn't really want me. And you, all right?”

“Yes,I'm ok” The girl shrugged.

Ever since Rick had met some weird guys at his new job Natasha began to feel a little afraid of his behavior, because whatever she did or said, he got violent and nervous. The girl had tried to break up more than once, but he was violent and she couldn't. After last night she swore to herself that he would never come near him again.

_____________________________________________

Remi couldn't help but stare at him, those blue eyes enchanting her from the first time she walked through that door. But she thought it was silly, because he was a very popular boy and she always saw him with the sophomore blonde, that cheerleader. She knew a guy like him would never notice her. Helen had never encouraged her to date, on the contrary, she said they needed to win the world and not get involved in a relationship that only shows how weak you are. She had not always listened to this, but she avoided lasting involvement, for she was not even worthy of a love relationship.

“Hi, how are you?” The clumsy geek sat beside her with a stack of books but hands and Remi watched. “Oh many books, right? I'm working on research and I need all of these, believe me. You could be part of my team, I've seen that you like chemistry.”

“Oh, I don't know. Can be. If I won't disturb you.”

"Of course not, Stuart is in the project, but he's a little clumsy and sometimes spoils the experiments. I prefer to work with girls because they are more organized, but he's a good guy, I put him on the line.”

“I know what they look like, I have a brother who is only big but still looks childish in some ways.”

“Your brother is that blondie, wow! Hum, I've seen him with you.”

“Yes, that's him.” RemiRemi laughed, because she had already seen how Patty looked at him, seemed to devour him with eyes. The brother really liked was a trouble. Helen had put them to practice martial arts from an early age, and Roman thought he should punch anyone who crossed his path. Since moving to this school two weeks ago, he has been on the board twice.

“What are you looking at? Kurt?” Patty followed the direction of Remi's gaze and saw her staring at him. “He's a good guy and will still find the right girl.”

“I'm not looking at him.” Remi felt his face turn red when she saw the boy look in her direction and linger looking at her. The girl looked down and didn’t look in his direction anymore.

Kurt had noticed the fledgling girl from day one, but saw it as an impenetrable iceberg. She was beautiful and mysterious and was always accompanied by her twin. Since she arrived he hadn't had a chance to exchange a word with her, he needed to work it out. He'd seen her talking to Patty, maybe if he talked to her, but the nerd was always in the lab and into her crazy experiments.

“Hey, Ed! Do you have footeball training today?” Kurt addressed the dark-haired young man who was storing things in his bag.

“No. I'm thinking of looking for Natasha to leave soon.”

"I'm coming with you, I need to talk to Patty, maybe they're together."

_____________________________________________

“Hey, I finally found you!” Natasha went into the lab and saw that Patty had bequers and tubes bubbling, some appliances with bright lights flashing, and there were also open books on the bench.

“We are working on a new project and we can't stop now, because we are in the middle of the reaction. Stuart, what did you do here? I told you it wasn't time to add the acid yet!” Patty always stressed about the boy's clumsy way.

“Hi. How are you getting to work with them?” Natasha addressed the shoulder-length brunette girl. "Your name is Remi, isn't it? I'm Natasha. “The latina appeared after the brunette confirmed.”

"Sometimes I think she's trying to refute Lavoisier's Law." They both burst out laughing.

“Patty! What did you do this time?” Rich had just entered the lab and looked pretty stressed.

“What are you talking about?” The geek frowned.

"Those experiments of yours are pulling all the energy from the building and shutting down the computers in the computer lab! I’ll start by turning off these gadgets with these lights here that must be the bad guys.”

“Don't touch my multimeters!” Patty slapped Rich's hand backward. “I'll fix this, I can not go off so it will disturb everything.”

Patty did what the boy asked by releasing the energy he was consuming from his experience.

“It's time to go. Give me five minutes that will be all right for your computers.”

“Hey babe! Have you ever met the computer lab?” Rich addressed Remi, who remained silent. “ I can introduce you and show you new programs and windows that were recently installed.”

“Rich! You have no way! Let Boston hear that!” Natasha scolded him, because she knew Rich loved to sneak and also knew how jealous Boston was.

“Boston may also like to participate in the presentation of the new programs, you are also invited, bravely.” Rich headed for the latina. "We close the lab door ..." The boy leaned toward the girls and put his hand over Remi's.

“No, Rich! I already met your fame and won't stick with me!” Remi took his hand from hers and walked away.

Rich watched as the rookie girl Remi seemed to be her name, glanced at the lab door and looked at the newly arrived figure.

"Hey Stuble, hi Eddie, you've been missing computer classes!" Rich thought the blue-eyed boy was handsome and sexy, but he knew how much he loved girls.

“Hi Rich!” Kurt greeted the boy with a little disdain. “Patty, what are you up to this time?” then she noticed the short-haired brunette girl standing in front of the bench next to Natasha.

"Hi." Remi greeted him with a shy smile that shook his structures. How perfect the girl was!

“Hello! Can you understand Patty's nuts?”

“Hey, Kurt! They are not crazy! You are all a bunch of misinformed, if you want to start drawing the formulas on the board and you will understand everything that is happening here!” The blonde girl always made a point of trying to explain to friends what she was working on.

“It’s boy necessary!” The answer was in unison.

“I will enjoy that you are all here and I will make an invitation!” Patty was addressing them all at once. “Freddy, my brother, is having a party at my house on Saturday. My parents traveled and released the house, since they don't break anything, you are invited! Your brother too! Patty addressed Remi referring to the handsome blond boy. And, Rich, take Boston! You two can take your girlfriends. Natasha ...

"I won't take ..." She was referring to Ricky. The latina didn't intend to leave the boy to this party. She just wanted to have fun with her friends.

Remi noticed Kurt's disquiet when Patty talked about his girlfriend, but the boy didn't answer Patty at all.

“ You go?” Kurt was addressing her.

“ I don’t know?” “She was still wondering how fun it could be to get fit, make friends. “I’ll see if I can.”

"Make an effort, her brother's parties are fun." The boy smiled and she lingered admiring the crooked smile that formed on his face.

The class dispersed and Remi went to meet his brother who was waiting for her in the courtyard. She risked a look back and saw Kurt talking and laughing with his friends.

_____________________________________________

#blindspot fanfic #blindspot #jeller #repata #rapata #tashazapata #tasha x reade #tasha zapata #jane doe #kurt weller #rich dotcom #patterson #roman briggs #remi briggs #boston crab #bshiatusproject

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eorzean-capitalist · 6 years

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FFXIV Marketboard Guide.

AKA: How to level up your crafting classes and make a little money on the side to support said leveling.

About the author of this guide: I have over 150 million gil at the moment, and am lazily working my way toward 200 million. I am an omni-crafter, all crafts and gatherers at lvl 70. When I bought my large house in Shirogane, my highest level crafter was 53. I had 85 million gil at the time. I know what I’m doing, I know how to succeed.

There is no one way to succeed. Consider this guide really a set of tips to help you get a jump on leveling your crafting and gathering. This guide assumes you’re starting with everything at level 1 and goes from there.

It takes work, a lot of work on your part. But it’s quite rewarding as you watch your classes level up and your bank account increase at the same time. If you’re hoping this guide will help you get rich quick with no effort on your part, this is probably not your guide.

ONE: The first thing you need to do is gather shards. You are going to need a shit ton of shards. You can buy them off the marketboard if they’re cheap, but if they run up over 100 gil each, don’t bother. Farm your own.

Set your retainers to botany and mining. Equip them with a pick and an axe, and start sending them out for shards. (You can buy ventures with GC seals, and Allied Seals. Stock up on them, as many as you can.) It is worth it to gear them up as they level (ever 10 levels after the retainer hits lvl 20 is my recommendation). Eventually they’ll be able to bring you back 60 shards every 40 minutes.

When you hit 9999 shards, shake off the excess onto a retainer and keep sending them out for shards. Now you’re ready for step two.

TWO: Level up all your crafters to lvl 20. Do this by crafting items at the starting stages and turning in class items. (Most of the items you need are buyable from the vendor at the crafting area.) When you hit 10 on your first class, you’ll unlock Quick Synthesis. This is ungodly for leveling. You only need to synthesis something once, and then you can set your character to create 99 of that item and let ‘em go while you go get coffee or do laundry or something.

Tips:

Don’t bother with crafting leves at this stage of the game. It’s not hard to get to lvl 20 without touching them. It’s time consuming, but not hard.

You’ll get all the starting gear you need from your class quests. Don’t bother buying gear at this stage. If anything, you can make whatever you need as you go.

These classes will all provide shards at the first quests. Make sure you have room for them. If you already have 9999 shards, you’ll just lose these extras. Offload around 2000 shards onto a retainer’s inventory so you have room.

If you have the Ala Mhigan earrings, wear them. They work for crafting and gathering just as well as war and magic classes.

THREE: Take stock of what you can make. By level twenty, these items either are now available to you or are very close.

Carpenter: Walnut Lumber (Lvl 25, a bit of a risk but worth it.)

Blacksmith/Armorsmith: (Iron Ingots lvl 16 and Iron Rivets, lvl 18.)

Goldsmithing: Silver Ingots (lvl 23)

Leatherworking: Aldgoat Leather (lvl 17)

Weaving: Dew Thread (lvl 23)

Alchemy: Mortar (lvl 20) and eventually Natron (lvl 25).

Cooking: Grape Juice. (Lvl 21, has only one ingredient, easy to mass produce to get levels.)

SOME of these items are great to sell on the marketboard. Others are not. I can tell you right now I had great experiences selling the following: Walnut Lumber, Silver Ingots, Dew Thread, Mortar and Natron.

Four: Now go farm up the mats you need that cannot be bought off a vendor.

Walnut Lumber: Gather up at least 300 logs to turn into 100 lumber. Go nuts with this, the more you have the better off you’ll be.

Silver Ore or Effervescent Water: Effervescent water sells great on its own if you want something to just mine up and sell as is. Or you can turn it into Natron for a bit more profit.

Limestone. I’ve found Limestone always sells high. Mortar is particularly popular for making furniture items.

Noble Grapes: Check the marketboard for these, it may be worth it to just buy them if they’re cheap rather than waste time gathering them when you could be gathering more walnut logs.

Aldgoat Skin: Check the MB for this too. It may be cheap enough to buy rather than gather. Since gathering takes you going around killing aldgoats near camp drybone. (If you do gather them, save any aldgoat horns you get, they’ll come in handy later.)

Alumen: Necessary to make aldgoat leather.

Diremite web: Pain in the ass to gather yourself. Buy off marketboard or run Toto-rak over and over again and hope you get some.

At this point, you should have enough shards and your retainers should be high enough level to gather other things for you. Send botanists out for walnut logs, and miners out for silver ore, alumen, limestone or effervescent water.

DO NOT BOTHER FARMING FOR IRON ORE. IT IS BOUGHT OFF VENDORS EASILY. WASTE OF YOUR TIME TO UNLESS YOU JUST REALLY ARE A PENNY PINCHER AND ENJOY GATHERING.

TIPS:

Put on an audiobook to listen to, or have the TV nearby playing a movie or binge watch your favorite show while you gather. Makes it less tedious.

Take breaks. Get up and get something to eat, stay hydrated. Walk away and do some how chores for a bit. The gathering part takes time.

Set a limit for yourself. Like you’re only going to get 300 walnut logs and then go do something else for awhile. Or, set a timer like you’ll farm for 30 minutes and then take a break. Run a dungeon, play another game, do housework, something to mix it up a bit.

This stage of the game is different for everyone. Some people like the grind of gathering, other people find it boring and tedious. Don’t feel like you’re a failure if you can’t spend more than a short amount of time on this. Pace yourself, do what you can, and then stop before you burn out.

Five: Now for the crafting part. Start working on everything you have gathered. Make walnut logs into lumber, turn silver and iron ore into ingots, diremite web into dew thread, aldgoat skin and alumen into aldgoat leather, noble grapes into grape juice, limestone into mortar.

Once everything is made, head for the market board and price your items. See what’s selling decently, what’s selling low. Also be sure to check what the history is on the item in question. How much has it sold for in the past? How often does it sell?

This is where your marketboard savvy should begin to take shape. If you need to, keep track of sales trends on a spreadsheet. Very useful in the beginning as you are learning the ropes, and will likely become intrinsic later.

Start putting up auctions on your vendors of the items you think are most likely to sell. Don’t put up stacks of 99 if you can help it. Some people like big stacks like that but others may just want a few of an item. (Also you can possibly sell it for a bit more than the lowest price if they have stacks of 99 up and you’re selling a stack of 20.)

Tips:

Make sure you check the history of the item in question. Look to see how often the item sells. Is the last time it sold back a month ago? Probably not a hot item right now. Check the next item in your bags. Your auctions are prime real estate, you want to occupy them with items that sell relatively well. Reserve your slower moving items for times you’re low on the fast ones.

Always have your retainers full. When you go to bed, they should each have 20 auctions up. Soon as something sells, put up something to replace it.

Keep an eye on the going rates. If it normally sells around 600 gil a piece, but there’s none up right now? Don’t get greedy, selling it for 5000 gil each will just get you undercut pretty fast. Try something like twice the last going rate to start with. So, in this example, something that was selling at 600 gil a piece, put your auction up for 1200 a piece. This is trial and error and every server is different.

A watched auction never sells. Don’t obsessively check your auctions to see if you’ve been undercut every 5 minutes. Put them up and WALK AWAY.

Know prime shopping times. If it’s early in the morning, there won’t be as many sales. Don’t bother undercutting just yet. When you get home from work, great time to log in, check auctions and undercut as that’s the time people are getting home and logging in and buying stuff. Don’t bother with it again until you go to bed.

And that’s about all I have time for right now. I will try to put up a part two on how to Marketboard tomorrow. Good night and good sales!

#FFXIV #Marketboard strategies

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