#some pronounce words weird and then because i tested out of a fucking lot there

[lordsardine]

.

#my friend got me on duolingo and it's amazing how i can pull out a phrase from my ass when i thought i forgot it #miscellaneous #im at the stage where im still testing out of units and then needing to do the Premium™ version of levels #because the free version is basic as shit #and then all the grammar is contained in the premium levels #and the basic shit is like a snooze fest #chinese and i are fighting to get to a level where im actually learning new shit rather than just review #(though i need plenty of review) #im amazed how many characters i remember. like right. it WAS my minor #japanese is whatever i took a year and a half of that #german i want to strangle these duolingo characters #some pronounce words weird and then because i tested out of a fucking lot there #they want me to write down their entire sentence and god forbid i forget one fucking letter #aaaaaaaa. idk i have the premium free trial rn and i have been enjoying it so we'll see if i fork over money when it comes time to pay

[thessalian]

Thess vs the Learning Curve

There was this whole post I just finished reading, which I didn’t want to hijack, about how old people should be when they learn to read, and in what setting. And ... I mean, there seems to be some serious research that indicates either way, but my experience is a little ... different.

So let’s start with ... I learned to read when I was about three, three and a half, as far as anyone can accurately figure. The reason this is such a vague age range is because no one knows exactly how the fuck I learned how to read. The best guess is that I followed along with my mother when she read aloud to me (because it didn’t matter how busy she was, or how tired, she would read to me every night) and picked things up from there and storytime at day care. They figured out that I could read at my day care; apparently I’d been eschewing the usual toys for the bookshelf, and the lady who ran the day care centre was curious about whether I’d memorised the books or could actually read them, and her little test resulted in the following conversation when Mum came to pick me up from day care:

Counsellor: Ms [Thess-Mom], were you aware that your daughter could read?

Mum: I ... suspected, but I wasn’t entirely sure if it was memorising or--

Counsellor: Well, it isn’t. She just read me the newspaper.

No, I probably didn’t know what a lot of the words I was reading meant. But apparently I was pronouncing them pretty damn well.

Now, I don’t know whether this is how you should learn to read, and I sure as hell don’t know how primary school goes about teaching you how to read, because I never learned in school.

...Well. Not in English, anyway.

See, at around the age most people are in kindergarten and first grade, learning how to read and write in their native language, I was learning in French and only in French. I lived in Montreal. The school had a French immersion programme. The first three years of grade school were 100% done in French, no exceptions, whereas the second three years gave us a head start on swapping classes throughout the day by having some of the subjects (mostly history and French grammar / literature etc) in French and some (science, maths, English literature but never English grammar, oddly) in English.

I didn’t learn English grammar in a classroom setting until I moved to the US and hit eighth grade, and the heavier stuff in ninth grade was a nightmare for me because I’d learned French grammar first. Thing is, I could still construct a perfectly grammatical sentence long, long before that - I just didn’t know what an adverb was in English.

(My asshole of an English teacher that year took out his dislike of me, specifically of me flagging up that Shakespeare was writing plays for people to watch and enjoy and laugh rather than knowingly Creating Art That Would Resound Through The Ages, by refusing to help me even when I asked, but that’s another story.)

So, yeah, I dunno. I was reading pretty well when I was very young, pretty much miles ahead of my classmates. But I was never formally taught to read in English at all. So that whole post made me feel a little like an outlier and a whole lot more like a freak. That’s my own damage, I know - I probably shouldn’t care about that so much, so many years later. But I do. Being the outlier gets old pretty damn quickly. Still, it’s not my fault that apparently my brain works the way it does, and it sure as hell isn’t my fault that my education was in a bilingual city in a bilingual province that was trying to be as Francophone as possible by the time I left, and then moved to the kind of place where they’d yell at you to “speak American”.

Sometimes I just get fed up with Being Weird.

[bxebxee]

What I have to say: This is really not what I typically write, but please allow me my self-indulgence. Also, I am rusty and unpracticed, but this made me happy to write. 

What this is: Yoongi has gone through twenty-seven phone numbers over the last ten years, and you haven’t changed yours since high school. 

What this wants to be: Romance

What this warrants: Rated R for Rotten Relationships (and other things) 

You hold your sister’s new baby reverently. The baby is so small, and you’re scared that your bad morals would somehow seep into the skin through contact diffusion. 

“I feel like I’m already the irresponsible aunt,” you whisper, shooting your sister a terrified look. The baby isn’t even sleeping, but what if your bellowing voice would upset him. “Are you sure-” 

“Yes,” she says firmly, “You’ll be a good godparent. There’s literally nothing to do except spoil your nephew every now and again.” She pauses, a thoughtful look crossing her face. “Unless we die. Then I guess you’d have to be more of a parental figure...” 

You and your brother-in-law interject at the same time in a cacophony of protest. 

“Okay, we are not dying,” he sighs as your octave increases by a half-step, “Please do not say that as I hold your offspring in my arms. I can’t feel them by the way. Seokjin, can you take him? I don’t want to drop him.” 

Seokjin takes the baby, and you feel bereft of warmth. It’s a weird feeling to note that considering your firm No Babies Policy. You miss the baby already. This is witchcraft. 

“It’s just a fucking hypothetical, relax,” your sister laughs, her eyes softening considerably as she sees Seokjin coo over his son. 

“If our baby’s first word is ‘fuck’ I am not taking responsibility,” Seokjin says mildly, eyes never leaving his baby. You don’t really blame him. 

“And you’re not blaming me either. I’ve been good,” you say. 

“Oh please, everyone curses younger these days anyway. I’d rather my son know than not know, you know?”  

“You’re pushing it,” Seokjin warns. 

“You’re such a dad,” she scoffs. 

“And you like it,” he counters. 

“Yeah,” she admits. “Yeah, I do.” 

You check your phone for the time, and it’s thirty minutes before the official start of the baby gathering. Time for you to leave.��

“Hey, it was good to see you guys. And the baby,” you tell them, hugging both lightly so as not to disturb the tenderness of the moment. Bear hugs were for a different day. “I have to head out, but I’ll come visit a lot, okay? I’ll even babysit. For free.” 

“Not staying for lunch?” your sister asks, looking very sad and disappointed, but you steel your heart. The two of you have inherited your mother’s knack of guilt-inducing looks, and you’re not about to fall for it. 

“Not today, no.” 

Seokjin nods, bidding you to take care. He knows why you want to leave before the crowd gets too heavy. 

Unfortunately for you, cosmic luck was not on your side because as soon as the front door shuts behind you, the elevator dings and Yoongi steps out, clad head to toe in celebrity black and holding five Burberry shopping bags. There’s no one around, so you don’t particularly feel the need to stand on the niceties of greetings and choose instead to brush past him in favor of the elevator. 

“And hello to you too.” he remarks sarcastically. 

“Go to hell,” you reply, wishing that you didn’t have to be in a close fucking hallway because you could smell his cologne. 

“Oh come on-” 

You press on the close door button rapidly, and the doors shut out Yoongi with a soft, muted click. 

Twelve hours later, you get a text from an unknown number. Coward is all it said. You stare at your phone screen in bed, seeing typing bubbles start and stop and start and stop. Mister Unknown Number finally settles on silence because nothing follows after the one-word epithet. 

It feels like a dare. 

--

Yoongi finally puts his phone down. You were too smart and too self-respecting to try this all over again with him, and he wants to kick himself for ever thinking that goading you would work when you were clearly over him-

His phone vibrates intensely and consistently. You’re calling him. 

“Hello,” Yoongi says, picking up the phone after just a single ring. Desperate, to be sure, but he wasn’t positive you’d wait for five rings anyway. 

“You changed your number again,” you say without preamble. 

“I’ve actually had this number for two years now,” Yoongi says. “Been getting hacked less and less. Guess you never saved the number.” 

“Why would I?” you ask, petulance peppering every syllable of your words. 

“Why didn’t you stay for the luncheon?” he asks instead of answering your question. 

“And sit in a room with you for a couple of hours pretending everything’s normal? No thanks,” you scoff. “And luncheon? Really?”

“You missed out on the shrimp toast.” 

“I think I’ll live.” 

“So why’d you call?” 

You could take the easy way out. Save your pride and your face, and pretend that you still don’t carry a torch for Yoongi. You could lie and say you just wanted to call and make sure it really was him. But you were always a glutton for pain, and he was all too happy to oblige to your needs. 

“You wanna come over?” you offer, not feeling an ounce of trepidation that he’d reject you. Yoongi always came when you asked. 

“Where do you live?” 

“It’s the same place as last time.” It’s a test. Let’s see if he even remembers my address-

“Be there in thirty.” 

--

He’s late by a few minutes, but Yoongi explains through interrupted kisses and hasty undressing that there was traffic, and he showered- 

“You could have showered here, you know,” you mutter, pawing at his dick and biting down on the juncture between his neck and shoulder. Yoongi always like a little pain.

“I’ll shower here after.” (After he fucked you at least twice, minimum. After he got to see you naked and temporarily his. After he was somewhat satisfied but much too sweaty for sleep.) 

And then it’s No Talking Time for a short while because he has your face occupied with inhaling scant oxygen against the mattress while his own head was buried between your asscheeks and legs, lapping and sucking at you like he had something to prove. Could this count as some form of asphyxiation? Probably. You don’t expect his mouth to make you feel close to losing control. The act had always unnerved you, but you found yourself uncaring of past discomforts and losing yourself into the feeling of soft, insistent lips. 

Yoongi eats you out with soft grunts, hands holding your thighs apart and firm. Don’t move, his hands say. His tongue up your cunt isn’t any sort of giving on Yoongi’s part; this was all selfish. He wants you to cum and feel starstruck and ruined, wants you to get it through your head that your flesh craved his flesh in the same animalistic way he needed you. 

You turn your head around just enough to be able to get out, “You can sto-” 

But he silences you with a warning slap on the ass. You are not to be deterred. 

“Stop with the tongue,” you order. 

“You’re insane,” he hisses, pulling away and shamelessly licking his lips. “You can’t ever just let me-” 

“Put it in now,” you demand. 

Yoongi lets out a terse sigh. “I should just leave right now,” he grumbles, getting up on his knees to rub his dick against you and nudges the head on your opening. “I shouldn’t be here.” He presses inside at “here” and wrenches a moan from your lips. 

“Then leave,” you sigh, pressing your ass back against him, relishing in the feeling of being filled again by Yoongi. “Just go home and jerk off instead. That’s what you’re good at, right? Leaving me?” 

“You’re a bitch for bringing that up during sex,” Yoongi says, fucking into you steadily and slowly, resisting the urge to pound into you like his baser instincts demanded. He was going to enjoy you for as long as he wanted. He knew you wanted it rough and bordering on violent, but he wasn’t going to add more ammo to your already large arsenal of Reasons To Hate Min Yoongi. 

Yoongi leans over completely, letting his torso lay flush against your back, unbothered by your sweat as it mixed with his own. You were going to feel every last inch of him inside and out. He pumps in and out slowly, sucking on your neck and breathing into your hair with audible moans of enjoyment. 

“I’m not leaving,” he groans, reaching over to rub your lower stomach gently, as if comforting you. The intimacy of this wasn’t lost on you, but you can’t find the words to tell him off. You missed his heat and the familiar weight. You are only human, after all. 

Yoongi threads his fingers through your unkempt hair, stroking gently before balling his fists into a pronounced grip. He turns your head to the side and kisses you, your neck straining from the awkward, uncomfortable position. But it reminds you of the beginning - of the before times when things were easier in the shadows of his success and unavailability. 

It’s impossible not to feel things when he fucks you this way, and kisses you, and moans soft nothings into your ear like you’re the only woman he’s ever done this with. You are atrocious at protecting your heart, and even after two years of icing him out, Yoongi barges into you like it’s nothing. 

“Don’t stop,” you moan, heart thumping against your chest. You really, really can’t stand to want him so much. 

“I won’t,” Yoongi reassures, kissing the corner of your eye. He doesn’t speed up, and instead chooses to test the limits of your patience with languorous but firm strokes. “Not until you tell me to.” 

There was nothing that compared to this - not heated fucks with attractive strangers, or money, or getting crossfaded by the Han River. When Yoongi did this to you, you almost felt like he loved you. 

--

Yoongi sleeps silently besides you in the sunlight, completely worn out after an emotionally exhausting round of sex that made him cry when he came inside you. He’s usually sensitive to the light, but he’s out cold and completely drained. You hadn’t expected that part - the crying. You thought it was just sweat until you heard rattling breaths and a hiccup. 

You watch him breathe silently from your place in his arms, unwilling to leave the small cocoon of warmth. You’re the opposite of him, and right now, you’re wired. You’ll probably end up crashing sometime later in the day, but for right now, you’re content to just watch him sleep in your bed, on your pillows, smelling like your body wash. 

You’re too old to be scared, and yet this moment fills you with dread; that once the spell of sex and yearning was broken, everything would tilt back to its regular axis, and you’d be all alone again. If you were younger, you might have up and left already. Leave him before he leaves you. And it’s not like you haven’t done that before. Your entire relationship with Yoongi is always filled with one person leaving behind the other one because nothing about the two of you ever lined up properly. 

But this time, you’re too tired to run away. So you close your eyes and pretend to sleep until it finally comes to claim you. 

#bxebxee comeback season #lol jk #drafts #yoongi scenarios #yoongi fanfic #yoongi smut #yes its vague #yes it can be about anyone #but i just have a lot of thoughts and feelings and maybe i'll have another part

[thefallenbibliophilequote]

Blank Space

Loki x Reader

1989, chapter 2

"There once was a girl known by everyone and no one"

Summary: It's hard to find the one, but even if you do find him it's always going to be a daily struggle to make it work. Can you even make it work after he broke your heart? The answer to that is complicated, but it all started when you found each other again in the stark tower- and that's where our story begins.

Word count: 4,864

Warnings: medium level angst I guess, and language as always.

A/N: writing this was challenging and I complained about this for like half of my mutuals lol. However, I did find the perfect song to mix with the title track obv and it was perfect to show their past. You will learn more about their past in future chapters.

A/N: thanks to @chrissquares for making me beautiful dividers especially for this series and @nacho-bucky for beta reading it all! A reminder to check out the song before reading/during!

No one is allowed to repost my writing or steal or copy my work! Reblog on tumblr is fine.

Series masterlist

song on Spotify and YouTube

 "You know him? Y/N, why didn't you tell us?" Steve scolded you as you sat in one of the rooms, in front of him, Natasha, Thor, and Tony. This felt more like an interrogation than a talk.

"Is this an interrogation?" you looked him dead in the eyes, you saw him falter.

"It doesn't have to be if you don't lie to us again."

"I never lied to you."

"You held back information." Natasha said then.

"Fine, yes I know him, I knew him." You sighed, remembering the night you met him, before everything went wrong.

You were walking through the park in the night, was it dangerous? Of course, but you needed to clear your head. That was when you saw him, sitting on a bench in the rain. He was different, you knew that the minute you noticed him- it wasn't even the weird attire he wore, but rather the feeling that came along with him, you didn't feel threatened and you have mace in your bag, so you approached him.

"You will get a cold if you keep sitting in the rain, don't you have an umbrella?" he looked at you and you got shivers from his blue eyes.

"No, I will be fine. Thank you my lady for your concern." God was his voice enchanting. Curiousity got the better of you then.

"You saw him on earth and you didn't say anything? He is not allowed to be here." Tony said, his fingers fidgeting with his cuffs.

"I knew him long before the invasion happened, it wasn't near the time when I became an avenger, or on shield's radar at all." You tried to explain yourself to them. You never lied to then, you never thought you'd see him again especially in the tower. "Look it is all in the past, there is no reason to talk about it."

"You were mad when you saw him, why was that?" Natasha glanced at you, you knew she would read you if you lied.

"Well, I knew him for a while. But he is the god of lies, I don't like being lied to. So that says it all." You shrugged it off.

"So you won't tell me where you're from?"

"I told you, I'm from England."

"No you're not, you're a pretty lousy liar you know?" you smirked at his taken aback look.

"I think you'd be surprised."

"Nope, I can already tell- you're a bad liar. Or you might be good, but I'm better." He gave you a curious look as the rain kept falling around you, the umbrella you were both sitting under protected you.

"He never mentioned you, or going to earth at all. When was this?" Thor asked you.

"Around 2009" it was so long ago, you now realized, but it still felt close to you.

"You should take my umbrella." You suggested to the man but he just laughed as you sat beside him. "What? You said that you need to go, and I live closer than you, I'll be just fine without it, the thunder doesn't scare me."

"I am not quite fond of it actually. But you should get home, it is getting late." He smiled at you and you got up.

"Let's make a trade then, you will take my umbrella" the two of you stood now. "And you will give me your name."

He eventually took the umbrella with a smile, his fingers were cold when they lightly brushed yours, and you went your separate ways.

"You have no reason not to trust me, I never saw him again after 2011!" you just wanted them to understand that it is all behind you.

"I never said I don't trust you, but kid why would you hide this from us?" Steve asked you, you were pretty close, he was kind of like a protective older brother to you- ironic since he is pretty reckless and Bucky is saner than him, but he cared about you.

"It isn't important Steve, he is a liar that isn't new to any of us. It's nothing personal or important anymore."

"Kid it seems pretty personal-" Tony started to say.

"Well it's not!"

"Okay fine, but just know that he will be here for a while until we figure out and deal with this hydra shit. Then after that Point Break over here will take him away." Tony was sincere now, you could see the worry in his eyes, you knew he was affected by the invasion the most. "So take my advice, and make sure that it really isn't personal."

You nodded to him.

"You are however more than welcome to throw him in a little nightmare, I'll pay you." He smiled and you chuckled.

"What are you saying Stark? My lady," oh you haven't heard that in a while. Fuck. "Do not give my brother nightmares, however you plan on doing that." He looked you up and down, and it was as if you could read him like an open book, you didn't have to use any of your powers because you already knew exactly what he thought in his head.

"I'll stay away from him. Just make sure he does the same."

You looked innocent, not harmful, the kind of girl you would offer help to with even the smallest stuff- a good girl. That's what they all saw before getting to know you, and maybe that was you before you got these dark powers, you knew you missed the old you but you could barely remember her.

•

 "Are you certain that's what they said?" Natasha asked you from the kitchen table as you made her pancakes.

"I know, it sounds weird but it's Asgardian, they have weird names. Plus I doubt they were lying, they were sleep deprived and I can assure you they have been through a lot of stuff before I started to actually talk to them. Ready?" you looked back at her and she nodded.

You threw the pancake back and by the small 'yay' Natasha let out, you didn't have to turn back to know she caught it with her plate.

"Well, I think I'll go and make them write it down because I am certain we are pronouncing it incorrectly."

"Well I tried! Their accent didn't help at all!" you defended yourself.

"You're still pronouncing it wrongly." You froze, turning around to look at Loki and Thor who walked towards the kitchen. "One would think it was made up by how horribly you ruined the word. How would you know they were truthful after all? What could you have possibly done?"

You held his gaze before deciding to not retort back, you ignored that curious familiar look. He has some nerve to talk. You sat in front of Natasha with your own batch of pancakes, the room was quiet before Thor chimed in to break the tension.

"Are those the cakes from the pan? Oh they are tasty! Would you mind making me and my brother some, Lady Y/N?" Thor was actually nice, how could you say no?

"Of course!" you got up with a smile. "Oh, but I'm afraid there isn't enough batter for the two of you I'm afraid."

You let a small frown take over your face, and you saw Natasha's small smile when you turned to make Thor some pancakes.

"You are a bad liar." Loki pointed out and you didn't have to think.

"I fooled you." Soon enough you turned around to give Thor his pancakes with a smile, pouring the rest of the batter in the sink before sitting down to eat. "Oh and Thor, this is the second warning about what we discussed yesterday, I won't hesitate."

"Very well, however you never did tell me what-"

"It's not important." Thor glared at his brother.

"Brother please be more civil, it's for your benefit." You felt Loki's gaze on you as you ate.

"Do tell me brother, how is it for my benefit?" Loki chuckled.

"Well, you have wronged a lot of people here, and so lady Y/N agreed to not harm you if you stay away. We are here to help my friends!" Thor's booming voice alongside his hopeful smile contrasted his brother's.

You should have known he would test it.

"Oh, and how can she harm me now?" the minute Loki uttered these words you glanced at him for a moment, and the next thing he knew, his heart beat loudly as he fell down from the portal in New York, terrified when he saw the Chitauri around him, one monster opened its mouth and Loki was a moment from dying in its clutches when he heard Thor's voice.

"Enough!" Thor said sternly and Loki was back in the kitchen, disoriented as he took in his surroundings. You only nodded at Thor before you kept eating. Loki disappeared a moment later with a green shimmer.

"I don't like using my powers Thor, but if you care for your brother keep him civil." You said, sorry that Thor had to get offended by it too.

"I understand, but he is here to help right now, mere comments are the least harmful things he could do, there is no need to take it to heart." He put a hand on your shoulder and it was warm enough to get you to agree with him. Stopping hydra should be your top priority.

•

 "I hate it when he does that." Tony groaned at the marking on the ground just outside of the compound.

Thor and Loki were now back at the palace gates, they heard a call, and Loki turned to see Iyllir walking up to him. She smiled at him and he smiled back, grateful for the lack of observant eyes to tell his fake smiles apart from the real ones.

"Prince Loki, what took you so long? You missed our picnic." The lady put her arm through his and he heard his brother snicker.

"How unfortunate. My brother and I still have very urgent business to tend to. I must go to a court meeting now." Loki gently tugged his hand out of hers.

"I thought you said this won't take long?" she frowned at him. She certainly was beautiful, with red hair and grey eyes, always majestic like a lady, and yet he couldn't follow both of their families' wishes.

"Well I am afraid things have changed, I won't stay here for long this visit." With that he went and followed his brother towards the big doors that opened for them and he saw Odin there alongside trusted advisers and of course- the warriors three. And then the meeting began.

Loki sat in his chair, bored as they talked about the mortals.

"Father, I can assure you that as of now there is no need in sending Asgardian forces there. My friends are handling it well now." Thor explained to his father and Loki couldn't help but get distracted.

"Let me help you, Y/N" he asked you, chuckling and biting his lip when you glared at him.

"I can handle it Loki!" you said as you tried to handle the pile of books in your hands so you could get the key for your apartment. He was thankful that you couldn't see his face now as he watched you struggle to balance the books on your thigh.

You let out a small shriek as the books fell out and were about to hit the floor when they just stopped midair, and you looked at Loki only to see him leaning on the wall, arms crossed with a smug smile on his face.

"I bet you liked my help now." You groaned.

"Yes thank you and your stupid magic Loki." You leaned down to pick up the books and stack them again after opening your door.

"If I remember correctly you were, oh what's the word- petrified when you first saw my magic"

"That is a big exaggeration! I was just a bit… startled maybe." You walked into the apartment and he closed the door behind you when you suddenly stopped, turning to him with an annoyed shocked expression, your mouth agape and your eyes wide and not amused. "You knocked my books down!"

You were met with a mischievous grin.

"You hurt my feelings darling, do you have any proof?" you huffed out a breath.

"You are insufferable!"

"You seem to manage so far."

"From what I gathered so far, the group called Hydra there seemed to have a hold of some old weapons of ours, nothing too big yet but we are looking into it to find out if there is more stuff we don't know about."

"And do you really think the mortals can handle this?" Odin asked the brothers.

"Yes father, they are very powerful." Loki couldn't help but agree with Thor, they really did manage to surprise him this time. He never expected her.

•

 "What is this A children's playground? Stop pulling your punches and fight me." You grunted as you tried hitting Bucky again, you've been too distracted lately, your training didn't go too well and you ended up on the mat more often than not. At this point you considered just using your powers to make it seem like you're winning but now you were fighting Bucky, and from the day you met him you swore to yourself that you will never use your powers on him. He doesn't need anyone messing with his mind again.

So long story short you were getting your ass handed to you.

"I'm not a supersoldier may I remind you, so I'm sorry if I am a little tired! Bucky come on let's take a break." You ducked another punch.

"Maybe your mind just isn't with us right now." Natasha helpfully provided as she sat on the side with a smoothie.

"Fuck off."

"No, really, what is your deal with Loki?" at his mention you delivered a kick to Bucky that made him fall on the mattress with a thud.

"Nothing. Is this good enough for you now Bucky?" you reached out a hand to help him up.

"Now that we got you riled up about him, yes- let's go again." He laughed at the glare you gave him. Your jaw clenched as the two of you got into position.

"Bring it on, Barnes." He went in with his left arm now.

"I will, how did you know him? It certainly looks pretty personal and in-" you turned him around and pinned him to the ground.

"Shut up, just fight me." You heard Natasha laugh beside you and in that moment Bucky took advantage and got you on the ground instead. And you went back.

"What the fuck!" you screamed when you saw the figure in your room, Loki stood there, his face scrunched up.

"Sorry, my love."

"We talked about this Loki, you can't just teleport here- especially when I am sleeping!" you sighed when you saw his regretful face. "Don't stand there like a creep, come here I missed you."

He smiled and you closed your eyes, you still saw the green light that lit up the room when he changed his clothes and got under the covers with you. His hand was cold, making your skin prickle but it was worth it when he pulled you to him and the warmth spread between the two of you.

You fell asleep content with a smile on your face at the kisses he laid on your neck.

"Y/N?"

"What?" you looked up at Bucky who sat back on his heels, his brow was raised.

"You kind of spaced out, you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm- I'm fine. I probably should go though." you got up. "Bruce probably needs help in the lab."

•

 "You did not tell father about lady Y/N." Thor stated the obvious.

"Don't call her that. Why would I do that? She is of no import." Loki walked towards his chambers, but alas Thor decided to escort him there with preying questions.

"How did none of us know that you spent time in Midgard?" Thor stopped Loki with a hand on his shoulder.

"That was a long time ago brother."

"And yet it seems that you have quite a history, what happened between the two of you? Were the two of you…?" Thor trailed off and Loki groaned.

"Don't insinuate that, there wasn’t anything. We knew each other for a while and then we didn't. Now, if you will excuse me, I'll go to my room. Alone."

Loki shut the door behind him, in his mind he still saw you and your eyes and then the flashes of the battle of New York. The day was tiring; he decided to get some much needed rest, to get you out of his mind.

The day was exhausting; he had to stay back in Asgard. He couldn't put up illusions all the time, it was taking a toll on him, but it was worth it in his eyes.

The palace was now quiet as everybody went to sleep. Loki wanted to rest too, so he snuck out towards the bifrost. Heimdall had already seen him coming, and was ready to open the way.

"Are you going to keep going to her every night, my prince?" Heimdall asked him and Loki let out a smile.

"Yes. Thank you, truly for keeping this a secret for so long." Heimdall only nodded at him.

"If you are going to keep sneaking out to see her, someone will end up seeing you sometime." Heimdall stepped down and came to Loki. "I think I should show you another way to pass through the realms, I think you are mad enough in love for it to work for you."

When Heimdall showed him the way, he thanked him sincerely, it looked impossible at first but soon enough he was there in your room. You already fell asleep. He watched your figure as you rested, your state of calmness washed over him, and then you suddenly screamed at him, maybe he should have tried to wake you sooner, it didn't exactly matter to him much when just a few moments later he was curled up in the warmest bed he'd ever known.

•

 "So you see, this part here it seems to be controlled by the holder of the gun, that must be the Asgardian tech combined with our own." Bruce told you as you gently examined the weapon.

"Damn, how long do you think they had that then? Like, just the time that it took them to develop it…" you thought. There were probably much worse things out there at their hands.

"I'd say at least a couple of months. It's a shame about those scientists." He hesitated to say that and you knew why.

"I didn't know they had that, no one checked their teeth. I was doing my job. It's okay, you can talk about it." You shrugged it off. With a power like yours, you have to get used to using it, you must fit yourself to it… because it certainly won't happen the other way around. But you were fine. You were different now.

Right?

"Well, next time we will check their teeth, to make sure this won't repeat itself. But at least we got some information before that's good right?" you nodded to Bruce and took out the bullets from one of the guns. There was something red, or was it orange, inside it. You examined it closer, moving towards the microscope to try to see for yourself before you ask Bruce about it.

Curiousity killed the cat.

Before you could reach the table, there was a warm sensation in your hand where you held it and then all you knew was that your hand hurt and you hit the floor, the bullet exploding with whatever was in it. Maybe you should've worn gloves.

Oh well, satisfaction resurrected it.

"Bruce, did you see that?"

"Yes Y/N, are you okay?"

"My head hurts but I'm fine, did you know those bullets do that?" you got up a little too fast for Bruce and your head's liking, but you went to the table nevertheless.

"No, they were fine before, you shouldn't have touched them," he fussed around.

"But I saw something-"

"You need to ice your head, tell me or Cho if you feel anything weird. This isn't something we know about Y/N." he handed you an ice pack for your head and told you to sit down, to which you grumbled but obeyed.

"Ah, Y/N, F.R.I.D.A.Y has been telling me that you've been trying to blow up the lab." Tony laughed at you as he entered.

"No, I would never try to steal your job." You shot back and he winked.

"Okay Elsa, I thought you'd like to know that we managed to make sense of some of the files we found in the warehouse and it looks like they have been making trades and dividing what they found."

"What do you mean?" Bruce asked him.

"That place we found was only dedicated to create a couple of things, but they have more out there, dedicated to building who knows what." Tony groaned, "We will need to divide and conquer this, we can't waste time and there is no way I am letting those Asgardian warriors come here. Don't blow things up kiddo!" you nodded to him, things were getting worse by the minute. You pressed your hand holding the ice pack harder against the back of your head. You were not looking forward to tomorrow, so you kept Bruce company until you were too tired to push it any longer. You went to bed and magically managed to convince Bruce to go to sleep.

•

 You woke up groaning, you apparently forgot to close the blinds the night before. Going back to sleep will only cause you to oversleep, which will cause Steve to activate the stupid alarm protocol Tony built for him after you annoyed him.

You did not want to wake up to old Captain America songs blasting your ears off.

So you got up and after a short breakfast you reluctantly got on with your duties and important paperwork.

"Miss Y/L/N, you called me? I'm Mike, you asked for an analysis check on some data?" you turned to him then from looking at the board in the small conference room.

"Yes! Hi Mike, thank you. We have some encryptions that probably lead to very specific locations, check radars of isolated places or you know what- scratch that, they could be under our nose in the middle of a city." You looked at him apologetically. "Sorry, I can't narrow it down but we do need those answers as soon as possible. Okay?"

The poor guy looked horrified, his brown eyes were wide and you let out a small sorry when you handed him the big file.

"Yeah, of course Y/N, I will get right to it." With that you were alone in the room once again, going over the information you managed to get from the now dead scientists. This is going to be a long day. You saw it coming and that didn't help at all.

•

"Oh fuck." You cursed when the cold water from the sink touched your palm, it wasn't badly burned but it still hurt you.

You closed the door to your bathroom and turned around to see him standing in your room. Your eyes locked with blue ones, they certainly were familiar even after all this time, but while you could see the hesitation and the other swirling emotions in his eyes you couldn't tell anymore if you could trust what you thought you knew.

"When?" you felt your blood boil, but you knew you couldn't avoid him forever.

"Sometime after-" you hesitated with your words, walking towards your cabinet to put away the first aid kit you had. "After." You settled with that.

"What are you doing here Y/N?" Loki heard his own heartbeats, seeing you here… After all this time and he never forgot you. How could he?

"I'm an avenger now Loki," his name felt bitter on your tongue and you had to swallow to continue. "A lot has changed you know, you don't need to ask all these questions. There is no point to them."

"Oh but there is," at his angry tone you turned around. It was years of bottling the fight that you never had, he never let you have it. "You never wanted this life Y/N! What are you doing fighting out there with heroes or whatever they like to call themselves?"

"They are heroes, they help people. You however seemed to do the opposite from what I remember seeing on the TV." You laughed and shook your head. "I was still there you know, I was right in that same apartment where you left me. And there I saw you on the TV and I didn't even recognize it was you."

"Did you get hurt?" the question startled you.

"No, but it doesn't matter Loki! I am fighting alongside heroes now, I changed since the last time I saw you, this is my place now!"

"Oh darling you can pretend all you want in front of them, but I still know you." He matched your stare now. "This is not your life."

"Well yes it is!" you shook your head when he got closer now, every emotion you never got to express came back to the surface. "Why are you here? Huh? You're the one who left in the first place!"

"I've come here to help-" you stomped up to him.

"You know damn well that is not what I asked." You hated how your voice wavered.

"I did come here to help with the weapons," he continued before you could try to intervene. "And I didn't expect to see you again. But you're here now, and so am I."

"Damnit Loki, we have been through so much together, we weren't dating for only a month or two. A year. We were dating for more than a year and that is a lot." The tears were brimming now when you remembered your theory, that one little theory that ate your heart out, this one theory you found only a few days after. "Or at least here it is. Maybe in Asgard with all the almost-immortal gods a year is insignificant to you- that sure explains it all."

"No, it's not!" he dismissed it immediately and you felt your defenses shattering when he walked towards you. "I know there's pain inside of you, which was caused by me. But I am here now and I can't deny that I can still feel what I felt all those years ago. Just hear me out, we can call it even, just for a little while."

The last time you played this game it left you with a nasty scar. The more that he said, the less you knew what to think anymore.

So you didn't.

You hated the calmness that took over you the moment his lips touched yours, tongue sliding over the other, it left you breathless. You knew it was still love for you, but it was torture, you knew the high will not be worth the pain but he felt too good, too familiar that it made you question that. You didn't know how long has passed, all you knew was Loki, you still fit perfectly with his body which was pressed against you. Time flew by and you didn't know how you got here.

One moment his lips were on yours, the next you were pressed into the mattress, his figure pressing on yours. Maybe this could be good for the weekend… the next moment your legs somehow were wrapped around him and pulled him more into you. His lips trailed down to your throat, making breathy moans come out of your mouth. Your eyes opened and were focused on one spot on the ceiling, when you managed to break out of this delusional pleasure time flew by.

"No Loki, stop." You pushed him off of you. You sat up, curling your legs.

"What? Darling-" he tried reaching out for your thigh but you shook your head.

"You should go, Loki." You didn't look at him. Your hand covered your mouth as you sank into thought.

"Go? Why would I go? I know you feel exactly like I do." You couldn't deny it. You both knew that.

"You left me before Loki, what is the problem with leaving me now?" While you couldn't see him now, you had to get him out of here, so you could think clearly. This was too reckless. "It doesn't matter, this was just a relapse."

He left you there, and once the door shut you broke down, hating yourself for drowning into him again. You knew you were the one breaking your own heart when he took his warmth from the now cold bed. But it is better that you'll break it before he ever gets the chance to do it again.

Tags: @ayybtch  @buckys-other-punk  @chaoticpete   @madcrazy50   @mishkatelwarriorgoddess

#blank space #my writing #1989 #loki x reader #loki laufeyson #loki odinson x reader #angst #loki fanfic #loki fanfiction #loki angst #loki fluff #loki odinson #loki

[hatboyproject]

Synth Anthropomorphisation

I've been generating audio all day for this romance scene script & Jeff's synth is behaving unusually well for his lines, so far. Suspiciously well. Sometimes, I swear it's as if he has a mind of his own & today, he just decided to cooperate with me for some reason.

Sometimes, I have to fight with him to get a decent read out of a line. At his worst, I have to sit there for upwards of an hour, tweaking the same three or four seconds' worth of speech, trying to coax him to read it with the inflection that I need. Sometimes I have to adjust the script's wording to make him "like it" better, or splice together multiple takes to get a word said in the way I like. Occasionally, I have to do even further pitch correction post-generation, and even after all that, I can still end up with a line read that I know isn't working all that well. It can sometimes be a really, really, really mentally draining task. I swear he's more temperamental on some days than others. On different days, I've generated the same line and got a slightly different read.

But today, he seems to like me, a little bit. I'm most of the way through the script now, and I've had to do relatively few corrections on most of them. In fact, he's come out with a few pretty acceptable reads with no corrections at all, and I've just tweaked them as if giving a director's suggestion rather than pushing an instrument around.

I'm aware that I sound like a raving lunatic at the moment and if the weather's decent tomorrow, I swear I'll go outside and touch some grass, but it's hard sometimes not to feel like the goddamned machine hasn't only learned how to enunciate speech like this actor, but has also learned me.

Of course, the logical explanation is that I'm just better at using it and predicting what words he has trouble with, but sometimes, I swear.

Now, FemShep, on the other hand... She's a tricky beast. She likes to get one half of a two sentence line absolutely perfect and crystalline, complete with little breathy flairs and smooth tonal transitions, and then mumble the other half like some kind of stumbling drunk. For almost every FemShep line with more than one sentence, no matter how short, I have to split the lines into multiple takes. The problem is that to keep tone and pitch natural, it's best to include as much of the whole phrase as possible so that it flows. But no, not on Shepard's watch. She loves nothing more than to make me chop everything she says up and stick it together. I swear.

Synth Personalities, as I Understand Them:

Jeff is ornery, but is essentially committed, and if you catch him at the right time, almost affectionate in his willingness to cooperate. Despite sounding dry by default most of the time, it's easy to direct him towards sounding surprisingly tender. Needs larger words spelled phonetically. He is a pilot who can't say the word "fly" without creative assistance and refuses to say his own surname under any circumstances whatsoever. Extremely responsive to punctuation and will alter his reads accordingly.

Shepard is a highly skilled loose cannon that does whatever the hell she wants on her own terms, and occasionally it's miraculous, but it's also always confusing. Can't pronounce "evacuate," no matter how you break it down phonetically. She likes it when you draw out her R, S and H sounds, particularly at the ends of words so she can do this breathy thing. I don't know, but it works. Doesn't give a damn about punctuation unless it's commas or full stops, and even then, only if she feels like it.

EDI does pretty much anything you ask of her, flawlessly, the first time. Any corrections are minimal, and she can handle multiple sentences without sounding awkward. She can handle complicated words like "xenopsychology" with minimal assistance. Always pronounces "Shepard" with good inflection wherever it is in the sentence. Naturally produces deadpan lines with perfect comedic timing. What the fuck.

Garrus is a rambling speaker and is very accepting of unusual words, such as people's names. He takes direction well for the most part, and is excellent when it comes to split clauses. His tone is easy to moderate, but has trouble not joining separate sentences together too quickly. Always needs the "y" in "you" to be lengthened. Easily sounds affectionate or dictatorial. Can even be made to sound as though he is smiling when speaking. Often needs vowels shortening on the ends of words or he will draw them out unreasonably until they disintegrate into nonsense.

Kaidan has perfect tonal variation and terrible artefacting. He sounds like he's reading you the most beautiful, heartfelt thing you're ever gonna hear... From five thousand light-years away on a bad transceiver. He does his best, and his best is surprisingly good at core, but he is tragically limited in overall clarity by quality problems. It's a snap to make him sound caring and romantic, but again... Get a better phone. Usually says "Shepard" too enthusiastically and has to have the letters pitch-altered to fit the rest of the sentence.

Thane sounds confused a lot. Often sounds like he isn't sure about what he's saying, his tone on un-adjusted sentences is usually slightly absent sounding in a way that's difficult to describe. Surprisingly versatile where it comes to trying to copy the weird "Baby Siha" meme. If you don't know what that is, go ahead and look it up, but only if there's a shower nearby, because hearing it will make you feel slimy and uncomfortable in ways you didn't think was possible. Chuckles pretty convincingly.

Male Shepard wants to know what's going on, but first, he will try to explain what's going on as best he understands it being under the effects of god knows what. He often sounds declarative, but in that drunken frat boy kind of way that makes you want to back away slowly and not make eye contact. If he feels like saying your line, though, he'll do it with an impressive capability for mimicking Meer's sometimes unusual style of delivery.

Can't wait to test Jack and Miranda. I bet Jack can swear with incredibly life-like inflection.

#hatboyproject #shoker mod #jeff joker moreau #mass effect #xVASynth #mass effect modding

[artificial-ascension]

Beyond Birthday HCs Concerning Murder

(This contains... violence...)

B was a really calm and shy kid who couldn't hurt a fly when he was little

Everyone thought A would be the serial killer but well... we know that didn't happen

B changed suddenly when he was a teen

He got more aggressive and assertive even though he didn't want to be

He just had weird impulses

Eventually his tendencies grew so much that he killed a man after they got in an argument on the street

A helped him bury the body and comforted him afterwards

B got really good at controlling his impulses and regulating his behavior thanks to A

But after A was gone, B left to LA and killed another person

B managed to fall in with a group of killers operating a bar and working together to not get got while continuing their killing

Due to their protection B felt much more stable and allowed himself to fulfill his violent impulses more often

B developed a lot more violent tendencies and impulses but decided that he would indulge in everything except rape, child and animal abuse

Everything else was fair game for him to realise his urges

B's favorite method of killing was visection (dissection of a still living organism) He'd immobilize his victims either with drugs or by targeting pressure points

He never resorted to hurting them before he cut them up

He'd strap his victims to an operating table, either in abandoned hospitals, warehouses or in the basement of the bar

Then knock them out or pump them full of pain meds though he'd sometimes gag them and keep them fully conscious

Afterwards he'd cut them up and do all sorts of fucked up experiments with them

B had extensive medical knowledge and training from Wammys House after training to incorporate forensic pathology in his skill set

He also used his detective knowledge to evade investigations and lead the cops on

Oh and he'd made sure start his own serial killer investigation to get L's attention before he came up with the LABB murder case

He tried to emulate the Zodiac Killer mixed with Jack The Ripper with his own little twist

He always left a typed out medical description of the experiment he conducted, how he conducted it, his results and a comprehensive file on his 'subject'

He also left his own logo saying not to show it to the public as to prevent copycat killers and signed his files with 'Dr. Crimson' giving himself the name 'The Crimson Killer' or 'The Crimson Surgeon'

There was a lot of debate about what to call him because 'The Crimson Surgeon' described him pretty well but 'The Crimson Killer' was alliterative amd B only killed people with alliterative names

B had specifically targetted people whose names were alliterative spelled and pronounced (someone named Chandler Collins would be fine because their name wasn't pronounced CC and) and he also avoided As, Bs and any other letter associated with high ranked Wammys Kids EXCEPT for Ls

He killed a lot of Ls

He also lefg no clues, at all

No fingers prints, no hair, nothing

He kept his work space incredibly clean to keep his doctor aesthetic

No one saw him except for one single time and he was described as "a dark haired individual standing at around 5'10 (all though estimated to be taller as the individual was hunched over) with all dark clothing and red, glowing eyes"

The main suspect was another serial killer (all though his case was still unsolved and je was just a suspect) in the area because he was 5'10, wore all black, had black hair and was known to dye his bangs bright orange but he was later freed of suspicion when a body turned up at a time when he was known to be attending class

B had tried to make his case insanely hard on purpose to try and lure out L but that never happened

B had made sure that he'd kept his major experiments a secret and only tested similar ideas on his public victims as to throw the police off as to what he was actually planning

After L never showed interest in the case B came up with a new way to get L's attention: The Los Angels BB Murder Case

B did some final experiments and then left a letter at his final crime scene saying he had finished all his work and that he would no longer be killing, said that he had a fun time playing with the cops and told them he'd see them in Mu

B specified Mu because 1. He wanted to be cryptic and 2. His parents were in a shinigami cult and he was always told that people went to Mu when they died, thought nothing of it and wrote it down

In total, the Crimson Killings claimed 29 victims and B's more personal work claimed 13 victims, adding in his one kill in England, his kill when he first came to LA and the Los Angels BB Murder Cases, he killed 47 people

After B ended his case amd was never caught until he was interviewed in prison where he was asked about the Crimson Killings and the entire interaction, word for word was:

Detective: "Do you know anything about the Crimson Killings, the public sees a slight link between your methods and the Crimson Surgeon?"

B: "[detective name], would you think that asking a cold blooded murderer such as myself on information about a case is considered loosing? I have some knowledge yes, but, I, personally, am here to win and if we can all agree that asking for the answer from a person such as myself is an act of giving up on your part then I'd gladly surrender information.

Detective: "I'd suppose it would be a form of giving up. The case needs to.be solved none the less, I don't care I'm admitting defeat by asking you."

B: "Wonderful! You're such a good sport, an honorable good sir you are. I'll tell you then, that I was responsible for the Crimson Killings. All 29 of them. I needed them to experiment, you see, I had far too many questions about the human body and needed to answer them all. I also killed 13 other victims for my experiments, but you'll never find those bodies. I also killed two more people before I became a serial killer, but I can't remember them or what I did with them."

B got to work for L but olny after he learned that L didn't take up The Crimson Case because he thought it was too hard, but L never admitted it to B, and it was actually Watari who told B about L's fear of the case

B was ecstatic over the fact that he'd actually beat L and worked for him as a forensic pathologist when ever L wanted

B also gave L some companionship and hing out with him after he'd recovered, mentally and physically

When B died, he'd actually been completely reformed but still living in prison because he liked it there

#dn #death note #beyond birthday #death note hcs

[chenziee]

Swipe left, please

[Read on my AO3 (link in blog description) or by copypasting link below, or under the cut]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26932909

Fandom: Shingeki no Kyojin Ship: Jean/Armin Rating: General audiences Words: 2643 Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Airports, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Minor Levi/Eren Yeager, jean is smitten, Because of course he is, Tinder, but not really, jean is a very responsible working adult, armin is a very responsible PhD student, you can interpret those words however you want, hanji is not a responsible lab boss, don't be like hanji in a lab

Summary: Getting stuck at the airport for hours because of the weather was the last thing Jean wanted today, but it was what he got and honestly, if it meant he could chat with this cute guy who swept a hard 'no' on Jean's Tinder for longer, he wouldn't say no to a few more hours.

Based on a twitter post which I don’t know how to dig up.

----------

This is a birthday gift for the sweetest, most precious @roxi4 <3 I’ve said this a lot of times but I love you so much and I wish I could personally beat 2021 into submission so that it’s the best goddamn year of your life for you. But, sadly, I’m not a god yet so I gotta settle for writing fics for now. 

Also yes, I am posting here like two weeks late because I’m lazy I’m sorry.

----------

Jean glared at the departure board, wishing he could set it on fire just like that. He understood things like this happened; he could see the heavy rain and wind outside—and people called this spring? Jean demanded a refund—so really, it could have been much worse, but a three hour delay for his three hours and thirty-five goddamned minutes flight was absolutely ridiculous and only slightly rage inducing.

He sighed in frustration and, grabbing his suitcase, he turned away to head to the closest coffee shop. He needed a damn coffee. Preferably spiked or with 8 shots of espresso, he’d decide in the line.

This was seriously so stupid. He had spent an entire week on this business trip and he was tired and the only thing he wanted was getting home to his cat and passing the hell out. At least the Melbourne airport was decent enough and he could safely be bored out of his mind with as much coffee as he needed without worrying he’d catch tetanus like he was at a certain American airport a few years ago. He would take his comfort where he could at this point.

Finally, he managed to order his coffee with only two extra espresso shots—he didn’t want to seem like that much of a psycho but the barista didn't even blink at his order and Jean had to wonder what weird shit the people at a busy airport had to deal with—and headed to the corner of the departure hall that seemed the quietest. There were only a few people loitering around there, all looking just as exhausted as Jean felt. Seemed like Jean would fit right in with their collective coma.

Making his way to one of the empty seats, Jean had to weave his way through the maze of suitcases until one of them caught his attention. Or, more specifically, the book laying carefully bookmarked and discarded on it. Who in their right mind read what looked like an entire fucking encyclopaedia full of words Jean probably couldn't even pronounce while waiting on their plane? No wonder the owner put it aside eventually.

Jean inadvertently looked up at the person sitting next to the suitcase and he did a double take. He had expected some old fart, the type that just screamed of a dreadfully boring college professor who preferred his test tubes or calculations to his students—or people in general, really—not this… tiny, adorable, small animal type of guy who, from his profile, looked around Jean’s age or even younger.

He took in the young man’s small frame, the short, blond hair, and the way he sat cross legged on the hard, uncomfortable airport chair and Jean couldn’t get over how cute the sight was. He was really glad the other man was so engrossed in his phone because even Jean could tell he was staring      .  

And then something else caught Jean’s eye.

Was that Tinder on his phone? Was that… Jean’s ancient Tinder he was looking at?

Jean felt heat coming up to his face. He hadn’t used the stupid app in years, probably since like... his second year of college. He didn’t even know why he didn’t delete his profile but now he was glad he didn’t because it would be really nice to know if he should even bother trying to strike up conversation here.

With bated breath, Jean waited for the verdict. He watched as if in slow motion as the blond’s thumb moved to touch the screen and swiped—

Left.

Of course it was left.

Unable to stop himself, an awkward laugh forced its way past his lips and he heard himself say, “Hard no for him?”

Even the way he jumped at Jean’s words was cute. And when wide, impossibly blue eyes met his own, Jean felt his stomach drop. Damn, this left swipe really hurt. Jean really had a talent for getting his heart broken before he even had the chance to try. First Mikasa, now this. Did someone up there have something against him?

A few silent, painfully awkward seconds of the two of them just staring at each other passed, until the blond opened his mouth to speak, “If it makes you feel any better, your profile pic really doesn’t do you any favours.”

Jean groaned. Of course. He knew he shouldn’t have let Eren choose his picture, the absolute asshole. He couldn’t believe he still called this guy a friend. Getting roomed with him at the dorm in college was seriously the worst thing to happen in his life.  

“Thanks, I guess,” Jean said lamely, sheepishly scratching at the back of his head. Could this get any more awkward?

The other guy laughed then, and it was the sweetest laugh Jean had ever heard. “You’re welcome,” he said, smirning at Jean as he held out his hand. “I’m Armin. Jean, right?”

Jean shook Armin’s hand, almost asking where he had learned his name but managing to stop himself at the last second. They literally just talked about Jean’s embarrassing Tinder profile for God’s sake.

“Nice to meet you,” he said instead, hoping that was a better way to go about it than making a bigger idiot out of himself.

Thankfully, it seemed like it was, as Armin gestured to the empty seat next to him and Jean gratefully took it, making himself as comfortable as he could in the stupid airport chair. Seriously, why were airport chairs always so uncomfortable? People were sitting on these for hours at a time every day, one would think someone would make sure their asses were not hurting. Although, now that he thought about it, cushioned chairs probably wouldn’t last very long—or stay reasonably sanitary, for that matter. It was probably a good thing his ass hurt already.

Jean took his first, long-overdue sip of his coffee before he gestured towards Armin’s suitcase. “Interesting book you’ve got there. Wanted a bit of light reading?”

Armin paused, looking at Jean as if he was trying to figure him out. “Please tell me that was an intentional Harry Potter reference,” he said after a moment. Oh, Jean was so happy he had caught that.

“Maybe,” he only replied, hiding his smirk behind his coffee cup.

Huffing in amusement, Armin glanced at his terrifying looking book instead. “Just trying to do some research for my final thesis. But I have to admit some people really can’t write in an interesting way even when talking about interesting topics.”

“Hear, hear,” Jean muttered. “Some people really shouldn’t be allowed to publish books, especially if they then make people study from those.” He still remembered the pain from school. He particularly enjoyed the teachers who required the students read their own God-awful books. It was always a guarantee for the most boring read of the year.

“I know!” Armin cried, gesturing around in frustration and Jean couldn’t help but smile at the sight. “I can’t wait to finish my Ph.D. so I that can not read the things I don’t want to.”

Jean chuckled at his enthusiasm. He really had to love his field of study to get this passionate about shitty books. “What are you studying?” he asked curiously.

“Marine biology,” Armin beamed, making Jean gulp.

Ocean. Fish. Corals. That was about as much as his humble business management brain knew about marine biology. Couldn’t really impress with that, could he? “And you’re doing a PhD. in that?”

Armin nodded. “Yeah. Actually, I’m just coming back home from giving a guest lecture at the university."

"Melbourne university?" Jean asked, raising a brow. He kind of hoped he was wrong and he wasn't just casually chatting with some up and coming scientist celebrity.

"Yeah," Arming confirmed and blushed slightly.

"Damn, that's impressive," Jean admitted, though now he was positive that if Armin started talking science to him, he wouldn't understand a word.

Armin's eyes dropped as he looked away, obviously embarrassed by the praise, then he shrugged and quietly replied, "Not really. This stuff is really easy when you have good teachers."

Jean shook his head. "Nah, if you don't have it in you, it doesn't matter how good a teacher is. You can kiss any degree goodbye then, never mind giving lectures."

He heard Armin huff in amusement and goddamn it, it gave him butterflies. He was so fucked.

"Thank you," the blond said, smiling at Jean brightly before he continued. "How about you? Where to?"

Jean sighed wearily, sagging in his seat as he remembered his exhaustion. "Also home. On my way back from an absolutely stupid business trip."

"Why stupid?" Armin asked as he turned around in his seat to face Jean properly.

Jean mirrored him immediately, hooking one arm behind the backrest as he leaned on the chair sideways. He really enjoyed talking to this random, sweet stranger and he was really glad it seemed to be mutual. He was going to hate saying goodbye.

Suddenly, he wouldn't have minded if his flight got delayed a few more hours.

"Just, you know, people," Jean muttered in distaste. "One would think only customers can be complete idiots. Turns out coworkers can sometimes be even worse."

Armin laughed at his words, nodding along enthusiastically. "God I know. Sometimes I want to kill the doctor leading my lab. Hanji’s a genius but there is so much energy and she can be so stupid. She almost blows up or floods the lab at least once a week."

"I'm sorry, that must be so hard to deal with—" Jean cringed in sympathy at the mere idea of it— "Reminds me of my team. I love them but once in a while, I just want to fire them all when they start organizing paper boat races in the bathroom. Paper boats made from paperwork they don't want to do, by the way."

"Ouch." Armin sounded solemn but Jean could hear the hidden laughter and he just knew he found Sasha and Connie's stupid ideas hilarious. Which… Jean could admit they were, just not when he was the one who then had to explain the mess and unfinished work to his boss.

“Stop laughing,” Jean hissed, though with no real venom in his voice.

“I’m not!” Armin defended himself, but then burst out laughing when Jean glared at him so he quickly corrected himself, “Okay, yeah, I am. Sorry.”

He didn’t sound sorry at all and Jean sighed. “Everyone always finds my suffering funny.”

Armin let him grumble to himself for a bit, the two of them sitting in relative silence for a moment and… it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was actually relaxing and Jean really didn’t want this to end. “So hey—” He paused, glancing at Armin carefully, almost afraid to ask— “when is your flight?”

“Hopefully, in like two and a half hours. Got delayed almost as long as the flight itself.”

Jean almost said it was the same for him but he stopped. Could it be…? “You’re not flying to Auckland, are you?”

Armin visibly startled, blinking at Jean with eyes full of surprise. “Yes, actually,” he said slowly and Jean couldn’t believe it. He had thought he would never see this this cute, fun person ever again but—

“Me, too,” he said quietly and the two of them continued staring at each other in shock for a few moments more until they both burst out laughing.

Incredible. They were both flying to the same place and they would be within reach of each other and maybe there was a point in actually pursuing this. “So, uhm, wanna grab a coffee?” Jean asked awkwardly, pointing in the general direction of the food court.

And only when Armin looked pointedly at his pointing hand, did Jean realize he was still holding his over-caffeinated coffee cup. He really hoped his face wasn’t as on fire as it felt.

Armin only chuckled, thankfully not commenting on Jean’s blunder, and rather suggesting, “How about some actual food instead?”

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

By the time they got off the plane in Auckland, Jean was on cloud nine as he gently squeezed Armin’s hand in his. Jean was still not sure this was real; they had spent the entire time at the airport and during their flight chatting—not that they had miraculously had seats next to each other like in the movies, but Jean did bribe an older lady with wine to switch seats with him—and it was the best damn flight delay he could have asked for.

It felt so natural and easy being with Armin, he couldn’t wait to get to know him more during their date tomorrow, and hopefully many more after. Because Jean would be lying if he said he wasn’t completely gone for this charming, adorable genius already.

As they walked through the exit into the arrival hall together, Armin immediately waved at his friend who was picking him up. Jean had offered to give him a ride since he had his car parked at the airport but Armin had said this friend of his would be worried if he just suddenly cancelled and—

Oh hell no.

Jean stared at the tall, young man with long hair tied up in a messy bun who was walking towards them, watching as his wide smile froze when their eyes met. Of fucking course. Jean just couldn’t have any nice things in life, could he?

“Unhand my best friend, Horse Face,” Eren growled and Jean took a deep breath in an effort to calm down.

It didn’t work. “Unhand my boss, then,” he shot back, throwing a pointed stare at where Eren had his arm wrapped around the short, grumpy man who just so happened to be both Jean’s boss and his ex-roommate’s boyfriend. Levi was already sighing and rolling his eyes at them and Jean really hoped this wouldn’t affect his bonus this quarter.

But Eren started it.  

“You have no say in that,” Eren hissed, visibly bristling as his hold on Levi only tightened.

“Oh, so you admit it’s unreasonable?” Jean asked, his voice dripping in sarcasm.

Jean could hear Armin gasp as he finally realized what was going on. Obviously, he also didn’t expect this to happen and Jean was glad he wasn’t the only one. Although, really, how did it not occur to Jean that Armin was that Armin? It wasn’t exactly a common name around Auckland…

Just as Eren was getting ready to snap back at him, both Levi and Armin sighed before Levi intervened, “Shut the hell up, both of you. Have this fight when I’m not around for it or I’m talking Armin and leaving your asses here.”

“I second this movement,” Armin said firmly tugging at Jean’s hand for good measure.

Both Eren and Jean closed their mouths then, both knowing full well that was not an empty threat coming from the short grump. Not that Jean wouldn’t get back by himself but he would be stuck with driving Eren, too, without anyone there to mediate, and that would be a disaster.

They glared at each other silently for a second, until Eren hissed at him, “Usual bar, tonight. We’re having a talk.”  

“I’ll be there, I need a fucking drink after this,” Jean muttered back, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

Giving Armin a kiss on the cheek, Jean quickly retreated out of Eren’s glare’s range and towards his car so that he could get some fucking sleep before he would go out and get drunk while Eren threatened him with violence for apparently seducing his best friend, or whatever Eren would take out of this… situation. How did shit like this even happen in real life? He seriously wondered what he did in his past life to get karma like this.

At least Armin was worth it.

#-§ů #snk #jearmin #jeanarmin #aot #jean #armin #snk fanfic #modern au #based on a tweet #fluff #humor #one shot #gift fic #roxi4 #my cat wrote the first tag and i'm keeping it because yes #katie pretends to fic #i hate not putting the link in proper but tumblr hates me as a rule #also hope my cat didn't erase half the fic when he walked all over the keyboard when i was formatting it #oh well #HAPPY BIRTHDAY ROXI #late and for like the 10th time but whatever #i love you

[couldnt-think-of-a-funny-name]

Yo did u make that post about your 9th grade science class

oh my God I was talking about it with my friend last night and now I’m losing my mind about it all over again sdkjhdfskh

so the school I went to for 9th grade was a Catholic high school, and it was one with like a GREAT reputation. Like, all the Catholic high schools in my area were ‘good schools’ but this was the like the Big One. Always had the best grades, happiest students, best sports teams, best plays, always did the most outreach with the elementary schools, like it was a very popular school. 

But then,

The summer before I started, the city shut down like...a fucking hundred Catholic schools, because no one wants to fund education I guess? And if your parents send you to Catholic school, they usually want you to stay there no matter what. So instead of all these students going to public school...a ton of them were forcibly transferred to this school (in the suburbs). Everyone was pissed- the city kids were mad because they had no attachment to this place and the commute was annoying. The teachers that transferred with them were pissed off about the whole affair. The teachers that previously worked in this school and didn’t lose their jobs to new teachers were stressed and had no way of controlling the overcrowded classrooms. Tuition went THROUGH THE ROOF. And their was a lot of tension between the city kids and the suburb kids for...literally no reason at all tbh, it was just There so all the classes were insane.

But my science class. Took insane to new levels. 

So, I need to preface this with the type of student I was: I liked science, I thought it was interesting, but science did not like me, and thought I was a bitch. No matter what I tried I was always just scrapping by in the class- but. I always dedicated myself to being the nice, quiet girl who sits in the front, because then the teachers like you, and whether you’re actually a good student or not they’ll give you allowances. 12th Grade gov class, I literally handed in my requirement-for-graduation research paper in a week and a half late and still got a hundred on it, because when the teacher asked me where it was I told her ‘I handed it in on the due date?’ and she immediately was like ‘Oh my God, you did? I’m so sorry!’, then gave me a day to get a ‘’‘new’’’ copy to her, and she felt so bad she gave me extra credit. Like, genuinely, I was determined to play this part and it paid off lmao. 

So for 9th grade I was obviously doing that, but compared to everyone else going crazy, I looked like a literal saint. The teachers in this school weren’t authorized to give detention- we had a school ‘Disciplinarian’, and basically you had to go to his office for him to tell you you have detention, it was weird, but if an entire class was acting up, each room had a call button so he could be summoned to the room to give the full class detention. But all 3 of my science teachers that year, instead of pressing the button, would send me down to his office to bring him back up to the classroom personally, so he would know that everyone EXCEPT me was getting detention. Like, every time one left they literally left in their notes for the new teacher ‘send Molly to get Mr. Chia if the class gets too bad’ it was so fucking funny. 

We went through 3 teachers that year. 

The first one was this old man with an impossible to pronounce last name, who walked with a cane and was considered one of the toughest teachers in the school. Before the end of October, he had mysteriously vanished. Like- they literally wouldn’t tell us where this man went. I feel like if he died or had a stroke, they would’ve had us pray for him during homeroom or something??? He left us no clues, he literally said to me ‘you did great on the worksheet today! Skip the homework, I’ll see you tomorrow’ and then for the next few weeks we had rotating substitutes until they found a new teacher kjshdgjkhd where did he GO

But anyway- he hated our class. He had the toughest teacher rep to live up to and he literally could not control a single student. Screamed his throat raw. Was constantly changing seating arraignments to try and keep certain kids apart. Was constantly getting bombarded with paper wasps and rubber bands and annoying kids asking invasive questions about his stroke. Kids were threating to fight him if he sent them to get detention. No one ever did the homework, everyone always yelling over him when he was trying to teach- in the later weeks before he disappeared, he literally just taught to me and like 3 other students in the front and tried to tune out the other kids. This poor dude omg. 

So, we had various substitutes that just put on movies for a few weeks, and then they found our second teacher. He was a cute, young guy, eager to mold young minds, was active in the church and his sister actually went to the school, so they though they could count on him to get our class together and stick it out for the full school year.

This man was mistreated so badly by these 15 year olds that he RAN AWAY TO ITALY.

I’M NOT EVEN BEING DRAMATIC HE LEGITMATELY MOVED TO ROME TO GET AWAY FROM US. 

He stood no chance. The SECOND he walked in all the kids could smell he was weak blood. The chaos went to new levels- people released real wasps into the room so everyone would run around in panic. Physical fights broke out *just* for the sake of disrupting class. No one would ever stop talking over him. A used tampon was once thrown at the chalkboard. I was shot in the arm with a homemade blow dart that a kid made during a test. People were always trying to hack into his laptop to get answers. A fire was started in the trashcan. Someone tried to climb out the window when he snapped and started screaming at everyone. He screamed so much his voice was almost perpetually hoarse in the days before he left. People would make inappropriate jokes about his fiancée and little sister. Someone tried to steal his camera a few times. The all had terrible nicknames for him.

I literally saw this man transform, before my very eyes, from someone happy and excited to live his passion, into a depressed and stressed out man who just wanted an out. I felt SO bad for him. I genuinely cannot imagine being pushed to my breaking point so hard that I decide my only option is to FLEE THE COUNTRY. But he literally came in one day like ‘guess what fuckers! I’ll be in Rome by the end of the week! Have fun in hell!’ ksdjfdskjfd

The third teacher- they had a hard time finding. Even people who were actively looking for teaching positions didn’t wanna take the job because word got around about us literally driving a man out of America. They ended up finding a teacher at another school who was good with ‘’’’’difficult students’’’’’ and offering him an obscene amount of money to switch. He...listen. He was nice.

He comes in the first day, says ‘So I don’t actually know what physical science is- I’m just gonna teach you guys chemistry’ and then proceeded to not actually teach chemistry. 

He got mad at the kids every now and then, but he was a lot calmer than the other teachers. He let A LOT slide and put on a lot of science videos to get out of trying to get through to the class. 

He was...not the most attentive. I distinctly remember being in the lab, and we were doing that thing where you make flames change colors, and while he had his back turned a guy at my table lit his worksheet on fire, laughed, wasn’t paying attention and let the flame get to his sleeve, had his sleeve catch fire, panicked and beat it out, all in a few moments, all before Mr. Sliffy managed to turn around to catch him. It was an almost completely silent affair, but I feel like the teacher should’ve noticed the residual smoke coming off a kids arm??? He didn’t say anything though khdfsfhkds

So we really skated through for the last trimester that year- apart from a few labs he’d just put on like, ocean life documentaries and if he saw you paying attention he’d give you full class credit. He gave out candy to ‘anyone who’s not being an asshole’, so while some kids were still wild and unruly, everyone calmed down enough so the constant screaming turned into more. Bearable chatter. Tests were few and far between and not that difficult. 

But I still cannot believe I had to live through this class like....I think I developed tinnitus just from sitting in it everyday. I was like constantly on guard for a fist or a dart to hit me for months afterward. It was too much like...can we please do something about schools oh my God. I don’t even know how to officially end this post. Please be nice to teachers oh my God. 

#molly's memories #freshman year #science #asks #molly mumbles

[arbitrarydelight]

It's New Year's Eve, Let's Get Drunk

Sometimes friendship is getting drunk with your classmate who just climbed through the window. Happy New Year!

About 2100 words. Warning for underage drinking.

It was New Year’s Eve and Sol was alone in the house.

This wasn’t anything new. He was used to this—to staying home while his parents went out to parties and galas and banquets and whatever else they were invited to. It was an arrangement that worked out for all of them, since Sol didn’t want to wear a suit and embarrass himself in a room full of big names and his parents didn’t want him embarrassing them either. These kind of events were, after all, “networking opportunities.”

After seventeen years, it didn’t bother him because he didn’t let it bother him. Not even when he came back from winter break and heard his classmates talk about what their families did. He was good at not being jealous.

Tonight would be like any other night. Sol would spend it watching reruns of some sitcom or other, inevitably losing the plot by the fiftieth episode. If he was lucky, he’d drift off to sleep right there on the couch and then the night would be over. He’d wake up to a new year and strangely enough, he would feel better even though nothing had changed.

He was on the sixth episode of The Batvenger: Fly by Night, a painfully C-list series whose titular hero reminded Sol way too much of another masked bat, when he heard tapping at the window. His first thought was the wind or maybe a tree branch but the sound continued, getting louder until it was clear that someone—a clearly irritated someone—was at the window. Which was kind of terrifying because home invaders were a thing and Sol’s house certainly had enough valuables to feed them for years.

It did, however, seem counterproductive for a robber to knock before they entered. So resisting his instinct to hide beneath the bed, Sol turned his head towards the window and was rewarded by a freckled face grinning at him.

Oh. It was Chet. Well, that was better than—than armed robbers or something.

“Wait—this is the second floor.” How the hell had he gotten up? There was a tree by the window but the branches were thin and shit, Chet could fall at any moment. Sol wrenched open the window and grabbed Chet’s arm, pulling him in before he did. “You could’ve just knocked like a normal person.”

Chet shrugged, completely unapologetic. “Felt like climbing, I guess. Anyways, look what I brought!” He lifted a hand and showed Sol the bottle he was carrying. It was tinted blue and labelled in a language Sol couldn’t read, but it was obvious what it was.

Sol was suddenly reminded of all the elementary school assemblies he sat through, the ones with policemen who shook their fingers at an auditorium full of kids and told them to say no to peer pressure. He was pretty sure, like ninety-nine point nine percent sure, that he shouldn’t be doing this.

Sol swallowed, looked at Chet, and found that he couldn’t bring himself to say no. Because it was Chet. “We’re underage,” he said instead. The drinking age in Ontario was what, nineteen? They still had two years to go.

Chet must’ve found that funny because he barked out a laugh and shook the bottle in Sol’s face. The liquid inside—vodka, Sol guessed—sloshed obnoxiously. “Since when has that stopped anyone? New year, new—” Chet squinted at the bottle. “Damn, I can’t pronounce this.”

Sol tried again. “Shouldn’t you be at home? It’s New Year’s Eve.”

"I snuck out,” Chet said smugly. “My mom let me, she probably knows I’m at your place. I think she feels sorry for you.” He said the last part quietly, like he wasn’t sure if he should say it at all.

Sol looked away. Chet’s parents were nice, or at least nicer than his were, and his mother always gave him soft, worried looks whenever he came over. Chet didn’t know how good he had it, Sol thought. Or maybe he did and that was why he was here, waving a bottle of vodka in Sol’s face. It kind of made Sol feel warm and fuzzy inside. Saying no was getting harder and harder.

With a sigh, the last of Sol's resistance faded and he held a hand out for the bottle. “Alright,” he said. “I’ll try.”

He didn’t have any cups. Sol wasn’t messing with his parents’ crystal collection, not when his parents still hadn’t forgiven him for dropping a tumbler when he was eight. In his defense, he liked shiny things as a kid and crystals were just that—shiny cups. So he took the bottle and chugged it straight.

Then immediately spit it all out because god, it tasted disgusting. Vodka was basically rubbing alcohol in a fancy bottle. It tasted sterile and even worse, it burned.

“Christ,” Sol muttered, wiping his mouth on the back of a hand. He looked up, realizing that he’d sprayed vodka and spit all over Chet. “Um, sorry.”

Chet was laughing, which was sort of mean but made Sol want to smile too. After a while, he calmed down, though a grin remained on his face. “First time for everything,” he said and grabbed the bottle from Sol. “Here, I’ll show you how it’s done.”

He was staring at Sol as he brought the bottle to his mouth, green eyes turned towards him like he was waiting for a reaction. Sol sat there and felt kind of warm. He watched the movement of Chet’s throat as he swallowed and wondered if he was drunk already. Even though he hadn’t actually drank anything. Weird.

Chet drank well, without any hesitation, which didn’t surprise Sol one bit. He was sort of a delinquent and it made sense that underaged drinking went hand-in-hand with starting fights and smoking on school property.

With a satisfied look on his face, Chet finished and brought the bottle down. He handed it back to Sol and looked at him expectantly. “Your turn.”

Right. Sol was supposed to drink too, actually drink and not just spit vodka on Chet’s shirt. He took the bottle and stared at the rim, working up the courage for a second try. Vodka tasted bad, really bad, and he had no idea how Chet stomached it. Was getting drunk really worth it? He wouldn’t have said it was, but getting drunk with Chet, that was different.

He brought the bottle to his mouth and took a breath. Some part of him thought about indirect kisses and he pushed it away because now was not the time, not when he was about to get crazy drunk.

This time, Sol was ready for the burning sensation as he forced the vodka down, ignoring the nausea that hit his throat. For good measure, he swallowed again and then a third time, just because he wanted to impress Chet. “There,” he gasped. “I did it.”

Chet was looking at him with wide eyes. “That was a lot,” he said slowly, like he wasn’t sure if Sol was okay.

Sol looked at the bottle. The two of them had somehow managed to drink a little less than half of it, and already, he was starting to feel the effects. There was nothing to do but shove the bottle back to Chet. If he was getting stupid drunk then Chet was too, especially since it had been his idea in the first place.

“Drink up, Chester,” Sol said and winced at how loud his voice was. Since when had volume control become so difficult? He shook the bottle in Chet’s face, just like Chet had before.

“Fuck you,” Chet said fondly and finished the rest of the bottle.

They sat there and waited for the alcohol to work. It was actually a little underwhelming, two boys sitting on the floor while the room spun around them.

“I don’t feel drunk,” Sol said and couldn’t tell if his voice was still too loud. One hand went to his face, testing for numbness, and he found he couldn’t tell that either. “Do you feel drunk?”

Chet tilted his head back and closed his eyes. “I feel like I’m gonna puke,“ he groaned.

“Well, don’t.”

“Distract me then,” Chet said and the way he said it made Sol’s face heat up. Or maybe he was just drunk and hearing things because the next thing Chet said was, “do a funny dance.”

That was the stupidest idea ever but somehow, it made sense. Still, Sol wasn’t doing it. He didn’t know how to and besides, his legs felt wiggly enough that he’d probably fall over as soon as he tried. “I can’t dance,” he said.

“Yeah you can.” Chet leaned forward and reached out with fumbling hands to grab Sol’s shoulders. He shook, once, hard, and tried to pull Sol up. “Let’s do it right now.”

Sol tried to get up, he really did, but then his legs collapsed beneath him. He stumbled, grabbed Chet for support, and ended up pulling him down with him. The two of them fell over in a mess of flailing limbs, Sol hitting the ground with Chet on top of him.

Sol flushed and it wasn’t from the alcohol. “This isn’t dancing,” he mumbled, tongue strangely heavy in his mouth. He felt Chet’s body against his, limbs tangled against each other, and wanted to shove him off. But he wouldn’t—shouldn’t—need to. Chet would get off by himself. If he stayed, it was weird.

So either Chet was weird or he was really, really drunk because he didn’t move at all. Instead, he all but relaxed, flopping on Sol with an exhale. The feeling of Chet’s weight on him was more comfortable than Sol would ever admit. He was warm too and his breath ghosted the side of Sol’s neck, making him want to get closer but also to run away. Rather than doing either of those, Sol awkwardly patted Chet’s back.

“Comfy?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Chet replied. He shifted a little, and Sol was met with a faceful of orange curls and hands that grabbed at his arms. “Actually, I thought you’d be bonier,” Chet said, squeezing a bicep and making Sol go red.

“I’m not that skinny,” Sol said, except if he compared himself to Chet, then he kind of was. But that wasn’t fair—Chet played sports so of course he would have more muscles. “I’m also not drunk,” he announced to no one in particular.

“Well, I am,” Chet said and laughed, propping himself up on his elbows so he was looking down at Sol. He stared at Sol with a thoughtful look on his face, and Sol hoped he couldn’t tell how flustered he was.

“You have nice hair,” Chet said after a while. “It’s so long. Does it make people think you’re a girl?” He reached out and yanked a strand.

“Sometimes, but only from the back,” Sol admitted. “They take it back as soon as I turn around—ow, that hurts.”

“Sorry, I’m drunk,” Chet mumbled.

Sol rolled his eyes. Like that was a good excuse for pulling on people’s hair. The room was spinning around him but his hands weren’t anywhere near Chet’s head. “So am I,” he said and got an apologetic grin in response.

“I’m more drunk,” Chet said and moved his hand to the top of Sol’s head, patting it clumsily. “This better?”

“Sure.” Sol closed his eyes and let Chet keep touching him. He was running fingers through his hair, making Sol thank his past self a million times for deciding to grow it out. Sometimes Chet pulled too hard or twisted his hand in the wrong direction but he stopped as soon as Sol made a noise about it. Then he was back to soft touches that made Sol sigh and his heartbeat slow. It was actually rather nice, nicer than it had any right to be.

“God, you’re so…” Chet trailed off, an impossibly nice expression on his face, and Sol wanted Chet to look at him like that forever.

He had a feeling this wasn’t what friends did, or boys, or boys who were friends. But it was New Year’s Eve and they were drunk and Chet was—Chet was special. Sol wanted him to do things like play with his hair and look at him like he was the only one in the world. He had a tendency to feel like that around Chet, even if he wasn’t sure why.

The clock would strike midnight soon and then it’d be New Year's. The first New Year he'd be spending with company. The first one he'd be spending drunk too, and more important than either of those, the first one with Chet.

“Merry New Years,” Sol said after a moment.

“Yeah,” said Chet. “You too.”

He was going to remember this day for the rest of his life. Or at least he hoped he would, if alcohol-induced memory loss didn’t get to him.

#my writing #my ocs #writeblr #writers of tumblr #original fiction #pillowfort is down so guess i post fic here #and yes i know its april

[babyboy-bangtan]

By Chance Chapter 11

A misunderstanding gone viral puts you on BTS’s radar, which leads to a series of events that finally culminate with you meeting them for the first time.

✚ Pairing: Sub!BTS/Female Reader ✚ Word Count: 2.9K ✚ Rating: M ✚ Warnings: None. ✚ A/N: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of my imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Dialogues spoken in Korean when English is also being spoken will be bolded and italicized. Read on AO3 / Chapters 1-4 /  Chapters 5-8 / Chapters 9-10

The Surprise

To say you're having a busy week would be an understatement. Apart from photoshoots and other scheduled interviews, you've been working tirelessly with the SNL cast and writers about the sketches you're going to be performing, which will hopefully be well received by the audience and everyone will have a good time. But besides all that, something you've really been looking forward to is happening today.

Today you're going to record the promos with BTS, which also means you're meeting them for the first time. You know they landed in New York a couple days ago and from what you've been told they've been rehearsing almost nonstop— but you haven't had a chance to see them in person.

Until now, that is.

When you arrived at the studio you were quickly briefed on how the shoot was going to go; after they're done with their photos, you'll be doing the promos with Cecily and BTS will accompany you. You were ushered to your dressing room shortly after, but on the way there you managed to get someone from the SNL crew to tell you that they hadn't arrived to the building yet.

To kill time while you get your makeup done after getting dressed, you put your earphones on and quickly search "How to say hello in Korean" on Youtube.

"Ann-yang— fuck, that's not right—" You curse, sighing before going back a few seconds on the video. The makeup artist snickers at you, and you smile at her. "Annyeong— a-nnyeong— annyeonghaseyo—" You go back again and listen to the woman in the video one more time. "Annyeonghaseyo— I think that's right. Annyeonghaseyo, annyeong-haseyo."  You repeat, testing the word on your tongue. "Annyeonghaseyo. Yeah I think I got it." You say to yourself, closing the video. "Annyeonghaseyo!" You repeat one last time, saying it to your reflection in the mirror. "Yep, I got it."

"Okay, you're done." Your makeup artist says, pulling back and checking her work. "I'll see you before the shoot to see if there's something I need to fix." You give her a thumbs up as she gathers her things.

"Thank you!"

As she leaves, you turn around to check yourself in the mirror. At first glance it doesn't seem like she did a lot, but her instructions were to give you a more natural, casual look, and she did a very good job.

"Over here." You hear someone say behind you, and when you turn around you're surprised to find BTS walk into the room, waving at you.

"Annyeonghaseyo!"  You quickly greet them, getting up from your chair and walking up to them with a bright, friendly grin.

Jungkook barely slept the previous night. Part of it can easily be attributed to jet lag, but another reason for it was the fact that today they're going to meet you.

Finally.

Yesterday they were told that they needed to shoot the photos that they'll use before their performances and then the promos with you, and from that moment on Jungkook was barely able to think about anything else. Jimin is also very excited, but Jungkook can tell he's not nearly as nervous as he is. He didn't let it affect his mindset during rehearsals, but the moment they got a break or had to stop, he was suddenly reminded that he was going to meet you in only hours and he got nervous all over again.

"My hands are shaking."  He says as they ride the elevator to the SNL studio floor, looking down at his trembling fingers.

"Jungkook-ah—" Hoseok says in a soothing voice, grabbing Jungkook's hands with his to stop them from shaking. "It's gonna be okay."  Jungkook smiles and nods, even if it does nothing to ease his nerves. He's certain you're going to be nice to them, but he's a bit worried he'll get too flustered and you'll think he's weird.

The elevator door opens and they are greeted by their staff and someone from SNL's as well, who quickly starts explaining them where they need to go and what they will be doing. Namjoon makes sure to ask whatever questions they all had, and soon enough they are getting ready in their dressing room.

"What's Namjoon doing?"  Jin asks as he puts his jacket on, looking at him speak with someone from the SNL crew. 

"I don't know, they called him over."  Yoongi replies with a shrug, looking at himself in the mirror to see if his clothes fit like they're supposed to. 

"Namjoon-hyung, what did they want?"  Taehyung asks when Namjoon returns sporting a suspiciously satisfied smile.

"Jungkook, Jimin, come here as well." Up until this point, the two had been watching a video of their rehearsal sitting on a couch together, oblivious to what was happening around them.

"What is it, Hyung?"  Jimin asks, with Jungkook right behind him.

"So, someone from the SNL staff just told me that in two minutes we're going to take our pictures—"  The rest just stare at him, because they all knew that already. It's not news. "—and after that they said we're going to go meet [Y/N] in her dressing room, before we shoot the promos."

"In her dressing room?" Jin asks, eyebrows raised in surprise. "Are you guys coming, too?"  He asks their staff, but they shake their heads.

"We're not filming it cause we haven't asked her if she's okay with it."  Namjoon clarifies, and the rest nod in understanding. He turns to Jungkook and Jimin, who are just standing there looking shocked, albeit in very different ways.

Jimin is grinning widely looking like Christmas came early, but Jungkook is standing there looking like a little kid who is about to tell his parents he just threw up.

"What's wrong?"  Hoseok asks, resting his hand on Jungkook's shoulder. 

"I can't do it."  He says suddenly, shaking his head. "I'm too nervous. You should go without me."

"What?!"  Jimin protests, turning around to look at him with his eyes wide. "You've been waiting for this for months, you have to come!"

"What if I embarrass myself in front of her and she thinks I'm weird?" 

"Jungkook-ah, if you embarrass yourself in front of her, I'll embarrass myself in front of her even more!" Hoseok says, lifting his fist up resolutely. "She'll forget about anything you did."  Jungkook genuinely smiles at that and nods, finally agreeing. Hoseok wraps his arm around his shoulder comfortingly. "You'll be just fine."

"Guys, it's time to go." Someone from the SNL staff says from the door. "Follow me."

"It will be okay."  Namjoon tells Jungkook before they walk out, rubbing his arms in a soothing manner. "Don't worry about it."

The shoot ends up being incredibly fun, and they know their fans are absolutely going to love how the pictures turned out. There are some that ended up looking incredibly goofy, and they hope those are pictures they end up using during the episode. But as they see the same staff member who talked to Namjoon earlier come in searching for them, they all know what's coming next. 

"Hey guys, if you can follow me, please." She says, walking ahead and looking back from time to time to make sure they're all behind her. "Her dressing room is this way. They should be done with her makeup by now."

"Hoseok-ah, can you come here a second?" Namjoon asks, pulling him from the middle of their line into the front with him. "I need to ask a favor."  He whispers, and Hoseok nods. "When we greet her, I'm gonna give her a hug. I need you to come right after me and give her a hug as well, so that she knows it's okay to do that. That way, Jungkook will get a hug too."

"Ah, that's a good idea."  He says, nodding. "Okay."

"It's just around the corner." The staff woman says, and soon enough she's standing next to an open door pointing them inside. "Over here."

Namjoon and Hoseok go in first, with Jimin, Yoongi, Jin, Taehyung and finally Jungkook right behind them.

You stand up as soon as they enter, smiling widely at them. 

"Annyeonghaseyo!"  You say, waving both hands. The greeting catches them by surprise, because none of them had expected you'd say hello in Korean, and perfectly pronounced as well.

A chorus of annyeonghaseyo and annyeong is their response, and Namjoon is quick to walk up to you and give you a hug you reciprocate immediately.

"I didn't know you spoke Korean." He jokes, and you grimace and shake your head.

"That's because I don't." You say with a laugh, and Hoseok moves in to hug you as well. "I wish I did, but hello is as far as I got."

Yoongi, Jin and Taehyung hug you after them, and Jimin is next.

"That was a very good hello." He says, smiling brightly at you before giving you a hug as well. 

"Thank you, Jimin." You say, and he is caught by surprise at the sound of his name. It seems that it shows on his face, because you laugh when you pull away. "What, you thought I wouldn't know your names?" You move onto the only person left, and Namjoon and Hoseok share a look with each other. You might not realize because you don't know him, but Jungkook is clearly feeling completely shy at the moment. "Jungkook!" You say, opening your arms and pulling him into a hug as well.

He hugs you back immediately, and maybe for an outsider it would look like a normal hug, but to Jungkook is much more than that. The first thing he noticed when you started greeting them was how warm and kind your smile looked, and how much nicer your voice sounds in person, even if he knows people would tell him it sounds just like in the movies. It doesn't— it's only slightly different to the voice you use when you act, but he can tell. The sound of his own name coming out of your lips made his heartbeat speed up, and the moment you wrapped your arms around him he was immediately enveloped by two things: warmth and the most comforting smell he's ever experienced.

You pull away sooner than he would've liked— if it was for him he would've kept hugging you for 10 minutes— and he feels like if he tries to speak right now there is not a chance even a single word will come out of his mouth.

"I'm not gonna lie, we didn't think you'd know our names." Namjoon says, giving you a guilty smile. You laugh and Jungkook almost gasps, because you're still standing next to him and hearing you laugh in person is completely different than seeing it on a screen.

"Nice to know you think so highly of me!" You joke. "Of course I know your names, guys. Jungkook, Jimin, V, Jin, Suga, J-Hope and Namjoon." You point at each one of them as you say their names. "I can also do the chant your fans make, if you want me to." 

"No, no, that's okay." Namjoon says, shaking his head with a smile. He knows from Jungkook that you're very nice and good-natured, but experiencing it is something else. No wonder he likes you so much.

"Anyway, let's not just stand here, come, sit down." You say, pointing at the couches and sitting chairs. "Are you guys nervous about Saturday?" You say, sitting down with Jimin on your right and Namjoon on your left while the others find spots for themselves. Namjoon quickly translates what you said.

"Yes, uh... excited, but nervous." Taehyung says and you nod. 

"Yeah, I remember when I first hosted SNL a few years ago, I was so nervous I actually threw up like, half an hour before we started." 

"No, are you serious?" Namjoon says, completely disbelieving, before translating for the others what you just said. Hoseok gasps, covering his mouth with his hand.

"I am! I don't know how familiar you guys are in Korea with SNL, but here everyone knows the show. I grew up watching Tina Fey, Amy Poheler, Maya Rudolph, Kristen Wiig, Seth Meyers, Jimmy Fallon— so many people who then went on to have this successful careers and who everyone here knows— and there I was, throwing up half an hour before the show started. It was intense. I actually thought I wasn't gonna make it, I'd ruin the episode and I'd be blacklisted from all of Hollywood." The way you're telling the story definitely makes it sound way funnier than they're sure it was for you at the moment, and they can't help but laugh when Namjoon translates for them.

"But you did a good job." Jungkook says suddenly, and you turn your attention to him. You give him a slightly surprised smile.

"You've seen the episode?" You ask, and it's only then that Jungkook realizes what he just did.

Mentioning a movie you've done would've been okay, because it's much more easy to find and most of them have been shown in Korea anyway, but admitting he watched your SNL episode is admitting he actively went and looked for it, which is almost as bad as saying something he heard you say in an interview.

Before he can't even think of an answer, Namjoon speaks.

"Ah—" He says, shaking his head. "Jungkook here... he's a big fan of you." Jungkook smiles but immediately blushes, looking down at his hands.

"No way, really?" You say, and Jungkook looks up to see if it bothered you that Namjoon said that, but instead he just finds everyone nodding and you grinning at him. "Then what are you doing sitting so far away from me?!" You say suddenly, shocking everyone, including himself. Namjoon immediately stands up.

"Yes, Jungkook-ah, come sit here."  He says, pointing at the now empty seat next to you.

Even though Jungkook feels like he might pass out from embarrassment, he does as told and walks up to sit next to you— while his heart beats so fast he worries it might pop out of his chest at any point.

"Come on." You say, patting the empty spot on the couch.

"He's shy." Namjoon says with a smile, sitting where Jungkook was a moment ago.

"Jimin is also a fan." Jungkook says once he sits down, to divert some of the attention away from him. It works, because you immediately turn to your right. 

"Are you serious?" You ask, grinning from ear to ear. Jimin blushes instantly under your gaze, but he smiles and nods anyway. 

"Yes."

"You guysssss!" You say, falling back into the couch and grabbing your chest dramatically. "That's so sweet!" They all laugh, even Jungkook and Jimin who are currently feeling an intense mixture of shyness and embarrassment. "I want to say I'm your fan too, but I feel like that would be disrespectful to your actual fans. They're really passionate." You sit back up. "I can say that I've watched a lot of your videos, though."

"Not the oldest ones, right?" Namjoon says immediately, worrying you've watched videos from their debut days. You raise your eyebrows in surprise.

"I haven't watched anything you should be embarrassed about so, probably not?" You laugh. "That was an intense reaction." Namjoon blushes and translates your exchange to the others, who immediately groan in embarrassment.

"Hyung, why did you have to mention that?" Jimin says, covering his face with his hands.

"Sorry, they're just a bit embarrassing." You give him an almost guilty smile. "You will look for them now, won't you?"

"I feel like I have to." You say, laughing.

"That's okay, it's my own fault." He says, shaking his head. "What's your favorite video, from the ones you watched?"

"Blood, Sweat and Tears." You say, almost instantly. "It's very... artistic. I love it." You say, smiling. "And I love your song Idol— the version with Nicki Minaj is so good. To be honest, all your videos are good. You guys are so talented." You wait for Namjoon to translate, and they all thank you once he's done.

"What's your favorite movie of mine that you've watched?" You suddenly ask, looking at Jimin and then at Jungkook. Namjoon translates, even though he's pretty sure they understood what you asked.

"Ah, the... Netflix movie is my favorite." Jungkook says, looking at you for a moment before lowering his gaze again. He knows the name, but it's a bit long and he was worried he'd mess up the pronunciation.

"Mine, too." Jimin says, nodding in agreement.

"Aww, the one I did with Timotheé?" 

"Yeah, we all watched that one together, actually." Namjoon says, and you go quiet for a moment, seemingly thinking about something.

"Huh." You say, shrugging your shoulders. "Anyway, that is one of my favorites as well, I'm glad you guys liked it, too." You say, bumping shoulders with Jimin and Jungkook.

Before they can say anything else, the same woman who brought them here walks into the room.

"Guys, we're ready to shoot the promos." She says, and you all stand up.

"Duty calls." You say, walking back to the chair and grabbing your jacket before putting it on. "Come on, let's shoot some promos." You say, smiling at them before walking out of the room.

Before following you, they are share looks with each other but more specifically, they look at Jungkook, who looks like he can't believe what just happened truly happened. Namjoon opens his mouth to ask him how he feels, but Jungkook beats him to it.

"That was... amazing."

Thank you so much for reading, everyone! The next chapter is the final chapter of the first part of this story.

#sub!bts #sub!idol #bts x reader #kim namjoon x reader #kim seokjin x reader #min yoongi x reader #jung hoseok x reader #park jimin x reader #kim taehyung x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #my work

[whereisstevethestove]

Boys Who Cry Pearl and Sea: Flying Dutchman AU

Fandoms: Sanders sides and technically the lore behind the Flying Dutchman.

Characters: Virgil, Roman, Remus

Relationships:  Roman/Virgil

Additional tags: Mer AU, Pirate AU, Human AU, Siren!Roman, Sailor!Virgil

Word count: 3263

Summary:  Virgil Tempesta was born at sea.  Perhaps that is why he has never felt like he belonged on land.

Notes: I wrote a sea shanty for this! (x)  I hope you enjoy!

AO3

Virgil Tempesta was born at sea.

His English mother was traveling from her home in London to join her merchant husband in Cuba, but by the time that she arrived, her son was nearly a month old, and strange, with storm grey eyes that seldom blinked.  He grew up mostly indoors, there not really being any other children his age that his family would let him socialize with.

Virgil himself was an odd child, quiet, and when he turned ten, his father sent him to another sea captain for an apprenticeship.

The Windborne was a young ship, not even five years old, and the captain was quick to shove the pale boy belowdecks, for a child has no place among a crew of men.  Virgil spent his first year feeling like an outcast, a stowaway on a ship he was technically part of.  

That was of course until they found out that Virgil could squeeze himself into small spaces, and climb faster than anyone else on ship.  He also seemed to need less sleep, so they started to put him on the night watch as months passed.

Virgil didn’t mind.  At least it gave him an excuse to hum the shanties that the others sang as he stared at the dark water that was reflected with stars.

He was fifteen when something interesting finally happened during one of his watches.

“There was a boy, Icarus~”   The haunting melody stretched over the water in the secluded cove that they were anchored in and Virgil leaned a bit more over the side of the ship as he strained to hear the song.

“You pronounced Icarus wrong.”  Virgil called out and the song stopped.

“How do you pronounce it then?”

Virgil pursed his lips before answering.  “It’s not I-Car-Us, it’s all one beat, kinda like: ǐːkaros.”

“Oh.”  The voice seemed confused.  “There was a boy, Icarus, who flew too close to the sun-”

“That’s better.”  Virgil smirked as the voice sputtered in annoyance.

“His wings were made of brass and wax-”

Virgil listened as the voice sang about the greek myth, before abruptly hopping topics to sing about a sailor’s myth, the Dutchman.  Virgil wasn’t one to believe in silly legends, but the voice was nice and it made him feel lightheaded in a good way, so he continued to listen as the second chorus faded out and the voice switched verses again.

“There is a simple sailor boy,

Not wanted by land nor sky-”

Virgil stood up from his spot and looked over the water.  “Woah, wait.”

“What?”  The voice was definitely irritated now.

“Simple?  That’s all you can think of to describe me?”  Virgil teased as some of his hair fell into his face.

“Uh... to be honest, I thought you’d be drowned by now.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, the shanty only has two verses, I’ve been making the rest up.”  The voice said sheepishly and Virgil heard a splash of something going into water.   He watched as the dark water below rippled and a moment later, a red and gold blur shot out and landed on the deck next to him.

Virgil fell back onto his ass in shock.  “Mermaid.”

The creature flashed him a grin.  “Close, I’m a siren and I am a male by your kind’s definition., so not a mer-maid either way.”

Virgil took in the red and gold tail, the dark skin as he slowly looked the siren in the eyes.

“You’re gorgeous.”  He breathed out reverently and the siren’s fins on the side of it’s head flared in surprise.

“You are very pale and small.”  He responded back, which broke Virgil from his reprise as he scrambled back up to his feet.

“Thanks, I get that a lot.”  

“Oh.  I thought for sure you’d be taller standing.  Hmm, okay.”  The siren balanced himself on the railing better, looking at Virgil with curious eyes.

Virgil blushed, ducked his head and then looked back up.  “So, how am I not dead?”

“Excellent question.  I have no fucking idea.”  The siren shrugged and Virgil nodded.

“Alright then.”

“Can I get your name pale one?”  The siren asked as he leaned forward and Virgil leaned back.  

“Me giving you my name doesn’t do any weird shit- like I sell my soul to you, right?”

“No, why would it do that?  Is that some weird human thing no one told me about?”

Virgil rolled his eyes. “It’s a fae thing, I thought that since sirens are real, maybe they were.  Anyway, I’m Virgil.”

The siren’s eyes widened.  “You have a siren name.”

“Okayyy?”

“I’m Roman.”

“That’s an odd name.”

“Says the one who literally didn't know that my kind existed, despite having a siren name.”  Roman shot back with a sharp grin.

Virgil smirked and gently shoved at the siren, who wobbled nervously.

“You should go.”

“Why?” “My watch is almost over.  I want to go to sleep.”  Virgil yawned and the siren shrugged.

“Alright.  I’ll get you one of these times.”  Roman said as he fell back, disappearing into the water.

…

Virgil didn’t see him for another year.  The Windborne traveled to many different locations and so it was rare for them to pass through the siren’s waters, and when they did, they didn’t stay the night.

So he wasn’t surprised when the song started across the water.

“I’ll sing you a song of ravens and stone--”   Roman’s voice definitely had some bite to it and Virgil could feel himself slipping as he struggled to keep his mind clear.

“With the temper of a storm!”

Virgil jumped into the water, fully intending on beating up Roman for being so fucking annoying.

What he wasn’t expecting was for arms to wrap around him and start dragging him down.

Virgil tried to elbow the person, mer(?)  behind him, but the singing just intensified and his head felt like it was full of cotton….

…

…

…

Roman couldn’t believe that Andy had managed to snag Virgil the second the teen had jumped in.

His half brother was a force to be reckoned with though, and Roman watched as the lithe siren dragged the sailor out of the water and tested for a pulse.

“Aw, he’s still alive.”

“I asked for him to still be alive An.”  Roman muttered as he looked at his human.

“I don’t know why you’re attracted to him.  He’s awfully pale.  And when there’s so many other options up there on that ship..”  Andy trailed off once he saw the look in Roman’s eyes.  “Oh, you see the pale on as a mate?  You’re a mess, sing once you get your life together Ro.”

With that, he left with a snap of a jet black tail slapping water.  

…

Virgil sat straight up and vomited,  coughing as seawater exited his lungs and he shivered on the rock that he was somehow on.

“Are you okay?”

Virgil threw up again and shook his head as someone gathered him up, pressing a hand against his chest.

“I’m sorry, I got worried because you stopped breathing.”

Virgil’s mind had cleared enough for him to look up through lidded eyes to see Roman looking at him with concern.

“What?”  Virgil croaked out, voice absolutely ruined by the seawater that he had ingested.

“Uh, you jumped overboard, my half sibling brought you here and then I pulled the life back into you.”

Virgil vaguely remembered jumping over, but after that…

He passed out again.

…

Roman was not expecting humans to be so fragile.   Virgil had indeed become unresponsive after throwing up, but now he was asleep again, with no warning at all.

At least the sun was coming up, so it would be a bit warmer.  

He just had to hope that Virgil’s ship wasn’t leaving, or else Roman wasn’t sure what he’d do.  This was supposed to be a fun interaction, not him watching an almost corpse.

Unfortunately for him, the sun rose, The Windborne left the cove, and Virgil slept.

Roman wasn’t sure how he was going to admit to his human that his only way back home was gone.

…

Turns out, Virgil was fucked.

He woke up and realized almost immediately that his ship had left and the first thing he did was try to sneak off the rock that Roman had stuck him on, so that he could swim to the shore and try to work out his life then.

He didn’t notice that Roman was on the rock also, until the siren grabbed his shoulder.

“Where are you going, the ship is gone.”

Virgil hissed and recoiled, falling into the water before surfacing to curse at Roman.  “What the fuck?”

“Sorry!  I assumed that humans could hear when someone is coming up on them!”

Virgil hissed again and scrambled back onto the rock.  “I wasn’t paying attention, and yes I know that the ship is gone, it’ll be another few months before they anchor back here.”

“A few months?”

“Yep.  We had planned a few routes over the next year that come this way…  I just have to wait out the storm, and I’m not doing it on this tiny ass rock.”  Virgil went to slip into the water when Roman stopped him again.

“Let me swim you over, it’ll be faster.”

“Thanks I guess.”

Virgil watched as Roman slipped into the water and then swam around the rock to wink at him.

“Ready my raven?”

“Oh, stars no.  No pet names.”  Virgil grumbled as he got in and wrapped his arms around Roman’s neck as directed.

“Ready?”

“You won’t drown me, right?”

“Of course not!”

“Okay, let’s go.”

Roman swam slowly, but still, it was faster than Virgil could’ve gone, so it was nice to hitch a ride in a sense as they made their way to the beach.

They finally made it to where Virgil’s feet could touch, and he quickly let go, wading through the water to collapse on wet sand.

“Are you okay?”  Roman called from his spot in the water and Virgil stuck his head up.

“Oh yeah.  I’ve been kidnapped by a siren, threw up my body weight in saltwater, haven’t eaten since almost two days ago, and now I’m here for a good long time, all alone!  Don’t forget that if I don’t get some actual water soon, I’ll be a rotting corpse on this beach!”

Roman was by his side faster than Virgil could comprehend, eyes flashing nervously.  “Water?”

“What about it?”

“You can’t drink seawater?”

Virgil groaned and buried his face in his hands.

This was going to be a long three months.

Assuming he could survive for that long.

…

The first week was the worst.  Roman had to watch as Virgil disappeared into the treeline, leaving for long hours, even though he had offered to provide for any of the sailor’s needs, after all, it was his fault that Virgil was stuck.

All the human had asked for was a knife though.

He built an odd structure on the shore, and Roman watched as he (unsuccessfully) fished, and got sick from being in the sun for too long the second day.

By day eight, Virgil was screaming at the sky to just hit him with some lightning.

Roman was impressed that his human had even made it that long.

By night nine, he finally had the courage to go back on shore.  Virgil was laying on the ground, staring at the stars, seemingly distracted, but his eyes did flit over to Roman as the siren adjusted his tail and also lay back.

“Are you okay?”

“No.  I miss people.”

“Ah.”

They lay there in silence, and it wasn’t until Roman looked over and he saw the streaks of silver running down the other’s face that he realized something was wrong.  He sat up and scooted closer to Virgil, gently wiping at the strange stuff.

“What is this?”

Virgil blankly looked at him, still not moving.  “Tears.”

Roman brought the ‘tears’ to his face.  “Weird.  They look… wrong.”

Virgil sniffed and sat up, wiping at his face with a torn sleeve.  “Why is that fish?”

Roman looked at the ‘tear’ again.  “It is a liquid.”

“Are you implying that tears aren’t made of saltwater?”  

Roman sniffed the tear and realized that Virgil was right.  It smelt like ocean. 

“You cry the sea when you are sad?”

“I guess.”  Virgil sniffed again and Roman sighed before putting a finger to the corner of his own eye, quietly shedding a pearl as he cried.

“I do too.  Perhaps we are not as different as we like to say.”

…

The dynamic changed after that.  Roman started to bring fish, which was a godsend in Virgil’s opinion, and in exchange, he’d tell the siren about something from his world, or he’d teach him a new shanty to sing.

And as much as he denied it, Virgil fell in love.

It wasn’t a major revelation in a sense.  It was about a month into his stay and he looked up and remembered that it was his birthday.

Hurray, seventeen years on this earth.  He hadn’t told the siren, who didn’t understand the concept of age, and even though Roman certainly acted like he was Virgil’s age, he had told him once about the first time his pod had moved, and it was because the first merchants were sailing into the area.

So yeah, his siren, wait, when did he start considering Roman as his siren?  Virgil shook his head, trying to clear it of the traitorous thoughts as Roman came in with the gentle waves, grinning.

“Hello my stormy night!”

“No nicknames!”

…

Roman was in love.

Deepy, irrevocably, in love.

He was screwed.

Sirens only choose one mate, and it is always the first one that you fall in love with.  No take back, so changing in the future.

The only problem was that he knew that Virgil didn’t love him back.

The different specie? Not a problem, many sirens fell in love with humans, and they could change their mate to be like them with a simple draw of blood.  The fact that Roman was immortal and Virgil wasn’t.  Fixed when turned into a siren.

Literally everything had a solution.

Except when your love didn’t feel the same way.

They were both on a rock one night, Roman and helped Virgil swim out, although the young sailor was surprisingly good, despite most at the time who couldn’t swim, and Roman had been caught up in the way that the moonlight framed Virgil’s face to notice that the human was addressing him.

“RO.”

“Oh sorry, what?”

Virgil laughed before suddenly looking serious.  “The ship will be arriving any day now.”

Roman deflated and looked away.  “I know.”

“I have to leave.”

“I understand.”

“Part of me doesn’t want to, you know?  Stay here for the rest of my short and pathetic life… but I don’t want to watch you watch me die..”  Virgil trailed off and Roman saw that he was crying again, oddly reminiscent of their first night like this.

“What if you didn’t have to die?”

Virgil looked at him sadly.  “I’m not like you Roman.”

Roman gulped.  “I know, but you can be.  There’s just one problem.”

“What?”

“You’d have to be my mate.”

Virgil’s eyes widened and a blush spread across his face as he ducked his head to hide behind his longer hair.  “Oh?”

Roman nodded.  “I know, it’s something that we take very seriously and I understand that you wouldn’t want to do it and--”

“No, I want to.  Maybe not now, but in a few years?  Yeah, it sounds amazing.  All of it.  Being with you… mates.”

Roman blinked at Virgil.  “Really?”

“Really.”

Roman surged forward and kissed Virgil, wrapping his arms around the human’s waist, sparks flashing across his vision as Virgil kissed him back, all passion and quiet love.

It was his first kiss and Roman could feel it clear as day that the human was meant to be his.

When they pulled away, with Virgil gasping for air and Roman trailing kisses along his mate to be’s jaw, nipping at the skin.

“Seas below, I love you.”  Roman whispered as he pulled away, looking into Virgil’s dark eyes.

“I love you too.”  Virgil kissed him again and this time they didn’t break away for quite some time.

…

Virgil stands at the edge of the ocean.

The Windborne came into the cove about a week after he and Roman had claimed each other, the siren later marking him with a bite that scarred silver against the still pale skin.

Hell, Virgil really wished he could get tan.

Roman had also given him a gold coin, one that he was supposed to give away when he was ready to return, and then they would be ready.

Roman had promised to come back for him.

When Virgil boards the ship later, they’re overjoyed to see him alive.  When they anchor for the night, he collapses in the barracks below decks, grateful to be sleeping in an actual hammock, rather than on sand or on stones.

When they sail out of the cove the next day, only he can hear the song that Roman sings in mourning of his mate.

Only he wants to jump back.

…

Years pass, three to be exact, before they sail by that cove again.  Virgil meets Remus, a younger sailor that he teaches everything, despite sometimes wishing that the younger would just shut up and give him a peace of mind.

Remus is bold though, and he believes in mer.  Virgil tells him about Roman, one day when they’re both in the crow’s nest and he doesn’t think that he sees anyone look so excited.

Of course, that is before he hears the song as they are sailing by, not stopping as night falls.

“I’ll sing you a song of ravens and stone--

With the temper of a storm!

With those who sail the waters deep,

Calling the entire sea their home!”

Virgil doesn’t realize that Remus is allured by the song until he snaps out of his funk and drags them both below decks, defying his heart.

He gets sick.

Remus nurses him back to health.

A month later, he insists on being alone for night watch, and luckily they are anchored just outside the cove.

Roman still has that wild smirk and he still kisses with a passion that makes Virgil dizzy as his mate cuts their palms and presses them together, mixing human and siren blood.

Transformation doesn’t hurt.

Virgil lets Roman pull them both overboard and the first time he breathes in saltwater properly, he cries, his tears still made of sea.

“You haven’t changed a bit my love.”

Virgil laughs, his voice carrying the unrestrained power of a new siren.  “Oh darling, but I have.”

His song is wild, just like a storm on the sea, free.  It melds with Roman’s perfectly as the two harmonize, voices weaving sea shanties and siren lullabies as easily as a fisherman mends a net.

Virgil wonders if Remus can still hear a siren’s song.  He may regret leaving the young boy behind, but he can take care of himself, after all, Virgil did as well.

…

Virgil Tempesta was born at sea.

Maybe that’s why he never felt comfortable in his own skin, why he was quiet for a child, taking in everything he saw.  Maybe it was the siren name that his mother gave him, for she believed in the beautiful creatures that dripped with song.  

Perhaps it was like in Roman’s shanty:

Not wanted by land nor sky...

#Flying Dutchman AU #sanders sides #virgil sanders #roman sanders #prinxiety #siren!roman #no you may not find out what color virgil's tail is #sanders sides fanfic #vomit tw

[jjkpls]

(y)our name 2 - one (m)

> genre : fluff, angst, light smut

> pairing : jeon jungkook x reader (f)

> total words : 6.7k

> warnings/content : friends to lovers, unrequited love, slice of life; a LOT of cursing, oc is... chaotic, thirsty, panicked; Bad Editing Le Retour™

You could not look any less serious. With your badly dried hair, your face glazing from the cream you just applied in a rush and your whole frame, vibrating in childish excitement. “You know what, Guk? We can decide to make it weird or we can decide to be two grownups, responsible and smart and like reliable and- and be like 'Well yeah we had sex, whatever, it’s not gonna change anything!'”

There's a heavy silence blaring in the hallway. You're too ecstatic to let it affect you but still, you wish he'd appear a little less impenetrable. He's not giving you anything to work with. And even though you can't imagine any other alternative than the one you just suggested, he has to confirm he's willing to go along. “Right?” You're defying him with your gaze, hands attached to your waist, head tilted to the side. The smile stretching your lips grow less natural and more rigid. Jungkook simply shrugs, shifting about on his feet.

“I guess you’re right.” He says but he doesn't look like he means it. He looks preoccupied. And a thought, disturbing, invades your mind. Something is burdening him. And from the frown on his adorable face, it's at least mildly serious.

“Are you okay?” You’re pouting as you ask, not meaning to tender him the way you do but you can see his troubled heart all over, in his stance, in his giant eyes. You feel bad for being the idiot concerned about that night when there is something wrong with him. Anything could have happened during those excruciatingly long and testing three weeks. Your merciless dumb ass may have missed a drama in your favourite boy’s life and the fact that you could have actually let it happen breaks your heart. “Is something wrong?” 

He gazes at you, wide-eyed. They’re shining with a curious apprehension. It’s as if he wants to say something. The tiny tremble of his lips hints there is something, just right there, at the tip of his tongue. A simple little push would have the words out. “Tell me.”

Instead, he shakes his head, one of his hands rising to mess with the already chaotic pile of dark locks. “S'nothing. I’m good.”

“Jungkook.” He’s already down a few steps, his back turned to you. “You’re not gonna tell me?” There’s a tiny little edge in your voice, as if your heart's been wounded. It brings him to spin around to peek your way. You’re not that stupid. You know three weeks of break in a friendship that has, in almost a decade and a half, never had any before, must impact it somehow. You detest the idea. “You know you can tell me anything.”

“I know.” He says, softly. He seems all tiny, hunched over as he is, several stairs down.

“Still, you’re not gonna say?” He looks up from his shoes. There's this contemplating pout on his mouth. Again, he looks like he's debating internally.

“If- It’s not important. If I need to, I will, ok?” Your heart stings. But you want to trust him.

“You promise?”

Jungkook rolls his eyes, biting a smile back. “I don’t need to, you already know.” Grinning you jump on the step next to him, wrapping with great difficulty an arm around his shoulders, you lead him down the stairs.

You're rambling loud in the resonating hallway about how you spent the whole night watching your favourite zombie movies in prevision of the day you're about to spend. He doesn't need to hear you say it all as he already knows. His phone along with him didn't have any sleep last night, as you kept sending him messages of extreme importance regarding all the technics and strategies you were actively learning watching the films and how useful they were all going to be for the zombie apocalypse-themed escape game you had made reservations for.

You are so excited, you can't contain yourself. Finding him back after having missed him so much and for so long, you just can't accept to spend any more time without him. Which is ridiculous. You two would have to get back to your lives and go to work for starters, but not now. Now you've dumped your shift on your kindest colleague at work, quite last minute, so you could have the whole day with Jungkook. Planning on going to that escape game you two had been talking about for months, making a checklist of all the places you could visit afterwards to eat and take pretty pictures if he wanted to, adding a list of the potentially interesting movies now in theater if you still have time left. Yes, you really did miss him. You don't want to say it out loud as it's been said enough the night before, but you hope he knows from how hard you hug his arm against your heart that you're still overwhelmed by the joy brought from him filling the staggering void in your chest again as if he'd never left it.

Your phone lights up on a too-familiar face and a name you feel too uncomfortable to pronounce out loud. It’s Namjoon. Again. You see Jungkook’s eyes catch it before you turn it off, and they divert awkwardly as if terrified to meet your own. Your heart stings again. Like a sharp scorching needle piercing through the thing. You can’t bear the awkwardness. You used to be able to talk about anything. Even some things that require litres of liquid courage and lead to consequences such as burning ears and heavy sweating. But never anything has just been brushed over. The realization that something is installing itself between you hits. A new norm, where some subjects must remain unmentioned. It’s horrifying so quickly you blurt out, “We broke up!” Jungkook looks up from his bubble tea, eyes large like saucers. 

“Yeah, I heard so. From Jimin.” He doesn’t ask for more information and it’s upsetting. You want him to know he can ask anything. Anything that is yours, anything that is you is his too. 

He should know it all. 

“It’s just- he is- he is not an asshole but I don’t know, I guess we didn’t agree on everything. He wanted me to choose between you and him.” Your eyebrows raise, head shaking in remaining disbelief. He had some nerves. You felt bad momentarily because it meant Namjoon believed your relationship to be strong enough to face this kind of ultimatum. But he was so rude about it! So rude and assertive, it didn’t even give you the willing to clarify things up with him, to sort things out, consider a compromise. As if you’d ever sincerely only dare think about giving up Jungkook for anyone or anything else. You would never.

Jungkook smiles around the straw he's gnawing on and you chuckle. You're sharing the same mischievous glance you used to when younger, you would find some shenanigans to ditch a third party you were not inclined to stay with so you two could play and be yourselves exclusively together. Like a secret handshake, you have your secret smile. There you know you'll be fine.

After some time, he feels comfortable enough to bring Namjoon back to the conversation. It's just to apologize again about what happened. He doesn't leave on any more information, any answer to the burning question you've carried with you since the incident but you decide to not push it. It was fucking weird, this whole mess of a situation. So unlike him to hit someone. So unlike you to turn your back on him as if there would ever be a valid reason for you to stop loving him. A piece of the puzzle is missing, however, you trust him with it. Surely, he'll give it to you one day and that's fine.

You're cutting the calm quietness surrounding you with a sudden burst of giggles. He squints at you, eyebrows frowned as if he already knows and it makes you laugh harder.

“Shut up!” He groans while trying to reach for your phone on the table. Your reflexes are cat-like though, and before he knows it, the hilarious video you shot today of him, fighting incredibly poorly a zombie, plays for the two of you to enjoy. He's screaming so loud, cursing a bunch of profanities you've never heard him say, and when his ass hits the ground without the actor touching him you're throwing your head back, crying in hilarity. It's been torturing you for the past two hours. Each time your brain starts to putter, the video comes knocking and you just can't help the bubbling mess to rumble from your chest. You only stop when he starts to threaten you, saying he is going to leave and head home.

You really don't want to go home. Or more like, you don't mind going home but he has to come and stay with you. Why couldn't you have been born as Siamese twins?

Sticking the lollipop out of his mouth, he winces in pure disgust, “That'd be horrible!”

“What? Why? It'd be awesome! We'd be stuck to each other all the time!” Which is an enchanting thought -maybe it needs to be precise. You're sure he thinks the same. The grimace intensifying on his face is just comedy.

“We'd be siblings, by the way. Not best friends. That wouldn't work.”

“Let's hot glue the shit out of our hips so we can test this theory out!”

“What are you even-” You don't interrupt him, he does himself, deeming it's pointless. Halting his steps, sighing deep and loud as he stares down at you like you're crazy. Maybe you've turned a little bit insane. That's what too much Jungkook and sugar do to you: you're sincerely considering the whole hot-glueing thing. “Ok. You're going to bed.” It's a gasp that answers him and like a dad who knows how to handle his misbehaving child, he cuts you off before you even get to say anything.

“___, it’s 3 am. Don’t you have work tomorrow?”

“I start at 5 pm!” You pester, hitting the ground with your foot.

“Still. Don’t be ridiculous. You need sleep.” His huge eyes blink slowly, his face contorting weirdly as he contains a yawn. He's the one who needs sleep but-

“But-”

“You really did miss me, huh?” 

He's all smug eyebrow-dance and wiggly shoulders so you decide to simply be honest, that'll shut him off. “Of course I did!” He tsks, not having expected this as he stares off the distance, looking anywhere but you. You pout, hitting his ugly sneakers with your own boots. “Why do you keep wearing those things?” The offending bulky things are daring you to criticize them further.

“You don’t know fashion.”

“Oh is that fashion? Ok, I guess I really don’t know then.” When you look up at him, grinning, he has that look on. Head slightly tilted to the side, tight-lipped smile, the one that pinches the skin around his mouth into a tiny dot, eyes looking soft but implacable. It’s the look he has when he’s telling you off and it makes you whine indignantly. “I don’t wanna go home yet.”

“But you will.” He decides, sticking the lollipop back against the inside of his cheek, gaze all ominous before he's throwing you on his shoulders. You'd scream if it were not the middle of the night and you didn't mind having people calling the police on you two for night fuss. 

It's not the end anyway. You're dramatic and greedy because it feels natural to be in these circumstances but you know you two will be fine. You should let him go home to sleep without fearing losing him again.

There's no doubt in your mind. Still, instead of your brain to sink in the happiness and let you fall peacefully asleep on your two ears, the uncooperative thing just wouldn't let you rest. Keeping you wide awake and alert, bringing thoughts way too joy-filled to not render you giddy and fidgety. 

I guess it wasn’t that terrible. It wasn’t bad at all. You did apprehend it. Not only were you two to start hanging out again after a pause that felt like an eternity, but you had also to do so after spending the night that you did together. It seemed easy enough on his part. Maybe because he seemed already preoccupied with something else. Either way, it went smoothly. Like riding a bike. Something you never just stop knowing how to do. Jungkook and you, it’s natural. It’s pure fated affection, there’s no place for any lagging. This you confirmed today. 

As the days pass, the routine reinstalls itself, with morning breakfasts shared, impromptu hellos, and stray kitties pictures sent out throughout the day.

It feels wonderful. You can appreciate what you used to have with a whole new level of intensity. It’s like hovering over the Earth on a candy cloud. You’re not lucky, you’re blessed, gifted. Nothing is that upsetting. Nothing is that tiring. Everything fixes before it even breaks because there’s Jungkook and the happiness he brings everywhere along with him. 

You’re not that bad at being cool about the whole one-night thing. Not as good as him but still good enough. You manage to prevent anything potentially compromising to slip, refract any impulsive gesture towards his arms or his chest or his thighs even. You do end up blushing furiously sometimes when an unexpected careless babe falls through his lips, or when he mutters your name quietly to bring your attention to him and the breathless calls from this one night remind themselves to you. And of course, it would be like this. How could it not? How could you just say each other’s name so casually when you heard them being moaned by the other the way you did. That’s what you think. But he doesn’t seem on the same page as you. And that puzzles you. Not greatly, you know him to be more used to unattached sexual affections, but still. 

How could he not be affected when you’re pretty sure you screamed his name? That’s the other thing about the fateful night and its consequences, the more time passes the less you remember every detail of it, and you dread it. You wish it would stay intact, untouched in your head, as grandiose as it was when it happened.

It’s worrying. How obsessed you are about the incident. But not for the reasons one could expect. 

Your friendship is not at stake per se. Or maybe it is in a way, and that’s why you’re not presenting yourself to him with those thoughts. 

It’s not about Jungkook or more so, it’s less about the feelings you adorn for him, and more about his skills. Because he does have skills. You have no idea where they come from. If he’s spent years secretly attending sexology seminars or if he was born an incubus and for some reasons you knew nothing about that, point of the matter is: he blew your mind. He ruined you, opened up a door inside you had no idea was there and it felt so good during and after, that you find yourself feeling miserable at the idea that maybe, you won’t ever fall upon a lover like him. 

Namjoon was fine. He didn’t have the best stamina and was a bit too stiff to plant and bloom passion as intense as Jungkook managed to in few minutes but he was ok. Taehyung was fine too. Perhaps tending to be a bit selfish, forgetting to give back if you didn’t remind him but for the most part decent -he did have a huge shrine that wasn’t so handy in practice but still managed to entice you and make you squirm before you realized that, except for pain and discomfort, the hugeness of it didn’t bring much more. 

And that’s the thing that annoys you the most: they used to be good. They used to be in your mind more than good enough. You didn’t question the possibility of having more. It was alright. You didn’t come each time. You never came more than once in one encounter. But it was fine for your standards. You didn’t know any better, that there could be more to it. Now Jungkook swirled in, wrecked you, leaving you a satisfyingly empty shell lain in a puddle of your own arousal and that’s the mind-blowing sex you want to have for the rest of your life. The thought that maybe he is one exceptionally proficient guy, member of a very rare and exclusive club of fucking abnormally phenomenal lovers that has the secret access to a secret magic to Orgasms -with a capital O because what you thought to identify as orgasms before definitely are not the same things as what you experienced with your best friend- it’s depressing and horrifying and makes you want to start a fucking riot against the universe and maybe against men for not all being as good. Because they should. Fuck, there would be no more cheating partners, no more lonely solo underdogs, eternal peace in the world if everyone dared be as good of a lover as Jungkook. 

Maybe you’re over exaggerating. Maybe. Probably not.

How, how in the hell are you supposed to just brush that memory like a simple anecdote, marking your history like any other tiny souvenir would, like that first time he cried in front of you right after he scratched his hands falling from his skateboard and you had kissed it better, or that time he lied for you so you wouldn’t get your ass beaten by your parents after having skipped two classes to go make out behind the school with Kim Seokjin. 

Well, you can’t. It’s impossible. And at first, it’s fine. It just means you spend a little more time in the shower, you're a little slower at work because you have to constantly bring your brain back to the task ahead, you’re overall a little more angsty and every time you meet up with Jungkook, there’s a little apprehension. It’s a little less 'I can’t wait to see that dumbass’ cute face even though he might bully me for not having showered', and a little more 'I’m going to meet with my good old friend who happens to be the man who fucked my brains out that one time, so maybe I should put on that skirt'. 

The permanent tension doesn’t last that long. He’s too much like he’s always been. You’re too happy with him like you’ve always been.

Things go along as they should. You repress actively your deviant brain, decide you’re going to get over him because he is not the only man on this fucking Earth and there’s no way, there’s no fucking way -it’d be too unfair- he is the only good man worthy of your time. 

Soon you realize that in fact, he is. In a way or another, by some curious black magic or something, he managed to make himself the only man left on this Earth. What a dick, you think. Because now he’s gotten back to his life, his awesome life of an awesome dude, unbothered, untroubled by whatever the fuck happened when you, on the other hand, are all broken. 

There's this thing about you. You used to fall a bit in love with every person you’d see when you'd be single. There would be this tall guy with his beanie low on his forehead pushing his fringe in his eyes, reading some manga on the train, and you’d start making up a sweet history for him and you’d wish he’d look up for a second and fall in love with you too. But he’d leave without noticing you and then this young woman would walk in with a dude on her toes. She’d look saddened while the guy would look annoyed and you’d start thinking about where you’d like to take that girl out and what cute pet name she’d like you to give her when you’re not even into girls -allegedly. You’re desperate for love. You’ve always been. Which could be surprising as instead of having a childhood deprived of it as often have the people who grow to be very demanding when it comes to affection, you were spoiled with it. Instead of curing you, the force-feed love rendered you addicted and you've always wanted more. More people to meet and discover and adore. Rarely enough. Except when you’re in a relationship. You’re not simply loyal you’re fully invested. You want to be good, to be the best, bring the most. You know how to direct all your time and attention and aspiration on one person without wanting to look away. 

And that’s what you need again. Maybe. Someone to prove you that sex is not it all. You never thought that before stupid Jungkook but now, you're questioning it. He did break you. You think constantly about it, not wondering what compliment that one stranger like to hear, what place that other stranger would love you to make them discover, you're wondering if they could make you feel good. If their bodies would be as hard and hot as Jungkook's. If their sexes could fill you up and stretch you, hard and right the way his did. And fuck Jungkook because not only did he change your way of considering people -which is fucked up, by the way, you feel like a creep every time you catch yourself doing it-, he made them all uninteresting. None, even in fantasy, do it for you. You don’t want them to touch you. You don’t want to touch them. You wonder what’s under their clothes without really wanting to know. That’s not that surprising. You’ve always been a very emotional person and perhaps it’s just not something for you. Perhaps you can’t fuck without affection. But at the same time, it’s what you want, it’s what you need. Just purely wild and relieving sex.

It’s the reason why you end up grabbing your phone, tapping your passcode in a fury because the print sensory thingy won't work and you’re already pissed enough as it is. Wrist hurting, breathing laboured, pussy quivering uselessly around nothing, you quickly get to your chat log with Jungkook. You’re mad. It’s the umpteenth time that you try to get yourself off and end up on the verge of crying from frustration because you can, physically, feel yourself craving for a cock to fill you up -possibly his. It’s the worst feeling. A degree of desperation like you never have felt before. And it is insane because never in a million years could you have imagined that sometimes a woman, and you of all, could have your cunt yearning for something that bad. It’s like it builds and builds, not phenomenal but seemingly good enough, and then it snaps but as you come, you feel the lacking spoiling completely your already low-quality orgasm. One of the worst experience of your life. You’re enraged and delirious from the dissatisfaction and that’s why you end up sending him this message:

you : thinking bout u

Read. Right away. There are the three little dots blinking on the screen, your brain adds a mental drumroll to accompany it. And then they disappear. Five minutes pass, you’re dying, feel like your pussy might catch a cold staying open like that -which is quite dumb and lewd but you’re so upset, you spent so much energy on attempting to get off that you can’t even get yourself to roll over to the side (it’s not even like he’s going to teleport himself there and just slip inside at any instant). The dots don’t come back so you decide to text him again, a bit more apprehensively. 

you : do u think about me?

jungkook : are you making a YouTube video?

You’re confused for a while, reading multiple times the text over, simply not getting it until the phone vibrates again in your palm. 

jungkook : like a lyric prank

Ah. 

you : Ah no. And why would I chose a song from 2009 to do that

jungkook : It’s not 2009 and cause you’re lame like that

This is absolutely not going the way you planned, you think finally closing your legs together. Then you remember that you didn't plan shit.

you : 😐

jungkook : What do you want anyway? Why aren’t you sleeping

jungkook : ?

you : I just told you

jungkook : I don’t know what you mean

Is he messing with you? Or does he sincerely not know? Fuck, you hate texting. You never know what the person on the other line genuinely means. You're not being a coward tonight though, so you send:

you : You said to tell you if I ever think about you

The torturous three musketeers are back, cackling right in your face as you stare, for an eternity, wishing for something, anything, to replace them. It’s outrageously long. It’s like he’s typing his eulogy or something. Until the dots are replaced but by worst than any text, no text at all. They disappear and nothing else comes through. The embarrassment is so overwhelming, your body finds the strength to fully wince, your legs jerking up to your chest and your whole body falling sideways from just the cringe. What a fucking idiot. Your face buried in the pillow, you wail and groan in emotional pain. Then it shakes again, the cellphone, the cursed object you shouldn’t be allowed to own. You grab it with your eyes shut close, terrified at what the screen has to show you. When you gather the courage to look, you frown: it’s a link. A URL you don’t recognize. You tap on it, gnawing nervously on your lip as Safari takes forever to load the page and once it's done, and the title of the page appears, you wish it wouldn’t have loaded at all. Fucking hell. You’re going to die. You’re dying of embarrassment tonight, it’s decided. 

'69 Best Masturbation Tips for Female Orgasm'. It’s an article about masturbation. He sent you that. To help probably. Because he doesn’t want to do it himself and doesn't know how to say it. Of fucking course he doesn’t want to and oh-my-fucking-god how could you have been so fucking stupid. 

you : Sorry

There are the dots again but you can’t bear to see them again so quickly you type a desperate:

you : I’m really sorry, didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable or anything. Sorry sorry JK please just forget I said anything sorry good nighttt 😅 😅

It’s the worst moment of your entire life. And this thought, the thought that it’s so terrible, nothing will ever compete for that title, is the sole reason why you decide to not suffocate yourself to death in your pillows. The worst just happened.

You’ll just avoid him. For a few days. If he lets you. He probably will. The poor guy is probably feeling even more awkward than you. You were acting so normal, regular platonic friendliness and suddenly he learns that you’ve been lurking over his ass for all this time. For fuck's sake. You’re the worst. There's a tiny voice in your head that's not a bitch and keeps telling you that a couple of days would suffice and eventually your cheeks’ crimson will reduce and progressively the whole thing will be lost in your memory like those events that sometimes fade so far away, you’re not even sure if they were ever real or simple dreams. Except this one is a fucking nightmare and as you toss and turn around relentlessly for the whole night you’re sure you won’t ever forget it did happen and the shame that you felt. 

And you’re wrong about that. Because as you wake up the next morning after having successfully fallen asleep for an hour around 6 am, the memory is blurry. It’s flimsy. The burning devastating emotions are gone like they hardly ever existed and you can sigh in relief as you stretch out of bed, body sore and rusted but mind fresh and enthusiastic. You feel like you’ve just woken up from a power nap -you know the fatigue will strike you half-dead later, around 10 am or 2 pm, you’re not sure yet-, feeling positive and wanting to move the world with how productive you feel like being today. 

And then your initial hypothesis is proven right. As you reach for your phone by rote, meaning to check the time and your notifications as you usually do, you fall upon the text Jungkook sent you right after you shut your phone off, the night before.

jungkook : It’s okay

That’s it. Hell befalls once again on your stupid self. It’s like last night, all over again. Your eyes well up, aiming to fill up the tenuous rivers dried up on your cheeks. You fall on your face back in bed, yelling full-on in your mattress. It’s horrible. It’s horrible. It’s horrible. 

“Are you okay?!” You hear Eun ask from the other side of the wall. Her voice is all hoarse from sleep and now you feel even worse for having woken her up with your idiocy. Stupid and selfish you are. 

“Yes, sorry!” There’s a loud thump as you assume she lets herself fall back to sleep. You’re glad she’s too tired to register the tremble in your voice and the obvious desperation even you could decipher. 

'It’s okay' with no emoji, no nothing. The emptiest text you’ve ever received. It’s worse than one of those 'ok' assholes send sometimes as an answer to a long invested text. You know what it means. It means it is not okay. He is too sweet to tell you off the way he should or wants to. He knows you’re not an inconsiderate bitch and that you will read through the pixels with this simple two words that it is not okay, he’s not interested and he feels bad but that’s just how things are.

The alarm of your phone rings loud. You’re reminded of your stupid duty you’re supposed to attend to: your job. You feel like a teenager again. Well, in reality, you never really stopped feeling like one. When something would happen, you expected the whole world to stop for you to deal with it. You were too spoiled as a kid. People would actually stop. You remember walking down the playground, eager to play at something but not knowing what and sauntering about looking out for your different options and all the kids, no matter what they were busy playing at would stop and stare, sharing quick nods of approval before one of them, one for each group, would walk up to you and try to convince you to stay with them. Everybody liked you at the time, everybody always loved you without you completely realizing, only occasionally would you suspect it with a sheepish mischievous smile hidden in the corner of your lips. 

And now you’re twenty-three and someone, the person who’s supposedly is always cherishing you, doesn’t want you. Which is fair. Fair enough. You’re friends and it’s weird for him, you get it. But he said that you could call him whenever you thought about him. He said it. And he said something else. You can’t remember properly now but you remember what you thought at the time: that he was suggesting you’d do it again. That happened. Whatever the exact terms were, he did hint at wanting other times to happen. Then again, he did say a lot of things that night. And obviously, those were spurred in the heat of the moment. You guess he’s smooth along with being talented. His words are part of the whole thing and for good reasons, it works like a charm. 

But, therefore, of fucking course, you’d take it seriously. Of course, it’d take roots in your weak mind and bloom into invading, overpowering desires.

You’re pissed at him now, you realize as you struggle to apply mascara from how much your hand is shaking. You’re angry because he is the asshole behind all that. Even if he did not do it on purpose, he’s made you like that, fucking obsessing over his fucking dick like it’s the only one left and you’re meant to save humanity from extinction. He didn’t have to be that good to you. And why would he say those stuff if he didn’t mean them? That’s fucking sick. And why does he not want you anyway? He didn’t have a problem with you being best friends the first time. He sure enjoyed it, right? 

Right? 

Your memory is hazy. 

You’re not sure if you just made it all up from the pleasure you were experiencing. He is good. But maybe you suck? Maybe he just went along and concluded with you because he was too sweet to back up and stop in the middle of the course of action but in fact, he didn’t enjoy it. You didn’t do a lot, that much is true. You didn’t feel too bad about it before because you were sure he still had his fair share of pleasure but now that you’re not sure, now that you consider the idea that maybe your brain affected the real turn of events to spare your ego and feed that magical experience you had, you feel like shit. It must be it. With all those girls, beautiful, liberated you’ve seen him with over the years, he must have had expected and wanted more. He didn’t end up that talented with no one to practice with. And there you were, awkward potato who couldn’t keep the lights on -which apparently was such a big deal-, way more inexperienced than you thought yourself to be, giving him the worst sex of his life. Of fucking course, he wouldn’t want to do it again. 

It’s decided you’re never meeting him again. It’s not his fault. It’s yours. You suck balls. Or rather you don’t and that’s the issue. 

Fuck. This is so embarrassing. It's been a couple of hours since the curse text he's sent, and you don't feel any better. If only you could focus on those dumb coffee orders and forget about your stupid pussy for a second. 

It’s a little easier after a few mistaken cups of weird lattes, when your manager, perched like an owl on a bar stool, starts staring at you like she’s about to fly to you and bite your head off. 

It gets harder when you finish your shift and your mind is left to think about him again and the atrocious humiliation. You’re cringing the whole ride home. Having to stop yourself from growling out loud in frustration, not wanting to freak people out by making them think you’re rabid or something. And it turns the hardest when you have to walk past his door and ignore it, when it’s right fucking there, to quickly flee in your apartment. You’re sweating and shaking once you’re inside, pressing yourself against the door, praising the barrier protecting your ego from him. 

Wow. That’s insane but you don’t want to see him ever again. Or at least not until it quiets down. It’s too much. You know there shouldn’t be a seat for shame in your friendship but you can’t help it. It’s just Jungkook but it’s also the best lover you’ve ever had and, you can't deny it anymore, an extremely attractive man. And you’ve humiliated yourself in front of that man.

It’s the reason behind your avoiding him. You don’t even take the time to think about it and try to rationalize, think about what he might be feeling, think about the implications of your action, about how childish you’re being, you just do it. 

At first, it’s a blast. Knowing you would work hard to precisely avoid him makes it more bearable for your existence. You don’t wake up with an awful tummy ache and a migraine just considering having to talk to him and act fine and casual as if you’re not dying inside. You won’t see him so it’s fine. It requires a little effort though. A little checking the area for safety with an unsuspecting Eun. A little hustling as you have to steal all of your colleagues' early shifts so that you don’t have to be home for breakfast and see him land in your living-room to eat with you. A little stealth when you have to come home as you do in the early afternoons and you don’t know for sure if he’s not working from home, eagerly tending the ear to try and catch you coming home. His ear is very sharp and you know when you don’t pay attention and are loud climbing up the stairs, he can hear you from his apartment. He told you before that he recognizes the sound of your stepping, different from Eun’s and that’s how he knows you’re home safe when you get off work at ungodly hours of the night, and knows to send you a sweet encouraging text when he hears you leave ungodly early. 

It’s because of those messages that you start feeling too bad to handle. The first time, in a panic, you had answered the text with a raccoon gif. He responded with a sympathetic laughing emoji and you decided you sucked faking casualty and would simply restrain yourself from answering his morning texts. It’s been cleared out already that you should not be allowed to use a fucking cellphone. 

He's too powerful though. The kindness of his texts and the guilt you’re facing directly proportionate to it adds to the fact that you miss him. It’s been five days and you miss him immensely. It’s when Eun who asks why the boys haven’t been around in so long that you realize you’re really being a bitch. He deserves better than that. Therefore, laying down on the sofa, legs propped on the armchair, naked feet shaking in anxiety in the air, you pick up your phone because you never learn apparently. 

you : you wanna have a ““““spooky””””” movie night? Netflix put up the scream movies + pizzas

It's natural enough. Doesn't mention anything risky and that's perfect.

jungkook : I’m in busan rn

you : What? Why are you in Busan? 

you : And since when?

jungkook : Two days. I’m coming home tomorrow night 

jungkook : For a seminar

jungkook : And you would know if you were not so busy avoiding me

Well, here goes the not-mentioning-anything.

Another quirk of yours: when your mind is set on something, hardly anything can make your aim waver.

you : *gasp* I don’t appreciate being called out like that

Nicely played.

jungkook : Don’t care

But he's going to be difficult.

you :  😐 😐

jungkook : Are you embarrassed about the other night? That’s fucking dumb 

you : You fucking dumb 

jungkook : Why are you so embarrassed? I told you it’s fine

you : But it’s not though. I feel terrible still

jungkook : There’s no reason everybody gets horny

you : But I rubbed it in your face when clearly you don’t want it I’m verysorry 

jungkook : Stop apologizing

And again, as always, it just goes smoothly. You don't understand this. It used to be so simple being friends with him. But lately, it's like everything is a challenge. You always doubt before being proven that yes, things are like they've always been. You have no reason to doubt your friendship, nor him. The weight lifted off of your chest feels incredible as it leaves, bringing a few relief tears to the corner of your right eye. It's the end of it, at last.

jungkook :  who said I don’t want it

a/n : yes, it’s happening, (y)our name is back. Way sooner than expected but it’s kookie’s bday so i felt i had to give him another chance. So, there should be 2 other chapters to follow, all in reader’s pov. I’d really like to know what you guys think. I feel like it’s too messy (it took me a while to write and i’ve been feeling stressed out so i think it transpires too much). in any case, i really hope you enjoyed, i know a lot of you anticipated a sequel so i hope i don’t disappoint. i’ll try to have the second part up next week-end. until then, peace out boys scout!

& a happy birthday to our angel, please bid your well wishes hard enough so they can reach him.

Hugs and kisses and love to you all. 💜

▲  Comment ‘tag’ if you want to be tagged when I post the next part!  ▲  

#btssmutclub #gukkienet #btswriterscollective #jungkook smut #bts smut #bts angst #jungkook angst #bts fluff #jungkook fluff #bts fanfic #jungkook fanfic #my writing

[geralehane]

Day 1: Winter Wonderland. (a/n: this is largely inspired by Supergirl. i have succumbed to the inevitable.)

ao3 | patreon

First thing she notices is white. A lot of white all around her. She does a quick scan of the atmosphere outside her pod, and the system determines it’s not harmful, so she opens the capsule and stumbles out. 

Second thing she notices is cold. It’s not freezing, but it’s pleasantly cool, and she draws in a deep breath, finding that she enjoys the freshness of the crisp air. This planet must be young. She looks around, taking in the stunning scenery – tall trees and the ground covered in white and the deep blue of the sky and the stars; so many stars twinkling above. 

I made it, she thinks disbelievingly, and lets out a sharp, loud laugh. Her head is increasingly dizzy and the exhaustion seeps into her bones, but it’s not a bad feeling. She just needs to rest. Badly, she realizes as she sways and has to grab onto her pod to keep steady.

Third thing she notices – or, rather, the third thing that notices her is a figure bundled up in thick coats gaping at her in shock. 

“Holy shit,” the figure whispers in Earth English, and then everything goes black. 

//

The figure’s name is Clarke, and her eyes are the impossibly blue color of the Earth’s sky. She crashed in the woods near the town she lives in. Right before Christmas, as she tells her. 

“You’re not gonna try to take over the world, right? Or, like – lay your eggs in my stomach or some other weird alien shit,” Clarke cautiously implores after she comes to on her couch and they exchange greetings and introductions. 

Lexa blinks. “Will you believe me if I say no?” She can’t help but quip, and Clarke lets out a nervous giggle. 

“I guess I will have to take your word for it.”

She spends the night telling Clarke everything about herself and the world that no longer exists.

//

They quickly figure out that Lexa’s very different on this planet. “It never happened back home,” Lexa tells her apologetically as they survey the remains of the coffee table she accidentally broke with a mere push. “It must be the yellow sun radiation.” 

“The sun is giving you superpowers,” Clarke states, incredulous. At Lexa’s nod, she blinks. “Cool. Cool cool cool. We gotta test that.” 

//

“You can fucking fly?!” 

“I couldn’t before!” Lexa yells back, equally awestruck. “I love this planet.” 

“Okay.” Clarke’s blonde hair gets in her eyes as she hastily takes off her hat, and she pushes it back, impatiently. “Please don’t take over it.”

Lexa decides not to dignify that with a response, instead swooping down to grab Clarke – who weights nothing to her - and float around with a laughing girl in her arms.

//

Snow, Lexa decides, is the most amazing thing. They never had it back home. Perhaps, centuries, a millennia ago, when the planet wasn’t dying and still had an actual ecosystem, but Lexa’s never witnessed it in person. 

She spends the next morning wandering around and touching it, listening to the way it crunches under her boots. If Clarke finds it weird, she doesn’t say anything. 

“Can’t believe I’m about to say this in an actual conversation, but – do you want to build a snowman?” she asks her from the porch, and Lexa tilts her head to the right, processing her words. 

“A snowman?” she echoes. Clarke’s smile is nothing but pure excitement. 

“Oh, this is gonna be so much fun.” 

Several hours later Lexa’s built a small snowman army in Clarke’s backyard with the help of her lightning speed. “Alright,” Clarke says. “I think you’re ready to discover the concept of a snowball fight.” 

Lexa’s not so sure after she explains it to her. “What if I hurt you?” 

Clarke only shrugs. “Let’s call it your control training, then.” And she’s right. It only takes a couple of broken tree branches and one rather impressive hole in Clarke’s fence to figure out just how much strength is needed to be human-appropriate, and in an hour Clarke and her are flinging snowballs back and forth. 

// 

“This is a hot chocolate,” Clarke announces, and at this point Lexa’s positive she’s actually died on her journey and this is her meeting the Creator. She tells Clarke as much. 

Her savior grins. “Boy, you’re not ready for cinnamon rolls.” 

Turns out she’s very much not. Once she’s over the initial shock from the sheer perfection of the baked goods, she devours most of them, barely leaving Clarke with two and guiltily asking if they could make more. 

“Figures you’d have super metabolism, too,” Clarke grumbles, but it’s with a smile. 

Lexa remembers something, then, and nudges her in the middle of baking. “Clarke? What is Christmas? You said it was soon.” 

“Oh.” Clarke stiffens, then, barely noticeable to a human’s eye. Which Lexa isn’t. “It’s – a holiday.” 

“A holiday? Like a celebration?” At Clarke’s nod, she jumps up with excitement, floating for several seconds. “I like those! We didn’t have much back home, but – the concept is alluring.” 

Clarke seems to be mulling something over while Lexa bombards her with more questions, and then, winning some sort of an internal battle, she grasps Lexa’s wrist. “Come on. I’m gonna need your help in the attic.” 

//

They are in the middle of decorating the spiky tree when Lexa conversationally asks if Clarke’s mated. Superpowers – and super reflexes – come in handy, then, because Clarke immediately loses her already precarious balance and tumbles down from a chair, stopped mere inches from the ground by a floating Lexa. 

“I, wow. Okay.” Clarke’s suddenly flustered and her gaze lands anywhere but on Lexa. “What?” 

“Do you have a mate,” Lexa repeats quietly, because – she’s still only vaguely familiar with Earthly customs and perhaps she’s just greatly offended Clarke by asking that question? Except Clarke doesn’t look very offended. 

“A mate – we don’t, um.” Blue eyes are wide with leftover shock, but there’s mirth starting to sparkle in them, too. “We don’t really have that concept of mating anymore. We do have marriages. Which – I’m not married. Or currently dating anyone, even.” 

“Dating,” Lexa slowly pronounces, and Clarke blinks before something like resolve settles over her features and she gently guides them to the couch. 

“Okay. So.” 

// 

After a detailed explanation of Earth’s courtship customs, Lexa nods and slides to her knee, only faltering when she notices Clarke’s horrified expression. “Uh – would you, um, would you like to go on a date with me?” 

“Jesus fucking – okay,” Clarke breathes, then, and practically hauls her up, making her sit back on the couch. “You don’t have to get on one knee when you ask a person out. Just marriage. And people don’t get married after two days of knowing each other. Well,” she grimaces. “Some do, but – just, don’t do that. Marriage is definitely not on the table.” 

Lexa nods. “And a date is?” 

“Again. It’s been two days.” 

She shrugs. “Back home, we had a mate assigned to us through an algorithm. Sometimes you’ve never even met them before the system determined you were mates.” But knowing is definitely better, Lexa thinks. If only to solidify the decision. Two days with Clarke, and she already feels way behind. 

“Were you… did you have a mate, then? You look… old enough. Wait.” Clarke’s horrified again for what seems to be a different reason. “How old are you, exactly? You’re not a child in your years, right? Right?!” 

Lexa assures her she is definitely not a child, which seems to calm Clarke significantly. “And – no. I chose to wait before my career was stable enough and my place in the community was strong. I do not come from a wealthy family, nor a respected one. I wanted to make sure I was worthy of my mate.” 

“Oh,” Clarke sighs, then, and Lexa thinks she must have said something right without even meaning to, because next thing she knows she’s wrapped up in a tight hug. “Lexa. You don’t have to prove you’re worthy. You just… you’re you,” she whispers clumsily. 

“I am me now,” Lexa clarifies, a little confused but mostly glad. “Does that mean you will go on a date with me?” 

Clarke’s amused laugh isn’t really an answer but Lexa’s okay with settling for that now. 

// 

The next day, it snows. She runs around with the white flakes and laughs and catches them on her tongue, reveling in the fresh, crisp taste of frozen water. Clarke mostly watches from the porch and laughs, but she doesn’t protest when Lexa drags her out into the snow and occasionally flies them, low enough so no one can see. 

“Thank you,” Clarke tells her, much later, as they finish with decorating and all the cooking and Lexa proclaims she’s never ever leaving this planet after she scarfs down several helpings of roasted chicken and gravy. They are about to watch something called A Charlie Brown Christmas and Lexa feels like she’s never felt before in the comfort of Clarke’s small living room under a blanket that smells like her. 

“Thank you for what?” 

Clarke smiles, but it’s sad. “I don’t know if you remember this, but I told you Christmas is a family holiday. And, as you can see, it’s only you and me tonight.” 

“Oh.” Lexa’s eyes light up. “So we’re a family?” 

“No, you dork – well,” Clarke bites her lower lip in thought before her smile becomes a little less sad. “Maybe. Seems like it, doesn’t it? What I meant, though, is that I wasn’t planning on celebrating this year. And I haven’t… haven’t really celebrated for a couple of years now. I didn’t see the point,” she barks out a sudden, bitter-sounding laugh that makes Lexa flinch. “And then you literally fell from the sky and had no idea about, well, anything – I mean, you practically asked me to marry you on day two.” 

“I am not living that one down, am I,” Lexa deadpans, and much to her delight, Clarke laughs. 

“Absolutely not. But what I’m saying is…” her hand is warm on Lexa’s. Comforting. “You gave me a reason to celebrate. And, in your own weird, cute, alien way reminded me how fun this can be. So.” She entwines their fingers together, and Lexa’s heart about stops in her chest. “Thank you.” 

They are slowly leaning in when Lexa fidgets and decides she shouldn’t push her luck by not asking first, so: “It would be appropriate to kiss you now, correct?” 

And Clarke scoffs and rolls her eyes in that special endearing way and mutters too fucking cute and finally, finally presses their lips together; and yeah, Lexa’s never ever leaving this planet as long as Clarke’s on it. 

#clexa #holyclexmas #holyclexmas19 #clexa fic #clarke x lexa #alien!lexa #supergirl!lexa

[kunoichi-ume]

30 Uncommon Character Development Questions: Noara Starspark

No one asked, but I wanted to do these for Noara. Writing the last little bit has been a struggle (between new job, this quarantine stuff and the fucking earthquake it’s a wonder I can concentrate on anything) so making myself think about these questions is a good exercise. Plus it was a good reason to use this beautiful sketch that @dingoat​‘s Ahuska did of my beautiful Jedi girl. 

30 Uncommon Character Development Questions and because I did all 30 of them I put it under the cut, just to be polite.

What position does your character sleep in? ( i.e; stomach, side, back, etc. ) Describe why they do this — optional. In a bed that is in a safe location, as much ‘hers’ as any bed ever is, Noara is a starfish. Stretching out across the surface, wrapping the blanket around her limbs, moving in reaction to whatever is happening in her mind. In the field? She doesn’t move much, sleeping lightly enough to wake if anything about her environment changes. It’s not about getting a good night’s sleep in that situation, just getting enough rest to keep going.

Does your character have any noteworthy features? Freckles? Dimples? A scar somewhere unusual? etc. Noara has a noticeable scar on her right cheek but few people look close enough to see the claw mark scars on her neck that she received at the same time. The wounds there were thankfully not as deep as the one on her face.

Does your character have an accent? What does it sound like? Not really, she grew up on a planet that isn’t known for any particular accent and speaks a fairly basic form of Basic with little deviation/special pronunciations.

Do they have any verbal tics? Do they have trouble pronouncing certain words or getting their thoughts across clearly? When she is flustered or nervous she doesn’t quite stutter but she has a hard time getting the words out and will often start to say one and then have to stop midword to change it because it’s not the one she wanted to say.

What are their chief tension areas? Her shoulders and lower back. She tries her best to present an image of a strong, mature Jedi Master that is capable to carry the heavy responsibilities given to her.  

If you were to pick one song — and only one song — to describe your character, what would it be and why? Choosing just one is hard, I have a whole playlist for her and most of them could work as the “one” song to sum Noara up but I think I need to go with Brighter by Patent Pending. It is a great mix of being optimistic about the future but also jaded and weighed down by the past, which is very Noara. She has a hard time dealing with everything that has happened to her but refuses to let it define her and never looses sight of the hope that life will get better.

How does your character perceive themselves? Positive? Negative? Neutral? She tends more toward the negative. Noara has no illusions about her lot in life, she is important to a lot of people but not because of who she is - just for what she can do. Her abilities are far more valued than she is for just being herself. Depending on the version of her this is more extreme, in I’ve Got You she is very convinced her abilities are the only why people are around her, in Jedi Sitters she feels like she is a failure as a Jedi because of what happened when she was under the Emperor’s control (and the very fact she was able to being manipulated so completely) and my Sith version of her that I don’t talk about as much as I would like to has no illusions that anyone cares about her until a very stubborn Mandalorian/Republic spy Fynta enters her life.

Are they a quick thinker or do they need time to sort through their thoughts? Quick for sure, she is pretty impulsive actually. When she has time to sort through her thoughts she usually ends up second guessing and doubting herself. Gotta make those choices before her insecurities can catch up.

Does your character dream or are their nights filled with an empty blackness? Describe a dream they’ve had or a night they couldn’t sleep and what they did to preoccupy their time. This one also depends a bit on which version of Noara. In I’ve Got You she doesn’t dream often, or even deal with nightmares, until Valkorian decides it’s a good way to try and manipulate her. Jedi Sitters Noara has constant nightmares and avoids sleep as much as possible, staying up later with caf or meditating until she passes out from exhaustion. Sith Noara’s life is a nightmare, why would sleeping be any different?

If they had a choice, would they prefer a subway or a bus for public transportation? It would be a major trial for Noara to ever be on a subway, it would be very triggering for her claustrophobia. Busses only work because she can see out the windows, doesn’t feel as trapped as she would knowing she was inside a tunnel underground.

What do they think of creation? Do they believe in evolution or do they believe in God? What is their religion like? Noara trusts in the Force but has never been a very religion driven person. She knows the Force is there, and what it does, but big questions like “how did life begin?” don’t really concern her much. Scholars can figure that out as far as she is concerned.

Describe 5 unusual characteristics your muse has. 

Despite being a virginal space monk, she loves romance stories - especially ones with hot scenes she can live vicariously through; 

Rarely sits in a chair the way it’s meant to be sat in, like perched on the back of a chair or couch, lying on a couch so her head hangs off the cushion and her feet are draped over the back, both feet folded underneath her when on a bench type seat; 

Exercises almost obsessively, always working out because sitting still is difficult for her unless she has something to occupy her mind; 

Taps her fingers, shakes her leg or fiddles with her thumbs when feeling impatient or anxious; 

Wears dark purple makeup in a traditional Nabooian style because it makes her feel like she belongs somewhere, like she had a home at some point, and she doesn’t openly acknowledge the reason being that she has no idea where she is from and feelings like she is missing part of herself by not knowing.

Have they ever been so overwhelmed they had to stop and take a break from something? Yes, it usually ends up with her chasing the bottom of a bottle or working out until she can’t go on anymore.

Are they a team player or do they prefer to be solo? This is such a hard choice for her, Noara likes having people at her back but hates the idea someone could get hurt if she messes up or isn’t fast enough.

Can they multi-task or must they focus on one subject at a time? She is very tunnel minded when it comes to a task, until that one is done she doesn’t really notice the other things she needs to do and often gets overwhelmed if there are too many things to do all at the same time.

What are their best school subjects? What are their worst? List five of each. 

Best: Physical Education, Technology/mechanics, Languages, Flight/piloting, Literature. 

Worst: History, Philosophy, Biology, Home Economics like sewing/cooking, Math.

Is your character an introvert or an extrovert? How do they handle big crowds of people? Extrovert, even if she has to force it sometimes. She likes crowds because the focus isn’t going to be on her when there are lots of other people around.

Are they a leader, do they prefer to follow, or would they rather just stay on the sidelines altogether? Noara is in a weird place where this is concerned. She leads, because people look to her for it, because the Jedi Council assigns leadership positions to her, but in almost every case she thinks there is someone else would would be better qualified.

If your character was suddenly challenged, would they rather run away or stay and fight? Noara is a fighter through and through, sometimes to her own detriment, but running away is never her first, second or even third choice. Lana getting her out of the spire was a test of the Sith’s patience in every way.

If your character was allowed to murder one person without any consequences, who would that person be and why? This depends on the version of Noara. 

In I’ve Got You that was the Emperor, but she would never consider that murder. It’s justice and he earned it. 

In Jedi Sitters she would give anything to be able to kill the Sith who controlled and abused her after the Emperor “gifted” her to him. 

Sith Noara would kill… well most people she has interactions with, but Darth Ira who stole her from the Jedi would be at the top of that list.

Your character has been granted 3 wishes; what would they wish for and why? 

First she would wish for peace between the Empire and the Republic - even with magical wishes she doesn’t think they could ever merge into one collation but if the Empire and Sith could see reason and stop the needless violence she would be satisfied. 

Second, Noara would ask for the ability to save all the people under her protection - failing to keep someone safe who trusted her is devastating every time it happens. 

Third she would want to know her family, who they are, where they are, why they let her go.

Does your character trust people right off the bat or does it take them some time to warm up to someone? It depends how well she can read them through the Force. If she can feel their sincerity she trusts fairly easily, even when the person is a Sith like Lana. If someone is shielding their intentions from her she is very cautious about them.

Do they prefer romance or affection? What is the quickest way to your character’s heart? Affection. Romance for so long is such an unattainable concept to her but affection is rare, something that makes her want to reach out to the person offering it and never let go. Touch starvation is very much something Noara deals with before she has a certain Mando to cuddle next to at every possible opportunity.

Does your character have any enemies? If so, who and why? The Emperor, Valkorian, comes to mind. Most Sith would see her as their enemy as well.

Do they have any weird bedroom habits? Any unusual kinks? Because so much of her life is making choices and giving orders she doesn’t feel qualified to give, she likes letting someone else take charge. She isn’t a sub in every encounter, but Torian having his way with her - and giving her firm directions - is a sure way to get her going.

How does your character prepare for bed? Do they sleep at all or can they stay awake for days on end without trouble? When on her ship or whatever location is serving as a home base at the time, she cleans her face and lets her hair down, changed into pajamas if she doesn't expect a sudden awakening.  In the field she doesn’t do much other than assure herself she found a safeish location though her preference is to use an energy stim or two and stay awake and aware - something she has done for days at a time before finally crashing.

If your character had one thing to say to their parents before they died, what would it be? Why didn’t you keep me?

Are they afraid of death? Do they have any regrets? Before Torian, no. She never questioned that she would become one with the Force and it would be a more peaceful existence than her life was. After, and especially after learning his people’s thoughts about the afterlife, she has many doubts about what she believes and if they would be together again. Regrets are a big problem for her, no matter how she feels about death she is going to have plenty of those.

Does your character get restless when things are too quiet or do they favour solitude and silence? Why? So restless! Noara always needs to be doing something, even if it’s meditation. If her mind or body doesn’t have something to do she gets anxious.

Finally; if your character was forced to eat one thing for the rest of their life, what would they choose and why? Well most of her life she has eaten prepacked field rations, the Star Wars equivalent of MREs. So making a responsible, balanced choice she would say those. She needs the nutrition to keep up with both her active lifestyle and maintain her muscle mass. As a petite woman with a high metabolism she has to be conscious of what she eats to keep herself in good condition. Idealistically? Cake, with the loophole that it can be ANY kind of cake. She enjoys sweets and they are such a rare treat for her, the idea of getting to try lots of different varieties and flavors would be very tempting.

#swtor #Jedi Knight #OC: Noara Starspark

[anistarrose]

The Fishtank Between Time and Space (GF One-Shot)

Summary: Stan doesn’t think much of the pet axolotl Ford left behind… until he realizes hardly anyone else can see it.

Word Count: 2100

Warnings: none

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20653508

***

Stan initially figures it’s just a weird pet of Ford’s, simple as that. After all, Ford was okay with him adopting a possum and tying a knife to it when they were kids — little pink salamanders are frankly very normal, by the standards of Stanford Pines.

(Not to mention by the standards of the town that is Gravity Falls. Ford could’ve caught all kinds of disturbing creatures out there in the woods, like a feral gnome or a literal sentient fire... or like something that Stan hasn’t even laid eyes upon, only knowing of its existence from the creaking and rattling noises he always hears when venturing through the forest at night. But thankfully, Ford hasn’t invited any rabid beasts or dark entities that Stan knows of into his house, and Stan’s grateful for that.)

But the salamander — the “axolotl,” Stan learns after finally breaking down and doing some basic research — always feels just a little bit off, in a way he sometimes struggles to put his finger on.

He thinks it’s all in his head, how the beady eyes always seem to be fixed on him. How it never seems to stop smiling. How he’s never once seen it eat, even though the food pellets he gives it never seem to accumulate on the bottom of the tank.

He doesn’t know a whole lot about axolotls in general, and on the basis of that ignorance, he convinces himself that the salamander Ford left behind is perfectly normal.

Until one day a few months after Ford’s disappearance, when something rare happens — he has company other than the usual tourists.

It’s just Boyish Dan Corduroy, hired with some of the first spare cash Stan has had in a long time to come in and fix a few squeaky doors. But he takes his time lumbering through the living room on his way out, which sets Stan on edge. None of the secrets he’s hiding are possible to uncover from this floor of the house, but habit keeps him anxious. Throughout the rare times in his life in which he’s had a residence to call his own, visitors have almost always meant bad news.

Dan’s gaze lands on the fishtank, which has been diligently maintained as a healthy environment for salamanders even though the rest of the room is an unorganized mess. (There are a lot of jabs you could take at Stan’s character, but for whatever reason, he’s developed a soft spot for Ford’s old pet.) As always, the axolotl’s eyes stay fixed on Stan, even though the lumberjack is closer.

“You keep this tank pretty clean,” Dan notes. “You gonna buy some fish or something soon?”

“Well, I’ve already got the —” Stan pauses, realizing he’s not sure how to pronounce axolotl. “The salamander.”

Dan presses his face close to the side of the tank, inches from where the axolotl sits, gills twitching. “Really? Where?”

“You serious? It’s literally right in front of your face — that thing with the pink frills and the beady eyes?”

Dan steps back from the tank, throwing an arm behind Stan the clap him on the back. “Ah, I see what you’re doing! It’s a new attraction you’re testing out on me — the invisible salamander! Good one!”

“Are you — are you fucking with me? Can you really not see —”

But Dan’s already leaving. “Good luck with the Murder Hut business!” his voice boomed from the porch outside. “I’ll tell everyone to come visit your invisible friend!”

Stan whirls around back towards the tank. “Do you know what the fuck that was?” he asked the axolotl. “Who’s really pranking me here — Dan, or you?!”

The axolotl offers no reply, and Stan feels like an idiot for the brief moment in which he’d genuinely expected one.

“Maybe Ford did some weird occult shit to you, and you didn’t have a choice in the matter,” Stan mutters, shuddering slightly as he thought back to all the cracked prisms and X-ed out eyes he’d discovered in his brother’s house. “Or maybe I’m going crazy and hallucinated you all along.”

A bubble comes out of the axolotl’s mouth, rising to the top of the tank before bursting with a satisfying — and very real-sounding — pop.

“Thanks for the reassurance.” Stan tosses a handful of food into its tank, and trudges back to his bedroom upstairs.

There was one rule that Stan very quickly established as he began to run the Muder Hut — or the Mystery Shack, as he was thinking of renaming it — and that rule was not to keep anything genuinely supernatural around, unless it was vital to getting Ford back.

But the axolotl… well, it’s still up for debate whether it really is magical, but Dan hadn’t seemed like he’d been joking, and Stan’s pretty sure that if he was going to hallucinate, he wouldn’t imagine into existence a real salamander that he’d never heard of before with perfect accuracy.

Stan doesn’t want to get rid of it, though. He’s gotten used to the axolotl’s company and the routine of caring for it, even though its eyes still weird him out from time to time. And it’s already been around for months without showing any malicious tendencies, so… would there really be any harm in keeping it around?

***

Months, years, and then decades pass, and Stan’s relationship with the axolotl stays more or less the same. He feeds it and cleans its tank, it smiles at him, and he feels just the tiniest bit less lonely. It’s not much in terms of companionship, but Stan is happy to take what he can get. He talks to it sometimes, telling it about all the places he’s searched for Ford’s journals and all the roadblocks he keeps hitting while he works on reactivating the portal, and it always looks so encouraging.

But two things happen during those years — the first being that Stan becomes convinced that something supernatural is going on with that salamander.

Business is booming so dramatically that he can hardly handle it all on his own, and he goes through several handymen and cashiers before eventually firing each one. Almost all of them comment on the empty fishtank at one point or another, gesturing right towards the spot where Stan can see the axolotl floating, clear as day.

He definitely wonders if he really is hallucinating it after all, but then the second interesting thing happens: someone else notices the axolotl. Several someones.

“I didn’t know you had any pets besides the goat, Mr. Pines!” Soos exclaimes on his second full day working at the Mystery Shack, smooshing his face up against the side of the tank. “What a weird fish!”

Stan is so caught of guard that he doesn’t even think to explain that it’s actually a salamander. “Uh… yeah. It sure is.”

Soos frowns. “Something wrong, Mr. Pines?”

Stan folds his arms, shaking his head even though his mind is racing. “Me? I’m fine. Just wasn’t expecting you to spot the shy little guy, since it usually likes to… you know, hide from strangers. Now, were we going to try and fix the golf cart, or not?”

And that’s the end of the axolotl discussion with Soos, over as quickly as it had begun. During the rare occasions Stan leaves the Mystery Shack, he always instructs Soos to feed it, and the axolotl always seems happy and healthy when he returns. He cannot for the life of him figure out why he and Soos seem to be the only two people in the world who can see it, but eventually he gives up on wondering. A mystery like that would’ve always been more of a question for Ford, anyways.

When he hires Wendy, it takes a while for him to realize that she can see it too. She spends so many weeks passing by the fishtank and not commenting on it that when she finally brings it up, Stan nearly spits out his coffee.

“Where’d you get that salamander, Mr. Pines? My science teacher is looking for a class pet, but everyone just keeps suggesting boring stuff like hamsters.”

“Uh… it came with the Shack. Two-for-one kinda deal, you know.”

“Darn, I was hoping you fished it out of the lake or something. Then I could’ve just gone and caught one myself.”

A few years later, when the twins arrive for the summer, Stan’s heart aches as he watches them discover the fishtank for the first time.

“Hey, Dipper, come check this out! Do you know what kind of animal this is?”

“Whoa, is that an axolotl? That’s so cool! I think I read that in Aztec mythology, they’re associated with the god of twins!”

“Really? Then you’ve just made the perfect new summer pals, Mister Axolotl!”

“Don’t tap on the glass like that, Mabel. You might scare it.” Dipper notices Stan watching them, and immediately starts firing off question after question. “Where did you get it? Do you ever show it to tourists? How long have you had it? How long do axolotls live? It looks pretty small — is it still a juvenile? Do they ever get bigger than this?”

Stan sighs. “Kid, I didn’t even know how to pronounce the world ‘axolotl’ until you showed up today. All I know is how to keep it fed — anything else, and you’re better off looking it up at the library or on a computer or wherever.”

“Well, you at least know where you got it from, right?”

Stan scoops a spoonful of food into the tank, avoiding eye contact with Dipper as he headed back to the gift shop. “I do, but it wouldn’t be the Mystery Shack if I didn’t keep a few secrets, would it?”

Dipper groans. “You’re no fun.”

***

When the axolotl disappears, it hits Stan harder than it should.

Even after thirty years of taking care of it, he never quite thought of it as his pet. It always struck him as more like a roommate, if anything — a lovable little freeloader who came in on its own terms, and stuck around only because it liked the place. Stan’s never given any thought as to why, but he’s always just felt weirdly certain that it could leave at any time if it wanted to.

And now, it has.

So he can’t help but wonder if it’s his fault. If he didn’t clean the tank enough, or cleaned it too much, or wasn’t fast enough noticing or resolving the situation with the lobster Mabel dumped in the tank.

Maybe it wasn’t anything he did. Maybe the axolotl just got bored of watching a man spending thirty years lying to tourists, forging his own brother’s signature, failing to learn quantum physics, and ultimately accomplishing absolutely nothing worthwhile.

Eventually, the kids notice and ask him, and this time he can’t spin it as a secret he’s keeping. He genuinely doesn’t know.

***

After Weirdmageddon, Stan’s memories are a two-thousand piece puzzle scattered across a tabletop, and he thinks he’s starting to fit some of the edge pieces together again, but there are still more gaps than connections. He remembers that the people who have been doting on him and showing him pictures are his family, and he remembers that he loves them and trusts them to help restore him to his former self, but progress is just… so… slow.

He doesn’t remember why they say he saved the world. He’s pretty sure they’re stretching the truth a little, but after seeing the way Ford’s face fell when Stan first asked why everyone was calling him a hero, he’s decided not to correct them.

So what if he doesn’t feel heroic? If it makes his family feel better, he’ll keep it to himself — it’s the least he can do, considering how many tears they’ve already shed for him.

But the first morning after his alleged act of heroism, while trudging through the ramshackle ruins of (he thinks) his house — a flicker of motion from behind cracked glass catches his eye.

The fishtank is nearly drained of water, but a familiar salamander sits in the puddle at the bottom, beaming at him. Stan blinks and rubs his eyes, wondering if he’s still dreaming, but then —

It speaks to him, in an ethereal and musical voice that resonates oddly in his ears, like he’s hearing the echo before he hears the words themselves.

I am so proud of you, Stanley.

“For what?”

Everything.

It dissolves into a froth of tiny, pink, glowing bubbles, which burst one by one as they float towards the top of the tank, and then the axolotl is gone.

***

(End notes:

So one day a few weeks ago, I just randomly woke up thinking “what if the Axolotl was only visible to the members of the Zodiac?” and several bouts with writers’ block later, here we are! Thoughts/comments/reblogs are welcomed as always!)

#gravity falls #stanley pines #the axolotl #soos ramirez #wendy corduroy #dipper pines #mabel pines #rosalia writes fic

[pertinax--loculos]

Encounter

|| it’s lonely where you are / come back down / and i won’t tell em your name ||

[WIP: Hellbent]

Words: 1380

POV: Raleigh

Content Warnings: vague allusion to drug use | cursing, always

Context: Raleigh meets Dash for the first time

Notes: basically the last half of the chapter one I finally wrote. The first half is setup and doubles the wordcount so eh. However! I do like a lot of this. So. Enjoy!

***

"Try the drawers."

Raleigh yelped and spun, his light swirling around the room as he frantically searched for the source of the voice. His heart felt like it was going to break out of his chest, the warm flush of adrenaline surging through his limbs, breath coming in panicked hiccups as he wondered if he'd somehow imagined-

There. A figure, sprawled in the corner nearly opposite the door by the low table. Raleigh wasn't sure how he'd missed him, even with the dark clothing.

He managed to steady his hand enough to get a good look at him, too breathless to say anything yet.

His eyes were blue. It was a weird thing for Raleigh to notice, but they were vivid even in the low light, their colour so intense they hardly seemed real.

The second thing Raleigh noticed was his smirk.

That actually served to calm him down a little, and he set his jaw. He stepped forward in order to throw more light on the stranger.

"Oh, okay," he said, managing to keep his voice steady despite the fact his heart was still banging against his ribcage. "I get it. Is this Peter's idea of a joke?"

The stranger narrowed his eyes, raising a hand to block the light. "Who the hell is- wait. You think I'm fucking working with you fundie dicks? The fuck gave you that impression?"

Raleigh had to fight not to splutter. Between the cursing, the casual use of the insult for Members, and the denial of being in on the test, his nervousness was abruptly back full force.

The smirk on the stranger's face intensified. "Take your time. And get that fucking light out of my face."

Raleigh lowered his phone without thinking, still struggling to come up with an appropriate course of action. Just ignoring the stranger was probably the best one, though it didn't account for the curiosity he could feel starting to creep through the shock.

"But- then, why'd you tell me to look in the drawer?" he said before he could help himself.

The stranger leaned forward; Raleigh flinched as there was a slight hissing and a couple of clicks and then light flooded the room. He blinked in the relative brightness; the guy had lit some sort of lantern that was sitting on the low table.

Raleigh glanced over his shoulder at the window, wondering what the guys outside would make of the sudden light.

"Relax, Pretty Boy." The voice and the form of address made Raleigh look back quickly, narrowing his eyes in disapproval. The stranger didn't seem to care. "They'll just think you found it and lit it yourself. You'll probably end up getting extra points for ingenuity."

The curiosity surged to the forefront again. "What- how do you know so much about this? I mean, you're obviously not a Member..."

"Obviously." He seemed pleased by that, smirking again. Raleigh waited, but he didn't elaborate.

"So then how-"

"Because once a year, every year, you fucks come tramping all through my house on some moronic fucking induction assignment, and I've kinda been forced to observe what it involves." The stranger leaned over to the table once more, swiping up something that Raleigh only identified as a packet of cigarettes when he removed one. "So like I said. Try the drawers. I recommend the bottom one." He winked.

Raleigh stared at him for a beat. He was pretty good at keeping a straight face, if he didn't say so himself, but that was under normal circumstances. Listening to someone refer to the induction process of one of the most prestigious organisations within the Church as moronic was not normal circumstances. He was dimly aware that his mouth was open.

The stranger lit the cigarette and then looked back at Raleigh. He arched a single eyebrow, blowing out a lungful of smoke. "Problem?"

Many and varied. All Raleigh said was, "This is your house?"

The smirk returned. "I live here. That makes it mine, doesn't it?"

"You live here?"

"Contrary to what your cult might be telling you, opportunities for those that don't subscribe to your insane beliefs are fucking few and far between. Needs must."

Raleigh snapped his mouth shut at the word cult, his anger only building as the guy kept talking. He whirled around, stalking back over to the vanity. He wasn't even going to dignify that with a response.

"Ah, I've upset you. Sorry, Pretty Boy. Just calling it like I see it."

That name again. Raleigh opened the bottom drawer with unnecessary force. Despite the stranger's confidence, he was still somewhat surprised to see the coil of rope.

He snatched it out of the drawer and turned on his heel, planning to march straight out of the room and not even hesitate until he reached Jasper and the others outside.

He made it three steps before he stopped, looking back to the blue-eyed stranger in the corner.

"Thanks," he said stiffly.

The stranger's head jerked up. Raleigh's course towards the door had brought him closer than he had been, and their eyes met.

"No problem," the stranger said, almost cautiously.

He was genuinely surprised to have been thanked, Raleigh realised. He wondered how many times the guy had done this; helped out Brotherhood Inductees, allowing them to complete their first assignment quickly and efficiently, and if any of them had acknowledged the assistance. Probably not, if he'd spoken to them the same way he'd spoken to Raleigh.

His curiosity won out once more and he took a small step closer.

"You really live here?" he said. "I mean, like all the time?"

The stranger shrugged, then looked away as he ashed his cigarette straight onto the floor beside him. "Rent's cheap."

From here Raleigh could get a better look at him. He had dark hair and the shadow of a couple days' stubble; it highlighted his cheekbones and his jawline, which were already pronounced thanks to the skinniness of his face. He was wearing a hunter green jacket, the sheepskin lining visible where the collar was turned down.

Abruptly he cut his eyes back to Raleigh. "You a student?"

Raleigh blinked, startled. "Uh, yeah. Second year. I'm studying psychology."

That got him another eyebrow raise. "Wasn't aware they offered anything other than theology."

Raleigh shrugged, unable to stop the automatic defensiveness from bleeding into his voice. "I've been studying theology my entire life. Maybe I'd like to broaden my horizons. And, y'know." He couldn't stop his eyes flickering away. "Help people."

The stranger's gaze was like a physical weight, and Raleigh shifted underneath it. In the back of his mind he knew he should get out of there, hurry up and get back to the others, but he couldn't quite convince his feet to move.

"Good for you, Pretty Boy," the stranger finally said. There wasn't any sarcasm or scorn or disbelief in his voice, and when Raleigh looked at him even his face looked genuine. He stubbed out his cigarette, continuing without looking back at Raleigh. "You ever wanna broaden your horizons to include those outside of your little cult's bubble, feel free to drop by."

Raleigh scowled at him, any charitable feelings he might have been starting to develop evaporating. He shifted the rope on his shoulder, lifting his chin a little.

"I doubt that'll be necessary. Thanks again for your help."

The stranger smiled, pulling something from his jacket pocket. "Sure."

Raleigh started back to the door, trying to ignore the rattle of whatever it was the guy was doing. But his steps slowed as he approached the doorway, before he found himself turning back once again.

"Um," he said eloquently.

The stranger looked up from where he was tipping something into his palm. "Forget something?"

"It's just..." Raleigh had to force himself not to shift his weight. "I'm Raleigh. Just to- just so you don't have to call me... anything else."

The grin the stranger gave him was borderline dazzling. He threw whatever it was in his palm into his mouth and swallowed it down with a mouthful from a bottle he produced from nowhere.

"Good to know, Pretty Boy," he said. "I'm Dash.”

***

Taglist (just ask to be added/removed): @adie-dee @bogbodybitch

#WIP: Hellbent #excerpt #original writing #writeblr #writing