#thinking about it now there are a lot of underlying problems underneath even more underlying problems

[thelingering]

TRUEEE

The most sure sign that someone doesn’t know much about poetry is when they insist that poetry has to rhyme.

And the most sure sign that someone is a little too pretentious about poetry is when they say that they hate rhyming poetry.

[emin-folly]

@fezwearingjellybananas 💚: What does everyone else get wrong about your favorite character? I've already talked about Barry, so it's Eobard's turn this time!

Okay so like....the whole deal with Eobard and the thing that a lot people seem to kind of?? Not get?? Is the fact that he's a pathological lair.

He's SO GOOD at this, he straight up got his own ass fooled into thinking he actually hates Barry. He'll say he "hates" Barry, and that he wants nothing more to than to be rid of him forever (nevermind in the next breath, he says he wants them to be equals??? Make up your mind, bro) BUT THEN he goes and tracks Barry through the timeline and proceeds to build a massive lightning rod which turns himself into the Negative Speed Force JUST to drag Barry out from the afterlife. Keyword there--Drag. Bringing Barry back to life wasn't some freak accident, Eobard deliberately dragged him out, kicking and screaming (<-- His exact words) Like...sacrificing your humanity, literally making yourself into your archnemesis's universal half to resurrect your most "hated" enemy is uuuhhhhh??? PRETTY GAY NGL And that's not the only instance either. There's lots of little things that Eobard does that shows he is surprisingly capable of being kind (like, the person who fixed Irey and Jai's whole speed aging thing? Yeah, that was Eobard), though it can be very easy to miss because he uses malicious pretense to distort them

"Oh, that's just writers inconsistency/rectonning things!" While true, there were things about Eobard that were changed/rectonned over the years, there still seems to be this same, underlying thread that ties all of Eobard's actions together, even going back as far as the Silver Age and that's love

When you rip away all the layers and get at his very core, you'll find that underneath all of that, he just wants to be loved.

That's it, and that's why he's so ruthless and unstoppable. He's willing to tear the whole universe apart just for a brief moment of happiness Eobard is a person who on some level, realizes how unlovable he is and is vehemently rebelling against that. He doesn't know how to love nor how to ask for it. All he's familiar with is his own obsessive and erratic love for Barry. This is why he's so, SO hellbent on making Barry as obsessed with him as he is with him, because that's the only form of love he knows As for him being petty, I've also gone a bit indepth in another post but I'll go over it briefly here why this is also VERY incorrect:

Yes, Eobard pushing Barry down the stairs or erasing his friends looks very random and ridiculously childish on the surface, but the second you look deeper, you'll see in actuality it's all part of a elaborate and sinister plan which he executes with terrifying precision

Eobard pushing Barry down the stairs isn't him being childish, it's to make Barry paranoid.

Eobard opening the door to let Barry's dog out isn't him being evil for the "lulz", it's to rip away all the things that Barry loves which love him back systematically until he's so lonely and desperate, like Eobard is

Every single little thing Eobard does to Barry has VERY meticulously thought out reasons behind them, most of which are known to only him. He's is SCARILY patient and extremely proficient in getting the results he wants and honestly, we don't talk about that nearly enough TLDR, Eobard wants to mold Barry into someone who would love and accept him. To make him into someone who could understand him and love him (the tragedy here being Barry already was that but it wasn't enough for Eo)

🤍: Which character is not as morally bad as everyone else seems to think? Batman. But that's too easy. So instead I'll say: Wally West.

Now, now. Hear me out.

Yes, Wally IS kind (though he had to learn that the hard way) and he does absolutely care about people, and he is compassionate (unless they're in his way....well, we'll get to that) but he also has this undeniable nasty streak.

He grew out a lot of it but he still has his moments where he's uhhh, really kind of horrible? He's judgmental, he's quick to jump to conclusions, he's selfish and he has a bad temper. He also struggles with empathy sometimes, too caught up about himself and what he's feeling to get the bigger picture. Wally definitely has good intentions, I'm definitely not doubting that, but when push comes to shove, he does has a tendency to do what he thinks is right vs what actually is right

Like, listen I'm sorry, Wally/Birdflash fans, but Wally's more than just the sunshine quippy, flirty guy. He's an asshole with some dark tendencies (remember when he turned Thad into a living statue? Y e a h) A good example of this is his relationship with Barry. Their relationship has so many layers to it and uhh, noooot all of it is positive.

They do truly love each other so, SO much. They tore through reality and time for each other. Nothing can separate them and yet...despite all of that, Wally has just...so many issues regarding Barry and how he sometimes treats Barry (honestly, you could extend this to the rest of the Flashfam. Yes, they are more emotionally adjusted and healthier compared to some, ahem other families coughtheBatfamcough but still, the way they seem to treat Barry a lot of the times is really?? Kind of rancid) Let's look at Flash War. Yes, Wally yelling at Barry was also influenced by Eobard, but I can't help but think Eobard's hypnosis wouldn't have worked as well as it did if Wally wasn't already harboring some deep-seated resentment, ya know? It's not really feasible to think Eobard created all of that anger there, but rather, he just nudged it to the surface, all of Wally's jealousy and fear regarding Barry (to be fair, he did get accidently 'eaten' by his uncle a couple times and reduced to a non-corporeal existence where no one remembered him, sooo yeah the fear is definitely justified lol) Barry for his part spent that whole arc trying to desperately reason with Wally and telling him to slow down and think things through. And how did Wally respond? By insulting him and threatening to cripple him beyond repair

"That was all just Eobard!" Mmm was it tho? I don't think so. I'm sorry, but I think to call everything Wally did in Flash War Eobard's fault seems very reductive and as well as the fact that Wally lashing out at Barry is something that seems to repeat itself a lot in the comics history.

The first time being at Barry's trial when he was being convicted of killing Eobard. Wally, who up to this point in time idolized Barry and wa his biggest fan, was now accusing him in a court of law of being incompetent and responsible for Iris's death (as bad as this was, I do give Wally a lot of slack here, he was very angry and hurt and needed someone--anyone--to use as a outlet)

Second time was during his solo run when he hallucinated Barry and Wally was attacking him, calling him a monster....yeahhh, I don't think I need to elaborate

Like...I absolutely get it, Wally was blinded by grief, he was hurting so bad, he wasn't thinking straight, I understand that. But he still threatened to hurt Barry to get his family back and if that doesn't speak volumes about his relationship to Barry, then I don't know. Because Wally is definitely possessive of the Flash mantle (which is also a whole thing in itself) and he doesn't know when Barry would suddenly re-absorb him back into the Speed Force again, Barry will always be a threat to him whether Wally likes it or not

Wally doesn't like confronting his issues either, and Barry will never call him out on it (that's his precious son boy after all) so it'll most likely just keep happening, sadly. And it's not just Barry, you can pick a lot of other characters, like Roy or Bart, who Wally also lashed out at Now, I'm not saying all of this to prove that Wally's a "bad character" or that Barry is flawless and perfect--far from it! Wally's complex, he has grey areas/layers which isn't the same as being horribly written

This doesn't negate his good traits nor vice versa. Wally's a very messy and also very human and that's perfectly fine! And I wish more people would internalize that

Disclaimer: I really do like and enjoy Wally and I LOVE his relationship with Barry <33 I adore them, BUT I also understand that it's not completely wholesome at all times and there is underlying problems here~

[sinretrograde]

At this point it seems clear to me that both v-model "alters" that were present were fragments that got absorbed into other members of the system.

For lack of a better way to say it, they're more like kintypes of other members now, where they can feel more strongly during kin shifts but still have the underlying vibe of the other underneath it. If that makes sense.

Due to that, I may retire this blog, I may archive it and leave it so we can add the information and posts here to our chronological timeline of system events we keep. The journey and the points of discovery and understanding what happen with us further help us to understand things as they happen again, patterns which repeat. (Not all fictives are fragments who get absorbed as kintypes, but it seems like most are/were.)

So idk...

Last night I wrote up a big long thing and did some charting and lots and lots of introspection and meditation on the topic, allowing time for others to pip in their 2 cents. This is also a longer lasting introspective thread that's been building up even before the v-models ever arrived, however their more active involvement in possessing the body and insisting on individuality pushed us further into that line, and faster. I beleive nobody stays the same forever, and the shifting peices of our being can be difficult to pin down, if they're even supposed to be pinned down in the first place.

We've been on this journey of self discovery for over 10 years now, probably closer to 15 at this point, and each major turn has taken us so long to come to terms with due to the constant spectre of doubt we carry with us. Since around 2022, we decided it wouldn't kill us to just accept everything at face value. Any time we got even the slightest "feelings" we would just label them and let them run wild. Usually as either new alters or as existing aspects of alters. This radical acceptance rather than intense grilling of their legitimately helped us a lot, I think. The willingness to let ourselves be mistaken in favor of greasing the machine so to speak, less friction and less general hostility and antagonism right out the gate. Of course it was helpful and we've felt the best we have since.

In hindsight, of course the grilling and constant doubting hostility towards (potential) new members would cause problems and hinder actual helpful discoveries and general system cohesion. No shit. But it was something we were convinced we HAD to do. If you weren't aggressively questioning everything, then how did you know it was REAL?

This is the kind of toxic mindset we were trapped in for years and years. For all of those 10 to 15 years we had been dipping our toes into questioning our plurality, it was primarily colored with antagonistic glasses. It wasnt really until about 5 years ago that we even really attempted to be less aggressive with the questioning of our experiences in general, and woth great success. It was, of course, our punishment that we got back what we'd given all those years, and first real contact between eachother had a mix of relief and joy, but also anger and sadness at being brushed aside for so long.

I think that's why it took us a longer time to realize we had more kintypes rather than alters. Since our new method was accepting everything, newly awakened kintypes with especially strong shifts often felt like new alters. But a little to the left, something was just slightly off. Still working on recognizing that quicker.

Regardless, I now wonder if we shouldn't reorganize for a third time (or fourth idk?) It's embarrassing, we restructured our blogs to fit this new need, and it turns out the bloat from letting every little feeling give itself a name and a sideblog and all that left us feeling more overwhelmed and irritated in general. I guess I'll try and find out what I wanna do soon. Gotta come to a consensus.

[strqyr]

i found it so telling in v8 that their conflict over which plan to follow took up nearly an entire episode, bc they were all so terrified by what that division meant, whereas the happy huntresses had no problem splitting off to help them out. like, this adult functional team NOT wrapped up in ozpin's shit has no problem splitting off to achieve different parts of the same goal

they're secure enough, both in terms of their relationships to each other, but also like... that their intentions are good? idk how to phrase it. team rwby/jnor are all terrified and convinced that the mere act of having different goals is actually aiding Salem/evil more nebulously.

and while they were able to split off to do their different tasks on... okay terms, that underlying anxiety is still present here. don't say that, you sound like ironwood. cheer jaune up about the PP, we can't let him be sad about this thing he's lost, that only spreads negativity.

the most interesting part of rwby to me is the larger implications of the grimm being drawn to negativity, right? like, toxic or not (and it is), there is a strategic reason to squash negative emotions

But the Ever After doesn't have grimm. it is quite literally the safest place for these kids to sort out their emotions, to feel those negative emotions.

but until they realize that and allow themselves to feel those negative emotions unrestrained, they'll be stuck in this same loop.

anyway they're definitely not getting out of the ever after this volume lmao

ever think about how mantle suppressing emotions, keeping them in check by abolishing the arts and repressing self-expression, is the first thing mentioned as leading towards the great war, and now there's a system in place that encourages keeping negative emotions in check to an unhealthy degree just to avoid attracting more grimm, which ends up feeding into this loop of bottling negative feelings, leaving them to simmer underneath a lid until it boils over and the resulting swarm of grimm would be so much worse than if those emotions and feelings had been addressed in a healthy manner when they first surfaced?

i think about this a lot. and then these kids have the added burden of stopping an immortal witch who has all the time on her side while they have no time to stop and mourn bc if they falter for even a moment everything will fall apart... right?

it won't, but they don't know that—ruby doesn't know that bc that was never an option for her. gotta be the leader and pick everyone else up, if she falters she'll let everyone down, twice now she's been knocked out cold and her friends have pleaded her to wake up bc they need her and and and

OOF.

i don't wanna make any predictions bc i'm Bad at them... but i'm still going to make one and say if they're getting out of the ever after it's going to be like. the very end of the finale.

[writing-with-olive]

Hi! Mind helping me with a writing question? I'm trying to do a redemption arc, but this guy is really bad. I've yet to find something/someone he's not willing to sacrifice to get what he wants. The main problem is that he knows he's evil and LIKES it because its fun and gets him what he wants-- freedom and power. How do I make him WANT to be better and to get the audience to believe he deserves redemption? I've already taken him out of his position of power-- which he wants back. What next?

Hey anon!

So really quick, I wanna address a possible misconception:

Redemption is about realizing something was wrong and making the active decision to become better, and then following through. There is no such thing as deserving redemption, because that implies that if you screw up badly enough, you're not allowed to feel remorse or take steps to fix what you can. This may sound super nitpicky, but it changes a lot of the framing. It's not that suddenly the good guys like the redemption arc character - in fact you can have a redeemed character that the good guys Don't Trust, it's that the redemption character starts to realize they've messed up.

(more details below the cut including what makes a redemption arc, an example, and addressing specifics from your ask)

Alrighty, so what makes a redemption arc?

Although it manifests externally, it's nearly all internal conflict. This is because redemption is a conscious choice. You can put the character through all kinds of hell, but if their mindset doesn't change, they won't be able to redeem themself. (it looks like you know this, but I figured I'd say it anyway)

So we gotta figure out how to change their mindset. As I see it, there's two phases to this - the part where they refuse to acknowledge that they're changing, and will dismiss any notion of it, and the part where they consider that maybe changing won't be so bad. Also, another important element of mindset to consider is that there's often two layers of wants for a character; what they think they want, and the real driving factor underneath. It's that surface level thing that's gonna change, not the underlying one. That's how you make the change natural.

Let's look at Zuko from Avatar the Last Airbender as an example (um... spoilers). For the bulk of the show, he's hell-bent on capturing the avatar because that's his ticket home, which is important to him because while he's in exile, he has no honor. He's considered a villain because he's in direct hostile opposition to the main characters. His arc is realizing that his honor is not predicated on returning home. He starts out in full villain mode for season one (though it's important to note that his misconceptions about the world are laid out - the audience can understand both the surface-level and driving force behind his actions), but by season two he seems to slowly be moving towards the "hey maybe I don't need to go home to the Fire Nation to be honorable - I can be happy here" camp. But when he has a clear opportunity to complete his mission and go to the Fire Nation with honor, he slams back to villainy at Mach 4 during the season 2 finale. This is important because if characters go smoothly from villain to hero it often doesn't feel really earned. It's only once he's back that he realizes that while he's regained his father's favor and is in the Fire Nation, and he's being told how honorable it is, it doesn't feel honorable to him. The surface level was satisfied but not the driving force. It's only after this realization that he's able to join the side of the heroes - and he's got to work for it. He has to undo as much of the damage he's caused as he can, all with the very real possibility that he will never be accepted by any of the good guys.

So.... to answer some of your points more directly:

1) he's evil and he knows it.

This, if you play it well, can actually help you. He's already got an understanding of morality, and even if he doesn't care right now about whether or not he's hurting anyone, he understands that it is technically bad. That means once he cares, he's got a framework to go off of.

2) it's fun and gets him freedom and power.

So when I look at this, here's my thought process. First, I feel like the aspect of "it's fun" is more of the byproduct - he enjoys the freedom and power he feels while being evil, which overrides any kind of moral squeamishness nonsense. The need to do evil is the surface level want of your character.

The driving force is the need to feel powerful and free. A big part of his redemption arc is going to be his definitions of what it means to be these things changing. Maybe power at the beginning means that people fear him, but it changes to mean people trust him. Maybe freedom at the beginning means no one tells him what to do, whereas at the end it means not having to look over his shoulder in case someone's coming to backstab him. I don't know if this is the direction you want to take your character, but the key idea here is that he doesn't have to change what he thinks he wants, it's what he means by those things that shifts. That's why it makes such a difference when they finally get what they thought they were after, only to realize that it doesn't satisfy their desire the way they thought it would.

3) how to make him want to get better?

At first, he won't. You can dangle that bait of his powerful position in front of him, and that's all he's going to see. That's good.

While he's unable to reach that position, however, maybe his normal way of doing things don't work. Maybe he tries to hurt someone and they get away with no problem and look down on this character (that lack of power would probably sting). Maybe he has to make a temporary ally to get out of a near-death situation, even if he fully intends to backstab the ally the first chance he gets.

Basically, you're throwing challenges at him where he has to try out different ways of doing things - this is what's going to sloooowwwly start to change his outlook on the world. Of course, he's probably not going to admit it, but the solutions he's forced to take show him the merits of whatever world outlook he's going to have in the end after he's committed to redemption.

Then, when it looks like he might be starting to turn good.... give him what he thinks he wants. And let it go horribly wrong.

He'll probably start off all triumphant, but quickly realize that it's not the end goal he thought he wanted. What he thinks of as power or freedom have shifted, and this position he's just regained doesn't really accommodate those new wants.

This is when he does a little bit of introspection and decides to fight like hell to redeem himself - what will get him to the new definitions of power and freedom? That's what his new goal is.

so hopefully this is useful. if you haven't seen avatar i highly recommend watching it - it's amazing :D

happy writing!

[arc852]

An Unlikely Duo Ch. 3

Warnings: Fear, panic and mention of treating a person like a pet

Word Count: 2426

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Read on AO3

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 Wilbur spent the hours leading up to dinner looking through his laptop trying to figure out what song he should play for Tommy. He hadn’t meant for it to take that long and had actually wanted to play before dinner was ready but picking a song Tommy might like was a lot harder than he thought. Not to mention, the more he stared at his own sheets of music, the more he hated every single one.

 He let out a sigh and shut his laptop, rubbing a hand down his face. He’d figure it out after he got back, he supposed.

 He headed down to dinner, only to see that they were serving spaghetti tonight. Wilbur smiled a little at the chance to bring Tommy some warm food. He could even give Tommy some bread with it as well. A full meal instead of just some deli meats he found in the fridge.

 He ate his portion of dinner, putting a forkful in a napkin and hiding it away in his pocket when the adults weren’t looking. He grinned to himself when they didn’t notice and then did the same thing with a whole roll of bread. The adults were none the wiser and when he asked to be excused, they let him go with no suspicions. Perfect.

 He closed the door to his room and kneeled down so he could place the food underneath his bed. He bit his lip as he stayed there for a moment, looking at the wall that Tommy was probably still behind. He cleared his throat. “Hey, uh, I brought you some dinner. Some bread and spaghetti. It was really good so I hope you like it. If not, I can always bring you something else.”

 He waited a moment, to see if Tommy might come out or answer him but when all he was met with was silence, Wilbur crawled out from the bed and stood up. That was fine, the little guy was probably still scared and Wilbur couldn’t blame him for that. So maybe some music would ease him.

 Wilbur grabbed his guitar and sat on his bed where he propped open his laptop once again. He frowned when he realized he was right back where he was. Unable to choose a song to play for Tommy.

 He strummed absentmindedly on his guitar as he thought over his choices. He could try the song he was playing when he first saw Tommy...but the problem with that was that it wasn't actually a song Wilbur had written. He had just been messing around on his guitar at that point. He can’t even remember what he was playing.

 A thought suddenly struck Wilbur. Maybe that was it. Maybe the song didn’t really matter. Tommy seemed to like it when he was simply playing around with chords. Maybe that would be enough.

 Biting his lip, Wilbur pulled up a blank music sheet. Maybe messing around and writing a new song was exactly what he needed. 

 And hopefully it would be enough to ease Tommy’s mind and pique his interest.

***

 Tommy had been in the middle of bending his newly acquired paperclip into a hook shape when he heard the door to the human’s room open again. He had felt a lot more comfortable when Wilbur hadn’t been in the room. But of course, the human had to return eventually. Tommy expected that.

 What he didn’t expect was for Wilbur to actually try and talk to him.

 Tommy froze as soon as he processed Wilbur was speaking. Despite being muffled through the walls, Tommy had no trouble picking up on the words being said. He had been brought food, again. Part of Tommy, which he was pretty sure was his stomach, was happy at the chance to eat more food. The other part, the more rational part, was livid that the human would try it again.

 He knew he shouldn’t have taken the food. Because now Wilbur had taken it as an incentive to keep doing it. To keep pitying him. 

 Well, Tommy wasn’t having it.

 Overcome with anger and a sense of wanting to prove himself, Tommy marched out of the wall. He grabbed the piece of bread, ignoring the way the heat came off in fumes and the smell wafted around, making his mouth water. He ignored it all in favor of taking the piece of bread and coming out from underneath the bed.

 The music had just barely started when Tommy decided to interrupt. Cupping his hand over his mouth in order to make sure he was heard. “Hey b****!”

 Wilbur’s hand paused on the strings, his body tensing. A voice, Tommy’s voice, seemed to come from the floor. But that would mean…

 Oh so slowly, as if anything faster would make Tommy leave, Wilbur put down his guitar beside him on the bed and then leaned over said bed, glancing down toward the floor. And there was Tommy, small as ever, with a familiar glare pointed right at Wilbur. Wilbur swallowed thickly, wondering what Tommy was doing out of the walls. “Tommy, what-?”

 “I don’t need your f****** food, you giant prick! And I don’t want your f****** pity either!” Tommy yelled, all his anger put into the words. Wilbur, meanwhile, sat frozen, shocked at Tommy’s words. “I can do things just fine on my own! I don’t need you or anyone and I don’t need this f****** bread either!” And with that last yell, Tommy mustered up all the strength he had and threw the bread square at Wilbur’s face.

 To the surprise of both the borrower and human, the bread hit its mark and hit Wilbur right beneath his eye.

 The piece of bread fell onto the bed and Wilbur stared at it, not knowing what to do or say. He glanced towards Tommy, who was breathing heavily from anger.

 But, as the anger slowly pulled out of his body, Tommy realized what he had just done. The anger quickly turned into an overwhelming sense of fear as the borrower realized how much he just messed up. He talked back to a human, not even that, he yelled and cursed and threw something at someone who was so much larger than himself. A being who would have no problem getting back at him tenfold.

 Tommy wasted no time in scurrying back under the bed and towards the wall.

 As soon as Tommy moved, Wilbur snapped out of his frozen state. “Wait, Tommy!” He got down from his bed and did his best to follow the borrower under the bed. He got under there in just enough time to see the tiny entrance to the walls close, with Tommy already in them.

 Tommy pressed his back against the door, heart pounding and trying to keep his breathing steady. Seeing Wilbur follow after him had been terrifying. And even now, knowing Wilbur was right there, waiting outside his door made Tommy panic. There was no way the human could get him out of the walls...right?

 Oh god but he totally could. All it would take is a hammer to the wall and Tommy would be exposed. Caught like the stupid borrower he was, why did he have to go out and do that-

 “Tommy?” A voice cut through his panicked thoughts and Tommy tensed. The voice sounded close. Too close. “Hey, I’m not...mad or anything. I’m just a little confused. I gave you the food because I just want to help. Not because of any pity or anything. I don’t pity you, Tommy.” Wilbur’s words were gentle and calm but Tommy still felt his hands become fists at his sides.

 “Why else would you give me the food? It’s because you don’t think I can get any myself.” Tommy spoke, proud that he managed without stuttering.

 “That’s not true. I’m sure you’re plenty capable.” Wilbur said back and Tommy faltered a bit. “I just thought it would be nice for you not to have to go through the trouble of finding something. Besides, it’s cold. I figured maybe you’d want something warm.”

 “You don’t know what I want.” Tommy spit out but it held less fire in it than before.

 “You’re right. Maybe I shouldn’t have assumed but I couldn’t help it. And maybe part of it is because I...I feel bad for before. For grabbing you.” Wilbur admitted, looking down at the fibers in the carpet. Tommy blinked.

 “It was incredibly rude of you.” Tommy said, the fire from his anger all but gone at this point. A laugh escaped Wilbur, causing Tommy to flinch but he soon relaxed when he realized what it was.

 “That’s fair.” Wilbur said inbetween laughs. Tommy couldn’t help but smile a little but it quickly left his face when a question popped into his head. A question he had been itching to ask since it had happened, really. He supposed now was as good of a time as any. With the wall between them, Tommy felt a lot more comfortable talking to the human.

 “What was the deal with the whole three questions thing anyway? You could have just...kept me and forced me to answer all that you wanted to ask.” Tommy didn’t know why he was bringing up the fact that Wilbur could have kept him. Could very much still catch him and keep him. But the question was already out in the open.

 Wilbur was silent for a long time, to the point where Tommy was starting to get nervous. Did he just make the human realize his mistake? Was this where the hammer to the walls came in?

 “Tommy, I...I wouldn’t…” Wilbur was having a hard time collecting his thoughts. “I was never going to keep you. I was curious, yeah, and I definitely reacted wrong but you’re clearly a person and that’s...no, yeah, I was always going to let you go. The questions...I did that so I could get something out of our meeting before you left.”

 Tommy blinked, mind running with this new information. Part of him wanted to say that Wilbur was lying but at the same time...he did let him go. Was that enough to support what Wilbur claimed?

 “I...I didn’t think it mattered, if I was a person or not. Cause yeah, that s*** is obvious but other humans don’t seem to care too much about that. They see something small and ‘helpless’ and think, mine.” He remembered the stories his parents would tell him, of borrowers being caught and kept as pets even after they revealed they could think and speak for themselves. It was awful and did the trick for little Tommy to stay far away from outside the walls for the longest time.

 “...Well those people are right pricks then.” Wilbur spoke and the bluntness of the statement made Tommy laugh. Despite the underlying anger in Wilbur’s tone, he was pretty sure the anger wasn’t directed at him.

 “Couldn’t agree with you more, big man.�� The nickname slipped out without him meaning to but if Wilbur noticed he didn’t say anything. Just let out a quiet snort. They sat in silence for a few moments and in that time Tommy realized his heart wasn’t beating as fast as it had been. He was still terrified but somehow...less, now.

 Wilbur stared at the little door, the one that blended into the walls so well he could barely even see it. Half of him hoped Tommy would come out and they could speak face to face but he knew that wouldn’t happen. And he couldn’t really blame him either. Not with Tommy’s line of thinking. It truly was awful though, especially since Wilbur knew full well that some humans were just that bad. It made Wilbur sick just thinking about it.

 He stared at the small piece of bread that he had taken with him, the one that Tommy had thrown and gently placed it back with the small pile of spaghetti. “I’ll leave you alone now. I know it was probably a bit...much, with me chasing you underneath the bed. Sorry, about that by the way. Um, but yeah. I’ll leave the food here, just in case you want it. Not out of pity or anything.” Wilbur felt the need to reassure further. “But just because.”

 Tommy didn’t say anything at that. But Wilbur smiled anyway. “And if you ever need anything, I’d be more than happy to help you out.” He let his words hang there for a bit, letting Tommy soak them up. “Goodnight, Tommy.” And with that, Wilbur crawled out from underneath the bed and climbed back on top of it.

 He stared at his guitar for a moment before picking it up to put away. It was getting late anyway. He should probably get some sleep.

 As Tommy heard Wilbur shuffling around, he couldn’t help but think about what had just happened. It had gone...better, than Tommy would have ever expected. He still wasn’t sure if he believed Wilbur or not but some part of him really wanted to. It was dangerous to listen to that part of him though. 

 As the noises out in the room died down, Tommy took a deep breath and opened the door. He half-expected to see Wilbur still under the bed, waiting for him. But of course, he wasn’t. Judging by the silence and how dark the room was, Tommy could only assume he had gone to bed.

 His eyes drifted over towards the small pile of food, still steaming. Hesitantly, Tommy made his way over to it and picked up the piece of bread he had thrown at Wilbur. It wasn’t as hot as before but it still held some of its warmth. It was soft in his hands with a spongy sort of texture. Tommy had had bread before but that bread had always been kind of old and stale. It was never like this.

 He took a bite out of it and tears immediately welled up in his eyes.

 Tommy had never eaten anything warm before. It was an unfamiliar but welcome feeling all the same. The dull cold he always felt was, for once, warmed by the food. It was amazing and that was just the bread.

 He wiped his tears away as he continued to eat.

 And later that night, as he laid on the ground with his thin blanket and a full, warm, stomach, he couldn’t help but think about Wilbur.

[mrsbrekkers]

Bestie I had an idea can I plz request some Jesper x Reader with the only one bed trope and maybe include dancing in the rain? Imma leave everything else up to you because you have an amazing imagination. Once again no rush! 🤍🤍🤍

BESTIEEEEEEEEE hi :) so, i left out the rain bit bcuz my brain went; part two? i can write part two muhhahahahAHHAHA. but yes here's one bed trope tehe

pairings! jesper x reader / kaz x inej, nina x matthias + wylan being the bad bittie he is and making flash bombs

reader is gender neutral per usual in my jesper fics!

warnings! none? mention of a flash bomb, swearing, sexual t e n s i o n, kaz being a shipper of reader and jesper, kaz also being a simp for inej, jesper being H O T, anyways here it isssssssssss

word count! 2296!

WHAT IS IT ABOUT HOTELS?

“So, we’re going to be staying in hotels? Seriously Kaz?” Inej spoke. She’d been the first to speak after Kaz had announced their newest job. It presented the chance for twenty million kruge, which split among the seven, was about three million each. It involved crashing a merchant’s party and killing a few people, but it wasn’t like they hadn’t done so before. No, what irked the team was the necessity to stay in hotels.

“Wouldn’t that leave a trail behind, Kaz? You know, the way to find who did what we’re planning on doing?” Jesper asked, raising a brow. but Kaz simply shook his head. The Crows should’ve known that Kaz had his weird, out of the box ways to cover up his trail. Especially when it involved murder. Sure, people could suspect the Dregs, but they could never pin-point anything big that they were involved in unless Kaz let it be known.

“It won’t. I paid under a different alias. A dead one, but it works all the same,” Kaz responded, looking over at Jesper, who simply laid back into his seat and nodded in understanding.

“What will be the rooming arrangements?” Wylan asked. His eyes were set on the flash bomb he was working on. One to help blind everyone at the party before the killing was done.

“Nina and Matthias will room together. Inej, Wylan, and I will all have our own rooms, and Y/N and Jesper will share a bedroom,” Kaz responded, making Y/N and Jesper slowly turn their heads to look at their boss.

“What?!” They said in unison, making all of the Crows excluding Kaz laugh. Yes, because the suffering of two friends is so funny! Y/N’s eyes didn’t leave Kaz, who shrugged.

“I need my own room, Inej needs her own room, Wylan also does, he’s working on a bomb after all. Nina and Matthias were a given, so that leaves you two, and I wasn’t paying any more than I had on the rooms,” Kaz reasoned, but he did have underlying reasons. Inej and him had a bet on whether the two would get together or not, and for once, he was putting effort into winning a bet. Which explained Inej and her glare thrown his way.

“You can’t switch Inej and Jesper around? Inej and I are good friends! I’m sure she’d love to share a room with me,” Y/N said, looking at Inej, who nodded.

“The issue is not the room itself, but the amount of beds,” Kaz said, smirking just slightly, one that Jesper nor Y/N caught onto since they both looked at one another, realization rushing over their faces.

“There’s only one bed?!” They both said in unison once more, making the Crows all laugh once more, even louder this time though.

“Yep, it was cheaper, and I want to make as much profit as I can from this,” Kaz said, his eyes lifting from the drawing he was now working on with Wylan, who’d set the bomb aside for the time being. His eyes had that look in it. No room for discussion.

Y/N and Jesper sighed, their heads falling to the table.

Inej looked over at Kaz then, her eyes narrowing. “You set this up. Unfair, you’re cheating in the bet,” she accused. Kaz said nothing though, simply going back to the drawing that he’d been doing with Wylan, nodding as Wylan spoke.

“This is bullcrap,” Inej murmured, rolling her eyes as she looked at Jesper and Y/N, who now bickered over who would get the bed and who would lay on the ground.

“No, that isn’t fair Y/N and you know that. You don’t get to claim the bed because you're Kaz’s favorite! One, that’s a lie, Inej is. Two, I have to have a bed! It is that simple!” Jesper argued back, but Y/N shook their head.

“No, no, no! It isn’t that simple! I won’t miss out on a hotel bed because you so desperately need a bed, Jesper Fahey, that isn’t fair!”

And Inej let her head fall to the table, a huff being heard from her. Children.

The day came then. The day for the Crows to arrive at the hotels, and before Kaz could even fully check them in Y/N and Jesper were running down the hall, full sprint. They both stopped at their door, Jesper trying to open it despite needing the key card - which a smirking Kaz had down the steps.

“You imbecile, it needs the key card, which conveniently you forgot downstairs! Cheater!” Y/N yelled. The Crows walked up the steps soon after, seeing the two doubled over, catching their breath. Nina couldn’t help but laugh, walking into the room her and Matthias were assigned. Inej was the next into her room, Wylan across from her. Finally, Kaz arrived in front of the two.

“I didn’t cheat! You started running before Kaz-” Jesper pointed at their boss, who stood with a roll of his eyes. “-finished checking in, and I wasn’t going to give you that head start. Who’s the cheater now, huh?!” The bickering had been quite the site for the past few days. Most of the other Crows found it amusing, especially Nina. The bed hadn’t been brought up since the day Kaz announced sleeping arrangements, so to remedy the problem? The two put their bickering into everything else.

“I’m going to have to buy earplugs from downstairs,” Kaz murmured. He was half sure he’d lose his mind with these two.

“Tell him I get the bed!” Y/N pointed at Jesper now, looking at their boss.

“Tell them I get the bed!” Jesper retaliated his pointed finger shifting to Y/N.

Looking between the two, Kaz had to compose himself to refrain from laughing. He’d really done this. He’d caused this and he wasn’t half mad about it. “Here,” was all he said before dropping the key card between the two, watching both of them scramble to grab it. If only the other Crows were here to see this. He then walked to his room across the way. Of course the room was right next to Inej’s.

Y/N managed to get their hand on the keycard first, standing and opening the door before running towards the bed, hopping onto it. Feeling the comfort as they landed, they smirked. “I win-” but Jesper had also jumped onto the bed, now on top of Y/N, cutting the latter off as they were suffocated.

“Jesper!” Y/N squirmed underneath him, pushing the taller boy off of them. Jesper simply chuckled, rolling over to now lay next to Y/N, glancing over at them as he laid there. He smiled, seeing how they’re chest rose up and down, hair a mess. Their breathing was irregular, but it reminded him of the run up the stairs, full of pushing, laughing. Even if they bickered, Jesper couldn’t help but admire everything about Y/N. How their lips were so perfect. Their skin looked soft to the touch, being lit by the setting sun outside. They glew in the light. They lit up the room they were in. Because even if the sun disappeared, there’d be them. They were the sun. His sun.

Y/N turned their head, seeing Jesper staring at them. “Jes?” They whispered. They watched Jesper shake himself from the trance he’d been in, sitting up and running a hand down his face. They followed him, sitting now.

“Nothing,” Jesper said, standing and walking into the bathroom, leaving a confused Y/N. Humming a bit, Y/N stood and grabbed the keycard and wrote a small note that they were going to Inej’s room. Walking out of the room and knocking on her door, Y/N bobbed back and forth on their heels.

Confusion laced their features, unsure what Jesper had been thinking. Y/N normally was a phenomenal reader of emotions, but it appeared they’d overestimated said ability. Jesper had been staring, but it wasn’t like they had a problem with it. They had stared longingly across the room at one another dozens of times - not that they considered it longingly, more in a friendly manner. Even if it definitely wasn’t in such a way.

Inej opened the door, smiling as she saw her friend. She stepped to the side, letting Y/N in. “What brings you here?” Does Jesper like me? Was the first thought that came to mind to ask Inej. Weird question to ask, but Jesper tended to tell Inej a lot. It wouldn’t be surprising if he had told her. Even then, Inej was the most observant person Y/N knew.

Y/N sat on the bed, glancing around the hotel room, trying to find something to focus on. The two talked for a good hour, playing whatever games they could think of to pass the time. “You know you can stay here if you’d like. Even with the one bed,” Inej offered, smiling a bit. Over the course of a few years, the two had become close. They told one another everything.

“No, no, it’s alright. I saw the double bed in Kaz’s room though. He didn’t get the room just for himself,” Y/N said, glancing up at Inej. A way to be near one another without having to cross boundaries both may not be ready for. A way to watch over one another. Y/N thought of Jesper then. How they looked over one another without meaning too. Whether it be on jobs, or in general around the Barrel; they looked after one another.

Inej kicked Y/N in the shin, raising a brow. “When are you and Jesper going to admit those little feelings for yours?” She asked, making Y/N’s head shoot up.

“I don’t have feelings for Jesper-”

“Denial,” Inej said, crossing her arms. Maybe it was denial. Maybe that’s why Y/N had been so apprehensive to share a room with him. Much more, only one bed. Because they feared their feelings would ultimately be revealed.

“I did not come in here to be told I’m in denial about my feelings, Inej. I was going to offer up potentially going down to the pool, having some time off before this giant heist we’re going to try and pull off, butttttttt not anymore,” Y/N said, standing. A smile was still on their lips though, a small laugh being heard as they walked towards the door.

“I know that offer is still up!” Inej called as Y/N left the room, heading back towards their shared room, they entered, seeing a now showered Jesper. They stopped dead in their tracks, eyes scanning Jesper. He was shirtless, a towel wrapped around his torso. It was a sight to see, and Y/N was receiving a front seated view.

“I-um…” Y/N spoke quietly, tilting their head, trying to take this all in. Jesper’s head lifted upon hearing the small words from the door, seeing his roommate for the night.

“Your note said you were going to spend time with Inej, I expected you to be there longer,” Jesper chuckled, leaning down and grabbing a shirt and pants for the night, but upon heading towards the bathroom, Y/N stopped him, hand on his chest. His eyes shifted down to their hand, then lifted to lock on their lips.

“You wanna come down to the pool?” Their voice was quiet, their own eyes on Jesper’s lips as well. Jesper said nothing, his hand moving to Y/N’s hand on his chest and pulling them to him, his lips connecting with theirs. While Y/N had been gone, Jesper had time to think of his feelings. His apprehensiveness to the one bed. The shared room. It was all because of fear. Fear his feelings would be revealed, but after what Nina had told him days before - “Y/N looks at you like you’re the only thing in the world Jesper.” - He knew he could finally take this step.

Y/N’s eyes shut immediately, fingers moving through Jesper’s wet hair as they were pulled back towards the one bed. The kiss was demanding, needy. Like neither of them had kissed someone in years. Centuries, even. Desire coursed through the two of them. That intimate desire to be close. “Screw the pool,” Y/N murmured, giggling a bit as the two of them fell back onto the bed.

“Screw the pool indeed,” Jesper agreed, his hands finding Y/N’s waist, holding his hands there as they fell back. His lips reconnected with theirs, preparing to flip the two, Jesper wrapped his arm fully around Y/N’s waist, but the knock on the door stopped them.

“Inej,” Y/N murmured, pulling away and walking to the door, opening it and seeing the other Crows there.

“We’re waiting on you!” Nina exclaimed, excited to relax for the night, even if it was just for a few hours. They all needed it. Y/N nodded, entering the room once more with a scoff. So much for screwing the damn pool. There was someone else they wanted to screw though. Clearing their throat, they grabbed their swim stuff, looking down at Jesper who was still on the bed, clearly upset.

“Come on, we can make them pay for that later,” Y/N offered, raising a brow. Jesper rolled his eyes, but nodded in agreement, taking Y/N’s hand as they extended it. When they arrived at the pool, the other’s had already begun their fun, Kaz sitting in one of the chairs, drawings of the heist in front of him, glasses on as if he was watching over his children. His crow children. Inej being the only exception.

[docholligay]

The Green Knight: A Ramble Through the Field of Honor

So I talked in an earlier post very glancingly about the line “Why greatness? Is goodness not enough?” and how it fits into the idea that Gawain has no idea what true greatness looks like, and I think, dovetailing into that, we kind of have to talk about how Gawain is...not a great guy. 

And I’m not even talking about the way we begin the movie with him in a brothel, though I am going to use that to spring off here and talk about his conduct toward Essel. Knightly stories are full of these ideas of chivalry particularly around women, and I think Lowery is using Essel to make the point that Gawain is not doing that, not even remotely. Essel is a working girl, sure, but she’s also, as its shown throughout the movie, devoted to him, and cares for him far beyond his ability to provide for her. She even tells him that she has his gold, when she asks to be his lady, but she wants very simple things--to sit by his side at the fire, and have his ear, and be his lady. In full fairness to Gawain, I suppose, he never pretends even for a moment that he has any intention of doing that. Gawain is not interested in whatever he might owe her, because in seeking his greatness he utterly passes by this goodness. 

We see this again in “A Kindness” where he repeatedly tells the scavenger that he is “Just passing through” when asked if he is a knight, not dodging the question, exactly, but allowing the scavenger to think this untrue thing. The scavenger talks about how he has brothers out there, the wide field of bodies like the fallen trees, showing us the lumber that Camelot is built upon, but Gawain does not have a moment for sympathy or pause. He fails to see this kid as a human being, and the narrative allows us to glance over it too, fixated in the same way Gawain is on the destination and not the journey. 

Even when he is given instructions about how to get to the Green Chapel, when it’s been shown he has only the roughest sketched ideas of the way--and we can argue that the instructions may be false, but I’m not sure I think it matters--all he offers this scavenger, this BOY, is his thanks, despite being told he’s lost his family, was almost lost himself. He has to be shamed into offering a single coin, when Excalibur itself was offered to him when he needed the help. 

This goes back to the idea of a test, and of Gawain’s repeated failures to have honor, to be great. He can’t see that mercy and generosity are a part of what it means to be a knight, to bear that mantle of goodness that I would argue underlies the knightly ideal. 

This is why, when he’s captured and his things taken from him, he asks for the GReen Chapel and is told, “You’re in it.” This is a test as surely as kneeling before the Knight himself, and he’s failed, not only the test of generosity, but of courage, as he pleads with them that he’s not a knight, and he never said he was, and it’s true, that he isn’t, and so he’s stripped of all the trappings that make him a knight--his horse, his arms, his shield--because if he will not behave a knight, if he will not meet the world with the courage and honor he’s meant to have, then he may as well have none of it at all. 

Gawain is pretty much a world-class fuckboy until the Tale of St. Winifred, until he truly connects with the natural impulse within him in the form of the fox (More on this in a much longer later post) 

The tale of St. Winifred is his chance to begin his redemption, really the first time that he’s been willing to take any real instruction on the nature of becoming a knight--he sure as shit could not be bothered to listen to Arthur--and so this is where he earns back the axe. He earns back the right to even have this quest in the first place. 

I don’t know how much the audience knows about the tale of St. Winifred, but the details are changed from the usual telling of the story in order to support the themes of the film.  St. Winifred is also, in one sense, a tale of beheading and of virtue. That in upholding her ‘purity,’ she lost her life and her head. This is why I think it’s not actually a foregone conclusion that Gawain is spared at the end--I think Lowery makes the point that sometimes our values must be paid for in blood. 

The flexible nature of honor is addressed directly in Winifred’s story. From the beginning, when she tells him not to touch her, that “a knight should know better,” there’s a sort of restarting the clock on his ability to be that knight. He just failed the last test, but as people, we are not who we are in one moment, whether that is terribly virtuous, or terribly cowardly, but the accumulation of who we are in all the moments. Each story is the chance to start again, and that’s why you’ll see so much menton of his being a knight at the start of each ‘section.’ It’s his chance to begin this anew. 

In that way of, just tell the audience what’s going on, when Winifred is telling her story, of a man who came and desired to lay with her, and says, ‘Perhaps he was thee,’ that’s not just speaking to the sense of circles and repetition of nature in the movie--though not unrelated--but the idea that Gawain could be that man, could still, in a sense, choose to be that man. That he can always fail this test, too. 

“If I go and get it, what will be my reward?”

It takes you aback, just for a moment, when he asks her that, until we realize that we were all asking ourselves that too. Reading into the traditions behind knights and saints, I think we’re used to the idea that a boon will be received for dong the right thing, and Lowery asks us to evaluate all that in Winifred’s reply:

 “Why would you ask me that? Why would you ever ask me that?” 

Harkening back to when he didn’t give the kid more than just a single coin, and telling him, “my thanks”--does he really have the right to ask for such a thing when he couldn’t manage to reward kindness himself-- but also the idea that honorable tasks should be taken up for their own sake, and not in order to have a reward. Can you truly be said to be acting with chivalry and honor if you’re doing it for a reward, or even notoriety? 

Going back to my larger theory that Lowery is trying to bring forth the idea in all of this that there is no such thing as being a “knightly” sort of person at rest, while still holding that the decisions of a moment can cement the sort of person we continue to be, it makes sense that he would ask if we can say Gawain passes this test, if Winifred regards him. 

“Now I can see thee,” she says, because this is a baptism of sorts, and being a saint, she can only see a soul in clarity. This is the direct opposite to the moment that Arthur tells him he has mud on his face, this is in direct opposite to his behavior with Essel, this is him doing the right and kind thing for a woman, without a thought to reward, and in that, he is cleaned, and Winifred can see what’s underneath, the sort of man he can be under what he’s accumulated. 

ANd this is why he gets back the axe. It gives him leave to continue his quest, even though just a bit earlier, when asked where he was going, he simply said, “home.” But the show of the axe let him know that honor was not yet lost to him, that there was still a chance to be the sort of person he might have been. 

WHich, by the way, does not makes things clear to him still. Life is not that simple, and I am very very resolute on my idea that a lot of what this movie is about is about the journey of our own lives to meet death and live with honor inasmuch as we can overcome our own cowardice and shitty behavior to do so, and even at the end of it all, about to meet the Green Knight, asked why he’s doing it, expressing that honor is why a knight does what he does, and then, pressed, says:

“Honor is a part of the life I want.” 

This is Lowery pretty firmly taking aim at the old Arthurian texts, wherein honor very often good be a sole raison d’etre, saying that for most of us--and I would argue the whole reason Gawain is a fuck up is that he’s meant to represent most of us--that isn’t enough. There needs to be something more. 

I also don’t think, for all I’ve talked about tests, that Gawain’s cowardice with the Green Knight had to be the end of the story. I think Essel’s pregnancy, and his cruelty, was a test. I think lying about what happened in the Green Chapel and accepting a knighthood was a test. I think there are multiple tests in that little interlude, but you see, the problem is, the more you do something, the more you’ll do it. As he makes these choices, this more and more becomes the man he is, as these choices stack up like stones, it gets harder and harder to knock down that wall. This is why his green sash--his cowardice--has become a physical part of him by the end of that interlude, bleeding as he draws it out. 

Honor isn’t set, and it isn’t enough. Life is a confusing journey, rife with difficulty to do the right thing with consistency not because of outside influence so much as ourselves. Gawain’s great antagonist in al of this is not the Green Knight, but himself. Such as it is for all of us, as we TRY to be good people, and risk sometimes redefining honor, or greatness, what it means to be “a knight” in order to convince ourselves that it might be true. 

“Is this all there is?” Gawain asks, before the axe is laid down, and I want to give Dev Patel a lot of credit here, though I’ve mostly been focusing on imagery and story. I’m not sure this would work as well if he hadn’t made it feel quite as human as it does, when he says it. It’s the question I think all of us ask, as we contemplate our own deaths, our own struggles to even up with what was right. Is there no way of knowing what comes next? 

Life is a series of tests. A measure of honor. And what else ought there be?

On Doc and The Green Knight

[f1]

It should point us in the right direction Wolff shares update on key changes to Mercedes 2023 challenger

Mercedes Team Principal Toto Wolff says the Silver Arrows are making changes to the “architecture” of their car for the 2023 season, as the eight-time world champions plot their route back to the summit of the Formula 1 standings. Following eight consecutive constructors’ titles – from 2014 to 2021 – Mercedes’ reign as champions came to an end last season, as they finished third in the standings – with George Russell’s victory in Brazil their only win of the year. While Red Bull and Ferrari were quick from the get-go in 2022, Mercedes struggled to adapt to the overhauled new technical regulations, as they wrestled with porpoising issues on their W13 car for a large part of the season. READ MORE: Wolff provides update on new Hamilton contract as seven-time champ enters final year of current deal Asked on F1’s Beyond the Grid podcast whether Mercedes have now solved their bouncing issues, Wolff said: “We believe that we solved the underlying problem of the bouncing but not all of that could have been done on the 2022 car. So, we believe that it is going to be easier next year [2023]. "We are changing some of the architecture and the layout of the car that should point us in the right direction. But as it is with these new regulations, sometimes you uncover one problem and then you realise there was another underneath. "So, we have to be humble and not feel a sense of entitlement that we are going to get back into this championship and win straight from the get-go. So, I’m really looking forward to it.” The team’s Motorsport Strategy Director James Vowles – who will be leaving Mercedes in February to become Williams new Team Principal – admitted on Mercedes’ YouTube channel that while they cannot claim to know everything about the W13, the Silver Arrows have made a lot of progress that they can take into the 2023 season. “I don’t think you can truly now or even across the winter state that we know everything about the W13," admitted Vowles. "We clearly across the year, every time we learned something, discovered a whole series of new items that really we had to learn, understand, and develop very quickly. READ MORE: Hamilton names two midfield teams he hopes can join 2023 championship battle “If you look at the direction moving forward, the gaps to the front, especially on race pace, we made huge amounts of progress, and you only do that by understanding where your problems are, working on them, and working as a team." He added: “Is it enough to win next year, which is really where that question goes. The confidence we have is that we now have our tools. Our wind tunnel tools, our development tools, our performance tools here in the organisation, producing performance which is more than our competitors. It is allowing us to move further forward, relative to them.” We will find out how successful they have been when the new season kicks off with the Bahrain Grand Prix in early March. via Formula 1 News https://www.formula1.com

[last-night-is-a-blur]

I haven’t been keeping up with the last few epsodes of Superman and Lois but from the spoilers I have seen I am kind of dissapointed.

S1 had a subplot about Clark and Jordan mending their bond. Great. S2 seems to be setting up an arc about Clark’s (and possibly Lois) and Jon’s relationship. But I hate how dragged out and dramatic Jon’s arc is becoming. I feel like Jordan’s and Clark’s issues were handled more subtlely and disagrements were usually solved fairly quickly. With Jon’s arc, the problems have been there since last season, and this season has made them clearer, but the steps forward are just too few and small. 

I get that Jordan and Jon are different, so they interact with their dad and deal with their issues differently and it would be redundant storytelling to have their arcs too similiar. I like that each boy gets their own arc about their personal issues and their relationship with Clark, and since each boy gets their own arc, then it makes sense to give Jordan's arc the spotlight first. It makes sense given Jon's character and the Kent family's dynamics that the full extent of Jon’s issues surface later. It also makes sense that it takes a longer time before these issues gets properly addressed, both because his parents see him differently than Jordan (the “well-adjusted” one vs the “mentally ill, insecure” one) and therefor parent him differently, and because Jon expresses himself differently. While Jon has talked about his issues in both seasons, then he usually doesn't talk about his feelings too deeply and there is probably a lot more going on underneath the surface. It fits his character to not wanting to discuss these underlying issues and even if he is emotionally intelligent and good with words, then it is also possible that he doesn’t understand them completely or know how to communicate them effectively anyways. Jordan has been more open about his feelings (like how he openly shows his anger at Clark for not being around enough, or admits that he wants to be good at something, without being asked, unlike Jon who only admitted to similar feelings when Lois asked him why he used X-K). So his parents seem to still see him as the well adjusted one, even though they know his life isn't as easy as it was in Metropolis. So it isn’t weird in-universe that Clark wouldn’t start to focus on mending his bond with Jon until now, since he seemingly believed that Jon was copying better with everything that had happened to him since Martha’s funeral than he was and because he thought things were better between them than they are from Jon’s prespective. I don’t want them to fix everything in one conversation. All of that makes sense too. But I wish it wasn’t as streched out and over the top. There was a whole episode before Clark went to Bizarro world where they could have taken at least a small step in the right direction. But okay, lets go the “last time we saw each other things were bad between us, so now we need to be reunited so we can make up” route. Ok, I respect that. Less wild about the “I needed to see a version of my family where I died before I could mend things with my son” route. Instead I wish that Clark would have experienced something that made him realize that maybe Jon did what he did not because he didn’t care anymore about what is right, but because he is struggling, and start to reach out to him.

Also, why can’t Clark and Lois be a little more understanding about Candice’s situation? Idk if Clark knows why Candice started selling, but Lois sure didn’t seem to consider that maybe Candice couldn’t find a job that pays as well as selling superpower inducing drugs ( I know her clients were high schooler but still. No one seems to be talking about that point, or the fact that maybe she couldn’t find a job). 

At least now I think I understand why writers added the part about Jon covering for Candice instead of just making it about him doing X-K. It seems that they want to create a paralell between Jon keeping Candice’s secret to protect someone he care about, and the Kents keeping their Kryptoinian heritage and Clark being Superman a secret for the same reason. 

[mrwinterr]

Slippery, Smooth

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader 

Summary: Bucky gets a different kind of massage.

Warnings: Smut 18+ (consensual but still unprotected sex, vaginal penetration, oral [male receiving], thigh riding, titty fuck, cum play).

Disclaimer: I want to put it out there that while nuru massages aren’t legal in the vast majority of the U.S. or the world, I’m not condoning the underlying motive of selling sex and/or prostitution. I apologize if this may offend anyone or the culture. I did my best to read about the origins and some modern experiences. A girl just watched porn and wrote this – that’s it.

** Author’s Note (8/13/20): Read a snippet of Part 2! **

“We’ll just need you both to fill out the paperwork for some information. Please check any of the services we offer then sign the waiver on the back and when you’re both done, we’ll show you to your rooms,” the young female receptionist answered with a friendly smile on her face.

Sam returns the gesture with a smile of his own and grabs the two white clipboards with the paperwork attached to them, carefully balancing the pens placed on top so they don’t roll off. On his left, was Bucky sporting a resting bitch face, clearly showing he was dragged into this before heading to a pair of unoccupied seats. The woman unbothered by his sour demeanor pays no offense believing he’s come to the right place to relieve the stress he isn’t aware he’s been harboring.

Except Bucky really doesn’t want to be here at the spa. He just happened to be caught while walking by some of his colleagues and apparently, Sam had been asking around for someone to check out the raving massage parlor on the market with him, but mostly because it was much more of a discount to book for two than one.

With some convincing from his more levelheaded companions, suggesting Bucky continue to go out and experience more modern things while also participating in the act of self-care, he begrudgingly agreed.

“Man, hurry up. Did you forget how to spell your name?” Sam nudged at him seeing as Bucky hadn’t even filled out the first line before putting the cap back on his pen, signaling he had completed his paperwork.

“Shut up. I don’t even want to be here.” Bucky mumbled enough just for Sam to hear. It wasn’t the establishment’s fault that he felt bothered.

He let out a big sigh, filled out the basic information and skimmed at the options of the services provided. His face scrunched. There were all kinds of massages that he hadn’t heard of and some were even in different languages. Luckily, this place offered a brief description of each type.

“Barnes!” Sam, who was standing in front of the receptionist desk again, said with a now firmer tone and sending Bucky a hard look. He was getting impatient. Bucky shook his head and looked back down at the paper. Try something new. He reminded himself.

Feeling slight pressure and the practical idea of the sooner he got through with this part of the process the sooner he’d be out of this place, Bucky hastily checks off something near the middle, a different type of massage he thought sounded nice. They all sounded nice, but there were so many, he didn’t bother to finish reading through or retain any significant aspects on each of them as they all became a jumbled mess of terms in his brain. Afterall, a massage is designed to make one feel good anyways. How far south could the option he selected go?

A few more minutes went by until another woman from behind the desk emerges and calls for the two men. The receptionist bids them a good time and carries on with the next guest. To both of their relief, Bucky and Sam are placed in separate rooms.

Guess he picked a different massage. Bucky thought to himself and looked around the dim lit room. Its walls adorned with tasteful foreign artwork, different sized candles and infused with a refreshed yet soothing scent that began overtaking his senses. The place was pristine.

The employee who escorted him to this room sets the clipboard on the nearby table and instructs Bucky to prep himself with a shower that was located in the corner. Before he could ask why that was a significant part of the massage, she told him once he was done washing himself, to lie on the massage table with only his towel on and to wait for his actual masseuse, who would arrive shortly, then she left closing the door behind her.

Not wanting to think too much into it, believing perhaps it was part of the experience or this place was just super hygienic, Bucky doesn’t waste time. The masseuse could walk in any moment, so he proceeds to undress, open the clear shower door and step in.

A few months ago, aside from the people he worked with or the ones he fought against, no one would be caught alone with Bucky – especially in a vulnerable state such as being half naked and with his metal arm on display. It took a lot of self-therapy and confidence and just plain not giving a fuck anymore mindset, but now here he was letting a complete stranger touch him and take more than a peek and gander at his body. If the doctors could see him now. On top of that, there had to be a level of professionalism here anyways, he was in good hands.

Once he’s thoroughly clean, he wraps the white, fluffy towel around his waist before hopping onto the massage bed. It was big, almost like it was built for two. That was a strange thought, but nonetheless he chose to also not dwell on that and was grateful it was big enough for his burly body. He scoots around a bit to find the center and lies down, trying to relax.

He turned his head to the side, eyes wandering at the counter full of supplies – massage oils, rocks, towels, soap, a box of condoms, gloves, more towels…wait. A box of condoms? What the hell? Bucky thought now a little puzzled before turning his head back to stare at the ceiling in front of him. He closes his eyes and tries to calm his nerves once more.

Just before Bucky dozed off, as if on cue, he hears the door open and quietly close with an extra click. You finally arrived. He peeks an eye open to see the back of your figure, hair tied loosely and in a short white robe. It clung on your body different, it had to be of silk. He opens both eyes just as you turn around.

You quickly glance at his clipboard before finally fixing your eyes on your next client. His metal arm certainly didn’t go unnoticed, but that wouldn’t be a problem at all. It might sound mean, but it was one less limb to work on. All that shoved aside, he was athletically built and geez, was he a sight. Keep it together. You began telling yourself over and over. You’re a professional.

It wasn’t likely you did these kinds of massages, nor did you partake in paid sexual services just strictly intent on the art of touch and healing, but this type paid handsomely, and the lights didn’t have to be on all the way to let you see that handsome was indeed right in front of you too. You introduced yourself to the man on the massage bed but got no response.

A quiet one. You thought, but quickly shrugged it off and decided to get right to it by pulling at the end of a tassel in the knot tied around your waist to begin disrobing.

Bucky, not anticipating interacting or to be touched intimately by someone so pretty was gravely distracted, it wasn’t until he saw the skin of your cleavage that he snapped out of it.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Bucky exclaims sitting up, “what are you doing?”

With a confused expression, you simply replied, “disrobing?” Then wearily proceeded to part the material to the side, but before you could reveal anything else, you heard another plea to stop.

“Wh-why?” Bucky was having a hard time trying to formulate words with the swell of your breasts peeking from behind your robe now in his view.

You turned and cocked your head a bit, still perplexed by his questions, “because it’s part of the massage.”

“Wha…what? Isn’t the person getting the massage supposed to be the one that’s…naked?” His mind was in a frenzy and that was kind of annoying you.  

“For a simple massage, yes.”

“What are we doing then?” He asked incredulously.

“A nuru massage.”

“Nuru massage?”

“Yes. A nuru massage is when one massages the other person’s body with their own.” You explained as calmly as you could. He was getting increasingly agitated and your job was to help others relax not add onto the stress.

Bucky shook his head frantically and looked away from you to stop his eyes from wandering too long on your body. He could tell you didn’t have anything else underneath. “This has to be a mistake. You must have the wrong room.”

You scoffed, covering yourself up again and snatching the clipboard on the nearby counter. “Aren’t you…James B. Barnes?” You skim over it before asking and turning the clipboard to prove to him that you were in the right room assigned to him.

He craned his neck forward to inspect the piece of paper he held not too long ago, his messy handwriting complete with his illegible signature staring right back at him.

“Well, yeah…”

“Then I have the right room and you checked off for a nuru massage.” You say crossing your arms as he took the clipboard from your hands to read more about what the massage actually entails.

“This-this can’t be legal though.” He said shaking his head and thinking about how it could even be acceptable for this kind of service without eliciting some sort of sexual stimulation from the other party. Bodies gliding against each other? It just couldn’t possibly go smooth or well…work.

“It’s not…” you replied like it’s a known fact but then were quick to respond seeing his eyes widening in overreaction, “in most areas of the world but it’s absolutely legal here!”

“But it’s basically pros-“ he didn’t even finish that last sentence catching himself when he saw your now offended expression.

Does this asshole really think he is going to just sit there and get away with downright calling you a prostitute?

“You don’t know shit about me,” you spat. Handsome or not, deciding he wasn’t as openminded as most people and harshly tied a new knot to the robe you were still wearing signaling you were about to walk out. He wasn’t worth the few extra digits to your paycheck.

“No! Wait!” He pleaded; guilt ridden. As he let out a deep sigh, you stayed put to hear him out, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that. You’re right! I don’t know shit about you, but I also don’t know what a nuru massage is. I came here with a friend to help him get a good deal and I clearly wasn’t paying attention to what I signed up for.”

You nodded and decided to be civil since he was owning up to his mistake. “Okay. Apology accepted. I see why you freaked out, but you’re clearly not comfortable with the idea of this,” you responded while your hands helped convey your words, “so I can see what I can do to get you a refund,” and walked over to him to retrieve the clipboard.  

It would’ve taken a significant blow to your pay – losing a client for the day – but you weren’t going to put anyone in a situation they weren’t familiar or comfortable with.

“Well…” He spoke up, placing his right hand on top of yours causing you to look up at him.  

Wow, his eyes. They held the same color that reminded you of the kind water in a pool could reflect. The soothing kind of blue. You felt like you were glued to the spot, almost hypnotized.

“I mean I’m already here. I don’t want to take any business away from you. Again, I’m sorry I overreacted. What’s life without experience, right?”

And that deep voice... Shit, snap out of it! Remember, you’re a professional.

You gave him a small smile for his change of heart and willingness to try something new.

“Right,” you said forcing yourself to look away. Fuck, I hope I wasn’t staring for too long, “but I’m letting you know now, this isn’t a normal massage,” daring to look back at him for reassurance, “if at any moment you’re uncomfortable, we can change things up. Afterall, I’m very good with my hands.” You hoped to regain your composure with that last line. It wasn’t a lie though.

Bucky sends you a smile of his own before letting you go to lie back down properly, waiting for the next move. You cautiously disrobed without any protest from him. You noticed Bucky visibly swallowed the thick lump in his throat now that you were completely nude in front of him.

“Are you okay?” You were going to have to be patient with this one. He wasn’t going to be like any other you treated. It was easy for you to just stand there naked and you weren’t bothered by nudity at all, but that doesn’t mean everyone else is.

With a nod of his head, you reached for the towel to untuck the bunched-up portion at the side of his waist, mindful to not expose him of the slightest to spare him some modesty, while asking him to move just enough to let it rest on his body and cover his lower half like a blanket would.

You decided to let him keep his towel on for the time being and focus on his upper body. Next, you instructed him to turn and lie on his stomach, you’d start with his back first. You lifted the towel in a modest manner like you would for anyone so he could maneuver with ease. Once he settled in a comfortable position, you began the treatment.

“The word nuru stems from the Japanese term for slippery or smooth.” Talking to your clients was a technique most in your line of profession use to help distract or relax them to get the job done – that and it’s just good customer service showing that you care and know just what the fuck you’re doing.

You expertly jumped up onto the small space left on the bed to get into a straddling position on your knees hovering just over the small of his back and covered ass. Judging by the hump, it kind of looked nice to sit on.

“I’m going to start by applying nuru gel all over your body and mine, but we’ll start small, alright.” You carefully poured a generous amount of the warm massage gel in the palm of your hand lathering up your arms, chest, torso, thighs and fortunately you were flexible enough to reach parts of your back, but for parts you couldn’t, would transfer off his body to yours later on.

Scooping up a bit more, you watched as the gel dropped in a fine line and pool onto his back before beginning to spread it all over the expanse of his toned body in soothing motions. You started to gently press with your knuckles on the surface his muscles.

“The gel is actually made out of natural Nori seaweed,” you started explaining the colorless and odorless substance while progressing lower on his back with both hands, digging your thumbs near the lumbar region and compressing some of your weight down. You paid attention to specific areas of the body that draws the most tension. His body became visibly lax and less strained the more you worked your magic; soon enough Bucky was sure he would be putty in your hands.

Still perched up on your knees and not wanting to slip, you took initiative and just plopped down onto his plush yet firm backside. Even if a towel remained as a barrier between you both, you felt his glutes tense up underneath you, most likely having startled him. Trying to find a way to help him relax again, you tried to comfort him with more facts.

“It has other healthful benefits such as providing great moisturization to the skin,” you leaned down on your forearms and started an up and down repetition.

Your hands then travelled to his sides and you hoped he wasn’t ticklish before they met at the back of his neck to perform the simplest of massages ever. However basic as it might’ve seemed, felt like Heaven’s touch on Bucky’s end as he couldn’t help but let out a moan of satisfaction.

You were so good at it, working out all the kinks in his neck using your skilled fingers, he had to let out an approving moan after moan with each touch that hit the spot. The elicited sound racked through his body that you felt it reverberate all the way down to your core. You were crossing over a forbidden line, but that wasn’t letting you up. You had wanted to hear and feel that again.

“You’re really tense aren’t, you?” You comment continuing your handy work into the knots around his lower neck, slowly adding more pressure and testing his limits. His response was an even louder and deeper moan. Unknowingly, it caused you to shift, more like ground, your hips against his lower body. You mentally patted yourself on the back for keeping the towel there to absorb your juices. He didn’t need to try and figure out if it was the nuru gel or the sudden wetness pooling in you that his skin was swimming in.  

Then you lowered your entire body, your chest now pressed against his back. Your head was close to his, you could smell the scent of the soap the facility provided for the massage prep mixed with his own and you swore he smelled more relaxing than any stress-free candle or burning incense ever could.

Due to the close proximity, you spoke even softer right next to his ear, “the combination of the nuru gel and full body contact or the touch of another human help to release toxins from the body and boost the feelgood chemicals in the brain.”

You paired that piece of knowledge with sliding up and down his back, your hands trailing up his arms that were bent but sprawled above his hand, grasping at the front of his hands to briefly interlock them before letting them go to repeat the actions.

Deciding enough time was spent on the upper area, you carefully swung around, gathered a bit more gel and snuck your hands underneath the towel to glide up the hill of his ass. Without protest, you seized the moment and experimentally grabbed a handful of each cheek before releasing the flesh and sail further down to his muscular thighs. Oh, you wish you could see them, but reminded yourself to approach each step with caution with him.  

The towel still restricted you from attending to his calves, so you pulled your hands back out and scooted up to pull the towel up from the other end and treat them with the same amount of attention. After that treatment was done, you had him revert to his original position on his back.

As he settled, you reached over to pour some more gel and help slicken his front half.

“Interesting fact, nuru massages originated in Japan as a disguise to pay for sexual services,” you say as your hands spanned across the planes of his pecs, “but nuru massages are much more than an erotic massage.”

“How so?” Bucky asked genuinely curious because he was having a hard time trying to strain his cock from hardening. Thankfully for him, you were seated on his lower abdomen and barely inches away from his member.

“Think of them as more so sensual than sexual.”

Accepting that outlook, Bucky had to ask, “how did you get into…this?”

You knew he meant performing nuru massages and not your career in general, “I took a trip to Japan during a break from studying,” you replied and now tracing the lines of his abs. That sort of action, so close to his dick, created a ghostly tingle to run down Bucky’s lower region.

Counting each one of his abs to help distract you from the twitch of his cock that he thought you probably didn’t feel hit you, you continued your story, “like you, I also didn’t know what I signed up for either.”

With your breasts out in front of him squished between your upper arms as you continued to rub him and all slick from the gel, your skin seemed ever so inviting for him to touch, but he refrained from doing so. There was really no way to avoid getting aroused with this kind of massage. He was about to give up the fight. He needed to relax, right?

“Um, how-how was…he?” He asked trying to not ask awkwardly. You smiled noting he was having a hard time trying to look at your face and not your boobs. A guy like this at your fingertips? What woman’s ego wouldn’t be boosted? You had control.

Keeping in mind he is new to this, but also that the vitality of full body contact in this massage, you treated his front half to the same tactic you used on his back by laying your body flat on his.

“She was amazing,” you answered, your face now close to his you could feel the warmth of his breath puff out as he tried to regulate his breathing. The close proximity allowing you to feel the beat of his heart. You noticed the bob of his throat to that reveal, two women all oiled up.  

“She taught me a lot of moves actually.” An innocent anecdote produced a whine from Bucky that he felt ashamed of slip out. Okay, maybe you got to bring it back down. “The first time I ever performed a nuru massage, I almost slipped off the massage table!”

What you hoped for was to lighten the mood, you didn’t expect was for him to bust out laughing at you. The sudden outburst took you by surprise that you almost reenacted the shared memory, but Bucky was quick to catch you with his left arm before you fell. His arms encased around you as he turned on his back with you now lying parallel, legs between his now parted ones underneath the towel that still managed to stay on.

“Oh my God,” you said burying your face into the crook of his neck, not giving a damn that the massage gel would get on your face. That first fall from your past was one of the most embarrassing moments of your career and here you were about to relive it or perhaps create one that would top it.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Bucky said tucking you in his arms as his flesh hand ran up and down the curves of your slick back, the metal one resting just above the curve of your ass. “I’m sorry I scared you. I didn’t mean to laugh. It’s just that you’re so poised and professional, having to imagine you being that clumsy took me off guard.”

Your eyes drifted down and noticed the scarred tissue of his skin that divided the metal from him. He probably ached there sometimes. You made a mental note to fit his arm somewhere in your routine.

“I’ve never told anyone that story before,” you admitted looking at him. Your eyes lingering at his pink lips that were parted. He brushed a strand of your hair away and cupped your face. You leaned into his hand and if he didn’t know it, you were the one that was putty in his hands.

Earning yourself another beautiful smile from him you got back into position. “Do you mind?” You ask referring to the towel. Having spent some time with you and seeing a more vulnerable side, he shook his head and let you rip the towel from beneath you and drop it to the floor.

“It’s okay to get hard,” you said trying to address the elephant in the room. You watched him stammer with his words, “it’s perfectly natural. Remember, this massage is designed to tease your senses and bring your body to full ecstasy.” Your now pressed against him again, rubbing your body up and down, hands trailing upwards to let your fingers intertwine with his again.

Feeling your breasts glide up just enough to stop under his chin, he kept tilting his head back as if he was neck deep in water, but if he was being honest, he would rather just drown in them at this point. Bucky tries to remain calm even if you assured him that getting aroused during a massage was a common occurrence.

“Relax, James,” you said releasing one of his hands to cradle his head and set it in a regular position. You just made it a point to not practically motorboat the poor guy.

“It’s Bucky,” he said, “please just call me Bucky. James is too formal.”

“Okay, Bucky,” you confirm by pressing your forehead against his.  

Not taking your eyes off each other, you glided down a few inches so you’re face-to-face with the junction of the skin and metal and began leaving light feather kisses to the sensitive area. Adding a little squeeze to the flesh hand that was still in your grasp, Bucky felt his heart soar a bit. You, so unperturbed by the once traitorous appendage, were so gentle and the level of intimacy you carried, he wondered if you were like this to your other clients. He felt like a damn fool for falling for your every move.

“Are most of your clients men?” Bucky wondered.

“No. I don’t limit my services to just men. Most times, my favorite are the women. Nuru is open for anyone of any gender or sexual orientation.”

You slithered down again until you trapped one of his thighs between your legs. Lord, give me the strength to not cum. You prayed and begun rocking your hips almost sinfully.

Fuck, was this part of her normal routine? Bucky asked himself but wouldn’t deny the combination of her wet pussy and its soft lips gliding along his thighs felt good. Not to mention the way your hands grip at the grooves of his Adonis belt, nails slightly digging into his skin, watching your hips move. He didn’t miss the look on your face, eyebrows knitted in concentration and your plump bottom lip trapped between your teeth.  

“Do you enjoy this too?”

You knew what he was going for. Did you get a rise out of this? You regained control of your body and shrugged, “I mean, touch is therapeutic in some cases, but if you’re wondering, most places or depending on the masseuse have modified nuru massages.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Not everyone gets a happy ending.” You were a masseuse specialist and not in a line of sex. It was the most misconstrued thing about it. Noticing the look on his face, you concluded that he must’ve not known the term “happy ending.”

“Sex. A happy ending is what usually culminates from a nuru massage,” you cleared the air. It was adorable to see the surprised look on his face. Yet, underneath the sheen line of sweat that had built up on his forehead, Bucky was internally relieved to hear that you didn’t actually partake in any sexual penetration or acts from this type of massage.

Okay, maybe that number on his thigh wasn’t part of your routine. You’d never been that needy. Before you could fly off the edge, you didn’t even peg yourself to be a sadist and actually edge yourself. You wondered if you could fully set ethical standards aside and go through it.

You set that same leg between your breasts and strategically slid from up his thigh before stopping just below the waist to keep his rather endowed member confined.

“You know, it’s a shame the reputation that nuru massages have,” you started, pushing your boobs together with your hands. You felt his cock jolt at the contact, “the first thing that comes to people’s minds in terms of nuru is fucking porn, but nuru has its benefits.”  

“Like what?” Bucky asks breathily as you started practically titty fucking him. Is she serious? Are we in a porno? He thought seeing as there’s no way he was going to not cum any second.

“Yeah. Believe it or not, it’s proven to help couples spice up their love lives and even repair them.”

“H-how?” He tried to keep up with conversation, but it was so hard, he was so hard, as he watched his cock disappear and reappear from between the depths of your breasts. He hoped you hadn’t noticed that his pre-cum had been aiding in the slickness as it mixed in with the nuru gel. You were warm and soft and slick…and he wasn’t even buried deep in your pussy.

“I think you can guess one of the factors, but it’s more than just a physical connection, really,” you explain and release him. You move back up, body once more parallel to his, your hands smearing more of the gel around his chest, “it allows for one to feel more comfortable in their own skin and even create new sensations.”  

“Almost sounds like a spiritual journey,” he said with seriousness his eyes meeting yours.

“It can be,” you responded with. You were so close to his face again. Not sure how long you sat there staring at him, but as ironic as it was, the setting in a massage parlor, one with a purpose to help the other, you both seemed to create a new kind of tension. A tension that was almost too thick you feared it wasn’t something your hands could resolve.

You stared down at his enchanting features, soft, pink lips that were parted, cute nose, the half-lidded eyes but that still shone from the blue that managed to peek out. Your hands trailed up to touch his face. He was so tempting.

Fuck it. All caution thrown out the window, your lips crashed against his. It wasn’t bruising nor soft, but enough to cut the tension that had built up in the room. To your astonishment, he didn’t object to your advances and pressed his lips back to yours and opening up wider to let you slip your tongue in. He caught your tongue in his mouth with his lips and enclosed around the muscle, sucking on it, causing you to gasp and pull away breathlessly.

You push yourself up just enough to get a full look at him with your hands on his chest. A slight nod of his head was all you needed to dive back in. Your lips massaged against his as you both kissed with such fervor, your hands threading into the short locks of his hair slightly pulling at what you could grasp in your fingers. The echoes of his moans and the light tap of his cock that had twitched in response against your lower abdomen was a dead giveaway sign that he liked that.  

However, the continue rocking of your body against his, wasn’t going to help alleviate his raging hard on. It was pressed so hard in between you, it almost felt embedded into your skin. You slithered back down, leaving a trail of kisses from the column of his neck, chest – even managing to teeth at one of his nipples tauntingly – the line between his abs until you were met with the tip of his cock, which was unashamedly leaking.

You jeered around his head, placing lightweight kisses down the side of his cock, purposely avoiding the large vein on the underside, to his balls. Your eyes never leaving Bucky’s, who had his head propped under his flesh arm to watch you. Your hands still slick with the gel, you started to fondle him before taking them, one at a time, in your warm, wet mouth to gently suck on.

You weren’t sure who lost the staring contest this time between you two, but his head lulled back at the sensation and yours closed shut, full of him and savoring the taste of his skin. Pulling away with a pop, you wrapped a hand around his shaft to let his cock stand at full attention.

Bucky finally opened his eyes and picked his head back up to look at you just in time to watch you smear his pre-cum all over your lips and swallow him. You downed as much of his cock as you could before hollowing your cheeks and coming back up with your tongue dragging across the underside of him, bobbing up and down.

Without a warning, you pull away for a brief moment, a string of mixed fluids leave a web trail from him to you, “It’s okay to touch me, Bucky,” you say stroking his cock but also noticing his hands had been gripping onto the edge of the bed and hoping to encourage him to fully give in to his desires.

Bucky didn’t need to be told twice as his hands found purchase in your hair pushing you back down his cock. He let out a loud groan when he felt the tip of your nose bury in the soft hairs of his happy trail. You weren’t expecting that kind of aggression from him, it caused you to involuntarily gag around him. Your throat constricting around his cock only caused him more indisputable pleasure he jut his hips up, lodging himself even further.

When you pulled away again, this time with your own saliva and his cum dribbling down your chin, your eyes were slightly red and tearstained. Your ragged breathing, lips glistening and swollen, hair matted against your face. You looked so fucked, so raw.

He pulled you up to him once more, your legs instinctively setting on either side of him, your dripping cunt hovering just over his cock that lied resting on his stomach. He wiped at your chin before kissing you, his tongue darting all around the wet cavern of your mouth and tasting himself. Something about that was so filthy yet so erotic.

Your legs spread further apart, and you pressed yourself against his cock. The contact causing you both to draw out loud moans. You did your best to drag your sopping folds along his stiff member, but the bed had become so slippery, you were finding it hard to pull yourself back up on your knees. Bucky must’ve picked up on the small struggle as he grabbed handfuls of your ass to help aid you in sliding your pussy up and down his cock.

You could feel just how hard he was and the underside and ridges of the head of his cock scraping against your clit, pulled all sorts of tremors from your body. You were a whimpering mess, clinging onto Bucky’s body trying to find your footing, but your senses were on overdrive.

“I know, it’s your job to make me feel good,” he said continuing to rut up against you, “but go ahead…just let go.” Oh, how he would love to watch you unravel and you weren’t one to deny him. You wildly came undone, from the buildup of riding his thigh and now this, you gushed all over his cock.

Wrecked, you knew this was far from over. Once you reclaimed control of your senses, Bucky at your full attention, you snaked a hand between your bodies and lifted yourself up to position his eager cock at your entrance.

“Tell me, Bucky,” you said trying your best to dominate the situation and started teasing yourself, “…do you want a happy ending,” you asked seductively, licking his lips and your eyes never leaving his.

His heartbeat accelerated with each running pass of the tip of his cock made through your folds. If his ending was right here on this massage bed, he’d take it because you were a fucking tease. The string of curses that flowed out his mouth caused a smirk to form on your lips.

You felt his metal hand grab yours shoving it away, enough of your teasing, he repositioned himself at your hole, gripped your hips and slid right in you with ease. You internally applauded the designers of the building for making each room soundproof because let’s face it, no one wants to hear how good the person next door is feeling – especially not like this, not the sounds you and Bucky were producing.

Each slide up and down his thick length, Bucky found himself almost fully engulfed by your breasts again. He stopped you for a moment so he could finally get his mouth on them, but you weren’t about to catch a break. No. Bucky instead planted his feet on the bed and began thrusting up into you almost too vigorously, but you sucked it up. Letting him use you to work out his frustrations.

Then you sat up, hands sprawled on his chest and started grounding your hips. The way his cock swiveled with each rotation you made, had you reeling as the tip just barely kept hitting that spot.

Bucky straightened out his legs from behind you and managed to sit up, cradling the small of your back and gently laying you down.

“Slow down, baby,” he says trying to contain the relentlessness drive you had on fucking him by keeping your hips at bay, so he pulled out resulting in a displeased noise to come out of you.

He just needed to get into a new position, on his knees, your right leg hoisted up on his shoulder while he pushed down on the other to spread your legs further apart, just for him to easily plunge back into your wet heat and drawing out long and satisfied moans from you both.  

“Fuck, it feels so good. You’re so good, Bucky,” you whined.

“I’m supposed to be saying that to you,” he chuckled almost breathlessly, coming down and placing his lips on yours with a kiss that had your head swimming. He pulled back to take a look down, loving the sight of him snug inside your warm walls. With his flesh hand, he pressed his fingers onto your clit, rubbing harsh circles, you grabbed and clawed at his forearm at the immense pleasure, eyes widening because it was proving to be too much.

The twisting coil that was settling in you suddenly snapped. With a loud rough moan, you were uncontrollably quaking beneath him, you knew Bucky couldn’t be far away from you. His bruising grip on your thighs and the faltering thrusts of his hips from your walls squeezing at him repetitively, he finally let go, emptying himself until he was sure he was completely spent. Fuck, and you loved feeling his cum shoot deep in you.

Watching his abdominal muscles contract with every breath, he pulled out and tried to regain his breathing, but before he could collapse, he used his last remaining ounce of strength to pull you up and back down with him on the other end of the massage bed.  

“Are you okay?” Bucky asks you this time short of breath. You managed to let out a tiresome laugh and pathetically slapped his chest, but knew it was to no avail with what little energy you had left.  

Several moments later, you both had calmed down and were prolonging the inevitable end. Bucky watched as you absentmindedly traced the outline of his metal arm. He longed for someone that was raw in nature, confident and there you were – walking into his life by mistake. He wasn’t sure where you stood aside from a physical standpoint, but he strangely craved for more.

You managed to stand back up on your own feet and drag Bucky back into the shower to clean off. You helped each other wash off the gel and mixed juices, with a few kisses shared here and there riddled along with soft sweet praises.

After helping you wipe down the bed and tidy up the room, Bucky couldn’t help but realize he felt good. Gone was the grumpy man that came against his own will. He definitely felt refreshed and his body felt great. This place really was all that it cracked up to be and he was just lucky enough to be assigned to you.  

“What?” You asked catching him starting just as you slipped your robe back on.  

“I want to see you again,” he says getting up from the bed.

You smiled at that. No one has ever made you feel that good. Your bodies seemed to be in sync with one another. Plus, during that last shower, you deduced that he could be a big softie when he wanted to be.

You wanted to see him again too and you would let him.

~

Once Bucky stepped back into the lobby, his peace of mind was shattered when he heard Sam yell. “Finally!” He watched as his friend threw the magazine he wasn’t really reading aside and stand up with a loose smile on his face. “How do you feel, man?”

“Amazing.” Bucky’s tone was audibly smoother and calm as opposed to earlier.  

“Good! You were in there for a long time. I don’t know what massage you chose, but whatever they did on you...I’m glad it knocked out that attitude of yours,” he says as if he didn’t have one before his massage.  

“Whatever. You’re exaggerating.”

“I even left to get something to eat and you were still in there!”

Shit. Were you both really that long? Was that normal? To Bucky it didn’t seem so. In fact, he wanted more time with you.

They both approach the same receptionist from earlier, who now donned a subtle smug disposition seeing the change in complexion on Bucky.  

“Would you like to leave a tip?” She asked Bucky politely and just before he could say yes, he was interrupted.

“Oh, he’s good! He’s all taken care of,” you quickly interjected, popping out of nowhere and effectively grabbing Bucky’s attention one more time with a sweet smile. You wanted to be the last thing he saw when he walked out that door. Bucky didn’t even hear Sam ask how in the world he got you as his masseuse.

Your co-worker nodded understandingly before turning to Sam to ask if he’d like to book another visit.

“Yeah…when is she next available?” Sam asks the receptionist while looking at you. You hadn’t managed to only grab Bucky’s attention, but also his friend.

How Bucky hadn’t noticed it before everything was beyond him. You had a certain glow that was very alluring. He wondered if it was possible for anyone to look away from you or not smile in your presence.

Something Bucky failed to conceal was the rising discomfort he was feeling hearing the suggestive tone in Sam’s voice when speaking about you mixed with a small bubble of anxiety on if there was a possibility that he’d get to be alone in a room with you.  

Before Sam could get a definite answer, you looked to your co-worker at the front desk, grinned at each other and then back over at the two men.

“I’m sorry, sir, but I’m booked,” sending a wink towards Bucky and disappearing to the back.  

A/N: I work in digital marketing and what with all the searching I did I’m now paranoid that I’ll be targeted for a massage…even though I could use one. I did my best to proofread. Let me know if you liked it! 

[capesandshapes]

All You Had to Do Was Stay (Post Reveal/ Pre Relationship) (3/4)

Summary:

Three years ago, Marinette revealed her identity to him. Three years ago, he promised to wait in a hotel room for her. Three years ago, she opened the door to find it empty.

Now she's expected to play nice with him, since she's the maid of honor and he's unfortunately the best man. But old habits die hard, and old feelings die harder.

"This is a wedding, not a death march, Marinette."

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

It was going well.

Or, at least as well as a combination Bachelor and Bachelorette party planned entirely via awkward emails could go.

Which could be attributed solely to her and her thousands of schedules and planners, along with the fact that she checked the weather almost religiously and the tide predictions. Adrien just bankrolled most of the thing, which worked well enough seeing as he was the head of a multi-billion-dollar fashion house and she was an up-and-coming designer with an Etsy shop focusing on affordable fashion for normal people. Sure, he insisted on a few things, such as not using the Couffaine’s houseboat (He’d actually tried to argue against a boat entirely) or serving shots with Kim and Alix finally reuniting at this party—But most of it could be attributed to her.

She was pretty sure that was him trying to please her, to play nice after that disastrous night outside the bakery. He was avoiding her as much as possible, and any time he was faced with her he resolved the tension by agreeing to her as much as possible.

He was capable of learning, she supposed.

Marinette stood to the side of the bar as the boat they road on bobbed upwards and downwards, a hand braced on the counter and a glass of water that had she poured into a wineglass in the other. She hadn’t admitted to anyone, but she had a habit of getting seasick. The dim lighting of the fairy lights twinkling overhead combined with the loud pounding of music did a good job of hiding that.

She gave a small, weak smile as she looked out to her friends on the dance floor, some of them being people who she hadn’t seen for far longer than Adrien. Kim and Alix were locked in an exaggerated slow dance that had the two cackling, Juleka and Rose had stolen away to a corner, and Sabrina was excitedly explaining her business as a personal assistant to anyone who would listen. It’d been a long time since she’d seen them all, and it made her sentimental. She rarely saw anyone outside of Alya and Nino now.

“Makes you nostalgic, huh?” A deep, familiar voice asked her, obviously having slid in beside her at the bar at some point.

The side of her mouth tugged harder, and that nauseous feeling in her stomach momentarily left her. She let her blue eyes drift over, practically beaming as she took him in. “Luka Couffaine,” she said. A part of her wondered if he would come.

His long, shaggy blue hair and sharp eyes were now the highlight of the evening. Or almost the highlight. “Marinette,” he said, “fancy meeting you here.”

“Oh yes,” Marinette agreed, “it’s shocking for the maid of honor to be at the Bachelorette party.”

“Well, when she’s got a problem with the best man,” Luka began.

Marinette shot him a look. “Be quiet, someone could hear you.”

“I think everyone would have to be blind not to know,” Luka said, leaning against the bar beside her. She knew where he was looking, who he was watching. Yet, despite that, he said, “a part of me always hoped it would be us out there. Doing all of this.”

Her smile fell. “But you’re happy now?”

“Immensely,” he confirmed, and one look at his face reaffirmed that. He was still watching, still taking it all in. If her eyes traveled to the same place, she could do it too. She could look at Adrien Agreste and wonder how everything got so utterly awful. “I knew it wouldn’t be us, Marinette. We weren’t those type of people.”

“The type of people to get married?”

“The type of people to fit together without any gaps,” he explained. “No room for concern, no regrets.”

She sighed. There was more to it, of course. There was so much more to everything, like the fact that she could never do it, never give herself completely to Luka. She was always waiting, lingering in hallways at the slightest flash of the right shade of blond, and hearing familiar laughter in the silence.

She loved Luka, but she was always wanting. She needed Chat, she needed Adrien, she needed whatever form of him he would give her—

“You still love him, don’t you?” Luka asked. It was a stupid question. She’d seen Adrien six times since he came back, and half of those moments were in passing. Any rational person would say no, only crazy romantics would say yes.

So, she stayed silent.

“I want you to be happy,” Luka said finally, and it was a bucket of cold water poured on her. A reminder of reality, of where she was now, and a rush of that seasickness back to her gut. But when he said it, there was that hint of leftover desire, that underlying subtext that there was a hole in his heart, and it would always be there for her.

And the cold understanding that she never made a groove in her heart for him.

She turned to look at him, only to find him gone.

And with that came sickness.

Awful, churning sickness. A vile wave of nausea that assaulted her stomach. The boat lurched, and with it, so did she.

My god, she was going to die.

Marinette Dupain Cheng, beloved daughter and friend. Died of seasickness because of her own poor choices while planning a party to celebrate her friends’ upcoming wedding.

She threw her head back with another large wave, her eyes watering as she fought the overwhelming urge to die. Lila Rossi was at the party, slithering onto the guest list with a perfectly timed apology to Alya about an awful Instagram post. If Marinette turned any greener she was sure she’d be on Rossi’s snapchat story, paired with a caption questioning why exactly the poor girl was so sick. Another pregnancy rumor.

She grimaced at the thought and nearly fell to her knees as another wave jostled her. Luckily, a hand caught her before she could fall, the warmth of a thick blazer spread across her shoulders and distracted her momentarily.

“And this,” said a voice as she was hauled back onto her feet, “is why I argued against the boat.”

She turned both quickly and unsteadily, catching a mixture of blond and green before, unfortunately, practically falling against it.

She could have done worse.

She could have done much worse.

Such as vomiting on his Burberry jacket or ruining his Chanel shoes.

Adrien’s arms caught her easily, hooking underneath her armpits and hauling her upwards once more. “I’d make a joke about you falling for me, but all things considered… I’d say you’re sick of me.”

Badum tss.

Marinette groaned, resting her forehead against his chest only because it was the main thing keeping the rest of the world from overwhelming her. “Were your jokes always this stupid?”

“Things seem a lot funnier when you’re madly in love,” he said, and she made sure to fire back a glare in response. “That’s good,” he said with an air of authority when she looked at him, “eyes on me, focus on the conversation instead of the waves.”

“Can I have a different conversation partner?” she fired back.

He rolled his eyes, shaking his head at her as he kept a hand braced on her back, the other braced on her shoulder to keep her upright. “Do you want someone else to know you’re sick?” He asked, “because I guarantee Alya and Nino will hear.”

Ugh.

“We’re going to get you inside,” Adrien decided, evidently having spotted a door back into the cabin.

“And then?” She asked, she didn’t see how that would help.

“And then I’ll stay by you in case it all goes south, and you can play YouTube videos on my phone to distract you for another hour or two until Alya goes looking for you. Then you’ll take some selfies, come back, and we’ll wash, rinse, and repeat.”

Marinette wrinkled her nose. “I don’t trust you to stay anywhere, Agreste.”

He flinched. “Okay, fair, but… I’m your only option here so,” he tilted his head at her, looking down as he withdrew his hand from her waist only to offer it to her again. “Either you take my hand and we go, or I leave you here at the mercy of the Seine, which seems to be in quite the mood today.”

He had a point.

“Fine,” she said, slapping her hand into his. “I’ll sit next to you, but I will not talk to you. Don’t expect a miraculous turn around.”

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

“I hope you know that nearly every YouTube recommendation of yours being highlight reels of Ladybug and Chat Noir is not endearing,” Marinette informed Adrien, “it makes you look self-obsessed.”

“It’s not every YouTube recommendation,” Adrien scoffed, moving beside her to point at his screen. “See? Anime.”

“Top ten anime waifus?” Marinette read out, shooting him a look.

“You know that’s not what it says,” he responded, yet she couldn’t help but note the way that he took a second look as if making sure.

They were on the ground in the cabin of the boat, nearest the hallway where the kitchens and bathroom were. Adrien was the one to declare that the safest, a place where she could get water if needed, and if worse came…

“When will this finally pass,” Marinette asked yet again as she let herself fall onto her back, she’d repeated the question with every single video finished, but her impatience continued to grow.

And he repeated the same answer, “in four hours when the boat finally docks and we end up on dry land.”

Four hours.

“You were never good in the water,” he said, “and this is coming from the guy dressed like a cat.”

She glared, slapping his thigh. “When this boat lands, the truce ends.”

His smile faltered at that, and he let himself sink down onto the ground beside her, his eyes trained towards the ceiling.

This had a time limit; all of this had a time limit. Even she had almost forgotten that. Because eventually the wedding would end, eventually there would be no more forced interactions, eventually he would go home. Eventually she would go back to her life and wonder the same damn question.

“Why weren’t you there that night?” There was no gracefulness to how it was presented, it merely clattered from her like a knife falling from a kitchen table. It was heavy and loaded, the kind of question that you swallowed down every time you saw someone, not the type that you lobbed out when you were laying side by side and wishing it had been like this so many other times.

She could feel his eyes on her.

“I…” he began, but whatever he meant to say was a false start. He swallowed the letter and tried again. “I don’t…” Know? Care? Want to talk about this?

Why did she care anymore?

What would it change?

Nothing.

“I was scared,” he said finally.

“Okay,” she said.

And that was that. That should have been that. That should have been her hint, her great sign.

“Why?”

And with that single word he rose to his forearms, looking over at her. He was in her field of vision, where she couldn’t ignore him. A hint of pink graced the edge of his green eyes, but his lips were set in an almost determined look, and she wondered if he would stumble over his words again.

“My father was just arrested for being Hawk Moth, my mother was found in my basement, I lost the only home I ever knew to police investigations, and suddenly guardians were at my door asking for Plagg—all in one day. Choose a reason, Marinette.” It wasn’t vile, it wasn’t angry, it wasn’t even cold. She didn’t know how to describe it.

“You disappeared.”

“I couldn’t stand to be in Paris any longer.”

“You didn’t tell me.”

“What would I say?!” He replied, his voice loud, far louder than he obviously intended. He flinched as it echoed through the air, and suddenly she was all knives and anger.

“Hello Marinette,” she responded, “or should I say Ladybug, the girl I’ve claimed to be in love with for six years! It’s been great, a fun time and all, but man am I tired—see you in three years without a single message! Good luck wondering if it’s because of you, if you being the girl behind the mask is what changed it all, even though the only difference was one scrap of red fabric!” She glared, sitting up, “Miss. You.”

“You think that’s how it was?” He began, his eyebrows narrowed as he raised from his arms, his eyes staring holes into hers. “I told you…”

“You’d love whoever was behind the mask,” she finished, pushing off of the ground. “But let’s be honest here—Not Lila, not Chloe, and not me. Never me.” She stumbled to her feet, gripping the wall as she finally stood. “I told you who I was, and you were terrified! I saw it, I knew! I should have known why—"

“Because you’re you, because you’re Marinette, because you’re--” he was scrambling to his feet, scrambling to keep her there, scrambling to make some sort of sense.

“Because I’m Marinette?” She repeated, and it didn’t take a rocket scientist to hear the mistake. To know that she was right, that this was all some stupid curse put upon her by a universe that would thankfully, in a month’s time, solve the situation.

“That’s not—Jesus Christ, I—”

He didn’t need to say more.

She began to walk away, to risk the treacherous river waves. Anything was better than this, anyone was better than him—

“Because you’re perfect,” he called before she could even begin to walk out that stupid door, and every cell in her body stopped moving. “Because you’re pretty and you’re kind. Because you have a perfect family and everyone loves you, Nino loves you, Alya loves you, I—” He thought better of saying whatever came next there. “Because you were going to be a fashion designer, and the best one anyone’s ever seen. Because you try to be good to everyone you meet. Because at the end of the day you’ll always be good, too good for me, and I’m…”

“You’re,” she was surprised that she asked it, that she could process anything.

And there was a pause, a long, heavy one. One where anything, any combination of words could go wrong.

“Because people would see you walking beside me, and you would still be good, and you would still be kind and you would still be gentle; but they’d see none of that. Because they’d look over and see me. They’d see what my father made and what my father ruined.” Quietly, he confessed, “you would be perfect and none of that would matter, because they’d look over and see Hawkmoth’s son.”

[rouiyan]

𝘔𝘠 𝘗𝘜𝘊𝘒 𝘐𝘕 𝘠𝘖𝘜𝘙 𝘎𝘖𝘈𝘓 [ 𝘭.𝘥𝘩 ]

⧏ hyuck’s installment of the keep your cool collective ⧐

synopsis: you’ve decided that the boy in ‘66’ is yours.

✧ ice hockey player!hyuck x (fem.) reader x ice hockey player!jeno + best friend!renjun

✧ genres : fluff, minor angst ✧ word count : 2.3k ✧ disclaimer : swearing

✧ author’s note — finally my brain had the gall to pull through with this idea but i'm left with the realization that all my hyuck fics are just him simping for u.

hyuck internally sighs, his head ringing and ankles sore, as the buzzer goes off, signaling the end of the third round. he’s almost elated, even though he’s sure his team hasn’t won, by just the fact that the game is over. hyuck is by no means sick of ice hockey but lately, the mere idea of it drives him into exhaustion. as he turns to expect the disappointed stare of his coach, he’s surprised when he’s met with a halfhearted smirk. weird, the coach should know more than anyone how lazily this game had played out. but then, as an afterthought, he checks the scoreboard and realizes with an oh shit, that they were tied with the opposing team, somehow.

his line of vision is parting from the board when he makes unfortunate eye contact with the person entering the rink. your hair is pulled back with a pale pink scrunchie and your outfit is a certified mess of oversized hoodie and sweat shorts upon white sneakers. he can quite literally feel the heat that is quick to rush to his cheeks, unfailing to hide his flustered state. he knows he looks stupid but he still can't help but stare and ogle at new and blatant eye candy as she crosses the threshold into the cold space. half your figure is  now covered by the wall that separates the stands with the rink though it doesn't matter because he's still equally enamoured by simply your presence. 

"hyuck, why you staring at y/n?"

hyuck can only wince inwardly as he stutters out, "that's- that's y/n?" it seems unfair that renjun's been hoarding such a pretty specimen to himself. "like your best friend, y/n?"

"yeah, what about her?"

"br-bro, you never mentioned that she was pretty."

"hey, don't even think about it. you're the last possible person i'd set her up with. plus, she's with jeno, they went on a date after practice last time, remember?"

there's an underlying disappointment in donghyuck's tone when he's only able to produce a soft, "oh," because frankly he doesn't know why he's so worked up over someone who he's never even met and that's also dating one of his close teammates. amidst his confused trance, he almost fails to notice his coach call for a pre-game huddle.

he ends up tuning out most of it, now distracted by how jeno keeps glancing back at you and making funny faces, you returning them with the! cutest! little expressions he has ever had the pleasure to lay his eyes upon. the rest of the game is played out with enthusiasm on his part, even going so far as scoring in two more points. he's quick to doubt the truth but donghyuck knows that it's whoever that girl is in the front seats that's making him outdo himself.

the game ends and his team wins, claps and cheers at how the game had turned around in their favor, but donghyuck reverts into a sulky demeanor as soon as he's off the rink and into the locker rooms. he notices jeno, being quick and almost feisty with the other boys that are taking too long for his liking in hogging the showers. donghyuck assumes it has something to do with the (gorgeous, wtf) girl that's waiting on him for a date. hardly fair, he thinks, if only he'd met you earlier by chance, he knows he'd definitely have the ability to charm you out of your wits. after all, he's smart, his face is undeniably agreeable, his sense of humor is top notch, and well, what's not to like?

instead of getting closer to you as he so hoped he would, he ends up becoming more familiar with the routine disappointment, and yet delight, at seeing you show up after practices, games, and eventually, team gatherings outside the rink. he's okay with it, he thinks. but it becomes frequent, even, that you show up out of the blue, with the invitation from jeno, and he's starting to lose his cool when it comes to the simplest of interactions. being included in a conversation with you was no problem, as long as he wasn't talking. eye contact? bearable, but not for more than half a second. and the utmost unfortunate luck for the boy if you ever asked him to pass you a fork, or a spoon, or a goddamned napkin. 

he's not so sure anymore, one sullen night, that he could ever make you his, even if he was gifted the chance. when you're not by jeno's side, you're by renjun's, and if that isn't telling enough about how uncomfy you feel around everyone else, he wouldn't know any better. but even laying within the deepest, darkest parts of night, the screen on his phone displaying your more recent instagram post of you on jeno's back, a sun setting beach painted behind the two of you, he finds his heart yearning to know more about you. he knows you're not one to reach out, to make friends unless in a situation that calls for it, so he supposes now is as good as a time as any to shoot his shot, at being friends.

he braves himself for this hefty task. his breaths are ragged and his heart is already hammering a deep crater inside his chest at just the thought of following through with his plan. his fingers are shaking and his pupils are twitting at about the same pace and it appears that none of his bodily functions seem to be within his control anymore. but before he can press the button, his door is thunked wide open with a hard force, the handle even going so far as to lodge itself neatly into the wall that's now been broken through. donghyuck's mouth is hanging ajar but he's barely surprised to see that the culprit of such heinous and costly action is jeno. lee jeno. 

donghyuck makes swift and subtle actions to shove his phone underneath his pillow but when he takes a good look at the boy's face, he realizes that he didn't need to be so discrete in the first place. jeno's eyes are swollen, and not in the way that suggests he got into a big manly manly fight and came out the victor, but in the way that looks as if his three cats died, all at once, and he'd taken it upon himself to cry for each of their mothers respectively. 

the same eyes rove about the room before settling on the bed, his body following suit but moving as if it were part of another entity entirely. the mattress sinks down low with his body weight and he repositions himself so that he's laying down comfortably, his legs still hung over and down the side. donghyuck can hear jeno's ragged breaths, not unlike his own a minute ago, and he wonders what hell of a day the boy had had to render him into this state of numbed consciousness. but before he can even form the question that sits at the edge of his mind, jeno's voice reverberates lowly in the silence of the room.

"she broke up with me," donghyuck blinks purposefully, "something 'bout how she thinks she might like someone else, fucking bastard."

"is she the bastard?" donghyuck tries to disassociate his feelings from his words and come across as...helpful in lifting his friend's mood.

jeno chuckles, "no, hyuck, she's not the bastard. bastard's the guy who has her heart. i'm glad she told me though, she's never been one to hide things."

"yeah, would've been worse if she dragged it on, huh."

"yeah, a lot worse."

donghyuck's voice almost gets caught within the confines of his rationality, "did she tell you who he- the bastard is?" he sighs inwardly, knowing that this was none of his business whatsoever, but the desire to know seeps into his thoughts. 

jeno sighs as well, "no, not really. she said it was some boy on the team though, might even be you now that i think about it."

"oh," is, yet again, the only thing he is able to produce. 

the new revelations seem to give life to donghyuck. the mere idea that there's a possibility of interest in his direction is something that he thrives off of. mundane tasks like washing the dishes are now enjoyable hobbies, no actual brain work, head empty, thoughts of you exclusively. when it comes to practice, you're no longer there, your presence reduced to hushed talk between the boys and renjun, asking him if you really are the reason jeno's been so out of it, letting easy pucks into the goal left and right. hyuck is relieved, though, that he gets a break, a step back to rethink his crazed emotions. maybe it really was just simple infatuation. maybe it was just because he hadn't gotten laid in awhile. or even just the fact that he's been hanging out with the boys too much and that the first girl he set his eyes on in days ultimately became the protagonist to his daydreams. hell, he is especially glad that you decided it wasn't worth showing your face at the rink for the time being for jeno would've been downright devastated.

that whole paragraph of feelings is bluntly disregarded and thrown off track as he enters the corner cafe a few blocks down from his house and is met with you waving your hand excitedly at him and motioning for him to sit with you. he doesn't hesitate, of course, but makes sure he takes slow and deliberate steps to the window booth you're sitting at just to make sure he at least gets in four deep breaths before he is inevitably subjected to not breathing in your presence.

"hyuck, it's been awhile, i hope this doesn't make you uncomfortable or anything," your face morphs into an expression of realization as it hits you that calling him over was entirely to satisfy your own hopes and dreams. the boy sitting across from you, smiling lightly, might as well be feigning a pleasant disposition, grossed out by the girl that dumped his friend just because she thought she was interested in someone else. by the end of this thought, your voice is reduced to a timid pitch, "you can leave if you want, it's all good."

"actually, i think that it'd be more uncomfortable for you if i left." he feels his heart constrict at the sight and the knowledge that his words enlightened your composure. you take it upon yourself to start some light conversation, not wanting to disclose the reason you'd called him over in the first place just yet. your heart picks up pace, rivaling hyuck's own, and you can't help but think of the sheer likeliness of the luck you'd just encountered. just as you decided to brave up for once and not take advantage of your best friend setting you up on one too many blind dates that were just, too artificial for you, the boy whom you had taken a liking for had shown up before your eyes, breezing through those glass doors as if it were a sign for you to just take charge. 

"and i was telling him-"

"are you free friday?"

"what? oh, what?!"

"i'm asking if you're free friday."

"i- i mean yeah, i have practice at three, but i'm free afterwards."

"let's grab dinner together then."

"oh shoot, okay, like with the boys? 'cause i could ask them if they're down."

"no, i was hoping it could be just us. like a date."

"so, hold the fuck up, you're asking me out on a date?"

"yeah, why…? am i not allowed to do that? is going out on a date with me gonna break bro code or something?"

"n- no, nothing like that. it's just...you can't possibly be serious."

"oh, trust me, i'm dead serious."

"...holy shit, i'm in."

donghyuck fucks up big time at practice, his cheeks are way too hot and he's sweating gallons per second. his jaw is clenching and unclenching in hopes that the action might make him a little more attentive while on ice but instead, he finds his eyes roving over to your figure in the stands far more often than he'd like to admit. he thinks, no he hopes, that jeno is okay with the fact that you're not here for him but rather the 'boy on the team' he'd unknowingly referred to a few months back. hyuck knows, though, that renjun is definitely not okay with it, the aforementioned boy throwing just as many glares at hyuck as hyuck's many glances towards you.

practice is over long after he hoped it would be but you're patient and supportive nonetheless. his eyes crinkle and his smile widens as you sidle into him for warmth in the cool air of the ice rink. hyuck solves this by removing the hoodie from his own, accustomed body, and gently tugs it over your shivering one. he thinks he handles the wave of adoration that consumes him pretty well, even able to ease the corners of his lips down a tad bit. "you're cute," you pull at his cheeks and suddenly things are not so easy to handle. 

donghyuck does eventually get used to all the sneaky shit you pull just to get his ears red and shy smile blossoming, but he knows he'll never get used to the sight of you in the stands, adorning his spare 66 jersey with everything else fading, and fading further away until it's just you and him, and him and you.

copyright © 2020 rouiyan all rights reserved.

✧ end note — i hope you find someone that holds you in such high esteem as hyuck does in this fic, i'm sure you deserve it <3

[atmostories]

Johnny Lawrence x Reader

Tags: Angst, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Alcohol Abuse, Depression Matter - Chapter One The first few weeks after you broke up with Johnny, you were a complete mess. Even though you had made the right decision it didn't make it any easier. The days were a vague blur, where you muddled through your daily routine without really experiencing it. You couldn't stop thinking about that night, it was the anniversary of his mother's death. You'd found him unconscious and sprawled out on the floor by the sofa. A strange sound was coming from him as his body convulsed slightly.

When you crouched down beside him, you'd realised that he was choking on his own vomit. Immediately you turned him onto his side and lifted up his chin to open his airway. He started to cough only a couple of seconds later as the vomit spewed out of his mouth.

He noisily wheezed in air, but he still didn't come to as you called out his name over and over. After accepting that he wasn't going wake up anytime soon, you wiped his face clean and laid down beside him. You tried not to shake in fear as you placed a hand on his chest to make sure he was still breathing. He'd almost died right in front of you.

You didn't sleep. You were wide awake the whole night watching over him. It wasn't until the morning when he finally woke up. His first instinct was to grab a bottle of beer on the table and down its remaining contents. When you told him what happened, he didn't even bother to apologise before downplaying the whole thing. You should have been angry, you should have told him to try to get sober, to go to therapy, to go to AA, but you'd said that all before. Every time you'd try to suggest him getting help, he'd shoot you down, saying that he didn't need any of that pussy shit and he didn't have a problem in the first place.

You just couldn't do this anymore.

After he stalked off to work, you packed up your stuff from his apartment and left. He called later that evening, asking where the fuck you were, demanding to know why your clothes were missing from the closet. You told him to meet you at a diner, it wasn't a conversation to have over the phone. You were waiting in the parking lot when he turned up. Rather than going inside, you got into the passenger seat of his Firebird.

Johnny didn't say hello, he didn't say anything for a while. He must have realised what was happening. Fuck, you really didn't want to do this. You'd been contemplating it for months, always managing to convince yourself to give him another chance, to respect that his addiction was a very complex and difficult thing.

Every day you'd worry about him, fearing that he might have gotten into a fight with someone again, panicking that he'd blackout at the wheel of his Firebird after coming home from a bar. He wasn't just putting himself at risk, but everyone he came across. You had numerous arguments with him about the drunk driving. He'd say that he hadn't had too many and he was perfectly fine to drive. He would then apologise and say he wouldn't do it anymore, and then a week later he'd do it all over again.

You knew he was a good man. That was the problem. It was buried underneath decades of shame and guilt and regret and hurt. You were not equipped to deal with it. You'd tried, you had tried so fucking hard. It had become such a burden that your own problems didn't matter, what you felt was always inconsequential.

But now what you said was going to matter.

“Look about last night,” Johnny mumbled, his fingers tapping on the steering wheel. “Things might have gotten a little out of hand. . .”

“You almost died, Johnny,” you told him numbly. He looked at you then, his eyes searing into you and making your heart ache profusely. The tears welled up in your eyes. “You almost fucking died.”

Guilt bled across his expression before he looked away. The reprieve from his gaze gave you the chance to suck in an unsteady breath. You were still for a few moments before you pulled the key to his apartment from your pocket and held it out to him.

“I can't be with you anymore.”

“What, so that's it? You're just gonna leave because of one fuck up?” He asked angrily, his arm resting on the wheel as he turned to face you. You scoffed out a curt laugh, he was unbelievable. “You think this is funny?”

“You know that's not true,” you replied calmly, not wanting to get into an argument with him. He didn't reply. You let your arm fall into your lap, not bothering to keep holding the key out for him. Rather than wait for him to take it, you opened up the dash to put it inside. Before you could put it on top of some receipts, he snatched hold of your wrist.

“That key's not on loan, I gave it to you,” he snarled, he was deeply offended by the gesture. It was an insult to reject his gift, but you knew he didn't mean just that. You were rejecting him. Staring down at his hand, you waited until he loosened his grip and let your wrist go.

“When I told you that you're always welcome, I meant it,” he spat at you. In his eyes, what you had said to him didn't matter, when you had told him you loved him you didn't really mean it. You were nothing but a worthless liar.

“I'll always care about you,” you replied, hoping that he would understand you were telling the truth.

“Bullshit. You're just like the rest of them.”

“Johnny-”

“I thought you were different, but you're gonna leave like everyone else.”

“You don't understand-”

“No I get it. You know what? Keep the key, throw it in the trash, I don't care. Just get out of my car.”

“Please I-”

“Get out!” He shouted, your body jolting at the sound of his rage. You barely managed to swallow down a sob as you scrambled to leave the car. He started up the engine as you closed the door and he gunned it out of the lot.

You watched him drive off, not quite believing what had happened. But he was gone, just like you wanted.

- - -

It was almost a month since you'd last seen him. You got a call from Sid, that mean old bastard, as he explained how he graciously bailed out his step-son for the last time and that Johnny was no longer his responsibility. He managed to throw in a couple more insults as he told you to deal with Johnny from now on, suggesting to try payday loans or hustling the next time you had to pay for his bail. You hung up right after that, infuriated that Johnny had to grow up with someone like him.

Though your first instinct was to go straight to his apartment, you gave him a call instead, not wanting to cross any boundaries.

“Hello?” Johnny answered, he obviously hadn't checked to see who was calling him.

“Hey, Johnny.” The other end of the line was silent for a beat too long, you hurried to say something else before he could hang up. “I wanted to make sure you're okay. Sid gave me a call, he said that he bailed you out of jail.”

He huffed and hummed in displeasure. “Of course he did.”

“A-Are you?”

“What?”

“Okay?”

“I'm fine.”

“I was worried, I-”

“Yeah well, you don't need to do that anymore, do you?” Before you could say anything else, he hung up. The pain in your heart was the same as when he had driven away from the diner. Why wasn't it easing, even a little?

You missed him so much.

- - -

The new apartment you were living in was worse than Johnny's. You had to work extra shifts and overtime to pay the rent, and you were still struggling. It hadn't been as bad when you'd lived with him, he'd split the bills with you.

You were on a lunch break, thinking about going to the grocery store to buy some dish detergent. There weren't any clean dishes left, you'd gone through everything. You'd already used a mug as a substitute for a bowl several times. Your phone started ringing, distracting you from the thought. Seeing that it was Johnny calling made your chest twinge in discomfort.

“Hello?” You answered hesitantly.

“You left some of your stuff here,” he said bluntly without preamble. You were so shocked that he had called that you didn't manage to spit out a reply.

“Are you gonna come pick it up?” He prompted.

“Uh yeah, of course. What um. . .when do you want me to come over?”

“Anytime past eight.”

“Okay.”

“I've gotta go.” He didn't you a chance to say goodbye, or to ask whether he meant tonight. That must have been what he was saying, right? The rest of the day you were a wreck of nerves, unsure of how badly the next meeting with Johnny was going to go. Hadn't you taken everything from the apartment? What if he thought you had purposefully left it to give yourself an excuse to see him again?

Ten minutes past eight o'clock, you were walking up to his apartment, worrying that you might be too early. Should you have come at half eight or nine? You tried to stead yourself before knocking. When he opened up the door, you were surprised to see that he was clean-shaven. He looked good. . .healthy. The last time he'd shaved was when he saw Robby a while ago. The two of them had gotten into an argument. Johnny didn't take it well. After picking a fight with you, he went on a two day bender.

From the way he was looking you over, it was like he wasn't expecting you at all. Did he not mean tonight? Before you could tell him you'd come back another time, he opened up the door fully, gesturing for you to come inside by tilting his head.

After he closed the door behind you, he walked over to the kitchen. You didn't know what to do with yourself. The place felt so familiar, but at the same time there was now an underlying hostility to it. Sitting down would be too presumptuous, you didn't want to upset him. He opened up the refrigerator, you wondered how much stuff he had in there but you couldn't quite see from this angle. Johnny had a tendency to be forgetful about the groceries, but not the beer though. He never forgot the beer.

“You want something to drink?” He asked, you weren't sure if he was actually offering alcohol.

“No, thanks.”

“I've got orange juice,” he clarified.

“I'm okay.”

“Are you?”

“Yeah.” He shut the refrigerator and walked up to you, his finger pointing at your face.

“Those bags under your eyes say different.”

“I've worked a couple long shifts, that's all.”

“Sure,” he replied, with a hint of irritation to his tone. He always could see right through you. Rather than bothering to ask you for the truth, he picked up a box and put it on the coffee table. “Your stuff's in here.”

He migrated back to the kitchen, giving you a chance to take a look at what was inside. There were some toiletries, a toothbrush, a couple CDs, a tupperware box and an old Metallica shirt.

“This shirt is yours,” you told him, folding it up and placing it onto the table.

“The amount of times you've worn it. . .pretty sure it's yours.” There was a weak smile on his face. He was trying to break through the tension, ease up the conversation. You almost breathed out a sigh of relief, appreciative that he was trying to make this easier.

“It's really comfortable. Couldn't ever fault your taste in classic band shirts,” you responded in kind in an attempt to keep things jovial.

“Just everything else, huh?” He retorted, his eyes flicking away, his mouth twitching like he hadn't meant to say that. Awkwardly, you shuffled the items around the box, wondering how to recover the conversation without it degrading into something unpleasant. A knock on the front door pulled you from the thought. He had a grimace on his face as he went to see who it was. There was a kid the other side of the door.

“Sensei! I forgot to ask earlier, are there some exercises I should be doing in the morning? I was reading this article about metabolism and-”

“Now's really not a good time,” Johnny told him, trying to gently dismiss him. The kid then spotted you, his eyebrows raising in surprise. You gave him a half-hearted wave, wondering why he was calling Johnny Sensei.

“Oh, is that your friend?”

“What part of not a good time don't you get?”

“Sorry I uhh. . .guess I'll come back tomorrow?”

“Mmmhmm,” Johnny hummed. He answered the kid's question as he began to close the door. “Fifty crunches, forty lunges, thirty push ups.”

“Is that forty lunges per leg or-” The door was shut before the kid could finish. Johnny turned around, shifting his weight uncomfortably like you'd seen something you weren't meant to. You wanted to ask what the whole Sensei thing was about, why some kid was asking him about what exercises he should be doing in the morning.

“He seems like a good kid.”

“Yeah, when he's not being annoying.” There was no insult to his words, you could tell that Johnny liked him.

“What's his name?”

“Miguel. He lives in the apartment opposite.”

“Oh right,” you replied, unsure why he was making friends with the neighbours. He hadn't ever done that before. You turned your attention back to the contents of the box, fingers running along the edge of a CD case. It felt so strange being removed from Johnny's life, being unwelcome to the facets of his life. You had asked the most polite and unobtrusive questions you could think of, but you couldn't come up with anything else.

“I opened up a dojo,” he told you, his hands hanging awkwardly by his side.

“A dojo? You're doing karate again?”

“Yeah.”

“I thought you hadn't done karate since you were in high school?”

“I haven't. Not until now.”

“Oh,” you muttered, mind replaying everything he had told you about Kreese. Sometimes he had nightmares about his old Sensei, he'd wake up shaking, struggling to breathe. One time he accidentally elbowed you in the face because you were too close. You had an arm around him, you had been pressed up against his back, spooning him. That was the last time you'd slept like that.

“But after everything that happened with Cobra Kai, I thought. . .” you trailed off.

“It's going to be different. It's not going to be like how it was before.” With Kreese, you finished wordlessly, understanding what he meant. Was it really a good idea for him to be doing karate again? You remembered the fights he'd gotten into, he was proficient enough as it was. It would give him direction though, something to focus on, something to work towards. He needed that.

But where did he get the money to open his own dojo? It must have expensive. Was it Sid? Was it part of his final pay off to get rid of Johnny for good?

“Miguel's your student then?”

“Yeah, he's my first one.”

“That's great, Johnny,” you told him honestly, knowing that this could get him back on track. “I'm happy for you.” He stared for a few moments, there was something off about his expression. Did he not believe you? He nodded non-committally in response.

You pointlessly shuffled around a few things in the box to give yourself something to do. The silence hung heavy in the air. You didn't want to leave, but you didn't feel welcome anymore.

“Was there anything else?” You asked, after you refolded the Metallica shirt and carefully tucked it away into the box. There wasn't anything more you could do to prolong your time with him.

“No, it's all in there.” Picking up the box, you slowly approached Johnny as he stood by the door.

“Thanks for calling me.” You pressed your lips together in a polite smile. “I hope everything goes well at the dojo.”

“Me too.” Johnny didn't move to open up the door, you wondered if he was expecting you to go around him. You took another step forward, shifting your grip on the box. Another few seconds passed until he finally opened the door. He brushed his hand along your arm as you moved past him. The sensation of his touch was a harsh reminder of how much you missed the intimacy you once shared with him. You were nothing but acquaintances now.

“Maybe take it easy with work, hmm?” He suggested gently. You must have looked worse than you realised. You nodded your head, you couldn't tell him that you would take it easy, that wasn't a choice you had.

As you walked off, you were perturbed by the thought that that was the last time you'd ever be in his apartment. - - - Hope you enjoyed it! I’m currently writing the next chapter and will share it when it’s finished. Do any of you want me to start a taglist for this? I’d be more than happy too. 

[phoenixtakaramono]

Does Bing gē Have Descendants in ‘The Untold Tale?’

This topic has come up a few times since The Untold Tale takes place in the PIDW universe (post-Bingge vs Bingmei extra), I figured I might as well compile and archive my official answer here for me to refer my AO3 readers to in the future for convenience’s sake. I hope everyone doesn’t mind. :) I’m always happy to answer questions!

TL;DR

Q: Will we see Bing gē having fathered children with his harem of 600 or so wives in TUT?

A: For TUT, the answer is a definite “no.” There were a lot of factors which’d contributed to my decision. I’ll try to explain my reasoning down below.

Context

In PIDW, it is canon that Luo Binghe has a bountiful number of descendants with his harem of 600-or-so wives. It is a detail that has been mentioned even in ch1 of SVSSS and in ep1 of the donghua.

(SVSSS Excerpt - ch1)

(SVSSS donghua - ep1)

I like to plan things ahead of time. So from very early on, I knew this would be something I would have to decide on whether or not to address when I’d finally decided to expand TUT from just a prologue into a full-blown story. And after contemplating it, I decided against adding children into the story. It is because 1) it would make the situation more complicated, and 2) it would take TUT in a different direction that wouldn’t be fun for me to write.

I’m a very decisive writer, meaning when I make my mind up about something, chances are I won’t change my mind. This is because I would have already planned it into my plot outline, which means changing a decision would require me to change other details in the other chapters I have planned for that story. (I’m typically not a spontaneous writer; I try not to write spontaneously because when you’re a writer who rotates through multiple WIPs with different characters across different genres or writing styles, you inevitably have writer’s block because you probably won’t remember all the ideas or the direction you had whenever you return back to a different WIP. To reduce this shortcoming, it helps me personally to have a plot outline. This way I can return to any WIP, read my notes and then transcribe them into legible paragraphs, find a way to transition between the story beats I have to hit for that chapter, and then eventually post the final draft to AO3 when I feel it’s ready.)

Having made a decision, I knew I had to set it up in TUT and give a “reasonable explanation in-story.” Hence, in ch2, we see:

(Excerpt I - ch2)

Basically the set-up is TUT takes place post-Bingge vs Bingmei, but between “the third or fourth book” of the hypothetical PIDW webnovel series aka before Airplane wrote the fanservicey chapters where the luckier of LBH’s wives give birth to children during the harem drama plots and the children are probably rarely, if ever, mentioned again in the story as a lot of stallion novels tend to do.

(Excerpt II - ch2)

(Excerpt III - ch2)

Contrarian Tendencies

You know the saying: Monkey see, monkey do? In my case, it’s monkey see, monkey do not do.

A little fun fact about me as a writer: if I have already seen a fanfic where someone has already written a concept or idea into their story, chances are I will just avoid it entirely in my own stories. I don’t know why this aversion exists, but I’m assuming it’s because of my counterculture hipster inclinations and an intrinsic fear of plagiarism which has been beaten into all of our skulls since adolescence. There’s nothing wrong with being inspired by other people’s works. Technically everything’s been done before in writing so, as a writer, a good rule of thumb is to always try to give it your own unique spin on things. So for me, my brain somehow interpreted this a step further. This is a reason why I try to avoid reading stories from whichever fandom my WIP is from during the writing process of updating a fic, because this is how I get influenced. Once I see an idea or interpretation from another fanfiction, it influences me to not want to write it into my own. This is a very strong unconscious impulse for me. I guess this is just the neurons in my brain’s thinking that this way, it won’t be something my readers will have read before and the story idea will come across as different or fresh, and mine. In a way this is also how I show respect for fanfiction writers in the same fandom—by being inspired to not be inspired, ha. I like to think every story in the world serves a niche audience, so seeing a diverse range of originality and interpretations in a fandom is a good thing. This is also how I feel when I am able to identify certain popular tropes or depictions or patterns in a fandom; 99% of the time, it makes me feel a compulsion to “go against the grain” or write the opposite. For example, you have no idea how long it took me to come around the idea of incorporating the fanon “A-Yuan” into TUT. However cute it is, the moment it dominated the fandom (well, “dominated” is an exaggeration; it’s more like I’ve seen enough, especially in the Original LBH/ SY | SQQ tag), my gut reaction was to nope out of using it. But after seeing a lot of comments in my inbox with readers affectionately calling SY “A-Yuan,” I’d contemplated it for a long time and it wasn’t until ch4 that I decisively decided that yes, I can have Bing gē calling SY “A-Yuan” in TUT—but it has to be at the right moment for maximum dramatic and emotional impact. (See this thread that started it all. And this is the small sneak peek I wrote where LBH will call SY that for the first time.) <- This is the rare 1% where I actually conformed to what’s popular.

In this case, when I finally decided to expand the prologue into a full-blown story, coincidentally I had just recently read a good Binggeyuan (Bingyuan) fanfic which featured a kidnapped Shen Yuan interacting with Bing gē’s harem and LBH’s children/descendants. I’d liked their portrayal and even thought the children were cute. <- However, with me having reading this, the problem came up: I felt the familiar stubbornness in me rearing its head. So knowing myself, if I had included children, it is very likely the direction that I would have gone down for TUT would have been the opposite. To further complicate matters, you have to keep in mind the kind of writer I am. I tend to like grounding stories with a semblance of realism, no matter if the genre is pseudohistorical fantasy, romance, sci-fi, etc. And this writer has seen and read quite a few harem and palace intrigue Chinese dramas/ premises.

For further context, in those types of “historical” C-dramas^, in that sort of environment which fosters scheming, competition, jealousy, etc, it is almost expected to see heirs aka children aka descendants harmed along with the women. Innocent parties are often victims in these sorts of cutthroat premises, to underscore the underlying message the show or novel wishes to present. (See Ruyi’s Royal Love in the Palace. See Yanxi Palace. See The Legend of Haolan. See Nirvana in Fire. See The Rebirth of the Malicious Empress of Military Lineage. Etc.) And me being me, this would be the direction I would take. Remember, while TUT is meant to emulate a legitimate danmei C-novel reading experience in a fantasy world, I do drop pseudohistorical and cultural Easter eggs into the story. So trust me when I say you would not like the direction TUT would have gone down in, had I made LBH have children with his harem. I mean, theoretically yes, we could’ve seen endearing children characters from me, but you would have also seen me addressing a lot of the baggage that comes with (see Comment III Excerpt down below).

The situation with dissolving Bing gē’s harem is already complicated enough. As his romance with Shen Yuan develops, I didn’t want to have an additional headache thinking about how to address the issue of LBH having children already. Divorces in a pseudohistorical context is already a heavy topic—even more so when it’s divorces with children in the mix. Naturally I will still have SY and LBH eventually discuss the matter of legitimate heirs since LBH will essentially become the Sacred Ruler of all Three Realms and it’s a traditional precedent for an emperor to bed his empress, noble consort, and imperial concubines until he has his heirs (plural, because the rate of mortality was high in ancient China). In TUT’s case, at that point in the story SY will remind LBH that he’s essentially an immortal sovereign so there isn’t any need for an heir unless he wishes to retire. Furthermore, he will inform LBH that he could set a new precedent since he’s already different from the other emperors from history (with him being of half-Heavenly Demon and half-human cultivator lineage); as long as LBH is fully aware of all perspectives of the situation, he doesn’t necessarily need to conform to all traditions if this is something he really feels strongly about. But this future conversation(s) is likely the extent of it.

But wait, you say, what about a certain someone who’s going to be transmigrated as an imperial crown prince? Isn’t he going to be in that sort of vicious upbringing? <- Yes. But that’s an entirely seperate matter. In a way, since I’ve decided Bing gē will not have had any children or descendants in TUT, with Airplane, this now presents an opportunity for me to show the consequences of being one of the many children of an emperor with a harem of women vying for one man’s attention—and the power struggle that’d ensue in this kind of environment. It’s an interesting What-If parallel, if you think about it.

AO3 Comments

Although these are just small excerpts from replies I’ve written before, it’s nice and orderly to just compile them here for everyone since these will be buried underneath all the comments as TUT updates:

(Comment I- ch3)

(Comment II- ch4)

(Comment III- ch4)

Because of seeing comments that have asked me for my thoughts on whether or not I will include LBH’s children, I’ve had so much fun seeing theories thrown around: from LBH’s blood parasites being able to control conception, to someone’s headcanon about LBH being a hybrid and all that entails scientifically (think: mules). I will say in TUT, it’s more the former since in PIDW he’s supposed to have descendants; we’re pretending Bing gē doesn’t have any yet (and now definitely won’t, especially after having heard SY’s “prophecy”) because he subconsciously does not want children due to certain fears, trauma, etc. And his Heavenly Demon’s “blood parasites” (blood manipulation) is a convenient story device to explain why no wife has gotten pregnant yet.

I hope this explanation makes sense! Mainly I just wanted to have this archived on tumblr so that I have this post to refer to moving forward.

On a side note: especially since ch4 had been posted, quite a few people have actually mentioned they’ve read my replies to other comments and/or I have seen different people having hopped onto other readers’ comment threads (for example, imagine my pleasant surprise when I saw a reader you lovely person, you helpfully jumping in to respond to another reader’s questions about TUT, and their answers were actually aligned with what I would’ve answered!), so it’s always such a thrill whenever I see this level of engagement happening. I can’t explain why, but seeing this happening is just so cute to me. It really makes this writer feel so warm and fuzzy inside!

[justletmeplayminecraft]

ex drags xisuma to scar in the middle of the night.

set in the magic misfits au compiled by @haworthiaace. the discord was thinkin’ about xisuma and the limits of his shapeshifting powers & i got inspired to write this. xisuma gets stuck in one form because he refused to change back for too long. with a large serving of x & ex being siblings. 

featuring: ex cares about his brother, scar is too used to being woken up in the middle of the night, he’s not paid enough for this, he’s not paid at all actually, only in the love of his friends, sometimes the best cure is some Rest, they don’t actually solve much, x & ex act like children around each other.

warnings: some worry, mention of a panic attack, light arguments, being stuck in the wrong form, that’s about it.

Scar is woken up by banging on his door. He yawns and rubs his eyes in an attempt to adjust to the darkness. More bangs echo through the house. He sits up, squinting into the darkness.

"Scar!" Ah. It's never a good thing when he hears that voice. He shrugs on the robe he'd thrown across his bedside table and gets his feet on solid ground just as the door is slammed open. He runs his hands down his face.

"I'm coming!" He calls in the hopes of preventing further damage to his house. He doesn't want to spend whatever's left of tonight fixing furniture. He quite enjoys his beauty sleep, thank you.

He finds Ex in the doorway, moonlight reflecting silver streaks across the wooden furniture and highlighting his armour. That wasn't a surprise. Xisuma held in place behind Ex with Ex's fingers dug into his wrist, is. Xisuma's shoulders are drawn so close that his shoulder plates scrape his chest. He's focused on the ground, not looking up as Scar enters. Ex nods to Scar, dragging Xisuma forward. Xisuma makes a soft noise in protest.

"You need to help Xisuma," Ex states without preamble. Xisuma pulls his free arm around his chest.

"Ex, I'm fine," he protests. He's still not looking at either of them, as rigid as a board. Scar likes to think he knows his friends, and he doesn't think a 'fine' Xisuma looks like this.

"Okay then." Ex releases him, stepping back and holding his hand out. "Change back." 

"Ex-" Xisuma's other arm completes the tight wrap around his chest.

"You can't, can you? Because you're an idiot."

"Ex, I'm fine, you don't need to bother Scar-"

"He's already bothered." Ex shrugs. He takes hold of Xisuma's shoulders, trying to push the admin forward. "Xisuma's been stupid, and he's stuck in this form."

"It's not a big deal-!" 

"Then tell me why I found you having a panic attack, Xisuma?" Xisuma falls silent, his eyes downcast. Scar, finally sensing a break in their squabbling, decides to cut in.

"Okay, right." He holds his hands up and gestures for Ex to bring Xisuma inside. "So Xisuma, you can't change back?" Xisuma sighs. Scar leads them to his kitchen. He begins making tea and ignores Xisuma's grunt when Ex hits his shoulder.

"It's really not a problem- Ow, Ex, for goodness-"

"Talk to him, Xisuma." Xisuma huffs. Scar turns to look at them whilst the water boils. Xisuma's bunched together in his seat, looking far smaller than he actually is. His gloved fingers follow the grains of wood. Ex pushes onto a counter as he shakes out his fist. Scar is way too tired to argue about it. He cares more about Xisuma’s problems than Ex sitting on his counters.

"This just happens sometimes," Xisuma murmurs as he sinks onto the table. "If we stay in one form for too long it just- sticks." 

"It does not 'just happen'," Ex points out, throwing his hand up. His legs are kicking impatiently. "You pushed yourself too far and you know it."

"I'll be able to change back eventually. I- I should be able to." He buries further into his hands. "I've never been stuck like this before." Scar listens to the fear creeping into Xisuma's voice. It's not often X comes to him. The admin manages well enough on his own. Though, it's nice to share a drink and chat once in a while. Sometimes he helps Xisuma with an issue, or Xisuma recommends an area of magic to research. Not that X is free of problems, but at least it's not every week.

"You use magic to change back, don't you?" Scar checks. The kettle boils. He hums, digging out the tea he knows Xisuma likes.

"That's right." He sees a tiny smile when he glances at Xisuma. Scar passes a mug to Ex, who blinks at him in surprise. Then he slides one to Xisuma. "It doesn't usually take a lot, but." He shrugs, picking up the mug to breathe in the scent. 

"I can sort out some of my energising crystals," Scar decides, "And you can stay here for the night. I'll make sure none of the hermits bother you." 

"You don't need to do that-" Scar holds his hand up. 

"Xisuma, it would be my pleasure to host you." He reaches for Xisuma's hand once he puts the mug down, giving it a firm squeeze. "Will you be okay for a moment whilst I get the crystals? No arguments about staying." Xisuma laughs, squeezing Scar's hand in return.

"I'll be okay. Thank you, Scar." Scar smiles, sliding out of the room. He trusts Ex and Xisuma to behave. 

It doesn't take long for him to dig out the crystals anyway. He's started organising them in neat labelled shelves and boxes since the entire server decided he's responsible. He's not sure it's their smartest move, but he likes to help his friends. Whether it was their ordinary problems before, or the more magical ones now. He picks out a few for energy, one for health and one for luck. Even if it doesn't directly help, Scar thinks a good night sleep will do him good. 

On his way back, he pauses at hushed voices.

"You know, it might help if you talked to them." Scar doesn't think he's heard Ex speak so quietly before. Despite the harshness of his tone, there's an underlying gentleness. A caring voice underneath.

"It's not their problem," Xisuma replies. "I need to figure this out myself."

"It won't kill you to like- ask for things, idiot. This can't happen again. I don't want to see you like that again."

"You won't," Xisuma replies, firm. "I won't let it go that far again." 

"This is affecting you, X. It's not going to change unless you tell them that-" Scar walks in with footsteps as loud as he can manage. If Xisuma isn't ready to talk, he doesn't want to eavesdrop on his friend's problems. He wants to hope Xisuma will open up to him on his own, eventually. He wants Xisuma to trust them.

"I got them!" Scar announces. The pair look at him as he enters the kitchen. Xisuma can't hide his jump, but Scar isn't going to comment on it. "The guest room should be set up for you."

"Thank you, Scar." Xisuma bows his head. "This means a lot." Scar rubs his helmet, knocking Xisuma's head down.

"Anything for you." He turns to Ex. "Are you planning to stay? You're welcome too." Ex straightens, glancing between Xisuma and Scar quickly. 

"Uh- no. I got… Evil schemes to do. Places to be." Scar rolls his eyes.

"Come and stay the night. My treat. I'm sure you can work on your evil schemes here." 

"Um." Ex scrapes his fingers around his mug. "If you insist, I guess I have no choice."

"Won't kill you to ask for things," Xisuma whispers with a smirk, echoing Ex's words back at him. Ex glares over his mug.

"I'm stealing your bed."

"Wow, wait- hold on-" Xisuma stutters. Ex downs the rest of the tea, slamming the mug onto the counter.

"See you in the morning!" He leaps off the counter. Xisuma stands, nearly falling over the chair to chase after him. He scoops up the crystals.

"Ex! I'm so sorry Scar- Don't you dare!" The shapeshifter vanishes with another bright glint of armour. Scar pinches his nose, sighing. Yeah, it's way too late for this.

-

When he pokes his head in later, he finds them both curled together in the same bed. He smiles, and closes the door as quietly as he can.