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1d1195 · 1 month

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Read Most here | ~5.8k words

From me: I've been waiting for this part for a REALLY long time.

Warnings: *drum roll* SMUT, semi-public, unprotected, really needy 18+ also, some pretty angsty chats (and more Lauren)

Summary: Harry has been dying for this date for three years. And all the answers it comes with. Even if he doesn't like some of them. She missed Harry. Plain and simple.

With Addie off the phone, she gazed at her reflection for a moment. The girls did an amazing job with her hair and makeup. She felt beautiful. Beautiful enough to be on a date with Harry. He was one of the only people she had ever been on a date with (as much as she did it, she didn’t consider third-wheeling with Addie and Carter actually dating; and knowing Harry was her soulmate put a damper on the memory of her dates with one of the only other guys she dated, Beau, in the ninth grade). It was simultaneously terrifying and wonderful.

The thought of him made the nerves return. Closing her eyes, she smoothed down the skirt of her dress. It was light green. Nearly matched Harry’s eyes, which was why she selected it. There was a slight V-cut at her neck and had fluttery sleeves at the top of her shoulders. Eleanor insisted it looked beautiful against her skin and the skirt cinched slightly at her waist accentuating her curves and then came to a ruffled hem that hit just above her knee. With a pair of wedged nude sandals, she tried to create the effect that her legs were longer, but she slightly felt like she was playing dress up and this was not a date she was meant to go on.

“I just need to jump,” she whispered to herself encouragingly.

The full effect had Harry’s jaw nearly unhinged to the floor as she entered the kitchen. Eleanor punched him in the arm to keep him from drooling. Sarah smiled excitedly. “You look beautiful.”

“Extremely,” Harry nodded in agreement, his eyes scanning her in a way that made her feel naked, but in a really good way. She blushed so cutely. It made Harry’s heart skip a beat. “Ready?” He asked.

She nodded. Because for the first time in ages she felt so ready to go on a date. Eager. Utterly excited to be alone with someone. “Yes,” she smiled.

Dinner passed in a blur. Truly, he was only thinking about the way her smile looked so nice on her lips. How soft her hair framed around her face. The way her skin practically glowed and it was only amplified by the makeup that she decidedly did not need but it looked like she was doing the products a favor by wearing them on her beautiful face. He was only pretty sure they spoke. Chatted about a variety of things but he wasn’t sure he could recall them in detail if asked because he was so overwhelmed by the fact that he was with her, on a date. After all that time.

He suspected there was stuff about work and college. He did remember he told her at least twenty stories about Mrs. Peterson and seriously worried she was one of his best friends, now. She talked about Carter and Addie. Gave an update on her mum and how she enjoyed living closer to her aunt.

But all those details disappeared. He was on a date with her. A date with the love of his life after three years of not seeing her and it was so goddamn effortless to talk to her, make her laugh, and smile with her.

It felt so good he could have cried.

“What are y’going t’do when y’finish your degree?”

“Uh,” she sighed, and Harry sensed her worry almost immediately. Wished he hadn’t made her feel uneasy even a little. Even if it was natural to feel that way.

A little anxiety about her future career was new for her. For the first time in so many years, nervousness that wasn’t because she was worried about him or her love for Harry was a bit of a curve ball. She knew what she wanted, and she wanted it badly, but didn’t know if it would pan out the way she saw it in her mind. “I’m not totally sure, actually,” she admitted. “I’ve got an online portfolio of my work, and I’ve sent it to a ton of publishers, magazines, et cetera,” she took a deep breath. “I could be really stereotypical and just continue waitressing by night and writing by day,” she shrugged. It wasn’t a bad gig. But it wasn’t what she hoped for exactly.

“Someone is going t’pick you up. You are too brilliant t’not be,” he sounded so sure—because he was. If there was anything he believed in, it was her, her dreams, and ambitions. “S’nice it can be... remote, yeah? Let you travel and visit your mum and whatnot,” stay here. With me. He thought silently to himself.

She nodded. “Yeah... I guess. But... I think I’d want to stay here.”

For three years, his heart was not inside his chest. But now it was back, the veins and arteries reconnecting to the rest of his body. Literally putting life back in him. It thudded so loudly he could barely make out the sound of the restaurant around them as he smiled at her. “Good,” he nodded. “Good,” he repeated quietly, relief heavier in his tone.

After a brief protest from her, (and for the first time since she arrived home, he didn’t even look at her as he pushed her hand away) Harry paid and signed the receipt for their meal. Once her glass was nothing but ice, he looked at her expectantly. “D’you want t’get coffee?” He asked, his voice full of hope because he didn’t want the night to end. Not even a little.

She nodded. If the night never ended, she would be glad.

Harry ushered her out of the restaurant, and she held her hand out for his. He took it eagerly and marveled at how her fingers fit the spaces between his; it felt like they were supposed to be there, and his hand was empty, not complete without hers attached to it.

They made their way toward the coffee shop up the road. Holding hands like they had done hundreds of times before. They chatted about the weather. He complimented the way her hair had lighter streaks throughout. She looked good. So good. “Louis and I have been running in the morning,” she told him with a shrug. “I think the sun hits different parts of my hair when it’s up and gives me this highlight effect.”

Harry had no idea he had been running with her. “You have?” He asked. Jealousy flooded him. It wasn’t fair to either of them. It was stupid. But the surprise was genuine.

“Yeah... the first time I went out and I saw him, I chased after him because he didn’t want to talk to me. But I buttered him up with those muffins I—”

“Holy shit, y’made the oat muffins?” He asked in shock. Forget what he said. The jealousy was real. She blushed, feeling bad she let Louis’ secret slip.

“You hate him now, don’t you?”

“Immensely,” he squeezed her hand as she giggled. “Did y’make the blueberry ones or the cranberry ones?”

“Do you actually want that answer?”

“No,” he shook his head quickly. “You’re right.”

“I’ll make some extra,” she offered.

Harry was about to ask her about breakfast tomorrow, but his phone began vibrating in his pocket. It was a great effort and made him feel awful, but he looked at it because he had to. As expected, it was his boss. “M’sorry kitten. S’work. Do y’want t’go in and order?” She smiled, nodding encouragingly. “Tell Lauren I said hi,” he said pressing the phone to his ear and stepping away from the shop a few paces.

Of course, someone was having a family emergency and without a family of his own, Harry was always the first call for overtime and help. There were still hours before he would need to go in. It wasn’t ideal, but still gave him plenty of time to finish his date.

It was well worth getting no sleep if it meant he could spend more precious time with her. It was one thing he was never going to take advantage of ever again. Time with her was the most invaluable thing he had.

“Everything okay?” She asked, holding out a cup to him.

“Thank you. Yeah... jus’... gotta do the overnight at midnight.”

“Oof,” she frowned. Then, much to his delight and surprise, she slipped her hand right back into his, like three years of nothingness didn’t stretch between them. Like they held hands for the last eleven-hundred odd days, every day. “Is that hard?”

For a moment, Harry was speechless, breathless, unable to remember what her question was asking. But then he brought himself back to reality. Harry didn’t like sleeping much. It was where he saw her most. All those dreams of what could have been... so no. It wasn’t hard to do overnights because at least when he was dead tired in the mornings after his shift, he didn’t dream. Didn’t see her. But he didn’t want to make her feel bad. “M’used to it.”

“Well, we can head home if you want to get a couple hours of sleep in before—”

“Do y’want t’go home?” He asked immediately, cutting her off, frowning at the idea of ending their night so quickly.

“No!” She answered just as immediately. Then, with a pink color painting her cheeks, she cleared her throat. “Just... want to make sure you’re... okay.”

Now he dreaded it. The couple of hours that he had seemed like nothing. There was no way he would get all the questions he wanted answered out in the open. But he had to start somewhere. “M’fine. Promise. Do y’want t’jus’ drive around for a bit?”

Silently, she nodded. “Please.”

Something shifted as they got back in his car. He wasn’t sure what, but it was a feeling like something had changed in the short time he was on the phone. It was in her eyes, the spiral of anxiety that was beginning to surface from inside her.

It seemed utterly unfair, and he silently hoped she wouldn’t retreat into herself. The thoughts of her leaving like she did three years ago rolled in his head so frequently now that she was home, he had a whole new set of nightmares to keep him company when he did sleep at night.

But right now, she was still in his car, and he had questions to ask.

For the time being, he pointed out new details on road signs that had been fixed and renovations to things in town she couldn’t see from the outside. She asked polite questions but really, he was just wasting time. So finally, Harry went to the next town over. He pulled into a little spot off the side of the road that fit exactly one car and gave a great view of the town. It wasn’t a mountain by any stretch, but high enough to make them feel tall and important.

He imagined it was a popular spot for teens with new licenses to make out as well.

Not that that was his intention.

There was a pause in their conversation. Comfortable and quiet. Then as Harry was about to ask her another question, she bounced in surprise at the sound of fireworks decorating the sky in front of them. “Wow,” she laughed. “All for me?” She winked at him.

He laughed and nodded. “M-hmm, had it all planned,” he watched the sky for a bit but the most beautiful thing he had the pleasure of looking at was her. So, he turned to watch her enjoy the display. She looked so pretty, her face illuminating every few seconds with a different color from the sky. He missed her so viscerally. Like even the freckles on his skin missed her. Every inch of him was plagued with wanting her even though she was right next to him.

If she went silent on him, he was going to lose his mind.

It was now, or never.

“Why did y’do it?” He whispered.

“Do what?” She asked, frowning at his quiet tone.

He closed his eyes, gripped the steering wheel tight. She had to know what he was talking about. “Why did you leave?”

Her breath caught and Harry felt bad for catching her off guard. But she had to know this needed to be said, needed to be dealt with. “Harry,” she sighed, swallowed hard. She looked out the passenger window avoiding the fireworks. “You should just... enjoy the fireworks. This isn’t—”

“Kitten, I need t’know.”

“I know,” her head knocked against the glass. He could just make out her reflection, her pained expression. It was rude of him to press. But he had to keep going. “But we—”

He pressed anyway. “You have t’tell me. Y’jus’ show up after three years of nothing. It killed me.”

“I know,” she croaked. “God, Harry, I know.”

“So tell me,” he was practically begging. “Don’t y’think I deserve t’know? You were m’whole world, kitten. S’not fair of you—”

“Harry, I fucking know!” She clenched her hands into fists in her lap. He was being unfair. In the time they were together they never fought. What did sixteen- and seventeen-year-olds have to fight about? When she left it was just sad. They never argued. So asking her to do this in his car on their first date after so many years, so many days of sadness and heartache, was completely unfair of him.

“I was so lost, kitten,” he wasn’t fighting fair at all. Coaxing her to breaking even though he had every right to know. She didn’t want the night to end and she feared it would if she told him.

“Harry—”

“Please, kitten. Baby, I just want t’understand—”

She choked out an involuntary sob the moment he said baby. “Because you deserved more than me! Okay? You deserved so much more than me and you wouldn’t have let me go so I just left, alright? You deserved more. So much more than me.”

The fireworks seemed quiet after her explosion.

But it didn’t make any more sense to Harry than the very day she first said it. “What does that even mean?”

Clearly, he broke something in her. She cried, hard. Breaking his heart further. He felt like an asshole, but he desperately needed to know. Her pretty makeup was going to be ruined thanks to him. “I don’t know. I don’t know,” she covered her mouth with her hand and sobbed into the window.

At least he had an answer.

Now for the next question. “Why did y’come back?” There was no answer for that. Just her quiet sniffles filled the car. She dug into his glove compartment for a napkin to wipe her face. If Harry wasn't so upset, he would have marveled at how she knew where everything was; some things didn't change even if they had. “Kitten, tell me.”

“Harry,” she whimpered. “Please...”

But he was desperate for answers. Desperate to put his heart back together. “I needed to see...” she croaked, her voice dying part way through the sentence.

“See what?” He was exasperated.

“That you had...” she swallowed. “That you had moved on.”

He turned away from her briefly, face twisting in anguish. He shook his head then turned back to her. He put his hand on her shoulder, asking her to face him and look at him when he said the next part. “Moved on?” He repeated. The words didn’t make sense. “How was I supposed t’move on, exactly?”

She sobbed and Harry wanted nothing more than to comfort her. Hold her and kiss her. He wanted to promise it was going to be okay. The way he always did when she cried. But he couldn’t. He needed to know how she thought that it was possible to exist without her. “I thought if I—”

“You are my soulmate, kitten. You know that.”

She whimpered, cheeks flushed, and tears streamed down her face. It pained him to look at her so upset but he had to finish this. Now. “You don’t believe in soulmates,” she whispered. Almost as if she wasn’t talking to him.

“But you told me we were,” his voice was crystal clear, definitive. No room to persuade him of anything else. She was his soulmate. She believed in them, so it had to be true. He believed in her. So that was enough. Harry gripped the steering wheel for all he was worth. Gritted his teeth as he asked his next question. “Did you move on?” The question was lost to the fireworks and the sound of her cries. But she clearly caught some of it.

“...What?” She whispered, tilting her head at him at a strange angle. Like he just told her that the grass was orange and it rained flower petals.

He inhaled sharply realizing he was agonizing over the thought. How long had he been holding that question in his head? Why didn’t he ask it sooner? Well, he knew why he didn’t ask it sooner. A large part of him never wanted to know the answer. “Do you have a boyfriend? Or... a fiancé?”

“Harry,” she rubbed her hands into her eyes.

“Goddammit," he sucked in a deep breath. "Tell me!” His heart was breaking.

“I didn’t date anyone while I was gone. I told people that I, and my heart, were happily taken. It never even crossed my mind, Harry,” she looked at her lap and swallowed nervously.

The fireworks complimented their evening perfectly. He released the breath he was holding and the grip he had on the steering wheel. The feeling came back to his fingers. His knuckles returned to the right color. “You said y’were taken?” He asked, thinking of the same notion he told Mrs. Peterson whenever she wanted to set him up on a blind date. Her gaze returned to his, and she held it for a moment, still in complete silence. Then she nodded. Her sniffles subsided.

Then she snorted, shaking her head with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “A fiancé, Harry? That’s ridiculous.”

“S’not,” he didn’t smile like she did. It was so serious to him. Felt it in his bones how serious it was. “Because if y’thought I was going t’move on from you... I don’t know, kitten,” he shook his head.

“No,” she repeated. Relief flooded him further. “I couldn’t... I took this first aid class,” she swallowed. “You would be really proud of me,” she smiled more genuinely through tears that filled her lash line. “I thought about all the things you taught me yourself when you practiced first aid and whatnot. I knew so much stuff. I was the class pet—”

“Course y’were.”

“—but we practiced taping wrists and ankles and I had to work with this guy, and I thought he was going to kill me,” she sniffed but that smile never left her lips. “I flinched every time his hand touched mine. He probably thought I was in a horrible relationship and that’s why I was learning how to tape injuries. I couldn’t even tell him that it was the exact opposite because I couldn’t tell him about you.”

Harry was silent, watching the explosion of color against the dark sky.

“I thought you would have moved on,” she whispered.

“Y’got your mom t’leave. I couldn’t even ask ‘bout you. You stopped talking to all of us.”

“If it helps at all, it was really lonely. Even with Addie and Carter...” she shrugged.

It didn’t. The thought of her being sad and lonely felt about as painful as her leaving. He was so grateful she had a friend to look after her. Someone to confide in. Because she left a lot of people behind who loved her, but at least Harry had them to comfort him as best they could.

“I thought about you every day,” she whispered. “I’ve been thinking about writing our story. I’ve been outlining it... reliving every memory through it. Every painful thing. I think it’ll be a series and honestly, I think it will be really good because the ending will be sad, and no one will see it coming because we didn’t see it coming and—”

“Our book?”

She paused. “You were my favorite thing to write about.”

He shook his head. He knew that. It wasn’t a conceited kind of thing. She said it all the time and he knew it. “What do you mean a sad ending?”

Another pause. She closed her eyes and sighed. “You can’t possibly want me back.”

Another long pause. Harry mulled it over and he realized just how angry he was. What had he done wrong that she didn’t feel adored by him? Where had he messed up and not made her feel safe? Did he let go of her hand like when they were on the balcony the other day? It was too much for him. His grip tightened on the steering wheel again. “What is the matter with you?” He put his head on the steering wheel against his hands as he spit the words out. He hated arguing with her. He felt pulled in two directions to have this conversation and comfort her. It seemed impossible to do them both at the same time.

“Harry,” she frowned. “I’m—”

He shook his head and smacked his hands against the wheel as he sat back. “I am never going t’stop wanting you. Don’t you get that? There is no ending with us. There can’t be. I have been waiting for three years for you t’come back t’me. You’re here and y’think I’m jus’ supposed t’have move—”

She was kissing him.

Her lips covered his in a hungry kind of way. Raw, achy, and hot. She pulled away briefly, her breath short pants. Her hand at the back of his head, her fingers pulled and tightened snuggly against locks of his hair. Poor Harry was so surprised he didn’t fully grasp what was happening and forgot to kiss her back.

He hoped she didn’t think it was too late. Or too soon, maybe, for him to agree to this kind of thing. But he only let one additional second pass before his lips were back on hers. His hands held each side of her face pulling her close to him, awkwardly around the console.

She seemed to melt into the kiss, her whole body releasing a long breath that made her shoulders fall, her body sinking forward. Harry moaned quietly into her mouth. One hand slid from her face into the back of her perfectly styled hair. Within five more seconds he started to pull her over the console separating them. He heard the clunk of one of her shoes falling onto the floor. With one hand on the small of her back, he used his free hand to push the seat back to give her more room between his body and the steering wheel.

Harry wasn’t her first kiss. But the way it felt, he may as well have been. She wished he was. There was nothing better than kissing him. There was a familiar possessiveness in the mix of their lips and breath. It was like he was saying no one else was ever going to kiss her as well as he did. Softly, his tongue slid across the seam of her lips to get her to open further.

Harry knew she didn’t like lots of tongue in her kisses. Which was fine with Harry, a quick brush of her tongue against his was plenty and not the part he cared about much anyway. The way she sucked his lower lip into her mouth and traced it with her tongue nearly made him finish in his pants. Her lips were so sweet. Just like her. It was the most natural feeling in the world to kiss her. Like he kissed her yesterday, the day before, all last year, and every other day succeeding her departure. “God,” she whispered against his mouth.

“Hmm,” he hummed. His hands touched everywhere. Roamed along her sides and around her back, up her arms and cupped the sides of her neck. He wanted to touch her everywhere. It felt so good to hold her and the way she moaned made him assume she was enjoying it just as much. It had been ages since she had been touched and that was fine because she didn’t want anyone to touch her but Harry. His hands were warm and felt so good on her back. Even through her dress. Even though it was summer and very warm, she shivered and nuzzled closer. The car was too small and the space between them was too big. “Baby, can we—”

“Yes,” she whispered. It didn’t matter what he asked. She was a yes to anything he said. He groaned into her mouth and slid his hands between them, lifting the skirt of her dress just above her hips so everything was covered but easier to access.

“Kitten,” he moaned when she reached between them as well and fiddled with the button of his jeans. Why on earth would he have a condom? The thought of being with anyone else so intimately was laughable. “I don’t have—”

“I don’t care.”

He groaned again and kissed down the length of her neck, his tongue poking out to lick at the spots he kissed. She thought she was going to pass out, but she didn’t want to miss a second of this feeling. So, she refused to pass out. “I forgot,” he was breathless as he shifted trying to make space between them so he could pull his pants down just a little more, just enough. “Forgot how much I missed this.”

“What did you miss?” She whispered just as breathlessly, her lips against his neck as he reached between the two of them, slid his fingers against her underwear and pushed it to the side. She whimpered at the light friction of his knuckle barely grazing her clit even though it wasn’t his intention.

Harry’s moans were nearly obscene. They turned her to jelly. “I missed everything, kitten. Everything.”

She shivered again at his response. When she felt him lining himself up, pressing through her folds so easily because she was already an aching wet mess for him, she cried out again. The electric feeling coursed through her and it wasn’t fair that she made him lose this feeling for three years. “Oh,” she tucked her face into his neck.

“I’m... fuck, baby,” he whispered as the head of his cock slipped deeper inside her. He didn’t want to know if she had sex while he was gone. In his mind he was the only person that got to be inside her like this—to feel her like this. His voice was raspy. Not even a whisper really. “I’m not...” his other hand that wasn’t helping her slip further down on him cupped the back of her neck. “S’not going t’last...” He couldn’t even give a time frame because he was so far gone. “S’been...”

She didn’t want to know how long it had been for him. The idea he had sex with someone else would probably make her inconsolable while he was inside her and it wasn’t anyone’s fault but her own. She shook her head and kissed the space just below his ear that used to drive him crazy. “I don’t mind,” she promised.

“God,” he closed his eyes and pressed his face to the front of her chest. Her dress was still in the way, but he wanted to rip it off her. He couldn’t because as much as he was enjoying this—and yes, he would have loved to feel her nipples in his mouth—he refused the risk of anyone seeing her naked like that. This was already bolder than anything they had ever done before—and the intimacy of seeing her fall apart was for him only. A possessive stance he would never let go of.

“Oh my God,” she whispered. It was too hot in the car; her skin was damp with sweat from pressing so close to Harry and the exertion of fitting in the small space between him and the steering wheel. She wanted nothing more than to stay glued to Harry like that, his dick deep inside her for as long as she lived. They really were two puzzle pieces just meant to fit together. For a brief moment she paused the way she was moving slowly up and down his cock; hoping that maybe she would just die in that car because at least this would be the last thing she ever did. Their breathing stilled, quieted. He tilted his neck back, smiled as he gazed up at her.

“You’re so beautiful, kitten,” he whispered.

It was embarrassing that she could come that quickly and that hard from just his compliment and he wasn’t even moving inside her.

She gasped so loudly. Her whines and moans releasing from her without warning. She felt distraught and whole. It was practically primal the way she started to bounce up and down again, only ever so slightly, her legs shaking to find purchase on the side of his seat near the door and dodging the seatbelt holder with her knee. It wasn’t conducive to do this here but what choice did they have when they couldn’t wait a second longer?

“Oh my God, fuck, kitten,” he groaned, wrapping his arms tight around her waist, kissing at her throat and the exposed cleavage he did have access too. He met her greedy little bounces to prolong the euphoria that was coursing through her, making her clench around his cock so hard he thought he was going to exist outside of his body. “Baby, I can’t pull out,” he warned her.

They were young, but not in high school young anymore. Getting pregnant wasn’t their worst fear anymore as it was their first go around leading to her going to the doctor and asking for birth control. In fact, getting pregnant probably didn’t even crack the top ten. But even still... “Pill,” she rasped. “Please,” she begged.

“Oh fuck,” he moaned. His hand slid beneath her dress. He pressed the tip of his finger directly on her clit and rubbed perfect little circles on it.

So perfectly, she was going to explode again. The fireworks had nothing on her. “Oh my God, please,” she cried. The plead, the feel of her squeezing around him again, the heat of her and the car... all of it was a heady combination that left Harry completely useless as he finished inside her at the exact moment that she dropped her face to his shoulder again and fluttered around him. As Harry finally released a breath, he had been holding for three years it seemed, he found she was still trying to squeeze her thighs around him to savor the pleasure. He couldn’t blame her. All he wanted to do was make her come over and over.

There were a lot of firsts they shared over their relationship, and Harry was so grateful to have another even after all the time between them. His body twitched as she stayed in place, her breathing finally slowing. Harry felt hot, too hot but didn’t dare remove her from his body. He held her to him as he shifted more, her bum bumped into the car horn. She giggled once and Harry smiled. His breathing slowed, following hers.

The car was silent except for their labored breathing. They were young when they had sex back then. They thought it was good back then. But it didn’t compare to that. She felt a wave of worry that he had practiced all while she was gone. The same worry went right through him nearly at the same time. Maybe she sensed it because he relieved her with one sentence. “I read an embarrassing number of books with scenes like the one we just reenacted.”

Harry sighed with relief; his nose pressed to her ear. His lips brushed her temple and he spoke quietly. “Send me every single page y’read, kitten.”

She giggled making her clench around him as he softened. He groaned involuntarily. He didn’t want to leave her body. Terrified it would never be like this again. As he started to move, she stopped him. “Um... Do you have a towel?” She whispered; her cheeks probably would have flushed asking the question, but it was impossible to tell with the endorphins that flooded her blood doing most of the work now.

Harry felt a little stupid at the moment, so he nodded, then shook his head. He didn’t fully understand her question but wanted to try for her.

“Uhh... here,” he reached in the backseat for a T-shirt with the station’s logo on it. As he shifted, she whimpered at the feeling of him moving inside her again. He kept a hand on her dress, right at her hip and rubbed his thumb soothingly against her.

“I can’t use this and then have you wear it around town,” she frowned.

“Baby,” he snickered. “I wouldn’t wear it... in public," he teased. She lightly hit his chest with the back of her hand.

She slowly pulled off him, falling back into the passenger seat, the T-shirt between her legs. She finger-combed her hair as best she could and checked her makeup for obvious smudges. Harry mussed with his hair quickly and then placed his hand on her knee. She held it with both hands, brought his fingers to her lips and kissed his knuckles no less than ten times.

“That was perfect,” she whispered.

Forget her writing, she was her very own poem. He smiled. “Always, kitten.”

Harry took the long way back to her apartment. Her grip didn’t loosen around his hand. Not even when he needed to take a turn. When he finally parked, she looked at him expectantly. “I don’t want t’go,” he whispered. “I would quit right now, if I could. I want t’talk all night and tell y’everything and know everything, kitten. M’so...” he shook his head terrified that if he left right now all the progress, everything would be gone. “I missed you so completely baby. I need t’know everything there is t’know ‘bout you and the last three years and all the thoughts y’had. S’not fair and m’so—”

“Harry,” she smiled, squeezed his hand encouragingly. She brought a hand to his chin and rested her forehead against his. “I’ll see you tomorrow; right after your shift, okay?” she kissed him gently on the lips. A soft brush of promising more.

Relief flooded him. “Yeah?” Their mouths were so close as he spoke, his lips touched hers the entire time.

“I’ll be here,” she promised. That little saying, “it was music to his ears,” never really made much sense to him. But right then it did. It made so much sense. She was music. She was the sun. She was fireworks. “Good night, Harry. Have a good shift,” she whispered and pressed her lips solidly against his once more making him feel like he could do anything.

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felassan · 3 months

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PC Gamer interview with Mark Meer: 'I'm afraid you'll be forced to encounter me as Niftu Cal and Blasto and any vorcha you run into'

Mark Meer is a fan of Jennifer Hale too.

Excerpts:

""I occasionally get told by people, 'Oh, I've never played female Commander Shepard. I only play you.' And I'm like, why are you denying yourself the excellent performance of Jennifer Hale?" Meer says. "That's the thing about Mass Effect, it has so much replayability. I certainly don't mind though, if people are like, 'No, I just play Jennifer as Commander Shepard,' because I'm afraid you'll be forced to encounter me as Niftu Cal and Blasto and any vorcha you run into and various other things in the game." Before he was cast as Shepard, Meer was hired by BioWare to come up with soundsets for the alien species, which he describes as the audio equivalent of concept art. "Laying down what a typical krogan would sound like, a typical turian, that sort of thing." He not only ended up playing a bunch of different alien characters, he's the one responsible for ideas like the asthmatic inhalations of the volus—those heavy-breathing, wombly little guys in gas masks. "Not rocket science," he says. "Obviously they're wearing some kind of breathing apparatus so I threw in that wheeze sort of sound. There are some alien races that I ended up playing all of, for example, the vorcha. I think I'm almost all of the hanar and have played a number of volus, I think I've done at least a few elcor and batarians certainly. So yes, I'm sprinkled throughout the games in a variety of roles." One of the most memorable of these is Niftu Cal, the drugged-up little guy who gets so high he thinks he's become a biotic god. "That was a lot of fun," Meer says, "and perhaps lesser well known but equally important, the pizza volus. And speaking of hanar I got to play Blasto, who is in some ways one of my favorite characters—no offense to Commander Shepard. But Blasto was a lot of fun, especially because it started as an audio in-joke." Blasto is a parody of action movie heroes like Dirty Harry and James Bond who you first hear about in ads as you're exploring Mass Effect 2. "Jennifer Hale played an elcor in that," Meer says. "She's playing the sister of Blasto's partner Bubin, who Blasto winds up having an affair with. Embedded as an audio easter egg is both commander Shepards having an affair—as a hanar and an elcor." Even before Jennifer Hale was cast, he was an admirer of her work as Bastila Shan in Knights of the Old Republic, and in various cartoons. "I'm a big comic fan," he says, "so I was a big fan of Justice League Unlimited and the old Batman animated series. I'd loved her work as Zatanna and she was the go-to Giganta and Killer Frost for the Justice League stuff.""

[source]

#bioware #mass effect #video games #long post #longpost #drugs cw

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miss-musings · 2 months

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"I Say We Take Her With Us": How TCW's Waxer & Boil Prefigure Hunter & Crosshair in "The Bad Batch" Series

A running joke in the TCW/TBB fandom is that all the clones have Dad Genes™️. Outside of Jango Fett himself, the first indication we have is Waxer and Boil's dynamic with Numa in "The Clone Wars" Episode 1.20 "Innocents of Ryloth."

In revisiting the episode recently, it struck me how much Waxer and Boil's initial reactions to Numa and their eventual bond with her feels like a template for Hunter and Crosshair's dynamic with Omega in "The Bad Batch" series.

Like Hunter, Waxer bonds with Numa very quickly and takes more initiative when it comes to her safety. He's also more comfortable with physical affection -- patting her head, booping her nose, putting a hand on her shoulder, etc.

Like Crosshair, Boil argues to leave Numa behind when they first encounter her and isn't as concerned about her well-being. He does eventually take a liking to her, promising to keep her safe. Unlike Waxer, Boil isn't physically affectionate. He doesn't initiate any shoulder touches, etc., and he seems caught off-guard when Numa does.

In the end, both clones form a deep bond with their "little sister," even if their dynamics with Numa play out differently. Just so, Hunter and Crosshair both form a deep bond with Omega, although their dynamics with her play out very differently thanks to a variety of factors.

While this is the gist of it, let's take a look at Waxer and Boil as characters, including their interactions with Numa in TCW 1.20 "Innocents of Ryloth".

(NOTE: If you've already seen the episode and have a good understanding of the plot and characters, I recommend you jump down the "Prefiguring Hunter & Crosshair" section.)

Waxer & Boil in "Innocents of Ryloth"

Character Introductions

Even before they meet Numa, we get a pretty good idea of who Waxer and Boil are as individuals.

As their gunship flies toward Ryloth's surface, Obi-Wan and Cody tell the clone troopers to keep an eye out for the locals and avoid damaging their settlements.

Boil, who was carrying heavy artillery, puts it down after Cody tells them they can't use it. He then remarks to Waxer:

Boil: If we're here to free the tail-heads, the least they could do is get out of our way.

Already, we see that Boil has a shoot-em-up kind of attitude. He wants to go in guns blazin' and get the job done, and he doesn't like that consideration for the locals is putting a damper on his fun.

He's also maybe a bit racist??? (Tail-heads sounds like a racial slur to me, and I've seen other comments agreeing with that assessment.)

Waxer seems to take this in stride and later, when Obi-Wan says their squad needs to disable the enemies' guns, Waxer says:

Waxer: Here we go again.

I know it's an iconic "Star Wars" line, akin to "I've got a bad feeling about this," but it's still worth noting.

The two go with Obi-Wan and their brothers to take down the guns, with Obi-Wan commenting how Waxer and Boil "wanted action," implying he overheard their earlier comments on the gunship.

The two help Obi-Wan take out gun towers and then infiltrate the village, which is deserted. They're then ordered to help scout the village.

Obi-Wan, to Cody: Send your best men to scout ahead. Cody: Will do, sir. Boil, Waxer, come with me. Boil: I guess we're the best.

The way Boil delivers this line, it sounds like he's halfway between proud and uncertain. He probably appreciates Cody's vote of confidence in them, but is also wondering if it's because they happened to be nearby because Cody didn't explicitly call them "the best."

As the two are scouting -- both before and after they leave Cody -- Boil has his gun raised. He's ready to aim and fire at a second's notice. Meanwhile, Waxer has his blaster lowered to his torso. He's not as tightly wound up as Boil is.

As the two walk through the village by themselves, Waxer starts asking Boil questions about what might've happened to the residents, whether they were killed, etc.

Boil notes that there are no bodies, so they were likely driven from their homes.

So, even before meeting Numa, we've got a decent idea of who these two soldiers are.

Waxer is more caring and compassionate. He's definitely not as trigger-happy or aggressive as Boil, but he still does his job well.

Boil is more practical and by-the-book. He's ready to spring into action, and takes his job as a soldier seriously. He also might be older/higher-ranking than Waxer, as Waxer seems to defer to him in some cases, and Cody calls to him first.

Meeting Numa

While scouting, the two hear a sound and investigate it. They find a little Twi'lek girl, whom we later learn is named Numa.

Boil, as he sees Numa: Ah, it's just a little girl. Waxer: Well, what are we going to do with her? Boil: Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. Why do we have to do anything? We've got a mission to finish.

Looking closely, Boil actually lowers his blaster first, realizing who/what Numa is. But, he also sounds a bit disappointed that he doesn't get to shoot something.

Waxer immediately starts worrying about her well-being and what their duty of care is in this situation. However, Boil believes their responsibility is to complete the mission, starving kids be damned.

Waxer doesn't back down, though:

Waxer: We should do something. I say we take her with us. Boil: You can't be serious. She'll only slow us down.

Again, Boil is focused on completing the mission, while Waxer is concerned about Numa's safety.

A probe droid comes into the vicinity, and Numa cowers. Boil thinks it's because she's afraid of them, but Waxer notices the droid and realizes the truth. The three then hide, and the droid leaves.

The droid worries Boil, who says they need to keep moving. However, Waxer presses him for a third time that they need to do something about Numa. Boil reluctantly agrees to Waxer's plan to take her with them, and bends down to grab Numa. She bites him, and he calls her a "tail-head."

Waxer correctly deduces that Numa is afraid of them, as she probably assumes they're droids. He takes off his helmet, showing her he's human:

Waxer: It's alright. See? I'm flesh and blood, just like you.

The two then notice that Numa looks hungry. (The captions say Boil takes note of this, but based on the audio, I think it's actually Waxer. Waxer doesn't have his helmet on, but Boil does, and the line is delivered by someone who isn't wearing a helmet.)

Anyway, Boil takes out a ration and hands it to Waxer, who hands it to Numa. While Boil might be older/outrank Waxer, he's apparently letting Waxer take the lead in this particular situation after Numa initially bit him.

As Boil also removes his helmet, Numa calls them "nerra," which we later find out means "brother." While they're unaware, it's an indication that Numa already trusts and respects them.

Waxer tells Numa their names, but Numa continues to call them "nerra."

Boil, as he puts his helmet back on: Oh, you made a friend. Mission accomplished. [sighs] Can we go now?

I find it interesting that Boil says Waxer made a friend, when Numa was calling both of them "nerra." So, while he didn't know what "nerra" meant, he only acknowledges her bond with Waxer and not himself. Once again, he's only focused on completing the mission. He doesn't give a crap about this kid beyond answering Waxer's complaints that they need to do something with her.

Waxer stands and puts his helmet back on, as he prepares to follow Boil. He calls to Numa, who seems reluctant to leave.

Boil: Look, she doesn't even want to go. Little monster was fine before we came along, so let's MOVE.

Boil has finally convinced Waxer that they don't have any more responsibility toward Numa. She'll be fine as-is. Waxer takes one last look at Numa before following Boil out into the street.

Following Numa

Later, Numa follows the two through the streets of the deserted village. Waxer immediately notices, looking back at her, but keeps walking.

Waxer: I wonder what happened to her family. Boil: They're probably dead. Hopefully, she'll survive this mess.

Again, we see that Waxer is concerned while Boil is practical to the point of being cavalier. However, that last line makes me think Boil is starting to ... warm up ... to Numa. (Sorry, I had to.) He's definitely not on the same level as Waxer is... yet.

Waxer continues to focus on her well-being, especially with the context that she's likely an orphan. (We find out later that she's not, but they don't know that yet.)

Waxer: So, what happens to her? I mean, after we leave. Boil: I don't know. Ah, don't get any ideas. We're not taking her with us.

I do wonder who the "we" is that Waxer mentions. Does he mean his company specifically, or the clone army in general? I imagine, from context, it's the former.

I also find it funny that Boil preemptively shuts down Waxer's idea of taking her with them. He must recognize that Waxer's Dad Instincts™️ have kicked in -- probably because his have too but he's fighting them, unlike Waxer.

The two realize that Numa is no longer following them, and Waxer says in a very disappointed tone:

Waxer: She's gone. Boil: I'm sure the little biter will turn up.

Out-of-context, "little biter" sounds like it could be a term of endearment. I wonder if Boil meant it that way, but knowing his personality, he probably meant it more literally.

The two then turn around and see that Numa snuck in front of them, as she stands directly in front of Waxer. He kneels down and affectionately boops her on the nose, which makes her giggle.

Boil's a bit thrown off by the fact that she was able to sneak up on them, considering they're trained soldiers.

Numa then starts pulling Waxer, calling him "nerra" again, and pointing down the street. She runs off, clearly wanting them to follow her.

Waxer calls after her, telling her not to go that way because "that's where the recon droid went."

Boil: Waxer, let her go. Waxer, running after Numa: I'm not just gonna let the droids get her. Boil, running after both of them: I'm just trying to keep you alive! I'll be darned if I know why.

Once again, we see that Waxer's priority is Numa's safety, as he runs after her without hesitation.

Boil, like before, is focused on a combination of following orders, completing the mission, and keeping his brother safe. So, he runs after both of them.

As Waxer catches up to her, he pats her on the head affectionately.

Boil, catching up to them: Good, you caught her. You know, I have binders if we need them. [defensively] What? ... What are we doing here anyway?

Boil almost talks about Numa like she's a prisoner in their custody -- how Waxer "caught" her and how they should put binders on her. Yikes!

He's clearly getting tired of dealing with Numa, partly because she's a child and partly because they can't communicate with her. He's also getting tired of Waxer throwing himself after Numa, when they still have a mission to complete.

Comforting Numa

Numa leads them inside a destroyed house, which Waxer assumes is her home. He's sympathetic to her plight, calling her a "poor little thing" who "lost it all."

He spots a small tooka doll on the ground and gives it to her. Numa starts crying, and he comforts and reassures her by putting his hand on her shoulder.

Waxer: It's OK now. We're here to help.

Numa embraces him and continues crying. He doesn't really know how to react, but ends up reciprocating the embrace by putting a hand on her head.

Finally, Boil approaches them and kneels down too.

Boil: Don't cry kid. We'll keep you safe. I ... I promise.

Numa then embraces him and seems to stop crying. Like Waxer, Boil doesn’t know how to react to being hugged, but pats her on the back.

For Boil, this is clearly a turning point in how he handles Numa. We see later that he's still not happy about having to take care of her, but he has definitely softened toward her, after seeing what she's gone through.

He took the initiative to comfort her. He didn't need to. Waxer seemed to be handling the situation well enough. But, Boil apparently felt compelled to act too.

I imagine that, for a soldier like Boil, making a promise is no easy thing. He wouldn't have told her that if he didn't mean it, so I think -- like Waxer -- he finally let his Dad Instincts™️ kick in. He's not fighting them anymore.

And what's more is he actually one-ups Waxer in a sense. He makes a promise to take care of Numa, which Waxer never did. Waxer just said they were there to help. The wording was more general. But, Boil promises to keep her safe. It's more specific, and could be seen as more comforting: "We're here to help" vs. "We're going to keep you safe."

Side note: I do wonder if Numa is able to understand some Basic, because she gives Boil a meaningful look when he makes that promise AND she stops crying as he directed.

Protecting Numa

While they're still in Numa's destroyed home, the clones' communicators start flashing. Boil is upset, saying they'll be punished for failing to complete the mission and/or report back on time.

Waxer wonders how they're going to explain Numa to their company. He starts coming up with white lies they can tell to avoid getting into trouble.

Boil: We can try. But, mark my words: this will end badly.

Both Waxer and Boil, but more so Boil, are concerned with possible demotion/punishment.

However, they at least don't seem to be arguing about what to do about Numa anymore. They both just start leaving the home and apparently assume Numa will follow them, because they don't physically or verbally have her come along.

When they get outside, both clones take a defensive stance when they realize something's coming. Numa hides behind Waxer, telling him of the danger, before running back into the house.

The two start fighting the creatures attacking them.

Boil: You see what happens when we don't follow orders? [grunts] Waxer: Let's get out of here.

Despite having some change of heart, Boil is still preoccupied with following orders and completing the mission. He is still very much a soldier, even if his Dad Instincts™️ have kicked in.

They barricade themselves inside the home, with Waxer holding the door while Boil shoots at the creatures. Numa opens a tunnel in the floor. Waxer helps her with the heavy stone while Boil puts down cover-fire, until all three escape safely.

When they come out of the tunnels and rejoin their company, they tell Cody they "got sidetracked." Numa, who's holding onto Boil's hand, then peers out from behind him at Obi-Wan and the others.

When Obi-Wan approaches her, she continues to hide behind Boil. Meanwhile, Waxer explains that Numa knows her way around the tunnels.

When Obi-Wan asks in her language, she says she can lead them through the tunnels and even pulls on Boil's hand to come with her.

Numa then leads Obi-Wan, Waxer and Boil through the tunnels to where the other villagers are being held prisoner.

Obi-Wan hands Numa off to Waxer. When he later indicates for the two clones to follow him, Waxer puts Numa down and Boil gestures for her to stay quiet. Numa even mimics his hand gesture as she watches the two clones follow Obi-Wan.

After Obi-Wan frees the villagers, Numa reunites with her parent, and Waxer and Boil help Obi-Wan take out the enemies' main guns.

When the two clones get injured, Numa runs to them. This causes the other villagers to come out and join the fight against the droids.

Just as the tactical droid is about to fire on Obi-Wan and Numa, the villagers swoop in and save the day.

Leaving Numa

As Obi-Wan's company prepares to leave, Waxer bids Numa farewell first. He kneels down, puts a hand on her shoulder and then pats her head.

Waxer: See you later, little one.

Again, Waxer is more comfortable initiating physical affection than Boil is. He's also intentional about getting down on her level to say goodbye.

As Waxer walks off, Boil calls to her:

Boil: Hey, Numa. Stay out of trouble.

At some point off-screen, the clones found out Numa's name. I'm assuming Obi-Wan translated for them. So, it's significant that Boil calls her by name, now that they know what it is.

Boil also recognizes Numa has a penchant for getting into trouble, and tries to warn her against it.

Numa then runs to Boil, who's standing, and hugs his leg. Boil reaches down and puts a hand on her shoulder/back.

Like before, he's not as comfortable as Waxer with initiating physical affection, and he's still not very good about receiving it either. But, he's adjusted well enough.

Boil: Don't be afraid. We'll be back.

Both Waxer and Boil tell Numa this isn't the last time they'll meet. They really did form a strong bond with her, and while it's not clear when they would have a chance, they plan to return and see her again.

As Boil walks away too, Numa looks sad to see the clones go. Her parent comforts her. She calls out "nerra" to the clones several times as she waves goodbye.

Waxer, to Obi-Wan: Sir, what is that she keeps calling us? Obi-Wan: "Nerra." It means "brother."

The two clones then exchange a brief look with each other before turning back to Numa. Waxer waves goodbye, and the two clones walk off into the proverbial sunset with the rest of their company.

I think, in that moment, they were really struck by how Numa viewed them. They probably assumed "nerra" meant "friend" or something similar. They probably had no idea it meant something as powerful as "brother."

Clearly, Numa bonded with them so intensely and trusted them so much, she viewed them as family -- even as far back as their first conversation, when they took their helmets off and gave her food.

Remembering Numa

While we don't get many more appearances of Waxer or Boil, we do see them again in Seasons 2 and 4.

In Season 2, Boil has a picture of Numa on his helmet; and Waxer also has one on his helmet when he dies in Season 4.

It just goes to show how fondly they both remembered her. They literally painted her on their helmets, as if to say, "Heck yeah, we're Numa's brothers!" I can imagine them proudly talking about their “little sister” anytime someone asked about the design.

It's also implied that, at some point during or after the war, one or both clones returned to Ryloth to visit her.

When we see Numa in "Rebels," she's wearing 212th armor and even has Boil's name in Aurebesh on it. I know it's probably more of an Easter egg/headcanon, but I like to think Boil survived the war and returned to Ryloth to see her. It would explain how she got the armor and why his name is on it.

Plus, as I said, Boil is a soldier. He's not going to make promises flippantly. If he said "We'll be back," then I believe he’d follow through if/when he had the chance. I'm sure Waxer would've too, if he hadn't died on Umbara.

The three of them really had a special connection that lasted the rest of their lives.

Prefiguring Hunter & Crosshair

If it wasn't clear already, Waxer and Boil's dynamics with Numa -- both as a group and as individuals -- are very similar to Hunter and Crosshair's dynamics with Omega later in "The Bad Batch" series.

In both cases, two clone brothers are presented with a relatively helpless girl. One insists they have to help her, while the other is against it, believing their priority is their job as soldiers.

Even some of the dialogue is similar, with Crosshair and Boil both continually emphasizing how they need to "follow orders" and "complete the mission." Even Boil's "let her go" is similar to Crosshair telling Hunter:

Crosshair in 1.15: You want to protect the kid? Then let her go.

Ultimately, both sets of brothers decide their responsibility to their "little sister" is important, without forgetting their duty to each other, their other brothers and everyone else who's counting on them.

Similarities Between Boil & Crosshair

These two are definitely the more aggressive brothers in their respective duos. They both seem to have an affinity for heavy weaponry, and are always looking for an excuse to shoot something. Trigger-happy, in a word.

They're both also very practical and mission-driven. They're completely focused on their duty as soldiers. They're constantly bringing up their need to “complete the mission” and “follow orders,” even if it means leaving a girl to fend for herself. They also mention, at least once, their duty to keep their brothers safe as well.

Also, Boil and Crosshair criticize their brothers' paternal instincts when they initially meet their respective "little sisters". They protest taking her with them and/or bothering with her at all.

Later on, both Boil and Crosshair seem to generally care about their sisters' well-being, but not to the same degree as their brothers. They don't want to see her get hurt, but they also don't want to be around her either.

However, perhaps despite their best efforts, they ultimately give into their Dad Instincts™️. For both Boil and Crosshair, this seems to be when their respective "little sisters" are in great distress and/or danger.

For Boil, it's when he sees Numa crying in her ruined home, realizing just how much she's lost and how desperately she needs comfort and protection. For Crosshair, it's when he and Omega are imprisoned on Tantiss, when she has no other physical or emotional support system.

After their respective turning points, Boil and Crosshair seem to be more open to and comfortable around their "little sisters." They don't mind her displays of physical affection (holding hands, hugging, etc.), and do whatever they can to help and protect her.

Ultimately, both Boil and Crosshair have flavors of the "grumpy man who's actually a giant softie" trope, which is why the scenes of Numa hugging Boil and Omega hugging Crosshair hit similarly (at least they do for me).

There's one more specific thing I find interesting with these four characters: Boil and Crosshair calling their "little sisters" by name.

While Waxer was arguably closer to Numa, we never see him call her by name. He just calls her "little one," even after (apparently) finding out her name off-screen. But, Boil specifically calls her "Numa" in their final scene together.

Throughout TCW 1.20, Boil calls Numa "tail-head" and "monster" and "little biter." While I wonder if the latter was meant with some affection, the former two are definitely mean-spirited.

In the same way, throughout TBB Season 1 and 2, Crosshair calls Omega "a child" or "the kid" or his brothers' "little sidekick" in a demeaning way.

But, in Season 3, Crosshair only calls Omega by name. While his brothers and other characters often refer to Omega as "kid" or "the kid," Crosshair never does after Season 2. She is "Omega" from thereon.

Waxer and Hunter (and the others in CF99) can call Numa and Omega "little one" or "kid," because we know they mean it in an affectionate way.

But, Boil and Crosshair don't have that luxury, because they've only employed nicknames disrespectfully.

It also shows just how much both characters' attitudes have changed when they call their "little sisters" by name.

Finally, it's worth noting that while Boil and Crosshair were initially "against" Numa and Omega, respectively, their "little sisters" don't hold grudges.

In fact, even though they bonded with Waxer and Hunter more quickly and (arguably) more closely, the girls still consider Boil and Crosshair their "brothers" all the same. The girls hold them in an equal (or near equal) degree as they do Waxer and Hunter, despite Boil and Crosshair initially rejecting them.

Similarities Between Waxer & Hunter

Unlike their brothers, Waxer and Hunter are characterized as being more compassionate and caring from the get-go, even before meeting their "little sisters."

When he sees the devastation on Ryloth, Waxer wonders about the residents, whether they were killed, etc.

Meanwhile, throughout TBB 1.01 "Aftermath," Hunter lets Caleb Dume escape Order 66 and then lies to protect him. He also refuses to kill the civilians on Onderon, and starts to see the Empire for what it really is.

This is also a small thing, but we get parallel scenes of Waxer and Hunter noticing a probe droid that their brothers didn't.

In general, both Waxer and Hunter push back on their brothers' more cavalier attitudes toward people in danger/need.

Waxer repeatedly tells Boil they should do something about Numa, and then continues to worry about her well-being while she's following them.

In "Aftermath," when Hunter sees Crosshair trying to kill Caleb and then complaining they didn't kill civilians, he calls him out on it. He also generally confronts Crosshair about his obsession with "following orders," when that was something CF99 never worried about in the past.

Then, after they find out Omega is a fellow clone, Hunter insists they need to return to Kamino for Omega despite the dangers.

When meeting their "little sisters," Waxer and Hunter seem to be naturals with kids -- at least compared to their brothers.

They intentionally get down on their knees and talk to them at eye-level. They address them calmly and respectfully. Waxer takes off his helmet to show Numa he's not a droid. They try to make their "little sisters" feel safe and comfortable, despite the stressful situation.

Once their "little sisters" are with them, Waxer and Hunter very naturally switch into Dad Mode™️. They look out for them, protect them, give them reassuring head-pats, shoulder-touches, and so on. Weirdly, though, neither are very good with hugs initially, but they get there eventually.

On top of being more immediate, Waxer and Hunter's bonds with their "little sisters" are arguably much stronger than their brothers'.

Numa seems to be more comfortable around Waxer, especially initially, despite calling both clones "nerra" after they took off their helmets. Again, it's possible that she understood some of what they were saying, and realized Waxer was trying to help her while Boil really wasn't.

For Omega, she spends more time with Hunter early on, as Crosshair was separated from his family due to the Empire enhancing his inhibitor chip. Thus, she develops a very strong bond with Hunter very quickly. Even with Tech, Wrecker and Echo around as well, Omega and Hunter's bond is special.

Overall, Waxer and Hunter seem to be the "default" or "go-to" brother when Numa and Omega are in trouble.

Finally, I also find it interesting that the last gesture of farewell is Waxer and Hunter's.

Even though both Waxer and Boil turn back to look at Numa after finding out what "nerra" means, only Waxer decides to wave back at her.

Similarly, in the TBB series finale, the epilogue shows only Hunter saying goodbye to Omega. Even though both Omega and Hunter acknowledge the other brothers' role in her life, that final moment is theirs.

Just like Numa with Waxer, Omega bonded with Hunter first. So, it feels fitting that her final scene should be with him.

Final Thoughts

It's been fun rewatching "Innocents of Ryloth" and seeing these proto-versions of Hunter and Crosshair. I have no idea whether the TCW/TBB writers did that on purpose, but even if not, it makes for an powerful parallel.

Obviously, there are some major differences. Numa's parent was still alive, while Omega never had a proper parent to begin with. So, Hunter and his brothers arguably had an even greater responsibility to Omega than Waxer and Boil did to Numa.

Also, while Waxer and Boil definitely stayed in the "brother" category, as Numa's parent was still alive, Hunter (and his brothers) crossed over into the "dad" category in Omega's life.

Unlike Waxer and Boil, Hunter & co. took care Omega for years rather than a day or two. They provided for her; they taught her; and they cared for her physically and emotionally from the TBB series premiere to the epilogue.

If given the opportunity, I'm sure Waxer and Boil would've gone back to Ryloth and checked on Numa. Maybe, after the war, they would've even stayed long-term and kept an eye on her like a big brother or uncle might. Again, they bonded with her so strongly that they drew pictures of her on their helmets. They really thought of themselves as her brothers, and ran around battlefields representing her even months after meeting her.

As fans have joked about: put a Jango Fett clone in the immediate vicinity of a kid for a decent amount of time and they will turn into a Dad™️.

Doesn't matter if they're being mind-controlled. Doesn't matter if their priority is to follow orders. Doesn't matter if they're set to be shipped to another world once this mission's done. Doesn't matter if this is literally the first kid they've ever seen in their lives (except fellow clones).

And, even if they don't get enough "incubation time" around the kid to turn into a dad, they will -- at minimum -- turn into a Nerra™️.

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zedif-y · 5 months

Note

omg!!!! joel + "afraid" maybe???

Joel isn't afraid of water.

He grits his teeth, forces a smile when Grian looks over at him, head tilted in question. He shakes his head.

" 'm good," is what comes out of his mouth, casual as anything. "Don't wanna get wet."

Which is true, you know. He's not lying. He's just... Kinda not feeling the whole swimming thing right now. Even though he said he would. Multiple times.

...Nothin' wrong with that. A guy can change his mind, can't he?

Grian looks unimpressed, "You went to a beach party to people watch?"

Ugh.

"You went over here to judge?" Joel fires back. An itching something creeps under his skin. "I'll put sand in your wings, Grian, don't think I won't." Grian huffs.

"Someone's tetchy today," He mumbles. He stretches his wings, large swaths of red feathers that catch the sun, "Whatever. Call me if you need me, I'll be over by- Mumbo, are you sunburnt already?!"

Joel watches him go, amusement on his lips as Grian runs off. He lets out a breath.

Why'd he agree to this, again?

("Hey," Impulse says. "So, the other hermits and I were planning something, and we were wondering if you'd wanna-")

("Yes," Joel blurts out, then— "I mean no- I mean! What're- what's the plan?")

(Joel fights a wince.)

(Nice save, idiot.)

(But Impulse just smiles—thank the gods—and goes, "Well, it's nothing fancy or anything. Just a hangout at the beach. Grian found this awesome spot-")

And Joel promises he was listening. He was. It's just, you know. Exciting? 'Cuz he's one of the new guys and it's a whole new server to get used to and they actually want him to hang out, and that's great and he's got plans for builds, farms, and, and.

Maybe, just- maybe. He wants this to work out. Really wants this to work out. Wants to be here to stay.

Because like— Joel's a Hermit now. A real, bonafide Hermit, even though it doesn't feel real. Even if it hasn't quite sunk in yet.

So. You know. What's the harm, right?

("I'll be there," Joel says at last, grinning in a way that he hopes is casual and not painfully eager. "When's it happening?")

Joel can't help but wonder if this is turning out the way he wanted it to, though.

The heat prickles at his skin, leaves him sweating and uncomfortable in his rolled up shirt and pants. He fans himself with the front of his shirt, just watching the others pass the time.

Hermitcraft's got a variety of members— Jevin laughs as xB drenches Keralis in a spray of water, halting when sand is thrown his way in return. ("You know that sticks to me!") Xisuma's in swim trunks and his usual helmet, fanning himself with his hands like it'll stave off the heat. Tango doesn't even break a sweat.

Something worms into his chest, an ugly, twisting feeling that curls around his lungs.

Joel grimaces. Oh, what the heck.

Biting his lip, Joel looks down at his chest, under his shirt. He doesn't exactly grimace, but there's nothing happy about his face, either.

Again, ugh.

Joel sighs, shaking his head. He goes back to people watching, ignoring the prickling discomfort under his skin. This is fine. This is fine.

At the corner of his eye— Pearl stands by the side, cracking jokes with Etho. They're both still wearing jackets. It makes something in Joel unfurl, just a little bit.

He tears his eyes away before they spot him.

The thing is— Joel doesn't, like, hate himself or anything. Not anymore, or at least not right now. And he's not afraid of water, despite how intensely he stared at the sea. It's just, it's...

Joel chews on his lip, picking off dried skin. The small tears bleed, droplets of blood on his tongue as he licks them away. He barely realizes he's doing it— and by the end, his lip twinges a little, reddened and sore.

Sweat makes his clothes cling to his skin. Joel wishes he hadn't agreed to any of this at all.

"You got room for one more?" A voice asks, jolting him out of his thoughts.

Joel turns to look— "Zedaph," He says, surprised. He scoots over his (frankly, way too large) beach blanket, "Yeah, I've got- yeah. You can sit."

Zedaph grins, "Just Zed is fine," He tells him, sitting next to Joel.

He's not in his usual getup right now, Joel notes. Not that he'd know. He's only talked to the guy twice, seen him in meetings. But something about the lack of a cardigan, although understandable, strikes Joel as a bit off— it's like seeing your teacher in casual wear outside of school. Makes sense, but it's kinda weird.

"You gonna swim?" Joel asks, just for something to fill the air. By the water, Scar gets pinched by a crab. Joel snickers.

Zedaph watches on, amused. "With how hot it is, I feel like I already am," He huffs. He rifles through his inventory, a pink fan appearing in his hand, "But no, I don't think I will. It's a nightmare on the wool."

Joel hums, makes sense.

"How about you?"

Joel frowns— he doesn't mean to, it just kinda happens— and says, "Uh, dunno. Maybe? I don't-" He makes a face. "I said I would, but now 'm not sure."

After a beat, Zedaph shrugs. "Well, you've got time," He says at last, and that's that.

They settle into people-watching, for the most part. Just watching the other Hermits bask in the sun, laughing and splashing around as the day goes on.

It looks— it looks fun. It looks so fucking fun.

Joel grits his teeth, the hand gripping the front of his shirt tightening without his notice. What the heck. What the heck.

Frustration gnaws at him, eyes caught on the way they all carry themselves, loose and carefree. Not at them, obviously, it's at his stupid, like, brain—

Joel lets out a breath, deep and measured.

He wanted to come. He said he'd come, join in and swim and whatever else. But now he's here and he's sitting in the shade and not even talking to Zedaph because he can't get a hold of himself, too worked up over nothing as he agonizes over the fact that his shirt is clinging to his skin and it's wrong and it's weird and it feels like, like.

Joel lets his gaze drop to the sand at his feet.

It feels like if they knew, if they saw him the way he saw himself, then they'd, like, regret inviting him here. Or something. Here being the server and the world and not just beach party.

Which, which is stupid and he knows this, but it's so hard to shake— like, how did he even get here, again?

Joel bites back a groan. Today is an awful day to have blummin' imposter syndrome.

For goodness' sake, now he's sulking.

After a while, Zedaph speaks up.

"Are you alright?" He asks, eyebrows drawn together. Joel wants to evaporate on the spot.

He shakes his head, then grimaces. Now he's acting like a toddler.

"Oh," Zedaph says, looking a bit lost. Joel can relate. "...Thirsty?"

Joel blinks. "Huh?"

"Sorry," Zedaph's cheeks flush pink, shaking his head, "I'm not very good at this. D'you want to talk? I can listen if you want."

Joel thins his lips, weighing his options.

He thinks that in another world, another time he probably would've just kept this to himself. 'Cuz he can handle this, he's not a kid. But somewhere along the line— the line of repeatedly bottling shit up, having it rattle and shake and eventually explode— he sort of. Well.

Maybe he realized that that doesn't work. Anymore.

So, "It's stupid."

Joel winces. Great start.

"I mean, it's not. I guess. It's just, new guy jitters, you know?" He tries to explain, watching as understanding dawns on Zedaph's face, a knowing smile that puts a balm on the static-y feeling in Joel's veins. "I'm sorta freaking out about, everything? Even the ones that don't make sense."

His cheeks burn red, "Like the way I'm all sweaty and gross and— I kinda don't want people to see, my body—?" He cuts himself off, his face pinched like he swallowed a lemon. "It's, you know. Not just because of gender things, but it is kind of that, but it's... Gods, Zed, just tell me they aren't gonna kick me out."

The last words come out in a rush, high-pitched and not squeaky as they tumble past Joel's lips. Zedaph blinks.

"Before I joined Hermitcraft, I was falling through the sky with my own sick on my head," Zedaph starts. Which. "Before that, the first ever thing I did was dig a hole in the ground and call that my home. And make an egg farm. But mostly the digging."

Joel tries very, very hard to find where this is going. (A fool's errand, from what he's heard about Zed, but still.)

"When I was asked to join Hermitcraft, my first thought was— really? Me?" Then, he laughs. "But they were serious! And I even asked Tango, then, if it was some elaborate prank. But it wasn't! They really wanted me on here!"

Zedaph gestures around them, "It's easy to get caught in your head, I get that. But we know what we're doing—" He pauses. "When it comes to this, at least. When the Hermits invited me, they knew what they were signing up for— vomit and worms and holes in the ground. And possibly a hint of death and malpractice. Of all sorts."

The knot, slowly unraveling in Joel's chest, starts to loosen up.

Somehow. What was that about death?

Zedaph nudges him, "So lighten up, yeah? Nobody's getting kicked out." Joel manages a smile.

"Thanks, Zed-"

"I mean, if people got kicked out for being sweaty and gross, there'd be no one left!" Zedaph leans in to stage-whisper, "What, you think Impulse didn't sweat in season 9? With all that lava?"

Joel snorts, "Point taken."

Zedaph grins. He leans back, resting on the base of the palm tree they've settled under.

"Take your time to figure out if you're swimming or not," Zedaph tells him, purple eyes glinting under flecks of sunlight. "But nobody will mind if you just stay here. Promise."

Joel nods. This time, smiling comes easier.

"Okay," He replies. He lets out a breath, watches as the sun shines down on the beach, "Thanks, Zed."

"Not a problem."

---

(Joel doesn't, in fact, end up swimming.)

(He watches the sun set on the horizon, eats barbecue at the makeshift grill Skizz brought. It's only the best thing he's eaten all day.)

(Joel laughs at something Gem said, so hard that his lungs kind of hurt.)

(Sitting around a bonfire, shirt smelling like smoke, his anxieties lay forgotten, for now.)

(Joel doesn't swim. Maybe he won't for a while.)

(But there will be more opportunities to try.)

#THEY ARE NOT ALL GOING TO BE THIS LONG. PART OF THIS IS OLD WRITING AND I JUST ENDED UP FINISHING IT SKLDJHGSDG #joel smallishbeans #zedaphplays #zedaph plays #hermitcraft #hermitfic #hermitblr #mcyt #mcytblr #ryan's writing #ask games #anon #hermitcraft season 10 #hc s10

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howtofightwrite · 7 months

Note

I've got a world-building/combat question. I have these two warring nations in my setting, both medieval-ish tech levels. One of them figures out how to make magical flying craft that are basically WWI airplanes. The other country invents dragon riders in response. Since then, they've been at war for ~60 years. I'm trying to figure out how the heck an air force would alter medieval combat strategies. If you've any suggestions, I'd appreciate it

The first, and biggest world building problem is that magic is part of your overall tech level. Ironically, Diskworld is an excellent example of how magical technology can basically function as an alternate path for social and technical development, though, honestly, a lot of high-magic settings tend to have tech leakage from magic.

One of the more common examples that comes to mind are “magical radios.” Either it's an enchanted device that allows person to person communication, or it's direct telepathic communication, but whatever it is, it serves a fundamentally similar role to a handheld radio, or (depending on how it works) a phone. The thing is, it's functionally a magical replacement, and it would affect society in much the same way those technologies have.

This is a long way to say, if your magical combat technology has WWI-grade planes, there is a very real possibility that a lot of your warfare is also going to be at a similar magi-tech level, if not more advanced. Having written that, I'm reminded of The Red Star comic series; though, that has a heavy Soviet aesthetic, and is not-at-all medieval.

Again, it doesn't really matter if you have fully-automatic firearms, or if you have a bolt thrower that conjures and propels crystals at hyper-sonic speeds into your foes. If they have a similar rate of fire, and similar accuracy, the meaningful change is texture. Your characters might see tiny crystal fragments shattered on the floor, or embedded into walls, instead of bullet holes. There may be no smell, or conjuring the crystals might leave a different odor. A handheld lightning projector might leave scorch marks, and a scent of ozone, for instance.

Magic might also factor into armor and defenses. If you can use a magical ward to dispel conjured objects, that might be extremely useful for fortifying specific targets against incoming conjured attacks, but it would likely be wholly ineffective against the lightning projector, or some other kind of directed energy beam weapon.

“Inventing,” dragon riding as a response to someone else making a magical airship, does strike me as an odd cause-and-effect. If dragon riding was that easy, it would seem likely that someone would have militarized them long before that point. Inventing flying objects that could function as a hard counter to dragons feels a little more natural. Or, magical, AA installations. Though, this is something that could probably be finessed, if you're really committed to the setup. It's also worth remembering that air superiority is an extremely potent advantage, even if you're not sure what to do with it, meaning that if one side suddenly had fliers, and the other side couldn't come up with a counter in short order, they'd be picked apart, and the war wouldn't have this 60 year timescale.

If it seems like I went to ranged weapons very quickly, there's a simple reason. You can't joust from a plane. Your options are to either propel objects at people, or drop things on them from above. Dragons also (usually) have the option to breathe fire on them. Now, firearms did exist in the late medieval era. So, that's not that far out of range. I'm less sure of the invention of bombs. At least, of the variety you could deliver to your enemy on the battlefield. Though, it occurs to me, you could probably use a catapult or trebuchet to deliver an explosive payload, if the explosives were stable enough to survive launch, but sensitive enough to detonate on impact. (Of course, if you have some kind of magically primed explosive, that stays stable until it is ejected from the catapult, and then explodes on impact, that would work.)

Looping back to the timescale again, this would require some pretty potent defensive capabilities. A dragon, with the ability to breathe fire, and the capacity for strategic thinking, could easily starve out an entire kingdom, simply by making a habit of torching all the cropland it could find. It doesn't, particularly matter if it gets all the food, so long as it torches a meaningful percentage of the available crops. When you have farmers going hungry, you're going to see food production dipping, exacerbating the problem. When you have soldiers going hungry, they're not going to be able to fight as effectively. When you have the peasantry going hungry, you're going to see civil unrest, and probably rebellions coming for their lord's head. You can't wage a war against a hostile nation under those circumstances. (In fact, there were multiple peasant revolts during the Hundred Years War, which basically stalled out France's ability to fight. England also suffered multiple peasant uprisings at roughly the same time. Though, those were motivated by taxation, which ends in a similar place.)

A related concept that's somewhat hinted above, is that wars are expensive, and both France and England found themselves facing uprisings because of taxation needed to support the ongoing war. (The irony being that both nations encountered this at roughly the same point in history. Roughly 40 years into the war.) A war that's been going for 60 years will likely have ravaged the economies of the involved nations. This isn't necessarily something that your characters would be aware of, unless you expand the context to show non-wartime economies.

The simplest explanation for why this happens is that any money you spend prosecuting the war are products that you never see returning value from. The money itself doesn't leave the economy, but the natural resources, and labor required, are expended non-productively (from the perspective of economic growth.) So, if you have a peacetime merchant, they're moving money around, but they're paying for their goods, and then those goods are going to consumers, who may also be contributing to economic activity with those goods (this even applies for food, you can think of that as a necessary component to any productive activity.) If you're a wartime merchant, selling weapons to the military, you are contributing to economic activity when you buy the weapons, but when they're sold to the crown, that's no longer productive. Those weapons leave the economy and never return. Worse, any soldiers who are permanently wounded, or killed, are also removed from the economy. Over time, this can destroy the most prosperous of nations. (To be clear, this is more advanced economic analysis than anyone in the middle ages would have had. So, the idea that wars are expensive was understood, but the exact reasons it slowed the economy were not.) And, this kind of thinking is another form of technological advancement. Ideas for understanding complex systems have become more intricate and detailed over time. While it's not the concept of, “invention,” that you might be used to, it is a similar form of progress.

So, how would this look in your world? There's a lot of potential consequences, most of which are not contradictory.

An impoverished lower-class is very likely. Whether that includes wounded veterans or not is a little more up in the air, though after 60 years, military pensioners, and those who suffered life-altering injuries on the battlefield are likely to be a common sight, either on the street or in the poverty line. (Especially if the crown is willing to enforce drafts and conscription.) At this point, that might be a very real possibility.

A struggling aristocracy is also likely, with former major power players who've declined into poverty. This might take the form of borderline abandoned estates that have been taken over by the crown or squatters. (Probably not both at the same time.)

Serious inflation is likely (and could be why formerly stable guild members, merchants, and even some of the aristocracy might now find themselves struggling.) I realize this point isn't something most really think of when you're trying to write a fantasy world, but it's worth considering. More likely this will be seen in food prices having increased over time. So the major symptoms you'd likely see would be decaying structures that no one has the resources to maintain, rising food prices, and generalized poverty. Even in a fairly magically advanced setting, a lot of these things would, likely, still happen. Of course, if the dragons have been used to destroy the agricultural base, things would be even worse in that nation. To be clear, food and taxation riots are not off the table there.

This is sort of a non-sequitur, but if you have a setting with classic transmutation (lead, or other base metals, into gold), you would actually see inflation with every batch of transmuted gold hitting the market. It's sort of an amusing note on the fantasy of being able to produce as much money as you want, but ultimately, it's actually harmful from a macroeconomic perspective. (Basically, the same reason counterfeiting is a problem.) Though, it is a possible hook for criminal groups in one of those nations, producing counterfeit gold via transmutation.

There's also a real world example from 2020, where a jewelry company had fabricated “fake,” gold bars as collateral to secure loans. In total, they claimed to have 83 tons of gold used to obtain loans worth over 2.8 billion dollars, from 14 different creditors. Except, when they defaulted on those loans, and were forced to hand over the gold, it was discovered that these were in fact gold plated copper bars.

I realize the question was about the flying forces specifically, but so long as that advantage is dealt with quickly, and neither side is able to monopolize air superiority, that's not going to change nearly as much as having that level of magical advancement would on its own, and of course, the general consequences of having a war that's been going on for long enough that multiple generations have died on the battlefield. That's going to a bigger effect on your world as a whole.

-Starke

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#writing reference #writing advice #writing tips #how to fight write #starke answers #Starke is not a real economist

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davenporttf · 1 year

Text

Nick was a freshman at Brown University and was having a hard time meeting guys on campus. He tried the campus GSA but he wasn't clicking with anyone. A lot of the guys were obvious with their interest in him but none were really his type. He was always falling for the douchey straight guys on campus. Something about the musky pits, backwards hats and simple-minded demeanour always caught his attention. His achilles heel was definitely frat bros. They were the creme of the crop for him, and he wanted nothing more than to turn some of them.

There were these two frat bros in his Chem class that he gazed at when they weren't looking. Their names were Connor and Jack, even though they were only juniors, they were the co-presidents of the Alpha Phi Alpha fraternity.

Connor was the pitcher for the baseball team, and he loved the attention it got him with the ladies. Everyone on the team knew he would leave the after-game parties earlier to take a girl home. Girls loved the contrast of his green eyes and dark brown hair, mixed with the rock hard body he maintained through sports.

Jack, on the other hand, was the captain of the lacrosse team for Brown. The only thing quicker than him on the field was how fast girls dropped dropped their pants for him. Like Connor, he would be drenched in sweat after games and attract a fan to come back to his frat house. The evening would be filled with a girl or two screaming out in pleasure for the whole frat house to hear.

They both had one thing in common that Nick could exploit: they were huge stoners. Connor loved to mix his weed with a little bit of tobacco to give himself more of a head rush. Jack loved variety and would try different strains and was on a quest to find the perfect high.

Alpha Phi Alpha was having a mixer on Saturday night, and Nick thought of the perfect plan to live his fantasy for the night. He was a chemistry major, and was growing a hybrid strain with hypnotic properties derived from a low dose of Nitrous Acid. When consumed at low doses, the chemical could leave users feeling mindless and agreeable.

Saturday night finally arrived and Nick headed to the frat house with a blunt in his back pocket. The house was packed inside and out with the base from the music shaking ground. Everyone was getting smashed and paid Nick any mind.

He headed into the house and headed upstairs to the second floor to search out Connor and Jack. He glanced through open doors only finding guys making out with girls in short skirts and summer dresses. He decided to try the third floor. When he reached the top of the stairs he picked up on the smell of weed coming from the end of the hallway.

He followed the scent to a room with a door cracked open. He pushed it open to find Jack and Connor sitting on a bed taking hits. The room smelled of weed, boat shoes, sweat filled laundry and musk. Jackpot.

Connor looked up at Nick, blowing out a puff of smoke. "Bro, what are you doing here?" Jack looked up quizically, "You lost bro?"

There was no one else in the room and as far as Nick could see, he hit the jackpot. "Was wondering if I could borrow a light? Brought my joint with some good shit. Trying to get faded."

They looked at each other amusingly. Connor replied "Yeah if you're sharing." Jack chimed in "Is it a Sativa?"

"Hybrid. And yeah I'll share, hand me the lighter. It's the best high I've had yet."

Nick grabbed the blunt out of his back pocket and sat on the bed next to them. Jack passed him the lighter and Nick held it up to his mouth but paused. "You know what? You guys take the first hit. Least I could do."

He passed it over to Jack who didn't give it a second thought. He lit the roll and took a deep inhale in.

"Fuuuucccckkkkk" he moaned as the smoke began filling his head. "Dudeeee, you gotta try this shit!" Connor took the blunt from Jack and took a long steady inhale in. Clouding up his mind, he felt his thoughts evaporate into thin air. "Dudddeeeee, this shit is fire. Hits so much harder than tobacco."

Nick was offered the blunt from Connor but insisted they go ahead without him. Their minds were washing away and they didn't find his suggestion suspicious in the least bit. He watched the frat bros pass back and forth. They were loving the mindless feeling it gave them and took deeper and deeper hits. By the time they reached the end of the blunt both guys stared ahead absent-minded, and with a slight smile on each of their faces. There wasn't a conscious thought to have, and they were feeling very giddy. Nick was ready to test his new strain.

"I want you both to follow my every command, and believe in each command as if they were your own personal desires. My commands are your commands. Do you understand?," Nick instructed. "Yes, bro" they replied simultaneously.

"I want you to make out with each other."

Jack and Connor looked into each others eyes lustfully. Connor leaned in and gave Jack a passionate kiss. Jack brought his hand to the back of Connor's neck and returned the kiss, bringing his tongue to meet Connor's. They gave soft grunts of pleasure as they kissed like they couldn't get enough. Jack broke the kiss, "Fuuuuck, bro! You're so fucking hot."

"You're so sexy in that backwards hat, bro" Connor said breathily as they continued to kiss.

Nick was thrilled to see his weed have such a strong effect on them! Now it was time to bring his fantasy to life.

He crossed the room to Jack's laundry basket and took out two jockstraps. He brought the jocks up to his face and took a deep inhale in. So rank and stained with sweat. He looked over at the two stoners, "Now I want you both to take your pants off and put these on. The material will make you ridiculously horny as it rubs against your dicks. I want you both to lay down on the bed and present your holes to me." Nick tossed the jockstraps at the floor. They stood up and slipped out of their jeans.. Nick watched as Jack and Connor bent over to pick up and slip on the jocks.

Connor closed his eyes in ecstasy, "Fuckkk brah, your jock got me bricked dog." He played with the straps of his best friend's jock, snapping them against his ass. Jack slid his on feeling the sweat from playing today's game on his dick. He looked over at Connor and slid his hand over Connor's ass, "Bro, you look hella fine in that. Let's get on my bed."

They chuckled as they both layed down looking back at Nick while he pulled out his dick. He was going to show them what they've been missing after the games. When they eventually came down from their high, they would be laying in Jack's bed cuddling. They wouldn't remember the events from tonight but they will remember where they can get some good dank on campus.

#gay tf #mental change #gay jock #jock #stoner tf #frat bro #mind control #straight to gay

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nekrosdolly · 6 months

Text

haunting you - a. wesker x reader

you're a stripper and he's a scientist who's never felt the touch of another.

a/n; first wesker piece i've written in a whiiiile so i'm sorry if this is a little clunky!!

content warnings; set in 1998 before the mansion incident, jill moonlights as a bartender, virgin!wesker, stripper!reader (no set stripper name), wesker is in his late thirties (38), reader is 21, loss of virginity, brief dry-humping, sex (p in v), dirty talk, technically bottom/sub wesker, top/dom reader, this might be ooc (im rusty), light petplay (you call him a puppy and he almost creams), whiny wesker, slight condescension from the reader, not proofread as always lol

terms of endearment; darling, sweetheart, dear, puppy (wesker)

wc; 2.460k

You stare at your reflection in the vanity mirror, one of many workers tonight who are less than strapped for cash not unlike yourself. Since you were legal, you’d made the choice, albeit degrading, to start stripping. That was three years ago. Now twenty-one, you’re less naive and smarter with your money, but still lacking financially. Not to mention, you’d been at this club for three years, why change that? No real job would take you if you told them what you’d been doing as a makeshift career anyway.

And so you stare. Your makeup is kept simple but alluring enough for most anyone to be drawn to you, but your outfit is the real showstopper. Strappy and black, you’re nearly naked, but you’re used to that by now. The usual pre-performance jitters have struck you once again, leaving you with cold feet and nerves that aren’t much warmer. Even in the back rooms, you can hear the bass-heavy music and high whistles of men vying for more of whomever’s attention. It’s enough to draw you from your shell and with a few deep breaths, you force yourself away from the vanity. The path to the stage is short, much to your chagrin, and the lights are hotter than hell when you step out to the shiny stage. While you get no cheering, you get your own special welcome of drunken customers whistling lowly and the occasional whoop.

You know from experience that, while intoxicated, watching someone work the pole is hypnotic at the least. Your audience can hardly take their eyes off of you, rolling your body against the chromatic steel pole. It’s still warm from the previous dancer. Your anthem for tonight is seductive and slow, as most dancers’ songs are, and your face is the peak of seduction even as the inebriated crowd douses you with cash of all varieties.

After the dance, you’re slick with the slightest sheen of sweat. Nobody ever said dancing was easy, even the exotic kind. You walk to the bar, swaying your hips with every step. Despite the money you’d earned from your on-stage performance, you’re hounding for more. You refuse to leave with less than your month’s rent tonight. So you saunter to the bar, your sultry gaze scanning the sea of people carefully.

“A drink?” Jill, the bartender asks as you lean against the bar. She’s always liked you, so she slips you a free drink now and then.

“Please,” you nod softly and she smiles, ready to make your usual as a platinum-blonde man approaches you. He offers you no smile, just a somewhat menacing stare. You’d be scared if there wasn’t something so virginal about him. Otherwise handsome, with pale skin and blue eyes behind slightly dorky prescription glasses. Not to mention, he’s dressed in a suit.

“Lovely show,” he says with a somewhat nasally voice. Like clockwork, you smile and sip the cocktail Jill slides over to you. His lips twitch slightly at the corners- a smile by his terms in return.

“Thank you, honey.”

“Of course, dear.” He takes a seat on the stool beside you, flagging Jill over for a cocktail of his own. He seems confident, though you’re not sure if it’s because he’s got money or because he’s talking to someone attractive. Your gaze remains steady on his face, although his trails much lower on you before flicking up to meet your eyes. Weird, you could’ve sworn they were blue just a moment ago…

“Do tell, darling,” he ghosts a pale, elegant hand over your shoulder, “how much would a few hours of privacy with you cost me?”

Just looking at him, he seems like he has money. He reeks of crisp bills that can hardly fit in his overflowing wallet. Part of you wonders just how much you can get out of him. Your performance left you with roughly $360- not quite enough. Should you play your cards right, he could be your last customer for the night.

“Three hundred per hour.” You say with that same smile. He doesn’t flinch at the number like most men might. Then again, you get the feeling that he’s not like most men. He seems respectful, too- maybe you were wrong and he’s a regular, or maybe he doesn’t want to get kicked out. He nods and you finish your drink quickly. He does the same.

“Shall we?” He gestures to the back of the club where there’s less light and doors that lead to private rooms. If he were allowed to touch you, he’d offer you his arm.

You can always tell the experience level of men when they’re alone with you, away from friends whom they might try to fool with a hyper-masculine persona. This man- whose name you still don’t know- is similar to that. He grows a bit more fidgety, maybe out of impatience, and when he sits down on the plush velvet booth surrounding the stage, he struggles to stay still. He clears his throat quietly and looks away from you as you straddle him.

“So tell me,” you purr, cupping his jaw and guiding him to look at you in all your seductive glory. The way your hair is styled compliments your makeup, the curve of your pliant flesh between the straps of your skimpy bikini bottom that’s adorned with black gems, and your top decorated with those same gems. His cheeks heat up at the smooth sound of your voice, red tinging his alabaster cheeks. Nervous eyes trail up your body to meet your own, your heavy gaze inflicting arousal upon him. The heavy feeling pools in his gut, his cock twitching to life in his boxers.

“What’re you looking for? A lap dance? Something a little more?” It’s a little late to be asking that but you get the feeling he doesn’t mind. Even though you’re just hovering, you can feel a hint of the bulge in his pants.

He swallows thickly.

“What would a little more get me?” He asks quietly, his hands unsteadily hovering around your waist. Seeing such soft skin begging to be touched makes his mouth water. Little do you know- you might, given how anxious he seems to be- he’s had very few chances to touch someone as gorgeous as you. He’d taken none of those chances and to this day, remains a virgin. He’s not used to being so close to someone like you.

“Sex, sweetheart.” You rub his cheek with your thumb, resisting the urge to tease him into oblivion. Technically, soliciting sex is against club rules, but what your boss doesn’t know won’t hurt her. “Would that cost extra?” “Yeah, it would. You buying?”

“H-How much?”

“An extra three hundred.”

He rushes to grab his wallet from his pocket and dig out the three hundred. You smile as you take it from his trembling hand and tuck it into the waistband of your panties.

“Thank you…”

“Albert.”

“Thank you, Albert,” you settle your full weight onto his lap, really feeling the extent of his boner under your clothed cunt. He groans quietly, biting his bottom lip as he stares wantonly at you. A soft giggle escapes your throat, “just a few rules though.”

He gulps and nods, trying his hardest to pay attention in favor of rutting against your warm, inviting cunt like a dog in heat. You let go of his face.

“One; you cannot leave bruises- no hickeys, scratches, bitemarks, etcetera. Two; no kissing, I need my makeup to be perfect. Three; I’m in control and if you have a problem, speak now or forever hold your peace.” You give him a moment to voice any protests, but he’s quiet as a mouse.

“Fourth and finally, if you cum inside of me, you’re paying me an extra hundred per load. Do you consent to all these rules?”

“I do.”

“Good man,” you feel his cock throb at the praise. Albert sucks in a sharp breath as you slowly roll your hips, a shaky exhale following when you guide his hands to your waist. His hesitance feeds your confidence like fuel to a fire. He tips his head back, each movement against his clothed cock forcing a pathetic whine from the back of his throat. He bites his bottom lip hard and true to a virgin’s ways, his climax is approaching quickly. Sure, he’s masturbated before, but this is much different. You’re so pretty and wet, your dripping arousal soaking through the gusset of your panties. Watching him slowly come undone, the menacing facade melting into the mess he’s trying so hard not to be is satisfying. You’re relatively unphased, even as his cock bumps your clit with the perfect amount of pressure. He’s getting too close to cumming.

“I-I’m going to- Wait, please,” he grips your hips tight, making you still, “I need to be inside of you.” You nod softly and scoot back a little, allowing him to unzip his fly and shove his pre-cum stained boxers down so his cock stands free. Pale fading to pink at the tip, weeping with sticky, salty fluid- he’s long, about three fingers thick, and clean-shaven. He looks down at your hand as you grab his length, cooing quietly at him with faux sympathy and stroking him once, twice.

“Please,” his hands ball into fists with the effort of his restraint. Needy, half-lidded blues meet yours again, “please fuck me.”

“Sure, sweetheart.” You chuckle softly and push your panties to the side, careful of the cash hooked on your waistband, and shuffle closer. He nearly cums the moment you lower yourself onto his achy length, his mouth dropping open. You wince slightly at the stretch- it’s on you for forgoing prep, but how can you deny him when he’s so pliant in your hands? His hands shoot our to grab your waist firmly, struggling to maintain what little composure he has left. Panting, his cheeks are bright red, and he can’t stop looking at you.

He allows you a moment to adjust- though it’s mostly for himself to will himself to avoid cumming on the spot. You’re wet and warm, gummy walls surrounding his length perfectly. It’s even better when you start moving, rolling your hips smoothly. Hands on his shoulders, you keep yourself steady as you ride him. Soft moans fall from your lips, his cock brushing against your spongy g-spot deep within your velvetine walls. He’s all but whimpering, his perfectly aligned teeth digging hard into his pale pink lower lip so hard he might bleed.

He does once you lean forward and move faster, your face just inches from his. If you hadn’t set the rule of no kissing, he’d be pressing his lips to yours to hide his pathetic noises.

“You know,” you murmur, locking his eyes to yours again, “you look kind of like a puppy.” His cock kicks inside of you at that, a stray moan slipping from his lips. He shouldn’t like that, really. He’s a scientist- a virologist to be more specific-, a professional, uptight man, and yet he’s acting so subserviently. It would be bothersome if he wasn’t balls deep inside of you and nearing his climax quickly.

Panting, he struggles to restrain himself. He can’t help himself as he leans forward and wraps you in his (oddly) strong arms, burying his face into your neck to stave off his orgasm for just a little longer. The obscene squelch of your slick makes his head spin, each roll of your hips making him grunt or groan louder and louder until-

“C-Cumming- cumming-” he rasps, his pulsing length spilling hot, sticky seed deep within your gummy walls. The moan he lets out is downright shameful, his grip on you tightening exponentially.

You gasp quietly at how much he cums and how deep it is, nearly reaching your cervix. You pause for his sake, allowing him to relax against your soft body as he recovers from his high. In attempt to soothe him a little more, you rub his upper back. He grumbles and pushes himself against the back of the booth, huffing. His once-perfect hair has become a bit mussed, likely loosened due to the light sheen of sweat. He can’t seem to look at you as he slips another hundred into the waistband of your panties alongside the three other bills.

“Do you want to-” He gestures to you, still straddling him with his soft dick inside of you. Like a nice man, he wants you to finish, but you know you shouldn’t. It would likely increase the chances of you getting pregnant and you simply can’t have that, birth control implant be damned.

“No, it’s fine.” You shake your head softly and get off of him, fixing your underwear as you turn away to give him privacy. He tucks himself in his boxers and zips his pants up before fishing for his now-thinner wallet, though it’s not completely empty yet. If you didn’t know better (and you don’t, he’s a stranger after all,) you’d think he gets off on this kind of thing- his wallet being drained.

Albert hands you three more hundreds and mumbles a quiet “thank you” for your services. It hasn’t even been an hour, but it’s not like he cares. Who wouldn’t want to give their money to someone as pretty as you?

He’s satisfied by the looks of things, his face less red now that he’s calmer and more composed. You take the money happily, watching him walk to the door with a smile on your lips.

“What’s your name, dear?” He looks at you over his shoulder.

“Come back soon and maybe I’ll tell you.”

Albert leaves with that, his dignity shattered and his pride dismantled.

Weeks later and you’re at home sitting on your couch, watching the news late at night after one of your shifts. You’re barely paying attention, looking through missed calls on your motorola cd930 when you hear a familiar name come up on the missing persons list. The news anchor is reading off a list of names from the most recent tragedy- a mansion exploding in Arklay County, where supposedly some members of the local S.T.A.R.S team got trapped and barely made it out alive (so you’ve heard.)

“Albert Wesker, Joseph Frost, Richard Aiken, Edward Dewey…” The tired man drones on, listing off the rest of the names as pictures start to pop up. Only one face sticks out to you.

“No way,” you sit up straight and lean closer to your television, your eyes focused on Albert’s picture. Save for the sunglasses, that’s him. You’re shocked and honestly a little disheartened.

In your dreams, you see him again.

#bunnystalker ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡#bunny's fics ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚#albert wesker #resident evil #albert wesker x reader #resident evil fanfiction #writing #resident evil x reader #albert wesker fanfic #albert wesker x you #albert wesker smut #top!reader #stripper!reader

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dhampling · 8 months

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I've had this idea in my head ever since I first played as a Dragonborn or Tiefling in BG3, and I have no idea why it isn't discussed more. But what if a Tiefling! (Or Dragonborn, whichever you prefer) Tav shows affection by coiling their tail around their s/o? Like they're close by and are just overwhlemed with love and adoration, and their tail just kinda wraps around their lovers leg? Or wrist or anywhere they can reach! Like Tav is hugging Astarion and then without really realizing it, their tail coils around him as well? Idk, I just think the concept is super sweet/cute. I would love to see this as a small story, or even just head cannons if you want to explore the idea as well. No pressure, obviously, ignore it if you wish to ❤️ hope you're doing well!

a tail of... insert pun here! tavs with TAILS. tails with tav. tav tails with dal.

hello sweetling! can i start by saying that i loved this - genuinely, absolutely loved this. i started by writing HCs and got a bit carried away, so i hope you enjoy the little bit of both here! thank you for giving me something different - this is absolutely not something i'd have thought of and i had SO MUCH FUN. a/n: species isn't mentioned, and I've tried to keep it as generic as possible so it could be applicable for tiefs or dragonborn tavs!

headcanons;

As far back as you can recall you’ve been particularly expressive

It’s not something that you’ve ever seen as an issue, beyond the occasional mishap you can laugh over with any tail-whipped parties later

Frantic little licks of excitement when playing with your peers as a youngling come to mind as an immediate example

Running amok and jumping with the widest of smiles as your tail oscillates behind you

Your family chiding you playfully whilst rubbing their stinging ankles after a particularly jovial day in your presence

Your parents holding you whilst you were still small enough to be held

Your tail bony and light, and yet tightly winding around their forearms as you rested on their torso like a twisting vine

A sign of comfort, safety

A sign that hasn’t lost any significance as you’ve aged

Many a time you’ve run into an old friend and accidentally lashed them in sheer glee, loosely wrapping your tail to whichever limb you can to keep them close as you agree to wander the local bustling market together

And so when you begin to bond with your fellow escapists as you search for a cure for your unfortunate parasite problem, it’s inevitable

It doesn’t even cross your mind

Not until the day where everything just went right

For the first time since your abduction you’ve emerged your battles all victorious, casualties kept to a minimum, and with enough variety in supplies to have a proper meal

Spirits are high, wine is flowing; and your party has a real energy of optimism

Your tail flitters back and forth like a moth to a flame as your take to your feet and search for the one who has captured your attention

fool's errand;

It takes Astarion a little aback when the wine steers you towards him.

A few weeks in each others’ presence, sure. A night or two; possibly three, maybe even four at this point, of mutual enjoyment under the stars. Frequent back and forth exchanges while on the road, bantering like old friends. You give him your neck, he offers you moral support.

But on a night where the joy is positively spilling from every cup in camp, you step to him?

He’s unsure whether to be flattered or cautious.

If you’re to end your arrangement, surely tonight - where the conversation is so effusive, so effortless across your party - would be the optimal time to do so. Laugh it away as a lapse in judgement between ‘old friends’, as you often joke, and drift from him to a more viable prospect as the coming days pass. Leave him as the least amicable in camp once more. He’d understand.

Not that he’d like it.

But he’d understand.

Or, he’d try to. He might be a little upset if Lae’zel wins Lady Congeniality over him, but it’s not the end of the world.

He’d have to hope the group still would still want to keep him around of course. Be a little nicer to Gale. Offer to help Karlach carry your packs between camps.

What is he offering you if not his nimble fingers? Maybe he went too hard on gunning for you. Or not hard enough, perhaps?

You quirk a brow as you snap your fingers in his face, wine sloshing gently in your other hand.

Clearly his face is now showing his displeasure.

“You ok? Hello?”

“Oh! Yes, my sweet. Lost in thought.”

He waggles his fingers and lifts his goblet to toast alongside yours. To new friends.

“I must say - you being lost in thought is entirely unusual. Still wondering about the left handed tongs Gale sent you searching for earlier?” You laugh warmly. He scowls.

“I don’t eat! I haven’t eaten for two hundred years. What use would I have for tongs in a dungeon, darling?’

He sips.

‘A fool’s errand in very poor taste, if you ask me.”

You still. He pauses.

He’s feeling sour, and he’s ruined it for you. Sapped the joy from your evening. Gods.

He wracks his brain for ways he can come back into favour.

Suggest other things he’d like to taste in order to clear his palate. He hasn’t eaten in two hundred years, and he’s absolutely famished. Whet your appetite a little. Win you back round.

“I can hear your brain whirring, you know.” You whisper, leaning close.

He freezes. Can you see it? Through the tadpole? His horrid scheming?

And you do the most unexpected thing.

Your arms come around his torso to envelop him in a tight hug.

You aren’t fervently clutching at his waist, running fevered hands over his abdomen or pulling yourself close just to feel his body against yours.

It’s soft. Clandestine almost. He doesn’t know how to react.

“I do so adore you, you know? You make this sordid little adventure a little more enjoyable each day.’

You hum. Your head falls to his chest, your tail wrapping around his leg steadily.

‘You can talk to me about these things if you want to. If you figure out what you want to say. I’m here.”

He wouldn’t have anticipated a single one of your actions in the face of his sullen behaviour this evening.

Yet the one that touches him most is the tail now secure around his leg.

A reminder of every tired day you flit joyously against him as you trek together, the curiosity and jubilee when he powers through a wholly trapped room with nothing but a single tool and a flourish - for good measure, of course.

Your little happy whips as you stumble on dire-needed pouches of gold alongside him. His lockpicking skill that you find oh-so enthralling, providing for the party in making use of his talent.

And every once in a while when you’re aside him, the way this happens.

A moment that reminds him of the beauty within bodies past their use for sexuality. How genuinely happy those little mindless touches make him. How his undead heart could maybe be cajoled into beating again over this one.

He coughs. Smiles. Brings his arms around you, though delayed.

Head resting atop yours.

“You’re full of surprises aren’t you, treasure?”

Your tail flits against his leg in a happy shiver.

“Naturally, darling.”

You imitate him in a way that makes you both laugh like fools. Toast once again.

"To us."

#astarion x reader #astarion x tav #fluff #my writing #headcanons #tavs with tails #request #thank you anon i love you!

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eirikrjs · 5 months

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Thinking Beyond Replacement

The new Lilith reveal when Vengeance was announced led to another stupid & frankly outdated thought: "why design a new look for a classic SMT demon that's still popular when the new is functionally identical to the old?"

This thought nevertheless got me curious, so i made the Qadistu quartet edits seen above. I've become pro-Doi Lilith for the following reasons:

Kaneko is super dead now that he left Atlus. It's time to move on for real. I'm especially talking to myself.

the palettes of Eisheth Zenunim, Agrat bat Mahlat, and Naamah aren't dissimilar to the Amemiya or Kaneko Liliths, so they would still look fairly cohesive even with the latter. But Lilith is still the leader of the Qadistu and her bubblegum pink hair makes her pop out among them.

However, I think it's undeniable that Doi designed the Qadistu as a unit, combining, as he says, "beauty and ugliness." All 4 have grotesque features and I particularly like Lilith's bony joint aberrations:

There's just a level of cohesion usually only a single artist can lend to such a related/thematic assemblage; I'm also pretty positive on Naamah; even if her purpose in the Qadistu might just be to breast boobily, she's a demon I've wanted in SMT for a long time and i think her design delivers.

I'm not as hot on Agrat bat Mahlat, she reminds me of Ranni for some reason; I just think the "dark witch" motif is a little derivative but at least she adds variety to the group. The most notable thing about her to me is that her red eyes make it look like she's been doing some heavy dabbing in the sweet leaf. Eisheth Zenunim I'm pretty neutral about.

Last point on accepting change, as sad as that sounds to say (but it totally is what's necessary):the 4 Qadistu are the wives of Samael, and so the new Lilith is still wrapped by a snake--a red snake, the same color Samael has always been in Kaneko's designs. While it seems a given Samael will be involved in the story eventually, it would also mean he will have a new design, and probably not a snake, or at least something more involved. I also imagine Lilith's snake having a role in cutscenes--further necessitating the need for an all-new design/model.

Also, i totally expect there to be some classic SMT comparative etymological conflation bullshit with Samael this time around, because "Samael" is one of the alternate names of Yaldabaoth. And oh yeah, Sophia is the mother of the demiurge and in vanilla she called herself a sacred prostitute:

So expect her involvement, too. I'm honestly pretty excited for Vengeance! It's coming out at a great time for me, I think it'll be doable for me one-handed,Doi's new designs I would put on a Kaneko quality scale of somewhere between SMT2 and Devil Summoner, and vanilla SMT5 was so low impact, the only place it can go now is up!

#smt5v #masayuki doi #megaten #smtvv #smt v vengeance #qadistu #lilith #naamah #agrat bat mahlat #eisheth zenunim #samael #demiurge #sophia

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muddyorbsblr · 9 months

Text

feels like mine pt2

See my full list of works here!

Summary: On the worst day of his life, Tom receives an offer impossible to refuse: getting you back. Well, almost…

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x Reader

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: major character death; possibly a wonky timeline (the math wasn't and still isn't mathing in my pea brain); probably a wonky depiction of soulmates [let me know if i missed anything!]

Things to be aware of: sad meow meow hours

Three days ago…

After a good dozen takes on the same sequence from a variety of angles, Tom finally had a moment to himself, giving his assistant a signal to retrieve his phone so that he could give you a call. You'd been apart for nearly a month at this point and he missed you terribly.

The only remote relief he'd get was hearing your voice as often as he possibly could. You'd tell him all about the plot of the book you were reviewing, or what details you could divulge on the shows you were working on. Considering that you often had ironclad NDAs for them these days, you'd usually tell him of the former as it was less of a minefield.

Once his assistant handed over his phone, however, his heart caught in his throat at the screen that greeted him. Over a dozen missed calls from an unknown number in the last few hours, preceded by a text message from you.

Tom, sweetie, I'm in the hospital. It's no big deal, just a little road accident, don't worry about me. I might not be able to answer your calls for a while, since they're taking me in for surgery in a few minutes. I love you. Always.

With trembling hands, Tom returned the call from the unknown number, his heart so heavy in his chest it was a struggle to even breathe right. The next words felt as if they passed through him in a blur; he could only pick up on bits and pieces from the other end.

Drunk driver. T-bone. Internal bleeding.

And the worst words of all. I'm deeply sorry for your loss.

He took the soonest possible flight back to London, everything around him seemed a blur until he finally got to the home you two shared, his and your mothers waiting for him inside. That was the moment he finally broke, dropping to his knees and breaking out into sobs, the horrible reality cruelly sinking in once he saw their completely distraught faces.

They took your body to be cremated that day, allowing him a few minutes to say goodbye before they began the process. Your mother advised him against looking into the body bag, insisting that he wouldn't want that as his last memory of you, that he should at least get to live on with his final memory of your face being that of the loving, beaming wife he knew and loved.

The next time that you came out, it was in an urn, weighing just about the same as a baby, and he cradled you as such. For the entire car ride back to your home until he settled you in his study.

"We didn't have enough time," he said through his tears, stroking the golden urn as if he was stroking your hair. "We should have had more time."

At that moment, a voice pierced the solemn silence of your home. "I'm sorry for your loss, Thomas."

When Tom turned to see who the unwelcome visitor was, he couldn't find any words to say except one. "Impossible."

"Quite possible, really," Loki shot back, stepping into the study with palms open in a sign to tell your husband that the god meant no harm. "Anything's possible in this multiverse, I'm slowly coming to find. And in that realm of possibility, I have something to offer you."

"All due respect, I want nothing that you can give," Tom declared sullenly. "You can't give me my wife back."

"And what if I said that I can? Well, in a way."

That suddenly got Tom's full attention, placing an arm in front of your urn as if he was still trying to protect you. As if that could really do anything against a god. "I'm listening," he said cautiously.

"I've recently learnt that in every universe, there is an iteration or an echo of me, and a corresponding iteration of Y/N. In this universe, Thomas, you are my echo. In every universe, Y/N's echo is destined to fall in love with mine, and in almost every universe, that love is reciprocated," the god began to explain, creating an illusion with a wave of his hand of your wedding day.

It was nearly enough to mesmerize Tom completely, almost losing himself in the memory. In happier times. "Hang on, what do you mean almost every universe?"

"Ah, yes. That part. Well, you see, Thomas…in the universes where my echo takes on your form, world-famous actor, hordes of adoring men and women and everyone in between at his feet, getting an entire crowd to fall silent with a finger to his lips--"

"I get it, I get it, can we keep it moving, please?"

"Right then. In the universes where my echo is…Tom Hiddleston, while it is a guarantee that Y/N will love Tom, it is not a guarantee that Tom will love Y/N. There are universes where Tom barely even knows of her existence. She's in the hordes, a part of her soul knowing that she's doing exactly what she was designed to do, but confused as to why she feels as if a part of her is missing somehow."

"That's--" Tom's words choked off in a sob at the back of his throat, a new type of sadness overcoming him as he imagined a world where he never even knew you. Never loved you. "That's miserable."

"It is," the god agreed. "My offer to you is that I can reach into one of these universes where her love for you is unreturned, and I can bring her to you. Fulfill what her heart yearns for, and in return, you have an echo of your wife. Have the time that was stolen from you so harshly. So unfairly."

Tom considered the offer carefully, only moments passing before he had his first question. "What of her universe? Her family?"

"In these worlds she doesn't have much of one. For the most part she's alone, and has learnt to fend for herself in lieu of a support system." Both their hearts broke for those iterations of you, the thought of you taking on the world without anyone by your side was nearly enough to bring both men to their knees. "If you were to accept, then it would be a simple enough spell with barely any ripple effect to nullify her existence and memories of her from the minds of those still around to remember her."

Every part of him wanted to jump at the offer. To accept it without thinking. Getting another chance to spend a life with you? There should have been no hesitation at all. Except…

"If she's anything like my Y/N, she'll be smart enough to ask questions. Why her life's different from what she knew before. Whose remains are in the urn in my study. What do I tell her then?"

"That is entirely up to you." Loki's answer was not in the least bit comforting. "You can conjure up a story that she will be inclined to believe, or you can tell her the truth. Alternatively, I can offer you an easier way out of this as well. Surrender your late wife's remains to me and I can keep her somewhere safe. That way you can live on with creating your new life with this echo of your Y/N without being as tethered to your past; after all, if you wish to start this life with her, then she deserves to have you love her to the fullest extent you can afford. She deserves not to be loved half-heartedly by someone still clinging to the ghosts of his past."

Much as he agreed completely with the sentiment, Tom found himself hesitating at the thought of simply surrendering your ashes to the god. He knew what the trade would mean, and that he in turn would have more time with a version of you; however, a part of him still protested.

For would this not be a dishonor to your memory? To simply let go of you and the time he'd gotten to know you and fall in love with you in exchange for something that might not even live up to his memory of you?

And on the other hand, he thought about the version of you that was doomed to live your life with an unrequited love. The knowledge that your souls were only partly intertwined in that world had him hurt for that iteration of you. You did deserve to be loved with the same magnitude that you gave love. And if he could give that to you, then the only way that he could do so was to accept that this wouldn't be a life wherein he picked up where you and he left off. He would be building something new entirely.

It was a near impossible choice. But ultimately he knew which way he would go.

Loki's offer meant more time with you. It meant having you again. Even if it was an echo of you. At its core, it was still you.

Right?

"What would you do?" he asked the god.

"If I lost my Y/N? I'd turn the multiverse inside out to have her again. Rearrange the Realms itself until she was by my side." He paced the room as he continued his answer. "Any version of her." A smirk tugged at the onyx-haired man's mouth before tilting up his chin, assuming an all-knowing stance. "But seeing as you are an echo of me, you already knew that this was the answer, didn't you? You simply needed to hear it outside of your own thoughts. Solidify your decision."

Tom could only nod, the depth of the situation still tremendously lost on him. All he knew was that if he did this, he would have you back.

He placed your urn on the desk, pushing it towards Loki. "What do I do now?"

The god held out his hand. "Firstly, your wife's ring. I'll need it when I find an echo of her that leads her life all alone. It will be her first tie to this universe. Your universe." Tom placed your wedding ring into his hand. "Secondly, you grieve. You've suffered a great loss, and what I am to do is not a replacement of your late wife, and should not be treated as such. Mourn your loss for the next day. Then after tomorrow night, go about your morning routinely, as if she were alive."

Tom nodded again. "How will I know that it worked?"

Loki only shrugged at the actor. "Have faith. Faith that you'll see your wife again the morning after next."

With that, the god disappeared, taking both your remains and your wedding ring with him. And Tom heeded the advice, crawling into the bed you shared with him, all the memories of the life you built together and the possibilities of the life you were yet to build overwhelming him. The weight of your lost future all but crushing his heart into a million pieces.

And he wept himself to sleep.

Today…

On the second morning after Loki's offer, Tom rose from your shared bed and listened to the god's instructions from days before. He laced his shoes up, went on his usual morning run, changed into business casual attire as if he was scheduled for a Zoom call in a short while, and proceeded to start preparing a breakfast for two.

Once he had coffee brewing, he started preparing a lavish breakfast for you two to share, starting with a fruit platter. "Have faith," he whispered to himself, making the last second decision to make it a touch more decadent with a small bowl of Nutella to dip the fruit into.

If this truly was going to work, he would spoil you at every turn moving forward. Never another minute squandered, nor another craving denied.

"Have faith," he whispered again, putting on an apron to prevent any spills from ruining his white dress shirt and proceeding to slice up the fruit.

Then he heard the bedroom door open. And for the first time in days he felt the tiniest glimmer of hope.

He waited until you made your way down the stairs, fighting every urge to meet you halfway and take you into his arms. He knew you needed to acclimate into this life you'd been suddenly thrust into; Loki had done his part, now it was his turn to ease you into your new reality.

Your footsteps got closer and closer until finally they stopped just outside the kitchen area. That was the only time Tom allowed himself to turn around and look at you, relief flooding his system once he laid his eyes on you. In the silk navy blue nightgown, wearing your wedding ring.

He finally felt like he could breathe again.

"Good morning, sweetheart."

A/N: *peeks from the corner* I promised I'd have a sequel for 'feels like mine' up, and here it issssss 🫡 This isn't 'sworn fealty' after all 🤣 (in all seriousness though I will be working on a sequel to that I just have 0 idea when)

And technically this isn't a sequel but more of a prequel to part 1…all I can promise you is that there is a part 3 and it's spicy 😳👀 Dunno when that'll be out tho because I'll be returning to the requests pile but we'll see where the vibe takes me

'everything' taglist: @simplyholl @loopsisloops @imalovernotahater @coldnique @loz-3 @huntress-artemis @salempoe @vickie5446 @athalialaufeyson @lokiprompts @kats72 @kikster606 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @lokixryss @thomase1 @mischief2sarawr @peaches1958 @lovingchoices14 @lunarnights95 @goblingirlsarah @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @creationsbyme @maple-seed @mjsthrillernp @ladyofthestayingpower @mygfloki @sititran @glitterylokislut @ozymdias @fictive-sl0th @lokidbadguy @mochie85 @silverfire475 @joyful-enchantress @elizabethmidnight2017 @holdmytesseract @smolvenger @gigglingtiggerv2 @lokidokieokie @lunarnights95 @superficialdomina @kmc1989 @november-rayne @goddessofwonderland @buttercupcookies-blog @peaky-marvel @lokiified

#tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston x female reader #tom hiddleston fanfic #tom hiddleston fanfiction #tom hiddleston imagine #muddyorbs writes

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