#Custom Console Commands | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tinyshyteacup · 2 months ago

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A/N: I am alive ! Sorry for the slow update but here is the next part !

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Tw: cussing, fluff

Part 17

Words of Command - Part 18

The communal floor of Stark Tower was unusually still. A breeze from the automated ventilation stirred the long drapes beside the windows, and light poured in—soft gold across glass, metal, and silence.

The aftermath of what had happened the night before still clung to the walls like an echo.

At the center console, Tony Stark looked every bit the genius-billionaire-insomniac, hair tousled, arc reactor glowing through a rumpled Black Sabbath shirt, coffee in hand like it was the only thing keeping him upright.

Holograms danced in front of him—blueprints, security schematics, and tracking data cascading in midair.

Agent Collins stood just to the side, shifting uncomfortably under Stark’s scrutinizing gaze.

“These,” Tony said, gesturing like a magician unveiling a new trick, “are the new key cards. Retina-matched, palm-synced, neuro-linked to your heart rate. So if you’re panicking, bleeding, or doing a very bad impersonation of me? It locks you out.”

He slid a card across the table toward Collins.

“Don’t lose it, rookie. Or misplace it in a vending machine like the last one.”

A beat. “And if you’re still thinking about shooting someone in this building? Maybe aim for the espresso machine next time—it has less moral ambiguity.”

Collins flushed, stammering, “Yes, sir. Of course. I—I’m sorry again—”

Tony waved a hand dismissively, then turned his eyes on you.

“And you,” he said, pointing, voice light but laced with something tighter, “Thumbelina.”

You blinked. “Hmm"

“Yeah. Honestly, the most terrifying thing about that entire debacle was how calm you were.”

He reached under the console and slid another card toward you. Unlike Collins’ sleek black one, yours was silver, marked with a small Stark Industries insignia and a delicate engraving of a rose.

“Custom-coded,” he added more quietly. “Highest clearance short of mine or Pepper's. And it tracks your location anywhere in the building… or, you know, if someone tries to relocate you.”

You hesitated before picking it up. “Tony, this is…”

He cut you off with a glance—his tone softening only fractionally.

“Don’t read too much into it, Thumbelina. Just… consider it your golden ticket to not getting Winter-Soldiered next time a Hydra Barbie struts through my door.” His jaw twitched faintly before he turned back to his holograms.

"Because between you and me? I don’t know what would’ve happened if Barnes had flipped. And I’d rather not find out.”

Behind you, Bucky stood against the window, arms folded tightly across his chest. His face was carved from stone, eyes unreadable. But at Tony’s last words, you saw the flicker in his posture—a subtle clench of his metal fingers. His jaw worked, once, before he spoke.

“I wouldn’t have hurt her.”

It was quiet. Firm.

Tony didn’t look back. “Good plan, Tin Man. Let’s stick to it.”

You reached out and gently brushed your fingers over Bucky’s hand. His head turned toward you immediately, eyes softer now, focused entirely on you.

“You okay?” you asked quietly.

He glanced at the security card in your hand. “You keep that close. Anyone tries anything again... they won’t get the chance to finish a word.”

He meant it.

And this time, even Tony didn’t argue.

You found Tony later, alone on the terrace of Stark Tower. The city sprawled out beneath him, bathed in afternoon haze, a living thing of sound and motion.

He stood by the railing, sunglasses in place despite the shade, drink in hand—something amber that caught the light.

“Didn’t peg you for a brooder,” you said gently as you stepped out.

He didn’t look at you, just lifted the glass in a half-salute. “Rooftop brooding’s in the billionaire starter pack. That and daddy issues.”

You smiled faintly, letting the door slide shut behind you. The wind teased your hair, light and playful in contrast to the tension that still clung to him like static.

“I wanted to say thank you,” you offered. “For the card. The upgrades. Everything.”

Tony tilted his head, finally looking at you.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he said, voice still smooth, but quieter. “You didn’t ask to be dragged into any of this.”

“I’m here because I want to be. Bucky—he…”

“Thinks you’re his handler,” Tony interrupted, eyes narrowing behind his shades. “Still. Despite all the progress. And despite the fact he looks at you like you're the only safe place he's ever known.”

You looked down at your hands. “Yea, I know.”

Tony drained his drink and set the glass aside with a click of crystal on steel. “You know, if you were anyone else, I’d have locked Barnes in a vibranium box and shipped him off by now.”

You blinked up at him.

“He’s dangerous, Thumbelina. He’s got more kill commands in that head than most nukes. And if someone whispers poetry in Russian, he'll take out half my lab. So forgive me if I’m not sleeping well.”

The sarcasm was still there—but now it trembled just enough to show the cracks.

You stepped closer. “But you didn’t lock him up.”

“No,” Tony said, softer now. “Because he didn’t snap. Because you, god knows why, have faith in him.”

He exhaled hard, raking a hand through his hair.

“I saw what happened the other night. He didn’t hurt you. That means something. I just…” His voice dropped. “I don’t want to be the guy who says I told you so after something breaks. And I sure as hell don’t want it to be you who pays the price.”

You placed your hand lightly on his arm. “Tony, I know what he’s capable of. But I also know who he is now. You’ve seen it too.”

He looked down at your hand. “You’re good for him. Maybe too good. Just—promise me you’ll keep that card on you. And if something feels off, you run, okay? Because even the best of us can lose control.”

There was a pause. He added, more gently, “And maybe I care more than I let on. Don't make me say it out loud or I’ll combust.”

You smiled through the tightness in your chest. “Noted.”

Tony nodded and pulled his sunglasses off, eyes tired but sincere. “Now go check Manchurian Candidate. Before he broods a hole through my floor.”

You turned to leave but paused. “Tony?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you”

The workshop hummed with artificial light and low-toned rock playing from a half-covered speaker somewhere on the cluttered shelves. Screens flickered with diagnostic data, schematic overlays of Bucky’s arm rotating in slow motion beside a real-time scan of his nervous system. The scent of oil, hot metal, and solder hung in the air like cologne.

Bucky sat on the reinforced stool with his left arm clamped into a calibration rig, a faint whirr-click pulsing as Tony adjusted a servo near the elbow joint. He flinched, just slightly, more from reflex than pain.

“Relax, Tin Man,” Tony drawled, leaning in with a fine-point tool between his fingers. “You jump like I’m tightening bolts with a wrench and a prayer.”

Bucky gave him a narrowed look but didn’t rise to the bait. “You talk a lot for someone who’s supposed to be concentrating.”

“And you grunt a lot for someone with enough years to have heard jazz when it was edgy,” Tony shot back. His tone was teasing, but the undercurrent was cautious—calculated. He didn’t trust easily.

A silence passed, broken only by the soft hiss of hydraulics and a string of code scrolling on a nearby display. Then Tony added, more pointedly

“Since you didn't go full Terminator on us, I feel safe enough to bring up a topic of immense personal importance.”

Bucky sighed. “Let me guess. Her.”

“Ding ding ding.” Tony didn’t look up, but there was a smirk in his voice. “My favorite receptionist. Whisperer of stray murder puppies. You know she’s important to me, right?”

Bucky’s jaw twitched. His lips parted, slow and thoughtful. “She’s important to a lotta people.”

Tony side-eyed him. “Yeah. Which is why I’m keeping an eye on you, Frostbite. No offense... Okay, some offense.”

Bucky's gaze dropped to the limb Tony was working on. His metal fingers flexed, this time not in defense—but curiosity. Familiarity.

“You think I’d want to hurt her?” he asked, not with hostility, but that quiet kind of self-loathing that made even Tony pause.

“No,” Tony said after a beat, tone shifting slightly. “But you’re still figuring yourself out. And she’s got this... thing where she puts others first. Loyal to the end. And way too forgiving.”

“She’s not forgiving,” Bucky corrected gently. “She believes in people. There’s a difference.”

Tony actually looked up at that, giving Bucky a more measured stare. Something passed between them then—not quite friendship, but an understanding.

Mutual protectiveness.

Mutual guilt.

“You know she calls you ‘sweet when you’re quiet,’ right?” Tony said, smirking now, screwdriver back in hand. “Which is a weird thing to hear while trying to eat pancakes, by the way.”

Bucky gave a rare huff of a laugh. “That’s her. Says the strangest things with a straight face. Makes you believe ‘em anyway.”

Bucky looked away, jaw flexing slightly. “She deserves to feel safe, not… manage me.”

Tony finally looked up, goggles pushed to his forehead. That, more than anything, made Bucky uneasy. Tony’s sarcasm vanished for a moment.

“Still think she’s your handler?” Tony asked, voice flatter now, more serious.

Bucky shifted on the stool. “I don’t know. I thought that at first. But… not anymore.”

He flexed his metal fingers, gaze distant. “When she’s around, I don’t feel like a weapon. I feel like someone who could maybe learn to be human again.”

Tony’s expression didn’t soften—Stark didn’t really do soft—but it did shift. Understanding replaced the usual edge. He leaned against the bench, arms crossed.

Bucky blinked. “What?”

Tony gestured dramatically. “Come on, Barnes. The looks. The way you practically short-circuit when she walks in. You’re over here talking like a noir detective monologuing about love and redemption. It's textbook.”

Bucky looked like he wanted to disagree, but… he didn’t. Instead, he exhaled and said, almost to himself. “She’s… soft. Kind. She's never called me Asset.”

Tony tilted his head, watching. “She also trusts you.”

“I know,” Bucky said quietly. “That’s why I want to protect her.”

Tony stood straight again, brushing his hands off. “Okay, Loverboy, don’t make this weird. Look—if you ever do forget who you are again, or even think about slipping—I’ll vaporize you myself. No hesitation.”

Bucky nodded. “I’d want you to.”

Tony held his gaze a second longer, then, satisfied, picked up the casing panel and returned to tinkering.

“She deserves a guy who knows what she’s worth,” he said offhandedly. “You ever figure that out, maybe you won’t need her to save you all the time.”

Bucky chuckled softly. “Maybe I don’t want her to stop.”

He glanced toward the glass wall separating the workshop from the common floor—where you’d left earlier to bake with Pepper, your laugh barely audible through the insulated door.

Tony finished the adjustment and pressed a button on his remote. The brace unclamped, and Bucky’s arm whirred smoothly as it came to life. He flexed the fingers again—no glitch, no catch. The smallest smile curved his lips.

“Not bad,” Bucky admitted.

“High praise, coming from Cap’s ex-roommate,” Tony said, then added quieter, “Just... don’t screw this up, Barnes.”

Bucky stood, glancing down at the arm before meeting Tony’s eyes.

“She sees something good in here. Even after all the bad.” he said slowly

Tony’s smirk faded, replaced by a more solemn nod.

The city outside the window blinked with quiet life—cool blue lights spilling across the sheets, striping your forms like reflections from a slow-moving river. Stark Tower always felt too big at night, the hum of its tech softened to a ghostly lullaby.

You lay on your side, head resting against your pillow, hair slightly mussed from sleep. The oversized t-shirt you wore—hung loosely around your frame, bare feet tangled beneath the throw blanket.

Bucky lay on his back beside you, fully dressed in sweats and a black tee, his metal arm resting across his stomach. The space between you wasn’t large.

His head turned slightly toward you, eyes silvered in the moonlight. “Doll?”

You nodded, voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah.”

A beat passed.

“I keep thinking about something Stark said,” his voice rasped, like gravel being gently scattered. “About you...”

"Tony says a lot of things, most of it bullshit." You deadpan

“Yeah.” Bucky chuckled under his breath, and it startled even him. “He does.”

There was a moment where the silence thickened again, this time with memory. He turned his head, eyes meeting yours in the dark. “Doll… I used to think you were my handler.”

“I know.”

“But I don’t anymore.”

That made your breath catch. You blinked slowly, not trusting yourself to speak.

“You feel different,” he continued, and his voice had that sounded like hesitant wonder. “When you touch me—it’s not… control. It’s comfort.”

“That's ... good,” you whispered.

His eyes softened. “I still wait for orders. I’ll catch myself looking to you like… like I need permission to breathe.”

“You don’t,” you said. “You never did.”

He nodded, but it was heavy.

Tired.

Honest.

“Yeah, but it feels easier when you’re nearby.”

His flesh hand shifted slightly on the sheets between you—like he was thinking about reaching for you but wasn’t sure it was okay.

His gaze dropped to your fingers.

He didn’t move away.

“I like hearing you talk,” he admitted, voice barely audible. “It makes the static go quiet.”

You smiled faintly, then yawned, your body curling slightly toward him. Not touching. Not really.

“I’m proud of you, Bucky.”

He turned his head again, looking at you with something raw in his expression—something real.

“Thanks, Doll.”

A long, steady breath passed between you. Outside, distant thunder rolls lazily over the city, a storm crawling in. The occasional flicker of lightning backlights the clouds, casting dim shadows that briefly stretch across the walls.

You’re both on your backs now, close but not quite touching. Then you feel it—a shift in the mattress. Just slight. Delicate.

Bucky is moving.

You don’t look at first. But his arm—his flesh one—crosses the neutral space between you, and fingertips gently brush your forearm. Not a grab. Not a possessive touch. Just the trembling edge of contact.

“Doll…” he says softly, voice thick. “Can I…?”

You glance at him.

His face is tense, but open. Not fearful, but expectant. The kind of look someone wears when they’re stepping out onto a frozen lake for the first time, testing if it will hold.

You nod.

He trails his hand up, slowly, fingers dragging against your skin until he reaches your wrist. There, he rests his palm lightly—not holding, just being. His thumb ghosts over the skin there, feeling your pulse.

“You always run cold,” he murmurs, half to himself.

You smile, a little shaky. “I guess so.”

He’s quiet for a beat. Then, in a voice as soft as the dark around you.

“Can I ask you something ? And you can lie if it’s easier.”

That earns a soft laugh from you, nervous and unsure. “Okay.”

His brow furrows slightly. His thumb still gently strokes your wrist, grounding himself in that fragile contact.

“When I’m not… y’know, losing my mind or tryin’ to kill anyone… do you like being around me?”

You shift to your side, facing him. His hand slips naturally to rest between you on the mattress, but his gaze stays locked with yours.

“I do.”

He nods slowly, you can see the next question forming, nerves tightening his jaw.

“Doll…” His voice is low and careful, like stepping into a room he isn’t sure he’s welcome in. “Can I…?”

You turn your head slowly, meeting his eyes. “Can you what, Bucky?”

His Adam’s apple bobs. His metal hand, lifts from the bed by mere inches. You see the muscles in his shoulder flex. He hesitates.

“Can I keep touching you?”

He’s not asking for permission to take.

He’s asking to connect.

You nod slowly, a little smile at the corners of your mouth. “Yeah, Buck. You can.”

He releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding and moves with such delicacy it almost breaks your heart. He uses his flesh hand—bringing it up. His fingers skim the curve of your cheek, knuckles first, cautious and reverent.

He cups your jaw softly, thumb ghosting just beneath your eye like he’s afraid you’ll dissolve into mist if he presses too hard.

“You’re warm now,” he murmurs.

“So are you,” you whisper.

His mouth quirks—an actual smile, crooked and small. “That’s good. I feel like I haven’t been warm in a long time.”

You shift slightly toward his touch.

He watches you a moment longer, the silence between you thick with something tender. Then, gently, his thumb strokes your cheek again, “Doll… Do you—do you feel anything for me?”

You blink slowly, heart thudding so loud it drowns out the city noise.

“Bucky…” you say gently, voice barely above a breath. “I do feel something. I care. I worry. And sometimes when you look at me… I feel it all the way down in my ribs.”

Bucky releases a small, almost incredulous laugh through his nose. “That’s a hell of a place to feel something.”

You smile. “Well, that’s kinda ...where you live now.”

“Do you think…” he starts again, voice shaky, “if things were different—if I’d met you before—”

You lift your hand, placing it lightly over his metal fingers. “I’m glad I met you now, Bucky. Because this version of you—the one that’s healing, that’s choosing—he’s the one I want to know.”

His breath catches. Just a little. His lips part like he wants to speak again, but instead he lets his forehead drop forward, resting it gently against yours.

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iyoonjh · 25 days ago

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Beyond Plus Ultra! – The anatomy of falling in love

Chapter 17: Take me home, country roads (but please don't tell me it's West Virginia)

wc: 8688 words // warning: making out, veryyyy suggestive

The sun was barely up, and Soobin already felt like he was in a coming-of-age film.

Not the part where someone dramatically runs through the airport, or gets kissed in the rain. No. He was squarely in the “sits awkwardly in the backseat of a cramped car, holding his emotional support water bottle, trying not to be perceived” montage.

They were on the road. Finally.

Jungwon was driving like he was auditioning for Fast & Furious: Gen Z Drift, one hand on the wheel, sunglasses pushed halfway up his nose, nodding to the bassline of whatever aggressively curated playlist was currently rattling the speakers, it made him look like he was born to drive a getaway car.

Next to him, Giselle sat like a woman on a mission. Her shoes were off, one leg tucked under her as she manned the aux cord with all the intensity of a battlefield strategist. The center console was buried under a chaotic pile of snacks, lip balm, a suspicious amount of gum, and a folded checklist titled Operation: Beach Arc. Her phone screen lit up with the next song—something high-tempo and summery—and she cranked the volume, bobbing her head in approval.

“You guys better hydrate,” she said, not looking up. “If anyone gets dehydrated and starts hallucinating, I’m legally required to film it.”

“Put on something calm,” Jungwon said.

“No.”

“Something soft.”

“No.”

“Giselle—”

“If morale drops below a seven,” she warned, holding up her finger like a commander issuing orders, “I will play Pitbull. I am not afraid.”

The bass kicked in—some upbeat synth-pop track that made the windows vibrate. Wind rushed in from the cracked sunroof. The seats were warm from the sun. The air smelled like a mix of strawberry lotion, half-eaten chips, and that slightly plasticky scent of car interiors on long road trips.

And in the back?

Soobin was on the left, pressed against the door like a polite hostage. Y/N was on the right, her shoulder grazing the window, sunlight catching in her hair in a way that felt like someone had custom-lit this entire vehicle just to emotionally destroy him.

And between them?

Heeseung.

Heeseung, who could only be described as the human manifestation of a Magic: The Gathering deck—specifically one that had been left in a backpack for three years, dropped in a puddle of Monster Energy, and then blessed by a chaotic god of fandom.

He was currently wearing his “casual road trip fit”: a faded Pokémon sweatshirt (Snorlax, mid-nap), an inside-out denim bucket hat, and socks with tiny 8-bit dragons that blinked when he moved. He was also double-strapped with a messenger bag and a backpack, even though they were just going for a weekend. There were five D20s in his pocket and he had already spilled one in the parking lot.

Soobin had known him for years.

Heeseung was, technically, one of his best friends.

Heeseung was also ruining his entire life.

Because Heeseung, for the record, was trying to act cool.

Not like actually cool. But, like, his version of cool. Which meant he was slouched in the middle seat like a sentient throw pillow, arms folded like a sage warrior, and very clearly trying not to spontaneously start narrating their drive like it was a “critical plot point in the third act of a fanfic.”

Soobin could practically hear his inner monologue:“Heeseung Lee. Chaotic neutral. Level 4 bard. Currently third-wheeling two idiots with unresolved romantic tension. HP: emotionally fragile.”

Which meant he was currently saying things like:

“So technically, if a mermaid and a centaur fell in love, it wouldn’t work biomechanically—unless the centaur had water magic. But then we’re getting into hybrid reproduction lore and—”

“Heeseung,” Soobin said, staring directly at the window like he might phase through it if he concentrated hard enough, “I swear on all that is holy, if you finish that sentence, I’m leaving this car mid-highway.”

“Oh my god,” Giselle muttered from the front seat. “Is this what I signed up for?”

“Biomechanical lore,” Jungwon repeated blankly, like the words had personally offended him.

Y/N, to Soobin’s horror, was covering her mouth, clearly trying not to laugh. She wasn’t even pretending to be above it. In fact, she leaned her head back, shook with silent laughter, then looked out the window with the smug satisfaction of someone watching a rom-com from a comfortable distance. She hadn’t said a single nerdy thing out loud, and somehow Soobin knew she was enjoying this more than anyone.

Heeseung, unaware that he was the human embodiment of a third-wheel side quest, adjusted his bucket hat with all the wisdom of a man who believed he was being helpful.

“It’s a valid theoretical scenario,” he said, munching on a pretzel stick. “Hybrid offspring are always complicated. You have to consider lineage, environment, whether the mermaid lays eggs or—”

“I WILL EXIT THIS VEHICLE,” Soobin snapped, “AND LET THE HIGHWAY DECIDE MY FATE.”

“Hey, hey,” Giselle interrupted, spinning around in her seat with all the energy of a courtroom attorney. “Let’s pivot. I want to know more about you, Soobin.”

Soobin blinked. “What?”

“You’re too quiet. That makes you suspicious,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “Are you mysterious on purpose? Or just emotionally repressed?”

“Oh, he is just emotionally repressed,” Heeseung offered cheerfully.

Soobin sighed, forehead pressed to the cool window like he might absorb some chill through osmosis. “Why do you talk like this?”

“Because I’m right,” Heeseung said.

“Okay, back to me,” Giselle said, dramatically flipping an imaginary notepad. “Soobin. Zodiac sign. Go.”

Soobin paused, vaguely aware that this was a trap.

“…Sagittarius?”

“Oh my god,” Giselle gasped. “You’re a Sagittarius? That explains everything.”

“What does that even mean?” Soobin asked, deeply alarmed.

“It means you probably ran away from a confession once and then spent three years thinking about it in the shower,” she said.

Soobin opened his mouth to deny it, then closed it.

Y/N’s face turned toward the window. He could still see her smile in the reflection.

“Okay next one,” Giselle said, finger pointed. “Hogwarts house.”

“Why are we doing this,” Soobin mumbled.

“Because I’m building your dating profile,” she replied. “Now answer. House?”

“…Ravenclaw.”

“Duh. Called that in my soul. Quiet on the outside, brain doing 90 tabs of overthinking. Sexy.”

“Please stop saying sexy in a moving vehicle,” Jungwon muttered from the front, grinning. “But to be fair, Soobin kinda gives Huffle-Puff”.

“Alright, most important question,” Giselle said, all false innocence. “How many girlfriends have you had?”

Soobin, to his credit, didn’t immediately choke.

But something in his brain definitely short-circuited. Like a little man in a control room frantically pressing buttons while all the alarms went off at once.

Girlfriends.

Girlfriends?

Him?

Why would she ask that? Why would anyone ask that? Why did he suddenly forget how to breathe? He blinked, staring straight ahead like the headrest in front of him might open a portal to another universe. One where Heeseung had lost his voice and Soobin wasn’t being emotionally disrobed in a moving vehicle.

He considered lying. Just a little. Something vague and impressive. Maybe say he’d had a long-distance relationship in high school. France, perhaps. Or a girl he met at a debate tournament who fell in love with his passion for obscure historical conflicts.

But no. He couldn’t do it. Not when Heeseung was sitting two feet away with a memory like an elephant and the moral integrity of a Twitter thread.

He sighed.

“…None,” he admitted, voice tight like it was being squeezed through a straw.

And that’s when Heeseung exploded.

He burst into violent, uncontrollable laughter.

Like, doubled over. Full-volume. Possibly wheezing.

“Oh my GOD,” he gasped, slapping his knee. “I’m sorry, I just—Soobin with a girlfriend? That’s like watching a cat try to drive a forklift.”

“I hate you,” Soobin said, tone flat, ears bright red.

“He once practiced holding hands with a Luffy plushie,” Heeseung continued.

“I WAS YOUNG!”

Heeseung wiped a tear from his eye. “It wasn't that long ago bro. And recently you've been calling a name–”

“SHUT UP,” Soobin urged, and then—because he had to retaliate—turned to Giselle and added, “Heeseung writes fanfiction.”

The car exploded in sound.

“I KNEW IT!” Giselle shrieked.

“BRO,” Jungwon yelled. “What fandom?!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Heeseung said coolly, pulling his hood over his face.

“Oh, I know what he’s talking about,” Soobin said, vengeful and smug. “Your AO3 handle is RogueSniper94, don’t act brand new.”

“EXCUSE ME—”

“You wrote 23k words of slow burn enemies-to-lovers about two wizards named Kyo and Ashur who couldn’t touch because of a magical curse—”

“THAT WAS A WORK OF ART,” Heeseung yelled, voice cracking.

Eventually, the laughter settled.

The car had gone quiet in that rare and beautiful way where no one felt the need to talk.

The kind of silence that hummed beneath your skin. Filled with sunlight and the low thrum of the tires and the faintest scent of sea salt starting to creep in through the open windows. Giselle scrolled through songs with lazy fingers. Jungwon had one arm hanging out the driver’s side, humming under his breath, content.

Soobin had almost relaxed. Almost.

Heeseung, having been suspiciously quiet for a suspiciously long amount of time, sat up suddenly like a robot coming back online and declared, loudly:

“I had a girlfriend once.”

The car jumped.

Giselle turned slowly in her seat. “What.”

Jungwon let out a choked laugh. “Sorry—what?”

Soobin stared at him. “No you didn’t.”

“I did!” Heeseung insisted, now fully alert and far too confident for a man wearing socks with tiny pixelated dragons. “Her name was… Maybelline.”

“Like the makeup?” Y/N asked, trying to stifle a laugh.

“She was French,” Heeseung said, crossing his arms. “We met in a League of Legends lobby.”

Soobin pressed a hand over his face. “You absolute liar.”

“She lived in Marseille,” Heeseung continued, unbothered. “She mained Lux. We were star-crossed. It was beautiful.”

Giselle snorted. “Did you two ever meet in person?”

Heeseung hesitated. “...She didn’t believe in cameras.”

“Oh my God,” Jungwon wheezed.

“Okay, so just to recap,” Soobin said, voice muffled behind his palm. “Your imaginary French LoL girlfriend, Maybelline—named after a mascara brand—ghosted you through a voice chat?”

“She didn’t ghost me,” Heeseung muttered. “She just stopped logging in. Maybe she was kidnapped by enemy agents. We had enemies.”

“You were level 12 and playing ARAM,” Soobin said. “Your only enemy was rage-quitting.”

“I’m telling you,” Heeseung said, eyes distant now, gazing out the window like a man remembering a war only he had fought. “She had this laugh. Like... the echo of a potion exploding in a fantasy tavern.”

Silence.

Y/N leaned forward, choking on a laugh. “Okay, you have to write poetry.”

“I do!” Heeseung replied, triumphant. “In my Druid’s backstory notes. One was a haiku about a cursed harp. It made Beomgyu cry.”

“I can’t breathe,” Giselle said, laughing so hard her head hit the headrest. “You guys are actually insane.”

Heeseung just leaned back, smug. “I bring mystery. Romance. Lore.”

“You bring trauma,” Soobin said.

Jungwon, who hadn’t stopped laughing, reached to turn the volume up and said, “This trip is already perfect.”

And in that moment, with the wind in their hair and the playlist shifting into something bright and fast, with Giselle laughing, Y/N hiding her face behind her hand, Heeseung looking far too proud of himself, and Jungwon driving like they were chasing a dream—Soobin felt it too.

This was it.

This was the memory.

Already golden, even as it was happening.

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The gravel crunched under the tires as Jungwon pulled into the long driveway, music still thumping faintly from the speakers. The beach house loomed ahead like a summer dream—whitewashed walls, a big wraparound porch, and windows so wide open they looked like the house itself was exhaling.

Soobin sat stiffly in the back seat, gripping his water bottle like it might keep him from passing out. He was already overheated—mentally, emotionally, spiritually. His leg was doing that nervous bounce thing, even though they’d been on the road for hours. Y/N sat beside Heeseung, sunglasses sliding slightly down her nose, smiling lazily like this was just another day. Like they weren’t pulling up to the most intimidating social experiment of his life.

Still in the car, the first one he saw was Jay in his usual half-unbuttoned shirt and sunglasses he definitely didn’t need, strumming air guitar dramatically like his entrance required a backing track. Karina followed in a matching linen co-ord set, dewy and radiant, with enough sunscreen on to reflect satellites, already directing traffic like someone’s glamorous aunt who refused to be sunburned or emotionally inconvenienced. Sunoo skipped out after her, arms wide like a cartoon welcome committee, already mid-monologue about how his swimsuit had been personally blessed by Beyoncé.

From the porch, Beomgyu was hanging upside down from the railing like a raccoon who’d discovered Red Bull. “WHO DARES DISTURB MY KINGDOM,” he shouted, cackling.

Sunghoon, for his part, was hiding in a corner of the house where, according to his very scientific calculations, the sunlight couldn’t possibly reach him. The curtains were drawn, the shadows were deep, and he was positioned so precisely behind a potted plant that it looked like he was part of the decor.

Leehan had tried to reassure him earlier. “You can go in the sun, you know. Your skin won’t melt. You won’t develop a rare light-triggered illness. I ran the numbers.”

And while Sunghoon understood that, rationally, he was not a vampire… the level of his paleness was still concerning to everyone involved. Including the wildlife.

Hueningkai, however, was not convinced. Wearing his Ben 10 board shorts like a badge of honor and sipping juice from a reusable straw shaped like a lightsaber, he peeked around the corner, whispering, “He’s lurking. That’s vampire behavior.”

“You’ve seen him in sunlight like four times,” Taehyun said without looking up.

“Four times too few,” Hueningkai muttered, sounding like he was about to scribble something in a small notebook titled The Truth About Sunghoon.

Meanwhile, Taehyun was sitting at the dining table, lazily spinning a bottle of sunscreen between his fingers as he watched the scene across the room unfold like a particularly awkward teen drama.

Yeonjun, still in denial about the existence of Jay, was trying to impress Yunjin. Badly. He was leaning against the kitchen counter like a man who thought eyeliner gave him emotional depth, waxing poetic about the lore of My Chemical Romance. All this while very much showing how inexperienced he was with girls.

“I mean, you think The Black Parade is about death,” he said, gesturing with his iced coffee like it was a wand. “But really, it’s about transformation. It’s theatrical nihilism wrapped in post-traumatic catharsis.”

Taehyun blinked. “Did you just say ‘post-traumatic catharsis’ out loud?”

Yeonjun ignored him.

Yunjin sipped her drink with one eyebrow raised. “Interesting. Do you also analyze Fall Out Boy lyrics in your free time?”

Yeonjun straightened his already aggressively unbuttoned shirt. “Only when I’m feeling vulnerable.”

Outside, the sun blazed golden and bright, the air thick with salt and sunscreen. Waves crashed in the distance. Laughter echoed from the porch. Inside the beach house, it smelled faintly of coconut shampoo, watermelon popsicles, and summertime. That strange little pocket of time—full of Ben 10 shorts, shadow-dwelling maybe-vampires, and musical lore debates—summer was alive and thriving.

The front door burst open before the car had even stopped.

"THEY'RE HERE!" Jake’s voice rang out like a battle horn.

The porch erupted.

“Finally!” Jake called, bursting through the front door like someone had just announced free concert tickets. “We were starting to think Jungwon panicked halfway here and abandoned the car on the side of the road.”

He swung the screen door open dramatically as Y/N stepped up onto the porch, grinning.

“Nah,” she said, adjusting her sunglasses. “He just did that thing he always does when he’s nervous driving.”

“Let me guess,” Jake replied. “He ran a red light and whispered ‘we ride at dawn’ under his breath?”

“Worse,” Giselle added, climbing the porch steps behind her and immediately accepting a margarita from Karina, who looked like a beach goddess casually moonlighting as a bartender. “He sped ten miles over the limit and prayed to the spirit of cruise control.”

“He also yelled ‘vibe shift!’ during a left turn,” Y/N said.

From inside the house came a muffled voice: “IT WAS A U-TURN AND I WAS BEING ASSERTIVE.”

“We’re alive,” Giselle offered cheerfully. “Barely.”

And then, as if summoned by the summer gods themselves, a figure emerged from the far side of the yard—barefoot, shirtless, and covered in sand and wisdom.

Niki.

His hair was windswept. A leaf was stuck to his collarbone. He carried a bundle of driftwood in one hand and a mango in the other, as if they were equally important tools in his communion with the elements.

“I have returned,” he said solemnly. “I searched the dunes. The crabs spoke to me. They said, ‘The druid has arrived.’”

There was a beat of silence.

Then—

From the open, Heeseung, already inside, stuck his head out. “That’s me.”

“Oh no” Soobin whispered.

Everyone turned.

Heeseung shrugged like it was obvious. “I’m the druid.”

Niki gasped, eyes shining. “I knew it.”

“I mean, I’m not physically trained,” Heeseung added. “But I dabble.”

Niki cried, dropping to one knee. “He sees the ley lines.”

“I actually do,” Heeseung said. “They run under the living room. That’s why the Wi-Fi sucks there.”

Sunoo groaned. “You’ve known him for five seconds, and you’ve already enabled him.”

Beomgyu grinned. “And it’s beautiful.”

“Can someone please stop this?” Taehyun asked, already regretting everything.

“No,” Karina replied, sipping from her cup. “This is gold.”

Jake clapped his hands like a kindergarten teacher trying to wrangle chaos. “Okay, now that the forest druid has been identified and all parties are here, let’s talk room assignments!”

Soobin froze.

The group shuffled toward the living room like a pack of over-caffeinated toddlers. Chips crunched underfoot. Hueningkai was still dragging a cardboard box labeled “Essential Items” (which everyone knew was full of dice and plushies). The windows were cracked open and the scent of sunscreen, ocean air, and seven different types of snacks swirled together into something uniquely beach house-y.

“Alright,” Jake said, hopping up onto the coffee table with the natural confidence of a man who had absolutely orchestrated something. “Since some of us,” he gave a dramatic look at Soobin’s group, “decided to arrive fashionably late, we took the liberty of figuring out rooms for you guys.”

“That’s not suspicious at all,” Y/N said, crossing her arms.

Soobin stood behind her, arms stiff at his sides, trying not to look like he was on the verge of passing out.

“You’re gonna love it,” Beomgyu added, already cracking up.

“He is gonna love it so bad it hurts” Sunoo offered with a wink.

Karina raised her hand like she was testifying. “And it encourages emotional growth and narrative development.”

Soobin’s stomach flipped.

No. No, no, no. He knew that tone. That was the same tone Heeseung used when introducing a D&D quest that started with “you enter the cave” and ended with everyone on fire.

Yunjin looked directly at Soobin. “You trust us, right?”

He blinked. “I—uh—what?”

Jake held up his phone like he was reading a sacred text.“Room One: Me and Sunoo. Room Two: Jay and Jungwon. Room Three: Karina, Yunjin, Niki and Giselle. Room Four: Yeonjun, Taehyun, Sunghoon. Room Five: Heeseung, Hueningkai, Leehan and Beomgyu. And...”

He paused.

Soobin’s heartbeat spiked.

“Room Six…” Jake grinned, “...Y/N and Soobin.”

Soobin forgot how to breathe.

The world tilted slightly. Oh, so this is how I die.

“I’m sorry—what,” he said, voice cracking like he was being hit with puberty all over again.

“Oh my god,” Beomgyu cackled. “He’s actually going to short-circuit.”

“I knew he’d react like this,” Sunghoon whispered from the shadows.

Y/N tilted her head. “Is it a problem?”

“No! I mean—yes. I mean—” Soobin looked around wildly. “Did you guys roll dice for this? Flip a coin? Use a cursed artifact?”

“We voted,” Jake said proudly. “Democracy is alive and well.”

Y/N smirked, slinging her bag over her shoulder. “Well, I’m chill with it.”

That did not help.

Soobin was currently going through all five stages of grief in the span of thirty seconds.

He had never shared a room with a girl before. Not in real life. Not in fanfiction. Not in his most terrifying dreams. And now it was Y/N. Y/N. The human embodiment of everything lovely and terrifying. The girl who made him forget his name on a daily basis and smell citrus shampoo every time she passed by. The girl who had smiled at him once and singlehandedly rebooted his will to live.

And now he was supposed to... sleep in the same room as her?

He was going to die.

Heeseung clapped him on the back. “Just remember to breathe through your nose.”

“Okay, okay,” Jake waved them toward the stairs. “Off you go. The room has an ocean view, good Wi-Fi, and a decent lock in case Niki tries to commune with the sea spirit again.”

Niki, from the corner: “Gerald Two is sacred. Respect his journey.”

Beomgyu smiled at him, nodding to Leehan. “You two are gonna have a blast together.”

The group had mostly dispersed by now—Sunoo and Giselle were already raiding the snack cabinet, Jay and Jungwon were arguing over who got the top bunk, and Karina was doing a room inspection like she was reviewing a five-star hotel. The chaos shifted to background noise, like the house itself had swallowed everyone into their respective corners.

Soobin stood frozen on the stairs.

Still reeling.

Still sweating.

Still very much processing the fact that he was about to share a room—with a single bed—with Y/N.

Y/N, who was currently chatting with Yunjin near the hallway, totally unfazed. Casual. Effortlessly cool, like this was nothing to her. Like this wasn’t a monumental, earth-shattering shift in the gravitational pull of Soobin’s entire life.

He leaned toward Heeseung, lowering his voice to a whisper so no one else would hear.

“What if I snore?” he hissed. “What if I kick in my sleep? What if I say something weird like—like ‘critical hit’ or something?!”

Heeseung, who was already peeling open Jay's protein bar –which, to be fair, he thought it was a chocolate bar– with the calm of someone watching a nervous breakdown in 4K, blinked once. “You definitely will.” He then choked on the said protein bar, cause of course he never tried something so healthy.

Soobin groaned.

Because yes—he had talked in his sleep before. Once during a D&D weekend, he’d mumbled a full recap of the campaign arc in his dreams. They’d never let him live it down. What if it happened now? What if he rolled over at 3 a.m. and whispered “perception check” into her ear?

What if he drooled?

What if she had, like, pajamas that made her look cute and cozy and unreasonably perfect and he forgot how to sleep entirely?

Heeseung leaned against the railing, grinning. “Soobin. You’re spiraling.”

“No,” Soobin whispered, eyes wide. “I’m just—falling off a cliff internally.”

“Same thing.”

Soobin looked over at Y/N again. She’d already picked up her bag, smiling at something Sunghoon said. Her laugh was easy and bright, like she was already at home here.

She wasn’t nervous.

He was the only one nervous.

He was the only one having a full psychological collapse about shared bed proximity and the way her shampoo smelled like citrus and sunshine and emotional risk.

Heeseung clapped him gently on the shoulder. “Just don’t moan her name while you sleep.”

“Please don’t make this weird,” Soobin begged.

“It’s already weird,” Heeseung said. “Lean into it.”

Soobin dragged his suitcase up the last few stairs like it weighed a thousand pounds, heart pounding like it was trying to punch through his ribcage.

There was still time to fake a leg injury.

Or a spontaneous vow of celibate solitude that required him to sleep outdoors for spiritual reasons.

But then Y/N turned around and met his eyes—just for a second—and smiled. Not a smug smile. Just... soft. Like she already knew he was having an internal meltdown and had chosen not to call him out on it.

And somehow, that made it worse.

He was, very possibly, going to say ‘dexterity saving throw’ in his sleep while absolutely falling in love with her all over again.

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Room Six was down the hall, last door on the left. It had a little seashell hanging from the handle and a hand-written sign Beomgyu had taped to it that said “DO NOT HAUNT. IN USE.”

Soobin internally groaned.

Y/N opened the door first, humming. “Wow. It’s actually cute.”

Soobin hovered behind her, carrying his duffel bag like a man delivering a bomb. The room was cute. Wooden floors. A window cracked open to let in the ocean breeze. String lights hung loosely across the ceiling like a constellation map, probably Sunoo’s doing. The bed—a single queen-sized fortress of imminent doom—sat neatly against the far wall, draped in soft white sheets and a stupidly cozy-looking blanket.

One bed.

Confirmed.

No escape.

Y/N dropped her bag at the foot of the bed, then flopped down face-first with a sigh. “This house smells like sunscreen and Malibu Liquor. I love it.”

Soobin stood in the doorway, frozen. “Y-you’re okay with the bed?”

She rolled over to look at him. “I mean, unless you snore like a tractor or plan on doing medieval wizard chants in your sleep, I think we’ll survive.”

He blinked. “Define medieval wizard chants.”

Y/N grinned. “You’ve said ‘Avengers Assemble’ in your sleep before. Don’t deny it.”

“I HAVE NOT.”

“You have vibes, Soobin.”

Soobin closed the door behind him, cautiously, like the act itself sealed some sort of romantic pact. He dropped his bag beside hers and hovered awkwardly, eyes flicking to the bed, then away, then back again like it might attack him.

“Do you want the left side?” he asked. “Or the right? Or... the floor? I can sleep on the floor. It’s not weird. People do it in, like, movies. For honor.”

She tilted her head, amused. “You think sleeping on hardwood floors is honorable?”

“Maybe?”

“You’re not sleeping on the floor, Soobin.”

Soobin blushed. “I just… didn’t want to assume.”

She patted the mattress beside her. “We’re adults. And besides, it’s big enough. Look—we could lie down right now and probably not even touch.”

He absolutely could not lie down right now. And if he could, he was even more certain he couldn't help but touch her.

Instead, he busied himself unpacking like his life depended on sock organization. Why the hell would he bring so many socks to the beach? “Okay, uh… I brought snacks. And chargers. And toothpaste. Two. In case one of them… explodes.”

She sat up, cross-legged. “That’s very responsible of you.”

“I was a Boy Scout,” he mumbled, still digging through his duffel. “Until they kicked me out for accidentally lighting a marshmallow on fire inside a tent.”

Y/N laughed. “That actually explains a lot.”

She stood, stretching like a cat in the sunlight, arms raised above her head, hoodie riding up just enough to reveal a sliver of skin. Her hair fell lazily over one shoulder, catching the afternoon glow that poured in through the window, and when she smiled—soft and effortless—it hit Soobin like a slow-moving train.

It was a mistake to look up. A crucial, life-altering, heart-rate-spiking mistake.

Because she was beautiful.

Not the kind of beautiful you see in movies—though, to be fair, she could have been cast as the love interest in every film he’d ever secretly cried to, Star Wars included. No, it was worse than that. She was the kind of beautiful that made time hiccup. The kind that made your breath catch even when you already knew how pretty she was. Somehow, she just kept doing it, reminding him every second of how beautiful she was. Reminding him of the things she does–being real, being close, being so her—and it wrecked him all over again.

And that smile. That soft, summer-laced curve of her lips like she had no idea what she was doing to him—or maybe she did.

Soobin’s heart launched into his throat, bouncing around like it wanted out. His brain short-circuited. His soul ascended briefly to heaven.

Because she wasn’t just pretty.

She was the girl he’d kissed on a porch under a summer sky and in his bed after noticing the way he organized his shelves.

And he hadn’t stopped thinking about it since.

Not for one second.

The way she’d leaned in with that quiet certainty. The way her hand had cupped his cheek like she meant it. He’d replayed it every night like it was his favorite scene in a movie he wasn’t supposed to watch more than once. He’d kissed a pillow in embarrassment later. He’d questioned reality. He’d almost texted Yeonjun about it at 3 a.m. before remembering he already panicked to him before

Soobin memorized every part of her he could touch, while in his bed, alone, couldn't stop wondering about the ones he hadn't touched yet.

And now she was here. In the same room. The same bed.

Soobin could feel himself spiraling.

Would she want to kiss him again?

Did she even remember it the same way?

Would something happen tonight? Would they... would she—

She caught him staring.

Her brows lifted, head tilting with a mix of curiosity and something almost teasing. “What?”

His throat dried instantly.

His first instinct was to panic. His second was to dive under the bed. But somewhere, buried under five layers of anxiety and social ineptitude, a flash of boldness sparked through.

And before he could stop himself—before his brain could scream ABORT, ABORT,—

Soobin said it.

“You look so, so, so pretty.”

It came out soft. Honest. A little breathless.

She blinked.

He blinked back.

His stomach dropped. Oh god.

But then—slowly—she smiled.

Not just smiled. Smiled in that way. The kind that curled at the edges. The kind that made her eyes crinkle just a little. The kind that made Soobin’s blood pressure skyrocket.

“Yeah?” she said, voice low, just slightly amused.

Soobin could only nod, his mouth suddenly too dry to function. “Yeah. I mean—you always do. It’s just... you. Right now. With the sun. And... you.”

Dear diary, today I died.

Just as Y/N was about to say something else, Jay’s voice thundered from downstairs,

"Drop whatever you're doing! I don't care what it is—sun’s out, we got drinks and it's beach time! You can continue your little romance later!"

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The sun was dipping low in the sky by the time they all made it to the beach — the kind of late afternoon light that made everything look cinematic, like the world itself was glowing from the inside out. That golden hour glow stretched across the shore like a soft filter, painting their skin in honeyed tones and turning every movement into something worth remembering.

The sand was still warm beneath their feet, heat clinging to it from the day, soft and fine like powdered sugar. It squished between their toes, clung to the hems of shorts, and crept into every flip-flop with committed mischief. The ocean glittered just ahead, stretching out into an endless watercolor of deep blue and copper, waves curling gently toward the shore like the sea was sighing in contentment.

Seagulls cried overhead, not obnoxiously, but like a distant part of the soundtrack — and somewhere down the beach, a radio played a muffled Pitbull track from someone else’s beach towel kingdom.

The air smelled like summer itself: sea salt and coconut sunscreen, watermelon seltzers cracked open with fizzing enthusiasm, and the faintest trace of charcoal from grills scattered further down the coast. The breeze carried it all, lifting loose strands of hair, making T-shirts flutter, and rustling the beach umbrellas like oversized flowers shaking in the wind.

It was chaotic. Loud. Alive.

Towels were flung in random formations, coolers popped open with the hiss of carbonation and shouts of "WHO PACKED THE VODKA GUMMY BEARS," and bags were dumped in the sand with reckless glee. Someone had already lost a flip-flop. Someone else had claimed a seagull made eye contact with them—it was Hueningkai.

And into that golden, buzzing, too-perfect-to-be-real moment came this group — all of them, dragging laughter and drama and sunscreen-sticky hands, the kind of group that left footprints in the sand and changed the temperature of the space they occupied. It felt like a movie. A summer episode. Something you’d remember long after the tan lines faded.

Sunghoon stood under a giant umbrella he had speared dramatically into the sand, wrapped in a towel like a vampire in exile.

“I’m burning,” he said.

“You’re fine,” said Yeonjun, who was already shirtless and halfway buried in the sand by Taehyun, who claimed it was "for thermal regulation."

“My skin is hissing, listen you can actually hear it,” Sunghoon continued, eyes narrowed at the horizon. “This is how it starts. A freckle. Then spontaneous combustion.”

“Okay Edward Cullen,” Yunjin muttered. “You’re wearing like SPF 180.”

“I don’t trust it.”

Meanwhile, Hueningkai proudly marched across the sand like a tiny, hyper-focused general, wearing his Ben 10 swim trunks like ceremonial armor and holding a massive Pokémon beach towel above his head like a battle flag.

“Ben Tennyson is canonically the most powerful character in fiction,” he declared, loudly and to no one in particular.

From a few feet away, Heeseung, who was currently crouched behind a poorly constructed sand barricade, stuck his head out like a soldier in a foxhole. “We’ve been over this,” he said. “Twice. In two group chats. And during your birthday party.”

“AND YOU’VE YET TO REFUTE ME WITH FACTS,” Hueningkai yelled, planting his towel into the sand like he was claiming territory.

Beomgyu, who was lying flat on his stomach beside a growing sand mound, like a soldier on a barricade, turned his head. “Did you seriously bring that towel just for this moment?”

“I bring it everywhere,” Hueningkai replied, dead serious. “For moments just like this.”

“Ben 10 is literally just a dude with a watch,” Jay said, walking past them and adjusting his sunglasses. “He’s a guy with Google Maps for aliens.”

Hueningkai gasped. “Slander. You speak lies Mr. Jawline.”

“I’m just saying, Goku would fold him like laundry.”

Hueningkai seemed to consider this for a second, perhaps rich boy with a Rolex in the sand had just made a valid point.

“Goku is kinda unbeatable,” Y/N offered, flopping onto a towel nearby and sipping from a juice pouch like this was cable TV. “But Ben’s transformation montage? Top tier.”

“I respect the alien drip,” Soobin said thoughtfully.

“You know what? Thank you,” Hueningkai pointed dramatically at him. “Real recognize real.”

Soobin gave a half-wave, unsure what he had just agreed to.

That's when the real battle exploded next to them.

“YOU STOLE MY SHOVEL,” Beomgyu bellowed, leaping to his feet with sand clinging to his elbows like war paint.

“It’s a communal shovel you asshole,” Heeseung yelled back, wielding said shovel like a sword. “You left it unattended. Possession is nine-tenths of the sand law!”

“COMMUNAL THIS—!” Beomgyu shouted, launching a sandball directly at Heeseung’s chest. It disintegrated mid-air like a soggy comet.

“YOU THROW LIKE A LEVEL ONE ELF,” Heeseung cackled, dodging behind a beach umbrella.

From across the dunes, Jake came sprinting in like a referee who had lost control of the match 40 minutes ago. His T-shirt was tied around his head like a pirate bandana, and he held a mostly empty cooler in one hand. “STOP! YOU’RE GETTING SAND IN THE DRINKS!”

“I SWEAR BY THE MOON,” Heeseung screamed, holding the shovel aloft, “I WILL BURY HIM.”

“YOU CAN’T BURY ME IF I BECOME THE SEA,” Beomgyu shouted, sprinting toward the ocean like a man possessed.

“Oh my god,” Y/N whispered, laughing so hard she was wheezing. “I feel like I’m watching the live-action reboot of Finding Nemo, but every character is The Joker”

“I think they’re just reenacting their battle fantasies,” Soobin muttered, brushing sand off his knee. “Through interpretive beach violence.”

“Are we helping?” Jay asked. “I'm new at nerd territory”

“Not even a little,” Soobin replied.

“Perfect.”

Meanwhile, Karina and Giselle sat cross-legged on their towels with the air of queens observing a carnival, sipping canned margaritas while Leehan crouched in front of them with a horseshoe crab in his hand like it was a sacred artifact.

“So this one’s technically not a crab,” he said, adjusting his bucket hat with academic precision. “It’s more closely related to spiders. Isn’t that amazing?”

“Is it venomous?” Giselle asked, eyeing it like it might explode.

“No.”

“Then it’s adorable,” Karina said. “He’s shaped like a friend.”

“It’s a she,” Leehan corrected. “Her tail is thinner. Also, she probably predates the dinosaurs.”

“Kind of iconic,” Giselle said. “A woman with prehistoric energy? Love that.”

“I wish I was her,” Karina added. “I, too, want to vibe in the ocean for 400 million years.”

Niki crouched beside them, wide-eyed. “Does it have healing properties?”

“Biologically? No,” Leehan said. “But spiritually? Possibly.”

“So we can’t train it,” Niki said, disappointed. “Unless…?”

“Don’t encourage him,” Y/N said as Niki ran off yelling something about building a sea wizard army.

Off to the side of the chaos, where the sand was cooler and the wind rustled the beach grass just enough to make it dramatic, Taehyun had now established what could only be described as a pop-up magic lounge.

There was no sign.

No announcement.

Just Taehyun, cross-legged on a beach towel, slowly shuffling a deck of cards with the deadly precision of someone who’d spent way too many Friday nights alone in front of YouTube tutorials.

In front of him sat Sunoo, Jungwon, and Yunjin, his victims, all with various degrees of skepticism and mild curiosity. Sunoo had a margarita in hand. Jungwon was already squinting like he was being scammed. Yunjin had pulled her sunglasses down her nose and was watching like it was the pre-show to a roast.

“Pick a card,” Taehyun said calmly, fanning the deck out like a professional.

Sunoo leaned in dramatically, plucking one with flourish. “It’s gonna be the best card.”

“Don’t let me see it.”

“Duh.”

Taehyun closed the fan, tapped the deck twice on the towel like it was sacred. “Now... place it back.”

Sunoo slipped the card into the deck with exaggerated suspicion. “If you pull this off, I’ll buy you a churro.”

“I don’t want a churro,” Taehyun said. “I want respect.”

Yunjin snorted.

Taehyun began shuffling.

Not normal shuffling.

No, this was elaborate, showy, magician shuffling — bridge shuffles, one-handed cuts, the kind of stuff that looked unnecessary but somehow deeply impressive.

“You practiced that in a mirror,” Jungwon said.

“For weeks,” Taehyun replied solemnly. “I have a performance alter ego.”

Sunoo’s eyes widened. “You what?”

“His name is Thaedini the Subtle.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

Yunjin started choking on her drink. “Thaedini.”

“Don’t disrespect the art,” Taehyun said seriously, dealing out cards in a perfectly straight line like a wizard accountant.

“Are you gonna pull a dove out of your pocket next?” Jungwon asked.

“Can’t. It’s illegal without a permit,” Taehyun said, deadly serious. “Also I’m allergic.”

“Okay, wait,” Sunoo said, pointing. “You’re telling me there’s a government form for bird magic?”

Taehyun raised one eyebrow. “Do your research.”

He picked up the deck again. One more shuffle. Then he paused. Looked Sunoo dead in the eyes.

“Your card,” he said, “was the Queen of Hearts.”

Sunoo’s jaw dropped. “NO.”

Taehyun flipped it around slowly—like it had emerged from another dimension—and held it up.

It was, in fact, the Queen of Hearts.

Sunoo screamed.

Jungwon dropped his drink.

Yunjin actually stood and backed away like she’d witnessed dark sorcery.

Taehyun just nodded once. “Thaedini never misses.”

“DO IT AGAIN,” Sunoo shrieked. “I TRUST NOTHING.”

“You said you didn’t want a churro,” Jungwon said, shaking his head.

“I lied,” Taehyun said. “I want power.”

“Okay, but how did you do it,” Yunjin demanded.

“I’ll never tell.”

Sunoo flopped backwards in the sand, hands over his face. “He’s going to haunt me. I know he is.”

Taehyun carefully slid the deck back into its satin pouch like it was a cursed object, then calmly reached for a juice box. “Next show’s at sunset.”

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂

The beach house was quiet now — or as quiet as it could get with fifteen people slowly melting into beds, couches, and spare corners like sun-drenched puddles of exhaustion. The floor creaked under flip-flopless feet. Towels were draped over chairs, swimsuits hung on doorknobs, and sand had somehow made its way into every room like a clingy friend no one had invited but everyone tolerated.

The air smelled like salt and sunscreen and faint hints of charcoal from the abandoned grill. Someone’s speaker still played a lo-fi beat from the porch, looping softly under the hush of ocean waves just beyond the windows. The kind of hush that made your limbs heavy. That golden, giddy energy from earlier had simmered down into something quieter. Drowsier. People were laughing in half-sentences, brushing their teeth slowly, slipping into pajamas and collapsing wherever gravity was strongest.

Soobin stood frozen in the doorway of Room Six, blinking at the glow of string lights and the bed that was somehow smaller than it had looked that morning. Everything about the room felt warmer. Closer. Like it had absorbed the sun, the salt, and the knowledge that he was about to sleep beside Y/N — the girl he was hopelessly in love with. How the hell did he get here?

She was already inside. Sitting on the edge of the bed, her legs tucked under her, hoodie swapped for a tank top, hair up in that casual way that sent actual neurons in Soobin’s brain into chaos. She looked tired in the best way — soft and sun-kissed, skin still glowing faintly from the afternoon light. Her voice was quiet when she looked up and said, “You survived the first day in the wild.”

Soobin nodded, heart thudding. “Barely.”

“Wanna sit?” she asked, patting the bed beside her.

He did. He sat.

Technically.

He perched, really — stiff-backed, knees together, looking like one of those inflatables on the side of the road that you just know shouldn't exist.

Y/N laughed under her breath and turned to face him. “You look like you’re about to recite the Pythagorean theorem. You're overthinking.”

“I just—” he rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s a very... cozy bed.”

She tilted her head. “Is that a problem?”

“No,” he said quickly. Too quickly. “I just don’t want to, like, make you uncomfy. Or take too much space. Or breathe weird.”

“You can breathe, Soobin.”

He blinked. “Are you sure?”

She leaned a little closer. “I’ve seen you asleep on the manga shop beanbags. You snore when you're comfortable.”

His soul briefly left his body. “Oh my god.”

“But,” she said, smile turning slightly wicked, “it’s kind of cute.”

Soobin’s brain short-circuited. His heart was trying to burst through his chest with a small mallet. His knee twitched nervously.

She looked at him then — really looked — and something shifted in the air.

The kind of shift that came with shadows and lowered voices, with soft lighting and bare shoulders, with a bed too small for distance and too big for denial.

Y/N reached out, brushing a piece of hair from his face — slow, casual, lethal.

Soobin inhaled like someone had punched the wind into him.

“You’re nervous,” she said softly.

He nodded. “Extremely.”

“Want me to back off?”

He swallowed. “No.”

She smiled.

And for a moment, they just looked at each other — no rush, no noise, just the hum of string lights, the distant sea, and the kind of awareness that vibrated like tension in a taut wire.

Y/N shifted closer, until her knee touched his.

Until her hand rested on his thigh — light, easy, but full of potential.

Soobin’s hands stayed in his lap, fingers twitching. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“Not tonight,” she whispered.

He finally turned toward her — fully, finally — and something about the way she was watching him, all softness and spark, gave him a flicker of courage. He reached up, brushing her cheekbone lightly with his knuckles, and her eyes fluttered half-closed at the touch. Like she felt it too.

“You’re doing that thing again,” she said, voice low.

“What thing?” he asked, already dizzy.

“The way you look at me. Like I’m going to vanish.”

He blinked. “Well. You do look kind of unreal right now.”

She let out a quiet laugh, flopping back on the bed, one hand folded under her cheek as she looked up at him. “Oh, please.”

“I’m serious,” he whispered, lying down to face her, their noses barely a breath apart. “This feels like a fever dream. Just like the one I had every night since we kissed on that porch.”

She grinned. “Do you have dreams about me Soobin?”

“Every damn day I dream of you.”

He hesitated for half a second before gently threading his fingers through hers.

The room shifted again— just a little. The air. The light. His heart rate. His heart rate was skyrocketing.

“You’re very warm,” he said.

“That’s the sunburn.”

“No,” he said, looking at her mouth. “I think it's just you.”

A beat of silence. Her smile turned teasing.

“Are you flirting with me, Choi Soobin?”

“I’m trying,” he whispered.

“You’re doing great,” she said, brushing her thumb over his knuckles. “Ten out of ten. Very romantic. Would kiss.”

Oh.

Oh no.

Soobin’s heart tripped over itself, slammed into his ribs, and exploded into oblivion.

He swallowed. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she said, eyes darting to his lips, her voice barely a whisper now. “You gonna?”

And that was all he needed.

Nerves and all, he leaned in — slowly, reverently — like he was afraid the moment would slip away if he moved too fast. His hand cupped the side of her face, thumb brushing just below her ear, and when their lips finally touched—

He stopped thinking entirely and it felt like he could breathe again.

She was soft. And warm. And tasted faintly like watermelon and salt and something sweet he couldn’t name but already wanted again.

Soobin kissed her like a secret.

Like he didn’t know what he was doing, but he did know he didn’t want to stop.

One of his hands slid down, resting cautiously on her waist, fingers barely pressing into the fabric of her tank top. He felt her smile against his lips — playful and steady — and her fingers tugged lightly at the hem of his T-shirt like a dare.

She kissed him back with slow confidence, like she had all the time in the world to unravel him.

And she was.

His mind was swimming — too much, too good, too close — and still, his hand moved on instinct, brushing her side, dragging fingertips up the curve of her back, slipping beneath the edge of her shirt just enough to feel her skin.

She was fire.

And he was very much not surviving this.

He was throbbing in pain as he could feel all the blood in his body go to his pants. And he was sure she felt it too.

He pulled back just enough to breathe, eyes searching hers, voice so quiet it was almost a prayer. “This okay?”

Y/N smiled — the kind of smile that would ruin other smiles for him forever.

“More than okay.”

So he kissed her again.

This time, deeper. Slower. His body trembling with restraint he wasn’t sure he could maintain for too long, every brush of skin sending sparks down his spine. Her hand slid to his jaw, thumb grazing the corner of his mouth like she was learning him by touch.

Soobin wasn’t sure when he stopped breathing and started floating.

It could’ve been the moment her fingers found the hem of his shirt again, tugging just enough to make him dizzy. Or maybe it was when her mouth opened under his, soft and welcoming, tasting like heat and summer and something sweeter than anything he’d ever been allowed to want.

His hand found her hip — then her waist — then crept slowly, cautiously up her back. Each inch of skin he touched felt like forbidden territory. He’d only imagined this kind of closeness in half-formed dreams, ones he woke from too quickly, heart pounding, face flushed, mouth dry.

But now she was here.

Real.

Moving with him like they’d done this a hundred times before — like this wasn’t new, or terrifying, or something that would live in the soft-focus corner of his memory forever.

She shifted in his lap, straddling him with ease, and his hands immediately flew to her hips to steady her. Not because she was unbalanced — no, she was impossibly sure of herself — but because he needed grounding.

“Still good?” she whispered between kisses, her breath skating across his jaw.

Soobin nodded, speechless. His hands squeezed her hips once in response, and she giggled — not mockingly, but like she was genuinely delighted by the fact that he was so thoroughly wrecked.

And he was.

Wrecked, that is.

He kissed down her jaw, tentative but hungry, one hand slipping beneath her shirt again — this time bolder, trailing up the smooth warmth of her back, brushing the curve of her spine and then her upper side. Her skin was soft under his fingers, impossibly soft, and he swore his soul tried to exit his body when she shivered at his touch.

She tugged his shirt up — slowly, teasingly — and he let her pull it over his head, suddenly hyperaware of his own skin, his chest, the way her eyes flickered over him with a quiet kind of reverence that made his ears burn.

Then Y/N slowly took her own shirt off.

Soobin just stared, heavily breathing.

The string lights cast a soft glow around her. Her hair was slightly mussed, lips kiss-bitten, cheeks flushed from the heat of them. She looked at him like she’d never wanted anything more in her life — and like she already had it.

Soobin's hands rested on her thighs now, fingers splayed, and he realized with a rush of nervous wonder that she was letting him touch her like this. That she wanted him like this.

“Soobin” she murmured seemed lost in him.

He made a strangled noise, reaching for her. “You’re driving me crazy”

She smiled, pressing her lips to his collarbone. “Please, touch me.”

And he did. He touched her like he had been dreaming for days, his hands cupping her like he couldn't believe his life, couldn't believe she was real. Because how could she be?

When he thought he was finally able to calm his heartbeat, she let out the softest whimper, just as he reached a sensitive area of her chest. He moaned to the sound of her, already certain he would replay it for a lifetime in his head.

Y/N shifted.

Her kisses traveled lower — down his throat, across his shoulder, lingering just long enough to make him lose all rational thought. His fingers were on her waist, gripping tighter now, like he was scared she’d float away.

Then she leaned back — just enough — and pulled away from him.

Soobin blinked, breath ragged, already missing her warmth.

But then she shifted again — onto her knees — kneeling in front of him on the bed.

prev | masterlist | next

profiles: d&d saturday mass group | bling bling losers

author's note: hey yoooooo! happy late night posting from where i'm from hehe first chapter of the beach arc is here!! i think the car ride to the beach house might be the funniest thing i've ever written idk!! BUT ANYWAYSSS what do you guys think about his chapter?? hehehehe i'm giggling kicking my feet omg that was unexpected right? I couldn't resist including the one bed situation! please let me know in the comments <3 also reblogs are appreciated! thank you so much as alwaysss

taglist: @heejamas @mingyustar @wintereals @mimimiloomeelomi @wonderstrucktae @delirioastral @gomdoleemyson @i03jae @irishspringing @bunniwords @kirbrary @sirenla @saladgirl @beomieeeeeeeeeeees @uvyuri @imlonelydontsendhelp @haechology @sanriwoozzz @stormy1408 @soobinieswife @ijustwannareadstuff20 @soobskz @jkeydiary @imnotsureokay @nyanzzn @lostgirlysstuff @lilbrorufr @beomgyusluver@lveegsoi@pagesoobinie @catpjimin @t-102 @sh0dor1 @i-am-not-dal @bbeomgyucafe @damn-u-min-yoongi @https-yeonjun @booksxandxlace @kookssecret @jellyyjn @soobinz-wife @dazeymazey11

#txt au #txt #txt fluff #txt x reader #soobin #choi soobin #txt x female reader #txt smau #soobin smau #soobin x reader #soobin x you #txt fake texts #txt imagines #soobin imagines

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lyn31 · 3 months ago

Text

Customize AI

Summary

Zayne’s AI assistant was supposed to be a neutral, professional system—until you got your hands on it.

Notes

My Masterlist ✨

Pairing: Zayne x MC/Reader Fluff, short, silly, banter, messing around with his tech.

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

You don’t usually get access to Zayne’s personal systems—he’s careful, precise, and, frankly, a little scary when it comes to his tech. But today, for reasons beyond your comprehension, he left his AI assistant unlocked.

A normal person would respect his privacy.

You, however, are not a normal person.

So you tweak a few settings—nothing destructive, just a little... enhancement—and then you sit back and wait.

A while later, Zayne is at his desk, working as usual. You pretend to be absorbed in your own task, sneaking glances at him.

"Run system diagnostics," he commands.

The AI beeps to life. "Sure thing, bestie! Running diagnostics just for you~"

You slap a hand over your mouth.

Zayne blinks. There’s a noticeable pause before he speaks again. "...What?"

The AI continues in a disturbingly cheerful tone. "Oh my~! Looks like everything is functioning at 100%, just like your perfect bone structure, Doctor Handsome!"

You wheeze.

Zayne slowly turns his chair to face you. His expression is unreadable, but there’s something vaguely exhausted in his eyes. "...What did you do?"

You barely manage to choke out words through your laughter. "I—just—personalized it a little!"

He exhales sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Revert it."

"Why? It’s so flattering!"

He ignores you and tries again. "Open encrypted files."

"Of course, Zayne! You're so kind and cool, I would do anything for you~"

You actually fall over this time.

Zayne just stares at his screen, visibly regretting every decision that led him to this moment.

You sit back, arms crossed, grinning like a troublemaker who absolutely knows they’ve won.

"Reverting system modifications," he states, voice as calm and composed as ever.

His AI assistant beeps. "Oh… Are you sure, Zayne? I mean, your girlfriend worked really hard on this…"

His fingers hover over the console. Just for a second. Barely noticeable—unless you’re you.

Zayne exhales. "Yes."

"Oh. Okay. It’s just… You seemed kinda happy when I called you Doctor Handsome. But if you really want me to stop…"

You snort.

Zayne blinks at the screen, visibly unimpressed. "...Revert."

"Alright. I guess I’ll just go back to being a boring AI with zero personality. That’s fine. Really. I don’t have feelings. I just simulate them. But, y’know, if I did have feelings, they’d be a little hurt right now…"

At this point, you’re actually clutching your stomach, trying not to fall out of your chair again. "Oh my god, I love past me for this."

Zayne rubs his temples, clearly wondering where his life went wrong. "Override all modifications."

"Sigh… Okay, Doctor Cold-Hearted. Deleting your incredibly devoted, stunningly beautiful girlfriend’s heartfelt improvements. But hey, who needs love when you have a ‘perfectly optimized system,’ right? No worries. I’ll just delete myself… forever."

Zayne closes his eyes briefly, exhaling through his nose. You can tell he’s this close to forcibly shutting off the entire AI.

"Would you prefer I left it?" he asks dryly, clearly expecting you to say no.

You grin. "Oh, I know you’re tempted to keep it."

Zayne gives you yet another unimpressed look. Then, instead of responding, he simply turns back to his screen and… closes the settings menu.

Your eyes widen. "Wait. Wait. Did you just—?"

He doesn’t say a word. He just resumes his work like nothing happened. But the fact that he didn’t erase it? Oh, you’re never letting him live this down.

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

Notes

I actually roll over while writing this ahahahahahaha

I was editing to add the rest of the series part but it was too long ahahaha so here's just the whole list: My Masterlist ✨

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mumms-the-word · 4 months ago

Note

I'm not sure when I'll get to play DAO, but if you don't mind sharing your mod list, I would love to save it for when I get to play 🥹

And THANK YOU for the detailed instructions!!

Of course!!

For those catching up, I posted a quick guide to how to fix DAO so that it is playable on PC (it crashes otherwise). If you need a detailed explanation for how to mod on DAO, then I have a doc here that goes into detail, since modding in DAO is confusing and no one explains it well.

My DAO modlist is below the cut!

Essentials

4GB LAA patch compatible DAorigins.exe - Unencrypted .exe file (for the 4GB patch)

4GB Patch - to fix the game

Make CONSOLE commands visible - makes console commands visible

DAO-Modmanager - mod manager that I mostly use if I'm not using override mods

CharGenMorph Compiler - compiler tool for appearance mods (see my guide for how this works)

Bug Fixes/QoL Stuff

Qwinn's Ultimate DAO Fixpack v3.52 - massive bug fix overhaul

Dain's Fixes - caveat, I only use some of these fixes, since some class with Qwinn's pack and others I just don't care about

FtG UI Mod - More Readable Fonts and UI - this plus the next mod helps for when your fancy not-2009-era resolution makes the UI unreasonably small

Nathanael's 4K Resolution Mod - fixes the UI to be bigger

FtG Quickbar - Center and Multi Rows - allows you to customize the UI a little more

Clear Dreams - no blur in the Fade - This plus the next mod if the Fade swirly effects triggers headache/migraine stuff like it does for me (totally optional though, it doesn't bother most people)

Fade Away (Fade Colour Curves) - cuts down on more Fade swirly

No Helmet Hack 1_6 - all and I mean ALL of the hats and helmets in DAO are ugly or annoying, so hide them with this mod

Bug Fixes for Awakening DLC (Optional)

DLC Transfer To Awakening Patch (UPDATED) - fixes the game so that DLC items like weapons transfer into the Awakening DLC

Awakening Silverite Mines Bugfix - fixes a pretty big game-breaking bug in the Awakening DLC

Awakening Blackblade Armor Dragon Drop Fix - super minor Awakening bug fix

Awakening endgame cutscene fixes - another minor Awakening bug fix

Awakening Riot Scene Persuade Fix - another minor Awakening bug fix (someone should bundle these)

Updated Textures/Graphics

Environment Overhaul - cannot recommend enough, it's my favorite texture overhaul

Dragon Age Origins Unofficial Remaster - Updates a lot of items and textures to use DA2 and DAI assets, as a longtime player I love it

Fine Dwarven Craftsmanship - Adds better dwarven textures that the other two mods don't necessarily add

Ultra HD Reshade for Dragon Age... - The reshade/recolors I like (your mileage may vary)

Armors/Clothes

Grey Wardens of Ferelden - dresses all Warden characters in updated warden armor, lets you spawn updated Warden armor

Grey Wardens of Ferelden Retexture - retexture of the Warden armors if you want them

Goblet De-Gobbler - a Joining chalice fix and more - fixes the goblet glitching out if you are wearing modded clothes during your Joining ceremony

Surana Circle Mage Robe - the mage robe I love so much

Surana Mage Robe Retexture - Updates the texture of the Surana mage robe I love

Crow Assassin's Armor for Zevran - cool Crow armor for Zevran

Crow Assassin's Armor Retexture - better textures for the crow armor!

Practical Morrigan Robe - An outfit for Morrigan I really like

Morrigan's Robes Collection - retextures for the Morrigan outfit

Leliana Item Pack - New clothes for Leliana

Leliana Item Pack Fixes - fixes/retextures for those clothes

Loincloth Fashion - more clothes if you want them

RLs Swan Song - Even more clothes (pick and choose individual files, there are WAY too many in here)

Noble Dress Overhaul - If you want the NPC dresses to look nicer (or you get a dress yourself that you want to wear)

Female Noble Clothing Overhaul - totally different NPC dress overhaul

Female Noble Clothing and Noble Dress Overhaul Compatibility Patch - patches the last two mods into one overhaul (it basically reassigns who wears what lmao)

Wynne's Aequitarian Robes - Unique mage robes for Wynne, if you're into that

Male Circle Robe Replacers ( Robes of the void ) - updated mage robes! Guys-only tho

Female Circle Robe Replacers (Bethany Robe Replacer) - updated mage robes, girls only

Hair (So Many Hairs)

DAO - Anto Hairstyles - various hairs

HAIRSTYLE DAY - more various hairs

HAIRSTYLE DAY VOL.2 - even more various hairs

Hairald of Andraste Hairs - individual hairs that you have to add via chargenmorph (I explain how to do this in my mod guide)

Companion/Player/NPC Retextures

Unique Face Textures for Companions DAO Edition - probably my favorite retexture set, but I'll admit, I mess with companion textures myself in the Toolset soooo you may find others you like

Sten of the Beresaad - fave Sten retexture, makes Sten look like a mix of his DAO texture and an updated DA2 texture

Sten - no clothes - if you want a shirtless Sten (goes with the Sten of the Beresaad mod specifically)

Pineappletree s Vibrant Colors - more eye colors for you

Alternative Default Eyes - my favorite eye texture

Lovely Tints - adds more hair colors

Natural Freckle Tattoos and Tints - more skin tones/hair colors plus freckles, but I think you can only use them in the Toolset

Sun's Tints - more eye colors and such!

Mabari Recolours - Origins - recolors your mabari dog!

Tranquil Brand 2.0 - Adds Tranquil brands to Tranquil NPCs

Fun Additions

***Not Recommended for First Playthrough!

Skip the Fade - ***let's you skip a quest that many find annoying

Extra Dog Slot - Let's you summon your dog as a fourth companion

Improved Atmosphere - DO NOT use the whole mod as it will break your game/mess with too much. I only use ONE file and that is the More Party Barks (party_barks.dlg) since it adds more location-specific banter

The Rescue at Ishal - ***adds a cutscene to an early quest, but I only recommend it after finishing the game once since it can be spoilery to later game events

CHANGE YOUR HERO HAIR AND FACE ANYWHERE IN THE GAME - let's you update your warden appearance but, warning, it's kinda a complicated process

Universal Voices - lets any race have any voice

ZevranASAP - ***makes it so that Zevran's encounter with the Warden happens way sooner

Fare ye well Duncan - ***a little minor cutscene added early in the game

DahliaLynn's Sleep Until Dawn - Let's you go to sleep in camp for RP reasons

Alistair's Dark Ritual - ***replaces a late-game cutscene with a new cutscene, Alistair-Romance specific, don't recommend for a first playthrough

DahliaLynn's - Alistair's Nightmare - ***adds a little cutscene to the game, totally extra content

DahliaLynn's - Alistair's First Night Love Scene - ***swaps Alistair's canon romance cutscene for a modded one (your mileage may vary on how much you might like it lol)

Alistair Romance Eavesdropping - ***adds a bench to camp where if you sit on it, you can "overhear" companion banters that are turned into full cutscenes now (it's very cute I won't lie)

I haven't yet dived into Zevran romance mods lol there are some though! And there's plenty more where this comes from, this just happens to be the mod list I use as someone who has played the game a ton and wanted a sort of "overhaul-but-still-true-to-the-heart-of-the-game" modded game.

Anyways enjoy all you modders out there <3

#asks #dragon age #dragon age origins #dao #dao modding #dragon age modding #dao mods #dragon age mods

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mogruith · 4 months ago

Text

BG3 Virtual Photography Supplement: Mods and Resources

Here's some popular and useful mods I use for virtual photography! I will try to update this as I find more. You may find these useful with the rest of my tutorial:

Chapter 0: Overview

Chapter 1: Script Extender Debug Console

Chapter 2: Scene Manipulation

Chapter 2.5: More Scene Manipulation

Chapter 3: Otis_Inf Camera Tools

Supplement: Mods and Resources

Tools

EasyCheat - Teleport to locations near and far, summon armor and items for your characters, clean the dirt off. All at the press of a button!

Lighty Lights - An incredible tool but terribly finicky. Actively being worked on.

Native Camera Tweaks - A Native Mod that allows you to unlock the camera pitch and zoom in and out of combat. It's handy for photo stuff but generally useful.

WASD Character Movement - another Native mod for WASD movement. More precise placement of characters in the field.

Remove Broken Objects - can help clean up sets.

Scribe Object Inspector and Event Logging - sometimes you need to find the IDs of objects in the game. This is an easy way to do it.

Polyamory Mod - can be useful for flag checking but I haven't used it recently. But it may have use for some.

Characters

Full Custom Companions (Hirelings) - have full custom control over hirelings. Great if you wanna add more Tavs to your shots! Have done family portraits for my Tav's family this way, it's so fun!

Recruit any NPC - Make an NPC a playable character. Can be really handy sometimes if you don't wanna do code transformations.

Appearance Edit Enhanced - if you're not using this already, you should be. Modify your characters at any time. Works great with the Custom Hirelings mod.

Transmogs and Spelltheft - identity theft! Another mod that lets you copy the appearance of characters. There was some special case scenario that I used an old version of this but I don't recall what that is anymore. Listing it here anyway.

Ring of Metamorphosis - Another mod for changing your character into several known characters and also INVISIBLE. Being invisible is extremely useful when you start conversations for facial expressions but you don't want another character in the way of a shot.

Effects

Pretty Particles - I've only used this once but if you combine it with Depth of Field, you can use it to get some really pretty bokeh effects. Also, blood and sweat in varying degrees/combinations.

No Annoying VFX - a series of mods that will remove the effects that you may not want for a shot. Like casting glows, glowing armor, UI indicators, among other things.

Posing

Hugs - Hug your companions!! Great for a quick and cute hug that doesn't require any coding.

Kisses - Kiss your companions using anybody animations! For best results cast the spells on a body type that matches up.

Replayable Romance Scenes - what it says on the tin. Romance scenes playable through casting a spell. These cutscenes play in new locations.

Stay Still In Camp and Play Idle Animations Everywhere - basically what it says. Once you switch from a companion to Tav, they won't run back to their tent. They also have some idle animations that are new.

Sit Happens - spawn chairs to sit!

Emotes - Poses and Toggle Walk - TONS of poses to use in the open world. Extremely useful for non-cinematic shots.

Cutscenes

Cut Scene Edits for Better Screenshots - A mod by Moxi that allows for cutscenes to be modified slightly - including forced clothing when you want something custom (shirtless Astarion, for example), removing Karlach's glow from her cutscene, among other things. Take a read through.

Musical Instrument Yeet - Sometimes the instruments pop up in a kiss cutscene and it is really distracting. Remove them with this!

Resources

Moxi's Research Directory - TONS of resources for finding character UUIDs, some copy-pastes ready to modify for scenes, cool locations like Private Camp Rooms and how to get there, Teleport commands. HANDY!

Google Spreadsheet of Tags - for scripting purposes.

Google Spreadsheet of Dialogue Lines - for finding cutscenes you want to script and play.

A few useful ScriptExtender commands.

An In Depth list of Osiris Commands - for advanced use.

LaughingLeader's list of Osiris Commands - another resource for commands.

#mog's bg3 virtual photography tutorial #bg3 #bg3 virtual photography #baldur's gate iii #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 photomode #bg3 photography

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itsabouttimex2 · 11 months ago

Note

you’ve dragged me into the LEGO monkey kid fandom

so I was wondering macaque with a healer kid? If that’s not too much

I’m very sorry but I love your writing

Little Healer Headcanons

Macaque and Ne Zha

(I always love hearing that I got someone into Monkie Kid- it’s one of the things that makes me happiest to read!)

You spend a lot of your time patching this guy up- by design. Since Macaque has an adorable little friend to mend his injuries, why should he temper his powers? The sable simian never bothers to hold back in the slightest.

Macaque goes out of his way to go overboard, knowing that his dear white mage will be there for him with a stave and a worried frown.

Unfortunately for him, it seems to be that you have a longer line of clients and customers than ever before- not that it’s really a surprise.

Someone was on the other side of all those fights he was winning, after all~

And he’s willing to leave a few more bruises if the crowd can’t part for him fast enough- after all, Macaque will always be first in line to receive your services.

And sure, maybe he’ll ignore your squawking and protesting when he forces you to shut down the itty-bitty clinic (probably just an unlicensed street stall) early to get in a good snuggle, “repaying the favor” by tossing you over his shoulder and heading home so he can coddle you like his own child.

He’ll force you to take breaks by jamming stolen handheld consoles into your hands, setting you up with slow turn-based games and decoration simulators to slowly lull you into a cozy sleep- all while resting your head in his lap, of course- he’s gotta get that fatherly skinship in.

Plies you with healthy snacks and fruit-infused water made to keep one’s energy and health up, ensuring that you’ll always be at the top of your game- but only for him, of course!

If you ever do come around to calling him “dad”, he’s going to be over the moon- in his own subtle way.

He’ll sneak into your room late at night, Rumble and Savage casing the perimeter, and… press a soft kiss to your forehead, snap a little tracker-embedded bracelet around your wrist…

And then drag you off the bed and take you home for good.

Oh, he loves you so, so much.

Assuming that you, as a healer, fall into the “white-hearted healing cutie” stereotype, then you are Ne Zha’s de-facto favorite person.

He finally has someone who stays out of trouble and does as told? He finally has someone who listens to his commands and acts when told to act? Someone loyal and sweet and obedient?

Perfect.

“As always,” he says frequently, one hand on your head, “I am proud of your efforts to serve our realm.”

“Thank you,” is your return, polite and curt. It earns you another head pat, though Ne Zha is always careful not to muss your hair.

“Very good. I’ll send in the next soldier.”

This is the life he’s built for you, safe and slow and useful.

And with him by your side the days drift and bleed, every moment of your time micromanaged and utilized.

It’s rare to get a break unless you work yourself to the point of sickness, at which point he’ll tuck you in with a mug of hot tea and a small basket of fruit on the bedside and “Maybe a bowl of those noodles from that mortal store you like, if you behave yourself, Y/N.”

He tries to be sweet and gentle, but Ne Zha still has a temper and is still very stressed out by the stunts of the Monkie Kids- it’s not impossible that he’ll snap and take his anger out on you.

And though this is pretty much the literal worst thing he’d ever do to you (aside from MAYBE a very mild flogging given the Celestial Realm practices that in the novel? It doesn’t fit with his character at all to any degree so I’m split. He seems more like a non-physical lecturer) it still hurts like hell to work so hard and be so good and still get punished for something that wasn’t even your fault.

And Ne Zha feels like trash afterwards but is too proud too apologize, and regardless is too worried that he’d lose his control over you if he treated you like an equal and outright said “sorry”, so he just takes a trip to the mortal realm and buys you something hot and fried.

He’ll wrap the grease-stained paper in a cloth sack to prevent any confused stares that might arise in the Celestial Realm, and book the horrid food down to your room.

Though the quality leaves quite a bit to be desired, and the healthy value makes him want to scream and slap the burger from your hands…

You’ve stopped sniffling.

And that’s enough for him

#Platonic Yandere #Yandere Lego Monkie Kid #Yandere LMK #Yandere Macaque #Yandere Ne Zha #Yandere Nezha #Yandere Headcanons #Yandere Father #Little Healer

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leviathanleva · 1 year ago

Text

Daisy

Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Fem Reader [DARK FIC]

Description: Cooper Howard was not a kind man, he cared for nobody, but himself. Then he found you, a lost little dove, barefoot and crying, torn dress and big innocent eyes staring at him like he was a hero. He knew you’d be a burden, he knew you couldn’t survive in the wasteland, he was doing you a favor.

But he couldn’t pull the fucking trigger...

........................

[MDNI, Mention of Suicide, Smoking, Non-consensual Choking, Alcohol Consumption]

[6.6k words] 🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼

Chapter 9 "The Glass"

Good things never lasted.

You were going to get a bitter reminder of that little fact by the end of the day and looking back, you wished you’d just died the night before when you were happy.

Cooper had left before sunrise, rasped a few commands to stay put and that he wouldn’t be long, to talk to Mitzi if you needed anything and put it on his tab. You’d been too drowsy to consider the anomaly, him leaving you to your leisure, out of his sight for more than a few moments. Your answer had been barely coherent, muffled into the pillow as your body lay squished between the mattress and the ghoul. Sloppy palms had given your plushy hips a few squeezes, a brash peck or two to your shoulder and he was gone.

You awoke properly a few hours later, late into the morning. The bleary memories flooded back, but the warm sunlight and the clinking and buzz of life stirring from the main floor kept the dread from sinking too deep.

He’d be back, you weren’t abandoned, the leathery bandolier discarded on the couch said as much, it eased your uncertainty the moment you’d spotted it behind a curtain of messy hair. And until then, Mitzi would be your consolation. Harmless naivety had you imagining serving customers and clearing up tables while indulging in idle chatter together, counting caps and scribbling orders while immersed in a lighthearted repartee.

After a prolonged yawn and a thorough stretch that earned a few satisfying pops from your back, you slid from beneath the heavy, woolen comforter. Your boots are neatly set on the floor beside the foot of the bed, tights stuffed inside one of them while your socks occupy the other; you fiddle with them, pull them on, and tie them securely.

A peculiar, but not unfamiliar symphony catches your attention and you peek out the window curiously. The huddled, snoozing brahmin from last night are now serenely moping around the front yard, grazing at the scarce weeds that sprout around the vegetable garden or sunbathing on the powdery ground. There’s a person tending the plants, clad in a large straw hat and baggy clothes, ankles deep in mud and with an empty bucket on their hip along with a pair of rusty sheers.

Fingers comb through your hair and pat it down to a barely presentable state before you rub the sleep out of your eyes and roll the stiffness out of your shoulders. Standing, you shake the numbness off and tap the tip of your shoes into the floor to set them in place.

The smell of coffee lingers, sharp and bitter, it leads you through the mouldering corridor and down the creaky stairs, into the bar. The music still plays and the shadowy figures are now nothing more than brooding travelers nurturing either a hangover or sleeplessness. Daytime is less kind to the appearance of the guesthouse, specs of dust can be spotted in the brash sunrays flooding through the windows, the time-touched signs on every bit of furniture are obvious now. The omnicity and furtiveness have vanished, all is mundane and regular; the cigarette smog yet persists, rivaled only by the stench of old grease being reheated to prepare the breakfast items from the menu.

“Cooper’s runt.”

Your head snaps to the bar and there stands a beefy woman who would easily beat most if not all her clientele in arm wrestling. A stick-and-poke tattoo of a cupid is proudly displayed on her shoulder, a mane of curly black hair is tied back into a low ponytail, beady eyes are eating you up like a snack and you instinctively straighten out some of the less defined creases in your dress.

“Uh…Good morning?” you bear an uneasy smile, hoping that her comment was one of bluntness and not hostility.

The gold in her mouth glints as she beckons you closer with a canine grin.

“Indeed a good mornin’. Not a single raider got cooked on the fence yesterday and m’ dogs didn’t stir all night!” leaving the pile of caps for later, she rests an elbow on the counter and extends a hand to you. “I’m guessing Mitzie was too hyper to give me a proper introduction. Happens sometimes when unfamiliar faces stop by, don’t mind ‘er.” you shake her hand with hesitancy and pull away too hastily for someone who’s trying to mask their intimidation. She scoffs at your skittish nature. “M’ name’s Monique, owner of this fine establishment.”

As if on cue with you sitting on one of the bar stools, a strikingly large hound pokes its head from behind the mass of stained coffee cups yet to be cleared for washing and greets you with a bellowing bark. You start with a choked cry and recoil as the furless beast strains forward with a twitching snout, eager to give you a good sniff.

“Jesus Christ!”

“Bucky, down!” Monique is quick to scold the dog and its once perked ears lower, the energetic whining, however, doesn’t waver. “What I tell you ‘bout scaring customers? You ain’t a pup no more.”

She pushes down on his massive head until he’s out of sight, but the visually grotesque mutt is far from discouraged. Carrying the heart of a Labrador, he’s set to complete his innocent mission of establishing a new friendship and add it to his vast collection.

You hear the patter of clawed paws and soon he reappears, having circled the counter and now eagerly sat beside your chair, beaming up at you while his curious nose pokes at the side of your thigh. Your first instinct is to stiffen, Bucky isn’t the only mongrel you’ve seen, but the rest had all been rabid and out for blood, driven mad by both homelessness and radiation.

“He don’t bite.”

You vaguely register his owner’s quip, attention glued to the shiny slobber being happily spread over your tights.

There are dogs like Cujo and dogs like Lassie and your caution was founded, but it was doing Bucky a disservice. Poor bud was pleading for a pat and a good belly rub. Gathering enough courage to still the shakiness of your fingers, you plant them gently over the pooch’s wrinkled forehead and let them rest there to see his reaction. He’s delighted, the stump of a tail on his butt almost vibrating when you reach to scratch behind his chewed-up ear.

“Good pup.” you mirror his doggy grin, lovingly assaulting him with both hands now and he’s happily melting against your leg, snout stuffed into your dress and dampening it with open mouthed, hot huffs. “He’s lovely.”

“Of course!” Monique shrugs with a prideful snort. “I trained ‘em.” she’s back to counting yesterday’s profit while comparing separate piles to the list of orders.

Once Bucky has melted into a satisfied puddle on the floor you’re left to awkwardly eye the place while mulling over what to say next or if you should at all. Without Cooper standing between you and the world, it became difficult to find your courage and be your own entity. You’d never been apart, you’d grown co-dependent and not only on his marvelous gunslinging but on his presence as a whole. Starting from him being your only means of familiarity and safety, to you clinging to him now as your single source of comfort. You relied on him for everything. If that bit of info had been obscured before, pushed to the back of your mind due to bigger problems needing solving, now it was blatantly obvious.

The bartender was no danger, she was great albeit a little rough around the edges, and her pet being this friendly spoke more than words ever could. Still, a mental barrier prevented your voice from showing. You were mute and bolted to the stool until an event requiring a change happened.

“So you here to chat or can I getcha anything?”

Monique, the absolute angel of a woman, had finished up her daily counting of caps and was expectantly staring you down. You doubted she was aware of her kind act, but were grateful regardless because if she hadn’t spoken up you never would have, not for a while at least.

“Is there coffee?” you perk up at the offer, display the sweetest smile you can make up, and drown the dreary train of thought that had been on its way to ruin your day.

“Mitzie! Cup o’ coffee for Doe Eyes!” she leans back to holler at the kitchen door, then turns to you. “Ten caps.”

You had a nickname already, how quaint.

“Actually, can you put it on C –”

“– I’ll pay.” your second favorite ghoul steps out of the kitchen with a tray in hand and you were expecting her to be just as cheery as the previous night if not more, but she’s anything but. “You can make it up to me with a good chat, yeah?”

She’s looking at you with incomprehensible unease which sparks worry in your gut. There’s a weight to her movements, something fowl plaguing her that can’t be blamed on just lack of sleep, but by her droopy eyes, you can tell that’s also a factor.

“…Sure?” is all you manage before she sits beside you and pushes the steaming mug towards you.

“Ma, I’m sorry. Can you please serve breakfast for me? I’ll take over after this, just…” she doesn’t finish, the rest of the words between her and Monique are exchanged non-verbally and the stout woman flares up.

You expect her to say something by the way her jaw tightens and her beady eyes narrow, she doesn’t. Instead, she spares you a glance that lingers too long for it to be anything but disheartening and leaves. You follow her until she’s out of sight, made anxious by their queer exchange and vaguely acknowledging the unbearably scalding cup of coffee in your hands.

“Right…Before I say anything I want you to at least consider my words, okay?” there’s an urgency to her voice, she’s drumming her fingers over the counter, and her baby blues turned ghostly grey are glued to you to make sure your attention is solely centered on her. “This isn’t just me spouting shit to scare you off or stir trouble.”

It’s unnerving, Mitzie’s shift of character is turning your friendliness into apprehensiveness. You’d be empathetic to her perturbed state, but all emotion is overwhelmed by the incessant foreboding forming a lump in your throat.

“What?” you blurt while nervously tracing the edge of the cup. Shifting more comfortably into your stool, you lower until you’re nearly lying on the bar with ears strained and a whirring mind. “Mitzie, what’s going – ”

“ – Promise me.”

There is nothing subtle about the way you’re etching closer to her, anyone with one good eye would spot the direness in your conversation. What you wished for was to know why there were such macabre undertones to her speech. A night had passed since you’d last seen each other. What could have possibly happened for her to look as though she was about to attend a funeral?

With the way she’s positioned, body directly facing you and her head slightly rolled to the side, she can easily switch from watching you to checking the entrance of the guesthouse. She does just that, gaze darting back and forth and waiting for something, anticipating. It’s nerve-wracking, makes your stomach coil.

What the hell is going on?

“I…Sure, okay. I promise.” you answer, obliging her in the hopes that it eases some of her worries. “What’s going on?”

She nudges you to drink before your coffee gets cold, then combats your question with her own.

“How long have you known Cooper?”

“Couple months…Why?” your best efforts to keep an even, soft tone fail and your reply comes out curt and snappy.

“What do you know about him?” she gives you no room to breathe, fires another inquiry even with your apparent skepticism towards the conversation.

The music and simmering liveliness are drowned out by the steadily increasing beat of your heart. Your surroundings fade, blocked from your peripherals until it’s only you, Mitzie and Bucky as he soundly snoozes in your feet. You envy him and his ignorance.

Her question does more damage than intended.

Truthfully, you know nothing of your short-tempered companion, you wouldn’t even know his name if it hadn’t been for the slip-up in Tillburry. You’d based his adamance of keeping you uninformed on his lack of trust, but by the incredulous way Mitzie had asked, you began doubting that excuse. You’d traversed enough land and shared countless nights huddled together, sharing a meal, sharing everything, watching each other’s backs. Surely by now, you’d earned the right to know at least his age, yet he’d revealed nothing to you. You light up the conniving musing with the scalding heat of your drink and let simmer away as you respond.

“I mean…Not much, but –”

“– Fucking typical…” she snarls, doesn’t let you finish, already knowing the answer, her gaunt features turn malignant, and the grimace she bears is bone-chilling. Mitzie checks the horizon beyond the freshly wiped windows, shifts uncomfortably, as if ladened by her uniform, and continues with urgency. “Listen to me, I know his words probably outweigh mine, I mean, we’re not really friends you and I. And you don’t have to believe me…but for your own sake I hope you do.”

She’s gesturing down with her hand, palms spread and visible to soothe your hastily dissipating patience. Your prickliness doesn’t wane and the more she tries to tame it while spouting gibberish the worse it gets. You cross both legs and arms, barricading your tumultuous heart from the trepidatious babbling and letting go of the politeness keeping the bubbling vulgar words out of your vocabulary.

To hell with manners and formalities if you were going to be interrogated without being given a reason why.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“He’s not a good man.” she whispers while cupping her mouth and it’s low, but with enough certainty for you to hear perfectly. “Cooper. He’s bad…real fucking bad.”

“You aren’t telling me anything new.” you shake your head with a series of blinks, unmoved. Her deciding to sit you down and work you up for a serious conversation to tell you this while Cooper is away instead of simplifying it to a passing comment while she’s working is more of a surprise than the information itself.

Was this fiasco truly about the bounty hunter’s moral compass? Really?

“You don’t get it…” she clasps a hand over her forehead with a pained expression and a groan, then lets it slide down to rub her eyes. “He doesn’t care about anybody. He sure as fuck doesn’t care about you. You just can’t see it yet.”

“That’s a bit presumptuous, isn’t it?” you deflect with a half-frown. “I mean, sure. He’s not great, but he’s been patient with me, he’s a good friend. He’s kept me alive so far when he could have left me behind plenty of times.”

“Yeah? Good friend?” there’s mockery hanging off every word, then Mitzie pauses as if debating whether she should say more. For a moment she’s mournful, regretful that she’s burdened with ripping apart the delusion you’ve lived in thus far. “So did he tell you he has a family?”

The world stops, you falter.

“What?”

To behold a human break from the utterance of so few words is a sad imagery.

“Told me one night when he was high off his ass.” her words cut deep, slice through your cool demeanor until you’re left bare before the raw turmoil that beats you down until you’re physically doubling over. She grips your hand as a reminder that she’s still there and not hurting you out of spite. “A daughter and a wife. He’s looking for them, Honeybee. He isn’t making friends with you, he’s using you.”

You look at her hand over yours. It reminds you of his.

“That’s not…”

Unlike her who is high on alert and jumping at every creak or shuffle, you’re far away. Ripped out of your body as her truths knock on your skull and try to sink it, you’re scrambling to regain feeling in your legs, fighting to remember how to move your lips to form a coherent sentence. Heat rises from the bowels of your stomach to the peak of your neck, nips at your ears until you’re conscious of their existence, and submerged in an almost deafening screeching.

“His daughter’s name is Janey. Ask em yourself if you don’t believe me.”

Searing pinches assault your scalp, you scratch them away, but more appear and you’re left pulling at fistfuls of hair to ease some of the pulsing tension rendering your vision doubled. You have to grip the counter before you tumble off the chair, any sign of balance or proper motor function is gone, overshadowed by that screaming that’s tormenting your hearing and making your teeth ache.

A daughter…a wife…

You’d had your tongue ravaging the mouth of someone’s husband. What the actual fuck. You would have let him take you if he’d so wished.

Cooper falls in your eyes then, his pedestal – desecrated, his value – diminished. You hoped the love would die, that your affection would flee just as fast as the shame had settled. But it doesn’t, he’d made damn sure you’d stay a loyal bitch, had worked your cogs from the start until you were enamored.

You felt disgusting, wanted to crawl out of your skin.

“Mitzie…” sullen, destroyed, humiliated, still you defend him, still you fight against the stinging reality that burrows into your flesh and writhes until you’re close to hurling. Still, you try to keep the halo above his head from completely cracking while gathering the pieces of your scattered mind, alone, of course, because you know he’d never do what you do for him. “That’s none of my business, neither yours.”

Preserving his reputation while yours crumbles away, pathetic. Have you no self-respect? No. Not when it comes to him.

“Yes it is!” she exclaims, spills too much too brashly in her frustration. “I saw you through the keyhole…last night.”

Her vigor fades at the repulsion plastered on your face. You rip away from her, refusing all contact except that of your hardened eyes burning into hers for answers.

“You were spying on us?”

The bridge she’d built between you was burnt, the gates to your impressionable mind shut before her. The trust she’d earned was stomped and left to rot. That single jumble of a confession thrown in the hopes of convincing you further tore apart any ounce of tolerance you had left.

With a slack jaw, she watches your lids close over guttural anguish and your mouth twitch into a thin line as you hold back the bitter betrayal from surfacing.

“Enough…”

Your voice is unrecognizable.

Fuck her. Fuck him! Fuck everything…

You should have never stopped at this damnable place.

“Wait…Wait, please, wait, wait, wait.” she clings to your arm before you’ve walked too far, baby blues dashing around random spots in search of a proper expression. “I was scared for you.” she confesses over hoarseness due to either a dry throat or uncontrollable emotions. She’s shaking you, desperate to make you understand and giving no fucks about how stupid the pair of you look or how much attention she draws. “You can’t trust him, please listen to me! He’s leading you to slaughter!”

“I don’t trust rats.”

Glistening with stifled tears at the absolute hatred in your snarl, Mitzie loosens her hold and her head dips. Too kind to push her away and leave, too hurt to accept her accusations as the truth, you’re stuck in a limbo of numbness and hollow pain. You’d urge her to cry if she’s so riled up, would have lent a shoulder and cried with her. But there is only so much a person can take.

Blow after blow, you’re left too stunted to express anything despite everything inside you twisting.

“There’s…a place.” she murmurs while tugging you to the stairs where shadows reign to hide both of you from curious onlookers and save you the trouble. “It’s half a day away from here. Super Duper Mart. It’s…It’s an organ harvesting business.”

“I’m not…Get to the fucking point.” you command, but your tone wavers and your mouth shuts before an unsolicited sob escapes.

“Please, let me go…Please…I can’t anymore…”

“Ghouls need a certain substance to stay sane. All of us do. Super Duper Mart sells it. Usually, we sell a kidney to get a few vials, it grows back in a day or two. Or a ton of caps, but not a lot of people can afford that.” she swallows something vile, and rearranges her next words in a way that doesn’t outright spit at everything you’ve known to be your existence so far, your false reality. “Or, we sell someone else’s organs.”

You shudder, lean against the railing before your knees give out, and suck in a shaky breath as the ice licks your spine raw.

“Please don’t…”

“Let me live a lie. Let me die happy.”

“He only stops here when he’s going there.”

“Mitzie.” your warning falls on deaf ears.

“You’re a product, not a person.” she chokes you with harsh facts, steers the reins of your sanity towards a meltdown and it doesn’t take long for your mouth to drip with blood from biting open wounds into your bottom lip. “Not to him.” she catches you when you wobble, blows at your face because you’ve turned ghostly pale. “You need to get the hell out of whatever shit he’s gotten you into. Leave before it’s too late.”

“Where the hell am I supposed to go? I don’t know shit about surviving alone…I depend on him for everything.” you croak and taste bile on your tongue.

“You could stay here…” she mumbles, salving over the gashes she caused. “Could always use another pair of hands, if you’re willing to pay for your supper in labor.” she pats your head, brushes the hair to expose dead eyes staring right through her, but that doesn’t stop her from playing hero. “I talked with ma already, and Cooper isn’t stupid, he wouldn’t pull a gun here. Just tell him you don’t wanna travel with him anymore when he’s back. Or I can do it, I don’t mind.” she’s so kind, a sweet deformed woman, a sisterly guide trying to save you from the jaws of the reaper. “You have a choice. You have a chance. Please…”

But you don’t want her. You want him.

You wave a deathly calm hand and draw an end to her verbal molestation. Whisked away by the last burst of energy available, your back greets her as you ascend the stairs, leave her and everything she’s thrown at you behind. Trapped into the premises of your head, you forget speech and hearing as she meagerly calls to you for an answer.

Uncaring for your mental limitations as she is, Mitzie doesn’t pursue. Maybe it’s best you contemplate your next actions in solitude.

Tear-stained vision leads you to the safety of your room before you crumble to the floor, looming over the toilet as you lurch spit and air. You wish to be rid of this entire experience, throw up everything you’ve heard and said.

Nothing comes out.

The ringing subsides along with all worldly sensations just a moment later as you lie limp inside the bathroom with eyes rolled into the back of your head. Darkness has consumed both thought and feeling, lulling you into still nothingness. Steady breaths cast a sheet of vapor over the cool tiles.

Woe is you, weak, pathetic thing, dreaming of adventure and independence, freedom and love. Here is your independence now, your freedom, your love, your pleas were answered. Take them. You’ve wanted them for so long… Take them now.

It’s the scratching that pulls you out of unconsciousness. Fingers twitch to life first, then your senses return albeit groggy and dull. You’ve no interest in company, but the single needy whine amidst the determined scraping makes you overturn that decision.

With no recollection of when you’d fainted or for how long, you’re whimpering and nurturing a heavy migraine.

Bucky, your savior, lets himself in happily when you manage to crawl to the door and open it. The mere sight of him, so glad to see you again and wagging that stump of a tail, draws the last straw of your composure. You claw at him until he’s sitting between your legs, resting a slobbering snout against your shoulder as you weep into his thick neck, possessed by ugly sobs that shake your entire being.

He snaps his jaws a few times, a gentle brute, as you hug him close and suffocate in despair and loathing until you’re spent. He stays with you when you stand on wonky feet and pop a Rad-X before taking a shower that lasts long enough to count for two. Ever loyal and eager, you bathe him as well while he tries to bite the water current.

A clean boy, the goodest of boys, the crutch to your broken self. He licks the droplets off your calves as you let your dress dry you off and don’t bother to towel your hair.

Nobody told you drinking on an empty stomach is a death sentence, but you’re desperate to quiet down your wounded soul and racing imagination so the outcome would have been the same. The bourbon is sweet against your throat, doesn’t burn one but this time and Bucky is a warm, soft pillow to your floating head once it becomes too heavy for your shoulders to bear. Tucked into the couch and comforted by nasal puffs as your companion drifts in and out of sleep, you’re too exhausted to keep crying but the dry, infrequent sobs persist.

An eternity passes before the dog’s ears perk up and you’re woefully unprepared for the discussion that is to come.

The light from the corridor is blinding. The ghoul is standing at the door, a dark silhouette whose shadow stretches far into the room and almost reaches you. A hand comes up to shield your eyes as you groan.

“Well, well, well.” he sneers and switches the lamp on for you to see the demeaning smirk. His expression as a whole is not kind, Bucky, the wonderful boy, is currently in his spot and Cooper isn’t one for sharing. “See you’ve replaced me already.” he gestures towards the exit, holding the door open, and spits a harsh command. “Get!”

You don’t want to be left alone with this man, preferring to leave along with the dog and it shows by the anxiety burdening your features. The alcohol lingers still, makes your limbs feel like stone as you sit up and rub at your reddened, puffy lids.

Your pulse is already picking up speed when he slumps in the chair opposite to you and lights a cigarette before tilting his head back. The question is readied on the tip of your tongue and you’re irritated because it’s so damnably difficult to voice it. You press an attentive hand to your neck to encourage something to come out while the other sinks into your thigh until the flesh changes color.

“Are you gonna sell me, Mister?” you shoot in between plans on how to approach the matter and let loose a curt breath, relieved that it’s out of your system.

The casual swaying of his knee stops.

He straightens up, abandoning his nonchalant posture to give you a good once-over with the smoke secured between his lips.

You’re an unmistakably macabre sight even under the weak glare of the dying lightbulb. Bloodshot orbs nestled into a saggy face, sucked-in lips framing a ghost of a frown, he couldn’t see how contorted your body was from behind the table, but by the hung shoulders and lowered neck it’s obvious the rest of you isn’t pretty.

There’s a great amount of bourbon missing when he decides to pour himself a glass midway through his examination.

But all those factors can’t compete with the title you’d used to address him.

Mister.

You hadn’t used that since you’d learned his name and it was the first red flag he’d picked up, a warning that something was terribly amiss, that something vital had occurred while he’d been gone and now it’s his turn to have a taste of it.

“I’ve entertained the thought.” he scoffs through a meager smirk. You give him a look that washes away all hues of jokingness, the tiny hint of concern he displays would have been comforting, but you’ve been disturbed to where his crumbs of affection are useless. His hat is tipped to one side, guarding his shifting expression as he asks: “Was goin’ on, Darlin’?”

You want to scream. Yell all that you’ve been told and beg him to assure you none of it is true because, for God’s sake, he’d kissed you the night before and now you know he has a family waiting for him somewhere. You want Mitzie to be the villain who’s causing mischief for the sake of it because he’s your hero and he’s supposed to save the day. Deep down, you know your wishes will go unanswered and maybe that’s why you don’t completely break down before him.

He doesn’t deserve it. He doesn’t deserve anything.

“Are you going to sell me?” you repeat with more force and less uncertainty, fueling yourself with enough malice to keep you from backing out of the confrontation. You won’t falter, you refuse.

“Who you been talkin’ to?”

He’s evasive and it’s tugging at your nerves. Despite your desperation for answers, you decide to at least respond properly, you’re weakhearted unlike him, you’re prone to show sympathy.

“Mitzie.” a hand comes up to rub away the goosebumps on your upper arm and your gaze steers away from his. You’re not keen on putting Mitzie in the spotlight, but you’d rather be truthful, maybe it will push him towards reciprocating. Guilt sprouts in your chest before you curtly remind yourself that you’re not the bad guy here. “She told me a few things…”

His apprehensive visage turns vicious, lanky limbs become taut, and his clothes squeak in strain as he settles into a less open posture. If he’d had any intent on taking down walls to let you in, it had died by the utterance of that name. His lips are pulled back in a nasty snarl.

“Should’a stuffed a bullet down ‘er throat long time ago.”

It’s an insult to you and your intelligence, he’s painted you as gullible while dismissing Mitzie’s credibility without even giving a reason. He doesn’t need to defend his stance, either you believe him or you don’t and you have for the longest time, but when so much information has been thrown at your face regarding him and he can’t even refute the claims, you’re left second-guessing.

“You’d rather kill her than answer my question?” you’re revolted at his savage revelation and it shows in the twisted way your tone lowers. But you're empathetic even to the undeserving and watching him lash out like a cornered animal causes you to soften. “You know I’d trust your word over anyone else’s.” your attempt at reaching past the acidic, gruff exterior he’s hidden behind fails, he’s not interested in being vulnerable or deepening your bond, he’d rather stay a feral simpleton. Another insult, another stab at what you’d thought was a connection in the making. You swallow through a tight gullet, pained beyond belief. “You’re despicable.”

“Watch yer mouth, Missy.” he spits back.

He dares to scold you when he’s in the center of the dilemma. He demands respect when he’s the cause of the anguish poisoning your once hallowed spirit. He’s the problem and he has the audacity to treat you like a misbehaving child.

Angry tears weigh on your lashes, you grit your teeth to strangle a sob that threatens to rob you of all the authority and composure you’ve built.

“You never answered my question.”

The lamp flickers in an ominous prediction of his next words.

“And what if I do?” detached, cold; not a human, but a creature made of melted skin and unfathomable disregard for other beings speaks to you. A spiteful, ugly man who you’d grown to cherish so passionately is throwing bile at you because he’s not the misunderstood morally grey Superman you’d hoped for, he’s just a pile of shit and the best you could do is walk away. He’s terrible and he lets you know by continuing to belittle you and all the love you’d shown him. “Gonna snap outta your teenage dotin’ ‘nd see me the way I am?” with a cruel smile, he shrugs. “Told you I’m rotten, Sweetheart. Didn’t listen, did ya?”

You don’t regret what slips off your tongue next.

He deserves all the despair you’ve felt, the betrayal. You’ve long since drowned in hopelessness, submerged in scenarios of how you’ll go on without him as chances were – he’d probably leave after all this, his persona was unmasked, he had no reason to stick around anymore. He should at least be ashamed of his actions, but to do that one needs to have a conscience and so far he’s not shown signs of any.

You don’t mean to stoop to his level, but his ridicule is just that contagious.

“Janey?” a palpable pause, so thick with dread. You don’t leave it there; you plunge the knife deeper. “Is that really your daughter’s name?”

He’s on you in an instant.

Having lunged out of his chair, he’s squeezing your throat so ferociously you choke. He’s ready to kill and by the way his pupils shrink, he just might.

Demonic above you, forcing you down onto the sofa, he looks like he’ll rip you apart.

“Never say that name again. Ever!”

He’s a nightmare. His devastating grimace will forever stay burned into your memory. But for once you’re ready to fight back and you do so with vigorous hatred.

“Don’t touch me you fucking freak!”

You manage to slide your knees between your bodies and kick him with all your might. For the first time, your actions have an effect, he stumbles back, nearly knocks the table over. You’d thrown him off with such force it surprises both of you. Delicate things can also be fierce. But were you delicate? Not anymore, not like before. The wasteland had taken its toll on you, he had as well. Stripping you of all your beauty, now you were just like the rest of them – cruel, gross, burdened, haunted.

“Don’t ever touch me you manipulative, disgusting, vile – ” you jut a shaky finger at him, longing to berate him all night, but your voice cracks and you shut your mouth as if he hadn’t already seen how shattered you are.

You suck in a tattered breath and stand. The barrel of his pistol points at you as you lean closer, he cocks it without hesitation, but you don’t flinch, instead grabbing for the matches and box of cigarettes he’d left next to his now spilled drink. Maneuvering sluggishly, you sit on the windowsill, facing away as he audibly plops back in the chair and slams his glass into the table before pouring another batch of bourbon. Like drowning in alcohol could fix all this shit…

Typical for him, you’re not surprised.

Never in your life have you lit a match, but you’d rather waste his entire box than ask him for help. You pinch a smoke between your lips, your first and hopefully last, strike the match and it flares to life.

Bitter and chalky, leaves your tongue dry and your head light, a physical manifestation of death, you like the taste and the suffocating fumes that circle your nose despite the open window. You’re supposed to cough and recoil, throw it away because it’s suicide wrapped in paper, instead, you look back and toss the two little boxes to their owner, hoping to hit him.

The night is cold, the chill is pleasant against your skin, it sweeps away a part of the haze you’d been engrossed in during the day.

“You never told me you had a family.” it’s more of a shared thought than a statement; you stare up at the sky, dangling one bare foot into the air until the steady breeze numbs your toes. “Never told me you were looking for them.” your battle zest dissipates as you continue mumbling out the decrepit sorrowful melody of your heart. “Never told me fucking anything…”

“My family ain’t none o’ your concern.” comes a hiss from behind you to deter your scornful moping. You scoff at that, shake your head at your stupid, unwavering faith in him rather than his reply.

You’re still trying to find a spec of goodness after all this, it’s laughable.

“I thought we were friends…or…or partners.” you toss the cigarette bud when the flame scalds your fingers, let the smoke exit your lungs through a heave. “You’re supposed to share with me!” hands obscure your face from the world as you suffer through a few sobs and swallow mouthfuls of tears. “I care for you so much…I’d do anything for you. But you’re just – ”

He’s cruel though, whether screaming and kicking or on your knees crying, it makes no difference to him. He doesn’t care. Did he ever?

“We ain’t no friends.” he states it as the fact it is. “We ain’t nothin’.”

“You’re right…” you nod, giggle even as you wipe your cheeks dry. “Friends don’t sell each other for organ harvesting.”

You never heard the new batch of vials clinking in his coat pocket, didn’t see the freshly stitched scar in the middle of his back, where his kidney used to be. How were you supposed to know when he never told you anything?

So it comes as a surprise when he throws the spare glass and it shatters next to your head and makes you wince. His sudden burst of anger is a mystery and it’s his own fault.

For once he’d been good, for once he’d put someone else before himself and this is what he got.

“You know what’s really pathetic?” you let go of a bitter laugh, wet and putrid, but it’s shortlived, you return to curling up and mumbling because he doesn’t deserve to know how precious he is to you, but you want to let it all out and be done with this. “The only reason why I’d be sad if you sold me is that I’d be away from you.”

“Don’t fuckin’ say that…”

A blip of something other than rage or mock, but he’s too late to the party. You’ve already dedicated to demolishing all that he’s poisoned with his touch, all his self-control and stoicism.

“I’d rather die by your hand than be taken away.” you glimpse down at the shards scattered next to your thigh to find your reflection in much the same state - broken. “I’m a coward, I guess. I never wanted this life…but I’m too scared to end it myself.”

Crack

The glass shatters in his hand, the only reminder left of the paradise from the night before, he’d broken both of them, first yours, then his. The pieces spread, deftly falling to the floor as the bourbon drips from the edge of the table.

“Good night, Mister.”

🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼

<<< Chapter 8

Chapter 10 >>>

🌼 Daisy Masterlist 🌼

Masterlist

Tag list: @bountydroid @windierhades @ultimatreality @gruffle1 @v3lv3tf0x

@fallout-girl219 @one-of-thewalkingdead @robin-the-enby @savanahc @whatthefuckkrichard

@rockst4rkitty @lisnamavka @lomlbillieeilish @itsyellow @cloudroomblog

@skykaykay @i-just-like-to-read @landlockedmermaid77 @enaelyork @maeplaysbass

@sgt-barnesveins @alastorsw1f3 @villainofmyownstory @thatcutewerewolf

#cooper howard #the ghoul fallout #cooper howard x reader #cooper howard x you #fallout tv series #the ghoul fanfic #the ghoul x reader #the ghoul x you #x reader #fallout the ghoul #cooper howard fanfiction #cooper howard fic

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rea-grimm · 7 months ago

Text

Werewolf Shanks - Looking through his eyes

You hated this life. At the age of nine, you were kidnapped by slave traders along with other children from a village full of hybrids and supernaturals and then sold to other islands as cheap labor.

You didn't know if it was luck or bad luck, but you were the only one they kept. They used you as a major draw to attract customers. An exotic dancer with a graceful body and fox-like features who could charm anyone with her moves.

But even though you were a slave, you were their second most valuable treasure. Money, of course, came first. But if they had to sacrifice the ship or you, they would sacrifice the ship, because thanks to your efforts, they could easily afford a new one.

As you were guarded, no one could touch you. You were glad for that. Though that didn't apply if there were few buyers, or if you were on a poor island.

Then the captain got mad, drunk, and more than once you had to cover up purple and yellow bruises or a black eye or a busted lip during a performance. But he never dared to break a bone. Then you wouldn't be able to dance and it would be a loss for them.

Your only consolation was the dream of freedom and the ability you had because of your devil fruit. It was the ability to see the world through the eyes of your soul mate.

Even though you had no idea who he was, you envied his freedom. In addition, you had another special quality that made you even more precious and exotic. You were a kitsune. You had fox ears and a few bushy tails that had grown over the years. Now you had a total of three.

Most of the time, you caught the one whose eyes you could see in a pub, laughing and drinking carelessly with other friends. Other times, when you looked at night, you saw him in the woods. He regularly hunted at night, mostly smaller animals, but many times he came across something bigger, or a bear.

Quite often his gaze was also directed towards the sky and especially the moon. You felt as if you were closer to him because you were watching the same sky. This ability kept you hoping that maybe one day you too would see such freedom.

You sat in your small quarters, waiting to see when you would finally reach the next island. You had your own room, but it was so small that you were claustrophobic. Especially on long voyages, when you were forbidden to leave your cabin, supposedly to avoid tempting the crew into mischief.

Even though you were in your little prison, you were still in shackles that hung like jewels from your neck and arms. It was a reminder that you were still just a slave.

From the noise on the ship, you judged that your ordeal was coming to an end and that you were finally nearing the island. And you were right.

Some time later the captain came in good spirits and ordered you to get ready for the evening. You would have to charm a distinguished audience. Supposedly they were pirates of one of the sea emperors. That made you nervous, because you'd never danced in front of anyone so important before.

But your fears were relieved when you discovered they looked and acted like normal, ordinary pirates. You couldn't even tell who the captain was.

At your captain's command, the music started playing and you started dancing. You danced and swayed to the rhythm. Your tails swished behind you like a fan, adding to the magic. You could feel their eyes on you, and someone else would have collapsed under them, but you kept going.

You approached the potential buyers and you had no idea what you were thinking, but you wanted to find out what your soulmate had just seen. You almost tripped over your own feet when you realized you were looking at yourself as you danced.

So he must have been here. Among these pirates. You shut down your ability and tried to figure out who it was. Unfortunately, you were only guessing, as you had no clue as to who it might be.

You were disturbed from your thoughts by a red haired pirate who gently pulled you into his lap with one hand. You were used to this sort of thing and decided to give him a little private dance. He smiled warmly at you and looked at you like no one else could.

Most people when they pulled you close like that would prefer to eat you on the spot and have their way with you. You didn't feel that way here, and you had to smile. There were three scars across his left eye and you noticed his left arm was missing, but he was still one of the few times you'd be glad he'd set you free.

You felt a chill run down your spine and you knew you had been with this pirate too long and you had to get back to the center. Only now did you realize how the almost perfect full moon was shining down on you.

You spent a few more days on the island, and every evening was spent dancing for the pirates, in whom your captain saw great merchants. And every night, the red-haired pirate pulled you in for a while. Not that you were complaining.

However, after those few days, a rumor spread among the slavers about a blood-red werewolf that was supposedly tormenting the local inhabitants and wildlife.

You had no idea what the truth of it was, but as the full moon approached, the slavers grew more and more frightened and would have liked to raise anchor.

But your captain refused to do that, so the crew had to obey. You were so intrigued by this rumor and the crew's fear that you thought to use it for an escape plan.

You carried out your plan on the day of the full moon. Just as the sun set and the silver orb slowly rose into the sky. You waited for the slavers to take their turns. You were all sleeping in tents outside, so you had a much better opportunity to escape.

You waited until the slavers coming back from patrol passed you, knowing that by the time the second patrol got here it would be 5 minutes max if you were lucky and if not you had about 2 minutes to run undetected to the forest.

You didn't delay a second and you made your way as fast as you could to the woods. As soon as you passed the last of the tents, you started running. After a few seconds, you heard screams and footsteps.

"Stop! Stop right now you little vixen! You belong to me, do you understand?!" the captain yelled at you. You gritted your teeth and started sprinting. However, in the darkness you didn't notice the fallen branch and soon you were on the ground.

"Ow," you yelped in pain and tried to get up. However, such pain shot through your leg that it buckled. You heard the captain approaching fiercely.

"Ha, you thought you were going to get away from me?" he sneered at you, and you got the feeling that if he caught you now, it wouldn't end well. So you started crawling forward, away from him.

The captain was close to you when the moonlight was blocked by a giant figure with one arm. The figure resembled a cross between a wolf and a human.

The werewolf stood on its hind legs and growled menacingly. Even though it only had one paw, it still had knife-sharp claws on it. You cowered in fear, your tails partially shielding you.

The slaver paused and paled noticeably. He tried to take a step forward, but just as he moved slightly, the werewolf bent over you and began growling. That was the last straw before the captain took his feet on his shoulders and ran screaming back towards the camp.

The werewolf pulled back a little, stopped growling and sat down in front of you. He bent down and put his head in front of you so that his snout was less than 5 centimetres from your face. You didn't know if this was your last moment, so you wanted to look through his eyes one last time.

You concentrated and when you opened your eyes, you were looking at yourself. So your soul mate is a werewolf? It was the first thing that popped into your head. The second thing was, as you looked around, your eyes were now as golden as the wolf's.

Of course, your eyes weren't normally that color. You had no idea that your eyes changed color every time you looked through his. You blinked and looked through your eyes again. The werewolf tilted his head to the side before nudging you lightly with his snout. And then again.

"Hey, that tickles," you laughed and tried to push him aside. He didn't resemble a dire werewolf at all now, but more like an overgrown puppy. His tongue stuck out and he looked like he was smiling.

You sat up, wondering how you were going to get out of here. Your leg hurt like hell and you didn't have the strength to get anywhere safe in this state.

As if reading your mind, the werewolf stood up and began sniffing your injured leg before lightly poking you with his snout. You flinched in pain and just as quickly he flinched and looked at you with concern.

"I think I sprained it," you said, massaging your leg. It was such a pain that you stopped very soon. You looked up at the werewolf, who stood up and leaned down, taking you in one arm.

You didn't resist, since it probably wouldn't have been worth it anyway, and let him carry you. You held onto him around the neck for stability. His fur was surprisingly soft and reminded you of hair.

You soon realized that he was carrying you to the village where Shanks' pirates were anchored. The werewolf circled the village, probably to avoid causing unnecessary commotion and confusion, and carried you to a small camp where everyone was having a great time.

Besides the crackling of the fire, there was merry chatter and singing. Even there your journey did not end, and you went on until you reached the tents. There, the werewolf headed to one tent that was obviously bigger than all the others and there he laid you down on blankets.

You made yourself comfortable before thanking him. Not only did he save you, but he carried you to safety. At that, the werewolf left.

You weren't alone for less than 10 minutes when he returned with a man carrying a medical bag. The doctor was a fair-haired man with a ponytail who introduced himself as Hongo.

Hongo then treated your leg and checked you for other injuries. He then asked you if you wanted anything to eat or drink, but you politely declined. You didn't think of any of that at the moment. You thanked him and the doctor left. The werewolf stayed with you this time.

You lay down in the blankets and he lay down next to you. You smiled at him and thanked him again. The werewolf poked you with his snout before he started licking your face.

Laughing, you pulled him away from you. Even now, he was looking at you with his tongue lolling out and his tail wagging contentedly. From this angle, he looked more like a wolf or an overgrown dog than ever before.

The next morning, you woke up alone in your tent. There was no sign of the werewolf anywhere, though you guessed it would be a normal human now.

A few minutes later, the local captain you recognized from previous introductions came in, balancing a tray of food in his hand.

The captain introduced himself as Shanks. He handed you the tray of food and it wasn't until you smelled the freshly baked bread that you realized how hungry you were. You thanked him and started to eat. Shanks watched you with a warm smile. When you finished eating, he gave you an offer you didn't expect.

"If you want, you can stay with me and my crew. I don't know how long we'll be here, but you're certainly welcome. Or if you want a ride to an island, just ask," he said, and you couldn't believe your ears. You agreed to join them. You had nowhere else to go, and more importantly, your soul mate was here. Somewhere among these pirates.

You felt like everyone in the crew had accepted you into their midst. The first few days, the captain himself took you in and introduced you to everyone.

You were surprised that his crew was like one big family. You didn't have to dance to survive anymore, but you still gave them little performances here and there. They all cheered and clapped for you.

During that time among them, you managed to figure out who the eyes you could see through belonged to. It belonged to none other than Shanks himself. You got the impression that you had piqued his interest from the very beginning, and everyone made fun of you for being his favorite. Despite all that, you decided to tell him.

You hadn't seen him all day, and even with his eyes you couldn't tell where he was. It wasn't until the evening that you found him by the booze barrels. He was drunk from the look of him. Even though it was almost every day.

"Shanks," you addressed him.

"Y/N, my rescue," he said cheerfully, and hugged you.

"What are you doing?" You asked, supporting him.

"Waiting for everything to stop spinning around. Although if that means being with you like this, I'm fine with it," he replied.

"There's something I want to tell you," you finally said. Shanks got slightly more serious and decided it would be better to sit down. You reached the beach, where you sat down on a fallen tree trunk. You were in the part where no one was right now, so you had privacy.

There you calmly told him about your fruit and that you could see through his eyes what he could see. Shanks was quiet for a moment and said nothing before he laughed. When he stopped, he looked at you with his best smile and stroked your cheek.

"So it looks like I have the most beautiful soulmate in the whole world," he said gently, catching you completely off guard. You hadn't even told him about soul mates. The red-haired pirate leaned in and kissed you awkwardly. You took him around the neck and followed his lead.

When you were done, you watched the sunset and moonrise together. All was well until the pirate began to fidget. You looked at him and noticed his eyes were tinged with gold.

"Y/N now that we're talking secrets... Just don't worry about anything, but I'm..." He began to explain, searching for the right words. As drunk as he was to do so, he wasn't very good at it.

"Werewolf?" You finished for him, and this time it was his turn to be surprised.

"How do you know?" he wondered. You just smiled and tapped the side of your eye. It looked like a stone had been dropped from his heart.

He was about to say something else when red fur began to grow all over his body and he collapsed into the sand. You watched like a horror movie as his bones cracked and he gradually turned into a werewolf.

"Shanks?" you asked with concern as he completely changed and just lay there for a moment. Shanks looked up at the sound of your voice and walked over to you, his ears to his head, and rested his head in your lap.

You stroked his cheeks before your fingers moved down to his ears where you began to slowly scratch him. Shanks immediately relaxed and started wagging his tail. He really did look like an overgrown puppy. He melted so much under your touch that he fell to the ground.

However, instead of sitting back up to you he rolled over onto his back and wiggled in a silent plea for a scratch. You knelt down beside him and began rubbing his stomach and chest. He wagged his tail contentedly, and you got the impression that his tongue was about to fall out of his mouth.

Shanks Masterlist

#one piece #monster piece #one piece x reader #werewolf #werewolf shanks #shanks x reader #red haired shanks #shanks

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lin-sterling · 1 month ago

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DRIP POST 2: E for Everyone Edition

this time it's not a remake per se, it's a re-release lol. this time with handy-dandy item codes to enable you - yes, you! - to partake in my fashion obsession.

simply click on the name of the outfit and it will take you to my godforsaken google doc and show you the codes for that outfit. should show up at the top of the page (give it a sec). hopefully I haven't borked anything.

let me know if there are any issues.

drip post 3 is being cooked as we speak but it will take some time.

IMPORTANT

you need to install some mods

you need to enable the console

don't paste an entire cell of codes into the console, they'll get cut off and you won't get all the items. copy and paste about 2-3 lines at a time

my document has the necessary info but I'm also providing instructions under the cut.

there's an overlap between some outfits so you might get several copies of one item. in this case just yeet them on the floor and let some bum pick them up. or sell them. who am I to tell you what to do.

↓↓↓

the console:

right-click on KCD2 in your Steam library

choose 'Properties'

select 'Launch Options'

put -devmode in the launch options

launch the game and press the tilde (~) key

use ctrl+c and ctrl+v to copy and paste the codes, then just hit enter

the mods:

Refined Garments

Outer Garments

Custom Clothing and Armor

More flower wreaths (there's one outfit that needs this for now but there might be more later)

the drip:

Henry

Black Knight v1, cuirass inside

this is MY HENRY, iconic outfit, never gonna give you up never gonna let you down

2. Black Knight v2, cuirass outside

3. Guardian Angel

my Henry doesn't usually go for white or silver, he's black&gold kind of guy, but I decided we need one outfit

4. Trosky Traveller (before the waspening)

not fully happy with this outfit but it's already err a historical one, I've already gone through Trosky wearing it so I won't retcon it haha

5. THE WASPENING

same shit here, it's a piece of my playthrough history now. weird, bright yellow history

6. Leipa Simp

and now I make new history

7. Bluebell

wasn't expecting this one, it just sort of happened and I weirdly like it

8. Shifty Fella

is he trying to steal your wallet? is his back hurting? why not both!

9. Horse Thief

up to no good this guy. steal your heart, steal your horse, get 60 groschen for his trouble... wait, horse industry is a scam!

10. Armed and Armoured Robbery

can't shoot straight because he's on his way to bisexual awakening

11. Mushroom Enthusiast

those mushrooms won't gather themselves, you know! *cronch*

12. Falconer

all hail the birbs

13. Noble Bastard

when you need something fancy but not too difficult to pull off

14. Night Reader

casual comfy outfit with optional reading glasses. read a nice book at 3 am and watch your boyfriend as he sleeps!

15. Dubious Doctor

impersonating a medical professional during "Fifth Commandment"

16. Reverse Ball and Chain

when you miss a fucker so much you start wearing his colours. except the yellow gambeson you've found had aggressively magenta belts and you had to reverse the order of colours. I figured clown shoes were appropriate in this situation

17. That Mine Is Mine

impersonating a rich fuck during "Via Argentum". rich people wear golden armour, right?

note: actually wearing armour while talking to Buresh is not recommended. apparently it makes you look like a homeless vagabond lol

18. Red Wedding

this wedding also ended in a bloody mess

19. Nostalgic

kcd1 starting outfit colours but now Henry can afford better clothes

20. Dandelion Dance

what a surprise, more yellow shit

Pebbles and her codes are gonna be in the reblog

↓↓↓

#kingdom come deliverance #kingdom come deliverance 2 #kcd2 #kcd2 screenshots #henry of skalitz #jindřich ze skalice #pebbles #sterling screenshots #sterling drips

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pyrotechworkspace · 10 days ago

Text

Control Room Solutions For Defence Sector

Pyrotech workspace Solutions Pvt. Ltd-a steps forward with the Defence Sector, We proudly share our achievement that performs the best Control Room Solutions with some of top most defence organizations. It is a globally known organization with strong determination & achievements for the defence system. We instituted our experience with the Defence sector as our appraisal in the best performance and quality products. A Control Room is the "Brain" of a plant and its design is directed towards the functional needs of a control room comfort, work style, and technology, for a better and focused work environment that increases the overall experience of its users. A Control Room Console is one of the most essential elements of a control room. It is the support system for controlling and monitoring various task critical operations within a defined territory. Our control room consoles deliver ergonomic excellence along with aesthetically superior designs.

#control room console #control room solutions #command center console #control desk #technical furniture #control room furniture #operator console #console furniture #custom consoles #control room

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cherriesandsulphur · 9 months ago

Note

hiiiii!!!! i am just wondering what mods you use to put raphael in the romance cutscenes? i only really have ring of metamorph and that doesn't really work in the romance scenes for me :sob:

Hello there. :) I use these excellent mods together:

1. Appearance Edit Enhanced. This mod allows me to completely change the look of any of my companions, so I can make them look like Raphael in the character creation. Depending on the romance scene, I change the companion I need for that.

2. Raphael Heads. This mod adds Raphael's human and cambion heads to the character creation.

3. Raphael's Colour Preset Archive. This mod has the custom hair, eye and skin colors Raphael uses as options in the character creation. Both human and cambion, Haarlep is also included.

4. Raphael Outfit. This mod adds human and cambion Raphael's outfit and boots. It has both armor and camp versions.

5. Ring of Metamorph. This mod has Raphael's human and cambion form that can be cast onto NPCs. Like you mentioned, it doesn't work with all romance scenes, there are some scenes that revert the applied look. This happens because of the custom body models the game uses for certain cutscenes. For those, I use the Script Extender.

6. Norbyte's Baldur's Gate 3 Script Extender. I used the console commands of this script extender to play some of the romance scenes like Minthara's or Mizora's.

All these mods can be found on Nexus Mods. I hope this list helped.

#raphael bg3 #bg3 raphael #baldur's gate 3 raphael #raphael baldur's gate 3 #raphael the cambion #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #baldur's gate iii

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felassan · 1 year ago

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Journal entry on the official website. [source]

"Introducing The Veilguard Welcome back to Thedas"

"Hey everyone, It’s been too long since we last spoke! We’re happy to bring back our community blog series, where we can chat with you about our next adventure - Dragon Age: The Veilguard. If you’re joining us just now, earlier this week we released a blog detailing how we renamed the game to better represent what makes it special - it’s about you and your companions – not your enemies – that are at the heart of this new experience. Check that out alongside our Official Reveal Trailer which premiered at the Xbox Showcase on June 9th, where you first meet your seven companions. We’re also excited to open the official BioWare Discord server. You can expect news drops, giveaways, activities, and more planned between now and launch. This is our new dedicated home where we look forward to bringing this one-of-a-kind community together with a space to engage more frequently and celebrate your favorite stories and characters from Dragon Age: The Veilguard and others in the franchise. But that’s not all. We know what you value the most is seeing the game as it is, exactly how you’ll play it. So, we’re happy to provide you with a look from the opening moments of the game. Grab some snacks as we have 15+ minutes to explore Dragon Age: The Veilguard together."

"Are you the hero Thedas needs? This video from the first moments of the game is just the tip of the iceberg, and there’s so much more to discover on this epic journey. You’ll explore Thedas, uniting a cast of (yes, romanceable!) companions as you fight against ancient elven gods. In this crafted character-driven RPG, you’ll visit meticulously crafted biomes and beautiful regions, some that you’ve only heard whispers about in Dragon Age lore, including Rivain, Weisshaupt, Arlathan, Minrathous, and the Deep Roads - to name a few. We’ll have a lot more coming this summer as we fully detail what’s in store. You’ll begin by diving into the Character Creator. You’ll choose your class, lineage, gender, overall appearance and more. Choosing which faction Rook is part of will unlock different narrative, dialogue, and gameplay interactions. Combat is another area that has a lot of depth to it - both in how you choose to defeat your enemies and its progression throughout the game. The game will support various skill levels, but at its core, Dragon Age: The Veilguard has fluid moment-to-moment combat where you can choose between three classes - Warrior, Mage, or Rogue – each having their own advanced specializations. There's also a layer of tactical depth for those who want to dig in, which we really didn't get to cover in the video. Our new customizable ability wheel will help you turn the tide of battle at any time. It will allow you to pause the action, issue commands to your followers, use abilities, and unleash devastating combos. As you become more powerful, you can start to see the potential in how much fun (and hectic) things can get. We're also giving the option to use some of your abilities via a shortcut. Giving you these different kinds of options is something we thought a lot about and wanted to provide so you can find the playstyle that best fits you. Alright, that’s it for now as we’ll dive deeper into this and all things Dragon Age: The Veilguard through the Fall." Before we go, if you haven’t seen this yet, we wanted to provide an overview of what we have upcoming. As we’ve said earlier, we plan to continue revealing more about Dragon Age: The Veilguard and answer your burning questions. However, there’ll be some things we have to keep close to the chest as we get closer to launch. Remember to join the custom console giveaway before entries close on June 16th*, and set a reminder for our Developer Discord Q&A on June 14th at 10am PT. Submit your questions in the #ask-bioware channel on the server! Dragon Age: The Veilguard will be coming to PC, Xbox Series X|S, and PlayStation 5 in Fall 2024. That’s all for now, talk soon! -- The Dragon Age Community Team *Sponsor: Trufan Inc. NO PURCHASE NEC. 18+ Ends June 17, 2024. For full details see https://go.ea.com/DATVGiveaway"

#dragon age: the veilguard #dragon age: dreadwolf #dragon age 4 #the dread wolf rises #da4 #dragon age #bioware #video games #long post #longpost

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areyoufuckingcrazy · 2 months ago

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“The Lesser of Two Wars” pt.5

Commander Fox x Reader x Commander Thorn

The aftermath of an attack always came in waves.

Smoke cleared. Evidence was gathered. People lied. And then, the survivors were expected to sit in rooms like this and act like it hadn’t shaken them.

Bail’s office was quiet, the kind of quiet only the dangerously exhausted and the politically cornered could create. A few low-voiced aides bustled around the outer corridor, but inside the room, it was only the senators.

Organa stood by the tall window, arms crossed as he stared down at the Coruscant skyline with a frown etched deep into his brow. Senator Chuchi sat stiffly on the edge of the couch, her shoulder bandaged from shrapnel. Padmé was leaned over the table, scanning a datapad and speaking in hushed tones to Mon Mothma. You stood near the bookcase, arms folded, trying to will the fire in your chest into something productive.

It wasn’t working.

“I’m tired of acting like we’re not under siege,” you muttered aloud.

Padmé looked up, lips pressed thin. “We are. We just haven’t named the enemy yet.”

Chuchi nodded slowly. “They know what they’re doing. Each strike more coordinated. Less about killing—more about threatening. Silencing.”

Bail finally turned, face unreadable. “They want us reactive. Fractured. Suspicious of each other.”

“We should be,” you said, pacing a slow line. “No one’s admitting what’s happening. The Senate hushes it up. Security leaks are too convenient. And somehow every target is someone with a voice too loud for the Chancellor’s comfort.”

That earned a moment of silence.

Mon Mothma spoke softly. “You think he’s involved.”

“I think someone close to him is.”

“We can’t keep pretending these are isolated,” you said finally.

“They know that,” Padmé murmured. “The question is: why isn’t anyone doing more?”

Bail, now standing at the head of his polished desk, didn’t answer immediately. His jaw was set. His gaze flicked over the datachart projected in front of him—attack markers, profiles, probable motives.

“They’re testing the Republic,” he said. “Or what’s left of it.”

“They’re testing us,” Mothma whispered, voice hoarse. “And if we keep responding with silence and procedural delays, they’ll push until there’s no one left to oppose them.”

The words sat heavy.

Outside the door, the crimson shadow of the Coruscant Guard stood watch—Fox and Thorn included, though you hadn’t glanced their way since entering.

But you could feel them. You always did now.

You turned slightly, voice low. “Have any of you gotten direct messages?”

Chuchi looked up sharply. “Threats?”

You nodded.

There was a beat of silence. Then Mothma sighed. “One. Disguised in a customs manifest. It knew… too much.”

Padmé nodded. “Mine was through a Senate droid. Disguised as a corrupted firmware packet.”

You didn’t speak. Yours had come days ago—buried in a late-night intelligence brief with no sender. All it said was:

You are not untouchable.

You hadn’t slept since.

“We need to pressure the Supreme Chancellor,” Bail said.

That earned a sour look from you. “He’ll deflect. Say it’s a security issue, not a political one.”

“Then we make it political,” Mothma said, finally sounding like herself again. “We use our voice. While we still have one.”

The room shifted then. A renewed sense of unity—brittle, but burning.

But in the quiet after, your gaze slipped—just for a moment—toward the guards stationed outside the door.

Fox stood perfectly still, helmet tilted in your direction. Thorn just beside him, arms folded. Neither moved. Neither spoke.

But their presence spoke volumes.

This was war.

And somewhere between the smoke and the silence, something else was taking root—dangerous, fragile, and very hard to ignore.

⸻

The room was dark, save for the steady pulse of holo-screens. Red and blue glows blinked over datafeeds, security footage, encrypted reports—layered chaos organized with military precision.

Fox stood at the center console, arms braced against its edge. Thorn leaned nearby, still in partial armor, visor down. Both men had discarded formalities, if only for this moment.

“This list isn’t shrinking,” Thorn muttered, scrolling through the updated intel. “If anything, it’s tightening.”

Fox tapped in a command, bringing up the names of every senator involved in the recent threats. Mothma. Organa. Chuchi. Amidala. And her.

He paused on her name.

No title. No pretense.

Just:

[FIRST NAME] [LAST NAME]

Planet of Origin: Classified. Access requires Level Six or higher.

Military Status: Former Commander, Planetary Forces, 12th Resistance Front

Notable Actions: Siege of Klydos Ridge, Amnesty Trial #3114-A

Designations: War Criminal (Cleared). Commendation of Valor.

Thorn let out a slow breath. “Well. That explains a few things.”

Fox didn’t speak. His eyes scanned every line—calm, deliberate.

“She was tried?” Thorn asked.

“Yeah. And cleared. But this…” Fox magnified a classified document stamped with a Republic seal. “She made decisions that turned the tide of a planetary civil war. But it cost lives. Enemy and ally.”

“Sounds like a soldier,” Thorn said.

“Sounds like someone who was never supposed to be a senator.”

They both stared at the glowing file, silent for a long beat.

“Why hide it?” Thorn asked. “You’d think someone with that record would lean on it.”

Fox finally replied, quiet: “Because war heroes make people nervous. War criminals scare them. And she was both.”

Thorn folded his arms. “She doesn’t look like someone who’s seen hell.”

“No,” Fox agreed. “But she acts like it.”

A beat passed.

Thorn tilted his head slightly. “You feel it too?”

Fox didn’t answer immediately.

“You’re not the only one watching her, Thorn.”

The words weren’t sharp. They weren’t angry. Just honest.

And for a moment, silence stretched between them—not as soldiers, not as commanders, but as men standing at the edge of something they couldn’t name.

Before either could say more, a message flashed in red across the console:

MOTHMA ESCORT CLEARED. STANDBY FOR NEXT PROTECTIVE ASSIGNMENT: SENATOR [LAST NAME]

Fox closed the file with one last look.

Thorn gave a tight nod.

But as the lights of the war room dimmed behind them, neither could quite forget the file still burning in the back of their minds—or the woman behind it.

⸻

It was hard to feel normal with three clones, a Jedi Padawan, and a Skywalker surrounding your lunch table like you were preparing to launch a military operation instead of ordering garden risotto.

The restaurant had cleared out most of its upper terrace for “Senatorial Security Reasons.” A ridiculous way to say: people were trying to kill you. Again.

Still, Padmé had insisted. And somehow—somehow—you’d ended up saying yes.

The sun was soft and golden through the vine-laced awning above, dappling the white tablecloths with moving light. The air smelled like roasted herbs and fresh rain, but not even that could soften the tension in your shoulders.

“You don’t have to look like you’re about to give a press briefing,” Padmé teased gently, reaching for her wine.

You let out a slow breath, forcing a smile. “It’s hard to relax when I’m being watched like a spice smuggler at customs.”

Across from you, Anakin Skywalker didn’t even flinch. He was leaned casually against the terrace railing, arms folded, lightsaber clipped at the ready. Rex stood a few paces behind, helmet on but gaze sharply fixed beyond the decorative trellises. Ahsoka was beside him, hands on her hips, trying very hard to pretend she wasn’t completely bored.

Then there were your shadows—Fox and Thorn.

They stood just far enough to give the illusion of privacy. Both in full armor. Both still as statues.

You saw them watching everyone. Especially Skywalker.

“I’m just saying,” Padmé said, twirling her fork. “If I were an assassin, this place would be the worst possible place to strike. Too many guards. Too many eyes.”

“Don’t tempt fate,” you muttered.

Ahsoka leaned forward, chin in hand, curious now. “Senator Amidala says you don’t really need all this protection. That true?”

You blinked once. Padmé was smirking into her glass. Of course she was.

“Well,” you said smoothly, lifting your napkin to your lap, “some senators are more difficult to target than others.”

Ahsoka squinted. “That’s not an answer.”

“That’s politics,” you replied with a practiced grin.

From behind, Fox shifted slightly. Thorn’s head turned just barely. They’d heard every word.

Padmé laughed quietly. “She’s been dodging questions since she was seventeen. Don’t take it personally.”

Ahsoka grinned, shaking her head. “Okay, fine. But seriously—what did you do before the Senate?”

You took a slow sip of your wine. “I made a mess of things. Then I cleaned them up. Very effectively.”

“Vague,” Ahsoka said.

“Deliberately.”

The conversation drifted to safer things—fashion, terrible policy drafts, the tragedy of synthetic caf. You allowed yourself to laugh once. Maybe twice. It was good to pretend, even just for a meal.

But as the plates were cleared and sunlight dipped a little lower, you glanced once toward the shadows.

Thorn stood with his arms crossed, ever the silent shield. Fox, next to him, gave you one sharp nod when your eyes met—no smile, no softness, just silent reassurance.

You weren’t sure what made your heart thump harder: the weight of your past threatening to surface… or the way neither of them looked away.

⸻

The wine had just been poured again—Padmé was laughing about a hideous gown she’d been forced to wear for a peace summit on Ryloth—when the world cracked in half.

The sound came first: not a blaster, not the familiar pulse of war—but the high-pitched whistle of precision. You knew that sound. You’d heard it before. In a past life.

Sniper.

Glass shattered near Padmé’s shoulder, spraying the table in glittering fragments. A scream rose somewhere below, muffled by the thick walls of the restaurant. And then—

“GET DOWN!”

Fox moved like lightning. One arm shoved you sideways, sending you down behind the table just as another shot scorched overhead. Thorn dove the opposite direction, deflecting debris with his arm guard, already scanning rooftops.

Anakin’s saber ignited mid-air.

The green blade of Ahsoka’s followed a heartbeat later.

“Sniper on the north building!” Rex barked, blaster up and already coordinating through his helmet comms. “Multiple shooters—cover’s compromised!”

Another blast tore through the awning, scorching Padmé’s chair. You yanked her down with you, shielding her head with your arms.

“Two squads, at least,” Thorn said over comms. “Organized. Not a distraction—this is the hit.”

Skywalker growled something dark and bolted forward, vaulting over the terrace railing with a flash of blue saber and fury.

“Ahsoka!” he shouted back. “Get them out of here—now!”

She was already moving. “Senators, with me!”

You didn’t hesitate—your combat instincts burned hot and automatic. You grabbed Padmé’s hand and ran, ducking low behind Ahsoka as she slashed through the decorative back entrance with her saber. The door hissed open—Fox and Thorn moved in tandem, covering your escape with rapid fire precision.

“Go!” Fox shouted. “We’ll hold the line!”

You and Padmé bolted through the kitchen, past startled staff and broken plates. Behind you, the sounds of a full-scale assault filled the air—blaster fire, shouted orders, another explosion shaking the foundations.

Ahsoka skidded into the alley, saber still lit. “Rex, redirect the speeder evac—pull it two blocks west! We’re going underground!”

Padmé looked pale. You weren’t sure if it was the near-miss or the fact that you were dragging her like a soldier, not a senator.

“This way,” you said, yanking open a service hatch. “Down the delivery chute. Go.”

She blinked. “You’ve done this before.”

“Later.”

Minutes stretched like hours as Ahsoka led you and Padmé through Coruscant’s underlevels. The girl was quick, precise—but young. She kept glancing back at you, questions on her face even in the middle of a mission.

Padmé finally caught her breath. “Are we clear?”

“Almost,” Ahsoka said. “Rex is circling a transport in now. We’ll get you back to the Senate.”

You exhaled slowly, the adrenaline catching up to your bones.

Ahsoka looked at you directly this time. “You weren’t afraid.”

You shook your head. “I’ve been afraid before. This wasn’t it.”

And though she didn’t press, something in her eyes said she understood more than she let on.

Because that wasn’t fear. That was reflex. Memory. War rising again in your blood, no matter how carefully you’d buried it.

And you weren’t sure if that scared you more… or comforted you.

⸻

The plush carpet muffled your steps as you entered the secured room, escorted by the Chancellor’s guards but notably free of the Chancellor himself. Thank the stars. The tension in your jaw was just now beginning to ease.

Padmé sat beside you, brushing glass dust from the hem of her gown. She wasn’t shaking anymore, though her eyes betrayed the flickers of adrenaline still fading. Ahsoka stood at the window, her arms crossed, gaze sharp as she scanned the skyline.

“I should’ve worn flats,” Padmé muttered, leaning toward you. “Last time I try to be fashionable during an assassination attempt.”

You gave a small, dry laugh. “Next time, we coordinate. Combat boots under formalwear. Very senatorial.”

Ahsoka turned slightly, studying you.

Padmé smiled faintly, but her next words were laced with meaning. “Well, you would know. I’ve never seen someone pull a senator out of a sniper’s line of fire with that kind of precision. It was… practiced.”

You didn’t miss the weight in her tone.

“Remind me never to tell you anything personal again,” you quipped, keeping your smile light. “You’re terrible with secrets.”

Padmé raised a brow, amused. “I am a politician.”

“You’re a gossip,” you shot back playfully.

Ahsoka tilted her head, clearly intrigued. “Wait… practiced?”

Before Padmé could answer—or you could pivot—the doors slid open.

Thorn entered first, helmet under one arm. His eyes immediately scanned the room. Fox followed a step behind, helmet still on, shoulders squared, every inch of him sharp and unreadable. But you felt his eyes on you. The pause in his step. The tension in his jaw.

Neither man spoke right away. But they didn’t need to. Their presence filled the room with the kind of silent protection that wasn’t easily taught. Not one senator in the room doubted they’d cleared the entire floor twice over before allowing the doors to open.

Fox’s voice cut through after a beat. “Are you both unharmed?”

Padmé nodded. “We’re fine. Thanks to all of you.”

Thorn’s eyes shifted to you—just a second longer than protocol called for. “You’re calm.”

You shrugged. “Panicking rarely improves aim.”

Ahsoka didn’t let it go. “So… you have training?”

You gave her your best senatorial smile. “Wouldn’t every politician be safer if they did?”

Padmé gave you a look. “You’re dodging.”

“I’m deflecting. There’s a difference.”

Before Ahsoka could press, the door slid open again, and Captain Rex stepped in.

His brow was furrowed beneath his helmet, his tone clipped and straight to the point. “General Skywalker captured one of the assassins. Alive.”

That got everyone’s attention.

Fox stepped forward. “Where is he now?”

“En route to a secure interrogation cell. Skywalker’s escorting him personally. He wants the senators updated.”

Your fingers curled slightly into the fabric of your robe. For all your practiced calm, something burned beneath your ribs.

Someone had targeted you. Again.

⸻

You barely sat.

Your body ached to move—to fight—but instead you paced the perimeter of the small, sterile waiting room the Guard had shoved you into while Skywalker handled the interrogation.

Two chairs. A water dispenser. No windows.

And a commander blocking the only door like a wall of red and steel.

Fox.

You’d seen Thorn step out to “coordinate with Rex,” but Fox hadn’t budged since Rex walked in with the update. Motionless. Head tilted just enough to follow your pacing.

It had been seven minutes.

You stopped finally, resting your palms flat on a small metal desk.

His voice, when it came, was rougher than usual.

“You need to sit down.”

You didn’t look at him. “No.”

“And drink water.”

“No.”

A longer pause.

“You may be a former soldier,” he said quietly, “but you’re still human.”

That actually made you spin around—lips curling into a sharp smile.

“Funny. You treat me more like china than human, most of the time.”

Fox didn’t move, but you could feel the shift.

“You’re not breakable,” he said flatly. “That isn’t the point.”

“What is?”

He was quiet.

You stared at him, taking a slow step closer. You knew it was reckless before your feet moved. But you did it anyway.

“Tell me, Commander.”

Fox didn’t answer immediately.

But then—his head turned just slightly toward the ceiling. As if he was measuring something he didn’t want to name.

You were about to fold your arms, press harder—when he spoke.

Voice low. Tight.

“If anyone’s going to break you, it should be your choice.”

For half a second, your heart stopped.

Your eyes snapped to his visor—not in disbelief, but in something far more dangerous.

He held your stare.

Then turned his body back toward the door in a sharp movement—like he’d reset an entire system with one motion.

“Sit down, Senator,” he said, brushing the moment away like it was protocol.

You did.

But not because he told you to.

Because your knees suddenly felt unsteady.

And outside, Thorn’s shadow was pacing too.

⸻

Thorn wasn’t brooding.

He told himself that twice. Then once more for good measure.

He wasn’t brooding—he was thinking.

Processing.

Decompressing, even.

Helmet off. Armor half-stripped. He leaned against the long bench in the quietest corner of the barracks, pretending not to hear Stone snoring two bunks down. Pretending not to care that Hound’s mastiff, Grizzer, had somehow crawled under his bunk and now slept like it was his.

He ran a hand through his hair.

It should’ve been a normal day—hell, even a standard post-attack lockdown. Escort the senators. Maintain security. Nothing complicated.

But she had looked at him.

Really looked. Past the phrasing, past the title. Past the helmet.

And worse—he’d let her.

That smile she gave when Fox told her to sit, that off-hand comment about being treated like china—it stuck in his mind like a saber mark. Not because of what she said, but because of what she didn’t. The way she tested the air in every conversation. Pressed and pressed until something cracked.

And if she pressed him again—he wasn’t sure he’d hold as well as Fox did.

Thorn sighed sharply and stood, heading for the hall.

He needed air.

Thorn didn’t expect her to be out.

It was late. She’d had a hell of a day. She was a senator.

But there she was, near the far fence where the decorative lights bled softly across the foliage. Arms crossed. Expression unreadable. Alone.

She turned her head a little when she heard his approach, then fully—half a smile forming.

“I wondered who’d come to check on me first.”

Thorn raised an eyebrow. “You expected someone?”

She shrugged, but it was coy. “Let’s not pretend either of you would let me go unmonitored tonight.”

He smirked, just faintly, and stepped closer. “You’re not wrong.”

They stood there, still, in the humid night air. The stars were dim from all the light pollution—but Thorn didn’t look up.

He looked at her.

The silence stretched again.

“You know,” she said after a beat, “for someone who’s so damn good at his job… you’re terrible at hiding how much you care.”

He didn’t deny it. Not this time.

Thorn’s voice was low when he replied. “And you’re good at provoking reactions.”

“You didn’t give me one.”

He met her gaze. “Didn’t I?”

That landed harder than she expected. Her smile faltered.

And when she didn’t answer, Thorn gently touched her elbow—brief, almost professional.

But not quite.

“You’re not just another asset,” he said quietly. “I just don’t know what that means yet.”

Then he stepped away.

And she let him.

But she didn’t stop thinking about it all night.

⸻

The day was mostly quiet—too quiet. Meetings had ended early, and most senators had retreated to their quarters or offworld duties. She had slipped away from the dull chatter, climbing the stairs to the lesser-known observation deck—her sanctuary when the pressure of politics felt too tight around her throat.

But she wasn’t alone for long.

Thorn stepped through the archway, helmet under his arm, posture rigid as ever.

“I figured I’d find you up here,” he said.

She arched a brow. “Am I that predictable?”

“No,” he said. “You’re just hard to keep track of when you want to be. But you only disappear when something’s bothering you.”

She tilted her head slightly, giving him a quiet once-over. “And what makes you think something’s bothering me?”

Thorn didn’t answer right away. Instead, he stepped to the edge, eyes scanning the skyline. When he finally spoke, his voice was low. Measured. “You wear your control like armor, Senator. But it’s heavy. I can see it.”

She turned away from the view to face him fully. “You really shouldn’t say things like that.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re not supposed to care.”

His jaw tensed, the shift subtle, but not lost on her.

“And yet…” she continued, stepping closer, “…here you are. Always near. Always watching. I’m not blind, Thorn. You don’t flinch when there’s danger. But you flinch when I look at you too long.”

He didn’t respond. Not at first.

So she pushed again.

“You’re a good soldier. Loyal. By the book.” Her voice dropped. “So tell me—how much longer are you going to pretend I don’t affect you?”

Thorn’s composure cracked.

It was a split second.

But in that second, he moved—one hand cupping the side of her face, the other bracing her waist as he kissed her. Not roughly. Not rushed. But with the kind of restraint that felt like it was burning both of them alive from the inside out.

He pulled back just enough to breathe—but not enough to let go.

And then—

“Commander.”

The voice cut through the silence like a knife.

Thorn froze.

She turned her head slowly, her heart hammering, to find Fox standing at the top of the stairs—helmet on, voice emotionless.

Almost.

“You’re needed back at the barracks. Now.”

“Sir—”

“Immediately.”

Thorn stepped away, face hardening into a mask. He didn’t look at her again. He simply nodded once to Fox and walked away, every step heavy with restrained emotion.

Fox waited until Thorn disappeared from sight before turning back to her.

“Senator,” he said, voice quieter now, almost too quiet. “That was… out of line.”

She raised a brow, pulse still thrumming from the kiss. “Which part?”

Fox didn’t answer.

But his silence said enough.

Jealousy had sharp edges. And for the first time, he wasn’t hiding his anymore.

⸻

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#clone trooper x reader #clone wars #star wars #star wars fanfic #star wars the clone wars #clone x reader #tcw fox #fox x reader #commander fox #commander fox x reader #thorn tcw #thorn x reader #commander thorn #corrie guard #coruscant guard

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