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le-fruit-de-la-passion · 5 months ago

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Say my Name, As if it’s Drowning in the Tide - Jayce x Reader (Chapter 1)

Summary: But Jayce is weak. So unbelievably weak. And the voice of temptation in the back of his mind insists you will never want him the same way he does you. It’s cowardly, and it’s spineless, and it goes against everything he’s ever been taught to value. Yet none of it seems to matter when he looks at you, bare in front of him, hair wet and sticking to your skin in heavy curls like a siren in the stormy sea. He’d sell his soul if it meant having you, and in more ways than one, he is.

Pairing: Jayce x Reader Modern AU, one-sided Viktor x Reader

Word Count: 6K

Warning: Explicit

Tags: Hate Sex, Emotional Roleplay, One-sided Attraction, Grinding, Dry-Humping, Premature Ejaculation, Coming Untouched, Switch!Jayce, Rough Kissing, Biting, Shower Sex, Angst, One Bed

Notes: I love my pathetic son Jayce, so I needed to make him just a bit wetter and sadder for… reasons. This is a two-parter, because it was looking too heavy as a one-shot and the second part still needs a bit more attention. I need to stop having too many multi-chapter projects at the same time before I go insane. Anyway, enjoy ❤️!!

(Chapter 2/End)

You tap your fingers on the wooden countertop, trying to remain calm despite the growing pressure inside your skull.

“And you're sure there's not a single other room left ?” you ask with a tense smile, your teeth grinding against each other almost audibly.

The receptionist gives you yet another blank stare. She's hardly older than seventeen, probably helping out her parent's business, and clearly not paid enough to care about whether or not you stay or go.

“No, ma'am, there are no other rooms available for the duration of your stay,” she repeats robotically. It's as if you've been stuck in the same dialogue tree for half an hour with a badly programmed NPC. “We're a family-owned business, and we only have ten rooms available at once. Your reservation was for a single bedroom, not two.”

The exaggerated sound of her slowly chewing gum is driving you insane. “She's just doing her job’, you have to remind yourself. It's not her fault, you know that; plus, if there's anybody to blame, it's Jayce.

You turn towards the culprit in question, large shoulders slightly slumped and eyes escaping your glare. Pathetic.

“Seriously, Jayce?” you state in disbelief. “I asked you to do one thing for the trip.”

Jayce visibly takes offence to that, raising one stupidly large hand in objection:

“That's not fair, I was also taking care of bringing the prototype!”

“And I signed us up to the conference,” you hiss back. “I prepared our lecture. I got our bus tickets here and back. I made our itinerary for the whole three days. I even wrote down where we could go to bring back souvenirs for Sky and Viktor!”

You point an accusing finger at him, tapping it against his chest:

“The only thing I wanted you to take care of was the fucking motel. And you couldn't even do that right!”

He throws up both hands in exasperation, rolling his eyes. If there wasn't a minor in the same room, you'd have no qualms about punching him.

“Fine, alright, I messed up, what do you want me to say? ‘I'm sorry I'm such an idiot'?”

You exhale in frustration, throwing him one last resentful look before turning back to the receptionist: “Yeah, that would be a good start”, you scoff under your breath.

He makes a dramatic groan of annoyance behind you, like this entire situation isn't his fault.

The Academy barely gives you enough budget to attend two national mechanical engineering conferences a year. You had originally planned to go to this one with Viktor, specifically because of its location: nice and remote, the air fresh and relaxing, the few roads leading to the major cities surrounded by millennial trees and mountain peaks. The perfect place for a spark of romance to ignite between the two of you.

Unfortunately, Viktor had already scheduled a weekend seminar on the exact same date as the conference. Sky, your fourth and youngest lab partner, wasn't equipped enough to help you present all the complex features of the university's mechanical arm project. Only one other person could.

Jayce fucking Talis, and his magical ability to never do anything right.

“We'll just get our money back and find another place to crash,” he argues, walking up next to you to the counter, resting his weight against it; it creaks disapprovingly. “It doesn't have to be a whole thing.”

“I'm sorry sir,” the teen flatly interjects, still smacking the gum between her brace-clad teeth. Squish, squish. “But we require cancellations to be made 24 hours prior to the reservation. We cannot reimburse you as per the politics you have agreed to on our website.”

You'd probably get more interactive answers from a chatbot. Jayce kneads the lines on his forehead, his practiced megawatt smile starting to crack from fatigue. The girl stares at him with neither sympathy nor sadness; she brings her lips together to form a small pink bubble, letting it burst after a few seconds. Pop.

“Okay, you know what,” Jayce sighs in defeat, “I'll pay for our rooms somewhere else. It's on me. As an apology.”

This would be an excellent time to not subtly sneak in a remark on how he's always using his parent's money to get himself out of the messes he's created, but the teen speaks up again before you get a chance to:

“Sir,” she adds with her irritatingly nasal voice. “You should know the only other motel in the area only accepts new reservations until 9 pm.”

She nods pointedly towards an old grandfather clock on the wall, and the two of you look at it in sync: it's 9:06.

Now you're genuinely hesitating between strangling her or Jayce.

“You really know how to make a guy feel better, huh?” Jayce attempts with a weak laugh, the plastic smile crumbling a little further.

She only gives him a vacant gaze.

Your legs are aching from the long ride in the overcrowded bus, and the arduous walk to the motel with half the disassembled prototype on your back. You've been dreaming of laying down on a bed for the last three hours, and even if another inn was open nearby, you doubt you'd have the will to carry everything there.

“I don't care anymore,” you sigh, massaging the side of your temple to relieve some of the built-up tension. “I'm exhausted, and we need to rest if we want to be any good tomorrow morning. We'll just figure it out upstairs.”

Jayce makes a non-committal sound of agreement; if you had more energy, you'd angrily ask him if he has any better ideas he'd like to share. But you don't, so you just focus back on the unexcited receptionist. Ironically enough, the letters on her cropped shirt spell ‘GOOD VIBES ONLY’.

“We'll take the room,” you conclude, worn out.

The teen barely blinks as she inputs something into her old computer, the vintage monitor buzzing unpleasantly before she hands you two scratched keycards mechanically.

“Room 207. We hope you’ll enjoy your stay at Grizzly Country Motel,” she deadpans.

You mumble a thank you, but she either doesn't hear or chooses to ignore it in favour of going back to her cell phone, like your entire interaction had been nothing more than chasing away a couple of flies.

Jayce at least has the decency to grab both your luggage and his before you both head towards the stairs; if he’s got all those muscles, he might as well put them to use. You feel a pang of annoyance at how easily he carries the bags that you struggled to hold the entire day.

“Don't you think it's weird when they say ‘we’?” he mumbles pensively as you go up the stairway. “It's like everyone who works at a hotel is in a hivemind.”

You can't even find the will to look back and glare at him.

“No, Talis, I was actually thinking about how I'd fix all the problems you've created,” you reply drily.

You reach the second floor, knees buckling. Room 201, 202, 203…

“You'll just take half the bed and I'll take the other half,” Jayce pipes up from behind you, grunting as he pulls the last bag up. “We'll put a pillow in the middle. It'll be like nothing even happened.”

Oh, to be in the mind of Jayce Talis, where the universe is so fucking simple and accountability is a myth.

You hate how he always has an answer for everything, like it’s all so easy for him. You've fought hard to reach this point — to earn your place in the Academy, to be seen as a true scientist, breaking through barriers in a field where women remain the minority. It’s taken blood, sweat, and tears, years of effort that people like Viktor and Sky understand and respect.

Room 204, 205, 206…

But for Jayce Talis, it’s all sunshine, rainbows, and candy-colored skies. His family owns one of the largest metallurgy companies in the country, and has stocks invested in some of the biggest steel producers on the globe. He’s never had to work a single day in his life to put himself through school, never had to sacrifice anything for his dreams. You don’t think there’s a single thing he’s ever actually had to put effort in: he barely studies and still aces all his classes, hardly puts any care into his appearance, yet always looks like he’s out of the cover of the Times’ 50 Most Desirable Men. It’s infuriating to an unspeakable degree.

Room 207.

You tap one of the keycards on the handle, letting out a small sigh of relief when the mechanism beeps joyfully. Today hasn't been ideal, but at least, you're only a few feet away from a soft, comfortable bed.

You open the door, walking in with little decorum. It's small and bare, as you expected: a single window dulled by years of exposure, a box TV taken straight from the nineties, a dingy light fixture barely illuminating a greyed-out wallpaper of a forest scene, and…

“Talis,” you pause. He almost bumps into your back, fumbling with the bags in his arms.

“What?” he asks in confusion, peering over your shoulder. “Oh,” he simply says when he sees the issue.

“Talis,” you repeat slowly, trying to maintain your tone even, despite how badly you want to scream. “This is a single bed.”

Indeed, not only is there only one bed, it's evidently sized for a single person. It's ridiculously tiny. It doesn't take a genius to see that with someone of Jayce's stature, you'd have to practically sleep on top of him if you wanted to share the bed.

“Wait, I swear I asked for doubles for both of us-” he protests immediately.

“It's fine,” you cut him off, despite it being the exact opposite. The headache is getting worse, and you don't feel like arguing with him any more than you already have. “I'll take the bed tonight, and you take the floor, and we alternate tomorrow.”

Jayce puts all the bags down on the carpeted floor, visibly dejected.

“Again, I'm really sorry about this,” he mumbles, and even though you can tell it's genuine, it doesn't make you feel any better. Every ambigious prejudice you might have had against him has just confirmed itself: he’s a spoiled mama’s boy, who isn’t able to navigate the real world alone, and who’ll simply cry when he messes up things for everyone else.

“Whatever,” you grumble, sitting tiredly on the edge of the puny bed that groans painfully under your weight; it doesn't even have the decency to be comfortable. “Just means I'll have to take care of everything if we ever do symposium together again.”

He looks like a scolded puppy, unmoving, eyes avoidant, his large frame blocking the doorway. Jayce is extremely talented at making people pity him, with his huge citrine eyes and perfectly rosy cheeks. It almost makes you hesitate before adding the next words, but bitterness takes the upper hand: “This is the kind of mistake Viktor never makes.”

He doesn't reply.

You can tell that hurt him just as much as you intended with the way his body slightly curves inwards, his fits visibly clenching inside his pockets. Well, good. He's old and smart enough to know actions have consequences. He's supposed to be your partner, not a child you're babysitting.

“I'm…gonna go take a shower,” he hesitantly adds after a few tense seconds. “I'm still sweaty from the bus ride. Is that… okay with you?”

You shrug with disinterest; you know you’re just being petty now, but thinking of everything that could have been, had it been Viktor on this trip and not him, is leaving a sour taste in your mouth.

“Fine by me. I'll take mine right after.”

He waits a moment, like he's expecting you to add something else; maybe extend the olive branch. When you don't provide, he sighs, making his way to the bathroom door and closing it behind him.

You let your body fall back on the mattress with a heavy ‘oomph’. It's not as uncomfortable as it first seemed; it's firm, but the covers are soft, and the single pillow feels nicely fluffed. A couple might actually be pretty cozy in this bed, one body on top of the other, their libs entangled lovingly. It could have been you and Viktor.

Viktor.

Viktor, and his honey-coloured eyes. Viktor, and his teasing smile that makes your heart skip a beat. Viktor, and the way his long fingers twirl in his chestnut hair when he's focused, the way he absentmindedly licks his bottom lip when he's lost in thought. Viktor, and-

“Hey, um,” Jayce's booming voice from the other room interrupts your reverie. “C'mere for a sec?”

You groan loudly, squeezing your eyes shut. Maybe if you pretend he isn't there, he'll disappear all on his own.

“No, seriously,” he insists.

No luck. You get up lethargically, cursing the man under your breath.

“Left side with the red is hot, right side with the blue is cold, Talis,” you ironize. You open the door to the bathroom to see him standing in front of the shower door, thankfully still fully clothed. “Do you need help opening the shampoo bottle, too?”

He glares back at you in annoyance:

“Fuck off. Look.”

He nods towards a paper sign you hadn't noticed tapped on the glass panel, amateurishly plastified with a clear file folder.

[PLEASE DO NOT USE THE SHOWER MORE THAN ONCE A DAY. 10 MINUTES OF HOT WATER PER ROOM]

Well, you were wrong. Jayce Talis isn't just a forgetful idiot with bad luck.

He's a fucking curse.

“The room and the bed, I could forgive,” you start, fuming. But the shower?!”

“How was I supposed to know?!” he yells back melodramatically. “You told me to find something cheap to not go over budget!”

You shove him in frustration, only getting more annoyed when it doesn't make his stupidly huge body move a single inch:

“I didn't mean you should book a fucking dumpster!”

A loud, pointed knock echoing from beyond the bathroom wall silences you both.

Delightful. The neighbours can hear everything.

You move a step away from Jayce, the width of the bathroom not allowing much in terms of distancing.

“Sorry,” you mumble under your breath. You aren’t, but it's that or getting kicked out of the only open motel in miles for a noise complaint. “Yelling isn't gonna lead us anywhere. You can take five minutes, and I'll take the other five. It's gonna be short, but that's probably the best we can do.”

He at least has the decency to look appreciative, sheepishly scratching the back of his neck.

“I can give you the whole ten minutes, to apologize. This is my fault,” he admits. It’s always like this with him, as if his never-ending self-pity cleanses him of any possible wrongdoing. You despise that.

“And have you stink up the whole place smelling like a football locker room? No way,” you scrunch up your nose. Just by sharing a workspace with him, you know Jayce has the hygiene skills of a teenage boy who thinks Axe body spray and cologne make sweat magically vanish; the sheer power of the unholy combination would keep you awake all night.

“Or…” Jayce trails on for a few uncharacteristically long seconds. He's usually more the type to say things before reflecting on them, but he's pinching his lips tightly, clearly hesitant about what he's going to add next. “…We could share the shower?”

You look at him with an expression frozen between incomprehension and disgust: “What?”

“I mean, it's big enough for two people to stand without touching,” he quickly justifies, raising his hands innocently. “I could take the flexible hose, and you'd just go under the showerhead. That way we'd both get ten minutes!”

He's using the overly excited voice he takes on whenever he's giving someone his sales pitch for a new, stupid idea he's had. It might work wonders on most, but you know better than to fall for it.

“So you're that desperate to see me naked?” you sneer.

“I'm trying to be helpful here!” he complains.

If you're being honest, it's not that bad of an idea. The shower is small in width, but it's quite long, making it a very viable option for two people to use at once. If you manoeuver everything right, it'll almost be like you're taking a long, nice ten-minute shower on your own.

“Fine,” you capitulate, making sure to enunciate the word painfully slowly so he knows you're not doing it out of the kindness of your heart. “But if you tell anyone this happened, especially Viktor, I'm cutting off your balls and using them to-”

“Yeah, got it, wouldn't want Viktor to think you like me,” he taunts mockingly, puckering his lips in a false kiss at the other man's name.

It's the first time you've agreed to an idea from Jayce, and you're already regretting it.

“Just shut up and get in the fucking shower,” you spit out, going back to the main room without sparing him another look. “Face the wall and call me when you're done. There’s no reason for this to be weird.”

—

He’s hard.

Very obviously and undeniably hard.

Jayce has been splashing his face with cold water for the last few minutes, to no avail. He's tried every technique he can possibly think of: running in place, breathing exercises, imagining his abuelita naked, nothing is working.

The only thing he can visualize is your body, completely bare in that shower, only a few inches away from his. The water pouring down from your hair to your shoulders, to your breasts, and then alongside the curves of your thighs, and your ass-

“Shut up,” he mumbles to himself in the empty bathroom.

It's not a secret to anyone that Jayce likes you. Neither is it a secret that you're utterly uninterested and only have eyes for Viktor, except perhaps for Viktor himself. It's kind of unfair how two-thirds of Viktor's lab partners are in love with him. He'd be lying if he said he didn't get it, and that his eyes never lingered on that little mole above Viktor's lip for longer than they should have. But damn it, he wants you. He wants you to want him. Is that such an unfair thing to ask for?

You've got so much fight, so much fire in you, and he gets dizzy off the smouldering look in your eyes whenever you disagree with him. And disagree, you do: he wants to use lithium batteries, you want to use sodium. He wants to focus on reducing energy intake for the prototype, you want to focus on adding new components to it. He offers to order pizza for the group after a long day of work, you'll hear of nothing but sushi.

It drives him insane, but less in a way that makes him despise you, and more in one that makes him angrily rub his cock raw every night at the thought of that angry pout on your lips.

“-ayce! You alive in there?” comes your voice from the other room. He groans in frustration. This is a spectacular disaster in the making, and he's sitting front and center for it.

He's made his own bed and now he has to lie in it.

“You can come in!” he yells back with a noticeable crack in his voice. Not a great start.

His heart skips a beat when he hears the door creak open and close. The rustling of clothes being taken off one by one, the sound of pants dropping on the tile floor, and the unmistakable click of a bra being unhooked.

The door to the shower slides, and he feels you enter the confined space. It's ridiculous how close you are to him; he can smell the sweat off your skin, the faded scent of your perfume. His cock gives a small twitch and he glares down at it in betrayal. ‘Not now!’

You don't say a word as you turn on the faucet, the old plumbing in the walls hissing slightly before water starts to pour down on the both of you. He's not usually one for the cold, but it's refreshing, washing away the feeling of stickiness on his skin. He hums under his breath in delight; maybe it'll actually just be an awkward but relaxing shower, in the end.

The temperature rises slowly but surely, from cool to tepid, tepid to lukewarm, and then… it stops. He waits a few more seconds, throwing a discreet glance behind him to find you haven't fully turned the faucet on the hot side.

“Could you… put it warmer?” he asks, clearing his throat.

“It's plenty warm enough as is,” you reply flatly.

Now you're lying just to go against him; it's barely any warmer than if he was bathing outside in the lake.

“Why would you even fight for the hot water if you're not gonna use it?” he mumbles.

You moan dramatically in complaint: “Fine, princess, I'll bump it up.”

He sees your hand reach for the faucet, grab it… and bring it less than a centimetre closer to the warm side.

“Seriously?” he asks in disbelief.

“Yeah, seriously, now start washing your greasy hair before there's no hot water left at all,” you scold him, like he's nothing more than a snivelling toddler, and not a man twice your size.

Alright, enough is enough.

“What are you-” you protest at his sudden movement, his bicep pressing up against your shoulder.

“I'm turning the hot water on so I don't die in here,” he snaps back, trying to get a feel for the faucet while still looking away from you for the sake of modesty.

“Absolutely not, stay on your side!” you admonish him angrily. You attempt to push him back, pointedly refusing to look in his direction as you blindly slap his arm away. “Wait, Jayce-”

It happens too fast for either of you to figure out what's happening. One minute you're back to back, a respectable distance from one another, and the next you've both slipped, his arms boxing you into the narrow side of the shower with your legs bumping together.

Your eyes are locked into his for a few long, painful seconds. Neither of you are moving. You're trapped in a precarious game of jenga, where you can't even see which parts can safely be removed without you collapsing on each other.

“Whatever you do,” you exhale slowly. “Don't look down.”

You visibly regret your words as soon as you say them; you must have forgotten it’s Jayce you’re talking to.

He immediately looks down.

You put an arm up over your chest with an indignant yelp, and he quickly defends himself:

“Why would you tell me to not look down? That's like saying ‘Don't think of an elephant’!”

You're staying silent, your lips into a tight line, but he's certain you're thinking of an elephant right now. He smiles boastfully and you shoot him a deadly glare, before looking away to the side. It's the first time he's ever seen that awkward little blush on your cheeks without the conversation being about Viktor. That's a win in his book.

“It's fine,” you repeat once more like a broken record, and it’s definitely more meant to reassure yourself than to keep up a pleasant conversation with him. “I'll just… squish back against the wall while you close your eyes, and I'll direct you back to the other side. No problem.”

You sound less convinced than he's ever heard you before. He must have succeeded in turning the faucet to the side during the whole debacle, because the water has grown noticeably warmer, clouds of steam starting to form in the air. The atmosphere inside the shower is shifting ever so slightly.

He doesn't want to move.

He doesn't want to close his eyes.

The colour of your cheeks has grown darker from the heat, your lips slightly parted around every audible respiration.

“Would you wanna stay like this… if it was with Viktor?” he asks breathlessly.

You look back at him with genuine confusion, and he's honestly just as surprised as you are.

“What?”

“I…” It's getting harder to think. All his blood is rushing south, leaving him dangerously light-headed. What is he saying? “I… asked if you'd stay like this if it wasn't me in the shower. If it was Viktor.”

Your frown deepens. Your eyebrows always do this cute little thing where one furrows just slightly more than the other, but he's never gotten to observe it from this close. He lets his thoughts travel into dangerous territory. Do you wear that same expression when you're on your knees, sucking some other guy off? Would you look like that for Viktor?

“I don't see how that's relevant,” you retort harshly, but your gaze is elusive. You can't hide from him, not when his face is merely inches away from yours.

“Humor me,” he requests again.

“Fine, yeah, I would! Are you happy now?” you snap, eyes locking back into his with fiery resentment.

You're embarrassed.

He's never seen you rattled like this before. The energy in the shower is electric, now, coursing through his veins like a drug. ‘There will never be another moment like this’, the voice in the back of his head provides, syrupy sweet. It’s without a doubt the worst idea he’s ever had in his life, but he can’t stop the words from pouring out of his mouth.

“I could show you what he's into,” he almost whispers, the deafening sound of water hitting the ceramic flooring almost too loud for him to hear himself.

He knows that you've heard him with the way your eyes widen, your breath hitching in your throat.

“I mean, guys, we talk,” he explains, the words now coming out of him like the rambles of a madman. He’s in too deep to back out: it’s sink or swim. “About the stuff we like, the stuff we dream about. I could tell you what he's told me, and you can practice. On me.”

An eternity passes before you speak again, mouth just barely agape. But you're not yelling at him. You're not slapping him in the face. In fact, you're not even frowning; the expression you’re wearing is oddly vulnerable and open, like you're seeing him in a different light than you ever have before.

“You're fucking gross, Talis,” you breathe out slowly. “You really think I'm that easy?”

This*,* whatever this is, is so fragile he’s scared of shattering it by being too loud. Like he’s talking to a wild animal.

“I don't,” he promises in a low voice. “But I think you're smart, and dedicated, and you wouldn't let an opportunity to know something so personal about Viktor pass you by.”

The steam has fully blurred the glass panels around the both of you, and it feels like you're inside one of those snow globes Jayce's mother used to bring back for him from her travels when he was a kid. It's weirdly ethereal, warm and cold, frozen out of any known space and time. He’s never heard you stay silent this long, and the anticipation makes his throat burn.

“Fine,” you finally say. “But if you tell anyone-”

“Yeah I know, you'll cut my balls off,” he lets out with a small laugh, slightly delirious. He's half convinced he's dreaming. “Are we good?”

You nod without a word, shifting your head to the side slightly to avoid his gaze. He hesitantly brings a hand to your chin, holding it like you're made of glass. You don't recoil at his touch, so he gently presses it upwards, making you look at him again.

“Viktor likes it when people kiss him softly,” he smiles shyly, his heart beating as loudly in his chest as it did for his very first kiss. It’s like he’s watching a movie, like none of it is truly real. He closes the gap between the two of you slowly, waiting for you to pull away; but you don't. Your lips meet his, and it's everything he could have ever wanted.

You taste of rainwater and cherry chapstick. You’re soft in the way described by jazzy love songs, smooth and electric, a puzzle piece that just feels so unbelievably right. He wants to wrap his arms around you, hold you so tight this never has to come to an end, leave marks on your skin no shower could ever get rid of.

But he doesn't. He can't.

This is a fantasy that’s only animated by mutual gain. It’s not the climax of a romance film where the hero finally gets to kiss the heroine under the rain.

But God, does he want to pretend it is.

You pull away first, and he doesn't miss it: the millisecond where your eyes open and you look at him like he's the one you want to be kissing. The almost imperceptible moment where you're still imagining you're kissing Viktor and not him, where your irises shine brightly with so much happiness and love.

But it's already gone, like it never even happened, and you quickly wipe your lips with the back of your hand. You’re not in a beautiful London street amid a gentle downpour with your soulmate: you’re in a cramped shower in a motel, with a guy you don’t even vaguely care for.

“You should shave your stubble. It's annoying,” you mumble.

‘Viktor doesn't have one’, the sentence heavily implies. It stings, but he's not about to back off just from that either. Not when he's been given a chance like this.

“Viktor also likes it when kissing is a bit of a fight,” he adds, sounding much too eager and desperate for his own liking. “Biting, tugging hair, that kind of stuff.”

It's not a lie, per se; he's only ever seen Viktor kiss someone once, when they were undergrads. It was an end-of-semester party, and Viktor had had way too many vodka red bulls for a man of his stature and health. Jayce had found him on a couch, limbs entangled with a stranger who seemed equally as drunk, and absolutely devouring their face off.

Viktor had asked him to never let him near caffeinated cocktails again the next morning.

You look slightly skeptical, analyzing him for any signs of deception; it looks as though you find none, because you're the one who initiates this time, and there you are, the fiery woman he's fallen head over heels for.

You're going to war on him, sinking your teeth into his bottom lip, savagely shoving your tongue in his mouth, one hand entangled in the hair at the back of his head while the other ferociously holds his throat in place, nails digging into his heartbeat. He responds eagerly, letting you mistreat him, encouraging you with muffled groans.

It hurts, and he wants it to never end. He can taste blood in his mouth, the metallic tinge making him dizzy, and he's so hard he could cum if you just touched his dick with a finger. He whines pathetically when you break the kiss for air, disoriented, a strand of saliva connecting you both still.

“A-aouch,” he can only manage to say jokingly.

You lean back against the tile wall, slightly breathless; you wipe away drops of red on your lip, smudging them down towards your chin, the look of a feral animal in your pupils. He feels his already rock-hard cock twitch. Hot.

“This is about what Viktor likes, not what you like. Toughen up, Talis,” you spit back.

Before he has time to formulate a reply, you're back on him, and now he's incapable of stopping himself from humping your thigh like an animal. You don't refuse him or push him away, even mercifully angelling your hip to the side to give him easier access. There's nothing but you, all over him, inside of him, tearing him apart and putting him back together. It's absolutely pathetic, and he knows it, but he can feel his release arriving in the pit of his stomach. He's wanted this for so long, there's just no way to delay it anymore.

It only takes a few more seconds before his orgasm hits him hard, the wave of pleasure making his whole body still as a plank, while you're still sucking harshly the vein on the side of his neck. He cries out once, broken and wanton, barely recognizing the sound of his own voice.

He comes down from the high in time to see the last of his cum painting your hip white before it gets washed away with the water. You detach yourself from him unceremoniously, putting some distance between your bodies with a frown.

“Did you just…?”

There's no room for pretending here. He's just had one of the most mind-blowing orgasms of his life from nothing but a fucking kiss from you. It's like he's a teenager all over again, face redder than a tomato and eyes escaping yours guiltily.

“You came. You came by just making out with me,” you repeat, visibly caught halfway between incredulity and mockery.

“I just haven't gotten laid in a while, that's it!” he justifies vehemently. He needs to change the topic quickly, or you’ll never let him live this down. “I'm always busy at the lab doing the paperwork you always skip out on!”

That thankfully seems to take your attention away from his premature accident; he's never been so grateful for your short temper.

“Seriously? You’re going to bring that up right now?” you bark, shoving him in the chest angrily.

He can still turn this around. He might not have much control over his first release, today ridiculously so, but he's been blessed with excellent stamina and a very short recovery period. Jayce is good at selling himself with speeches, and even though you're usually immune to anything that comes out of his mouth, he's willing to cheat this once and use the one chink in your armour he knows about.

“Do you want to know what Viktor likes or not? Because I haven't told you anything about what he wants in bed,” he tempts you in a tone of indifference.

Your silence speaks volumes; he's got you again. Yes, it's incredibly manipulative, and when this is over he's going to spend hours turning over in his bed and despising himself. He’s always believed in doing things the fair way, the right way, and that one day he’d manage to lower your defences and etch a place into your heart all of his own merits.

But Jayce is weak. So unbelievably weak. And the voice of temptation in the back of his mind insists you will never want him the same way he does you. It’s cowardly, and it’s spineless, and it goes against everything he’s ever been taught to value. Yet none of it seems to matter when he looks at you, bare in front of him, hair wet and sticking to your skin in heavy curls like a siren in the stormy sea. He’d sell his soul if it meant having you, and in more ways than one, he is.

What kind of man does that make him?

That’s a thought he’ll just have to keep for later.

Taglist Darlings: @soniiyi , @mischievous-piltovan, @urfavlarry , @luv-urself-first, @girlidkthinkofsmth , @starflesh-moth

#jayce x reader #jayce x reader smut #jayce talis #arcane #arcane x reader smut #also...#viktor x reader #viktor arcane #arcane smut #jayce fanfic #jayce x you #my writing #my fics #fruitforthoughts 💭

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humanitysstrongestsoldier1 · 11 days ago

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𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐒 | 𝑃. 𝑆𝐸𝑂𝑁𝐺𝐻𝑊𝐴 𝑥 𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟

Alternate Universe: University, OG Countries

Genre: Mature, Fluff, Smut, F2L

Pairing: Seonghwa X Nerd F!Reader

---

Summary:

“This may be the night that my dreams might let me know. All the stars are closer.” - Kendrick Lamar and SZA, All The Stars

You were made of stars. Stitched from constellations and loneliness. He found you anyway.

In a foreign land, where you chased your dreams of creative writing, you collided with Park Seonghwa: beautiful, radiant, terrifyingly kind. Between stolen glances, unfinished stories, rooftop constellations, and a love that bloomed like a supernova, you realise: you were never lost. You were just waiting for someone to find you in your orbit — and stay.

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Warnings: kissing, neck kissing, oral sex (fem rec.), explicit language, mirror sex, body worship, light dom/sub, slight breeding kink (if you squint), fingerfucking (kinda), overstim., manhandling, forced eye contact, handjobs. Wooyoung is his own warning lolz.

A/N: So this popped up on my fyp the day i finished my draft of this ff, the song is the same and so is the man, is this a sign from the universe or am i tweakin?? someone pls save yeosang in this ff, also this may be a bit self indulgent, reader has acne scars and stretch marks, literally waited until i finished TSDOT7 to post this, finalising this during finals week was ironic af

Being an astrophysics major by itself was a dream come true.

Indeed, the math was brutal. There were countless nights you banged your head against textbooks, hoping osmosis would bless you with answers. Growing up in a country that shaped global advancements in STEM, it felt natural, inevitable, even, to fall in love with the cosmos. And you did. You chased astrophysics with a ferocity few could match. But when your 12-year-old self first discovered writing; something shifted. Something opened. Which is exactly why, the moment you held your degree in strong hands, you applied for college again. Not for answers in equations, but for meaning in words. This time, in a country known not for rockets or labs, but for language, philosophy, and the ache of beautiful things. You wanted an adventure so you sought it out.

In this world, most countries are known for something. Like people, each country had a soul.

Illusia was music. Open beaches, summer-long festivals, street art blooming across abandoned buildings.

Halaland pulsed neon. Dance battles in alleyways, cyphers on rooftops, espresso-fueled tech startups with holographic prototypes coded overnight.

Aurelia was revolutionary. Poetry-like war cries. Taekwondo academies and experimental theatre in the same street.

And then there were two. The two that held your story between them.

Mehrasht , your home. Capital: Rajmaer . A country where science was the tenet; where teenagers programmed robots in ancient courtyards, and RIOSAF — Rajmaer Institute of Sciences & Innovation — stood like a temple for the mind. You’d entered its gates at fifteen, graduating by nineteen as one of their youngest astrophysics scholars. It wasn’t easy. It never is. But it was everything.

And now?

Atelora. Capital: Solune . The mountains watched over the city like protectors. Rain fell often, perfect for writing and introspection. The monsoon was very similar to your home and often brought you comfort. This was where you studied creative writing now — SMAI , Solune Music & Arts Institute . Modest in size, but fierce in passion. Here, painters drew images beyond explanation, philosophers debated and musicians wrote symphonies inspired by heartbreak.

Even though you were technically a “transfer student,” your presence had stirred curiosity from the moment you stepped onto campus. You were young, just twenty, already holding a degree, already having stared down and solving equations that made most students shudder. And yet you chose stories. You chose metaphors. You chose a blank page over a telescope lens– for now at least. Still, the stars never quite left you. You saw them in your writing.

And sometimes you saw them in him .

You had become extremely close friends with a group of 8 artistic men. Kim Hongjoong, Jeong Yunho, Kang Yeosang, Choi San, Song Mingi, Jung Wooyoung, Choi Jongho.

And of course Park Seonghwa. The incarnation of your desires.

When you first set your gaze upon him in your shared mythology class, it felt as though time itself had stopped ticking, going against the very physics you spent years getting a degree over. The irony of it never failed to baffle you. It wasn't his looks—although that man was undeniably beautiful—it was the book he was reading. It was about the rich culture and mythology of your country, of Mehrasht. You didn't have the courage to approach him and chose to sit a row ahead of him. Yeosang sat next to you and his curiosity got the best of him and he started asking about your astrophysics degree. You both bonded over your love for space and mythology. He introduced you to the rest of his group and you all clicked instantly, their accepting and loving nature helping you in a new country and school. When you realised that Seonghwa was part of their group, you almost started believing in a god.

—

The campus library was nearly empty. Golden light pooling through stained glass. You're sitting on the floor between the philosophy and poetry sections, legs crossed, hoodie sleeves pushed to your elbows, eyes locked on your laptop screen. Seonghwa finds you there. He just sits beside you, a quiet gravity. He’s of course still shy due to your friendship being new, but still open minded and curious about your nature.

“You’re writing something new?” he asks softly.

You close your laptop halfway, unsure. “It’s not finished.”

“Neither is the story of our lives,” he murmurs. “But it is still beautiful is it not.”

You hesitate… then open it again and slide it toward him. The title reads:

“Orbit; Closer to Me”

He reads in silence, his eyes taking in every piece of your literary marvel.

The story follows two satellites. Drifting, spinning, drawn toward the same dying planet. One is built to observe, the other to destroy. But they keep circling, unable to touch, always a second too late. Always on the opposite side of the planet. In a way it resembled you and Seonghwa. Your tendency to always search for more, your ambition and constant drive causing things to fall around you; to be destroyed. And Seonghwa, who observed everyone with tender eyes.

At the very end, one of the satellites whispers: "If I had met you in another world, would the universe allow me to love you completely? Would we be closer?"

Seonghwa’s hand tightens on the laptop. “Woah,” he says, voice raw, “Holy shit.”

You don't look at him. Not yet. “It’s fiction,” you say.

“Then let me live in it,” he replies with a chuckle.

You finally turn, eyes meeting him. Your voice, when it comes, is steady.

“Do you think stars could have a mind of their own and fall in love?”

Seonghwa pauses and takes in the character of your question, deeply thinking of a good and honest answer.

“Only the brightest ones,” he answers. “The ones who burn knowing they’ll die. Because they know what true love is.”

You smile. And for the first time in a long time, you don't feel like you're drifting, you don’t feel hollow.

—

Over time, the eight of them became family. Your corner of comfort. Music and lyrical composition with Hongjoong and Mingi. Long philosophical conversations with Yeosang. Soft, contemporary dance lessons which Yunho begged to teach you. Chaotic sleepovers at your place with Wooyoung and San. Karaoke, pranks and card games with Jongho. And despite how new everything had once felt, your world here, in Atelora, in Solune, began to feel a little more like home .

Still, with Seonghwa, things moved... differently. At first, he barely spoke to you. Not out of disinterest, but out of something that almost felt like reverence. Like he didn’t want to ruin something fragile and rare just by getting too close. He listened more than he talked. Always watching, always gently smiling.

But slowly, things shifted after that day in the library.

It started with shared glances during lectures. Long, held eye contact across the seminar room which ended with both of you looking away with blushes coating your cheeks. Then came the silent routine of walking out of class together, neither of you planning it, but always falling into step as if the universe programmed it.

One day, he tapped your shoulder with a quiet, “Hey Y/N,” as you were packing your notes. You turned — breath caught somewhere between your ribs due to his touch— only to find him holding your Mehrashtri fountain pen.

“You dropped this.” It was such a small thing. But when his fingers brushed yours the hum of the world changed frequency.

—

A study session just the two of you was meant to be about ancient symbolism in myths, but somehow ending with him asking about your favorite stars.

“Do you still look up at them?” he asked one night.

“Always,” you replied. “Even when I write, I think I’m trying to translate starlight into words.”

He’d gone quiet for a moment. Then, softly:

“That’s beautiful.”

You’re beautiful , you almost said. But didn’t.

Instead, you let yourself fall in love with his presence. The way he gently corrected your posture when you slouched over your notebook, pushed up your glasses with a laugh as they slipped. The way he hummed under his breath when reading. The way he memorized your favorite coffee or chai order and even started bringing it without asking. The way he cared for his 7 brothers, mother hen style.

He started borrowing your books. You started sketching constellations in his notes. When he spoke about Mehrasht, he did so with admiration. Not as someone who studied it from afar, but as someone who now saw it through your eyes.

Sometimes, you caught him looking at you like you were a story he was trying to finish; or maybe one he was too scared to begin.

He didn’t say it, not yet. But Seonghwa was falling.

And you. Brilliant, quiet, starlit. Were becoming his galaxy.

—

One afternoon, you were in your car, inching out of campus traffic, when you spotted Seonghwa stepping through the front doors of the main building.

“Seonghwa!” you called out, rolling your window down.

His head lifted from where he’d been tucking a pencil into his tote. He turned toward the sound of your voice, eyes scanning until they landed on you, and then, he smiled. That soft, radiant smile that made your heart do impossible things. He jogged over, tote swinging at his side.

“Hey, Y/N! Heading home?”

“Yep. Want a ride?” you asked, eyes lighting up with a mix of mischief and sincerity.

There was a flicker of hesitation in his gaze, subtle, but you didn’t catch it.

“If it’s not a problem,” he said gently.

“My love, you are far from a problem. You’re my salvation,” you replied, lips curling into a flirty smirk.

The blush was immediate. A red flush crept from the base of his neck to the tips of his ears, blooming beautifully across his cheeks.

“Spoken like a true creative writing major,” he murmured, looking away with a grin.

You laughed. “Get in, loser.”

He didn’t hesitate after that. He opened the passenger door and slid in, and just like that, the two of you were back in your orbit. The two of you sang along to songs from both your countries, laughing at each other’s dramatic falsettos and purposely missed notes. His pronunciation in your mother tongue never failed to impress you. At this point, Seonghwa was an honorary Mehrashtri. When you finally pulled up in front of their shared house, Seonghwa turned to you, his expression softening. He reached for your hands, took them into his, and pressed gentle kisses to your knuckles.

“Thank you for the ride,” he whispered.

You didn’t need to reply. The smile you gave him said enough.

As your friendship grew, so did the bravery to start being physically affectionate with each other. Closer than you even realized. He had started reaching out to you more, sitting beside you even when there were other open seats, touching your wrist when he wanted your attention, letting his hand linger longer than necessary when passing you notes. And you… you welcomed it all.

Every graze of fingers, every shoulder bump, every brush of knees. It was intoxicating. Friends, yes, but always on the verge of something more. That tension definitely did not go unnoticed.

Jongho and Wooyoung were relentless in their teasing towards you . Hongjoong and Yunho, on the other hand, took it upon themselves to push Seonghwa — nudging him with pointed looks and strategic wingmanning. The seven of them were on a mission to get their oldest with you.

As you drove away that day, you waved at him through the window. He stood at the curb, watching you disappear into the streetlight-dappled horizon. Then, sighing to himself he turned and walked inside.

What you didn’t know, what you still didn’t know, was this:

Seonghwa had driven himself to campus that day. His car was parked in the northern lot.

But the second he heard your voice calling his name, he didn’t even think twice. Jumped into your car with a smile and a heart beating faster than it should’ve. He never regretted it. Not even when he walked all the way back to campus just to retrieve his car later that night.

Because love — or something dangerously close to it — was worth walking miles and miles for.

And you… beautiful you; were always worth it.

—

You hadn’t meant to overhear. You really hadn’t. You were just trying to return a book Hongjoong lent you. But when you rounded the corner near the media lounge, voices froze you in place.

“I think I’m in love with her,” Seonghwa’s voice was quiet, raw.

Behind the bookshelf divider, you could see Hongjoong’s silhouette leaned against the piano, Seonghwa pacing slowly, his slender alarms crossed.

“Seonghwa, we've all known that. We’ve been trying to get you to admit it too…but tell me why you finally think so, get it off your chest,” Hongjoong asked gently.

Seonghwa let out a breath. “She’s quiet, but intense. She’s like a black hole wearing headphones. Like, you know something massive is happening under the surface and it hums through the air when she’s near.”

You bit the inside of your cheek at his attempt of building a metaphor. Your hands curled around the book in your grip.

“She understands loneliness. Being in a new country, with a new culture and new people. With a new major and more dreams. Her ambition is always drifting but she doesn't understand it in a sad way — it's more like gravity. Always there, always pulling, and she still manages to orbit it gracefully.”

There was a pause, then softer:

“She writes notes related to astrophysics in her margins. Combining science and arts. Little ones. Precise. Brutal. She’s smarter than any of us and doesn’t flaunt it. But I see it. God , Hongjoong. Her weird ass writes poetry in binary and has all the locations of the stars in the night sky memorised and I love her for it.”

Hongjoong said something inaudible along the lines of “that cute lil nerd,” and Seonghwa laughed once, short and breathless.

“She once wrote this short story called ‘Singularity’ for her project. It was about a black hole shrinking due to radiation. The whole thing was a breakup metaphorical allegory, but it hurt. I’ve read it twelve times ever since she sent that PDF. And I still don’t know if I want to cry or kiss her. Everything she does, everything she writes or creates, I fall in love with because it's a part of her.”

Your body betrayed you in that moment and a soft gasp escaped before you could swallow it down.

And silence. Hongjoong’s eyes meeting yours and widening, lips parting.

Then, “Y/N?” Seonghwa’s voice, closer now, cautious.

You turned and ran.

—

You don’t respond to his texts for the rest of the day. But that night, as promised every Friday, you show up.

The rooftop above the humanities building was forgotten by most but sacred to you both. A medium-powered telescope hung over the edge of the rail, but you ignored it, your own scope slung over your shoulder. You always brought the better one. He was already there, wrapped in a black hoodie, eyes flicking up the second he felt your presence. Like gravity itself had shifted.

You set your bag down on the old four-legged charpai, the ropes creaking just a little. Quietly, you pulled out your telescope and began adjusting it, setting the lens on Jupiter — your favorite.

Seonghwa didn’t say a word. He just watched you. In the way he always did. Like you were made of dark matter and wonder.

“I wasn’t supposed to hear,” you finally said, voice low, eyes still on the stars.

Seonghwa turned his head, his gaze soft, unflinching. “I’m not sorry you did.”

You let out a breath, half-laugh, half-crack. “Seonghwa… I’m complicated. And I’ve always assumed that was too much for people.”

You sat down on the edge of the charpai, hands clasped between your knees. “Throughout my life, I believed no one would ever truly understand me. My weird love for weird things. The way I talk to myself, the way I disappear into my own mind. I’ve always been… too much or not enough.”

You looked up at the stars, eyes settling on Altair, blinking hard. “My mind never stops. It spirals. One second I’m calculating exoplanetary distances and the next—as you noticed— I’m writing poetry in binary. I dove right back into school for creative writing because I felt… hollow. And for funsies, apparently.”

You laughed once, bitter and real.

“I’ve never had a boyfriend. Most of my life I’ve just… existed in loneliness. Whispering to walls when I needed someone to listen. Friend groups leaving. Family never really understanding my soul. My skin’s marked with scars I’ve learned to love — my own little craters and constellations — but I still don’t always feel beautiful. I’m not put together. I’m a mess half the time. And you? Seonghwa, I'm jealous of how beautiful you look all the time. I look like a greaseball in a hoodie and you look like some runway model in yours.”

Your voice broke just a little as you laughed in denial. “But somehow… you love all the parts of me I’ve spent years hating. And that?...That fucking terrifies me, Seonghwa.”

You finally turned to face him, eyes burning, lip trembling just slightly. “Why, Seonghwa? Why would you love someone like me, when no one else has?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he crossed the small space between you, sinking to his knees before the charpai, resting his hands on either side of your legs, face close enough that you could feel his breath. His eyes searched yours, and when he spoke, his voice was steady.

“Because you don’t pretend. You don’t dress up your soul to fit someone else’s standards. You’re chaos and constellations and wild brilliance, but you let me orbit around you anyway.”

He touched your hand, gently. “You say you’re hard to love, but I’ve never felt such fire in my heart before. You talk about loneliness like it’s something shameful, but I see it in your writing, in your silence, and I think you turn it into something beautiful. If anyone could understand the quiet parts of me, it’s you. Not Hongjoong, not our other 6 little idiots, you. What I have taken and perceived from you, I can say without a doubt, you are probably the best thing that has happened in my life for a while.”

His fingers traced the back of your knuckles. “You don’t need fixing. You’re not ‘too much or ‘not enough’ You’re... vast. Like the universe. Perfectly designed, like the universe. And I’m just grateful you let me be a part of yours.”

You blinked, and the tears fell from your eyes, cascading down your cheeks. He wiped them with his thumb like he was handling stardust.

And when you leaned into him, forehead to forehead, noses touching, lips brushing each others, heart cracking open under the starlight, you whispered:

“Stay with me tonight.”

“I was never going to leave,” he murmured.

And somewhere in the distance, Jupiter glowed quietly.

Witness to your unfolding as your lips connected with each other.

—

It had been a while since that night.

The two of you claimed your relationship. It was too strong, too cosmic, to be labeled with something as soft as ‘boyfriend and girlfriend’ . That felt like trying to describe a galaxy with a single syllable; inaccurate, reductive.

You two were more than that. More like twin stars caught in mutual orbit. Irrational but perfectly everywhere like π.

You existed around each other in ways you didn’t have to define. Only feel. And it was mutual. In public, your fingers found his under tables. In private, his lips found yours, his hands caressing your skin.

Tonight was different. Tonight you gave yourself to him.

Your apartment door clicks shut behind you, muffling the distant throb of the club’s bass still echoing in your body. You’re breathless, flushed from dancing and drinks and the way Seonghwa kept hand possessive on the small of your back, his breath always brushing your skin, his gaze burning through your dress like you were already naked beneath it. He was jealous and worked up over the vision of you on the dance floor with Wooyoung and Yunho. His fists almost crushed the glass he was holding when Wooyoung pressed up behind you while holding your hips.

Now, in the quiet of your space, you’re vibrating with the weight of it all; wanting, needing.

He watches you as you slip off your heels, movements slow and slightly unsteady. The dress hugs you like sin, and he doesn’t move for a second, just lets his eyes trail down your figure. The bend of your body allowed him to just get a small peek of your navy blue lace panties and he had to control himself right then and there. You placed your heels into the shoe closet and turned to look at him. His eyes were darkened, full of lust and you gulped.

“You look unreal tonight,” he says, voice low, roughened by restraint. His other hand reaches for your jaw, thumb brushing your cheekbone. “You have no idea what it did to me, watching everyone else look at you, dance with you. And knowing you were only ever going home with me.”

You breathe out a quiet laugh, nerves and heat mixing. “I wasn’t even the prettiest one there. I mean, did you see Princess Mingi?” Attempting a joke to ease the tension.

Seonghwa pauses. His brow furrows. “Say that again,” he murmurs, pulling you close, backing you gently against the wall.

Your breath hitches. “I said—”

“No,” he cuts you off. “Don’t. Don’t joke. Don’t talk down on what I consider sacred.”

Your heart stutters. His lips brush your jaw. “You really have no idea, do you?” His mouth moves lower, his voice barely a whisper.

He lifts you swiftly, throwing you over his shoulder and you scream; instinctively pushing to get down by flailing your legs but Seonghwa smacks your ass, denying you. “Don’t fool around, starlight. You're not escaping me.” He sets you down, facing the mirror and stands behind you, tall, sculpted, the heat of him seeping into your spine.

“I need you to see what I see,” he murmurs, lips ghosting your ear.

Your mouth parts, heart racing. He brushes your hair aside, kissing the back of your neck slowly.

His hands slowly unzip your dress. “Look at you,” he whispers. “ God , look at you.”

The fabric slips down your arms like a sigh. Your bra and panties match, navy blue lace, fragile against your skin—and the moment your dress pools around your feet, he lets out a soft, “ fuck ”.

His hands find the plush of your hips, kneading just a little, slowly moving up so that his thumbs brush your ribs. He kisses your shoulder and the stretch marks that lay there. Celestial fault lines—beauty forged under pressure.

His fingers slip beneath your bra strap and drag it down slowly, and you shudder.

“I’m going to make you feel everything,” he says.

You nod, breath catching.

Seonghwa unhooks your bra and slides it down your arms, dropping it to the floor. His hands move to your breasts—gentle, as if touching something divine. His thumbs circle your nipples and you moan, back arching slightly, head falling onto his shoulder.

“Perfect,” he murmurs. “So perfect it hurts.”

You feel his bulge press against your lower back, and your breath hitches.

Then he kneels. Right in front of you. Holding your hands and kissing them with such gentle affection.

“Watch me.”

Seonghwa’s fingers find the waistband of your panties and slides them down slowly—agonisingly slow—pressing kisses to your hips, your thighs, the soft curve of your stomach. His hands settle on the back of your thighs pulling you closer to his face. When his mouth finally descends, you arch with a gasp, his name slipping from your lips like a prayer. He doesn’t let you hide, doesn’t let you pull away from the way he fucks you with his tongue. You nearly collapse when you look down and see his dragon-like eyes set on your face.

But he’s not fast. He’s not rough. He takes his time, like you’re a language he’s learning by mouth alone. Tongue soft. Then firm. Then soft again. Teasing, tasting, licking.

“Stay still baby,” he says as you squirm just a little, voice muffled against your cunt. “Let me worship you.”

You grip his beautiful black hair, threading your hands through it.

His tongue moves with unbearable precision; deeper, firmer, until your reflection blurs with the pleasure cresting in your lower belly. His lips wrap around your clit and you gasp loudly.

“Seonghwa—”

He hums against you, continuing his ministrations. “Say my name.”

“Seonghwa.”

“Again.” He suckles gently.

“ Seonghwa !” You moan his name helplessly, begging for some sort of release.

“You taste like fucking stardust,” he groans, and you let out a sound that borders on a sob, thighs trembling around his head.

His eyes are on you again, the peaks of your breasts pushed out due to your arch and your mouth gently open, head thrown back, moans escaping you.

He’s not happy. You aren't listening to him. He told you to watch.

His mouth moves away from your folds and he plunges two fingers into your wet, seeping hole without warning causing you to shriek and tighten your grip on his hair.

“Hwa – fuckk ! What–what are you doing?!” You yell softly, unconsciously pushing your hips down on his fingers, fucking yourself with them.

He slaps your ass and red marks are left behind in his wake. His eyebrows are furrowed, his eyes teasingly angry as they meet yours. “What did I say? Hmm? I told you to watch. ”

“I'm sorry, I’m so sorry Hwa please–” you beg.

“Don’t you dare look away.” He presses his fingers in deeper, his lips latching on to your sensitive bundle of nerves again. “Eyes up, beautiful. Watch how you fall apart for me.”

You do.

You see your own mouth part, your hips trembling as he devours you like a man in devotion. His fingers curl, hitting the right spots inside you — thrusting, curling, pulling out and plunging again. When you come, it's not quiet. It’s messy, overwhelming, and he stays with you through every second, hands firm on your outer thighs, mouth relentless. He kisses and gently bites your inner thighs after, like he's thanking them.

You think he's stopped? You thought wrong.

Not even a second later he’s spreading his tongue over the entirety of your core, making sure no drop of your nectar goes to waste.

“Give me more. Give me everything.” He groans, ignoring your shrieks of overstimulation.

The lewd, wet sounds that ring throughout the air make your cheeks flare up but Seonghwa is completely unabashed. Deep moans escape from his honed voice as he traces your folds.

“Cum for me,” he says. “Give it to me, baby. Be a good girl.”

You do. Again. Shuddering. Repeating his name like salvation.

And he rises. Licks his lips. Takes his belt off with one hand while steadying you with the other.

He doesn’t let you breathe for long. His mouth crashes to yours as he undresses fully. You can taste yourself on him and it makes your breath hitch for a second. Tongues dancing around each other as he slowly pushes you backwards to the edge of the bed with his weight. His hands are busy unbuttoning his shirt and removing his boxers. His length slaps against his stomach, hot, heavy and red. You look down, his lips leaving yours with a pout.

God . Oh god. He was dripping . White, pearly, sticky essence beading at his tip.

“Oh Hwa, is this all for me?” You ask, confidence rises.

“You think I can have a taste of you and not end up like this?” He smiles, realising how your demeanour changed.

You smirk and your hand makes its way to his curved cock and you slowly pump him.

“Fuckkk~ Y/N . No, princess.”

You don't stop. You feel the vein on the underside of his length and tremble at the thought of him inside you. And not even a second later as if he read your mind, stops you.

“No love please, I need to–I need to, God! Ah~ come inside you.” Your eyes widen, goosebumps littering your skin at his declaration. His fingers wrap around your wrists stopping the motion.

He’s holding back, grounding himself in you, for you.

He lifts you effortlessly and your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, his cock rubbing against your core. You’re breathless, gripping his shoulders, stunned by how easy it is for him to move you like this, to hold you like you weigh nothing.

He lays you down like something precious. Seonghwa was mesmerised by the state of you on the bed; vulnerable, naked and all his. Your hair contrasted against the bright silk of the bedsheets and sprawled out around you like a halo. He climbs over you slowly taking his time with your body, dragging his lips across your stomach, your ribs, the curve of your tits.

“You’re a goddess,” he says, voice thick. “And I’m going to worship you properly.”

“Oh, Seonghwa, you beautiful man. I can’t believe you're all mine.” You whisper against his lips which peck yours, eyes showing nothing but love. Pure, unfiltered love.

“All yours. And I'm going to show you. Gonna fuck you,” he breathes. “And you’re going to watch. Every. Single. Second.”

You wrap your arms around the back of his neck.

He lifts your thigh and slides in slow, stretching you, filling you, making you feel it.

You’re already so wrecked but he doesn’t let you hide. Doesn’t let you look away.

“Look at me,” he growls, gripping your jaw, “I want to see your face when I ruin you.”

Your eyes meet his and he smirks devilishly at your fucked out expression.

Was this the same Seonghwa you believed was an angel? Or a sex demon who bound himself to you and you only.

“You feel like fucking heaven,” he moans, “tight, warm… made for me.”

Your nails dig into his back, gasps spilling freely now, but he doesn’t stop. One hand grips your jaw, keeping your eyes on him, the other sliding between your bodies to rub circles on your clit. You’re soaked, overstimulated, and yet you still want more. Need more.

He gives it to you. All of it. Every thrust is praise. Every groan is adoration. He kisses your scars. Holds your gaze. Whispers all the things he loves — your mind, your madness, your quiet power, your wild soul.

“You’re mine,” he grits out, hips relentless.

“I’m yours~” you whisper, wrecked.

He goes deeper, the bulb of his cock brushing your cervix and the sensitive areas of your walls. He’s let go of your jaw but your eyes are still locked onto his.

“Seonghwa oh my–fuckk baby right there…dont fucking stop!”

“Say it again.” He snarls.

“I’m yours, Hwa. I’m all yours, my star.”

He moves. Deep. Intentional. Worshipful.

“That's right,” he grits through his teeth, one hand splayed low on your stomach to feel where he is inside you. “This body. This heart. Every moan, every breath — all fucking mine.”

“All yours, yes~!” You groan against his hair, his face buried into the crevice of your neck now.

He thrusts . Again and again, with his body pressed against yours, your name breathed between desperate kisses against the skin of your neck, your legs trembling around him and tears slipping from the corners of your eyes, not from pain, but from the immensity of it all.

“Cum again,” he says, voice commanding but still full of love. “Let me feel you fall apart on my cock.”

Loudly. Shamelessly. Your body seizes under him, muscles clenching, vision going white. You swore you saw the stars you view every night in your telescope. But he doesn’t stop. He keeps going, keeps moving inside you with the patience of someone who’s waited years to worship you like this.

Only when your nails dig too deep, when your legs are shaking violently around his waist, does he finally let go — spilling deep into you with a moan so heavy, so desperate , it sounds like your name carved into the stars of his universe.

Your reflection is ruined.

Lips swollen. Thighs shaking. Eyes wet. Sweat slicking your skin. His seed spilling out of your swollen cunt. And still, he kisses you like you’re divine.

“Still think you’re hard to love?” he whispers while moving back to look at your pretty face again.

You don’t answer. You just pull him back in. Kissing him again and again and again and again.

He whispers praises between every breath. “My starlight, mine. Always.” he murmurs. “I love you. I love you so much Y/N.”

Fat, globs of hot tears spill from your eyes at the pure words he spoke of you. You were loved. So loved.

He pulls back, tears also spilling from his eyes. “Thank you for letting me be yours.”

“No Seonghwa. Thank you for helping me find myself. Thank you for being my north star.”

He smiles, all teeth, eyes crinkling and nose scrunching. He pulls you up and lifts you effortlessly, one arm under your knees and the other wrapped around your shoulders. You loop your arms around his neck, still dizzy from everything, and let him carry you through the soft haze of candlelight to the bathroom.

The tub is already filling, steam rising, the water shimmering with the gentle swirl of jasmine-scented bubbles. He sets you down on the edge, brushes your hair from your face, and helps you in first, never once letting go of your hand. When he joins you, the water sloshes gently around both your bodies as you settle between his legs, your back against his chest.

His arms wrap around your waist, his chin resting on your shoulder as he pulls you close. His fingers trace lazy circles on your thigh under the surface. Not lustful. Just the kind of touch that says ‘ you’re mine’ without needing to say it at all.

“God,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your damp shoulder, “how are you real?”

You hum, leaning into him. “You always ask that.”

“Because I still don’t believe it.”

You giggle at his lovestruck cheesiness.

He rinses your hair with care, fingers untangling the strands gently. When you return the favor, scrubbing his scalp and watching his eyes flutter shut in bliss, you giggle. He opens one eye at the sound and catches the grin on your face. You had put a blob of soapy bubbles on his head, giving him a little hat.

“What?”

“You’re cute like this.”

He raises a brow. “Like what?”

“Melting. For me.” You boop his sharp nose with a sudsy finger.

He smirks and pulls you into his chest, arms curling around you. “I’m always melting for you.”

The warmth of the water, the silence between you, the occasional kiss to your neck or cheek or the valley between your breasts where your heart lay—it all feels suspended in time. He runs his fingers gently through your hair, massaging your scalp until you melt against him with a contented sigh.

When the water cools and your fingers wrinkle, he helps you out with a soft towel and even softer hands. You both dry off in quiet laughter, brushing against each other in the mirror, stealing kisses between getting dressed.

When you both finally leave the bathroom, dry and dressed in the softest clothes you can find, he can’t seem to stop touching you. His hands never leave you as he leads you to the bed, gently guiding you onto the sheets. The bed feels like home, with his body curling around yours, his warmth seeping into your skin.

You lie there, tangled in each other’s arms, his fingers tracing idle patterns on your skin, tracing your cheeks. The quiet of the night wraps around you like a blanket, but his next words cut through the stillness.

“You are the center of my gravity,” he whispers into your hair, his voice barely holding together. He’s clutching you so tightly it feels like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

You don’t. You’re still there. Glowing. Glorious. His.

“And with you,” he continues, “all the stars are closer.”

The weight of his words hangs in the air, a promise, a truth. You settle deeper into his embrace, feeling the soft, steady rhythm of his heart beneath your ear as you both drift off to sleep, wrapped up in love.

—

The next morning is soft and slow.

Sunlight filters through the curtains, casting golden lines across the bed where you and Seonghwa are still tangled together. His arm is heavy around your waist, his face buried against your hair, breathing you in like he’s still dreaming.

You shift gently, turning in his hold. His eyes crack open, hazy with sleep, and when he sees you, he smiles.

“Morning, angel,” he mumbles, voice still deep and rough with sleep.

You grin, brushing a thumb over his puffy cheeks. “Morning, Hwa.”

There’s a beat of silence where you just look at each other. Then his phone buzzes on the nightstand, shattering the bubble. He groans dramatically, reaching for it without letting go of you.

It’s the group chat.

Hongjoong: Rise and shine, lovebirds 😈. You guys better not bail on camping today ⛺

Yeosang: If you’re late, we’re leaving you behind.

San: we would never 💗 but hurry tf up i want s’mores.

Wooyoung: get yall’s gigachad asses up

You laugh, and Seonghwa grins into your neck.

“Guess it’s time to pack,” you say, nose scrunching.

“After I kiss you at least ten more times,” he murmurs, already pressing soft, lazy kisses down your throat, making you giggle and squirm.

Eventually, after a chaotic half-hour of trying (and failing) to stay focused, you both throw together your backpacks—tossing in sleeping bags, clothes, snacks, extra jackets, and, of course, your beloved star map and high-powered telescope.

By the time you arrive at the meeting points the boys are already there, buzzing with excitement near the rented van and having way too much energy for how early it is.

The second they see you two hand-in-hand, sunglasses on, looking very much like you did not sleep early last night, the teasing starts immediately.

“Oh look,” Wooyoung cackles, elbowing Yunho. “The stars themselves have descended to grace us with their presence.”

Yeosang smirks. “Took you long enough. Busy being constellations?”

Mingi fake swoons dramatically into Jongho’s arms. “Love is in the air.”

Hongjoong just grins knowingly, arms crossed. “Hope you saved some energy for setting up camp, lovers .”

You flush hot all the way to your ears, ducking your head into Seonghwa’s side to hide your face. He just chuckles lowly, tugging you closer and pressing a kiss to your temple in front of everyone without a single ounce of shame.

“She’s my star,” he says simply, proud and unabashed.

There’s a beat of stunned silence—before San lets out a shriek of pure secondhand embarrassment.

“Bro what the hell!,” San yells, throwing a handful of trail mix at him.

“Get a room! WAIT NO GET A TENT,” Wooyoung howls.

You laugh so hard you can barely breathe as everyone dissolves into chaos around you.

—

By the time the sun dips behind the mountains, you’ve made camp.

It’s messy, hilarious teamwork — Yunho struggling with the pop-up tent instructions, Jongho methodically getting the fire going like a boss, you and Seonghwa set up your shared tent quietly but efficiently, moving like a real team.

Across the clearing, a commotion breaks out.

"WHY IS THE TENT COLLAPSING ON ME?!" Wooyoung’s voice shatters the peaceful mountain air.

"BECAUSE YOU MOVED TOO MUCH, YOU FREAKING FLAILING NOODLE," San screeches back.

You and Seonghwa exchange a knowing glance and peer over. There, in a heap of tangled tent fabric, two legs kick furiously in the air.

Hongjoong, pinching the bridge of his nose, mutters darkly, "I knew we should’ve supervised them."

Meanwhile, Yeosang stands off to the side, completely unbothered, recording the chaos on his phone with a blank, documentary-worthy expression.

You lean into Seonghwa and murmur, "Survival of the fittest," your voice low enough that only he hears. He nearly doubles over, laughing silently as he tries to contain it, shoulders shaking.

Eventually, all the tents stand (miraculously) and the fire roars to life, throwing flickering gold light over tired, grinning faces. The chill of the night seeps in, crisp and clean, while above, the stars unfurl like an endless, shimmering ocean.

Wooyoung insists on playing Truth or Dare. And naturally, his first victim is Jongho.

"Truth," Jongho says confidently, unaware of the chaos he has just invited.

Wooyoung leans in, eyes glinting wickedly. "Do you sing to your plants?"

A beat of dead silence. Every head swivels to Jongho.

"...They grow better when they feel loved," Jongho says, entirely unashamed.

The camp erupts. Laughter echoes off the trees, even Seonghwa letting out a rare, loud laugh that warms the whole circle.

Hongjoong smirks and turns to you next. "Truth or Dare, Y/N?"

You roll your eyes at Wooyoung’s dramatic drumroll. “Truth.”

San groans, grabbing your shoulders and shaking you. “Y/N, you coward! A dare would've been so much more fun!” His pout deepens until Seonghwa casually slaps the back of his head from behind you..

Hongjoong’s gaze pins you in place, sharp and curious. "Would you marry Seonghwa in the future?"

Time freezes. Every pair of eyes zeroes in on you.

You feel your face heat up as you glance down, shy but smiling. “Yes.”

The reaction is instant and cataclysmic.

“PLAY THE WEDDING MARCH!” Yunho shouts, springing to his feet.

Mingi immediately starts blaring an off-key trumpet impression, stomping around like he’s in a parade.

Hongjoong, grinning wickedly, yeets a burnt marshmallow straight at Seonghwa’s head. "You lucky bastard!"

Seonghwa turns crimson, the firelight making it even more obvious, and the group bursts into a cacophony of teasing "awwws" and gagging noises.

"Okay, okay, can a girl live?" you protest, laughing. "San, since you wanted chaos so badly, you're next."

San’s eyes gleam like a mischievous gremlin. "Dare."

You smirk. "Lick the bottom of Yunho’s sock."

All hell breaks loose.

"AW HELL NAH!" Yunho screeches, jumping back from San who is devilishly biting his lips and rubbing his hands together like a fly. "Y'ALL NASTY ASSES."

The dares spiral more and more ridiculous until finally, giggling and exhausted, you all call it quits for the night. While setting up the sleeping bags in your shared tent, you hear Mingi’s outraged yell slice through the night. “Who the fuck took Y/N’s leftover chips? She saved those for me!”

But no one had taken them … so who or what–? A sound interrupts the silence. The ruffling of a chip bag, and it's from none you.

San leaps up, eyes wild. “I knew I heard something outside!” He runs to the sound and finds himself in front of a little friend.

You find San staring down a fat ass raccoon that has zero fear and is currently chewing on your chips.

Yeosang is right behind you and whispers, “Y/N, I think that’s your spirit animal,” and you die laughing because it is literally you.

“GIVE THAT BACK, YOU STRIPED CRIMINAL!” Mingi roars, lunging forward like he’s storming a battlefield.

The raccoon doesn’t run. It stares. Unbothered. Unmoved. It judges him.

Yeosang tries to stop the poor idiot, walking towards him. “Mingi, you’re gonna get rabies.”

San puts his hand on Yeosang’s shoulder stopping him. “At least he’ll go out dramatically.” Ever the agent of chaos.

—

Morning comes soft and misty, the sky dusted with gold as you blink awake in an empty tent. Seonghwa was already gone, off helping Hongjoong prep for the group hike. You stumble out into the chill morning air. San’s hair is a disaster, sticking up like he got electrocuted, while Mingi stumbles around, eyes squinted against the sunlight. You wander toward the campfire and nearly trip at the sight.

Yunho, looking disgustingly handsome and backlit like a prince, flips pancakes with a ridiculous amount of grace. Beside him, Seonghwa arranges a fruit platter so perfectly it belongs in a five-star hotel. And somehow, he looks even more delicious than the food.

You sneak up behind him, sliding your arms around his waist. “Good morning, Hwa.”

He hums warmly, leaning back into you. “Sleep well?”

“Mhm. With you? Always.”

The nine of you eat a sleepy, happy breakfast together before getting ready for the hike. Halfway up the trail, it all goes to hell when San chases a butterfly straight into the woods and Wooyoung gets distracted by a squirrel doing, in his words, "weird ninja stuff while looking like Hongjoong"

You and Seonghwa fall behind, walking slowly, hands entwined.

“I still think you tricked me into loving you,” you say.

He glances over, amused. “How so?”

“You’re too perfect. I feel like I glitched the universe or something.”

He stops walking. “You are the glitch,” he whispers, tilting your chin up. “My favorite kind of anomaly.”

And then he kisses you so gently, so completely, that the woods go quiet — even the bugs stop bugging.

Until Hongjoong’s voice shatters it from a distance: "YOU TWO HEADASSES BETTER STOP FRENCHING AND GET BACK TO THE GROUP!"

The entire day is spent doing fun activities — skipping stones across the glittering lake, racing up mossy trails, daring each other to jump into the freezing water below the waterfall. Yunho and Mingi get into a splash war that soaks everyone within a ten-foot radius, while Jongho sits dry on a rock, pretending he doesn’t know any of you. Wooyoung and San challenge Hongjoong to a stone-skipping contest and dramatically accuse him of witchcraft when he wins.

But then comes the time to leave. The sun dips low again, the air cooling, the shadows stretching long. Tents are packed away, ashes are buried under earth, and the clearing that had been so alive with your chaos slowly returns to stillness.

Everyone is crammed into the rental van. Bags piled high. Snacks demolished. Legs squished.

Sitting with Seonghwa and Yeosang in the way-back row, you’re drowsy from the camping high but the chaos of the van doesn't allow you to fall into slumber.

“Yo,” Wooyoung says, twirling the AUX cord. “I have the perfect song.”

Jongho squints. “I swear to god—”

The song consisted of high bass boosted beats and explicit words and moans that speak of sex.

Jongho screams at Wooyoung “BRO.”

Yunho, driving, screams the lyrics into the windshield, jamming to the song while being in charge of everyone's lives. Mingi opens a window and belts into the wind. Meanwhile, you're frozen.

He raises a brow. “Funny song. Lyrics sound familiar?”

You elbow him. “Do not make me jump out of this moving vehicle.”

“Jump and I’m jumping with you.”

Wooyoung turns around with devil eyes. “Ohhh, you’re blushingg. Confirmed post-coital energy. You freaky lil mofos.”

Jongho lunges over the seat. “I will STRANGLE YOU with your OWN AUX CORD.”

Wooyoung’s gremlin noises take over the van and Hongjoong holds himself back. The van goes over a bump, everyone screams, the song switches to ballad music mid-scream.

Two full hours of pure discord.

–

You all decide to go to their house, planning on sleeping over there anyways; you packed extra clothes.

Mingi attempts to carry all the bags inside at once like some tragic pack mule, wobbling like a cursed tower of luggage. Yeosang watches him with the slow, unblinking gaze of a man waiting for nature to take its course and sure enough, Mingi collapses under the weight with a majestic crash.

Jongho silently takes three bags — huge bags — and hauls them inside with a smirk on his face, asserting his strength.

Meanwhile, you get out of the van and steady yourself on your feet, smoothing down your hair, “We barely survived that.” you say to Seonghwa, who's grabbing your astrophotography tech from on top of Mingi.

As you stagger toward the house, you hear Mingi, still flat on the grass, shouting, "HEY, WHO'S GONNA HELP ME? UH HELLO?? ARE YOU ALL JUST GONNA LEAVE ME HERE TO DIE??"

Yeosang, without looking back, just says, "You'll be fine. Natural selection."

The front door slams open, and a yell echoes from San inside. "THE FUCKING RACCOON CAME BACK WITH US!!"

Chaos unfurls.

Screams, wild laughter, the thundering of feet. Pure, reckless joy spilling out into the neighborhood.

But this. This beautiful, absurd, ridiculous mess — is exactly how you want it. You glance over at Seonghwa through the swirl of mayhem, and he’s already looking at you, laughing. And you feel complete. You feel at peace.

In a universe full of infinite galaxies and in a timeline that could have gone a million different ways…

You found him and he found you. And somehow, across all odds, you collided. But not a crash. Not an explosion. But an orbit. Not a destructive gravity but a soft one.

One — like Seonghwa said — that makes all the stars feel closer.

And you became his favorite constellation. The one he’ll spend every lifetime tracing, loving, watching and wishing on.

Every night. Every sky. Every universe. Every time.

----

End Note:

fix off ;)

(yes i have written poetry in binary--no it was not fun--it was an assignment)

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normalaboutmediaa · 3 months ago

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I am very satisfied that Miss Huang is literally just A Normal Child who's being exploited. The theories about her being Mark's daughter never made sense to me, I wasn't a big fan of robot or clone for varying reasons. I have been banking all season that she's literally just doing an internship, and would you look at that?? Lumon employs children all the time, they have no qualms sticking 8 year olds in front of chemical vats for ten hours. Of course they'll put a kid on the severed floor, it'll probably deter attacks anyway. Probably.

And what if I told you this happens all the time IRL? When I was a freshman in highschool we had local companies offering various unpaid 'internship' and 'apprenticeship' programs that usually boiled down to being coffee runners or cleaning their offices. The local middle school had a summer job fair where the majority of the 'positions' being offered were volunteer work (therefore unpaid), but the adults would coo and crow about how it was 'giving us work experience' and would look good on college applications or could help us get recommendations for certain jobs or schools in the future. And a lot of kids jumped at these opportunities because they sounded like great ways to get ahead, but they usually ended up just doing unpaid labor with very little appreciation.

I do truly love when the simplest explanation turns out to be the correct one. She's just a kid, kids work all the time even in corporate settings, they just usually don't get paid for it with anything besides 'experience'. Because a kid on the payroll looks bad, but a kid 'doing an apprenticeship' looks like a great way to help them learn responsibility. When it's really just a way to broaden the scope of who you can exploit.

#severance #severance spoilers #miss huang #child exploitation

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evelynnocto · 1 year ago

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"baymax, I know you didn't get much charge last night but we gotta go!"

"OOhHKAy! RunNing DoOM"

"what no that's not what I said I said we gotta go"

-average conversation between Hiro and a low battery baymax

i think baymax could run doom. i think he has doom somewhere in his files

#Also can we talk about how tadashi programmed baymax to act absolutely wasted when on low battery #Like that's a major tech major move right there #And it seems very in character and honestly makes sense for a robotics major

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rookinthecrownest · 4 months ago

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ok scrolled past a post that said something about making really specific/niche AU’s based on your job/hobby so now I’m just thinking about different VG characters and their respective medical specialties

Taash - Orthopedic surgery (must be able to bench 225 as a minimum reqt)

Emmrich - Pathology/Coroner. He would do both, and be the most passionate teacher. excited when anyone comes down to the lab to look at slides or an interesting case comes through for autopsy.

Neve - 100% Internal medicine. Can recite data from major landmark trials like AFFIRM or TIME-HF off the top of her head. Absolutely graduated top of her class at an elite program. Can work anywhere she wants but chooses to provide comprehensive primary care to the folks in her home town. Consistently rejecting job offers from large academic centres.

I could see her sub specializing in infectious disease because those guys are TRUE detectives. They will go back and find every antibiotic you’ve been on since you were born and write a novel about you 😭

Bellara - Debating between IM and maybe Radiology? I could also see her doing a more high tech surgical specialty like Urology and using the DaVinci robot

Harding - Pediatrics (generally sweet, but scary/terrifying to anyone who’s not a child)

Lucanis - Neurosurgery. The perfect specialty for highly competent people with incredible fine motor skills who are okay with working stupid long hours. Comes from a long line of neurosurgeons. Expected to continue the tradition.

Davrin - I can see him doing General Surgery, but like true General surgery. Like the guys out in small rural hospitals who’ll do basically everything from the neck down, including c sections.

Rook is absolutely an ER doc. They are just That Guy who comes in and has to cowboy their way through the most dumpster fire situations. Great at improvising on the fly. Wicked smart on their own but knows when to call in the specialists for backup.

Is this anything-

#dragon age veilguard #medical AU #rook #lucanis dellamorte #taash #harding #neve gallus #davrin #emmrich volkarin #bellara lutare #im just spitballing here

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hedwig221b · 1 month ago

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do u have any au fic recs of like sci fi or fantasy worlds ? even better if they r merged with an already existing universe/story. thank u !

Hi! Maybe you'll like these ones? Don't know about the merging, tho

you're the only north star (dear god)

"I will go to the ends of the known universe, I will dive through a fucking black hole, I will walk unarmed with my hands tied into the Nemeton if it means getting him back," Derek says lowly. "But I can't do that if I haven't slept for eight days, and I can't sleep without Stiles."

alone in this crowded room by Spikedluv

After Stiles has lost too many people, for which he blames himself, he closes his heart off, determined to remain alone until he meets the one person he can’t keep out.

The Space Within by hitorimaron

Derek used his forged identity to secure a spot at the Beacon - a flagship of the Intergalactic Alliance patrolling the edges of the known universe. That should be enough to escape his past, right?

The Decay of a Cosmos by Dexterous_Sinistrous

The memory of Derek confessing to him in the quiet of their shared resignation sparked from her words–“A child is leverage to my mother.” Derek knew what Talia wanted. And he refused to give it to her. Stiles’ hands tightened into fists. This was a gift, but not one Derek had given him willingly. He would live with that knowledge each time he held their son close. ~*~ A tale as old as arranged marriage, with a space opera twist.

Almost Human by Winchesterek

Synthetics are part of everyday life, with Hale Robotics leading the industry in synthetics for everyday living, companions, and police force standard MX combat models. Stiles is a DRN; his programming is built around Synthetic Souls. The aim of synthetic souls was to mimic the soul of a human being, allowing a synthetic android to experience feelings & emotions and to form emotional attachments or empathetic bonds. DRNs have been out of use for decades because they were too lifelike for their human counterparts. Derek Hale, heir to Hale Robotics, finds Stiles in his junkyard, where he's been a mechanic for the last 24 years. The last thing he expected was the android to be functional, much less it being a Hale DRN, which is the last project his mother had been working on before the fire. And Stiles was unlike any other DRN that Derek had ever seen before… he was so human and lifelike that Derek hated him for it.

Left at the Astroid Belt by rlnerdgirl

It's just Stiles' luck that when he finally manages to wear down Captain Finstock and land an engineering gig on his very first spaceship the whole thing to go tits up almost immediately. So, Stiles gets juice for life-support. It’s the absolute most minimal juice, but juice nonetheless. The oxygen scrubbers are old, congested with buildup, and even an acid-wash only makes them 15% more productive, but it’s 15% he didn’t have before. Besides, he doesn’t need the entire ship supporting life. He focuses oxygen where he wants it, seals everything else off, and carries his helmet around when he explores in case he wants to access non-supported areas. Water comes with life support. It’s in even worse condition but he’s only one person, he makes it work. Food is a problem.

Triton's Folly by Kaye_Fraser, S3anchaidh

As an officer in the United Earth Alliance, Major Derek Hale understands the order of things and his place in the world. Yet, a decade of war and a lifetime of dedicated service have taken its toll. The only thing that has kept him sane all these years is the video logs of a scientist he’d found years ago, buried in the rubble of a research station on Callisto. He knows that the man in the videos – Stiles – is long gone, lost to the vastness of space, but to Derek, he’s alive. In fact, he thinks he has fallen half in love with the boundless energy and bright-eyed optimism of the image he sees on his screen. Then, everything changes when a fateful mission strands him on the surface of a desolate moon … and brings him face-to-face with a man he had only ever dreamed of meeting.

In Other Words, Baby, Kiss Me by primroseshows

Stiles has simple goals in life. To successfully complete his secret radar project without getting fired, to get a cottage on the Moon, and to untangle his mess of feelings for Moon Station 3 deputy, Derek Hale. Heck, he'll even settle for two of the three.

The Circus at the End of the World by mikkimouse

Three hundred years ago, the world ended not with a bang or a whimper, but with magic. Since then, magic has been outlawed, and the world has clawed its way back to some kind of stability, with people and shifters alike divided between living within the walled safety of the Havens, or the small, less protected outposts dotting the frontier. Derek Hale and his sisters, Laura and Cora, are the proprietors of Hale's Circus of Magic, Monsters, and Mystical Wonders, known colloquially as the Circus at the End of the World. They and their ragtag pack ride the rails between the outposts and the Havens, performing for those who can pay (and some who can't). Their circus is a small haven in and of itself, a place of safety for those who have nowhere else to go. It's a quiet life…until Stiles Stilinski joins the crew. The circus has something Stiles needs—a ticket into the Haven of Santa Francesca. His father has been abducted, and Stiles is determined to get him back no matter what he has to do. But Stiles has another secret, one that puts him and every member of the circus in danger. And if he's not careful, it could get them all killed.

A Ship Without a Mate Sinks by sarcasmandirony

Stiles persuades Scott into checking out the old ship anchored by the docks, of which Derek is captain.

Space Pirate Samba by Wrenegade

That awkward moment when your fiance comes back from the dead as a space pirate trying to rob you and your sister's ship.

[masterlist link]

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torusonicpilled · 2 months ago

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How is Sage handling the fact that Eggman is dead?

It depends how far along the AU is! I wrote a lot under the cut so hope it answers it!

If you want to know how she felt in the first month I got a fanfiction right here covering it: Link

To summarize basically Sage is aware of the bad things Eggman did, and is coming to terms with the fact Eggman wasn't a good person to everyone BESIDES HER. (As she is living with two people that spent a majority of their lives at that point opposing him.) She also has regrets as she did bad things as part of her programming. Luckily Sonic and Shadow are able to help her with the grieving process (mainly Shadow.) Basically the first decade after turning 100 is Shadow being mentally better than his past while Sage and Sonic are having grief endured existential crisis's.

At the 200 year point, Sage basically has gotten over it. She now follows Shadow in the same way she did Eggman, as she basically assists him. It also helps she now has a robotic body, so she basically swaps between assisting Shadow via his phone or physically fighting with him. She basically spends way more time with Shadow than Sonic in public, but she privately spends more time with Sonic. She sees Sonic and Shadow as her adoptive parents, but genuinely does love in the a found family sense.

#sth #future au #sonic the hedgehog #sonic #shadow #shadow the hedgehog #sage robotnik #sage the ai #ask #long post #Sage is basically a Sonadow adopted child

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carionto · 2 years ago

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Hardcore Space Parkour

Some Humans are worryingly agile. And stupidly driven to endanger themselves. For no reason we can understand.

________________________

Within the Coalition governing station of the segment of the Galaxy where the Sol system is are countless embassies for each member civilization. Each is designed to accommodate their respective species (or multiple in certain cases) to the fullest while also being able to host guests from any other member.

Then there are the communal areas, set for a galactic standard that is viable for the majority - gravity at 0.6 Earth, far less of that dangerous oxygen, and slightly more humid and cooler than what Humans are normally comfortable with. In fact, Humans technically fall outside the Galactic standards and are all equipped with a partial breathing assistance unit and pressurized clothing to stimulate their circulation. While they can function reasonably well despite what we assumed would be too draining without assistance, most Humans do make use of these gadgets.

Some, however, prefer to "stimulate" themselves a bit differently.

There is a small group of individual Humans many have dubbed "Leaping Cortix" after an infamous invasive fuzzy gelatinous centipede-like pest species that always manages to make a hive on any sufficiently large space station or vessel given enough time. Everybody swears they're some kind of magic, and it's hard to dissuade such a notion when there are fairly common reports of ships on deep isolation missions, without making contact with anyone or anything else for years at a time, still one day find themselves with a pack of Cortix skittering about near their nutrition supplies!

This group of Humans, found the title amusing and have embraced it. One of them even made a hooded sweater with the name and a stylized Cortix jumping off the letter x.

The reason for the name is simple - despite becoming integrated into the Coalition just around a year ago, Humans seem to appear everywhere within this segment of the Galaxy. Mostly in small groups for tourism reasons, but the point still stands. And these Humans in particular appear to make it a habit to appear out of the most unexpected places.

The leaping portion comes from how this group tends to move around the communal areas. Most Humans adapt to the lower gravity and eventually (rather quickly actually) change how they move around when outside their embassy - the movements seem more relaxed, fluid, some even appear to exert almost no effort at all in their steps. This group on the other hand utilizes the full force of their incredibly dense musculature.

First, they jump good. Real good. Then they bounce and pivot, real fast. After a few days they started a game - get to any place without touching the floor. Not even a day later they managed to always be in the air.

At first it was impressive and quite mesmerizing. Quite a sight to behold as they got better and quicker at chaining their jumps and bounds together into one smooth motion that took them from one part of the station to the other in mere moments.

Then they started getting bored. And one of them had an idea. An "awesome" idea.

Add flying robots and moving obstacles.

Chaos ensued. Naturally.

As the Humans leapt off of one of the maintenance machines they programmed to hover between several distant structures, it could not compensate for the sudden recoil from the movement and crashed down on the floor. Thankfully it was above a small garden and only some artificial plants were damaged, as well as itself, but that was enough to call in the peacekeeping units to put a halt to their antics.

We deliberately brought a Human peacekeeper along to make the reprimand stick. The Leaping Cortix, most of whom are junior staffers and one is a retired military veteran now serving as a consultant, looked ashamed, but also sad. At least they seemed to understand the gravity of the situation (though perhaps not as well as the physics of gravity) as the wreckage was cleared in clear sight of everyone.

After the offending member was issued a token fine (as it was their first offense), the group as a whole became less active. Initially, most people felt relieved, but as the incident grew more distant in memory, the sight of the flying Humans started to become missed by quite a few.

Some from the more physically able races were even inspired to try this "parkour" the Humans had demonstrated and found it quite thrilling. When done in a lower than their normal gravity that is. Trying it at their standard caused a few broken bones and cracked shells.

There is currently a petition by the permanent residents to dedicate a large open indoor field for such extreme physical sports as well as to commission the design of a variety of machines to facilitate, as written in the official documentation - "stimulating courses to improve the physical well being and readiness of all participants".

I.E. - Humans introduced a new sport to us and many are hooked.

#humans are space orcs #humanity fuck yeah #humans are deathworlders #humans are space australians #humans are space oddities #carionto

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tawked · 9 days ago

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So, it kinda seems like the Sentinels could be reprogrammed to seek out any genetic composition, right?

Like, could they be reprogrammed to seek out people with a specific MC1R presentation and if so, is the American public aware of this?

Even if they do trust the US military with access to Sentinels, which I do buy for the majority because blah blah blah the United States is a nightmare, does the awareness that the Sentinels are this constant looming threat ever reach the Marvel Universe Public? Or is it one of those weird "nobody works out that Batman is Bruce Wayne, no matter how obvious it becomes" things?

New Mutants Classic vol. 2

Is the fact that they can be hacked or become sentient ever the cause for a moral panic or public protest in Marvel's America?

I ask because so far in what I've read public reaction to the Sentinels is pretty limited on-page. In Kirby's run, the public initially approves of them as part of a moral panic, and I took that to be a stand-in for the increased militarisation of police in response to the Civil Rights Movement. It worked for me because of the, well, the 1960s tone of the original X-Men and inherent Kirbyness of Kirby's work lol. Look, I am an unironic Kirby fan. Leave me alone.

Anyway, they seem almost retconned for a lot of Uncanny until Days of Future Past. After that they kinda come back but they don't become a part of the run's overall commentary. Claremont's run is more about communists. I mean hivemind aliens who want to assimilate you lol. 🙄

So that they keep showing up in New Mutants is interesting and weird to me. In New Mutants, a bunch of them smash up a mall trying to murder kids in public. As of where I'm up to in the run, there haven't really been any major subsequent protests, or if there were I've missed / not reached them yet. It doesn't feel like it becomes part of the theme of the run, we hang out in cave Rome instead, y'know?

And it just feels like, if the US revealed mechwarriors that can be programmed to murder anybody of a specific genetic presentation, at least some public outrage would occur.

I mean, mate, it's the fuckin 80s. The 80s were a time of anti-brutality protests, direct police counter-protests / riots like the Castro Sweep (happy Pride! ACAB) and even political assassinations carried out by police. The cops having killer robots that can fly around murdering minorities is not unrealistic to me, I mean it's RoboCop, but the idea that there's no major political response just feels off.

What's the deal with the Genocide Gundams??

#comics #comic art #marvel #marvel comics #x men #xmen #new mutants

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vaultedoverthehorse · 2 months ago

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pt 2 to Command Batch 02 (read: Family) but can be stand alone I think??

tag list: @tazmbc1

***

Kote wasn’t worried about decommissioning. To him, it was a bedtime story told to tubelings in order to keep them in line. But by now he was four standard years old - he was high in the rankings during training, he fit perfect in his batch.

On the other hand, he also never expected for Jango Fett to come find him. Kote worshiped the ground Jango walked on - he’d named him, Mando’a for glory. It meant more than Kote would admit to his vod. Jango didn’t like the clones. But to Kote, it felt like he was special. He felt more like Boba, the one ‘genetically perfect’ clone - or that’s how Jango explained it to him. Fox had been suspicious of Jango, but Kote just chalked it up to jealousy.

Regardless, when Jango had collected Kote - just Kote - from training, he’d felt a warm sensation of pride. He ignored the tightening of Seventeen’s jaw, the hardening of Fox’s eyes, and followed in lockstep behind the Mandolorian. He didn’t ask any questions (that would just make Jango mad), holding his head up high as they walked. He passed other batches of cadets, sensing their eyes on him. Because he was with Prime, their genetic father, who seemingly disliked them all. And he was taking him-

-to medbay?

Kote sent a confused look to Jango, who gestured somewhat aggressively for him to enter. Three longnecks - Kote could never tell them apart - stood by one of the beds. Kote sat down, bring his knees to his chest. He felt like a zoo animal, trapped and watched by strangers. He had a bad feeling, his heart racing faster than after a twenty mile run.

“… too independent…”

“… too smart to decommission …”

“…reprogramming?..”

Kote caught snatches of the conversation, each word bringing him more and more dread. In his panic, he barely noticed the meddroids prepping for surgery - he’d seen it one of the times he’d snuck into medbay with Bly out of curiosity - and barely noticed the syringe poking into his arm right above his elbow. The world started spinning, his body feeling heavy.

Fox said he didn’t trust Jango. Maybe he was right. Actually, he was always right. Kote’s last thought before it all went black was that he should’ve listened to Fox.

***

“We need to see Kote.”

The words kept ringing through Seventeen’s head as he paced the commando barracks. Jango had come into training and taken Kote - and Seventeen was sure he knew where.

Kote was too independent for his own good. He could choose which orders to follow, learn things he shouldn’t - even with his batches unusual tendencies, Kote was a standout. And for Jango to be showing interest in him…

A small form snored from Seventeens bunk. Fox had come into training after training, tears streaming and nose running. He knew something was wrong - he was too smart for his own good, observant or even the smallest details. For Fox to be crying was a bad sign, but if none of the others had come running in, it was clear they weren’t completely sure what was going on. Seventeen was relieved of that. He didn’t want to have the conversation again.

Reprogramming was not a fun progress. It left cadets confused, numb, and stunted for a few weeks. And even once the major effects wore off, they weren’t the same. They were too robotic, the worst parts of the clones programming amplified. And Kote - the heart of the group, the one all of them could go to - Kote would rather die than have that happen.

Seventeen was angry. Damn it, it wasn’t fair. Kote was a good soldier - just because he didn’t listen perfectly didn’t mean he wasn’t a good clone. But the longnecks and the Nulls only cared about obedience. They weren’t bothered by the idea of taking away a clones personality, just producing the best soldiers.

And Seventeen couldn’t protect them all from their wrath.

A soft sniffle made Seventeen stop pacing. He froze, staring at the bunk. Fox was seemingly awake, his curly hair sticking up at weird angles. He sat up, staring at Seventeen. He rubbed his swollen eyes, salty streaks still covering his face. “…s’he back yet?” He mumbled, his voice thick with sleep.

Seventeen shook his head, sitting next to the boy. He thought for a moment, before letting out a soft exhale. “He won’t be back for a while.”

Fox looked down at the floor, a sad frown on his face. He sniffled again, the gears in his head clearly turning. “…what did he do wrong? He was a good soldier, right?”

Seventeen wasn’t sure what to say. He couldn’t tell the truth, Fox was too young. And besides - if he told him the real reason, Fox would probably rush to get decommed as soon as possible. “…don’t worry about it.”

Fox gave him a look - he saw right through the weak lie - but didn’t push it. Seventeen patted his shoulder softly, his tone softening. “Why don’t you get back to your batch? They’ll need you.”

Fox nodded, sliding out of the bunk. He sent Seventeen one last melancholy glance before turning and leaving the room, leaving Seventeen alone in his thoughts. He flopped back on the bunk, trying to fight the conflicting emotions rising in his gut. Anger, frustration, fear, sadness - why did his cadets have to go through this? Seventeen felt like he failed them. He should’ve been more attentive, more careful-

The door slid open again, and Seventeen lifted his head to see who it was. Fordo, standing in the doorway, gave him a pitiful look. “I heard.”

Seventeen nodded, sitting up again. “Yeah.”

The two Commandos sat in silence. Seventeen wondered what Fordo was thinking. Fordo had one of the other command batches, and his was fine. His was normal. Seventeen wasn’t jealous of his cadets - he liked his just fine. No, he was jealous of their safety.

“It’s a shame.” Fordo sighed, shaking his head sadly. “He had so much potential.”

Anger rose in Seventeen’s chest. “He’s not gone, he’s just reprogrammed.” He snapped. Fordo looked at him, as if he was about to say something and then deciding to just let Seventeen be naive. He walked over to his own bunk, starting to slowly take off his armor. “…I suppose.”

Seventeen huffed. He could practically feel the judgment coming from Fordo, and he had a cadet to find. He stood up, ignoring Fordo’s questions, and left the barracks.

***

It took hours of begging and yelling and punching for someone to finally tell him what Kote’s status was. One of Nala Se’s assistance tells him (in a sickly sweet tone) that Kote is stable and will be released shortly, Seventeen could go back to his barracks.

As if.

Seventeen stood in the foyer of the medbay, ignoring the judgmental looks given to him by the longnecks. He doesn’t see any sign of Jango, which makes him more angry. He took a kid - a kid - to get reprogrammed, and he had the audacity to leave him alone. He was going to find him, take his fist and-

The door sliding open distracted him from planning his revenge. Nala Se walked out, a proud expression on her pale, flat face. By her side was Kote - his face completely void of any emotion. Seventeen stood at attention, despite wanting to just grab the kid and go.

“The reprogramming of CC-2224 was a success.” Nala Se spoke with an overconfident tone to her voice. Her and her little crew thought themselves to be gods. Seventeen was sick of it.

But if anything, this was just proving to him why he needed to be there for his batch. The Kaminoans would always be watching, always ready to decomm them. If Seventeen were there, he could stop it. At least most of it.

It wouldn’t happen again.

Nala Se finished her discussion of some scientific findings from the operation, waiting for Seventeen to respond. He hadn’t been paying attention, so he just cleared his throat and nodded. Luckily, Nala Se didn’t seem to really care what he had to say. She released Kote’s hand and walked back into the medbay. Seventeen had the terrible thought that if he wasn’t here, they wouldn’t just left Kote on his own.

Seventeen reached his hand out for the boy, who stared at it blankly. Seventeen sighed, scooping him up and carrying him. It hurt that the boy didn’t react - Kote would’ve been fighting him every step of the way. Instead, he sat limply. Like dead weight.

Seventeen walked back to the cadet barracks, noting the empty hallways. It must be late, and most troopers must be in their bunks. Regardless, Seventeen wasn’t surprised when he walked into Command Batch 02’s barracks and found the entire batch sitting up. Or, almost the entire batch. Wolffe sat on Kote’s bed, Fox sleeping with his head against his shoulder. Bly sat with Ponds on his bed, whispering soft words of reassurance as Ponds sniffled. The three awake cadets snapped their heads towards the door. They’d been waiting. Wolffe’s face erupts into a wide grin.

“Kote-“ he’s interrupted by Bly shushing him and pointing to Fox “- you’re back! I- why are you looking at me like that?”

Seventeen put Kote down on his bunk. “He’s gonna be a little weird for a while.

“Sir, is he okay?” Bly asked softly, fear laced in his voice. Seventeen nodded. He hoped it wasn’t a lie.

“He will be, don’t worry.”

Kote was looking around the barracks currently, his brothers watching him warily. It was wrong - normally, they’d be laughing and talking and fighting (Seventeen had found his way outside the door a few times, just to assure himself they were still alive). Now, it was too quiet. Seventeen cleared his throat, giving the boys a small nod.

“…I’ll leave you to it.”

***

It wasn’t normal, but it was better.

Kote was still good at strategy. He was still the fastest with assembling his weapon. He was just less creative, less optimistic, less unique.

Less independent.

The strain could be seen - Fox had avoided Kote like the plague for a good two months. But by now (after a lot of coaxing by Bly) the batch seemed to have found a new normal.

The old Kote had its unique ways of shining through. Seventeen just hoped that eventually the effects of reprogramming would be diminished to little more than a scar.

#Command Batch 02 (read: Family)#the command batch #command batch #commander bly #commander fox #commander ponds #commander cody #commander wolffe #alpha 17 #the clones #the clone wars #star wars #the prequel trilogy #star wars fanfiction #star wars clone wars #star wars clone troopers

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tiredandoptimistic · 5 months ago

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RvB tarot cards

I have once again cooked up a hypothetical tarot deck for a show I enjoy. I didn't make any art because I refuse to attempt Halo armor, but here's my pitch for which RvB character I'd assign to each of the major arcana.

0-The Fool: Franklin Delano Donut. The fool symbolizes new beginnings, and someone who is so excited to be on an adventure that they stop paying attention to the dangers around them. Donut is of course known for his vibrant enthusiasm, but he may not be the most mindful person. Despite all the dangers and near death experiences he's faces though, this plucky private just keeps on being fabulous.

1-The Magician: Frank "Doc" Dufrense. The magician is a powerful character because he stands outside the limits of the four suits, much like Doc's place beyond the constructed binary of Red vs Blue. He doesn't belong wholly to any group (and his mind doesn't even belong wholly to himself), but that won't stop him from showing up every day to make people more comfortable while they die. He is an outsider who comes to help others; it's just a question of whether he can live up to his own good intentions.

2-The High Priestess: Agent North Dakota. As an almost parental figure, the high priestess is often sought for advice and encourages cooler heads to prevail. North's place amongst the Freelancers was often defined by his role as a peacekeeper, serving as an advocate for calm and reasoned thinking in the face of bizarre circumstances. It's because of this logic and empathy that he was able to recognize Freelancer's corruption and ultimately defect from the project.

3- The Empress: Agent New York. The empress is a leader not through force but through nurturing. This suits York, who was consistently one of the highest ranked and best beloved Freelancers, in large part due to his amiable personality and willingness to listen to others. He often acted as a more passive or supportive member of the group, but his defection from the program proved that he was still an independent thinker and a leader in his own right.

4- The Emperor: Agent Carolina. In contrast to their counterpart, the emperor is the leader who maintains control through strict discipline. Carolina was the head of her squad in Project Freelancer due to her raw strength and combat ability, but she often allowed this reliance on rules and structure to go too far. She not only allowed the ranking system to control her life, but she expected her place as #1 to allow her to control the lives of others. After her time with the Reds and Blues she allowed herself to loosen up a bit, but she still maintained her domineering personality and commitment to victory.

5- The Hierophant: Col. Sarge. The hierophant is another leadership card, this one coming from a person who is entrenched in a place of authority and perhaps a bit too reliant on rules and history. Sarge is certainly a creative leader in many ways, but he also depends upon the army as the arbitrator of right and wrong; focusing heavily on receiving orders and passing them on to his subordinates. Sarge isn't completely unchangeable though, and we see in season eight onwards the sort of wild maneuvers he'll cook up on his own time.

6- The Lovers: Lopez and Sheila. This card is fairly self explanatory, I think. Two people in love! It just so happens that in this case, the happiest and most functional relationship is between a robot soldier and the enemy tank.

7- The Chariot: Agent South Dakota. The chariot is all about go-go-go. It's a card of action and movement, much like South's fiery and passionate personality. Though her impulsivity often got her benched, the limitations placed on her by the Director only added to her frustration and prevented her from getting any of that energy out in a healthy way. After Project Freelancer her main mission was always to keep moving and keep finding something new, no matter what destruction she had to leave behind.

8- Strength: Michael J. Caboose. While Caboose is of course strong in a physical sense, that's not exactly the meaning of the strength tarot card. Strength is the lion, but it's also the young woman who fearlessly scratches the lion's ears. Caboose can lift a tank, but his real power comes from the strength of his friendships and his willingness to trust anyone who comes his way. This endless optimism and determination to keep seeing the bright side of everything (even a killer robot) is what led the Reds and Blues out of many tough scrapes.

9- The Hermit: Dick Simmons. The hermit is a guy by himself, plain and simple. While Simmons craves the company of others, he often finds it easier to keep himself isolated than to deal with the complexities of humanity. If the Reds don't respect him he'll simply join the Blues and take over an empty base. He's smart, yes, but he sees his own powers as ultimate and doesn't want to be on the team if he isn't seen as essential.

10- The Wheel of Fortune: Agent Florida. As a symbol of fate and destiny, the wheel of fortune is suited to a character like Florida who may appear chaotic but ultimately pulls the strings of Blood Gulch. His personality can be a bit unpredictable at times, but Flowers is still completely in control. It's just a question of whether you've figured out his plan yet.

11- Justice: Agent Connecticut. While all the members of Project Freelancer were supposedly fighting for peace, CT is the only one who took it upon herself to keep their agency in check. The others followed of course, but she was the first whistleblower to really challenge Freelancer and uncover the twisted secrets of their organization, and she was more than willing to sacrifice her life if it meant getting that information to the right people. Though it didn't come to pass until after his death, CT was still the one who brought Project Freelancer to justice.

12- The Hanged Man: Lavernius Tucker. While the hanged man isn't exactly a cheery sounding card, what it's really about is looking at difficult situations from a creative perspective. Tucker was constantly tied up in the schemes of others (The Director, the Sangheli, Felix), but he always maintained his distinctive attitude and determination. While he would have preferred to stay the same guy he was in Blood Gulch, he proved again and again that he was more than able to adapt and evolve; thriving in lethal conflicts and becoming a hero unlike any other.

13- Death: The Meta. The Meta, like death, is not cruel or sadistic. It is simply coming for you, and you will not escape. Looking deeper though, the death card in tarot symbolizes the end to old systems and the transition to something new. The Meta was once Agent Maine, until is underwent a transformation more horrible than simply dying. It went through a metamorphosis, and in the process brought about the end of Project Freelancer and the beginning of a new era.

14- Temperance: Locus. This card is one that symbolizes balance more than anything else. As a man desperate to become a machine, Locus tried to maintain perfect control over himself. He wanted to appear solid and unshakeable, up until the bedrock of his partnership with Felix was shattered. After he turned on his partner, Locus struggled to maintain a different kind of balance; between the man he was and the man he wants to be.

15- The Devil: Felix. Well this one is pretty simple. The devil as a card is about evil, yes; but it's also about control and creativity. Felix found joy in his ability to wrap the people of the New Republic around his finger, and he thrived in command of an army of space pirates. More than that though, he had fun with it. He always came up with innovative ways to destroy his enemies or intimidate his allies, and he was completely free of guilt the entire time.

16- The Tower: The Director. While death and the devil sound scary on the surface, the tower is really the most powerfully negative card in the deck. Much like Dr. Church, the tower brings misery and despair to everyone associated with it. More specifically, the screaming people falling from a lightning struck tower symbolizes divine retribution for humans who saw themselves as gods. The Director spent his later years trying to build a program that could win a war and bring back his lost love, and his favorite tool was manipulation. He always wanted nothing more than to establish his own power and prove that he could maintain complete control over the world and people around him, but it was only a matter of time before his ship crashed into Sidewinder and his bitter children found his hiding place.

17- The Star: Dexter Grif. The star is another symbol of balance, though this one is more about fairness and hope. Grif is someone who may act discontented but clearly cares deeply about the people around him, and his unshakeable demeanor holds the Reds together (as much as Sarge would hate to admit it). While he doesn't literally nourish the land and water like the star, he stays calm amidst a team of fiery tempers and is able to keep the warthog running if they ever need a getaway vehicle.

18- The Moon: Agent Washington. The moon is all about changes and illusions, perfect for someone like Wash who spent so much time blending into different personas. While Wash, like the moon, can appear dark and mysterious; he's ultimately a force for positive change amongst the Reds and Blues, who in turn inspire him to change into the best version of himself.

19- The Sun: Kaikaina Grif. Simple joy, that's what the sun is all about. In a canyon full of shitty people and a show full of angst, Kai is one of the only characters who's just here to have a good time. As crazy as things get for her brother and his friends, she'll always be waiting back at Blue Base with enough music and glowsticks to keep the party going.

20- Judgement: Agent Texas. Much like the angel on this card descends to judge mankind, Tex was dragged from the afterlife to separate the worthy from the corrupt. While she was created as a sort of toy in the Director's grief, she quickly established her own sense of identity and justice. She saw the truth of Project Freelancer and made it her mission to destroy it, doing her best to free the Alpha. In Blood Gulch and beyond she acted as a sort of avenging angel for the Blues, swooping in to save their asses and punish whoever she deemed to be worthy of punishment. In the end they all learned something from Tex and her fierce determination. Church became his own protector, and he could finally let Allison rest.

21- The World: The AI fragments. The world is a card of ultimate completion. Much like the many fragments who came from a more powerful AI, many symbols surround the vast and vibrant landscape of this card. Delta, Theta, Gamma, Omega, Beta, Sigma, Eta, Iota, Epsilon, and Alpha are all characters in their own right; but they're also pieces of a whole. They were never able to reunite fully in Red vs Blue, but they live on in the memories of Epsilon and all of us who return to the show year after year.

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