#and crashed trying to get to outer expanse

[lynx-doodles-indie-games]

back at it again at shaded citadel

thank you, green scug friend, for having me tag along with you in shaded citadel while playing meadow

[imaginedreamwrite]

Handmaiden reader showing appreciation to Simon’s thick thighs by riding them, her first orgasm

Years of service for the Queen as a handmaiden—wherein you helped gather eggs for her breakfast, washed and dried her linen, prepared her bedchambers every night and had aided her in getting dressed—had left you feel vulnerable and inexperienced when it came to dealing with men. You were around women a lot, never left alone with men and that inexperience had bled into your relationship with Simon & Johnny.

The King had offered his best knights, now settling into retirement, whatever they had wished for their settlement into a quieter life. You were their choice, the woman they wanted to marry, but you were so naive to interactions with men.

To help you adjust, Simon & Johnny had begun giving you lessons on being physical with them—starting with simple kissing. The act of being taught how to react, how to instil those feelings of arousal and passion was a much needed lesson.

Now you were here, the simple chemise you wore pulled up around your hips as you straddled Simon's bare thigh. The thick expanse of his thigh that you were straddling was another lesson you wanted to learn, another sensation you were desperate to feel.

"There she is," Simon guided your hips with his hands, his fingers settling against the material that exposed your lower body, "feel good already doesn't it?"

You were damp between your thighs, your body already reacting to the width and warmth of his thigh that was pressed against your labia. There was nothing keeping your sensitive outer pussy lips from touching his hair covered thigh. You were trying to control the soft whimpers that had started to become ripped from your lips, as you were already affected by the sensation.

"Move your hips, find that good feeling and chase it." Simon helped you start rocking your hips, grinding your cunt against his thigh. Your lips parted with a soft sigh that had quickly transformed into mumbled moans as he flexed his thigh under you.

"Feels good." Your hands defaulted to rest against his shoulders, fingers digging into his skin as your hips gyrated against him. "F-feels good..."

"You're so wet, look at you," Simon cupped your chin and drew your attention down to his thigh, where a visible slickness had appeared on his thighs, "look at the mess you're making."

"Simon, I'm-" He cuts you off with a piercing and passionate kiss, one that exhilarates you, the feeling of his heated lips crashing against yours brings another whimper from you.

"Don't apologise, never apologise." His fingers grip your hip tighter, helping you increase the speed of your grinding.

When you begin to shaver, when your moans and whimpers become more desperate, there's a moment when you want to run. Simon doesn't let you, he doesn't let you escape or stop grinding your pretty pussy against him. He's going to make you chase that high, he's going to make sure you coat his leg in your cum, in your sweet honey orgasm.

"You're going to cut, love? You're feeling that hot little bubble in your belly?" Simon slips one hand from your hip to your lower back where he keeps you pinned, keeps you against him.

"I can't, Simon I'm..." you feel it, it's right there, and your hips make one last desperate grind before you feel your body tense. His name falls from your lips in a desperate moan, a whiny please as your orgasm hits with an intensity that makes you see Stars.

"Good girl, there it is, good fucking girl, what a good wife." Simon praises you just as he overstimulates you by making your puffy pussy rock against his thigh. "Did that feel good, sweetheart? Hmm, did you like that?"

You can't find words, all you can do is nod while you breathe heavily like you ran for miles, when really it was just your first real orgasm.

"Good girl, now we're going to do it again." Simon gives you no quarter, not when he lifts you from one thigh and places you on the other. "If you're going to take Johnny and myself, you have to get used to being fucked out."

[pinkiepiebones]

Shadow. (1/?)

This is a self-induldgent fic based in my own concept of the Ghost world and my own concept of how nameless ghouls work.

Perpetua watches a nameless ghoul emerge from Hell. It imprints on him. Hijinks ensue.

All nameless ghouls of the church rose up from the same primordial lake in Hell, spat out whole on the plutonian shores with the function of servitude woven into their very being.

All nameless ghouls that came into being had an affiliation with one terrestrial element. The element bound them to the realm of the living.

All nameless ghouls emerged as roughly humanoid spectres, with grey pebbly skin, hands like a bird's talons, cloven hooves, a pair of horns, a pair of ears, a pair of wings, and a tail.

All nameless ghouls had a blank stony face, with wide, empty black eyes, carved noses, and no mouth. All nameless ghouls communicated telepathically, but few humans could receive their voice without enduring dread and panic.

Except one.

The nameless ghoul called "Special" by some, "Phil" by others, had a telepathic speech that somehow fooled the human mind into thinking it was receiving auditory stimuli. So, Special talked. A lot.

Special had been giving the new Papa, Papa V Perpetua, a crash course in all things nameless ghoul. Perpetua had been, understandably, overwhelmed over the few weeks he had come to the Ministry. Special tried to take a slower approach when explaining his "siblings." He walked with Perpetua down to the lowest basement of the church, just above the catacombs, chattering away.

"Aaaand here is where the magic happens," Special declared, gesturing to the mostly-empty space. Various gnarled candelabras were scattered around, flickering flames casting odd shadows on the cobbled walls and dusty tapestries. In the center of the floor was a vast circle, hewn deep into the stone floor and fortified with gold, blood, and various gems. Inside the circle was a gold pentagram. Special hopped carefully over the lines of the pentagram and tapped the center with his hoof- which did not look like a hoof, but like a popular brand of shoe- and beckoned for the masked Papa to come closer.

Perpetua peered down. He did not see the stone floor, but a vast, deep expanse of unfathomable darkness.

"Isn't it cool?" Special asked. His tail wagged in a very unghoulish manner. Perpetua had been told that Special was a defective ghoul, that all ghouls were stoic standoffish creatures except for him. But he was responsible for the band's ghouls looking and acting so incredibly human, so his peculiarities were tolerated. Perpetua knelt and placed his hand on the cold darkness.

"All ghouls come from here?"

"Yup."

"And there is no notice of when one emerges?" He glances up at the ghoul through his silver mask. "You all do not get some sort of, ah, a tingle?"

Special crossed his arms. "We're not Spider-Man creatures, Perpy. There's no - oh, shit! We gotta move!"

The floor had rippled, magic thrumming through the gold ring set deep in the cold stone floor. Special and Perpetua stepped quickly back to the outer ring now glowing with a blackened light. Perpetua watched, transfixed as an ashen grey hand shot up from the warping floor, curved black claws dipping with ectoplasm. Perpetua took a tentative step to grab the hand but Special pulled on his sash to keep him at the circle's edge.

"You gotta let the, um, the proverbial dust settle a little before you try an' touch a newbie," the ghoul cautioned.

Perpetua felt himself sinking to his knees and clasping his hands in prayer. His lips danced over familiar and comforting Latin prayers as he watched this summoning.

"Birth," the Papa whispered reverently. Special chuckled. "Uhh, what?"

Perpetua jumped from his prayerful stance and stared at the glamoured ghoul, eyes wide with frenzy.

"It is being born!" He looked to the half-emerged beast, then back to Special.

"It- is it for me? I touched the darkness, then..."

Special scratched at his long ear- not due to the sensation of itchy skin, but simply as a learned reflex from observing humans for sixty years. "I dunno, man. Sometimes ghouls come up when the management's like, 'uhhhh, we need t'build another library,' but sometimes we just-" He made some noises as though he were trying to coax words out of the air. "We just happen. Ehehehehh. I came up not really knowin' my place 'till I met Cope, so..." He trailed off, leaving Perpetua unsatisfied with his answer.

The nameless ghoul was still damp with ectoplasm. It was fully emerged, kneeling, wings limp around it like a dark silken cape. Special Ghoul fetched a few towels from a small Ikea shelf shoved in between candelabras and gestured to Perpetua with them. "Help it out, if you want?"

Perpetua took a towel in hand and took a nervous step forward. Even though it was still crouched, he could tell the new ghoul was bigger than Special. It had long hair- which Perpetua had been told was not really hair, but very fine feathers- atop it's head. A pair of long horns curved up and swooped back over the feathers. The new Papa rubbed a towel over those horns, delighting in the delicate rib-like texture of them. Cleaned of slime they were almost a sparkling black. Perpetua stroked the horns with his gloved hands, giggling.

He looked at the face and saw wide abyssal eyes staring at him.

Perpetua stared back.

The nameless ghoul reached for the towel and stood, towering over Perpetua. It wiped itself off slowly as the human watched, enraptured.

Special broke the thick silence by announcing "ah! Lookit this tail tuft! This is an air ghoul!" He waved up at the new ghoul. "Hullo! You're gonna want to take flight soon, dive into some storm clouds, get yerself tethered."

The nameless ghoul dropped the towel on Special and turned it's attention to the grinning human beneath it.

//I AM HERE TO SERVE//

The ghoul's voice was an eclipse across Perpetua's mind. His skin prickled with gooseflesh. He bit his tongur to keep from giggling. He grinned up at the tall creature. It reached out and touched his teeth with a talon.

//WHAT IS THIS//

"Ugh, bones," Special grumbled. He took the air ghoul's hand in his. "C'mon kiddo, let's get you tethered." He tugged but the ghoul did not budge. It was still transfixed on Perpetua's wide wild grin.

"Uhhhhh," Special flicked his tail, apprehension settling in. "Can you tell it to come with me? It's gonna dissolve if we don't get it conditioned soon."

"Go with Special, dearest," Perpetua purred to the towering beast. Then, to Special, he said "I want it in the band. Train it."

Special sighed, a feat considering nameless ghouls do not possess lungs. "Yessir, your Papaness."

[iwantbrioche]

I know this isn’t a problem with the mod, it’s just really really funny. Me and my friend have been playing jolly co op and. Aquaticpups are cursed for us. We’ve found three and all three have

-been in difficult areas (chimney and subterranean (twice))

- been surrounded by lizards

-had neon green gills ??

-had some sort of game break when trying to get to them

Like. A couple crashes the first time, it was frustrating. But then. It happened again. And we hadn’t even seen the pup yet but we were like “oh this is kelp (the first pup) 2 lol” and then. It was literally just a slightly paler version of kelp. And then there was another pup right after. And mind you we were in subterranean. Trying to get to outer expanse. We were going the opposite way to find this pup. And then.

And then it turned out the third pup was also a green gilled riv pup…

Im Kelp. I’m Seaweed. I’m Algae. The game broke siblings.

Also with all three of them the game crashed and we had to restart and I had to reinvite my friend twice because the first time they couldn’t see the game.

Sorry to dump this in your inbox I just thought it was really funny.

Fun fact: Because of the way colors are chosen for the dark palette on slugpups, green is more common than any other color. This has the side-effect of dark Aquaticpups consistently looking like sewer children, which is funny so I'm not changing it lmao. Little grime babies. <3

[bishop-percival]

@stuckinuniformdevelopment

Something was bothering Bishop Percival. He was pacing around his personal vestry and office, two in the morning. He slowed to a stop in front of an ornate full length mirror. He stared at his face for a good while, then rubbed the top of his naked, unadorned head with a heavy sigh. “I don’t feel complete without one…”

Percy’s eye wandered toward a nearby chest. He popped it open and dug around a bit before pulling out a standard Hater Empire watchdog helmet. After a moment of hesitation, he rested it upon his head and looked back in the mirror. The sight disgusted him as he scowled. “That is not me..,” he muttered as he removed the helmet and frisbeed it across the room where it crashed into a bookshelf. 

“Aaaarhg!!!” He plopped down in his lush desk chair. “Waiting, waiting, waiting! I can’t stand it anymore! Why’s that damn Bowtie so… Breakable! UGH!”

Percival clutched the sides of his head as he laid it down on the desk, muttering curses. But then he sprang his head back up. A cheeky smile grew across his face as a really good idea formed in his head. “Heh… What am I moping around for? I have the power to fix broken things…”

He took out his phone and dialed a number. As expected since it was quite late at night, it went to voicemail. So the bishop tried again and again until he was finally answered.

“Urgh… H-hello, Your Excellency? What’s up?” 

It was Sam. Their voice was groggy and unsure. 

It had been about a week and a half since they dislocated Theodore’s shoulder. Bishop Percival had already tore into them multiple times about breaking the Glornch’s tailor at such an inconvenient time. Sam was incredibly apologetic (to Percival) and vowed to do whatever it took to make it up to him. So they figured this call might be about that.

“Slimy! My Slimeball! I have a really important assignment for you. Can you meet me in front of the medbay? Like right now?”

“Uh, y-yes sir! What is—”

Percy hung up. Sam sighed. She didn’t know if she should be glad Percy was probably taking her up on her offer to regain his favor, or if she should be worried that it involved going to the medbay, and likely by extension, dealing with Theodore. Regardless, Sam figured they’d get their answers in person. Once they made it down from the bunks they made a beeline to the medbay.

The bishop was waiting outside the main doors. “Oh, you made it here fast, Slimy!”

Sam gave him a deep, reverent bow once they approached him. “A’ course sir, only for you.” They sprang back up. “So what’s my assignment?”

“Come along…” The bishop led them through the doors and they made their way to an expansive concourse. The area was lined wall to wall with rows of cots containing sleeping watchdogs, too injured to climb the bunks in the Skullship's sleeping quarters but too healthy to occupy a medical bed. 

Bishop Percival gestured his arm across the room. “You see Sam, I’m trying to find Bowtie. But my, it’s just so crowded in here, I figured I could use your help! You’re so nimble and agile, I bet you could navigate the narrow walkways far quicker than me.”

Sam rubbed their head. “But sir… That’s gonna be like finding a very dull, lame, annoying needle in a stack of other needles. Or however that saying goes.” 

“Yeah, which is why I’m making you do it! If Bowtie carries his red robe around, then look for that if it’ll make it easier. And when you do find him…”

Percival removed his own outer vestment and handed it to Sam. “Text me, plop this on the floor next to you, and I’ll be there in a flash!”

Taking the robe, Sam looked down and let out a small sigh before meeting the bishop’s eye again. “Okay sir… M-may I ask why you’re sniffing out, uh, Bowtie now when you could’ve just like, called him to your office when he’s awake or something?”

“No you may not ask! Now git on out there!” 

Sam straightened up, puffed out their chest, and gave a firm “yes sir!” before turning. They only got a few steps away before Percy shouted “WAIT!," much to the alarm of a few watchdogs trying to sleep nearby.

The bishop somehow procured a large stack of informational Glornist pamphlets from his pocket and handed them to Sam too. “Might as well do some quiet proselytizing while you’re at it, eh?”

Sam draped the robe over his shoulder and took the pamphlets. “Sure. Good call, Your Excellency.”

With that, she took off nimbly sidling down the narrow aisles of cots, carefully placing a pamphlet on each sleeping watchdog she passed, looking for Theodore. 

This went on for some time. With each passing cot, Sam became less careful about their movements, awkwardly striding sideways and impatiently slapping down pamphlets, growling an insincere “my fucking bad” whenever she kicked a cot and awoke the watchdog within. 

Finally, just as he placed his last available pamphlet, he spotted a head that was resting on what looked like a red pillow. That was good enough evidence that it was their target. As instructed, they threw Bishop Percival’s robe to the ground and texted him.

Just a few seconds later, a bright red light flashed from under the robe and in an instant the bishop sprang up from under it along with a cloud of black smoke. He smiled wide at Sam before leaning over the sleeping watchdog and poking at him.

“Psssst… Bowtie….”

[letterboxd-in]

insincere. // lesson 3:

"winning an argument"

ⲥⲁⲥⲟⲉⲧⲏⲉ𝛓 𝛓ⲥꞅⲓⲃⲉⲛⲇⲓ ─── ⲥⲁⲥⲟⲉⲧⲏⲉ𝛓 𝛓ⲥꞅⲓⲃⲉⲛⲇⲓ ─── ⲥⲁⲥⲟⲉⲧⲏⲉ𝛓 𝛓ⲥꞅⲓⲃⲉⲛⲇⲓ

this lesson is a letterbox archives original. do not repurpose.

ⲥⲁⲥⲟⲉⲧⲏⲉ𝛓 𝛓ⲥꞅⲓⲃⲉⲛⲇⲓ ─── ⲥⲁⲥⲟⲉⲧⲏⲉ𝛓 𝛓ⲥꞅⲓⲃⲉⲛⲇⲓ ─── ⲥⲁⲥⲟⲉⲧⲏⲉ𝛓 𝛓ⲥꞅⲓⲃⲉⲛⲇⲓ

The new world was oddly dark, much darker than what Ven saw out the window. Maybe it was different being inside a new thing than observing it from the outside. Sissy stared at them with her empty face.

“Ven, Ven,” she teased, “did you know your eyes are closed?”

“What? Oh.”

Noticing the texture of the scrunched-up skin around their eyes, Ven began to open them, with great caution.

The light was back. They were entirely right before. If anything, the separation between the window and reality was the only thing keeping Ven from truly seeing how painfully bright it was out there.

The wave returned. Not a gentle lull of tiredness, but a suffocating crash once more. Yet the light of the sun still pierced through.

Ow.

Ow.

Ow.

Get out. Go back. Forget.

It was too much out there. Sounds, smells, colours, lights. Too much.

They needed to escape it.

Ven looked back to their home. Their comfortable, familiar, home. Where nothing changed and there was no strife.

“Oh, oh, Ven,” Sissy sighed, “you’re not awake. I knew it! I knew it!”

“I’m awake enough,” Ven said.

“That isn’t how it works. You’re either awake, or you aren’t. And everyone else is awake, everyone else!”

As Sissy said that, she glanced out to the world. A dejected look clouded her would-be face. If Ven was any wiser, they would’ve noticed a twinge of disappointment creep up on her.

But Ven was not that wise.

Ignoring the frustration in her bones, Sissy grabbed Ven with three arms, tugging at them as one would a stuffed toy.

“I’m awake enough,” Ven said once more, Sissy’s repetitive manner of speaking rubbing off on them.

“Really?” She said.

“Really,” Ven echoed.

“Really really?”

Ven leaned against the outer wall, trying to disguise their horrible posture, one expected of a person who had probably never gotten out of bed before. “Do you always talk like this?”

“Yes, yes, I’m afraid that’s true,” Sissy gave a half-nod, “but at least I’m awake.”

“But I am—”

Ven knew they felt awake, but only because they didn’t feel asleep. Because asleep was comfortable and simple, a necessity. Whereas what they felt right now was the polar opposite of that bliss. Aside from that, there was no other way for Ven to know they were awake. No innate sense, no seamless intuition, no trusted source.

Just discomfort.

“Yawn, then,” Sissy said, “yawn.”

“What?”

“How could you not hear me if I said it twice?” She questioned. “I said it twice.”

“What would that prove?”

Sissy gave an assured nod, placing all her hands on her hips to try and convey a sense of authority. “Awake people can yawn just fine, just fine! Asleep people react differently.”

Ven tried not to roll their eyes. It was beyond stupid a point, and Ven knew it had no real meaning. It seemed that Sissy only spouted tactless nonsense. Her claims of expansive knowledge were just that. Meagre claims, meaning nothing.

Arguing was a strange sensation.

“I’ll pass.”

“Fine, fine,” she said, her arms dropping, “but that just means I’m right!”

The scary thing was that a part of Ven believed her. Maybe they weren’treally awake.

But that can’t be right. They went through all the struggle to open their eyes, get out of bed, and go outside. Surely that was real?

Ven held their breath for just a moment to try and confirm it. That reality was in fact real, and there were sensations to be had that you couldn’t have asleep. Something, anything, to sever the tie between the waking world and the dreaming world.

“I’m not mad at you, Ven, I’m not mad.”

Ven let out the breath. “I never said you were.”

“You seemed mad.”

Sissy kicked at the ground, scattering small chunks of gravel.

“I want to help you, Ven,” she said, “I just want to help.”

Ven didn’t reply. Instead, they closed their eyes to prove they would open again and focused on their breath. Grounding, trusted, and absolute.

“It can be hard for some people, it can be hard. I know that. All the more reason you could use the help. All the more reason.”

“Why should I even want to wake up? Nothing bad ever happened while I was asleep,” Ven muttered, before adding, “really asleep.”

Sissy’s lack of a face turned sour. It was her turn to feel she was losing an argument.

“I can’t tell you, I can’t tell you.”

“Why not?”

“Well… well… well, it’s hard to explain.”

“So hard to explain, it’s not worth trying? Even if I turned around and went back to bed right now, you couldn’t explain it?”

Ven’s voice strained at the sheer amount of words they said at once. Sissy seemed equally uncomfortable.

She let a silence linger between them. Ven tried to keep their eyes open.

“Being awake is good, that’s all. That’s all.” 

Ven did not reply; they waited for the coveted explanation. 

“I can’t explain it, I can’t. It’s just good, but you wouldn’t know it if you weren’t. Awake, that is,” she said, “awake.”

It was difficult to decide whether or not that was a good explanation. Ven took a moment to consider the blinding light. If someone tried to explain what it was like to see, to see that light with your eyes fully open, they couldn’t. Not in a way Ven would truly understand. Not in a way that could substitute seeing it for themselves.

And when their eyes opened again, they didn’t try to close. It wasn’t a battle anymore. Though Ven had a sinking feeling that feeling wouldn’t last, it was a welcome respite nonetheless. With such newfound consciousness, they noticed something other than light.

A cluster of feathers flew overhead, settling on stray telephone poles to preen.

Wait, telephone poles?

Ven looked at their surroundings again. Had they seriously not seen anything?

Upon actual inspection, it was a regular suburban neighbourhood. A bit samey, identical houses lined the street, nearby tipped over telephone poles that didn’t seem to function. A splash of colour on every surface, but not too bright as to overwhelm Ven.

The sky was pink. The sky was static. Everything was static. It didn’t look very real at all.

Are you seeing this?” Ven squinted.

“What?” Sissy asked. “What?”

She looked around too, her little neck contorting with her torso to spin around for an all-encompassing view. Disturbing, sure, but it got the job done.

“Everything,” Ven clarified, nearly breathless.

They found it odd that they were so enamoured with a world that looked tacky and fake on the surface. Sissy caught Ven’s eyeline. Higher up than before, more interested.

“Oh, you’re getting closer! You’re getting closer!” – she exclaimed – “Lucky you! Lucky me!”

Against many odds, Ven caught themselves smiling. Just a bit. Maybe she was okay.

Maybe all of it was okay.

“Thanks,” they said, before returning their sights to the bird, “what is this place?”

“Questions like that,” she tutted, “keep you asleep, they keep you asleep. This is our Hometown, nothing more. And you say I ask too many questions!”

If Ven had been listening to her answer, they would’ve been confused, even weary. But the bird kept migrating from roof to pole, then back again. That was far more interesting.

“Do you see that bird?”

Sissy followed their line of sight, eventually seeing the bird. Slightly glad that Ven did not react to her dismissal of their question, she said, “I know that bird, I know that bird.”

“Does it like you?”

“Yes, yes, very much.”

As Sissy said that, the bird detached itself from the pole it had taken residence on, swooped down, and bit her on the head. It squawked as it did, making sure to draw blood from Sissy’s temple.

Ven moved to her and made a halfway decent attempt to shoo the bird away. “Get off!”

The bird eventually grew bored of the attack, and spread its wings again, this time perching on Ven’s house. Ven didn’t even know they had a house.

“Ow!” Sissy said, holding the top of her head. “Ow...”

“I thought you said the bird likes you.”

Ven looked up at the bird’s – likely an owl – new perch. Pristine white feathers covered it, and piercing red eyes stared down at the two.

Sissy sighed. Before she could answer, the bird spoke above her.

“She lied!” The owl cried.

ⲥⲁⲥⲟⲉⲧⲏⲉ𝛓 𝛓ⲥꞅⲓⲃⲉⲛⲇⲓ ─── ⲥⲁⲥⲟⲉⲧⲏⲉ𝛓 𝛓ⲥꞅⲓⲃⲉⲛⲇⲓ ─── ⲥⲁⲥⲟⲉⲧⲏⲉ𝛓 𝛓ⲥꞅⲓⲃⲉⲛⲇⲓ

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[spell-cleaver]

Whumptober

No. 4 - TRUST FALL “Do you trust me?” | taken hostage | pushed

@whumptober-archive

Also read it on AO3 or on FFN!

“Are you sure this is the Jedi Temple?” Luke asked, peering down into the abyss. “You said we were coming here to meet a Jedi.”

“Well.” Aphra chewed the inside of her mouth and tilted her shoulders a little. “I did. It’s not a living Jedi—”

“It?”

“It’s a crystal!”

“A crystal?”

“A crystal possessing the soul of a dead Jedi.”

“Oh.” That wasn’t what he wanted.

But… he’d come this far.

“And it’s in this mine?”

“It spent hundreds of years in this mine.” There was nothing false about that statement, but very little true, either. He narrowed his eyes at her.

She just smiled at him and skipped ahead. Luke swallowed at the narrow ledge they were standing on. Aphra had strung up guy ropes and harnesses around them while they shuffled along, but the dark grey rock still crumbled away underneath them when they walked. At one point she stepped on a spot laced with cracks and the whole thing went out underneath her.

Aphra just shrugged it off and bobbed on the end of her rope before she swung back onto the walkway on the other side. Totally heedless of the debris above them shifted by the vibrations, showering down in dust, particles, pebbles, stones…

“See? We’re fine. Do you trust me, kid?”

“No.”

“Dammit, you’re smarter than you look.” Luke scowled and she snickered. “Kidding. Mostly. But that harness will keep you safe, don’t worry. This cavern has stood for a thousand years. It’ll stand for a thousand more.”

“Isn’t that what they said about the Republic?” Luke asked quietly. Aphra didn’t answer.

“Besides! The miners who used to come down here erected a bunch of shield safety measures—if someone falls, the shields will flicker to life and catch them.”

Luke glanced at the rocks—some the size of his head—that had tumbled down into the darkness. “Why didn’t they come on for the falling rocks then?”

Aphra shrugged. “Who knows. Maybe they failed years ago and no one bothered replacing them and that’s why they abandoned this mining shaft.” Luke went pale. “Or maybe they just respond to falling heat signatures. We don’t know, kid, let’s not find out.”

That wasn’t confidence inducing. But Luke followed anyway. He made it across the narrow ledge to the wider ledge where she was standing, and clipped himself onto the next safety rope.

He couldn’t resist peering down. There was nothing down there. Aphra peered down as well and fired her blaster into it.

“Wait, what are you—”

He snatched for the blaster, but she flicked it back into its holster and he could do nothing but wince and stare at the plummeting bolt. Memories of the sandstone canyons back home crumbling at the slightest crash or bang while they raced to the Needle flared up…

But there was no bang.

The bolt went down, and down, and down, and down, and down. By the time it hit something, it was too far away to hear.

Luke shivered, clutching onto his guy ropes tightly. They were the only thing between him and oblivion. It was so cold.

“Well,” Aphra said. “That would be a long drop and a sudden stop.”

Luke was nodded dumbly, still staring down, when she seized him, spun the rope around him and jabbed a blaster under his neck.

“That would be unfortunate, wouldn’t it, Vader?”

Luke sucked in a high-pitched breath as out of the shadows the walkway descended into stepped Darth Vader, ghastly mask and all.

“Aphra,” he boomed. “I was correct. You were always going to be drawn back to this place.”

“And I knew you were always gonna be chasing me,” she got out with a grin. Luke couldn’t do much more than blink and choke—one of the ropes she’d secured around him was around his throat, tight and painful. He’d heard about Vader asphyxiating people who displeased him; perhaps Aphra wanted to try a little irony here, too. The other ropes pressed too hard around his arms and ribcage, his waist, his thighs. They dug in like trails of fire. “So here’s the deal. You get Padmé Amidala’s boy, unharmed. And I get let go, and kriff off into the Outer Rim and never contact you again! I think that’s a win-win.”

“I do not engage in petty bargains with criminals.”

“Hey! Hey there! Rogue archaeologist. That’s the whole title that got the kid here.” Luke glared sideways at her, but she seemed unruffled. The only person in the galaxy who could ruffle her was Vader, it seemed, and she was confronting him head on. “And it’s not a petty bargain. Anyone willing to shell out that much of a bounty for some baby who’s meant to be dead clearly wants them alive badly. I don’t care why! I really don’t! But you get him, I get away. If I don’t get away…” She shrugged, the blaster tip pressing further into Luke’s neck as she did.

Luke gasped. It was still hot from the shot she’d fired earlier.

Vader’s gaze zeroed in on him, and stayed there.

“Threatening a Sith Lord is the height of folly,” Vader growled. Luke shuddered as the temperature plummeted even further.

“Yes, well,” Aphra shuffled closer to the edge to make her point, so Luke was practically hanging over the chasm, “I’ve been known to make foolish decisions—”

“But threatening a Sith Lord’s son,” Vader finished menacingly, stalking forwards, “is beyond comprehension.”

All the colour drained out of Aphra’s face. “What.”

Luke didn’t process it at first. He stared at Vader’s approach, feeling his front grow warm and damp. Watched Vader light his bloody saber. Listened to Aphra think two things, very loudly.

One: kriff.

And two, peculiarly sad: why do all parents except mine care about their kids so much?

“I don’t think you want to do that, Lord Vader,” she said, panic rising in her voice. Her finger was trembling on the trigger, and Luke winced, but she knew not to shoot. She knew Luke was her only shield.

Luke wasn’t a fan of being a shield.

He grappled for the Force, trying to find it in the slimy, slippery expanse of the dark side, and seized the ropes around him. Loosened their grip on his neck, so at least he could breathe. So at least—

“You know what, kid?” Aphra murmured. “That’s a good idea.”

A knife was out in one silver flash, and the ropes around him loosened. Luke heaved a sigh of relief—and at least that meant he had plenty of air to scream with when Aphra planted two hands on his back and shoved him into the abyss.

“Luke!”

Aphra jumped after him and grabbed him in mid-air. He tried to shake her away. “What are you doing—”

Cut ropes whipped around them, raising welts on his face and arms, but he still saw her cocky grin. It was only a little nervous.

“Getting us out of here, kid,” she said, and then blue flared around them as the miners’ old shields came to life.

[libertyreads]

June TBR--

So, it turns out that June is going to be a lot like May in the fact that I’m mostly going to be reading books I don’t own physically. I’m still working on getting the books on my Kindle down to a reasonable number, reading the ARCs I’ve been given access to, and continuing my 40 books before 40 reading challenge.

1. Babylon’s Ashes by James S.A. Corey-- Book #6 in the Expanse series. I’m still averaging a book and a novella every month so I’m hoping to finish this series by Fall. This novel is going to be hard to explain given everything that’s happened so far, but I’ll try. A revolution has begun in death and fire. The Free Navy has crippled the Earth and begun a campaign of piracy and violence among the outer planets. Outnumbered and outgunned, the remnants of the old political powers call on the Rocinante for help.

2. Strange Dogs by James S. A. Corey (Kindle)-- A novella and #6.5 in the Expanse series. We follow a new perspective as Cara and her family venture through the gates to create a new life.

3. Places We’ve Never Been by Kasie West (New Release)-- Kasie West has been an auto buy author for me for years so I don’t know a ton about this one. I know it has a cross-country family road trip and involves the friends to lovers trope. Norah’s family has planned a road trip with her friend Skyler’s family for the summer. But the more time they spend together the rockier their friendship gets. Can their friendship-turned rivalry turn into something more?

4. How to Date a Superhero (And Not Die Trying) by Cristina Fernandez (NetGalley)-- Astrid isn’t a superhero, not like the ones on the news, but she does have a perfect sense of time. She has her future all planned out---friends, college classes, extracurriculars all carefully selected to get her into medical school. Until Max Martin crashes back into her life. He doesn’t keep to her schedule. He disappears in the middle of dates and cancels at the last minute with stupid excuses. When a supervillain breaks into her bedroom one night, Astrid has to face the facts: her boyfriend is a superhero.

5. Some Call It Love by Sarah Peis (Kindle)-- The penultimate book in the Ten First Dates anthology that I have been slogging through. This one is a little bit insane so I’m not sure how I’m going to feel about it. A girl is forced to settle her dad’s gambling debts by working for the person her dad owes money for. And romance ensues? Somehow.

6. Sorcerer’s Stone.

7. Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro-- This is one of the books I added to my 40 Books to Read Before Turning 40 TBR thanks to the sheer volume of people who seem to really enjoy it. I’ve been hit or miss with those kind of book selections so we’ll see how I feel about it in a month. All I know is that it’s about a group of friends at a boarding school and maybe there’s something mysterious going on.

8. Finding His Cheer by Claire Wilder (Kindle)-- For the rest of the TBR, we’re getting into a short story Christmas anthology that I plan on reading all of by my birthday in early July/the start of my version of Christmas in July. In this one, a widower and single father discovers love again at Christmas time when his neighbor comes around needing some help. 9. Second Chance Christmas by Alexa Rivers (Kindle)-- A pair of exes are thrown together again when Evie finds herself stranded outside Davy’s bar. Davy’s willing to help, but he refuses to get his heart broken again.

10. Love at Frost Sight by Bell Splendor (Kindle)-- I can’t find a really good blurb about this one, but the GoodReads says, “When two enemies come together, will it be steamy heat? Or a melting iceberg of disaster?”

11. Captivated by Danielle Pays (Kindle)-- In order to avoid a forced marriage, Macy gets her brother’s best friend Garrett to fake date for the holidays.

12. Twelve Days by Kate Stacy (Kindle)-- Another one without a great synopsis, the GoodReads says, “She’s missing her usual holiday spirit until a secret admirer gives her twelve days of Christmas she’ll never forget.”

13. Christmas at La Villa Rosa Rebecca Barton (Kindle)-- Antonio and Caterina are working to help a friend renovate at La Villa Rosa, but they’re clashing almost as much as they’re distracting each other from the work.

[siorca]

Autobots set up cameras to spy on the Decepticons but they instead witness Momma Soundwave (any verse)

Anon I have no idea why you send me this prompt because I literally have not written in years, but I felt inspired. Didn’t edit, might fuck around and put a proper version on my AO3:

“What are you doing?”

Ratchet was tired, and the throb of a processor ache buzzed between his optics. His voice echoed his state, dull and unperturbed where he might have shown a level of concern on a good day. Meetings with Prowl tended to do that. Primus, did he have respect for that mech, but how frustrating it was to sway his stubborn nature on issues of medicine.

Sideswipe spared him a passing glance, returning to his task with added fever, as if completing it quickly could keep Ratchet from spoiling his fun. Ratchet had pulled rank on him for more minor infractions before. In a rare case of fortune, Ratchet had no interest in the resulting paperwork today.

Laid before him was one of the few drones that the Ark still had left, between the crash, Decepticon interference, and drunken Autobot hassling. Its simple processor was split open neatly, and Sideswipe moved between its internals with precision. In another life, Ratchet would have gladly mentored him as a junior surgeon for such a display, but knowing what he knew of him after millions of years, he could only muster a vague sort of impressed detachment.

Sunstreaker was only a few feet away, not contributing much, aside from a cool atmosphere, leaned against the wall like he was the last line of defense before a sudden collapse. While Sunstreaker rarely participated in Sideswipe’s more mischievous endeavors, he was never far behind to witness the fallout, like a specter of misfortune. A classic form of sibling bonding, in Ratchet’s experience.

He locked optics with Ratchet, raising an expectant optic ridge, the edges of a smug smile pulling at his lips. Ratchet waved at him in polite greeting.

Sideswipe let out a loud huff, hovering over his pet project protectively when he realized Ratchet wasn’t moving - mostly because a majority of the hallway had been turned into a makeshift workshop and Ratchet ached in too many places to try maneuvering around the little space left for travel.

“I’m winning a bet,” he said, oozing the brand of determined confidence that only Sideswipe was foolish enough to exude. Ratchet rubbed his optics, unimpressed, trying to keep his processor ache from spreading. Deflated, Sideswipe fiddled with his screwdriver a moment more, ducking back into his task, neatly and swiftly installing a small camera in the midst of the fissures he had created in the cranial unit.

“And what bet involves you vandalizing Autobot property?”

“He thinks the Decepticons have a pet sea monster,” Sunstreaker supplied, helpfully. “He got hooked on one of Hound’s stories about Earth creatures.”

“What?” said Sideswipe, incensed. “Just because the humans haven’t been able to get much scientific proof, doesn’t mean the Decepticons haven’t discovered something they missed. They live down there, for Primus’ sake!”

“Don’t you think they would have managed to outfit it with some sort of Cyber-tech to make our lives more difficult by now? Megatron would have at least called to brag the first deca-cycle they captured it.”

“Maybe they’re saving it for a secret mission? You never know!”

Ratchet’s shushed them, waving his hands frantically to avoid a brawl. Sunstreaker still looked unperturbed, but Sideswipe’s hackles were raised enough to hint at an inevitable pounce. Sideswipe pouted, welding the suffering drone back together with far more force than was necessary. The camera poked out of its head inelegantly, though blinking steady enough to prove that it worked.

Ratchet held onto only enough processing power to put the pieces together.“Are you...planning on breaking into the Decepticon base with that? To see if they have a sea monster?”

Ratchet was impressed, truth be told. This sort of ingenuity was something that Jazz would be interested in. It was almost a shame that Sideswipe was not cut out for Special Ops. Still, he could appreciate the craftsmanship, not to mention the sheer absurdity of going to these levels for the sake of pride. It reminded him of something Wheeljack would do, and it was only the fond thought of his conjunx that fueled his further investment.

“Yeah. Good to make sure the ‘cons aren’t planning anything.” Sunstreaker scoffed behind him. Sideswipe shot a glare over his shoulder.

“Huh,” said Ratchet. “If only you could muster this much effort on any of your assigned projects.”

Sideswipe sputtered in indignation, standing from his crouched position. He naturally towered over Ratchet, but knew better than to use his bulk for intimidation where Ratchet was involved. Sunstreaker snickered behind him. The drone, which had finished powering up, chirped, hovering around Sideswipe’s knees like an eager youngling.

Sideswipe gathered himself, brushing past

Ratchet brusquely. “Excuse me, I have a point to make,” he shot over his shoulder. The drone chirped again, matching his pace quickly. Sunstreaker peeled himself away from the wall, trailing behind him, sighing dramatically.

Ratchet looked down the empty expanse of hallway, his quarters tantalizingly close. The processor ache was starting to fade, replaced with a dangerous curiosity. “You doing this now?”

“No time better.”

“Curfew is soon.”

“So?” said Sideswipe, crossing his arms in a defensive manner.

Ratchet sighed, cursing every weak process in his body that caused him to make equally as foolish decisions as those around him. “So, it’s best to have an officer escort you. After all, said officer might be able to cover for you if you happen to be late.”

Sideswipe grinned. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. I’m more so interested in seeing if your monstrosity can get the job done.” Said monstrosity beeped irritatedly, as if its neglect was a personal affront to something that held no personality.

Sunstreaker groaned. “Don’t encourage him. This is only going to end badly.”

“Most likely, but what else do we have to do right now?” said Ratchet, trailing after the strange trio and out of the base.

—

The sun was just beginning to set by the time they made it to the shore, the pinks and oranges of the sky reflecting on the ocean in a dazzling kaleidoscope. In the distance, the one moon was beginning to peek through the clouds, struggling to outshine the fiery final performance of the sun. Humans found something romantic in such periods of transition. Ratchet, of a species who built their existence out of transformations, remained nonplussed.

“Mirage mentioned a security loophole near the back hull of the Nemesis a while back. Fancy words for ‘there’s a hole in it.’ Salt water makes it difficult for repairs to take, I guess.” Sideswipe placed the drone near the edge of the water, facing the general direction of where the Nemesis lay dormant. The drone did not move, ever eagerly awaiting orders.

Ratchet made a humming noise. On the other side of the beach, Sunstreaker was hassling a tiny crab that didn’t make it back to the water before low tide. It couldn’t harm him, yet it’s posturing begged to differ. If force of will could kill a mech, Sunstreaker would be in critical condition right now. Sunstreaker smiled crookedly at the creature, taking care not to accidentally step on it.

Sideswipe reached into his subspace for a datapad, tapping at it with his stylus in a rhythmic manner while he waited for it to fully boot up.

“Rigged this up.” Sideswipe waved the awakened pad, the crisp image of the sunset on full view.

“Clever,” said Ratchet. “You even sure the drone’s going to survive the water?” Most Cybertronian tech did not play well with salt water. One of the drawbacks of being born on a planet that was not intimate with the substance.

“It’s survived this long. Seems to be made of sturdier stuff than the average drone.” Sideswipe patted it good-naturedly on the shoulder.

“If you say so. Let’s get started before a ‘con patrol shows up.” Ratchet waved Sunstreaker over. He grumbled something too low to hear, moving down the beach. Once reunited, he folded his arms, cocking one hip to the side in his usual aloof stance, shooting his brother a challenging glare. Sideswipe stuck his glossa out at him in retaliation.

Sideswipe turned his attention to the datapad. He nudged the drone with his foot. It beeped, inching its way forward slowly. He nudged it again, the drone making a more affronted noise, quickening its pace.

There was a palpable tension as the drone immersed itself, the watery image of the Pacific melting into itself as the camera adjusted to its new temporary home. The image crisped the deeper it went, the shapes of small fish, scampering away from their newest visitor, becoming clearer. Sideswipe let out a whoop of excitement, the drone dutifully fulfilling its task and Sunstreaker huffed in annoyance.

“Well I’ll be slagged,” said Ratchet, placing his hands on his hips in astonishment. Autobot ingenuity was truly only at its best when petty pride was involved.

The drone traveled deeper, the pressure of the depths squeezing around the hydraulics in its lower half, slowing its momentum only slightly. The remains of the Nemesis were laid deep, near to the point where light had difficulty penetrating to the sea floor. Just enough sunlight peeked through to illuminate the remains of coral and the clinging vines of seaweed crisscrossing the outer hull. It looked monstrous in the semi-dark. If any sea monsters were lurking here, the Nemesis could certainly qualify as one with the right argument.

A large hole, poorly obscured by a large wad of algae, pocketed the side, toward the back. Small creatures hovered near it, mistaking it for a haven from the larger predators. The drone made its way through the throng, scampering up the remaining shrapnel that passed for a crude ramp into the interior. Inside, the Decepticons had managed to use some feat of engineering to stave off the water after a few feet. The result was a lagoon in the middle of what Ratchet would assume was the remains of part of the cargo bay.

Emergency lights flickered overhead, bathing the otherwise empty space in an eerie, energon-pink glow. The bay was smaller than expected, only made more obvious by the tall wall of concrete, sectioning off one side, no doubt to protect their precious mechanical stores on the other side. The drone gave a quick sweep of the area.

Sunstreaker tapped his foot impatiently. “Nothing here.”

“Yeah, yeah, we just got here,” shushed Sideswipe.

A convenient ventilation shaft lay across the room, wide enough to pass through. The drone meandered its way there, clambering inside with little effort. The tunnel was dark, but the basic night vision on the drone could make out the forward path.

“They probably have it stored somewhere where they can keep an eye on it,” said Sideswipe, matter-of-factly.

Ratchet kept a close optic on the screen, his sharp senses picking up the tell tale notes of conversation. Up ahead, a vent peaked out into a hallway, somewhere near the living quarters. Ratchet hushed them, pointing at the screen firmly. Valuable reconnaissance was important, regardless if sea monsters were involved or not.

Sideswipe commandeered the drone toward the vent, tilting the datapad to encourage the drone to look through the grates. It pressed up against them firmly. Even distorted, the distinct, blocky shape of Soundwave was hard to mistake, two smaller bodies with him that could only be his own pair of twins.

One brother was cradled in his arms with a painful looking dent in his right cheek. A sour frown marred his face while his body sagged in an overdramatic sprawl over Soundwave’s arm. The other had his arms crossed over his chest, his visible forearm sporting a nasty scratch, petulant scowl twisting his features.

“You must mind your strength, Rumble. You nearly cracked Frenzy’s optic,” chastised Soundwave, gentle and firm in only the way a creator could manage. There weren’t many of those left, between the two armies, and it only made it extra bizarre to hear such a rare tone from Soundwave, of all mechs.

It was obvious that the drone had stumbled upon some sort of familiar conflict. Perhaps not imperative to the war effort, but tantalizing all the same.

“Should they be doing this out in the hallway?” said Sideswipe, absentmindedly.

Sunstreaker shrugged. “Maybe it’s a Decepticon thing.”

On the feed, a loud huff came from Rumble. “Well, he started it!”

“And yet I have told both of you multiple times to stop rough-housing.”

“Soundwave, I’m fine,” piped up Frenzy, drooping further down Soundwave’s hip. He seemed to be trying to turn himself into pure liquid in order to escape his creator’s arms. Soundwave only tightened his hold.

“That is not the point. You will seriously hurt each other one day. Last week, you nearly blew out Rumble’s audials. What will it be next time?” Soundwave’s words must have struck a nerve. Frenzy had the decency to look bashful, pausing in his squirming. Rumble simply pursed his lips.

“Both of you must be more careful until you have better control of your sigma abilities.” Soundwave finally freed Frenzy from his makeshift prison, who promptly scampered to his brother’s side.

Soundwave’s concern was familiar to Ratchet, echoing a time long ago when creators used to bring their Outlier sparklings to his Dead End clinic. Those whose abilities were extreme enough to affect their health or those around them and the rarer cases of those that thought he might be able to help control their abilities.

He empathized with him. Soundwave himself was an infamously powerful telepath, and it was only logical that his creations would inherit some sort of power. The proof was in their terror on the battlefield, the few times that they had participated in the more small scale scuffles. He had nearly forgotten how this would reflect in what would pass for home these days.

Soundwave sighed, for the moment deflated. “Go to Hook. He owes me a favor. Make sure to behave yourselves.” The twins nodded, for now behaving themselves as they made their way down the opposite side of the hallway. Soundwave, himself walked a few doors down, assuredly to his own quarters.

Sideswipe pulled the drone away from the grate. “Give them a few days, they’ll be right back to trying to kill each other.”

Sunstreaker grinned. “Wouldn’t be surprised if there’s a round 2 before they hit the medbay.”

Ratchet barked a laugh. “Probably.”

“Now to find that sea monster.”

[thistreasurehunter]

After the Rain

Summary: In the wake of a storm, The Pogues pass the time playing truth or dare and, slowly, secret feelings are revealed.

A/N: I’ve never written anything like this before, so I would love feedback.

Disclaimer: I don’t own any of the Outer Banks characters or settings.

*****************************************

The tail end of a storm was blowing over the Outer Banks. Dirty cotton wool clouds hung low in the sky and the angry gunfire of rain had finally begun to ease into a soothing staccato patter again the windowpanes. The muggy heat of the last month, that had previously pressed against the skin like wet clothes, had broken at last.

Inside The Chateau, The Pogues lounged, languid in the quiet calm the change in the weather had brought: John B and Sarah curled in a chair, Pope reading by the light from the window, Kie on the floor with a deck of cards playing solitaire and JJ on the sofa with a pile of balled up foil and candy wrappers, lazily aiming at a coffee mug abandoned on the floor earlier.

“Looks like it’s easing up out there,” Pope commented.

“Umm,” John B agreed. “Hopefully there won’t be too much property damage this time.”

“Still, the power will probably stay off for a while yet,” noted Kie.

“It will on The Cut, at least” huffed JJ, lobbing a balled-up foil wrapper across the room where it hit the rim of the mug and bounced off.

“We could play a game,” suggested Sarah. “My sister and I play one like Truth or Dare, but it’s just Truth. We could try that?”

“You know what would be better that Truth or Truth, Sarah?” said Kie smiling, “Truth or Dare.”

“Okay,” Sarah laughed, “I guess we can be more adventurous than Wheezie and I can in the backseat of our dad’s car on long journeys!”

“Okay sweetie, as it’s your idea, do you want to go first?” John B said, gently stroking Sarah’s hair.

“Okay, truth.”

The others paused for a moment, thinking.

“What’s your… guilty pleasure?” Kie asked finally.

“Oh, that’s a good one. Um, let me think. I’d probably have to say, daytime tv murder mysteries – Murder She Wrote, Diagnosis Murder, those yellow writing made-for-TV films. So cheesy, I know, but there’s something so comforting about them. I like to watch them curled up on the sofa with hot tea and some chocolate. Sometimes Wheezie and Rafe watch them with me. Rafe teases me about them all the time, but he still comes and watches with me. We’re not as close as we used to be, but in those moments, he just feels like my big brother again.”

“That’s so lovely Sarah,” Kie smiled.

John B pressed a kiss to the top of Sarah’s head.

“Right” Sarah replied, “my turn to choose. Kie, Truth or Dare?”

“Truth”

“Okay, same question – what’s your guilty pleasure?”

“Long showers” Kie replied straight away. “Taking my time to wash all the salt water from my hair, using my favourite coconut body wash, just standing and feeling the spray on my skin and all the way to my scalp, letting my muscles all unwind under the press of the hot water. Washing the day away. Then getting out and wrapping up in a big fluffy towel. Bliss.”

“We’re really going for quite touching answers today,” JJ smirked, “I thought truth or dare was code for ‘tell us who you secretly fancy and what you’ve done in bed’.”

“It’s what you make it,” John B laughed.

“Okay JJ,” said Kie, “Truth or Dare?”

“Dare.”

“I dare you to run down to the dock and back again, fast as you can.”

JJ sighed, “Fine, kind of boring, but fine. I mean it’s still raining pretty hard and I’ll get soaked. But whatever, I’ll get to pick next.”

The blond boy unfolded himself from his position on the sofa, casually running his fingers through his hair. As ever, it loosely settled in an almost gravity defying sweep, that JJ hoped looked carefree and haphazard, but which he actually secretly practiced in front of the mirror. He tramped across the room, playfully tweaking the rim of Pope’s snapback on his way to the screen door. Pope swatted at him, then watched him go, catching a quick glimpse of his toned abs through his muscle-tee as he turned at the door flashing a quick grin at them all before wrenching the door open and lurching off. He sprinted down the scrubby back yard, past the firepit and down towards the dock. The others watched from the doorway as he hurtled down the dock, smacked the wood of the mooring post, then spinning and making his way back up the incline towards the house. A couple of times his boots skidded on the sodden ground and he nearly overbalanced, but he just managed to right himself. The others laughed from inside.

“Graceful” laughed John B.

“Shut up,” JJ barked as he crashed back through the screen door in a shower of water droplets. The others jumped back quickly.

The pounding rain from earlier had eased considerably, but it was still falling in steady sheets. JJ was soaked though, water running from his hair in rivulets and the fabric of his tee sticking to the toned muscle beneath. Pope caught himself staring at the water droplets running from the sharp jut of his jawline down the column of his neck and flicked his eyes away guiltily.

Laughing, JJ pushed the wet hair from his face, then proceeded to shake as much water off as he could.

“Hey dude!” John B laughed with him, “stop trying to shake yourself dry like a dog and just get a towel like a normal person!”

JJ grinned again, but before setting off across the room in the direction of the bathroom, he carefully toed one boot off, then the other, then reached down and in one fluid motion, pealed the tee off his body and over his head. As he did, Pope’s eyes travelled up the expanse of glistening, rain-slickened golden skin and taut muscle, his mouth suddenly going dry.

JJ wrung out the tee as best he could through the screen door, then hung it on the back of a chair to dry off. He then padded down the hall in search of a towel. The others drifted back to their previous positions. Pope went and poured himself a glass of water in the kitchen, then set himself down on the sofa. JJ came back into the room, rubbing a towel briskly over his head, then plonked himself down on the sofa next to Pope.

“Right,” he smirked. “My turn. And rather than picking one person, I’ve got a dare I want to challenge you all to take part in. Everyone game? And just to let you know, anyone that chickens out is just asking for payback – JJ style!”

They all eyed each other warily.

“That’s no joke actually,” John B shuddered. “After the last time I backed out of a dare he kept leaving his worn socks and boxers in my bed for a week. Sometimes while I was in it! Whatever he has planned will be a hundred times better than waking up with his underwear draped on your face, trust me!”

“Gross!” Sarah squealed. JJ grinned, bending his head and flourishing his arm in a mock bow.

“Okay then,” JJ carried on, “I take it everyone’s on board?” The others nodded reluctantly.

“Then I dare everyone in this room to play three rounds of spin the bottle – round one, quick kiss; round two, proper kiss with tongue; and round three, full on seven-minutes-in-heaven-style make out sesh. No backing out, no skipping, no passing your turn. No matter how awkward, you just have to lock lips with whoever you get paired with.”

Pope felt the atmosphere in the room thicken. He could see his friends shooting looks at each other.

Sarah swallowed, looking up at her boyfriend, “what do you think?”

“I’m okay with it if you are, baby,” he smiled, squeezing her shoulder. Then he whispered something into her ear that only she could hear. Sarah blushed suddenly, biting her lip and squirming against him, ducking her head slightly to try to hide her pink cheeks behind her hair, but not before the others had seen.

JJ looked over to Pope, catching his eye and grinning, raising his eyebrow suggestively. Pope rolled his eyes back at him, but inside his heart was hammering against his chest.

“Okay, we’re in” Sarah giggled, “Kie? Pope?”

“Fine,” Kie sighed.

“Y-yeah,” Pope stuttered finally.

Sweeping the cards from the forgotten game of solitaire into a pile, Kie uncurled from the floor and went to get an empty beer bottle from the recycling.

John B trailed his fingers up and down Sarah’s arm absently. Pope watched their lazy movement, aware of the pulse of blood he could suddenly hear thrumming in his ears and trying to ignore the warm weight of his best friend on the sofa next to him and the single, tiny point of contact where JJ’s knee brushed his own leg.

Kie returned and set the bottle on the floor.

“Okay, so I assume we spin twice for each round then,” she looked up at the others. At their nods, Kie twisted her fingers, setting the bottle to revolve on the floor before it slowed to point at John B. Sarah’s eyes sparkled and John B hid his smile by pressing his nose into the back of her hair.

Kie leaned forwards and spun again and this time the bottle landed on JJ.

Pope’s heart sank slightly. Sarah let out a sharp intake of breath, then huffed it out quickly in a laugh. JJ smacked a hand against his forehead lightly, groaning and shaking his head. Kie joined Sarah laughing, “Come on JJ, what did you say? No backing out wasn’t it?” Pope laughed weekly along with them.

JJ pulled himself to his feet and John B followed. JJ opened his arms wide and jokingly said in a high falsetto “Come ‘ere loverboy”. He leaned forwards and planted a kiss on John B’s mouth with an over-exaggerated smacking sound. He then pulled back and grimaced, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. John B laughed and sat back down, “yeah, you’re not really my type either mate”.

“Well that’s round one ‘quick kiss’ done,” Sarah said. “Next we’ve got ‘proper kiss with tongue’.”

Kie lined up the bottle again and spun. When it finally stopped, it was pointing directly at her. She reached forward and quickly spun it again. Pope saw Kie’s eyes fixed on the bottle and perhaps he was imaging it, but with the fierce expression on Kie’s face it looked as though she was willing the bottle to land on a particular person. Please, just once, her lips seemed to mouth. When the bottle stopped, it was pointing at Sarah. A flash of relief seemed to pass over Kie’s face, quickly followed by guilt. Pope looked to see if anyone else had noticed, but nobody was looking: Sarah and John B were eyeing each other suggestively and when Pope turned, JJ’s eyes were on his own face. Pope opened his mouth to say something and JJ’s eyes quickly flicked up to his eyes. Pope closed his mouth and turned back to the room, lost for a moment.

Across the room, Sarah had eased herself down onto the floor and crawled over to where Kie sat nervously. She reached her hand out and trailed her fingers down the side of Kie’s face, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. John B leaned forwards, elbows on knees, eyes glued to the girls on the floor. Kie swallowed and licked her lips. Sarah leaned forwards and gently pressed her lips against Kie’s. After a heartbeat, Kie pressed forwards, her lips moving against Sarah’s and her hand going up to card slowly through Sarah’s silky hair. Sarah cupped Kie’s cheek, her thumb gently stroking along the cheekbone. Pope saw Kie’s lips part and a flash of tongue before the girls’ mouths slotted together again. When they finally pulled apart, they kept their heads close, foreheads touching, breathing each other’s air for a final moment. Kie brought her hand forwards and ever so gently traced her thumb over Sarah’s bottom lip, then, as though suddenly catching herself, pulled it away suddenly, breaking the spell of the moment.

“That,” John B declared, “was hot.”

Kie hummed absently in response, a strange expression of mixed longing and sadness on her face.

Oblivious, John B grinned widely, opening his arms for Sarah, but as she moved back over to him, Pope saw the dazed expression on her face and the slight frown around her eyes. She sat back in John B’s lap, staring at her hands and let him pepper kisses over her neck and shoulder, but Pope saw her furtive glance in Kie’s direction.

“Well,” Kie exclaimed, “last round.”

“The last pair are really going to have to up their game to top the last performance,” John B joked.

Sarah cleared her throat, “everyone’s had a go now, right?”

“No, Pope hasn’t,” JJ said quickly. “Maybe we should nominate him and then just spin for his partner?”

“That’s hardly fair,” John B replied.

Pope looked over at JJ, catching his eye and shrugging, trying not to lose himself in the piercing blue gaze.

“I’m spinning twice,” Kie decided.

Pope watched the bottle spin, vaguely aware the thudding of his pulse in his ears had returned. And finally, he swallowed hard when he realised the bottle had come to a rest pointing directly at him.

“Guess we didn’t need to cheat after all,” Sarah noted.

Kie lent over and spun the bottle again.

Time slowed for Pope, his eyes following the mesmerising twist of the bottle on the floor, vaguely aware of the sound of his friends making drumroll and crescendo noises, hearing the thud of his pulse in his ears, feeling the pounding of his heart against his ribs and, above all, the warm point of contact on his leg from JJ’s knee. When the bottle finally slowed, the thump in his ears grew to a deafening roaring and he slowly looked up to stare into the face of his best friend, who, catching his breath, suddenly looked just as wide-eyed.

“Haha, poor JJ,” John B teased lightly. “Hope you didn’t set this dare just for a guilt-free chance to mack on our girls! Looks like you pulled the short straw.”

“Something like that,” JJ croaked.

“Remember,” John B cut in. “You’ve got to make this seven-minutes-in-heaven level steamy!”

JJ ignored him and shuffled closer to Pope on the sofa.

“You sure this is okay?” He asked quietly.

Pope swallowed and nodded.

JJ brought their bodies even closer, then glanced down nervously, suddenly overly aware of his naked chest. He was so close, Pope could see the fan of JJ’s lashes against his cheeks, smell his slightly minty shampoo, the clean freshness of his skin and also something deeper. Something that reminded him of freshly cut grass after the rain. Even from here, Pope imagined he could taste the salt of the ocean on JJ’s skin. Pope leaned forward slightly and breathed it in. And that was when JJ looked up, their eyes met and the rest of the world faded away, and for the first time, Pope saw his own secret longing reflected back at him in JJ’s eyes. Eyes that looked more nervous and hopeful that he had ever seen them. And just like that, Pope let his walls come crashing down like a house of cards and he leaned forwards until he met JJ’s lips with his own.

JJ’s eyes fluttered shut as he melted against Pope, mouth parting and hand coming up to rest on Pope’s neck, lost in the slow push and slide of their lips and tongues.

Pope leaned into the hand on his neck; the feeling of the fingertips on the sensitive skin setting off sparks of fire along his veins. This, he though, yes, this. He brought a hand up to bury in JJ’s wild blond locks, feeling JJ quietly hitch in a breath when he gently tugged. JJ’s mouth caught Pope’s bottom lip and Pope almost groaned as he felt the soft scrape of JJ’s teeth as he slowly traced them over the over-stimulated skin. Pope felt the smallest tweak as the corner of JJ’s mouth twisted upwards in the tiniest ghost of a grin. Pope pulled his lips away to pepper a trail of feather light kisses along JJ’s neck and jawline, ending just below his ear. His chest rising and falling heavily, JJ tilted his head to give Pope more access and, encouraged, Pope tentatively took the lobe of JJ’s ear into his mouth and sucked. JJ’s breathing faltered and suddenly Pope could feel the sweet bite of blunt nails raking down the back of his neck. JJ brought their lips back together and this time, Pope could feel the build and the urgency behind JJ’s movements.

Someone cleared their throat.

The moment broke and JJ and Pope pulled back slightly, still only inches apart. Their eyes met and the look they shared was somehow so familiar, but also so new, so foreign. Pope thought he saw joy, excitement and anticipation written on JJ’s face, but also a hint of fear. JJ’s shoulders heaved as he tried to steady his breathing. Quickly, his eyes flashed down to Pope’s lips and then back up again. Pope raised an eyebrow at him and JJ replied with a small shrug of the shoulders and a sheepish, almost apologetic little half smile. It was then that Pope’s face cracked into the wide smile of sheer, unbridled happiness and a second later JJ was grinning too, and winking at him, and taking Pope’s hand in his own and squeezing. Pope squeezed back. Then JJ and Pope turned, hand in hand, to greet the surprised reaction of their friends.

[countessofbiscuit]

For the WIP game...I'd love to hear about Cargo Hold

:D i think you’ve heard me talk about my desire to write Din/Cara sex pollen and this is the WIP i’ve been sitting on for the longest time ‘cause i’m waffling between two different set-ups; but this one is the most complete and takes place sometime during s01e7. (sucks about Cara’s actor, but i still really love the character’s chaotic bisexual bestie vibe.)

A lesson in keeping the lid on: or, what happens when two hardshell softies get a faceful of Nevoota stim pollen. 

. . . . . 

“You didn’t tell me you had a side hustle,” came Dune’s voice from the hold. “I guess you need one, now. I’m just surprised.”

He was trying to extract a bad calcinator that showed no sign of coming loose. “What are you talking about,” he replied absently. 

“Smuggling. There’s more than just ammo and vintage parts in some of these.” 

“What.”

“What?”

He leaned down through the hatch, expectantly. Dune had begun stowing the crates; she flipped the loose lid on one for his benefit, lifted a brick of military-grade thermal he hadn’t purchased, and revealed a further surprise: plasti-wrapped packages of a purplish hue. 

He almost fell onto the lower deck. “These aren’t my crates,” he croaked. He crashed down the ladder and chucked open another one. It hadn’t been packed as carefully; his hands moved through a cloud of fine dust as he removed thermal plastoid—stamped Imperial, like it wanted to be doubly offensive. He found more purple bricks, broken in places, their powdery contents seeping into every crevice. 

Standing up, he stalked past Dune to scan the horizon. It was bare. A great beige expanse of nothing. His supplier had vanished.

“Glad someone was checking,” said Dune behind him.  

“Nir’s never messed me around before.”

“You’re so trusting sometimes. It’s one of your stupid, winning qualities.” 

“I’m not bringing the thermal onto the ship,” he began, steering both crates back out and down the ramp with a silent curse. “This stuff levels districts.” He’d seen it happen. 

Dune scoffed. “So, what? We loaf around here like sitting mynocks?”

“Nir will realize their mistake. They’ll double-back before disappointing whoever was expecting this delivery.” 

“You know, this could buy enough fuel to circumnavigate the Outer Rim. Twice.”

“Yes. But trying to fence this would be the opposite of laying low.” 

“Eh,” she shrugged, dumping herself onto one of the crates, “that depends—” 

“No, don’t tell me. You might spoil your enigmatic backstory.” 

That earned him a joshing kick to the shin. “You only want me for my backstory,” Dune grinned, in an easy mood for someone sitting on a box of raw explosives powerful enough to slag this plateau into next week. “You know I can’t be taken alive, and so can be counted on to die for your son.” 

He glanced at the sealed bunk, where the kid was—hopefully—sleeping. He never cried or whined or protested about being put down. Like an exotic pet, just like that piece of polished banthashit Mayfeld had said. 

“Let’s at least get it inside and out of sight,” Dune suggested. 

He instinctively tensed his arms before he shook his head. It gave him away. 

She threw her hands up. “Can’t you just turn it off, you cagey wrist-warrior?”

His gauntlets were either operational or not. There was no power button. He decided to remove them, the easiest and safest option. 

Dune smirked. “Mmm, the first act of a Mando strip-tease. Nice.” 

“We never drop our weapons first. We start with the thighs.” It was a strange thing to say, he reflected. Wasn’t even accurate—it was gloves, tasset, fly, since there was nothing sexy about vulnerable arteries. But Dune had a way of tickling his inhibitions loose, when it was just the two of them.

She let out a short, honking laugh. “I’m not spiced enough for that. Speaking of—are they all loaded?” she asked, toeing the lid off the crate in between them. 

They both squatted over it. Underneath the thermal was another powdery, purplish mess of mishandled packages. Dune fished out an intact brick from the under the broken ones and tossed it to him, dusting his front on impact. It weighed about the same as the kid, with about the same density, too—no, that wasn’t right. His perspective was becoming entirely skewed: they both—the spice and the kid—weighed about as much as one of the ‘Crest’s repulsor plates. “I have no idea what kind this is,” he said, flipping it over in his hands. 

“No, your people … don’t seem the type.” 

“Most spice is consumable via a straw.” 

Dune raised an eyebrow. “Backstory?”

“Sadly, yes.” 

Dune’s hands were covered. She rubbed a pinch between her thumb and forefinger, examining it closely. “Fine stuff. Either it’s been cut to quarks or it’s some premium pure shit I’ve never seen before.” 

“Should you be doing that?” he couldn’t help asking when she took a direct sniff. 

“Relax, Mando. We used to thicken our caf with stim and worse in the shocks.”

Of the seven crates, all but two were clearly for someone else, and three of those adulterated with spilled spice. He’d just dropped back into the hold with the calcinator, feeling a little funny and in need of some balmy, beige air, when Dune came plowing up the ramp, eyes wild and face flushed. She closed it behind her, pressing the button aggressively. “We need to move,” she declared. 

“Okay, but Nir—”

“Fuck Nir,” she growled, throwing herself up the gangway, pausing halfway to clunk her forehead against a rail. “And fuck me. Fuck.” 

“What is it?”

“We need to … to … to get somewhere.” She was almost panting and it was starting to freak him out. “Somewhere quiet. Remote.” 

The plateau was quiet and they were already in the back end of beyond. Din grabbed her calf, about to demand an explanation, only to be kicked backwards. 

“Not here, Mando!” 

He hit the wall, hard, but suddenly there was nothing more he wanted than to hold her supple leg again and ... open his pants?! 

[alilbihh]

spaced out — 03

masterlist    previous chapter    next chapter

summary: “take me to your leader.“ you couldn’t believe it. this man was otherworldly in all sense of the word. “well I hope you’re hungry, my dude, we’re going to visit the king of burgers.”

or

Planet A3022 is on the brink of extinction. with little to no females there to repopulate and its king not interested in any one of them, he assigns one of his most trusted men to retrieve a female suited to his tastes willing enough to take his hand in marriage. things go haywire once the man in question crash lands into the considerably non technological Planet EA4728 with you there as witness.

genre: fluff, humor (??), angst, highkey crack, poly!au, alien!au

pairing: alien!taehyung x reader x alien king! ??

a/n: so apparently i haven’t updated this in s,,ix,,,,months,,,,, i thought it was like. three. i’m so sorry

"Alright, fellas, first order of business." You start, clasping your hands together, standing over the couch where the rest of them are sitting and only slightly paying attention. Hoseok's man spreading, Seokjin's looking up at you with his hands tucked between his thighs, Taehyung's looming off to the side as if standing guard, and you think you saw Jeongguk picking his nose. You can't be too sure though.

Seokjin raises his hand. "Yes?" You deadpan.

"Can I state the first order of business?" He flutters his lashes a bit.

"Well." You clear your throat. He seems capable enough. "Sure. If you must."

Seokjin stands up with a flourish before you take his spot on the couch, plopping onto the cushions. He stands straight, clears his throat. "As we all know-"

"Boo." Hoseok interjects, grinning wildly when his boyfriend turns to him, unimpressed.

"So as most of us know," he continues, "There is currently an alien life form in our living room."

"That would be me." Taehyung nods in agreement, as if you all didn't already know.

"Yes," Seokjin continues as you all stare expectantly. "So." He clears his throat, promptly says, "what the fuck do we do."

Multiple horrified yells of "Seokjin!" resound throughout the living room, but to be honest you're not the least bit surprised.

"I thought you said you knew what to do!"

"When do I ever know what to do?"

"You're literally the eldest!"

"Wait, where's Taehyung?" You interject, standing up from the couch quick. The others follow suit, standing up with panic streaked faces and wide eyes-- and then you hear the fridge door slam shut.

You nearly trip over your own feet as you sprint into the kitchen, spot Taehyung's face shoved deep inside the refrigerator before you even process what he's doing. Skidding to a halt, you watch as his brows furrow in concentration, and he pulls out a frozen packet of chicken nuggets. He takes one look at it and promptly shoves it back inside.

"So you must wait for your nourishment to become cold while inside this... contraption?" His nose scrunches in distaste. Maybe even pity. "My. How dreadful."

"Yes. Woe is me." You deadpan.

You watch Taehyung waddle around the kitchen for a few more moments before you turn back to a very amused Seokjin trailing behind you. He takes one look at your blank expression and snorts. "Well. This is going quite well, isn't it?"

"Shut up."

"Maybe you should go outside with him. Show him around. Maybe even bond."

You turn back around, spot Taehyung marveling at the lit up microwave, turn back to Seokjin, unamused. "Yeah, no."

"It's actually a good idea, though," Hoseok interjects, leaned against the kitchen island. "Maybe then he'll learn how to be a somewhat functioning member of society."

You all turn back to Taehyung in unison. He notices the eyes on him, sets the wooden spoon he'd been holding inside the fridge. "Why is it you are all looking at me?" He asks, then continues before any of you can even answer, "Ah yes, I just remembered, but I have actually been wondering the whereabouts of those lizards. I haven't seen them. Have you managed to contain them? That is most impressive."

You blink. Was there a lizard in the apartment? You turn to Hoseok for an explanation, but he only shrugs.

Unless. "Oh no."

Taehyung looks at you with barely contained excitement at the idea of seeing the giant lizards, and Hoseok and Jin cackle beside you.

You go through your daily routine knowing a relic from outer space is walking around your living room and possibly causing havoc. He's not doing much for the most part, just walking around inspecting things as if he were in a museum. You tell him not to mess with anything as you get ready, occasionally peering out the hall to get a glimpse of what he's doing.

He follows you, too, watching you as you brush your teeth, mess with your phone, wash your face. You try to explain as much as you can, but it's harder when he asks things you'd never even bothered to think about, much less explain. ("Who is your king?" "Oh uh, we don't, like. Have those anymore." "I'm sorry, what?")

He's peering over your shoulder as you wash the dishes while he plays with the kitchen appliances. You have to stop him from touching the burner only once, so you take it as a success. ("Where does the water come from?" "I don't know. Pipes, maybe." "Where does it go?" "I don't know." "You humans are so ill-informed.")

It's as you're going to work that the problem arises.

"Where are you going?"

"Work," you huff as you toe your shoes on, "I actually work at home, mostly. I paint, get a little money sometimes, but I also work part time to, uh, survive."

Taehyung nod nod nods, watches you for a moment before declaring, "I'm going with you."

"What? No," You frown, pull him back before he can walk out the door, "You can't come with me, it's work."

"I refuse to waste another second apart from my king. We shall leave at once!"

He throws open the door, walks outside barefoot and all. "Taehyung, shoes! Shoes!"

Thankfully your workplace isn't far, not even a ten minute walk, so you're forced to take him with you. It isn't supposed to take long, but it does, at least today. Taehyung stops every two seconds for you to explain something to him, and you really want to be annoyed at him, but-- you can't. It isn't his fault, and the way he shrinks away from fire hydrants and cars and storefronts and bicycles is--oddly endearing.

It goes moderately well until you have to stop at a stoplight.

"Y/n!" He states loudly, holding an arm out in front of you, "These mechanical deathtraps could harm you, I suggest you stay behind me."

"Thank you, Taehyung."

"Is there not another way? This route seems awfully dangerous."

"It's the only way, Taehyung."

The light turns green and the other pedestrians step away from the sidewalk, but the man stays glued to his spot until you give his back a little shove. He starts walking but in the most ridiculous fashion possible, one arm out in front of you and the other at the stopped traffic, as if that would keep the cars at bay.

He's walking too slowly, and you're only about three-quarters of the way across the street before the light turns red and the cars start honking. Taehyung jumps with a little squeal and then you're being ushered hurriedly through the rest of the way.

"Goodness," he breathes, "Good thing I was there to protect us."

He sounds both relieved and completely serious. You just stare for a second before breathing out an incredulous snort, "Yeah, good thing." You pat his back in thanks. He looks smug now.

You arrive shortly after, the comforting scent of coffee beans and sweetened milk and chocolate syrup welcoming you as you step inside, Taehyung trailing behind, hand taking a fistful of your shirt. The dulcet chime of the bell rings softly, and the alien's eyes widen comically as he marvels at the small expanse of the coffee shop.

"What is this delightful scent?" He murmurs as you walk towards the counter, the man already eyeing the display of sweets, hands pressed to the glass. Jungkook walks out just then, practically throws the rag he'd been holding onto the counter as he skips out the backdoor. He always clocks out like this, you think.

"Y/n!" He greets as he pulls off his work apron, hanging it on a nearby wall hook. He looks up, spots Taehyung beside you, and his forehead is pressed to the glass now. "You brought hyung with you?"

"Mm," you hum, pulling on your apron. "I was kinda forced to, really."

"Well, good luck with that," Jungkook snorts, "I'd help, but I have to go home and study."

He's not gonna study. "You're not gonna study."

"No I am not." He says it in one breath, grinning cheekily, then turns to Taehyung. "Hyung, are you gonna be okay?"

Taehyung recovers, but doesn't look away from the desserts. "Of course I will. I'm an alien." He says in front of the entire store. You're mildly horrified until you realize no one would really believe him.

You make him sit by a nearby table, close enough for you to watch him whenever you can. He plays with the napkins for the first few minutes as you tend to customers, but starts pacing around after some point, making conversation with the nearby patrons. An old lady with kind eyes and laughter lines takes a liking to him rather quick, petting his hair and pinching his cheeks, and you watch him smile at her with your own barely contained grin and a swelling heart.

He talks with you too, whenever he's close. You notice he can't stay in one spot for too long, and you always have to search for him whenever you look away for even a second. ("Why is this kitchen appliance so oddly large?" "The spoon's just for decoration, Tae.") You wouldn't think it at first, but Taehyung talks so much you think he might just burst with it, and sometimes his smile is so big you wonder how he can get any words past it.

You let him taste coffee at some point, when there are no customers and your manager isn't around to scold you for giving away coffee for free. He takes one sip and you watch as his face scrunches up into immediate distaste. You give him a milkshake instead, and it keeps him occupied for about three minutes before he's finished and asking for another.

(Now he wants to follow you to work every day and you think you've maybe made a terrible mistake.)

((maybe.))

"Miss y/n," he starts, pulling at your sleeve. You'd called him as soon as your shift ended, and he'd smiled and come bounding over in one, two, three little skips. "I require sustenance."

You can only groan.

"Well, go figure."

"I saw a strange contraption in a store we passed by, the one with the books," He continues, hands flailing and gesturing wildly, as if it would help his explanation. "Also, the place smelled quite nice. Take me there."

You're not sure why you comply, but you assume it's mostly out of obligation and definitely not because of how endearing he looks, eyes wide and curious and bright bright bright.

It takes a little while for you to actually find the library. You retrace your steps and the rest of the walk is without incident, other than Taehyung window shopping and obnoxiously trying to 'protect' you against everything, including but not limited to: cars, other pedestrians, and a dog. He just ended up petting the dog, though.

The library is quaint and charming and a little too lovely for a library tucked away small and hidden, like a hole in the wall. There are low hanging vines growing from the ceiling and family pictures sitting by the front desk and books that are color-coded, their bookshelves low low low, just in reach for little kids. Taehyung has never looked so enamored, you think.

You try to look for the strange contraption he'd mentioned but find that you can't look away from him for even a second. He's in the color-coded section, paused at the yellows, pulls out a book with a terribly drawn giraffe on the cover, like the work of art of a child. He flips through the pages with a rare little grin and something-- constricts in your throat. Turns you into mush.

You find a vending machine tucked into a little corner, and Taehyung trails behind you only to mutter an impressed little "oh!" and start jamming at the buttons.

"Miss Y/n, this doesn't seem to be working." He says. You wordlessly dig around for some money and push it into the slot, watch as his mouth opens into a little 'o'. "Such simple machinery, and yet so convenient!" You feel oddly proud at humanity.

"Choose something," you mutter, gesturing at the many options behind the glass. He leans in closer, brows furrowed in concentration. Up close like this, you can see that the boy is long. Long and-- lanky, contrary to his proclamations that he works as a guard for the king himself. Up close, just like this, you can see that he has spider leg-long eyelashes. He doesn't blink, he bats. Every time.

It's quiet for a few moments until he points at a pink soda can. Turns to you and bat, bat, bats. "I like the color," he says.

When you both arrive back home, there's soup shimmering on the stove, steam wafting through the pan's slanted lid. Hoseok's already eaten but he sits by the table to watch you eat anyway. Taehyung's there too, but he's mostly just scrutinizing and picking at his bowl.

You're staring at the ceiling now, then watch the time change on the microwave, then count how many scarves are hanging in the entry. At least four too many. Seokjin keeps buying them for you and Hoseok and neither of you have stopped him.

"You good?" The older asks, not impressed with the way you're mechanically shoving a spoon to your mouth.

The spoon doesn't even have any soup in it, you realize belatedly, but you're pretty sure all your energy went into lifting it to your mouth, so. So.

"Seok, how do you feel about eyelashes?" He stares at you oddly when your head lolls to catch his reaction.

"I think you should go to bed, maybe."

"It's like four in the afternoon," you say but aren't completely against the idea, so you continue, "carry me."

He coughs out a surprised laugh, grumbling something under his breath, something that sounds like you're so needy, god-- but he complies, anyway, because you know he pretends he hates it but actually likes taking care of people. Taehyung stares oddly as Hoseok carries you princess style towards your bedroom, like he's confused and intrigued. You don't know what that means but don't really want to know, anyway.

After Hoseok ruffles your hair and closes the door behind him, you think you hear Taehyung say "carry me, too," from down the hall shortly followed by a low smack, but you can't be too sure.

taglist: @fivesecondsofsarang @atulipandarose @sonyumdamn @xxqueenwxtchxx @bluemooncnblue @r-e-d-i-s-h @oii-f-eli-x2 @sana-b @karissassirak @alejaye​ (lmk if i forgot anyone!!<3)

[roci-by-book]

Nemesis Games [WIP]

“Towers of curved ceramic and steel made great piles, denser than mountains. Hair-thin wire hundreds of kilometers long stood on plastic spools taller than Filip.” (5)

“Filip shuffled down the rows of welding rigs and metal printers. Tubs of steel and ceramic dust fine than talcum. Spiral-core mounts. Layers of Kevlar and foam strike armor piled up like the biggest bed in the solar system.” (5)

“At the emergency ward, he found himself wheeled into an automated surgical bed not that different from the ones on the Rocinante.” (158)

“The passage was the usual design of inflated Mylar and titanium ribs.” (221-222)

“The curve was like the airlock on the Roci, and the design of the latch. Martian design. And more than that, Martian Navy.” (222)

"The bridge looked like the Rocinante's younger brother" (222)

“She pulled herself out of her crash couch and walked out to the common room. It was so much like the Roci’s galley that her brain kept trying to recognize it, failing, and trying again.” (262)

“Magnetic pallets locked to the decks and walls in neat rows. She wondered idly where it had all come from, and what promises had been given in exchange. She went to the nearest, plugged the array into the pallet, and popped it open. The crates unfolded.” (263)

“A toolbox in the machine shop had a bent hasp and, given a few minutes, could be forced open. The Allen wrenches inside would open the access panel on the lift wall between the crew quarters and the airlock, which was where the secondary diagnostic handset for the comm array was stored.” (304)

“While she worked, pressing the plastic into the seams, scraping out whatever had gathered there, doing it again, she tried to fit the new information into the larger scheme of things.” (306)

“When the deck was clean, she dropped the spatula into the recycler, stood, and stretched.” (307)

“In her bunk, her fingers laced behind her neck, she stared up at the blackness on the ceiling. The interface screen at her side was dead.” (311)

“The ship lurched hard, snapping the gimbals of the couches forty-five degrees to the deck.” (329)

“One bulkhead failed to open, reporting vacuum on the other side, and they had to backtrack.” (330)

“The comm array was unable to transmit either broadcast or tightbeam.” (330)

“She popped the straps loose and sat up, pulling her leg away from the needle.” (338)

“In the lift, she selected the machine shop and gripped the handholds as the mechanism dropped her down the body of the ship.” (338)

“The machine shop was empty, all the tools locked in place, but with enough tolerance that when the ship lurched, they all rattled: metal against metal like the ship itself was learning to talk.“ (338)

“She stumbled, her head crashing against the metal shelves.” (339)

“All the wrenches, epoxy welders, voltage meters, and cans of air and lubricant were strapped in place, She flipped through the close-packed layers to a line of Allen wrenches and plucked out the 10 mm.” (339)

“She gathered up a voltage tester, a wiring crimp, and a light-duty soldering iron and stuffed them in her pockets.” (339)

“She killed the lift between the crew quarters and the airlock, bracing herself so that the deceleration didn’t leave her trapped in the middle of empty air.” (340)

“The access panel was fifteen centimeters high and forty wide and opened on the major electrical routing through the center of the ship. If she cut though all the cables there with a welding torch, all the traffic would have rerouted instantly to other channels. Apart from a few warning indicators, nothing would happen.” (340)

“The screws were integral to the plate and didn’t come free, but she felt it when the metal threads lost their grip.” (340)

“Ten. The plate came free. She scooped up the handset, checking its charge. The batteries were nearly full. Connection read good.” (341)

“Channel eighteen was a comm array using the D4/L4 protocols that the Rocinante did for broadcast.” (341)

“Hand over hand, she pulled herself along the shaft and then into the corridors.” (342)

“The narrow corridors of the crew deck seemed too wide.” (344)

“The occasional ticking and popping of the expansion joins adjusting to shifts in temperature were like the knocking of ghosts.”(344)

“He undid the straps on his couch, floating forwards.” (346)

“He stopped at the med bay on the way to his quarters.” (346)

“Fred landed feetfirst on the wall, ankles hooked into the handholds like he’d been born in the Belt.”(348)

““All the bunks are the same,” Holden said. “Except mine. You can’t have mine.”" (349)

“The halls had the same anti-spalling covering that the bridge and the mess had, but marked with location codes and colored strips that would help navigate the ship. One line was deep red with HANGER BAY written in yellow Hindi, English, Bengali, Farsi, and Chinese.” (355)

“Across the corridor from Alex, Prime Minister Smith was huddled behind the lip of a doorway.” (356)

“Another burst of fire sang past, tearing long black strips from the walls and deck and filling the air with the smell of cordite.” (356)

“She drank the same version of chamomile tea that the Rocinante made, and it felt like having a secret ally.” (364)

“The mess was empty, the screens turned off and the crew set away.” (364)

“First drawer: gauze and bandages. Second drawer: one-use blood cards for maybe a hundred different field tests. Third drawer: emergency medical supplies like decompression kits, adrenaline shots, defibrillation tape.” (368)

“The medic had her sit up, the cushion of the medical table crackling under her shifting weight. The analgesic was a spray that went in Naomi’s mouth. It tasted like fake cherry and mold.” (369)

“The cabinet doors were open, spilling test cards and preloaded hypodermics across the floor.” (369)

“She fell to the side, her belly to the deck, decompression kits the size of her thumb pressing into her face as Miral writhed around to kneel on her back.” (369)

“She wanted to say something, but she couldn’t, so she just watched as Karal opened the door then closed it behind him. The lock slid closed.” (371)

“Wet with her saliva and no bigger than her thumb, it was the sort of thing any mech driver kept with her. A tiny ampoule of injectable oxygenated artificial blood and a panic button what would make an emergency medical request for an airlock to cycle.” (371)

“Fred held up the coffee cup. The name TACHI hadn’t quite worn off the side, red and black letters half-erased by use.” (381)

“The crash couch was bolted to the deck with thick steel and reinforced ceramic canted so that any direction the force came from was compression on one leg or another.” (407)

“The drawers were thinner metal, the same gauge, more or less, as the lockers. She pulled them out as far as they would open, examining the construction of the latches, the seams where the metal had been folded, searching for clues or inspiration.” (407)

“The tiny black thumb of the decompression kit, she kept tucked at her waist, ready to go if she could just find a way.” (407)

“The mirror was polished alloy built into the wall. No help there. If she could take apart the vacuum fan in the toilet...” (408)

“A simple EVA suit hung there, suspended in the null g by thin bands of elastic.” (423)

“The indicator went from green to red under her thumb.” (424)

“The airlock door closed behind him, the magnetic seals clacking.” (424)

“The lock was small enough he could put flat palms on both doors.” (424)

“Naomi thumbed the emergency override. Three options appeared: OPEN SHIP DOOR, OPEN OUTER DOOR, RETURN TO CYCLE.” (424)

“Without magnetic boots, she’d have to reach it with bare handholds, but she was close.” (426)

“She plucked the black thumb out of her belt, twisted it to expose the needle, and slammed it into her leg.” (426)

“The airlock indicator on the Chetzemoka’s skin blinked, the emergency response received, the cycle starting.” (426)

“There were handholds on the surface – some where deigned, but others were the protrusions of antennae and cameras.” (427)

“Maneuvering thrusters lit along the warship’s side, an ejection mass of superheated water glowing as it jetted out.” (427)

“And then, Mfume was gone, bolting up the ladder toward the cockpit faster than the lift would have taken him.” (431 - 432)

“Holden tapped in an order for another coffee.” (432)

“Finding Sun-yi and Gor wired into gaming googles shooting the crap out of each other in simulated battles – because as weapons techs with no one to shoot at they were getting antsy – stopped being weird and edged into sort of endearing.” (432)

“The hatch to the cockpit was closed, but Holden could still hear the wailing of the raï that Mfume liked to listen to during his shift in the pilot’s seat.” (433)

“Holden sat on the couch beside Fred’s and leaned in.” (433)

“The first disappointment was that the controls were in lockdown. She tried a few passwords – FreeNavy and Marcoisgreat and Filip – but even if she got it right, there was no reason to expect that they’d left the biometrics profiles turned off.” (448)

“The three EVA suits that remained didn’t have batteries or air bottles. The emergency rations were gone. She expected the toolboxes to be gone from the machine shop, but they’d taken out the racks that held them too, the drawers from the cabinets, the LEDs from the wall lights. The couches were all slit open, gel and padding pooled on the deck beside them. The drug delivery system and reservoirs were gone. The only water was in the drives; ejection mass to be spit out the back of the ship. The only food was the residue in the recyclers that hadn’t been processed back into anything edible. The stink of welding rigs and burning still hang in the air, so the air recycler was probably running unfiltered.” (449)

“The deck shook under her, the vibration of thrust setting up resonances that no system even tried to damp down.” (449)

“There should be a way through the machine shop. All machine shops were supposed to be connected at the back.” (449)

“The EVA suits weren’t powered and didn’t have bottles, but they had seals and reinforcement. She could take the cloth apart, and salvage some lengths of wire. Maybe something solid enough to cut with. And could she use the helmet clamps as a kind of vise grip or clamp?” (450)

“In a real ship, it would all have been protected by conduit. On this piece of crap, the wiring had all been fixed directly to the hall with a layer of yellowed silicone epoxy.” (452)

“Across the space, maybe four meters away, an indicator light went amber, and she was falling sideways. With the extra illumination, she could see the round, tree-thick body of the maneuvering thruster. She put out her arms, catching herself against a steel strut.” (452)

“Three sorties ago -- number forty-four -- she’d thought there might be a diagnostic handset. Not that should could speak into it, but she might have been able to tap out a message. But despite the fact that handsets like that were standard and required, there wasn’t one” (454)

“She scrambled down, moving from strut to strut, watching her hands and feet with every movement so she wouldn’t midjudge.” (455)

“The air in her suit didn’t feel stale or close; the carbon dioxide scrubbers worked well enough on passive that she wouldn’t feel the panic of asphyxiation. She’d just gently pass out and die.” (455)

[captainillogical]

Distant Lands Ch.2

Stranded on a planet with toxic conditions and nothing but the clothes on your back, your only means of survival lies within the gem that got you here in the first place.

Spinel/Reader

collab with my lovely wife @firstofficertightpants​

You wake up with a jolt, gasping for air.

Sitting up, you internally wince. Everything fucking hurts, and your body feels like you got tossed under a 16-wheeler. It’s pretty dark around you, but you can tell that you’re alone. 

Once you feel like you can breathe normally again, you begin to look at your surroundings. The air is kind of humid, and smells.. weird. You were.. somewhere. It was hard to tell with how little light there was. Could it be night time already? Were you really knocked out for a whole day? The walls around you are crumbling and falling apart but it doesn’t look like anything from Earth, and you could almost make out some sort of drawings on them. They’re too worn out for you to make anything out of it, though. 

You can see lush green plants growing from the cracks in the walls, and they seem strange to you. You’re no expert on plant life, but you haven’t seen plants that look like this ever in your life. Thick, ropey vines were streaming down the surface of the walls, and large bulbous, orange flower-like plants were blooming on them. They looked.. fleshy.

You stand up from your place on the ground, legs wobbly from their lack of use, and realize that half the reason why you feel so weird is that the gravity is heavier? You feel sluggish. You’re definitely not on Earth. Fuck. This is just.. great.

You take one step and groan out loud. Your leg muscles are so sore, and this is taking an immense amount of effort to not go back to curl up in a corner and pretend everything is fine. You start to feel your way around the room, hands trailing against the wall. Slowly making your way northbound, hands running over several vines and one of the flowers hiss - you quickly step away from it. Okay. The fucking flower hissed at you, no big deal. 

You keep walking in the direction you were going before, and eventually find an opening in the wall with some moonlight pouring in like a spotlight. You have to bend down to get out, nearly stumbling over the scattered, worn bricks on the ground. Once you steady yourself, you look up to see that yes, it was night time you guess? You don’t see any stars, and the atmosphere is murky with a thick fog. The sky is dark and tinted a soft bright green - unlike anything you’ve ever seen, and a bright, orange moon. Actually.. three moons, what the hell?

Turning your head in both directions, you look around you for any immediate signs of danger. The trees around you are thick like a jungle, and you don’t see an immediate pathway to how exactly you got here.

Swiping your forehead, you wince and remember your flesh wound from earlier. It feels dry, so that’s good, but it also seems to be smeared down your face like someone tried wiping it off. You don’t know how you feel about this, so you try not to think about it.

You eventually spot a crude footpath that looks pretty old and overgrown, like it hasn’t been used in a century you think. You walk slowly along it, body sore and not used to the gravity change - and peer around you at the plantlife. Many of the trees here are tall and droopy, long leaves coming from high arches above. They’re similar to palm trees but also very much not. So many large tree-like bushes that are in various shades of greens and oranges, leaves and color formation very alien to you. It’s all very strange. You don’t seem to see any kind of organic lifeforms around either, except for some type of gnats and other small bugs.

You keep walking along the path you found, and you spot a couple of freshly torn tree branches, so you forge ahead.

Your mind is swimming with thoughts as you slowly regain most of what happened today. A gem you’ve never seen before tried to kill Steven, knocked you out and took you with her to a different planet, as.. what. A bargaining chip? She didn’t outright kill you, which she could’ve done very easily, but didn’t for some reason. You’re positive you came here via warp pad, but you cannot leave alone, as you are human, and humans can’t use the warp pad without at least a gem beside them. 

Steven must be so very worried about you, and you hate to make him worry. You hate to make any of them worry. They’ve done so much for you, despite.. certain things. You shake your head to clear your thoughts. Best not to dwell on past mistakes, especially when you’ve got much more prominent things to worry about. Like finding a way off this fucking weird planet.

The path ahead of you turns slightly, and you start to see the beginning of an opening to a clearing. A spark of hope bubbles inside your chest as you pick up the pace. You nearly trip out into the clearing - catching yourself on a nearby tree, and you marvel at the view around you for a second.

There’s a good sized clearing here before a massive line of trees hit the outer edge - it’s probably the size of two football fields you think. The expanse of the horizon is enormous, all three moons in clear view, and you think you see a few scattered stars here and there through the thick atmosphere. There’s a couple large hills in the distance and some large towering rock formations as well from what you can see, and it would take at least a day or two to physically walk over there if you wanted to - but you’d rather eat your own foot than stay here any longer than you have to, curiosity aside. Off to the left of the jungle there seems to be miles upon miles of rocky terrain, huge chasms running through the sides of the crust. You can’t really make out anything around it from here, though.

Your eyes eventually spot the warp pad in the middle of the clearing, and you make a beeline for it. Your heart rate picks up pace too, and you cannot quell the hopeful feelings inside you.

It.. it looks intact. You let out a long, weary breath that you didn’t realize you were holding in, and walk around the warp pad to inspect it. 

There isn’t any damage, and it looks usable. This was definitely the one that you came through when you were brought here. You’re unsure if there are any others on this planet, or if this is the only one. Speaking of.. all of this. This was a gem planet, clearly. You have no idea what it was used for, from what you can tell. Actually, from what you can tell, this planet seems pretty intact? Compared to some of the other planets you’ve seen while you’ve adventured with the crystal gems. Why was it abandoned? Aside from you wanting to go home, this place doesn’t seem so bad.

You are so completely lost in thought that you don’t hear someone approaching you from behind.

“Well, what do we have here?” A familiar voice speaks up from a few feet behind you, and you freeze in your tracks.

You feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, and your turn to look at her, eyes wide.

“Didja think your little friends were gonna come save ya?” She says with a devilish grin, and takes a threatening step towards you. You take a step back. Your mouth doesn’t work for a few seconds as you regard her appearance, now that she’s not trying to actively chop you to pieces.

Her heart-shaped gem is upside down, and on her chest. Her pink hair is in pigtails, and she’s got streaks down her face, and her attire is strange. You have no idea who she’s supposed to be, and honestly you don’t give a shit. You don’t care about anyone that would dare lay a hand on Steven.

“They still could,” You reply, and try to keep your voice even. “They wouldn’t just abandon me.”

“Aww, that’s cute of you to think.” Her grin gets a little wider. “I hate to say it toots, but they ain’t gonna find us out here.” She takes another step closer to you.

“They’ll find a way,” You back up the same distance, and your heel hits the edge of the warp pad. “They always do, somehow.”

She considers you for a moment, and lets out a low chuckle that sets off your fight or flight. Your feet feel rooted to the ground.

“I seriously doubt that.” She says with a grin, and you watch in dawning horror as she expands her fist, slamming it down on the warp pad behind you with a loud crash. Some pieces of debris hits you, and you stumble, crashing to the ground. 

The only half-baked plan you had of escaping just flew out the window. You struggle to get back on your feet, and you hold yourself back from screaming endlessly into the night.

“Why the FUCK would you do that!?” You yell at her, forgoing any rational thought that you had. “That was the EASIEST way for me to get home and you just ruined any chance I had!” She lets out another chuckle before responding.

“Oh, you thought you had a chance. That’s adorable.” She continues to take another step towards you, insistently getting closer. “Ya’ see.. I brought you here with the intention of not letting you go.”

“That makes no fucking sense, you came to kill Steven, like every single other gem.” You reply, unable to move anywhere without tripping on the pieces of the broken warp pad. She’s only a couple feet in front of you.

“I did. Changed my mind, though.” 

“Wh..” Too many thoughts are racing through your head. “What do you mean, changed your mind!? Why ME!? I’m not even a gem! You could’ve just killed me and made this easy!!!”

“Now, why would I want to kill my best friend?” She chuckles, darkly. “I just got her.”

“B-best friend.” You reiterate, mind reeling at this. “Excuse me? You are NOT my best friend. You’re far from it.” 

Her eyes snap to yours, and you’re immediately filled with unease. She moves closer to you, and gets right up in your space, merely a few inches from you.

You want to bolt.

“Ya wanna repeat that.” She replies calmly and regards your face, blinking once.

“You’re not my best friend, and I don’t even know you!”

Her hand snaps to your face, and she’s gripping your jaw roughly. You can feel her thumb pressing into your cheek, and she forces you to look at her. She grins wide enough that you can see many of her teeth, and it doesn’t reach her eyes at all. 

“Sweetcheeks, we can get to know each other. We have.. time.” She ends the last word slowly, and every fiber of your being is telling you to get very, very far away from her. You grip her arm with your hands to try and pull away and she pulls you flush against her, still holding your jaw painfully. She wraps her arm around you to keep you in place.

“Now, just why would you want to leave dear ‘ol Spinel? After everything I’ve done to make sure we’d have a grand time together?” The moonlight above making her eyes look brighter, her irises boring into yours. You can’t look away.

“S-Spinel?” You push on her arm, trying to get some distance between the two of you, but she holds tight. She looks absolutely delighted and practically purrs as you say her name, and you are one hundred percent uncomfortable now. You make another attempt to pull away, but the gem has an iron grip on you. 

“Say it again.” She demands, holding you in place. “Say my name.”

You feel like no matter what you do, you’re probably fucked regardless.

“Uh.. Spinel?” You nearly squeak as she presses you uncomfortably tight against her. Her gem pushing against you actually hurts.

“It's.. so nice to hear my name again.” The pink gem smirks, her face so close you can feel the words coming out of her mouth. 

You make a silent agreement with yourself to get the fuck out of here as soon as possible, or at least die trying. And as if this moment couldn't get any more uncomfortable, your stomach decides to growl loudly enough for the gem to notice. 

Spinel drops her hand from your face and disentangles herself from you, looking at you in mild confusion. 

You suddenly notice just how hungry you are as your stomach growls again, and it feels like it’s eating itself. You avoid making eye contact with the strange gem in front of you as you attempt to walk around her, done with this place, done with this gem, and done with everything. You’ll unpack all of your emotional shit later, if you ever get time to yourself.

A hand shoots out and grabs onto your arm, stopping you in your tracks. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” Spinel spits out at you with a glare.

“I gotta eat.” You answer curtly, pushing her hand off your arm. Why the fuck is this bitch so touchy?

“Not alone, you aren't.” Her fist finds its way to your arm again, and this time her grip is much tighter than before. 

You sigh loudly, extremely annoyed at this point. Not only were you stranded on an alien planet, but you were stranded with this crazy ass gem who couldn't decide if she wanted to kill you or be your best friend. You want to scream.

“Okay, fine. But I need to find something NOW.” You turn from her and walk off, and she follows closely behind you, much to your irritation.

You look briefly around the clearing for anything that looks even remotely edible, and you find nothing. It’s dark out, but there’s enough moonlight to see that there’s really nothing but the now-destroyed warp pad here. Heading back from where you came is probably your best option, considering this area has only one pathway in and out.

On your way back you actually spot a couple bushes in the thick of the trees a few feet out that seem to be bearing some kind of berry. You think you'll take your chances, and meander your way through enough vines to nearly strangle yourself. Spinel is still holding your wrist, and she follows you closely. You wish you could ditch her somehow, because you're worried she'll murder you in your sleep. You think maybe later you can try to find an opportunity to escape her somehow. 

The berries on this bush are.. weird. They're a mix of blues and oranges which is kinda wild, but you're so hungry you don't even care. You pick a couple off the bush, and hold them up to your face to sniff them.

"What are those?" The gem next to you asks.

"No idea. Don't care at this point though." You reply, and shovel a couple into your mouth.

They burst in between your teeth, and they taste.. not great, you can't lie. But you're hungry, and they seem alright, so you scarf down enough to placate your stomach. You grab another handful to bring with you to the ruins you woke up in, aka your makeshift shelter. Spinel is watching you with curiosity, and almost looks like she wants to try the berries herself.

You move around her carefully - you don’t want to agitate her again, and you don’t want to give her any indication that you were fine with her as well. Nearly tripping over the heavy foliage, you walk back to the narrow pathway so you can attempt to rest for the night. It’s getting colder, and you only wore long sleeves and jeans today. You quietly curse yourself for not wearing a sweater today like you were going to originally.

“What was that?” The gem asks from behind you. 

“Nothing.” You reply. Of course she heard you.

“Are you keeping secrets from me?” She stops, and grips your arm tightly. You turn around to face her.

“No, first of a-” You feel something coming up and slam your hand over your mouth. You hurl against the tree next to you. Christ, it tastes worse coming back up. You empty the contents of your stomach on the ground, gripping the tree for support.

You feel a hand on the back of your neck, gently grabbing your hair away from your face. You feel fucking awful, but you have enough in you to be pissed that she thinks she can touch you like this. After a few more dry heaves, you feel like it’s stopped enough. Leaning against the tree to steady your breathing, you finally find enough strength to push her hand away from you, and you walk off angrily to the ruins. She’s holding your arm again - of fucking course.

You don’t know if you have any strength in you to continue to find any sort of food source tonight. It might be best for you to rest for a couple hours, and get up when it’s lighter out. The temperature is also rapidly declining, and you worry if you can’t find some source of warmth, you’ll freeze to death before you can even get out of this place.

It only takes you a couple minutes to get back to where you were before you ventured out. You’re miserable, pissy, cold, and you feel like absolute shit. And it doesn’t help that the single being to get you into this entire mess is standing next to you like you should be grateful to her for this. It’s fucking insane.

You head back inside the hole you came out of earlier, but not before grabbing a couple large leaves off the weird palm trees to make yourself a makeshift cot. Maybe you can salvage some kind of warmth for yourself..

“Whatcha doin?” Spinel has the gall to ask beside you. You stare at her.

“I’m going to sleep.” You reply, moodily.

“Why?” 

“Because humans need rest to recuperate.” You aggravatedly sigh, and lay a large leaf down in the corner, away from the vines with the hissing flowers. You sit down on it, and Spinel moves to join you.

“Okay uh, can you.. Not. You can sleep over there.” You say, and point to the opposite side of the wall.

“Why would I do that if you’re right here?” She squints at you.

“Personal space?” You glare at her, and shiver from the cold creeping up on you.

“And that is?” She scoffs at you. “Who cares. And besides, you look cold.”

"Yeah, I'm good. I'll be fine right here by myself." You pull up your other two leaves over you to protect yourself. Like somehow she can't just rip these apart and strangle you to death if she wanted. She stares at you for a moment, and then sits down right next to you. Her leg is pressing against yours.

"I'm not going anywhere. I don't want you running away on me." She states, determinedly. 

Oh, great. You don't even get to have the private emotional breakdown like you wanted. 

Today sucks.

"Whatever. Don't touch me." You huff, and roll over to your side. It's cold, now. Decently cold, actually. It was humid when you woke up some time ago, but in the last half an hour or so it got significantly chilly. You seriously hate this planet. Your abdomen is sore from the violent vomiting before, and your whole body just aches in general. You still feel the pain on the side of your face from your flesh wound from earlier. You haven't felt this shitty in a long time.

You're lost in thought when you feel Spinel slowly wrap an arm around your stomach, and leans against your back. You freeze instantly.

"What did I just say?" You hear yourself say out loud. 

"Nothing I have to listen to." She says from behind you, and tightens her arm around your middle.

Well, there goes your other half-baked plan of possibly sneaking away from her.

You sigh in aggravation, and reside yourself to trying to sleep. It's proving to be difficult though, because your mind won't stop swimming with thoughts and unease about the gem against you. You don't know anything about her aside from her name, and that she took you to be her best friend, whatever the fuck that actually means. You still have no idea why she came to kill Steven earlier, or how she knew of him in the first place, considering you've known him half his life and you've never seen her before. Or even mentioned. But somehow, she knows him.

You feel some warmth coming from her, and try not to lean into it. You hate her. Your life was going great before all of this. You miss your bed, you miss your sweater, you miss the food you bought earlier and left on the counter. 

You miss your home. You miss the gems. 

You miss Steven.

Sighing again out loud, you pull your leaves closer to you. You'll deal with other things in the morning if you don't die in your sleep. Your eyes droop heavily, weariness from the day catching up to you. Sleep comes to you eventually.

[just-a-starfruit]

The Night Sky

This was my submission to the Ateez Storyboard Contest, unfortunately I didn’t make it through to the final voting, but I am proud of myself for even getting the courage to submit something in the first place. It’s been a few years since I’ve written for fun and not for a school assignment, but nonetheless I hope y’all still enjoy it:’) 

Also excuse me if this looks weird, I have never posted to tumblr, please have mercy on me.

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: None, but if there is one you feel I need to add, please let me know:)

Yeosang misses the sight of the stars, the city lights and crowded streets were never something he got used to, no matter how long he had lived in Seoul. He misses mapping those stars, and using them to navigate the Illusion over the vast expanse of the sky. 

 The very sky and stars his mother used to sing him to sleep under, and his father would tell him stories about. The sky was boundless, and full of mystery, but here it just felt like a cage. It felt wrong.

He huffs, pushing open the door to the 24 hour fried chicken take out restaurant he begrudgingly got a job at a year back. It’s not that he doesn’t love the food, hell, he could eat it any day without problem. It’s the stuffy environment, the unreliable coworkers, and the fact that his paycheck never seems to reflect his work. It certainly didn’t hold a candle to his previous occupation.

The only thing that keeps him working the graveyard shift here is that it’s the only job that would take a homeless barely legal teen, who definitely sounded drunk from all of the nonsense he was spewing. When he stumbled into the shop, yelling about how a masked man had taken their ship and he needed help. The employee shot him a weird look but took pity on the teen, and listened to him tell story upon story about the Illusion and it’s crew. They believed it to be fiction, oh, how wrong they were. 

Yeosang slept in the police station that night.

When he woke up, it was early in the morning, sunrise, and Yeosang was startled to not hear the crashing of waves or smell the salt of the air, or see the exact position of the sun in the sky. In a panicked haze, he cried out for help, and the officer on duty told him to settle down to no avail. Yeosang was shaking and sobbing, the unfamiliarity of the world he was in now too much to take in at once. 

When he finally calmed down enough to leave, he was handed a bottle of water by the officer, “Maybe head towards the hospital, get an IV for that nasty hangover.”

The boy just looked at him and left without a word. 

He ended up back at the chicken shop, and the employee who had helped him the night previously, ended up talking to a manager, to give the boy a job and let him crash on his couch if he needed. Yeosang accepted the offer gratefully, and slept there for a month or so, until he saved up the money to rent a shoebox apartment he learned was called a goshiwon. It wasn’t the ideal lifestyle, but it would have to do until he could find everyone else.

The sound of snapping jolts Yeosang out of his train of thought, and he’s met face to face with a not too happy looking man, “Oi, I’d like to order finally. These kids get more and more lazy.”

Trying his best to not roll his eyes in front of a customer, the ex navigator smiles and forces an apology, punching in the order.

It was about 3 in the morning before someone else came barreling through the door, and Yeosang peeled his eyes away from the spider web he had been idly watching for the past hour or so. Then his eyes widened.

“San?”

The man’s eyes met his, and recognition and relief washed over his face, 

“Yeosang! What in the name of selene are you doing here?”

“I should ask you the same, how have you been? What are you doing now? Most importantly, where did you end up?”

“I ended up in Japan, in an empty Shinjuku alleyway, but the moment I stepped into a crowded area, I was approached by a modelling agent. I had honestly no clue what was going on, so I accepted. That was four years ago though. I’m here for a photo shoot though.”

Yeosang nearly choked, “Four years? I’ve only been here two.” he then began to tell the former gunner about why he was in a dingy fast food restaurant on the outer streets of Seoul, working the graveyard shift. 

“So if you’re some budding big time model, where is your manager?”

“I ran.” San said, barely above a whisper, as if the walls had ears.

“You what now?” Yeosang was at a loss of words, his mouth gaping open like a hooked fish, gasping for air.

“You heard me, I jumped ship, I felt trapped, strangled by the public to be the new “it” boy of the new generation of models. Most of all, I felt homesick, Yeo, I miss the ocean, the crew, the adventure. None of that is here. So when we were at a redlight, I opened the door to the car and ran as fast as I could.” San stood up at some point, the two having sat at the lone table and chairs that occupied the shop before swapping stories. 

“I see. Have you seen any of the others? Have you heard anything about Hongjoong?”

The model shook his head, “You’re the only member of the crew I’ve seen, I’m sorry Yeo.”

An uncomfortable silence filled the room at the news. The strong headed Captain had gone missing just before the masked man arrived, sending the other seven members into wherever they are today. He had seemed distant that whole day before, it had set the crew into unease. About a week prior to his disappearance and Yeosang’s emergence into the modern world, they had a  meeting with their alters that had gone surprisingly well, finally making amends.

The thoughts of the masked man caused Yeosang to shiver. The build of the man was familiar, yet also alien, resembling one of the taller members, even if all of them were in the same room.

The idea of another set of the boys was a crazy thought, but not impossible, as seen by the black clad masked crew of bandits they met with.

San decided to go home with Yeosang when 5AM finally crawled around, despite the tired employee saying time and time again how small his room was. San didn’t care, anywhere but in the claws of his manager and the gaze of the public would do. 

When they entered the housing complex, Yeosang flipped on a small electric kettle resting on a counter, and set a plastic bag from his work next to it. From a small bin resting beneath the counter, he produced two cup noodles and disposable chopsticks. It was definitely different from what the escaped model was expecting, but he could care less, he was starving.

The kettle switched off when the water inside came to a boil, emitting a small amount of steam from the spout. Yeosang peeled open the lids of the noodle cups a little, and poured water into them, then placed the chopsticks on top of the lid to hold it down. He pulled out a pair of boxes from the plastic bag and popped open one of them to reveal wings from his work, then he handed San a cup noodle. 

“Sannie, while I do appreciate seeing you again, you’re sure I won’t get in trouble for harboring a valuable asset to your company?” He shoves a mouthful of noodles in his mouth and winces, he forgot to blow on them. 

“It’ll be fine, I’ll sweet talk my way out of either of us getting in trouble. I ditched my phone in the car, so it’ll take a while.”

He always was one to think ahead, and never made a move without carefully calculating his actions, even reckless ones. The two boys finished their meal in silence, cleaning up when they were finished.

It was an understatement to say Yeosang was relieved to see one of the members again, afterall it had been two years.

Two years of fear and loneliness in an unfamiliar world. As he closed his eyes, he saw the same image he had always seen: an hourglass with glowing sand frozen in place.

[the-working-class-guide-to-films]

Mank

Can you believe it has been six years since David Fincher last released a movie? Gone Girl was a fantastic film, and like most of his films, Fight Club, Se7en, Benjamin Button and one of my all-time favourite films The Social Network, they’ve all been of solid work. You’d think that Mank, about Herman Mankiewicz, the co-writer of Citizen Kane, would also be up there when it comes to Fincher movies. It’s not. It’s 130 minutes of absolute boredom. 

Gary Oldman is Mank, an alcoholic writer currently bed-ridden after being involved in a car crash. Orson Welles visits and wants him to write the story for his next film. He has sixty days. Through a series of flashbacks we see how, (I think) Mank came to the film that is revered as the ‘greatest film of all time’. Just like the character in the film says of Mank’s script; it is too confusing, all the flashbacks don’t make sense. I don’t know if this film was too on the nose, or if it just ended up being too confusing.

It wasn’t all terrible. The production values were spot on. The clothing, the cars, the sets. It all looked straight from the 1930/40′s. It did look gorgeous. The cinematography was fine but from a director like Fincher it’s the least that should be expected, well worked out shots. The script was quite witty, especially the dialogue for Mank who was a decent enough character played well by Oldman. I enjoyed the performances from Amanda Seyfried and Charles Dance. I’ve heard a lot of people praise Seyfried’s role, and yes, it is good, but I started to think that perhaps it is good because the rest of the movie is so dull and she is the one slightly exciting thing about this.

I didn’t go in with any expectation, so I can’t say it is my own fault. I think the cause of the problem is that it doesn’t quite know what it is. It’s not a film about Citizen Kane, but it tries to do that. It isn’t a film about Herman Mankiewicz’s life, although it tries to do that too. It seems to be a mix of the two without hitting either one. You’d probably have to be a big Citizen Kane to understand any of the references which I don’t think is a good way to start a film if it is, or isn’t trying to be THAT film. Two films that go down that route to great effect are Ed Wood, about director Ed Wood and the film Plan 9 From Outer Space; and The Disaster Artist about The Room and Tommy Wiseau. And yes maybe these films are easier to do because they have both been panned as ‘the worst films ever made’, but the films about them have been brilliant, giving us clarity for both the film and the director. Mank didn’t achieve one. Maybe I’ve completely missed the point of what the film set out to be, that’s fair, I’m dumb.

My other issue, and I’ve found it quite commonplace within Hollywood these days, is that nothing actually happens. Nothing exciting at least. It fails my pizza theory (head back to my Roma review in case you need a refresh). It honestly is over two hours of Hollywood appreciating Hollywood, no doubt the Oscar nominations will come flooding in for it. I know SOME people aren’t fans of Christopher Nolan, that’s fair, film is subjective, but at least Nolan (with the exception of Insomnia, a remake of the Norwegian 1997 film) makes original, expansive and exciting films. What other director makes films like him? They’re all different and new. Who has seen a film like Inception before, or like Tenet? Maybe there has been, I haven’t seen every film but you get my point. It’s something different rather than two hours of chatting at a party, chatting in an office or chatting in a field. It’s tedious. It is boring. I say film is subjective, but one person rated Mank higher than Gone Girl AND The Social Network. I wish I could have punched them through the screen. Fuck subjectivity. I am right. 

2/5 Of course, Film Twitter will tell you Mank is one of the best movies ever made, certainly some of the reviews I read beforehand will make you think that. But for the average film fan, or even someone like me who loves film, you will not enjoy this. Yes the production values are high and in places the dialogue is good with ok performances from the cast. That isn’t enough to not make this a dreary watch.