#entire years he has spent with the little human man without remembering him

[nandorisms]

My eternal sunshine of the spotless mind Nandermo fic lives rent-free in my head.

Would love to write it someday.

Would love to feel the urge to write again someday 😩

[gravedwe11er]

Got hit by a Mecha AU Swerve angst idea in the middle of the night, and I had to put it down on a page. Based on the @keferon Mecha AU and inspired by all the amazing Swerve/Blurr art I see around (seriously, yall are giving me so many ideas and I love it).

More often than not, nowadays, Swerve feels like an imposter in his own frame. His time spent as a human was so short, just an insignificant speck compared to the eons of his real life, his real lifespan, and yet...

Those few scant human years are the realest he can remember feeling.

The medics said it took fifteen cycles for anyone to knock on his door, to even notice his absence. And when someone eventually did, it was just- his boss. One of the engines was giving them trouble, and they needed all servos on deck. That's all.

None of the bots who he talked to every day, the ones he’d worked side by side with for years noticed he was gone. None of the people who would laugh at his jokes and drink with him at the bar had a single thought to spare for him. Nobody missed him, until they needed him for something.

Glum thoughts in the dead of night are one thing. It’s another thing entirely to know, without a shadow of a doubt, that it’s all true.

So of course Swerve figured out the holoform thing again. Sure, it’s still kind of risky, but now that he’s actually doing it on purpose, he’s been taking a few precautions – a good recharge, a full fuel tank, and an automated message to be sent off to the medics after a set period of time, in case he knocks himself out again. Actually, he nearly managed just that, the first time he tried it, overtaxing himself almost to the point of shutdown. The keyword being nearly, though! It did little to weaken his resolve, and after a few more tries, he now has a whole system figured out, one that won’t damage his processor.

Or, it probably won’t, anyway. He’s not about to go ask; someone higher up might order him to stop, which-

Yeah, he’s not doing that.

On this ship, Swerve’s got nothing. He might as well be nothing - he’s a trained metallurgist working as a common mechanic, amongst people who barely even know he exists. On Earth, he’s- well. It’s not like he was exactly a social butterfly, but people invited him for shitty cafeteria coffee, a few pilots liked to stop by for a chat sometimes, and if he fell asleep at his desk, someone would come shake him awake within an hour or two.

On Earth, he has Blurr. And that’s not something he’s willing to give up.

Swerve shutters his optics in his tiny room on the ship, and surrenders gladly to the pulling sensation overtaking his processor as his holomatter generator struggles to cross such a vast distance. Then, with a crackle and a fizz of static across his neural net, he’s gone.

When he opens his eyes, it’s to the sight of Blurr’s expansive private hospital suite, with the man nowhere to be seen. He’s been hoping for that, though- as a general rule, he tries to catch the pilot between press conferences and physical therapy sessions, so nobody starts asking questions about the dead man loitering around a celebrity’s rooms. Blurr has enough problems as it is.

Luckily, he doesn’t have to wait for long. Soon enough, Swerve hears several pairs of footsteps approaching the door, and he ducks into the bedroom, keeping out of sight. “Again, thank you so much for the well-wishes,” carries through the walls, barely loud enough to be audible – Blurr’s voice, he thinks. The ‘business’ voice. “But I really have to go now. The doctor will be visiting soon, you understand.”

There are polite sounds of assent, an exchange of a few more pleasantries before the steps retreat back down the hallway, followed by the quiet whoosh of the front door opening. Cautiously, Swerve peeks out of the bedroom.

Blurr stands in the doorway, back straight, with a bright, practiced smile on the visible half of his face. The other, the one with scars and still healing skin grafts, is covered by an elaborate mask, shaped to look like his mech’s helm. He gives the people outside one final wave, and clicks the door shut.

Then he turns around, notices Swerve and slumps.

Now wobbling slightly, the injured pilot leans his back against a wall, gingerly peeling the mask off of his face to revealed reddened, irritated skin. The smile he turns on Swerve is completely different from before, small and tired and slightly pained.

To anyone else, it would look like an insult. To Swerve, it’s a precious thing, a gift the star shares with very few people in his life - honesty.

“Swerve, hello!” Blurr greets him, sounding slightly out of breath. He’s getting the best care money can buy, but even that only goes so far- recovery will slow and painful, and not everything will go back to how it was. There are some scars the pilot will carry for the rest of his life, and just the thought makes Swerve’s holographic heart ache.

“Hi,” he answers enthusiastically, crossing the room to go help the injured man, only to get waved off.

“Thanks, but I’m good. I need to build up my stamina again.”

Swerve frowns a little, but steps away again. “Alright, if you’re sure. Just be careful! You can lean on me if you need to, yeah? I don’t want you to hurt yourself, so if-“

“Swerve!”, Blurr laughs, interrupting his awkward rambling, and he can feel his holoform’s cheeks going red. “It’s fine, really. I’ll ask you if I need help, alright?”

“Alright,” he mutters into the collar of his shirt and follows after the man, ready to support him if he stumbles. Blurr leads them to his bedroom, laying down on the mattress with a pained grimace, once again waving off any of Swerve’s offers to help. Instead, the man pats one side of the bed in clear invitation, and Swerve does his best to pretend his face isn’t looking like an overripe tomato as he sits, their hands almost touching. Judging by Blurr’s teasing little grin, he fails miserably, but- it made Blurr smile. He’d say that more than makes up for it.

They talk, for as long as Swerve’s holoform generator allows and perhaps a little bit beyond that. He asks after Blurr’s recovery, listens to the pilot bemoan the weakness of his atrophied muscles and endless physical therapy sessions. Learns more about the constant press releases, the pressure from command to return back to duty and perform his star pilot act once again.  They talk about anything and everything the man wants to share, from the important to the mundane.

In turn, Blurr asks him about his life, his day, his work on the ship. Which, here’s the thing- he didn’t really notice much it before his coma, but nobody else actually asks about him. Swerve talks a lot, and sometimes, other bots will even listen, but they never ask.

Except for Blurr. Blurr always asks now, and Swerve always talks and talks and talks, and the pilot never seems to mind. Sometimes, he wishes he knew how to express it, to show the man just how much it means to him, but- in a rare twist of events, the words never manage to leave his mouth.

Doesn’t make it any less true, though.

Every small, honest smile, every real, slightly ugly laugh he gets out of the man makes Swerve’s holographic heart beat overtime. He feels so happy, so at peace when by the man’s side, and he never wants to leave.

But he has to. Eventually, it’s always time to go, his systems warning him of impending shutdown and he hates it, he hates it so much, but he says his goodbyes. Blurr’s understanding about it, of course, and the pilot’s cheeky little wave is the last thing Swerve sees before he closes his eyes and disappears.

When he unshutters his optics, it’s to the sight of his empty, windowless habsuite.  Getting up from his berth, he feels a fleeting stab of vertigo – some echo of his human self’s instinct, warning him of a dangerous height, which, huh. That’s been happening more and more often. Something to ask the medics about, perhaps.

Then again, why bother. It’s not like he doesn’t know what the answer would be.

He misses Blurr already. Misses the warmth of Earth’s sun and the warmth of companionship, the warmth of a soft human touch. Misses his false life and false body, and the very real joy it brings him.

Sometimes, he wishes he never woke up, instead living out his fake human existence in blissful ignorance until his spark eventually guttered from the strain. Occasionally, he wishes he was human. Actually human, not just the holoform- muscle and bone and sinew, just like the rest of them, just like Blurr. It’s clear he doesn’t belong amongst his own kind, so… maybe it’d be better that way.

Most of the time though, he just wants to be on Earth; true frame, fake body, it doesn’t matter. He wants to hold Blurr in his servos, wants to feel like he matters to somebody, wants to-

He’s not really sure what he wants, exactly. He just knows it’s not this.

[catsandpens]

P1Harmony with vampire!Reader

Keeho

Your companion died after being together for 50 years. After being alone for more than ten years,  trying to discover yourself, you believed that the time was now, to find a new companion. The search for your new companion within the vampire console was disappointing so you redirected your search to the humans. You suddenly remember a man from your past life before changing to a vampire. Remembering his witty humor and fascinating charm. You wondered how his descendants were doing, knowing that your old fling is long gone.You come across a young daring gentleman known as Keeho who appears identical to your former connection. You introduce yourself to him and become acquainted. When it came time to explain your true nature and intentions with Keeho, he accepted without hesitation. Keeho has always desired to live a long and fruitful life, and now he has the opportunity to do it with someone who shares his beliefs.

Theo hails from a long history of vampire hunters. He recalls his father telling him stories about how a group of vampires invaded his family's village years ago and how it is up to the Choi family's descendants to seek revenge. It became lonesome for Theo, growing up outside of civilization and hunting vampires, which was not a simple endeavor. Things would change when he witnessed you draining the life from one of your prey. His hesitation to kill gave you the opportunity to escape. Theo usually felt disgust towards vampires but that feeling just did not appear for you. This was the beginning of a cat and mouse relationship where he chases you to “avenge his family” while you try to convince him to become a vampire so they can spend the rest of their lives together.

During your midnight strolls throughout the human world, you discover Jiung, your soon-to-be faithful familiar, beaten and left for dead on the road. Considering it was a night of festivities for the mortals, you thought that the wounded man had an encounter with the wrong people. Your subconscious swiftly advised you not to get involved; it was mortal business and had nothing to do with you. You gazed at Jiung for a while longer, thinking, "I bet he would look truly dashing without that blackeye," and as you began walking away, you heard his weak pleas for help. You impulsively welcomed Jiung back into your home to nurture him back to health. When he was able to communicate, he praised your charity and offered you his life to repay you for rescuing him. Knowing how useful a familiar can be, you welcomed Jiung as your familiar. Jiung has since been faithful to you alone, maintaining your secrets and catering to every single one of your needs.

Every year on your birthday, you would travel to a random town and feast with the humans. This year was particularly memorable, with a man knocking down drink after drink and demonstrating his immense strength by defeating five men back to back in an arm wrestling match. Intak the human enchanted you, just as you enchanted him. Intak spent the entire night trying to impress you, flashing his muscular physique and raving about all the jobs he's getting, and you relished every moment of the attention you were receiving. You choose to take him back to your cabin to "get to know each other" and reveal your true nature to him. Intak was distraught at first with your little secret , but he swiftly warmed up to the concept after you presented him with a gift he couldn't refuse.

Soul descends from an ancient line of secretive, powerful witches. He was very talented at producing potions in his family and would frequently spend the majority of his time searching for high-quality herbs. All of the time spent in nature helped the young witch form strong bonds with the land and its inhabitants. During one of his explorations, he sees a flash across his vision. Out of curiosity, he chooses to pursue it. When Soul catches up with the fast dark creature, he sees you drain an enormous male deer. Soul casts a minor spell to stop you, but it does more harm to the vampire than he imagined possible. You apologize for eating off his animal friend and explain how you feed off animals in order to avoid hurting people. Soul could only feel awful for the vampire and offers to help you in finding animals to eat. The two super beings developed a powerful bond, making them invincible. A witch and his vampire.

You and Jongseob come from two of the most famous vampire families. Both families became close together while also trying to one up another. You and Jongseob mothers would frequently have tea together and boast about what new fortunes they gained or how their husbands are conquering different parts of the world. This competitive nature between the parents continued on with you and Jongseob. Jongseob showing off how many humans he fed on in one night and you showing off her new vampire ability. You would often complain to her mother about how much of a bothersome Jongseob was but refused to actually separate from him. Jongseob on the other hand believes his teasing to be acts of support and genuine advice. He only wants their two families to continue thriving and elevating and he enjoys elevating with you.

AN: Most of my understanding of vampire lore comes from what we do in the shadows so…

[mla0]

you know what. fuck it, give me ur patrick headcanons and like, all of them. i need smth to read [cute] - 🪓🐇

I think Patrick (and Michael) would probably have taken a lot of care of Shaun in childhood. Shaun's younger, and they didn't have a good homelife or good parents, so I think he'd like.. try his best to be an emotional rock for her, cook her half decent food, and stuff like that. When he left, he spent a lot of years worrying about her and if she was going to be okay without them around. One day he sees Shaun making the exact same food for herself that he used to make for her and he has to hide the Emotions he is feeling.

I also think Shaun picked Patrick's name. I'm going to get into my own personal Patrick backstory later, but regardless, I think he didn't have a name at first, and Shaun came up with it because she thought it sounded "fancy" and "posh," and Patrick talked like he's from another time even in childhood, so it fit. It's a part of why Shaun can still vaguely remember the name in adulthood despite not knowing the context, and why I think she knew of his existence deep down. She remembers him.

My personal Patrick interpretation, which has no canon basis, I just really enjoy it, is that Patrick is the original iteration of Michael. He did something to accidentally cause a fuckup in time, and got himself permanently attached to every subsequent version of Michael to the point where he's sort of developed into his own person, forced to remember everything and evolve time and time again while Michael and Shaun keep resetting again and again. This has its pros and cons.

He's very protective of his family, but he puts on a very aloof and dismissive front at first because he just assumes he will be forever rejected. He doesn't really know how to handle it when Shaun and Michael start acknowledging his existence, because he isn't particularly used to it.

HABIT scares him more than anything else. The Man is frightening; he's had nightmares of it stealing him or Shaun away in the night, making them disappear without a trace, but the Man has a pattern. HABIT doesn't. HABIT comes in whenever it feels like, can take over anyone, can do whatever it wants whenever it wants.

I think he has a bit of a soft spot for Evan. He feels for him because of the way he's used like a toy by HABIT, and while he may not understand on a one-to-one basis, he feels a lot of empathy for him. Jeff he doesn't know very well, but does respect his Guardian nature. Steph I think he'd really enjoy as a person, I think they'd get along great. Vinny I think he has a very mixed opinion on. I think he respects Vinny for his tenacity and his desire to keep pushing on, keep making things right, but I don't think he could ever entirely forgive him for getting Shaun killed. Intentionally or not, forced or not, that's not the kind of thing you can just simply over and accept emotionally. He understands it, he's done horrendous shit himself so he can't exactly judge... but that's his little sister. He's forever a little bitter now. (Michael meanwhile would be absolutely fucking furious and hate him. Much less conflicted. He's chosen and the choice is rage.)

I don't think Patrick is very "powerful" or anything like that. He's either entirely human or barely not, and he can't take a beating the same way a full-on entity could. He also gets sick a lot. But, he brushes this off a lot. Cue him passing the fuck out right in front of Shaun who immediately panics.

Unlike Michael, he knows Shaun can see the Man the entire time. He's slightly more aware while in the hospital, and he can see her eyes looking right behind him with terror on occasion. She tries to hide it. She's really bad at it until adulthood. Then she gets just as scarily good at lying as he is. It scares him but he's also a little proud because that's absolutely his fault. I think a lot of things about Patrick rubbed off on Shaun, Patrick loves it and Shaun is a total tsundere little sibling about it.

Patrick has a couple "hard triggers" that'll immediately make him come in and take over for Michael. This includes literally anything related to hygiene. Michael never remembers when he bought literally any part of his wardrobe.

[the-gateway-to-madness]

the writing of Jack Frost

(And why it works so well)

Jack Frost is one of the most notoriously well-known animated protagonists out there. I'm on Tumblr, so I don't even have to defend that stance, you all know it already.

Why is that?

The story he's placed in is entirely simple. It's a light vs. darkness conflict. There are all of seven characters who get real screentime. The main character has amnesia. This movie is almost Shadow of the Colossus in its simplicity.

It's the details and the context and the design of the world that make that simplicity work here. Each character is visually based on a color and a shape, but then details got worked in that made them intriguing to look at, and that "design with a center in mind, then make it feel complete" ideology succeeds in making each character feel grounded and rounded out personality-wise, too.

Jack is the main character, so we're privy to extra complexities with him- let's look at those.

That amnesia. This trope has been done to death; why does it work well here? Because his character has developed for so long in-universe without him even knowing he had amnesia. Sure, he doesn't know why he's here, but he's also not aware of what he is missing, so he's gone ahead and lived for 300 years as best he could.

He's confident in his powers; he's confident in his own body; he's confident in his control. The conflicts that are most common in both coming-of-age plotlines and amnesia plotlines are not there. Jack's natural upbeat attitude and the immaturity he chooses to nurture in himself make him seem like he's a teenager in his head, too, but he is not. He knows all his own patterns, he knows how the world around him works, and the audience is incapable of understanding how exactly he must think because of just how old he actually is, and how much he's done and seen.

Jack gets reduced for simplicity in a lot of fanworks, and I think that's because trying to put oneself in his head and trying to then see his world through the mindset of anything but a child or teen is like trying to comprehend something eldritch. He's not still human and relatable because of his innate humanity leftover from his mortal life, he's still human because he has chosen to be human. Heck, Jack doesn't remember his past life, his only reason to believe he's even a little human is his appearance.

And that idea that he chose humanity, that he chooses goodness, is compelling, because it means his human self and his incomprehensible circumstances have meshed into something cohesive.

Then the amnesia shows up! If you're watching this movie for the first time, you guessed he has amnesia because duh, but you're just as in the dark as he is as to what he's missing. You only know as much as Jack does on that first watch- you're as curious and even desperate as he is to know, if you're invested. Because what could create this man? What could cause such a strong connection to humanity in him despite 300 years trying to whittle it away?

Even after seeing his memories, it's! Still! Jack's! Choices!!! This movie sets him up to be a tragic character, but it's not a tragedy because he chooses to be happy and help other people and refuses to back down and stop trying to fix things, even when only one child believes. They take a tragic character premise and turn him into a walking feeling of triumph because the good, kind, happy person who fell in that pond survived- and he did it because he chose to.

And- people want to hate Manny for never talking to Jack except to drop in and tell him what to do, but that's not what he did! Jack asked him to tell him why he was put in the world, and he was put in the world to be a Guardian. After he had already spent both of his lives choosing to be one without the Moon's direction, all Manny did was formalize it. He let Jack make his own choices, already knowing from his sacrifice what he would choose to be. From that freedom, from never being told who to be and what to do by the Moon, Jack learned how to choose to be human, to be good, to be a Guardian- under any circumstances -because he wanted to, and not because Manny told him to.

Manny did Jack more good by letting him learn how to be himself than he ever could have done by explaining to him who he was and what he was meant to do.

Anyway, I'm realizing most of this as I'm writing it, back on topic now.

Most amnesia plots cannot make the concept of "the person you were pre-amnesia shines through after amnesia strikes" work like Rise of the Guardians does, and I believe that it's because of that 300 year gap. That's the key. Jack has been the pre-amnesia person for 300 years without knowing where that person came from. He's refined being that person without ever realizing that's what he was doing; he's given that person confidence in his powers and skills. He's been that same person the entire movie already. Jack wasn't chosen because he was a Guardian in his past life; he was chosen because he was and still is a Guardian.

... anyway I'm out of thoughts

[coraniaid]

OK, some final belated thoughts on Season 3 before I move on to something new.

At this point, it doesn’t seem very controversial to suggest that the show often handles Faith’s killing of Allan Finch less than perfectly.  In particular, I think it’s a real shame that the writers either forgot (or just didn’t care?) that Giles himself once accidentally killed a man, especially as they did remember this fact  last season, when it was Buffy who thought she’d killed a man.  

(And though I defended – and will continue to defend – Buffy’s actions re:Ted when I talked about the eponymous episode of Season 2 in the rewatch last year, I do think they are harder to defend than what Faith did to Finch in Bad Girls.  Yes, Buffy had grounds to think Ted was a threat to her, but she also thought he was a human, and she hit him anyway.  She didn’t hurt him by mistake.  In the heat of the moment, Faith really did believe that Finch was a vampire, which – in the setting of the show, in the immediate context of the episode – was a pretty reasonable assumption to make. Lunging at an armed stranger in a dark alley probably wasn’t a very smart move on the part of the late Mr Finch.)

So it’s a little jarring when, in Consequences, Angel starts to give Faith the big “I too, know what it’s like to deliberately kill people for fun: it was addictive and I loved doing it” speech.  Faith’s dismissive reaction – “sounds like you need some help.  A professional, maybe.”-- is, on the evidence so far, surely entirely justified.  At this point in the show, it is Giles, and not Angel, who Faith is most similar to.  It feels rather like the writers are trying to force a comparison that – at least for now – simply isn’t there.  

Especially since the way Consequences is written it seems clear we’re meant to think that this speech is somehow “getting through to” Faith until Wesley’s ill-timed interruption.  Only … why would it be? Angel’s problem – a love of murder for the sake of murder – and his solution to that problem – getting cursed with a human soul – are both entirely meaningless to Faith, who already has a soul and has not in fact demonstrated any interest in murder for the sake of murder.  (And who might be claiming not to feel bad about Finch’s death, but must be on some level if Buffy’s intervention on her behalf makes any sense.)  

Faith is not Angel.  Not yet, anyway.

(That being said, there is another reading of the show where Angel isn’t getting through to Faith at all, but only convincing her that she needs to try to become more like him, especially if she’s going to win over Buffy.  I’m not at all sure that this is the reading intended by the writers, but I think it fits the evidence a lot better than the other reading at this point.  You can quite easily read Faith’s arc in the last third of the season as a deliberate – and not quite unsuccessful – attempt to remold herself in Angel’s image: to become somebody who really wouldn’t care about killing a human being by mistake, and who might even enjoy doing it.  And I do think that Angel’s second big attempt at connecting with Faith a year later, for all that it treads a lot of the same ground, makes a lot more sense in context.)

On the other hand, I think the show should get a little more credit for the conscious Buffy and Faith parallels than I sometimes see it given.  

Just as sometimes people point out that the show presents Angel behaving in some rather disturbing ways in Season 2 (“falling in love” with a teenage girl after driving past her school and catching a glimpse of her, for instance) without acknowledging that the show is – at least intermittently – very aware of this, I think people who defend Faith by saying that Buffy has also killed things that look and act like people are missing the fact that this is a tension the show is very conscious about.   I think Buffy’s many nights spent indiscriminately slaying demons and vampires is something the show definitely wants us to think about.  By this point of the show, we’re clearly not meant to be entirely okay with all the death Buffy herself is responsible for..  

(Sometimes I see the suggestion that Buffy is different from Faith because she only kills vampires and demons who are an imminent threat to human life or trying to hurt people, but that is simply not true.  Buffy patrols cemeteries in the middle of night – cemeteries notably lacking in casual passersby – looking for newly risen vampires to stake before they know what’s happening.  She attacks demons on sight – or at least, she does until the show decides some demons are okay, which is something that only starts to happen this season.  In the original conception of the show – from the era of the Master and Luke and the Anointed One – we’re just not meant to think that proactively killing vampires could ever be a problem.)

When Buffy confronts Faith for the last time in Graduation Day she asks her something.

“What's the matter?  All that killing and you’re afraid to die?”

How are we to interpret this question under the old rules of the show?  At this point of the story, Faith has killed exactly two human beings: Allan Finch (by accident!) and Professor Worth (admittedly not at all by accident).  At the risk of being a Faith apologist (which, well, I guess is what I am, but...), the phrase “all that killing” hardly applies here, does it?

… unless, that is, you count all the various vampires and demons that we’ve seen Faith kill recently (including the demon in Enemies who tried to sell her the Books of Ascension, a demon whose killing definitely appears to bother Faith at the time and to disgust Buffy when she finds the body).  Faith certainly has killed enough of them for the phrase “all that killing” to apply.  Bur crucially, so has Buffy herself.  (She’s killed far more of them, in fact.  As Faith told her at the start of the season, she’s been doing this the longest.)

So I think we’re meant to understand Buffy’s question in the Season 3 finale as part of a conversation with herself that started in the Season 1 finale Prophecy Girl and will continue all the way to the Season 5 finale The Gift (and arguably beyond).  That’s why Faith exists in the narrative in the first place, after all.  Not to be a version of Angel, but to be a version of Buffy.  A reflection, a mirror, a shadow.  Somebody Buffy was, and is, and might have been. It’s what Faith has been arguing all season (“anything I have to answer for, you do too”, she insisted to Buffy in Consequences), and something that – to people other than Faith – Buffy has already admitted (“She had it rough,” she told Willow in Doppelgangland, “Different circumstances, that could be me.”).

So let’s talk a bit about some other versions of Buffy, and try to place this question in its proper context.

The Buffy of Prophecy Girl told her Watcher that she was still a child (“Giles, I’m sixteen years old…”) and that she didn’t want to die.  Her reaction to learning what would happen to her if she faced her destiny was to beg her mother to take her out of harm's way ("Mom, let's go away ... anywhere ... Mom, please"). Years later, the adult Buffy of The Gift will tell that same Watcher that she doesn’t see the point of going on in a world without her mother, a world where “everything gets stripped away”.  Later still, she’ll tell her sister that living is “the hardest thing in the world” and then voluntarily jump to her own death rather than lose another family member.  “Death is [her] gift”, as that season will keep reminding her.

And halfway between these moments, in the Season 3 finale, we have a Buffy who is only on the cusp of becoming an adult.   A Buffy who has died once, but “only for a minute”.  A Buffy who just sent her mother away from danger because she couldn’t save the world while worrying about her, where the younger Buffy had instead pleaded with her mother to protect her.  

This Buffy looks at her fellow Slayer – at somebody who she knows she could have been herself, at somebody who is not just her narrative shadow but a living reminder of the fact she’s died once and it maybe wasn’t quite that bad, at somebody like her who kills vampires and monsters and maybe enjoys doing it a little too much  – and it’s easy to imagine her confronting her tearful younger self in the school library again, hearing the prophecy that her calling as a Slayer will end with her own death.

“What’s the matter?”, the older Buffy asks her younger self bluntly.  “All that killing and you’re afraid to die?”

[darkshrimpemotions]

A little Nandermo fic for February (the first of many).

Read on AO3

Ever since Guillermo got back from England, Nandor has been acting very strange. Guillermo hasn't said anything about it. He hasn't asked. But he's noticed. How could he not? He spent every day by Nandor's side for twelve years. He knows him, all his habits and moods and tells.

He knows when he's lying, or hiding. He knows when he's upset, when he's holding something back. He knows what it looks like when he's nervous, sad, disappointed.

What he doesn't quite know is why Nandor seems to cycle through all those emotions and then some whenever they're alone together these days.

It started when he was first let out of the shipping crate--a grievance he is still going to exact vengeance on Nadja and Laszlo for, one of these days. Nandor was happy to see him, transparently so. It took Guillermo’s breath away a little, actually, even in the midst of his anger. He'd been away from Nandor for an entire year, and so much had changed, and he was so angry at him–for leaving without Guillermo, for not looking for him or reaching out. But even with all that, the sight of him knocked Guillermo back a step, made him feel like he had to run before he got pulled back into Nandor’s orbit.

Of course, that didn’t exactly go according to plan.

One minute he was screaming goodbye forever, the next he was falling, screaming, no time to think or take a breath before he was plunged into freezing, putrid water, flailing, his clothes weighing him down too much to get to the surface…

And then there were arms around him, holding him tight, lifting him up. He’d clutched at the hands on his chest, afraid to fall, and realized with a shock that he knew those arms, those hands.

Oh, was his first thought. I’m okay. Nandor’s got me.

Then he was in the air, Nandor practically squeezing the water he’d inhaled out of him before he set him down gently and immediately went to fetch him a towel and robe, without even being asked.

When their eyes met as Nandor handed the neatly folded pile over to him, it was like an audible click, two matching pieces of a puzzle slotting into place.

Guillermo had told himself he was just glad to be back home.

But then Nandor got all cryptic and serious, announcing his wedding plans and asking Guillermo to be his best man with the same gravitas he'd once asked him to travel the world. And then...

Then he’d actually looked disappointed when Guillermo said he wasn’t jealous. Nandor was subdued the rest of the day, in fact, even as he showed off his treasure horde and threw himself into discussing his wedding plans. Maybe no one else would notice it, but Guillermo did. 

And so the pattern had been set, and continued whenever they were alone together. When they’re wedding planning, or out on an errand, Nandor treats him so differently from before. He asks Guillermo’s opinions and actually seems to care about his answers. He remembers things, too, like that Guillermo needs to eat actual human food once in a while, and is supposed to have a day off each week. He laughs openly at Guillermo’s jokes now, instead of pretending to be annoyed by them.

Sometimes Guillermo will catch Nandor throwing him these little glances, too, his face open and delighted, just like that first night back. Like doing everyday, mundane things with Guillermo makes him so happy he can’t contain it behind his usual aloof façade.

Then, inevitably, he’ll meet Guillermo’s eyes and grow suddenly somber, devolving quickly into sad and distant. He'll start to fidget with his hands or his rings, avoiding Guillermo's eyes. Often he’ll suddenly recall something else he ought to be doing, and Guillermo won’t see him for the rest of the night.

Once could be chance, twice a coincidence…but Guillermo stopped counting after the sixth time this pattern repeated and he had to watch, bewildered, as Nandor ran off claiming he had forgotten an urgent favor for Laszlo. 

It’s driving Guillermo up the wall.

The thing is, he has his suspicions as to what this is all about. Unlikely as they might have once seemed, he doesn’t think he’s wrong about those suspicions…and all he can think is why now? Why, after years of indifference to lukewarm tolerance at best, does Nandor have to choose now to look at Guillermo like he actually sees him? To act like he wants Guillermo’s undivided attention, craves it even?

A year ago, hell, even six months ago Guillermo would’ve done anything to have Nandor treating him like this. But now…things are different. Complicated. He isn’t the same perpetually single twenty-something virgin with no social life pining after the man who is both the embodiment and gatekeeper of all his dreams. He’s thirty-one, and no longer single. Or a virgin. And maybe he’s starting to have new dreams now.

His boyfriend Freddie, for example. He’s a dream come true! Smart, sweet, attentive. A great listener. Thoughtful. Selfless, effusive. Guillermo never doubts his worth or that he’s wanted and appreciated when it comes to Freddie. He’s never felt lonely with Freddie right next to him. He never has to beg for scraps of affection, or brace himself for sudden rejections. Freddie was open and explicit about his attention, right from the start. If anything, Freddie is too effusive, reducing Guillermo to blushing and smiling so hard it hurts on a regular basis with his open displays of affection, pet names, and easy I love yous.

And okay, sure, he doesn’t know everything about Guillermo’s life. But if that was a disqualifier, well, then Guillermo’d just have to die alone, because what sane person could he ever share the whole truth of himself with? Nice men don’t typically go for guys who spent their twenties aiding and abetting in hundreds of murders. And that’s what Guillermo wants, what he needs right now. Someone nice.

So why did Nandor have to choose now to start giving Guillermo the attention and appreciation he’s been begging for since he was nineteen years old?

And why can’t Guillermo stop looking forward to those evenings he spends with Nandor, collecting stolen moments alone?

~

It all starts to come to a head on a rainy night in February.

Freddie is five hours ahead, so they had their Valentine’s Day video chat earlier in the evening. Now here Guillermo is, with the whole night stretching out empty before him, alone on Valentine’s Day despite having a boyfriend for the first time in his life. He tries not to let it get him down, smiling at the text full of heart emojis Freddie sent before he went to bed and the flowers currently blooming in a vase on Guillermo’s night stand. They arrived without warning on the doorstep early that morning, along with a sweet card Guillermo currently has pinned to the wall above his bed.

He isn’t alone on Valentine’s Day, he reminds himself. Not really. He had his time with Freddie, long-distance though it was, and now he can go about his night and pretend as though nothing at all special is happening this evening.

But of course, it isn’t that simple. Guillermo’s life never is. When he opens the curtain that conceals his room he nearly has a heart attack, leaping back to put distance between himself and the looming figure standing in his doorway.

“Relax, Guillermo, it is only me! Yeesh!”

Guillermo pries his fingers off the stake he dove for and draws his hand out, leaving the weapon hidden beneath his pillow.

“You can’t sneak up on me like that, Master!” He grouses. Nandor gives him an apologetic smile.

“What did you need?” Guillermo asks. Immediately, he knows something is up when Nandor starts fidgeting with the ring on his index finger.

“I was wondering if you would accompany me this evening. On a…” he hesitates. “On a walk.”

“A walk? Guillermo asks, eyebrow raised.

“Fine, a hunt!” Nandor says. “I wish to have company as I hunt for dinner in the park, and I do not wish that company to be Laszlo or Nadja this evening. They are very annoying to be around this time of year.”

Ah. Right. That makes sense. Guillermo shudders to imagine what those two are like on Valentine’s Day, given how they are the rest of the year. Thankfully, he has never had to witness it firsthand.

Now that he thinks about it…he almost always ends up on some sort of solo errand with Nandor on Valentine’s Day. Maybe this is why? Nandor doesn’t want to third-wheel on Nadja and Laszlo’s dates?

He smiles up at Nandor, trying to parse the mixture of warmth and annoyance at the thought that they’ve had a tradition all this time and he didn’t even realize it.

“Sure, Master,” he says. “I’d love to go on a hunt with you.”

He tries not to enjoy the look on Nandor’s face at his response, or the way it makes his heart skip a beat. This is nothing out of the ordinary, he insists to himself. Not if they’ve done it every year as long as they’ve known each other. It’s like…their Thing. Their friendly, totally platonic thing that he has no reason to feel a twinge of guilt about.

He grabs that excuse with both hands, and goes to get his coat.

~

Spring is coming on early this year, the night unseasonably warm for mid-February. Guillermo actually steps back inside after feeling the temperature to toss his coat at the coat rack, knowing he’ll be sweating in the humid spring air in no time if he wears it. Other than that it’s a beautiful night, the nearly-full moon filtering down through a thin blanket of clouds, casting everything in shades of blue shadow and soft silver. The air in the park smells of melting snow, wet grass, and ozone, foretelling oncoming rain. But for now there’s only a slight breeze that teases at Guillermo’s collar, sending little tendrils of chill down his neck as he takes two steps to keep pace with each one of Nandor’s long strides.

Nandor has been uncharacteristically quiet since they entered the park, but the silence feels comfortable between them. Easy. He keeps stealing glances at Guillermo when he thinks Guillermo isn’t looking. He’s also sticking to Guillermo’s side like glue, their arms or fingers brushing with every other step. For a moment, Guillermo entertains the giddy thought that Nandor is trying to “accidentally” hold his hand, like they’re teenagers on a first date.

But this is not a date, he reminds himself again sternly. This is just Guillermo and Nandor in the park, hunting for Nandor’s dinner and getting away from their housemates’ infernal, eternal honeymoon phase on the most disgustingly romantic night of the year. A little tradition between friends.

He makes himself believe that right up until the moment Nandor’s cool fingers brush against his own, curl around them, and grab hold. He’s so surprised he almost trips over his own two feet, and Nandor has to catch him before he nosedives into the sidewalk.

“Careful, Guillermo!” Nandor says, returning him to an upright position but not removing his hands from Guillermo’s arms. “You do not want to plant your face!”

Guillermo laughs nervously, stepping back out of Nandor’s reach and looking anywhere but into his eyes.

“Thank you, Master,” he says softly, feeling a telltale heat creeping into his face. Nandor accepts his thanks without comment and they continue walking, the silence no less companionable, but perhaps a little more charged than before. It occurs to Guillermo, as they head deeper into the park, that they haven’t seen a single person so far on their walk, and aren’t likely to. Guillermo has been following Nandor’s lead, since the whole point was to hunt for dinner…but Nandor has skirted around all the areas where people usually congregate this late, sticking close to the tree-lined paths that are always deserted by sundown.

He turns to point this out to his master, but something stops him. Maybe the way Nandor’s head jerks to his left, as though listening for the sound of potential prey and not hiding the fact that he was once again staring at Guillermo.

“Master?” Nandor turns as if nothing happened.

“Mmm?” He asks, raising one eyebrow. Guillermo suppresses a sigh. He might as well push a little, while he has Nandor alone.

“Is something wrong?” And there it is. Nandor looks caught out, his eyes sliding away from Guillermo’s immediately, his shoulders going just a little tense.

“Wrong? Whatever could be wrong?” Guillermo stops walking.

“I don’t know…you tell me, Nandor!” That gets his attention. Nandor freezes and turns to him, looking shiftier than ever. He starts to fiddle with his rings.

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” Nandor insists, not meeting his eyes. Guillermo fights his rising frustration, determined not to let this turn into an argument. He takes a step toward Nandor, reaching out a hand to pat him on the arm. Nandor doesn’t pull away from the touch, but he doesn’t quite relax into it either.

“Master,” he says, in the tone he might use if that were a pet name instead of a title indicating deference. “Please, whatever it is, you can tell me. You’ve been off ever since you got back from your trip.” He steps closer, looks up into Nandor’s face. Nandor still won’t meet his eyes.

“Is it the wedding? Are you worried about–”

Nandor doesn’t let him finish. At mention of the wedding, a spasm of frustration passes across his face, breaking through his attempts at composure at last. He fists his hands in Guillermo’s sweater, pulling him so close that his cool breath ghosts over Guillermo’s lips when he speaks. Nandor’s eyes aren’t avoiding Guillermo’s anymore. He feels pinned by that gaze, unable to move as it searches his own.

“You know very well,” he says, his voice somewhere between a growl and a purr. “That I am not thinking about that wedding right now.” 

Guillermo opens his mouth to reply, to ask Nandor what his problem is, to demand that Nandor let him go. Something. But before he can make his lips form the words, there’s a crack of thunder that seems to split open the sky. One second it’s a quiet, humid spring evening…the next, Guillermo is almost immediately soaked to the skin by the deluge of rain that comes pouring down, hours ahead of schedule.

Nandor releases his sweater only to grasp his hand, pulling him along without pausing to explain. Guillermo goes willingly, too stunned by Nandor’s words and the heart-pounding feeling of those hands pulling him in to put up any protest, or ask where Nandor is taking them. He leaves the path behind entirely, ducking through a gap in the trees following nothing Guillermo can sense or see. Then he turns, guides them through yet another gap in the trees, and Guillermo sees a little white gazebo up ahead, tucked away in a circle of trees and bushes.

Nandor pulls him up the few steps into the shelter of the gazebo, the rain still falling like a crystalline curtain all around, its dull roar making the rest of the world feel muted and far away. Guillermo removes his steamed-up glasses and blinks up at Nandor through the curls plastered to his forehead.

Nandor is, of course, more unfairly beautiful than ever in the rain. His hair is a silken curtain, strands of it falling out of his careful little bun to hang in his face. There are drops of water caught in his lashes, and he’s laughing as he pushes Guillermo’s sopping hair out of his eyes with gentle fingers. The sound is quiet and sweet beneath the cacophony of the storm outside this little bubble he’s created for the two of them. It wraps around him like a well-loved blanket, soft and warm.

Guillermo wonders what Nandor sees when he looks down at him like that. Does he ever look at Guillermo and think words like beautiful? Do his hands ache sometimes with the effort of not reaching out to touch? He’s been so nice to Guillermo lately, and it’s throwing him for a loop.

Freddie was nice to Guillermo from the very beginning. Freddie is sweet, and caring, and trusting, and never, ever leaves Guillermo wondering where they stand. He's life and sunshine and gentle sanding on Guillermo’s rough edges. He’s everything Guillermo should want in a boyfriend, and he doesn't deserve what Guillermo already knows will happen. He doesn't.

But Nandor...

Nandor is that thrill of possibility when the clock strikes midnight, the wildness that wakes in even timid hearts beneath the full moon, the thing that makes Guillermo shiver in the dark…but not with fear. Never with fear. He has been the subject of every fantasy Guillermo has had since he was nineteen years old. His unrequited first love, or so he always thought. His unlikely best friend. He is frustrating and confusing and terrible at timing and infuriatingly gorgeous, and…

He’s everything. It’s as simple as that. Blood and endless possibility and death, all wrapped up in eternity.

Guillermo covers Nandor’s hand on his face with one of his own, watches as the laughter fades from his eyes, replaced with something warm and wanting. Time seems to slow to a crawl around them, suspending them in the moment before everything changes.

It's death Guillermo’s been running after, flirting with, begging for all these years. Death of the scared, odd, timid little boy with no friends and no future who let people walk all over him. He’d wanted to kill that part of himself, put it out of its misery. He’d wanted to burst from his own chest, strong and undying and new. He thought Nandor could give him that, once, but now he knows: Nandor didn’t need to give him anything. He only called to what was living inside Guillermo all along. That final transformation, when it arrives, will just be a formality.

Some will say he killed the man he was and left a monster free to walk around in his skin. But what those people will never understand is that Guillermo has always felt like he was something a little bit monstrous. That's what happens to you when you grow up being told that people who feel the things you feel, want the things you want, are something to hate and fear and kill wherever you can. You can believe them and destroy yourself, you can burn yourself out trying to prove that they’re wrong about you…or you can decide you deserve to be happy regardless.

That was the decision he made, when he followed Nandor into the night all those years ago. That was what he felt the first time he picked up a stake to defend his family, the first time he stood up to Nandor and fought him and won. It’s what he feels now, with Nandor still looking down at him in that soft, new way that tells Guillermo he’s being seen and adored for exactly what he is. Every day of his life he’s spent feeling at home in his own skin, Nandor was never far away.

How can a relationship of a few months compare to that? How can it be wrong to reach for Nandor now, when he has always been Nandor's? This is just the universe righting itself at last.

At least, that's what Guillermo tells himself as he tangles his free hand in Nandor's wet hair and pulls him down into a kiss, finally, finally. He won't even have the excuse of "he kissed me first" later, and he doesn't want it. This is his choice. It was always going to be his choice, and he can’t find it in himself to be sorry for that. 

Nandor’s hand on his face slides back, carding through his hair, his other arm wrapping around Guillermo’s waist to pull him in close before simply lifting him off his feet entirely.

He gasps as he’s swept up into strong arms that hold him as easily as if he weighs nothing. He wraps both hands around Nandor’s neck, biting at his bottom and eliciting a dark chuckle that vibrates against Guillermo’s mouth and travels down his spine like lightning.

Maybe it isn’t Nandor who’s been off since they got back, after all. Maybe it was him, trying to pretend this fire burning in his chest had gone out when it’s never burned brighter. It doesn’t matter now. The last year, Freddie, all Guillermo’s attempts to put distance between himself and Nandor…none of it matters.

The whole world is just this night and the rain and Nandor’s mouth on his, and Guillermo wouldn’t have it any other way.

[the-things-ive-seen]

Agents of the Glass #1 A New Recruit

Weird Old YA novel

This series was a fun read I had back in my teenage years. I was older then the demographic the series was intended, but I still enjoyed the series and thought it was fun. I was disappointed when no sequel was available and I pretty much forgot about it until now.

For context, the story is about a very nice and kind boy, who is not selfish in any way, being recruited by an organization that tracks people with good moral compasses and bad moral compasses, so he can save his friend and school, who bad moral compass people are brainwashing into being very selfish and self-centered and a little emo, from literal brainwashing.

I'm... trying not to skimp out on details. Andover (Andy) has a puppy that helps him on the mystery adventure. The glass he uses to find good and bad people is magical or something. He saves the school by breaking a disco ball. It's all very stupid in a genuinely enjoyable and fun way.

The reason I find myself talking about it is because the series reminds me about how much I've changed. The entire premise is that good people make good decisions and that you should do kind things without expectations or rewards. That everything would be better if everyone had a 'good' moral compass.

Man, that used to be an ideal way to see everything.

This is my current view of the world. Everyone is selfish, and not because they want to be, but because humanity is inherently selfish. It is objectively impossible to do something or want something without expectation or reward. Kindness is reward. Altruism is rewarding. Patience is rewarding. Being nice is literally done with the hope of getting others to be nice or more.

I can handle that worldview because, by embracing the fact that I'm already selfish, I can choose what I want and what I don't want. I don't want to hurt others because it makes me feel bad and I don't want them to feel bad because that would also make me feel bad. Stuff like that.

I used to like Agents of the Glass because it tried to tackle philosophy in a kid's book, and I really appreciate that. Now I just see the superficial aspects of it, like the big bad group of bad guys making more bad guys and the brainwashing people in a story about moral philosophy.

There's nothing really wrong with the story, but I suddenly don't know about recommending it to people. I remember when I was a kid, and someone told me people are inherently nice and kind. And I spent years wondering if that was impossible for me, because rarely was I ever able to do something so blatantly kind, like returning a bag of untrackable money that fell out of a bank truck. I don't want to recommend this to someone impressionable, someone who thinks they have to hold themselves to this unimaginable standard, only to grow up believing it was impossible to reach.

Well, there hasn't been a sequel or update 9 years now, so I guess I'm the last one talking about it anyways.

[celestiamour]

‧₊˚✧ ❛[ to have & to hold ]❜

ft. logan howlett x f! reader — xmen, marvel

╰₊✧ you allow him to possess you entirely, body & soul┊1.2k words

setting: logan (2017) old man! logan contains: fluffy smut!! dom logan & sub reader┊age gap, virginity loss, receiving oral & fingering, unprotected piv, abrupt ending

➤ author's note: i’m sorry for this being short and the abrupt ending, i’m just so tired from college because my substitute professor is a bitch and i have to work twice as hard just to get a 70% T-T the single mother reader is ending up to have three parts so look forward to that when kinktober is over teeheehee

your old man isn’t sure what kind of small deed of goodwill he must have done decades ago to deserve you, but it makes him perform more of them in his day-to-day life thanks to the existence of the biggest blessing of his miserable life. every time he comes back after a long day of work and dealing with customers of varying irritation levels, there you are patiently waiting for him no matter how late into the night it was. you help take off his suit jacket and tie in well-rehearsed moments, whistling a little old-timey tune on your lips and asking him how his day was.

he’s never really been a talkative guy, so most of the time he’ll just say it was fine and leave it at that, but occasionally, he’s willing to complain and vent about something that happened that got on his nerves. all the while, you’re finishing off a freshly cooked meal with garnish and serving it to him with a smile, listening to everything he has to say and massaging his weary muscles. 

usually, however, you’re the one doing all of the talking, telling him about what happened today at work with that annoying co-worker and how you got invited to the wedding of an old friend from high school. he settles himself in the worn leather recliner and feels himself relax with your voice almost acting like a form of meditative music, and even if he doesn’t look like it, he listens to every word— you can tell because he doesn’t turn the newspaper page once and asks little questions like “who?” “when did that happen?” “is that so?” instead of just humming deafly.

he doesn’t even remember how you ended up moving in with him and acting like his housewife, giving him a taste of domestic life he didn’t realize he was yearning for. you’re just a stubborn little lady, he guesses, remaining persistent about how much you liked him despite his claims that you should steer clear of a bad man like him. he’s glad it ended up that way though, he couldn’t imagine where he would be without you by his side if you listened to him and went off with a human your own age who didn’t have the shackles he did. 

there’s always a bit of lingering guilt regarding the last part, worried that he’s holding you back from fully experiencing life like a ball and chain bound to your ankle, but you were an adult who was mature enough to make your own decisions. if you didn’t want this, you wouldn’t have spent over a year trying to pursue it with someone as headstrong as him. 

sometimes logan dozes off in that armchair, allowing you to drape a blanket over him and place a kiss on his forehead with a whisper of sweet dreams for the cherry on top. sometimes you coax him to join you in bed where it’s more comfortable, tangling your legs with his and clinging onto his frame like he was a giant living teddy bear. maybe he’ll do the same if he’s feeling particularly soft tonight instead of sleeping on his back like a soldier on active duty would. both of you always get a night of better sleep in the presence of the other, holding onto the dead weight of the other’s still body, feeling the slow rise and fall of their chest, and listening to their steady heartbeat.

yet your relationship had never gone past heated makeout sessions, not until tonight when you pleaded with him so sweetly to help you relieve the ache between your legs that you couldn’t fix yourself.

he’s hesitant at first, surprised at the slight and unfamiliar feeling of fear tugging at his consciousness. is this really okay? is a lovely angel like you really asking a dirty old man like him with the blood of dozens on his hands to be your first experience of something so intimate? he’s profoundly aware that he’s never been a good man, but maybe he would start now and let you go in your own direction…

before he could say anything, you reach out to kiss him, so tender and full of adoration to ease his worries. the way you look at him while gasping his name and making pleas for him is almost overwhelming with how blown-out your pupils are from need, looking at him like he was the only other soul in the world— like he was the only other soul in the universe who was meant to complete you.

he asks you one more time if you’re sure, absolutely sure, before taking the opportunity to 

taste the sweetness of your arousal and quickly realize that he doesn’t know if he’ll ever get enough anymore, scraping at the soft skin of your inner thighs with his beard although the pressure in your core overpowered the feeling of friction. your hands find their way into his graying hair and tug on them whenever he swirls his tongue around your engorged clit, making him groan and repeat the motion until you gush all over his mouth.

then he drags a calloused finger along your folds, collecting your slick and instinctively licking his lips at the sight of it despite just eating you out seconds before. his eyes aren’t really what they used to be, he briefly wishes he had his glasses on so that he could watch your virgin pussy take his index followed by his middle. even if he can’t quite see it clearly, he can certainly feel your walls pulsating at the intrusion as you let out a breathy whine.

you feel a bit dizzy already from your first proper orgasm, much less from the pleasurable stretch of his fingers starting to move in a scissoring motion as your cheeks burned in embarrassment from how intently he was staring like a man hypnotized. if you were in your right mind, you would have asked him to quit it, but all you were focused on was the unfamiliar feeling of tension in your torso while he praised how tight you were.

logan is exhibiting more gentleness with you than he’s ever been with anything in all his two hundred years, scared of hurting you and treating you like a fragile porcelain doll. you basically need to beg him to fuck you right because you worry you’ll be far too exhausted to continue if he continues like this, already reaching peak at least three times now and needing to pull at his belt to free his throbbing erection.

kiss him when he lines himself up with you and slowly pushes in, allowing you to feel every inch of him and taste yourself on his lips. claw long scratches into his back as you take him, allowing his regenerative powers slowly take effect yet still being able to leave lasting marks in his skin for him to admire the next day. tell him you love him when he finally bottoms out in you, watching him through teary eyes as he rests his forehead on yours, and listen to his beating heart open up to you as he tells you he does too.

[shepcdr]

that's at least one person who doesn't know everything that the news outlets have reported on Commander Shepard. It's somewhat refreshing to hear; his reputation from his Alliance days make it difficult to go anywhere most days without someone — or everyone — knowing exactly who he is. ( His Alliance days ... that sounds too nostalgic for his tastes. Though he hasn't been Alliance in over two years, there's little accounting for that transition when he'd spent those months in comatose. He's still getting used to the idea of having tendered his resignation in death. But, still... ) Those two years of nonexistence and of being reconstructed from a pile of flesh have done little to dim the public's memory. A few scars clearly weren't enough to dissuade most passers-by. Complete facial reconstruction was probably in order if he wanted to dock anywhere in peace... he wasn't that desperate yet, though. Yet.

For now, he offers only an unhelpful shrug. There's little that he stands to gain from recounting the trivialities of his life to her. Certainly not her trust, especially when the majority of his information was publicly available so long as she has a working extranet connection. Not to mention whatever they've got on him in those Cerberus files. It's a better use of their time to let her dig it all out on her own.

"Mom must've been proud that her boy made it into the Alliance, huh?"

His hand twitches, and his spoon scrapes with a sharp screech across the bottom of the bowl. He pokes at the gumbo, pushing enough aside to catch sight of the deep scratch he's made in the metal. He ignores it, scooping up another bite. After just a brief pause: " Eclipse, huh? Guess that's my best option after we scorched up the ex co-executive officer of the Blue Suns. "

She was prodding at him. Testing him. Let her — there wasn't much to uncover there, anyway. As it was, he'd talked more than enough about family with Alenko. ( And that was only because the man had caught him off guard ... in that bizarre and alarmingly candid way that only Kaidan could ever manage. )

' Is that why you're here? Because of your family? '

' I never met my parents. If they wanted to see me, they'd have contacted me after that mess a few years back. '

' Ah, that's right. Torfan. Messy business. '

Messy enough that it plastered every news outlet on Earth and, from what Shepard had heard, even on the Citadel. Whoever his parents were, they wouldn't have known him from his name alone, of course — along with the task of his entire care, they'd left that matter up to someone else, too — but he hadn't made it difficult for them. They'd really only needed to remember that they'd abandoned an infant, twenty four years earlier, to weather the worst of a shoddy downtown district. The news had been more than happy to run with that line of gossip.

( In the end, no one had reached out. Not for that reason, anyway. Though there had been plenty other feedback about his methods and his disregard for human-batarian politics, and his perceived disregard for life, in general ....  Fine by him. He'd had other things to worry about, and this was enough proof that he had no business prying into an abandonment he'd always suspected was entirely intentional.

( The only thing that mattered was that he was lucky enough to have been found. To have had the privilege of having been held, of being given a name, of having lived at all ... for a moment, he wonders: Would Chana have been proud of him?

( — but that doesn't really matter, now, does it? )

Convincing the Council? He lets out a snort of laughter at the idea, shaking his head. " It's all public image — same political bullshit as always. They don't care about the Reapers either, even after everything they've seen. Even after one of them hit the Citadel. Who cares about strategic leadership and galactic preservation when the Council can spend their time burying their heads up each others' asses instead? "

As Shepard asked if she thought he wasn't cut out for the lifestyle, she narrowed her eyes in thought, as if reconsidering her words. "I'm still figuring you out", she noted. She didn't know shit about him whereas he had probably dug up all the files he could find on her. "The lifestyle can get tiring, though", she admitted, unsure why she was bringing it up. She refused to elaborate on it, however - the thoughts of how excruciating the constant fear of someone stabbing you into the back never formed into words.

They were my ticket to get out and off-planet. Damn, did that sound familiar. For as much pride she seemed to have in what she did, in what she had become, someone intimidating, powerful, independent - it had never been a choice for her. Not even remotely. For people with a normal, safe upbringing, it was easy to look down on people like her and judge them blindly without having the faintest clue of what it's like to spend a day not having anything to eat or anywhere safe to sleep. When it came to survival, people were willing to cross some lines - more than they would have thought once they found themselves in a situation where their lives were actually on the line. Jack was no exception. And neither was Shepard, picking the risky Alliance lifestyle to escape whatever shit life he had. As she took another bite of her meal, he mentioned that being biotic had convinced them.

"I guess mom must've been proud that his boy made it into the Alliance, huh? I hear that the Eclipse is happy to recruit human biotics, no matter what their background is. No tests needed."

A jab. Jack knows he might not have a mom, or maybe not a mom that was proud of him, given that he mentioned a rough upbringing. But damn, does she like hitting sore spots sometimes - it made you get a better read on people. And she wonders if he would've taken the merc path had the Alliance not accepted him.

At the mention of batarians and pirates, it was her turn to let out a huff. "Batarians are to blame for a lot of shit for sure, but the Alliance must be beyond stupid if they think it's slavers and pirates. They probably don't want to cause too much public panic. I'd love to see you try to convince the Council though."

[choctalksalot]

@tipsygnostalgy HELLO HI UH THIS IS AN INCOMPLETE VERSION. i snipped out some bits because im throwing down anxiety in.the ring even posting this. im frankly a little embarrassed i can't give everything tonight even what i have down as okay to upload is not my top form at all, im just really really excitedaaaa i'll probably reblog the lovers post with a complete version eventually, but for now this is the best thanks i can offer for the nigh lethal dose of dopamine you've shot into my skull.

apologies in advance for my verbosity it's chronic

im posting dirk's half first because i definitely talked too much on jake's. it's almost double the length. i think it's partially because ive chewed through dirk so much i can make it through a considerable amount of his sections without dissolving completely. and i'm impatient!

note: my interactions with philosophy are limited to the two month bonanza i spent when i was 14 which i barely remember due to my general memory issues because my philosophy teacher was shit at his job and i took matters into my own hands, and uh. dirkjake! and one character from one other fandom. yeah. i am a nerd who loves breaking shit down, i love information, and i love philosophy nonetheless but i am So unqualified to be doing any of this

entry 1:

can i scream? i'm screaming. out loud. in real life. holy two fucks and a half. what do i even say it's So Good. dirk could excuse his inadequacy with the minute comfort that the brother he idolizes is functionally perfect in a way he could never conceivably live up to be. everything is shattered when he meets a version of him who is on the same footing. Yes. i literally have a post typed up about it.

im copypasting a small segment here but it's so close to exactly what you said im almost unnerved. mostly excited tho i am SHAKING

the most devastating thing to know is that dave is just a guy. dave strider, 16 year old. human and flawed and still enough in ways dirk never could be. what he did for his team his friends the things dirk couldn't, he is made to serve and no matter how hard dirk tries he cannot live up to be the same because this is not his role.

words? words. that's so much many words.

this is not his class. he is doomed to be selfish, his thread is already in the tapestry and he falls right into the path no matter how much he fights it. what can be counted as him indirectly the plot was created at the service/detriment to himself (hal) and what is himself directly aiding his party is in fact orchestrated by other more helpful, more selfless people and he hates it so much.

YES IT'S EXACTLY THAT RIGHT THERE RIGHT RIGHT THERE dirk is so so So aware that he is selfish that he cannot help the people he cares about oh so deeply and the knowledge that dave on his own, after being hurt so much "more" than dirk direct abuse he was able to pull through, he was still enough. shit man !!!!!!!

funnily enough i think dirk might have been able to learned new skills to do with his classpect besides the passive narrative bend it has on everything he does to destroy. this is entirely theory but your classpect and your development with it helps you develop as a person. it's like a muscle if you think about it; the more you use it, the closer you get to its core, the more you learn to bend ithad he tried to use it (resisting the urge to say like dave did because that will stomp on the shattered pieces of my heart) i think he would have gotten a bit more control over his position in the narrative if it makes sense.

ironically, i think learning how to direct the destructice force his classpect gives him might have allowed him to get a hold on said narrative bending, and stop unintentionally wrecking shit. but doing Anything as a prince is the last thing dirk wants.

(god it's so tragic this theory is so tragic without it dirk was always doomed to the inevitable but with it he could have done better in his eyes nevermind that destruction of selves isn't always bad if you know how to direct it, see bgd @ aranea, but it literally requires him to take the path he's trying to hard to fight. you define how your classpect changes you. oh dirk.)

i think a lot about this if you can't tell

FUCK IM GETTING OFF TRACK. STOP OKAY CAN THE THEORIES FUCK.

[insert 2 paragraphs more of me screaming about the katana line hally lieu yeah]

entry 2:

HAL MY FAVOURITE KENTUCKY FRIED FUCKER HELLOOOO HELLO OOHOHOGO

god my old hyperfixation on deep learning models is coming back to bite me in the jungular. delightful slash gen

dirk does love his control mhmm mhmm god im gonna go dig up that picture my friend sent me once one sec

that's who he wants to be. so badly

he Hates not understanding shit prides himself on being the (im quite sure it's part of how he gauges his use. he has a very utilitarian view on it. being the one to pull the strings thus being useful by virtue of organizing their success. proceeds to eat gcatshit trying)

i think a part of why dirk insists so fucking much that hal is Not him and Not alive could be one of two 2 reasons, beyond the already tangled pumpkin patch of conflict.

1) not taking credit for hal's contributions. the fact that hal has served the team without dirk's direct orders + dirk's objective pride about being the puppetmaster, he wouldn't want this tied to him

i doubt this one honestly, it's incoherently explained on its own because it's really late but also it just there's a lot of holes in the logic here. the second one breaks my heart a little:

2) if he accepts hal to be sentient, he has to accept he has created a new conscious person. he cannot cling to any notion that he did help his friends, he created an intelligent AI and that tool he made in turn was used to aid and guide his friends. he is still in control here. he still helped, he built that bot and it helped.

right?

[cutoff point 2. im rushing. im so sorry ajsjaj]

entry 3:

killing me

"He likes emotion, he likes people, he just wants to be completely perfect when interacting with them so that he’ll never lose them." YES. YES. YES YES YES yes okay yes exactly Yes

this is one of the things i headbutt against in dirk fandom stuff a lot (even borzoi's take once i think correct me if im wrong) it's the fact that i think dirk likes people. he's been alone his whole life yet he delights in dialectics and dialogue, he's socially awkward and introverted but he's not socially averse. i am not gonna let myself run over the hills and far away with this tangent but i am hushdhsj AAAAA

what he doesn't like is feeling inadequate interacting with people. he doesn't like being inadequate in general he reflects on his flaws near constantly and the biting reminder of his alternate selves' sins in the back of his mind doesn't help, but with people he Cares About interacting with them he does not like not knowing what to do, he does not like being unable to navigate these situations. he likes being human and experiencing emotions and connection and he hates the fact that it requires error to the trials, he just wants to be entirely logical while still having a metaphorical right brain totally not a big thing to ask for ahshdhskjrh[explodes]

AHAAAAA SISYPHUS YYYES YES YRS EYSBEYDHHWHEHSHEHD FUCK YES oh man i am much more a theatrical literature person so this is ringing off bells in the wrong direction than intended but im reading reading reading chewing

"upon facing the question of the absurd in the fullest extent, one can either choose to kill themselves or make a ‘reply.’" hogh

two roads: become god, or kill yourself. jesus fuck that's a screwed up twitter thread if ive seen one. and of course he picks the secret third option: Both. absolute DiStri Moment™

fuckitweballkind that's joining my regular vocabulary holy shit your language is amazing

this feels like an extension of dirk's dilemma between subjective experience with objective control; coming to grapple with the unpredictability of his absurdist existence and his solution being to take control of the narrative entirely. i feel like there are a lot more dots i could connect here. i will sleep on this

[addition i feel is important even though it has minimal connection as of right Now:

roxykisser put out something about classpects and the ult self being the literal narrative very recently and how they tie into the narrative and it's That it's that. my take is partly influenced by past fandoms but it has always ruined me that in order to god tier, quite literally, you're killing the person you were before the embrace the narrative role. you the actor are giving up your freedom to the performance, and the closer you get to your classpect the more you embrace the narrative. in return, you gain more flexibility and control in said narrative, more ways to use your classpect. to become the ult self is to become the role. you kill the person, you become the role, but at the cost of your self, your mind may be driven by the consciousness of an amalgamation of every You, but your core is now your role.

im incorporating and altering this with my consumption]

really hope this is like at least mildly entertaining i have no idea what im doing but!!!! I Am So Abnormal About Everything i love this i love you i love love this so Much

[ppersonna]

keep me warm - jhs | m

cause you keep me and nice and you keep me warm. wanna feel you on me, can't wait to get back there again - texas sun,  khruangbin

✹ summary- camping is always a great time when you’re with your friends, but even better with your boyfriend, hoseok.

✹ rating- explicit/18+/nsfw

✹ pairing- jung hoseok x reader

✹ word count- 3.9k - she’s a short lil quick dip ;)

✹ genre- smut. lol thats it. cant say there is much plot here besties!!! but there is big brother namjoon, brothers best friend hoseok, established relationship!!!

✹ warnings- explicit smut, cockwarming, dirty talk, penetrative sex, unprotected sex (be smart pls!), sex in a tent, a little exhibitionism???, fingering, finger sucking, creampie, lil bit of cum play but not really, hoseok is a dirty dirty boy and i love that about him tbh

✹ a/n- helloooo. i’ve been sitting on this and finally finished it!! thank you to @kimtaehyunq​ for the sexy banner and beta reading and general support. i was inspired to write this fic when i went camping but pls be warned that sex in a tent is not as sexy as this fic makes it seem 🤕 ILY BESTIES!!! lemme know your thots!!!

The annual Kim Family camp out is an event you haven’t missed since your seventh birthday when you had chicken pox. It’s an outing that has gained notoriety among your friends, a monumental yearly occasion that takes months of prep in advance. What started as a simple camp out with your parents and your older brother Namjoon has become an event with extended friends and family members and significant others involved. Your parents handed down the event to you and your brother, claiming their older age keeps them from being able to keep up with “the youth” for an entire weekend, instead preferring to join for a big cookout dinner, then head back to the comfort of their tempurpedic mattress and functional plumbing back at home.

Not that you minded.

This year was different. Your cousins, Taehyung and Seokjin, would join with Tae’s girlfriend Maggie. Your childhood best friend Jimin would attend as well, bringing along his lover of the month, a tall and leggy brunette. Namjoon invited his best friend Yoongi, who brought along your mutual friend Jungkook. 

And most importantly, 

Jung Hoseok would be there. Your boyfriend.

Hoseok is no stranger to the Kim Family camp out. He’s been attending since he was sixteen after meeting Namjoon in high school jazz band and instantly becoming friends. You can vividly remember the older high school boy making sure you never felt left out in a group of gangly teenagers—bringing you along on hikes, and fishing, and general mischief.

It’s where you first fell for him.

Every year after that, you pined for Hoseok from afar at every outing. You’d lie awake at night in your shared tent with Jimin, desperately wishing the body next to you was Hoseok, wrapping his arms around you to keep you warm in the forest's chill.

Your relationship with Hoseok flourished after high school, when he was unknowingly in your chemistry class in college. Hours were spent pouring over textbooks together, cramming for exams and practice labs with a familiar friend.

Then came the coffee dates, the movie nights, the dinners. Hoseok went from an occasional study buddy to someone you talked to hourly.

The day he kissed you is a day you’ll never forget. 

Soft lips pressing onto yours over a bubbling beaker of magnesium, his hands cupping your cheeks as he drew you in so close, as if he couldn’t get enough of you.

“Be mine,” he whispered. “Please, be mine.”

And you’ve been his ever since.

“Aish! Don’t burn my marshmallow, ___!” Namjoon scolds you, jerking your long stick away from the fire as he sits next to you. “I hate burned marshmallows.”

Annoyance bubbles up in your throat as you roll your eyes at your brother.

“I wouldn’t have to do this for you if you knew how to roast a marshmallow without starting a wildfire.”

Namjoon, ever the strong-headed big brother, glares at you. “That was an accident and you know it.”

Hoseok chuckles beside you, resting a hand on your leg as you murmur expletives about Namjoon and a certain stick under your breath.

“I’ll eat your burned one, babe,” he says with a smile. “I love your burned mallows.”

Hoseok’s charm is a balm to all your wounds. He easily melts the ice around your heart and soothes your frayed nerves with a simple look.

“Thanks, Hobi,” you reply. 

“Please, no talk of my sister’s mallows,” Namjoon winces. “It’s bad enough you’re dating in front of me. In front of my salad.”

Namjoon doesn’t mean it. He knows how deeply you love him, and he trusts Hoseok not to hurt his one and only sibling. But it doesn’t mean he’s not above rubbing it in your face that he was Hoseok’s friend first.

Jungkook laughs from where he’s sitting, roasting a hotdog over the crackling flame on Jimin’s lap (“There weren’t any seats left!”). 

“At least he’s not tossing her salad in front of you.”

Yoongi slaps the younger man’s hotdog out of his hand and into the fire, making Jungkook whine and pout petulantly.

“Don’t be gross,” Yoongi scolds and Namjoon nods at his friend in solidarity.

Hoseok smirks and licks his fingers clean of the sticky marshmallow. “Besides, we didn’t bring nearly enough lube for any anal play tonight.”

“Hoseok!” Namjoon screeches and you bashfully bury yourself into your sweater. The rest of the group explodes in laughter while your brother holds his head in his hands, lamenting the day you two met.

Hoseok pulls you into his lap, grinning as he kisses at your ear while maintaining firm eye contact with your brother, eager to make him as uncomfortable as possible.

While you’re relaxing into the warmth of your boyfriend’s body and enjoying the laughter of all your closest friends, Hoseok nips at your ear and whispers gently.

“I love you.”

“I’m so cold.” A shiver wracks through you as you burrow down deeper into your sleeping bag. The night air becomes increasingly frosty and you can easily see your breath in the dim light from the moon. “It wasn’t supposed to be this cold.”

Hoseok scoots his bag closer to yours, rubbing over the meshy material in an attempt to warm you.

“I thought about bringing another blanket before we left…,” he sighs. “But Namjoon told me I was being ‘a boy scout’.”

You bark out a frigid laugh, teeth chattering as you try to snuggle into the warmth of Hoseok’s hand.

Pleadingly, you ask. “Can we share? Maybe if we zip the sleeping bags together we can make one big extra-large sleeping bag?”

Hoseok nods. “Good idea.”

He quickly gets to work as soon as you unzip your sleeping bag and move off of it, allowing him to take it and zip the two bags together. He spreads it back out over the soft padded bed once it’s completed and he slips into his end before beckoning you over.

“Come to me, my little popsicle.”

The fabric swishes and slides as you move into the combined bag, wrapping your cold limbs around the warmth of your boyfriend’s body.

“Holy shit, you really are cold,” he exclaims with a grunt when your ice-cold hands seek the toasty expanse of his toned belly. “Fuck.”

“Sorry.” Your apology is anything but apologetic as the high temperature of Hoseok’s body quickly oozes into you. “You feel so good.”

A moan slips out of your lips, pleased at the warmth that your boyfriend radiates as you seek every spot on his body that radiates heat. 

“Hold on,” he whispers. 

Quickly, he rids himself of his shirt and tugs at the hem of your own.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” You gasp as the icy air billows under your shirt. “Why would I get naked right now?”

He huffs. “Trust me?”

He kisses the pout on your lips, then pulls away with your shirt in his hands.

“Skin-to-skin contact is the easiest way to warm someone up. Body heat, you know. Textbook boy scout stuff.”

He twists your body around to spoon into him, back pressed against his ultra-warm chest, making you gasp once you feel the radiating heat spreading across you.

“Oh…” you sigh as you sink into his embrace. “You were right.”

Hoseok smirks as he wraps his arms around you and buries his face in the nape of your neck—lips pressing gentle, warm kisses to the column below your ear.

“Told you so.”

Your body instinctively presses further into his body, desperate for the warmth that the human-heater seems to emit. His breath hitches as he feels your ass press hard against his lap, cock stirring at the proximity.

Hoseok’s hands run up and down your arms, warming each inch of your skin with his palms. He spreads heat wherever he touches, and your eyes flutter closed as he works his gentle, warming massage into your frozen skin. He is the epitome of sunshine, both in body and demeanor, always able to brighten the coldest chills with one look, one touch. 

When he’s satisfied that you’re thoroughly warmed where he’s worked, his hands move from your arms and shoulders around to your belly and up to your chest. You feel like mush under his grazing touch, gasping and biting your lip as he tugs gently at your perky nipple. It’s a live wire to his cock. 

“Fuck,” he groans as he feels himself harden. He kisses at your shoulder as he continues to palm at your chest, taking the fullness of your breasts into his whole hand and massaging it gently.

“Hobi…” you warn, feeling the desire between your thighs build. “Don’t start what you can’t finish.”

He chuckles against your skin, breathing hot air over your neck and shoulder, tightening his grip on your nipple for a quick pinch that makes you squeak.

“Who says we can’t finish?”

His voice is low—that deep, sensual tone that sets your tummy aflame with desire. His dick is pressed against your ass, twitching with need as it thickens in his pants.

His hand moves from your chest, rubbing soft, sweet circles on your stomach as he warms the cool flesh around your belly button, before traveling down to where your sleeping pants sit low on your hips.

“We c-can’t,” you meekly attempt to fight back, remain strong, but the warmth of his body and the need growing within you is quickly winning your internal battle of morality. “My cousin is next to us.”

Hoseok smirks as he slips underneath your pants, hand diving in between your thighs to rub at your soft mound. He’s close, so close to slipping inside of you, and you squeeze your eyes tight at the overwhelming urgency you’re feeling for his fingers inside you.

“You think Tae and Maggie are fast asleep right now?” He asks. 

As if on cue, you hear soft giggles coming from the next tent over, giggles that sound suspiciously like Taehyung’s girlfriend.

“Tae is really not that funny,” Hoseok says as he nibbles at your ear. “Let me warm you, baby.”

He seeks your consent, desperate to make you feel good but not willing to further his actions. 

“Mmm, maybe just a little more.”

His fingers seek purchase further, finally diving into your folds. He gasps into your ear as he feels how wet you’ve become from his ministrations, stroking gently up and down your slick slit and circling over your clit.

“Fuck, look at you,” he nearly whines into your ear. “So wet for me.”

“Please, Hobi,” you whimper. You’re not sure what you’re begging for, what you need, but all you want is for him to not stop, never stop. 

“You want me to keep going, don’t you?” He asks, teasingly circling the pad of his finger on your swollen clit. 

Unable to use your words, you nod. The light pressure on your clit has your thighs trembling and Hoseok thrills at the palpable desperation you’re feeling.

“Are you going to be quiet for me?” He asks, slowly moving his finger down before breaching into your channel. “Can’t be waking up the entire camp.”

Using your hand, you clamp over your mouth as your boyfriend's finger fucks into your hole, slowly and achingly gentle but with purpose. A shiver runs down his spine as he watches you try to hold yourself back. You’re not normally quiet—he makes it his mission to get you to whine and cry and yell his name as loud as he can when you’re at home. But the thrill of keeping you quiet while he sinks himself into you makes his body hum with want.

“Good girl,” he cooes as he introduces another finger inside you, scissoring you open with his lengthy digits. “Better stay quiet for me or I won’t let you cum.”

He quickly removes his fingers from your channel, making you whine behind your hand, which he silences with a soft tut.

“No complaining. Be good.”

He continues his journey to disrobe you, sliding off your pants and panties. He throws them to the other side of the tent where your luggage lies, no care about you wearing them the rest of the night. He follows suit with his own pants, swiftly pulling the material off his legs and allowing his throbbing cock to spring free. You desperately want to touch it, feel it in your hands and in your mouth, but he keeps you facing away from him, cock fully out of your reach.

“Such a perfect little ass,” he murmurs to himself as he admires your backside before sliding back into the big spoon position. The feeling of his hot, hard length against your bare ass makes you mewl with desire, teasingly rubbing against it.

“Fuck, Hobi,” you gasp as he slips his hands back to the apex of your thighs, scissoring into you again and warming his icy fingers in the heat of your cunt. 

“Shhh,” he reminds. “Let me give your mouth something to do, yeah?”

He pulls his dripping fingers from within your walls and brings them to your mouth. You eagerly open wide, obedient and desperate for something to take your mind off the growing neediness your body is throbbing with.

Watching you suck your own wet slick off his fingers makes Hoseok’s cock ache with need. The tip is weeping with pre-cum, as if crying out to bury itself within your walls and never retreat. It twitches as your tongue swirls over his digits, teasing him and reminding him how well you can suck his cock.

“Shit, baby,” he gasps. “I’m going to bust right now if you’re not careful.”

He pulls his fingers from your mouth and uses the spit-slick hand to lift your leg enough for him to line his cock up at your hole.

“You want to warm my cock for me, baby?” He nips at your shoulder as he rubs the bulbous head along your slit. “God, I want to be in this pretty little cunt all night. Can you keep me warm tonight?”

“P-please, baby,” you gasp as the tip prods at your entrance, threatening to breach. He preemptively moves his free hand back to your mouth, covering it gently to help keep your noisy mouth muffled. 

“Such a polite girl.” Hoseok’s lips skim over your neck and ear, nibbling at your lobe as he finally, blessedly, spears himself into you. 

“Fuuuck,” he whines as he drops his forehead against your soft hair, shuddering as he buries himself to the hilt. “You’re so fucking tight.”

Nothing compares to the feeling of Hoseok sinking himself into you. It’s like the first time, every time. He clings to you desperately, as if he wants to bury his entire self in between your thighs and never retreat. Being connected to your boyfriend like this, not knowing where he ends and you begin, is the most dazzling aspect of sex. Your heart beats in overtime, breath short and heavy, as he holds you like you’re his only worthy possession in life.

He doesn’t move, doesn’t withdraw his cock and plunge back into you like his body is begging him to. He wants nothing more than to roll you onto your stomach and fuck you until you’re screaming his name for the entire national forest to hear, but he doesn’t. 

“Mmm, Hobi, please,” you whine against his palm, kitten licking the flesh there to encourage him to move. It almost works, almost spurs him into action, but he remains flush against you and unmoving.

“Just trying to keep you warm, baby,” he teases. “Skin-to-skin contact.”

He can feel your body tense and shake around him, core tightening as you’re desperate to feel the friction you desire. It makes Hoseok nearly growl into your ear, clutching you tighter in his grasp.

“Now you want to fuck me?” He teases into your ear. “I thought you were tired?”

A pathetic whimper is the only response you can muster. You’re desperate for more, aching for his thick cock to thrust in and out of you. His hand slips down your body, caressing each inch of your skin before landing on your clit, circling the nub teasingly.

“I bet you could cum like this,” he breathes as he slowly swirls his finger. “With my cock stuffed inside you.”

He’s right—your body is already reacting to the stimulation and you can feel your body clenching around his unmoving length deep inside you. It’s prodding you in just the right spot that makes you keen, core desperate for some movement. His added touch makes you whine into his palm still covering your mouth.

“That’s right, baby,” he praises as he bites at your earlobe. “Such a needy little pussy, so desperate for me you could cum just from feeling me inside you.”

The pressure rises, stomach tightening as you feel your body near the edge of bliss. You can feel your thighs trembling as Hoseok whispers and nibbles at your ear, fingers working your clit with just the right rhythm to make you see stars.

His finger swirls with delicate speed, playing you like the nimble musician he is.

“Look at you, I’ve only started using my fingers and you’re already about to cum for me.”

Holding back your desperate moans, your eyes nearly roll back in their sockets as you feel your body build closer and closer to the blissful end that it craves. Having him buried deep inside you with none of the delicious friction is driving you crazy, and the speed of his fingers on your clit makes you keen for anything he can give you. You’re so close, so *fucking close* to your climax that your vision blurs.

Suddenly, the telltale sound of another tent zipper opening rips through the relative silence of the campground and Hoseok stills his finger on you.

“Shhh,” he warns, lifting his head to listen carefully. 

The sound comes from your left, Jungkook’s tent, and you squeeze your eyes tight and whimper into Hoseok’s palm at the ache in your belly. Jungkook stumbles around the campground before he makes his way out, and Hoseok smirks as the footsteps get quieter.

“That was close, baby,” he says as his finger teases over your throbbing clit. “We don’t want Jungkookie to find his friend like this, don’t we?”

You shake your head, body trembling as his finger provides not-enough stimulation on your tortured clit.

He keeps quiet and continues his feather-light touch, pleased at the unexpected orgasm denial and the way it makes your cunt clench around his cock as if coaxing it to give you what you need most.

“You better not be loud,” he warns. “You don’t want to ruin our fun, right?”

Agonizing moments later, Jungkook’s footsteps return and he zips himself back into his tent and quickly heads back to sleep. He remains stilled inside you, listening intently for any sounds of the others awakening.

After minutes of desperate silence and your needy cunt aching for your boyfriend to move, he rolls you onto your stomach with him on top, cock still buried deep within you.

“You’ve done so well,” he praises as he leans down and licks a fat stripe on the back of your neck, making you shiver. “Take your reward like a good girl.”

Without warning, Hoseok grips at your hips and starts a brutal pace, fucking you fast and hard while staying quiet. It feels so good, better than the feeling of him being still inside you. Nothing can compare to his thickness spearing into you, stretching you wide. The ridges of his cock feel like heaven from the position he has you in, and you can feel the stimulation building upon your ruined, curtailed orgasm from earlier.

He quickly rams a piece of the sleeping bag into your mouth, forcing you to be quiet as he nearly impales you open, burying himself as deep into your womb as he can before retreating and thrusting in for more. You can tell he’s close by the way his movements lose finesse, the way his hands grip your thick hips as if he’s grasping a lifeline. 

“Gonna fill you up,” Hoseok whispers harshly, his voice taking on the rough edge that makes your body react. “You want my cum, baby?”

Your mouth is full, but your head nods quickly and you arch your back to let him reach even deeper inside of you, desperate to get yourself and him off simultaneously.

“Shit,” he groans as he feels your body accept him even further at this new angle, your ass high in the air. He grips it, enjoys the way the flesh jiggles in his grip and with each thrust. “Cum on my cock, baby, please.”

Hoseok doesn’t beg, hardly ever, so when he’s desperate for your release, you’re equally desperate to give it to him. As he pounds into you, taking full advantage of your prone body and lifted hips, the dam holding back your climax finally erupts, making your walls quiver and squeeze around his cock and forcing you to bury your face as far as you can into your sleeping bag to muffle your whines.

He wishes he could hear your screams, wants to hear the way you cry his name out as your cunt milks him, begs him for his own end. Another round of thrusts and he feels it all snap, cock pulsing out hot spurts of cum into your eager and waiting channel.

He pulls out of you, loving the way his cum follows him out, dribbling out of your spent pussy weakly. He lifts a finger and scoops it up, pushing it back into your juicy walls and nearly whining as he feels it wet and sopping with his release. You’re pulling the sleeping bag from your mouth, panting hard from your own release and turning around to look at your boyfriend, hips wiggling.

Hoseok smiles fondly at you, removing his finger from your walls and rubbing the smooth skin of your ass.

“Are you warm?” He asks with a smirk, knowing by the sheen of sweat on both of your bodies that you’ve successfully warmed up in the bite of the chilly night.

He flops down beside you and pulls you in close, snuggling into the sleeping bag while kissing your face gently.

Hoseok’s cock is still hard, still aching even after a release and you’re quick to grasp it in your hands, finally getting a grip on it for the first time tonight.

“Better keep you warm all night like I promised, huh?” You smile sleepily as you lift your leg to allow him entrance to your center yet again. “Keep me full all night please, baby?”

He is loath to deny you, and the wet heat of your used pussy feels like heaven. He holds you closer, pulls you in tight as he buries his cock as far as he can go, before kissing you sweetly once more.

He knows he’ll wake up in a few hours, dick throbbing with a need to take you for yet another round, but for now, he revels in the warmth and love and safety he feels when he’s connected to you in nearly every way.

“By the way, I love you too, Hoseok,” you whisper to him after a few moments of silence, recalling to the sweet whispered words around the campfire.

Hoseok smiles as he closes his eyes, body and soul in pure bliss.

And when Namjoon complains in the morning that he could hear the sounds of his little sister getting railed, Hoseok will let him know he ensured you didn’t suffer from hypothermia—that it’s his job as boyfriend to ensure you’re kept safe,

and always kept warm.

[ladyartemesia]

The Kiss

◐ PART VIII of THE ALPHA ◐

◐ Series Masterlist ◐

◐ Part I ◐ Part II ◐ Part III ◐ Part IV ◐ Part V ◐ Part VI ◐ Part VII ◐

Pairing: Alpha Werewolf Jimin x Omega Reader

Rating: Hard Mature 18+ (for this installment)

Warnings: this one is a little darker, descriptions of violence, ABO sexual dynamics including discussion of scenting, marking, mating, and claiming, strong sexual innuendo, discussion of violence relating to ritual combat, possessive behavior, injuries and discussion of injuries, lots of people have, use and are threatened by knives, kidnapping and drugging, its not as bad as it sounds, but it is definitely a bit darker…

Word Count: 4250

Author’s Note: I said it before but it bears repeating...You have no idea what your support has meant to me. Truly your asks and your messages and comments…they made me so happy. You made me believe that people wouldn’t forget about this story. I am so grateful you were able to wait. As many of you know I faced a medical emergency recently and you were all so lovely. The best followers on this site and I MEAN that. As always, my angels @ppersonna @xjoonchildx and  @untaemedqueen​  were (and continue to be) the best betas and the best friends anyone could ask for. My thanks to ALL of you for helping me bring this story to life! I don’t know what I would do without your daily encouragement and your daily support. You guys are the heartbeat of this story. It wouldn’t be here without you.

——◐——

Two Years Ago 

——◐——

Centuries ago the moon goddess stumbled across her human soulmate while he was sleeping. Struck by his beauty, but reluctant to reveal her identity, the goddess began to visit him in his dreams where she could hide her true form and appear before him as a mortal woman. 

In the world of dreams their love flourished and from that blessed union the packs were born…

The wolf nations celebrated this sacred romance every ten years during the Festival of the Lover’s Moon…

The day of the festival was spent eating and drinking and dancing at large parties, but when the sun went down… well—

That’s when things got really interesting. 

On the night of Lover’s Moon the young unmated wolves of the pack were permitted to commemorate this legendary love story in a decidedly scandalous manner. 

The unmated men assumed the role of the goddess’s sleeping lover—they were blindfolded (to represent slumber) and led into a large sectioned off area of the dark forest to ‘wait and dream.’

Unmated she-wolves over the age of maturity (eighteen) took herbal scent suppressors and ventured out into that very same forest in order to anonymously ‘visit’ the young men ‘in their dreams’...

The rules for what exactly that meant were pretty fast and loose which was why Min Yoongi was thanking the goddess and every other deity he could think of that Yunli was still seventeen. 

“But I will be eighteen in two days! Please can’t I just—“

“No. Absolutely not under any circumstances ever.”

“But Yoonji is going!”

“Ji-ah is nearly nineteen and has never been interested in any of the snotty little man-pups of our pack.” He snorted. “She’s probably going out just so she can shove a bunch of them in the lake.”

“I wouldn’t count on it,” Yunli mumbled irritably. 

Kim Taehyung yawned idly and snuggled into the cozy little pallet he prepared at the base of his favorite tree. The blindfold he and all the other unmated ‘lovers’  wore was made from witchcloth and could not be removed while the sun was down—so he had snuck into the forest earlier to set everything up. 

Now all he had to do was wait until—

“H-Hi Taehyung.”

Oh sh—

“Uh. Hello...Miss.”

Taehyung didn’t recognize the owner of that voice, but he knew for sure who it wasn’t. 

“I was hoping to find you tonight.”

This is not good. 

“Well I’m—I’m flattered… naturally but—”

She touched his hand and he squeaked. 

“I was thinking you and I might get to know each other a little bet—eep!”

The sharp point of a custom blade pressed directly into the unfortunate young beta girl’s pulse point. 

“Are you lost, puppy?”

A heavy cloak obscured the newcomer’s features, but there was no mistaking her meaning. 

Taehyung bit his lip to keep from snorting as the poor she-wolf scrambled away. 

“Ji-ah,” he tsked with feigned disapproval, “that wasn’t very nice.”

Min Yoonji grinned as she sheathed her wicked looking dagger and slid languidly into his arms. 

“You don’t like nice girls, Kim Taehyung.”

“I like you,” he whispered breathlessly against her lips. “Nice or not—it doesn't matter to me…” His hands slid greedily over her soft curves—pulling her closer till he felt the beat of her heart against his own. “I’ll like anything as long as it’s you.” 

This was the stupidest idea in the history of stupid ideas. 

Jimin huffed as he struggled to find a comfortable position against the giant boulder he’d chosen as his perch.

Why did I let Taehyung talk me into this?

He could be at home—in bed—comfortably sleeping off the all-day feast he’d indulged in. 

Instead he was out in the middle of the forest sitting blindfolded on a rock in the off chance that one of the she-wolves was out looking for him. 

Not bloody likely. 

Not when prime targets like Namjoon, Hoseok, Jungkook—and countless others—were scattered throughout the woods. 

“Park Jimin?”

Every hair on Jimin’s body stood on end. 

It was a soft whisper—the speaker clearly didn’t want her voice to be recognized, yet something about the sound sent a curious frisson of interest down his spine. 

He gulped. 

“Yes… that’s me. But if you’re looking for Hoseok he’s just a little deeper in. You probably caught his scent downwind so—”

“I’m not looking for Hoseok.”

Jimin licked his lips and the sight of it sparked a odd curl of heat in the pit of your belly. 

“I don’t know where anyone else is…”

“That’s quite alright.” A muted shuffle of movement reached his ears as you settled down beside him. “I was looking for you.” 

“Oh…” He rubbed the back of his neck idly. “Are you sure?”

Laughter like fairy bells whispered through the air and Jimin felt his heart clench.

Don’t get your hopes up. 

“Who are you?”

You were silent for a long time and then—

“I am someone who owes you a debt. One I have never been able to repay.”

Jimin’s head tilted curiously as he considered your words. 

“I’m sorry, miss… you must be mistaken. There isn’t—“

“You don’t remember.” 

It was a statement—not a question. Your voice was nearer now. He could feel the warmth of your body close to his—though not quite touching. “It was your wolf that saved me. But you had not gone through the Change yet.”

Familiar shame spiked sharply in his chest.

“I’m seven years past the Change...Why have you never mentioned this before?”

“Circumstances prevented me from doing so.” 

There was a cold finality to your pronouncement—which of course did nothing but further inflame his curiosity. 

“Then why come to me now?”

“I’ve come to repay you.”

Jimin’s mouth dropped open. 

Were you trying to—?!

“Oh—no please that-that’s not necessary—I could never take advantage of—”

You giggled again.  

“I am not offering my body, Park Jimin.”

Jimin breathed a heavy sigh of relief then shook his head with a wry chuckle. 

“Well considering the circumstances I can hardly be blamed for assuming you might be. And honestly most men would jump at the chance to—”

“You...are not most men.” 

Jimin’s eyes narrowed beneath his blindfold. 

“Little she-wolf—I may not be wrestling bears for fun or bare knuckle boxing in the town square, but I am still an alpha.”

The weight of his command poured over your body as he spoke the last word. There was no order or intent—he had simply given you a taste of his power. 

Aside from your direct blood relatives, no alpha had ever dared unleash their compel in your presence—therefore you were utterly unprepared for the effect it had on you—

Utterly unprepared for the strange surge of want so potent and profound that it stole the breath from your body. 

It was primal—invigorating—

Sensual.

You and your wolf may not have been entirely connected yet, but she was suddenly quite vocal about her desire to fully bask in Park Jimin’s attention.

A wicked grin played over his lips as he leaned in closer and you could almost feel the soft brush of his lips against your cheek. 

“Did you think I would not desire the touch of a beautiful woman in the moonlight?” he whispered. 

Please touch me, Alpha. 

Your eyes widened. 

Dear goddess. Your inner wolf was turning out to be a shameless hussy. 

“You might desire it, but you are far too  honorable to accept it as payment for a debt.”

Jimin drew back warily. 

You were correct of course. After all he had refused you when he believed that was your intent but—

“How could you know that?”

Evade. Evade now. 

“Well... how could you know I was beautiful? You’re blindfolded.”

He shrugged and your wolf took careful note of the way it made all the pretty muscles in his back and shoulders ripple. 

He will give us such strong—

Oh boy. 

He will do no such thing. Please calm down. 

“Not everything must be seen with your eyes.”

Is that how you found me? All those years ago...

Questions churned chaotically beneath your consciousness but you dared not give voice to them. 

Focus.

“I must repay this debt. Ask for what you want and—if it is in my power—I swear it will be yours.”

Jimin smiled again, but this time it was somehow softer. For a moment he looked almost…

Sad. 

“I’m afraid that the only thing I have ever wanted is not within your power to give...and I dare not ask you or anyone else for it.”

For her. 

He sighed and drew even farther away from you—in fact it seemed like he was preparing to leave. 

No. 

Your hand reached out almost of it's its own accord and wrapped tightly around his wrist. The contact sent a shock of searing heat through his veins and he froze. 

“Please alpha. It is not acceptable for someone like me—” a leader, a Luna, “—to owe another my life and offer nothing in return. You must let me pay my debt.”

Omega, his wolf growled, sweet perfect omega. 

Suppressors may have hidden your scent, but the siren song of an omega pleading prettily in his ear was unmistakable—irresistible…

“What if all I want is your name?”

You sighed deeply. 

“I cannot give you that. My name is… not mine to offer.”

Jimin laughed. 

“A woman I cannot remember with a name I cannot know and whose face I cannot see.” He shook his head. “Perhaps you are just a figment of my imagination.”

It was hard to explain what happened next...For whatever reason his words cut you deeply and you were overcome with the desire—no need—to refute them somehow. 

“I’m real enough,” you whispered, bringing his hand to your cheek. 

Jimin was genuinely beginning to wonder if you were a witch as well as a she-wolf. Being close to you was intoxicating and the urge to draw you in was steadily overpowering every other thought.

“Could I ask you for a kiss, then?”

“You—...You saved my life and all you want... is a kiss?”

The air grew heavier as the strange magnetic pull between you swelled to a silent inescapable crescendo. 

“In Seoul I often searched for someone who could ease my loneliness, yet each time I walked away emptier than before.” His thumb brushed gently over your lips and your eyes fluttered shut. “I have never had a kiss that meant anything to me.”

But yours might. 

It was unclear who moved first, whether he pulled you to him or you surged forward but when your bodies aligned and your lips met his for the first time it was as if you had never been separate from one another. 

As if you had always been deeply—intimately —together. 

The indescribable feel of him lit over your senses like a struck match. It was an ignition in the purest sense of the word— a fiery visceral awakening fueled by a consuming flood of desire. 

Yes, Alpha. 

He might never see your face or hear your name, but Jimin knew he would remember the taste of you for the rest of his life. It was hot and bright like liquid sunshine— a pure relentless light flowing through him where there was once only darkness. 

A soft needy moan rose up from your chest and he growled in primal satisfaction as you melted against him. 

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt of their own accord, desperately trying to bring him closer until he wrapped his arms around you in a heated embrace. 

“Please,” he begged breathlessly against your mouth. “Please tell me who you are.”

The words crashed over you like a bucket of ice —dousing the hazy pleasure of his kiss with a cold bite of reality. Suddenly you were wrenching yourself away from him and your wolf whimpered in misery at the loss of his touch. 

“I can’t,” you whispered. 

And then you were gone. 

“Did someone hurt you?”

You looked up to find Jin taking in your tears with cold fury. 

Twin knives were already gleaming dangerously in his hands and he appeared ready to filet whichever bastard was foolish enough to make you cry. 

“No,” you sniffed—well aware of how pitiful you were at the moment—crying in the corner of your cousin’s kitchen. “I got myself into this mess without any help—as usual.”

Jin sighed and slid down next to you. 

“Tell me.”

“Something happened that I…I didn’t intend.”

“Oh I knew that already. The Luna isn’t supposed to be running around on the night of Lover’s Moon in a forest full of blind horny wolves—“

You snorted and shook your head. 

“You’re absolutely right. I should have stayed away.”

Jin’s eyes narrowed and he wondered if perhaps you had caught Kim Namjoon with another omega. Nothing would be official until after the Change of course, but your bond with him was basically a foregone conclusion at this point. 

“You went looking for someone...didn’t you.”

You nodded miserably—all but confirming his fears. He made a mental note to push Namjoon in the swamp at the next available opportunity. 

“You know... the stories say that a Luna is powerfully drawn to her mate under the Lover’s Moon—that her wolf can sense him even before the Change.”  He reached over and gently began to brush the tears from your eyes. “So it’s not surprising that you sought him out, but it’s not really fair to hold whatever it is you saw against him. There is no relationship between you yet and…” he chuckled, “kisses beneath festival moonlight don’t really mean anything anyways.”

It was clear that Jin had somehow gotten the entirely wrong impression, but perhaps that was for the best. 

No one knew of your connection to Jimin and no one had seen what passed between you. 

Still…

Something about his assessment stung you. 

“You really believe that? ...That a kiss exchanged tonight means nothing?”

“I do.” Jin spoke with conviction. “There’s ancient magic at play in those woods. You can’t always trust what you see—or what you feel.”

“Oh I...I didn’t know…”

After a moment you laid your head against his shoulder and let the last of your tears run silently down your cheek. 

“Jin-ah have you ever wanted something you knew you couldn’t have?”

“Yes.” He sighed heavily and pulled you in to snuggle a bit closer. “When I was younger I dreamed of having a mate just like everyone else…”

The words were so softly spoken—almost wistful. Your heart splintered just hearing them. 

“But… she could be out there—your mate.”

Jin shook his head. 

“When is the last time you heard of a female alpha?”

Fresh tears welled up in your eyes. 

“Jin…”

“Hey,” he whispered, “don’t waste your crying on me. I’ve long since come to terms with who and what I am.”

“You’re not sad anymore?”

“Well… maybe sometimes I am… but I had to accept that people like us are not like everyone else. Our destinies were written long before we were born.”

“And you believe you’re destined to be alone?”

“Wolves in a pack are never really alone.”

“Yes...but they can be lonely,” you whispered thinking back to Jimin’s words. 

For a moment Jin’s eyes were the saddest you had ever seen them. 

“Well...I suppose they can.”  Then he chuckled and gave your nose an affectionate little tap. “But you don’t need to worry about that. When the time comes Namjoon will take his place at your side and the two of you will build a wonderful life together... Isn’t that what you want?”

Isn’t it?

Your treacherous thoughts drifted back to the boy in the moonlight—to the way your body sang when he touched you and the strange insatiable desire to know him and be known by him in return.

“Please...Tell me who you are.”

A heavy ache settled in your heart. 

You were the Luna of the mountain nations. A true born moon princess. 

You could never be the woman who kissed Park Jimin underneath the stars. 

You were not like everybody else. 

“...Yes. That is what I want.”

——◐——

Now 

——◐——

Jimin’s heart pounded as he tore through the dark paths of the wood with Taehyung, Yoongi, and Jungkook close behind. 

He had never led an attack—had never been trained to command wolves in battle. 

It was his first true test of leadership and he hadn’t even been a leader for twenty-four hours. 

Yet the fears and anxieties that might have normally clouded his mind were notably absent. 

There was only you.

Ironically Jimin owed Namjoon yet another debt—this time for explaining what exactly someone like him was capable of. 

The alpha Jin captured had given up their plan and position after being exposed to Jimin’s unique gifting, so he had a concrete target in his mind… He suspected however, that your captors had taken precautions after leaving some of their men behind. They had shifted their camp. 

But it wouldn’t be enough to save them. 

Jimin didn’t need your location to find you. 

He spent years refusing to look at you, and even then he always knew exactly where you were. He could sense you in any crowd—hear your voice in a thousand.

Once it had tormented him cruelly to be so aware of you. 

Now it was the only thing keeping him sane. 

He followed the connection between his heart and yours like a lifeline and it guided him as surely as the stars. 

The alphas followed him without question. 

If any of them harbored lingering doubts before, they were firmly laid to rest after what they saw at the cottage. No ordinary wolf could do what he had done. 

The Alpha would bring back their Luna and retribution would be swift indeed. 

The drugs in your system kept swinging you in and out of lucidity like a nightmarish pendulum. You tried to shift after the initial nausea faded, but whatever they gave you kept your wolf caged beneath your skin. 

Jimin

The longing you felt for your mate was the only thing tethering you to reality. You could almost hear him echoing in the far corners of your mind—  

I’m coming Omega—hold on. 

I’ll find you. 

Part of you recognized that his voice was likely nothing more than the wistful creation of your drug-addled mind, still you clung to it like the last shred of hope while the minutes (or hours) flew past.

Chaos clouded your thoughts even in clearer moments as many unavoidable concerns forced their way through the haze. 

Jin was at the house with you when they broke in. You had no way of knowing if he survived. 

The men who took you were crass and irreverent. Their eyes followed your form with too much interest and too little respect. 

It was starting to get cold and (due to you nearly dismembering a high council member and needing to be compelled unconscious) you were still wearing a thin white ceremonial dress which offered very little protection from the elements. 

You wondered idly if your idiot captors would let you freeze to death before they accomplished whatever it was they took you for. They clearly needed you for something or you would have been long dead by now. 

None of them struck you as particularly brilliant planners so the mastermind must be somewhere else... 

Frankly the entire situation was as puzzling as it was troubling. Iron Claw had always gotten along well with your pack. 

Technically they were (almost) what the human governments called a vassal state. The presence of a Luna determined the dominant pack in a region and the Luna of the mountain nations had been born into Silver Fang—your pack—for the last thousand years or so. 

Why would they challenge us now? 

The birth of a Luna indicated that the goddess had chosen that pack to lead. Their willingness—not only to kidnap you—but to go against the dominant pack by doing so was alarming to say the least. 

A sudden explosion of movement and sound interrupted your contemplation. Motion erupted all around you—boots pounding on the ground, men falling into their wolf forms, knives being drawn… 

You lifted your head—straining forward to see the source of the commotion—and nearly collapsed in relief when you finally did. 

Alpha

Your mate stood at the edge of the camp flanked by two enormous black wolves. 

A deadly looking jingum sword gleamed dangerously in his right hand. You recognized it immediately as your great-grandfather’s combat blade—the thousand year-old weapon of the Silver Fang Alphas. 

Relief flooded your chest all over again at the sight of it. Only Jin could have given him that sword—which meant he was still alive. 

The black wolves—Yoongi and Jungkook—snarled viciously but made no move to attack. 

Your captors were still scrambling into some sort of combat formation when Jimin finally spoke. 

“You have violated our sacred laws, trespassed in sovereign pack lands, kidnapped a Luna under the protection of our goddess, abducted the mate of the Silver Fang Alpha, and risked open war between our peoples.” He took a single step forward. “Surrender now and I will be merciful.”

The biggest of your captors—a man you recognized as the de facto leader—spat viciously on the ground. 

“You are not my Alpha,” he growled.

A cold—almost cruel—smile twisted over Jimin’s lips.

“Very well.”

Then he dropped to one knee and a massive grey wolf—Taehyung—leapt over his head and tore out the defiant leader’s throat before he even hit the ground. 

Your mouth dropped open. 

Bangtan formation.

Yoongi and Jungkook lunged forward in opposite directions, tackling their targets to the forest floor in a bloody clash of teeth and claws. 

One of the larger Iron Claw alphas half-shifted and charged Jimin but his arm shot out lightning fast, catching his attacker by the throat to send him flying through the air into a tree. 

The next several minutes could only be described as terrifyingly beautiful.

It was immediately clear that Jimin had been holding back when he fought Namjoon. 

He dispatched his opponents with such elegant savagery it was almost art.

You were so mesmerized watching Jimin sensually sword dance his way through a dozen alphas nearly twice his size that you almost missed Taehyung’s wolf rushing over with a dagger clenched between his teeth. 

Luna are you okay? 

You grinned and held up your rope-bound wrists. 

“I’ll be better once you pass me that knife.”

Taehyung nodded once and dropped the blade at your feet before tackling another wolf that was tearing towards the two of you. 

You sawed through the ties around your ankle first then twisted your arms to try and slice through the restraints on your wrist. 

The Iron Claw wolves were clearly no match for Jimin and his alphas. 

Jungkook and Yoongi chased after the few who were trying to run while Taehyung half-shifted to subdue the handful of wolves left alive as prisoners. Only Jimin continued to fight as the last three of your captors still standing took turns being slammed into the dirt by his strikes. 

He was clearly capable of dispatching them, but you were fairly convinced that you would die if you had to stay away from him for another second. The ropes, however, were surprisingly thick and the angle you were cutting them at wasn’t the best. If only—

You were almost free when you saw it. 

One of your captors had pulled a hunting javelin from their supply wagon. He must have hid himself at the onset of the fight, but now he was comfortably concealed by the shadows—and taking aim at Jimin. 

Your heart dropped into your stomach. 

The attacker appeared to handle the weapon with familiarity. He was too far back—too well hidden—Jimin would never see him in time—

The last cord around your wrist snapped and you were on your feet, pushing through the combined haze of fury and sedatives to charge the wolf who dared attack your mate. 

By the time he saw you it was far too late. 

Under the effects of the drug your aim was a little skewed but you weren’t Kim Seokjin’s cousin for nothing. 

One clean flick of your wrist and the dagger shot through the air, burying itself between the brute’s shoulder blades—all the way to the hilt. 

His body fell to the ground just as Jimin sent the last of your captors careening into a pile of previously defeated foes. 

For a moment all was quiet. 

Then your eyes locked across the distance and everything around you sharpened to a single whispered word. 

“Jimin.”

He had run non-stop for miles and torn apart a dozen wolves to get to your side—no amount of space between you now was tolerable. 

The sword clattered to the forest floor as he moved toward you—desperate to feel you—to wrap himself around you and know that you were safe. 

What happened next was as natural as breathing.

You opened to him and he lifted you into his arms, taking your lips in a hot unrepentant kiss. 

Fire exploded across your senses, burning away everything but the touch and taste of him. Every part of you was at once fiercely and gloriously alive. Desperate moans passed between you as he licked into your mouth—a dark primal promise of the pleasure he would take between your thighs. 

“Alpha,” you whimpered, too delirious with want to manage anything else. 

Suddenly Jimin’s eyes shot open. His hands flew to cup your face, searching it with a mixture of realization and disbelief.

“You… It was you.”

If you are already on the taglist, then I will automatically tag you for the next part! If you would like to be added to the taglist, please let me know.

Please tell me what you thought of this update! I am really excited to hear your thoughts! Feedback really does fuel my writing and hearing from you means a lot to me! On days that its hard to write, I go back and I read your lovely words and it makes me want to keep going! I cannot overstate its value in my heart! Seriously this story keeps going because you guys have been so supportive and wonderful. You have no idea how much just a few word can brighten my world and fire up my muse. 

[slytherinsnekxvii]

let's talk about lily evans and the marauders, aka moony, wormtail, padfoot and prongs. given that i didn't use their actual names, i think you can figure out where this is going. it's also long as hell, so. canon vs fanon, marauder edition, except snek is sleep deprived.

now, before we begin, i don't dislike the marauders. or lily, tbh. if I'm being perfectly, genuinely honest, i still go back and forth sometimes but they've been growing on me for a while now. the canon versions, at least. fanon does them real dirty, and that's part of why i'm writing this, because i'm genuinely tired of it. it's an injustice.

you can at least make excuses for james and lily, who were so undeveloped that jkr practically dropped a fill-in-the-blank sheet of character information in our laps, but sirius, remus and peter were around long enough for y'all to get real acquainted with them.

in canon, sirius black is an unhinged mf. genuinely. this isn't to say he's a bad guy, in fact, we see that he's still capable of doing good things, still capable of love, still capable of all the things that prove he's actually not bad at heart, just,,, severely traumatised and very steeped in negativity from his time with the dementors. what i'm saying is that this man is absolutely, no questions asked, no holds barred demented, and how could he not be? the guy sat wrongfully imprisoned in azkaban for twelve years, a good portion of which he spent as a dog in order to protect himself from the dementors. he certainly wasn't completely insane, but you cannot tell me that he was all there. he got out of azkaban fuelled almost solely by the intent to get revenge on pettigrew, tried to commit murder in front of three witnesses who were also children—one of whom was his godson—ate rats and was also malnourished, which i'm certain did not help the situation any. this man is off his goddamn rocker, and you know what? you love to see it. good for him.

oh, but, snek, that's what he's like as an adult. what about when they were at school? before azkaban? my guy, the reaction he has to grimmauld place is not the reaction of someone without trauma. i don't believe that walburga and orion were the type to physically abuse their children, but whatever happened in that house helped to fuck him up enough that he skipped the joke of part of practical joke, and pranked snape by telling him how to meet a werewolf that he knew would be fully transformed and dangerous to humans. more than that, the werewolf was remus, whom he's friends with, and who—best case scenario—would be facing a trial if james hadn't stepped in. you can say that maybe he didn't think about or understand the gravitas of his actions, but at the end of it, that's not how properly sane people react to people they dislike, and that's not how they treat their friends. if anything, it reads like he was in the middle of a breakdown and absolutely losing his shit and he wasn't thinking at all.

my guy went through some serious shit, and was in no way completely mentally stable. we can see pretty clearly that he's got a serious dark side to him that probably would have gone unbridled had he not disagreed with his family, and yet, fanon took one look at him and went, "teehee, uwu bad boi go vroom."

fanon said padfoot is a pretty boy with nice hair who is tastefully traumatised from his horribly abusive household. sirius rides his motorcycle and plays jokes and flirts with anything that moves, but he can do no real wrong and always comes back to his soft, bookish, chocolate-loving boyfriend remus, who will laugh about his lycanthropy and quietly disapprove but secretly laugh at his friends' antics while hiding his smile in his cardigan.

respectfully, what in the absolute fuck.

i'd put that meme in here if i could, the one that's like, "well done, you've broken _______ down to its bare essentials," but no. i can't bc it doesn't even apply. this isn't a meme, it's theseus' fucking ship.

fanon broke it down, and replaced the pieces one by one until we got to this point, where we need to sit down and ask ourselves, "is this even the same character?"

the answer is no, by the way. it isn't. when people talk about woobifying characters—you know, taking away every flaw they have, romanticising everything they do and making them only capable of doing good, wonderful, lovely things?—this is what we mean.

and it'd be one thing if it was just the one character, but, no. fanon went all in and made them all squeaky clean and boring, especially peter, who draws the shortest of the straws.

remus got fucked, too. not just because fanon insists on sticking him into a relationship with sirius. which, we'll tackle wolfstar in a bit, but that's not even the worst of it. here, we have yet another example of blatant, rampant woobifying. again, is he a bad person? no. we know he's a good guy, we know he's generally kind and well-mannered, we know that he wants to fo the right thing but hey, fun fact. did you know that you can be nice and a coward? did you know that you can be benevolent and good and kindly and have the greatest of intentions and still be shady as fuck? no? ask dumbledore. the man played people like chess pieces when he needed to, and he was a twinkly grandpa. these are things that can coexist.

teenage remus is a coward who, understandably, does not stand up to his friends, likely for fear of being ostracised, and doesn't uphold his prefect duties as he should and takes part in their bullying of snape as a result. he lets them romp with him in werewolf form while they are in their animagus forms and then, he lets them continue to do so even after they have multiple close calls, which, again, had anything happened, would have resulted in a trial in the best case scenario.

grownup remus is still a coward, he tells no one that sirius can move about the school in his animagus form despite wholeheartedly believing that he's a mass murderer, he tries to run out on his wife and unborn kid. he isn't deliberately making attempts to harm anyone, but he's content to sit back and let things happen to him and around him so he doesn't rock the boat, although he is capable of action, which we see when he is more than willing to help sirius merk pettigrew in the shack. he can be careless, he runs out to the shack knowing he hasn't taken his wolfsbane and ends up transforming in front of the students he, as a teacher, is meant to be protecting. of course, this doesn't negate his good qualities, it just bears repeating that his flaws do exist, and they're pretty serious.

fanon moony is always pleasant and kind and soft-spoken and bookish, and he always has to have his chocolate. he knows when to tell off his friends, and he'll do it, even if he's secretly amused by everything they do and laughs about it with his best friend, lily evans, who coincidentally spends all her time with them so he and sirius can go on double dates with james and lily and no one has to remember peter exists.

why. theseus' ship 2.0. does the actual character still exist or is this something entirely different thing bearing the same name?

as for peter, who needs peter pettigrew, the actual, legitimate, fourth marauder when you have lily evans? canon pettigrew is opportunistic as fuck. he's latching himself to the biggest bad on the block and he's going all in. for teenage peter, that was james and sirius, and for adult peter, that's voldemort. canon peter is good enough at transfiguration to master the animagus transformation, just like his friends, and he's good enough at potions to brew the potion that gives voldemort a body. and honestly, you can't say he wasn't brave. he could've run off somewhere and died, or changed his identity or something after he faked his death and framed sirius, but, no. he goes and resurrects voldemort. that's fucked up, yeah, but it happened and honestly, i respect that it. he stuck to his guns.

fanon wormtail is lucky if he exists beyond being a spineless sycophant for james and sirius, or an evil conniving little rat who's looking to toss his entire friend group to the wolves at eleven.

of course, this isn't meant to negate his bad qualities, he still murdered people and framed sirius and sold out the potters to die, but his good characteristics do exist, and james, sirius and remus genuinely were his friends.

and now, we get to lily and james.

we have hardly any information on either of them. they're a pair of cardboard cutouts that we can paint and stick flyers to and colour outside the lines however we want. we can do whatever the fuck, as long lily is brave and smart and somewhat kind and james is brave and willing to die for his family. we were essentially handed a pair of ocs.

and yet.

what little bits of canon we have are thrown out of the window regardless.

james is privileged and rich, and he throws hexes for fun. he's willing to hex lily when she disagrees with him, and then, he goes behind her back to continue hexing snape after she believes that he's stopped doing so. and that's all we know about him until he dies for his family at twenty-one years old. once again, say it with me: this does not negate his good qualities. he definitely had them, he took sirius in when sirius ran away from home, he became an animagus to keep remus company as a wolf, and he saved snape in the shack, thereby saving remus and sirius by extension. him having flaws does not make him a bad person.

fanon prongs is a feminist. he fights for equal rights for women everywhere, and he constantly treats his girlfriend, lily, like an absolute queen. he's the hottest boy in school and everyone claps when he walks through the halls. mcgonagall and dumbledore are always patting him on the back and making jokes with him. he has a built-in dark detector that helps him sense when someone is a evil and needs to he punished.

give me a break. the dude's cool and all, but was the gary stu treatment necessary?

...oh, he needed to match fanon lily? right, right.

canon lily is a contradiction unto herself. she's supposedly a great friend, but since we see her at a point where they were already drifting apart, we see her putting little effort into keeping their friendship afloat. she victim blames based on rumours, she doesn't seem to care over much about what snape has to say about the people who have been tormenting him since day one. and she's justified, of course, she doesn't have to stick around. canon lily is a bit of hypocrite, she says that snape calls everyone of her birth mudblood, but then that begs the question why she still hangs around with him if that's the case. he calls her mudblood, she retaliates by calling him snivellus, and finishes up with a dig about his underwear, which, sure, it's kicking a man with a rusty spoon and pouring salt in the wound, but she's, again, justified. i get where she was coming from. and then, of course, she dies for her kid after marrying the guy who relentlessly bullied her quote-unquote best friend for their entire school careers. but, like i said, canon lily is, in many ways, a contradiction.

lily is basically a plot device. she pushes everyone's narrative but her own, and does little else.

of course, this trend would continue in fanon. fanon lily exists to be the perfect girl who gets really angry over the slightest injustice, and of course, she gets to be one half of one of the oldest enemies-to-lovers "it was just sexual tension" cliche pairings in the book. she's just,,, a mary sue. in so many fics, so many headcanons, she's just pettigrew's stand-in, a girl to form a gang with marlene, mary and dorcas—who happen to be more undeveloped ocs who also get the woobify mary sue treatment—to parallel the marauders. there is nothing compelling about her character when she's presented as a saint, and even less when she's supposedly the other moral compass for the marauders that doesn't actually work because she thinks that james is cute.

and this brings me to the next topic. jily. what, why, how. this was supposed to be a healthy, happy relationship that would have lasted in the long run? absolutely not. even for its time, i can't say that i see it lasting.

first of all, jkr presents james' crush on lily as just that: a crush. a mildly obsessive one, but a crush nonetheless, which she tries to liken to the pulling of pigtails. and then, we see that james' way of getting her to go out with him consists of blackmail, and when that doesn't work, he resorts to threatening her. this could have been set aside if he had actually, genuinely changed when they started spending more time together, but as we're told by sirius and remus, he didn't. he just got better at hiding what he was up to. and it has to be that he hid it, because if she knew, this further damages the character that she's set up to have and paints her out to be either unable to stand up to him or an enabler.

regardless, they get married. and while i have trouble believing that it was out of genuine love, there are scenarios that could make some semblance of sense. it's wartime, after all, and maybe lily is worried about her stability in the wizarding world, so why not marry into an established family whose son is already showing interest? or perhaps, she falls into the trap of every bad boy cliche ever, and she thinks to herself, well, i got him to be better then, maybe i can get him to do even better in the future. or maybe, she doesn't get into a relationship with him immediately and sees him on and off, until eventually, she accidentally gets pregnant and they scramble to have a shotgun wedding so as not to leave lily alone at nineteen with a baby. or maybe they marry each other because they're there and sure, neither of then is ready and they don't know what love even is but what else is there to do when there's a dark lord about? anyways, the point is, they get married.

and then what? if we count pottermore into canon, he goes on to further damage her relationship with petunia and vernon, to the point where she ends up crying. if we don't, she fades into the background enough that nobody has anything to say about her. she's harry's mum, she's james' wife, lily potter, she was kind and smart and brave and that's it. her agency is gone, anything else we have of her personality is gone.

jily just,,, wasn't built to last. and, yeah, this,,, this is a hill i'll die on.

same with wolfstar, honestly. there are so many reasons why it wouldn't work, but fanon has made it so fucking prevalent that it's literally everywhere no matter where you look.

first of all, i've said it before and i'll say it again. sirius is more likely to get with james that he is to ever end up in a relationship with remus. their chemistry is just,,, underdeveloped. net zero for a relationship.

secondly, sirius instigated the werewolf prank, and lupin would have paid the price for it. this could have been overlooked, but he doesn't seem the slightest bit guilty about any of it when it's brought up in poa. he could have been responsible for lupin losing the security of his place at hogwarts in the best case scenario, and in the worst case, his life. and he seems to look forward to full moons, even though they clearly aren't pleasant for remus, which,,, yeah, you're going to have fun, but like, maybe be concerned about the fact that your friend undergoes excruciating pain and it isn't a pleasant time for him? read the room, my g.

thirdly, they don't trust each other as much as fanon seems to think they do. they were both willing to believe each other the traitor before ever suspecting pettigrew. sirius thought remus gave away the potters, hell, he thought remus was a spy for voldemort, and remus was convinced that sirius was a mass murderer. neither of them needed to be convinced.

fourthly, maybe i'm reading too much into it, but like. sirius had money. remus had no money, since, yk, he was a werewolf and struggling for cash and still, sirius,,, did not leave him any money. i feel like if you had money to spare, you would give to your friend who is literally poor. but, again, maybe i'm reading too much into it and this isn't as valid a point as i think it is.

and ehh, the fifth reason is that it's,,, actually very much not the representation for the ltgbt community that fanon says it is but y'all aren't ready for that conversation.

anyways, just,,, even when you set the couple shit aside, the power dynamics between everyone here is fucked. like, james and sirius are clearly at the top of food chain calling the shots and egging each other on. then there's lily, who isn't even a marauder, but is always ever-so-slightly above remus but still not on their level, because, well. neither of them actually listen to her. remus is the novelty friend, the friend who's,,, alright, i guess, but you keep them around specifically because they're funny or they can dance or they have something that you can either show off to other people or keep as your little inside joke, your little secret, yk? and peter is just sort of there. like, yeah, he can do what we can but does that make him as good as we are? no. does he have a funny little something about him that we can exploit? nah. therefore he sits at the bottom. and like, yeah, james and sirius are on the same level, but james is yanking sirius' chain, not the other way around. anyways, like i said. power dynamic's fucked and it bothers me that we were given all of this, and fanon decided to take it all and throw it away so they could give us flamboyant!badboi!sirius black x softboi!motherhen!remus lupin going on double dates with feminist!trustfundbaby!james potter and saint!lily evans while ignoring peter pettiwho?

theseus' fucking ship, indeed.

anyways, this needed to be said. it might not make as much sense as i want it to, considering it's 4:12 in the morning as i'm posting this, after taking a break from writing to do some research and coming across way too much content about fanon marauders, but it's here and it still makes enough sense that you can read it and understand what i mean. and like, at the end of the day, you can go ahead and headcanon whatever you please, you can write fic and make art and do whatever you like, just,,, remember that they're exactly that. headcanons. stop presenting fanon as canon. please. i'm literally begging. we actually have evidence against it. just,,, acknowledge that they're headcanons and stop putting them forward as though they're able to fit into canon. please.

[robininthelabyrinth]

i've been keeping a list of possible prompts for you and there's one i have no memory of adding that just says "courtesan nmj????" so i guess that's the prompt you're getting lmao

What Does the Fox Say - ao3

“Second Madame Nie!” a disciple shouted, rushing into her little garden. She didn’t recognize him, but he was solidly built and well-muscled like most of the others – truly, the Unclean Realm was a rapturous feast for one with eyes to see it. Yum, yum. “Second Madame Nie, I have bad news!”

Boo. She hated bad news: bad news meant she’d have to do something, usually, and right now she was seated very comfortably in a pleasant piece of sun in the garden path that’d been made up just for her and to her preferences, with her feet up on a chair and a full plate of fruit from the kitchen on the table in front of her just begging to be devoured, morsel by delicious morsel.

Her schedule was packed!

“I regret to tell you, but your husband has been killed!”

“Oh,” she said, frowning slightly. “Has he? How obnoxious of him.”

How unreliable. Men.

She sighed.

“Second Madame – Second Madame – you don’t understand!” The disciple was all red-eyed and weepy, which was a look she liked, especially in big, stout men like this. The salt added a bit of spice to the whole thing. “You must flee at once! He was killed by Sect Leader Wen in an act of outright aggression – Sect Leader Wen has declared war – the Wen sect is invading!”

She nodded and picked up another lychee to start peeling it. She’d get around to fleeing in her own time. As long as this Wen sect or whatnot was being led by a man, she wasn’t terribly concerned.

“They intend to wipe out the inheritance of Qinghe Nie! They will rip out the child in your belly!”

She hummed noncommittally. Really, how attached was she to having a child of her own? Really?

“They will slaughter civilians – execute Nie-gongzi –”

Her hands stilled.

“What,” she said, and the disciple took a step back automatically, proving that he, at least, had something more of a survival instinct than her late husband did. “Hurt my little meat bun? My darling rice roll? My savory zongzi?”

She stood up, diminutive height and over-large belly and frilly clothing doing absolutely nothing to diminish the vaguely menacing aura that darkened the sky around her. She bared her teeth.

“Who does this upstart Wen dog think he is?!”

The disciple blinked owlishly, but nodded, seeming relieved that she’d finally accepted his concern, though she could see on his face that he was thinking that her reasoning was – characteristically – a little strange. But then again, and she could see this thought process on his far too honest face, it was well known that the second Madame Nie been quite strange ever since Sect Leader Nie had found her in some lonesome place with no family or background and brought her back to be his new wife nevertheless.

Such a charming man. Pity about his loss, really.

“You have to flee at once, we can’t possibly fight so many people,” the disciple said once more, and this time she nodded in agreement. “We can escort you to a hidden exit –”

“No!” a little voice called. “We can’t go.”

She turned to look, and there was the little pork-and-shrimp dumpling himself, chubby-cheeked and earnest-eyed, looking as delicious as always.

“What do you mean, fish cake?” she asked. “Of course we have to go. Didn’t you hear what this strapping young man said? This Wen person wants to kill you!”

“If Father is dead, then I’m the sect leader,” her stepson said. He was serious and solemn in a way that made her want to pinch his cheeks and bury her face into his belly to blow raspberries, and also possibly to eat him right up, flesh and marrow and gristle and all. “That means it’s my responsibility to preserve the Nie sect.”

“Nie-gongzi, no!” the disciple cried, throwing himself to his knees in a dramatic display of loyalty. “You would only die – far better for you to run, and live!”

“Then isn’t the same true for everyone else?” the tasty little dish asked, crossing his arms over his chest and pouting. Possibly he was trying to put on a fierce expression, maybe, she couldn’t quite tell sometimes. He was so cute. “Why should I live, and them not? I refuse to buy my life with their deaths!”

“But – Nie-gongzi –”

Her charming little honey cake shook his head and held up a hand to stop the disciple, turning to look at her instead.

“Second Mother,” he said, and he had that wholesome trusting expression again that was such a perfect little one-shot-kill to the heart, ugh. “You always said you’re the best at hiding. The best in the world, no one better among all the gods or demons!”

She was, too. She couldn’t help but preen a little, proud.

“– can’t you do something?”

“Oh, darling cabbage bun,” she said, not without fondness. “I can hide myself from even the net of Heaven itself if I so choose, from gods and demons alike, and I can most certainly hide a small group from any mortal eyes that dare to look, if you don’t mind being a little tiny bit dishonorable about the business. But an entire sect? That’s a bit much, even for someone as talented and skilled as me.”

Her stepson looked up at her, all straight-steel sincerity and upright righteousness wrapped into a perfectly edible little snack-sized package. “If we split them up, the sect could be small groups,” he said eagerly. “Couldn’t you do something then?”

He was so cute, and he trusted her. He trusted her, believed in her, felt that she could perform miracles with a wave of her sleeve if only she so wished.

It was awful.

She couldn’t bear it.

“Oh all right, you nummy little slice of roast pork belly,” she said, yielding. “But I’m telling you now, it won’t be the least bit honorable! There’s only so many excuses you can come up with for having a lot of strong men with wide shoulders and women with thick thighs hanging around, and not a single one of them has the slightest bit to do with what you people consider to be appropriate.”

“That’s all right. Preserving human life comes first, always.”

The disciple looked between them, clearly completely confused. Clearly all his effort had been spent on developing the muscles in his arms (quite nice) rather than his brain (quite slow).

“What?” he said. “What’s happening?”

“We’re saving the sect,” Nie Mingjue announced happily, clapping his hands together. Too precious, too precious entirely; she’d have to make sure no one else even thought about going near her darling little snackling. “Tell everyone to prepare to evacuate.”

“That will take too long,” she said, and smiled, with teeth. “Let me call some friends to help.”

-

When the Wen sect arrived at the Unclean Realm, they found the gate open.

That was unexpected enough, but when they entered, they found that the entire place had emptied out – not just of people, but of everything else, too. There wasn’t a single intact chair or table in the entire place, not a scrap of cloth nor a bit of food, like it’d been swept clean by locusts or wild monkeys come to pilfer whatever they could.

Even the paving stones where arrays had been laid out by the Nie sect’s ancestors had been pried up and carted away.

Sect Leader Wen ordered a search, but there wasn’t any trace of it – of the people, of the stuff, anything.

No one ever found out what happened.

-

Jin Guangyao despised social events, he’d found.

It was one thing when it was something he’d planned himself, where the work was interesting enough to distract him, but when he was an honored guest for someone else…miserable. Utterly miserable.

The only thing more miserable was when the host was his erstwhile father, from whom he’d forcefully extracted recognition. With Wen Ruohan as his backer, indulging his favorite torturer as if a beloved pet, there wasn’t much Jin Guangshan could do to refuse, and neither could he force Jin Guangyao to do anything on his behalf, either. And so Jin Guangyao, sitting as always by Wen Ruohan’s side, right beneath his sons, was now an honored guest at his father’s house, getting offered his pick of prostitutes as if the man had no notion of the irony.

Maybe he didn’t. Jin Guangyao couldn’t quite tell if his father had just forgotten his origins, thinking his bastard son too unimportant to remember the details of, or whether it was meant as a deliberate insult – who could tell?

“Oh, right,” the simpering idiot in front of him, a nephew or cousin of some sort to the sect leader, said. “Our dear Jin Guangyao is known not to like the gentle flower queens, even when they come from the finest houses in Lanling. Isn’t that right, cousin?”

Jin Guangyao’s fists clenched. A deliberate insult, then.

Despite that, his face remained neutral. Instead, he chuckled and said, “The appeal is limited. After all, I have seen the best of them.”

Beside him, Wen Ruohan nodded and smirked. He appreciated Jin Guangyao’s devotion to his mother, though Jin Guangyao suspected it was because he thought it funny that Jin Guangyao would bother to honor such a lowly woman – but what he thought didn’t matter, not really. All that mattered was that he let Jin Guangyao pay his respects to her to his heart’s content.

“Well, you’re in luck!” the idiot Jin Zixun said, looking absurdly smug. “We have something of a different flavor than the usual tonight – we’ve invited entertainment from the local branch of Splendid Spring.”

Jin Guangyao barely managed to avoid rolling his eyes.

The Splendid Spring Palace was a series of brothels that had popped up fully formed just about everywhere some years back, with madams and girls and musicians and bodyguards of all sorts. It was so patently a political move that Jin Guangyao had barely bothered to pay attention to it once he’d become actually powerful, and Wen Ruohan hadn’t paid attention to it at all. After all, in the unlikely event that the business really was backed by a cultivation sect that didn’t care about its face any longer, anyone who needed to use such a façade to gather power was clearly beneath notice.

Jin Guangyao had paid only very little attention, but to different and unusual aspects of the place: by all accounts, they were surprisingly decent employers as far as places like that went. They didn’t steal girls or accept unwilling goods – they had some connection with the merchant caravans, or at least one of the companies that helped coordinate routes and provide protection to such things, and they were as meticulous about checking things over as they were about seeking refunds if they were dissatisfied – and they did accept married girls fleeing unhappy marriages, which not everyone did. They did buy up all the girls in the local markets wherever they were, but they swept them away and brought them back transformed, even the ones that wouldn’t sell because they were too ugly; Jin Guangyao assumed that meant they had people who were talented in make-up and clothing, since the usual rumors of the girls being blessed with a yao’s enchantment were obviously ridiculous and nothing more than the usual marketing gimmicks that brothels since time immemorial had tried.

Even once they had the girls in hand, the places were pretty decent: they had physicians on staff to help with the usual side effects of the business, made sure their girls were clean and healthy, and were said to even limit the number of customers a girl would be obliged to take on in a given evening…honestly, knowing as he did the brothel business, Jin Guangyao sometimes wondered how they’d managed to bespell enough people to even make money in the early days. At any rate, whatever they’d done, it’d worked, because by now they had a solid enough reputation to trade on.

In short: a decent enough place, far better than the usual run of the mill. Once he’d had the ability to do so, he’d even pulled a few strings and arranged for the better of his mother’s old compatriots to end up there, since he couldn’t convince them to leave their old professions behind entirely.

Anyway, if they also seemed to have a sideline in information brokering and assassinations, well, let them. In the cultivation world, where the only thing that mattered was strength, real strength.

A little thing like that wouldn’t make any real difference.

Or so Jin Guangyao had thought.

He found himself re-thinking that, though, when the entertainment in question came out. There were the usual set of attractive (albeit in a wider variety of shapes and sizes than usually seen) dancers, dressed up in silks that seemed actually high quality, and plenty of strapping young men carrying sabers – dancers as well, once assumed, to provide some spice to the entertainment, and implicitly on the offer for men who cut their sleeves or women with more flexibility, like widows or ones with especially permissive husbands. Wen Ruohan’s wives were in that latter category, and they were already whispering to each other excitedly, looking at them.

They’d even brought in the local madame, who was…

Well, she was actually breathtaking, even by Jin Guangyao’s extremely jaded standards. She had hair that fell almost all the way to her ankles, shimmering in the light, and dark eyes shining with liveliness, a smooth and ageless face that simultaneously suggested youth and health but also winked at knowable experience, the features characteristic of what his mother’s employers had called the ‘fox-face’. As if to emphasize that, the lady was wrapped in fox-fur and draped in embroidered brocade, with little stylized foxes running up and down the hems of her clothing and along the gazy silk draped on her shoulders.

It ought to have looked absurd, looked gaudy and overwrought and overdone, but it didn’t.

She was a thousand dreams of wealth and beauty and power and sex appeal all wrapped up in one, and even Jin Guangyao – who was in his personal preferences quite firmly a cutsleeve – couldn’t help but intrigued by her, wondering what it might be like to touch the hem of such a glorious creature.

And next to her…

The lady was accompanied by two men that seemed completely different from each other. One was a slender and winsome young man, fluttering his eyelashes from behind a fan with a charming smile, emanating the appeal of softness and weakness, ready to be indulged. While the other…

Jin Guangyao swallowed.

He was the exact opposite of the first man. Clearly strong, muscular and powerful, and tall to the point of towering, with wide shoulders and a narrow waist, a chest that you could lean your head against and an ass that begged to have someone’s hands on it – and there were his hands, big and broad, perfect for holding someone down or up if they so wished and of a size that was very promising as to what was only hinted at under his clothes. His face was hidden behind a veil as if he were a woman, marking him, like his comrade, as one of the available courtesans of the Splendid Spring, but his body was visible under clothing clearly cut to put it to the best advantage.

And oh, what advantages it had…!

“It seems we found something to the tastes of dear cousin Guangyao after all,” the idiot said mockingly, sniggering and snorting like the pig he was, and for once Jin Guangyao didn’t even care.

“Who’s the woman in front?” Wen Ruohan asked, ignoring their interplay. He seemed utterly fascinated, almost spellbound, and Jin Guangyao couldn’t blame him one bit. If this woman had been at the same brothel as his mother, there wouldn’t have even been room for jealousy or shame; his mother would have gone straight up to her to ask for some tips. “She seems…familiar, somehow.”

“That’s the madame of the Splendid Spring,” Jin Zixun said proudly, as if he’d done anything at all in relation to this – nonsense, of course. Everyone know which brothels were backed by the Jin sect, and Splendid Spring wasn’t one of them. He was acting as if he deserve a pat on the back just for the introduction! “That means she’s not for sale.”

His smile faded a little, twisting in a small bit of bitterness. “Or so she told my uncle, anyway…although I’m sure if it were Sect Leader Wen asking, the answer would undoubtedly be different.”

Probably because Jin Guangshan couldn’t slaughter prostitutes with impunity if they said no to him, whereas no one could stop Wen Ruohan from doing any damn thing he pleased.

Wen Ruohan grunted, pleased by the answer – he was a possessive man, in the rare events that he did exert himself in the realm of women, and there had been more than one instance where he’d stolen away some girl his sons had been eyeing first just for the joy of having had her first – and raised a hand, catching the lady’s eye and gesturing for her to come over, which she did.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

She laughed. “You can call me Hu Jiuwei. With the ‘Hu’ being the character for fox.”

Jin Guangyao tried not to choke. There were false names and then there were false names – the lady’s theme was already clearly related to foxes, given her fox-face and fox-fur lining and the foxes embroidered onto her robes. Was the over-the-top name really necessary?

“It’s a fake name,” she added, unnecessarily.

“I see,” Wen Ruohan said, sounding a little choked himself. Possibly it was the woman calling herself ‘Foxy Ninetails’ and then kindly reassuring them all that the name was false as if she thought them too dumb to figure it out that was tripping him up a little. Jin Guangyao couldn’t tell if she was doing it deliberately in order to make her frankly inhuman beauty a little less frightening, or maybe she was blessed with so much beauty that she hadn’t bothered to cultivate her brain at all. “Are you our entertainment for the evening?”

She smiled, and any complaints Jin Guangyao (or indeed Wen Ruohan) might have had about her intelligence faded away at once.

It was that type of smile.

You could wreck nations with that type of smile. Jin Guangyao couldn’t help but wonder: how had a woman this extraordinary ended up in a brothel, of all places? How had no one snatched her up to keep her all for himself before now?

“My sons and I –” she gestured at the two behind her, “– would be more than happy to provide you with all the entertainment you could possibly want.”

Her smile widened.

“We’ve been hoping for an opportunity like this for a long time.”

[monsterkissed]

☼: how i came up with the idea and ☾: how i thought people would respond to the fic, for BNGN!!

the anime's ridiculously fun adaptation of the kc vs metallica fight has a lot to answer for, basically (cut bc i spent Far too long talking about writing things)

so VA was my first ever jjba experience, i watched it with my partners bc they had been baiting me with the pretty men ruthlessly, and it's v fun to talk ab in that way that things that r both v fun and kinda flawed r fun to talk ab, so i was getting back into writing fic after a Ludicrously long spell of writer's block and having a fun time with that. and bc doppio in particular does not get a lot of screen time but spends all of it being rly fun in a particularly compelling way (he's a horrible little amoral crime man but he's also an anxious disaster weirdo, which makes him v fun to watch in a way that imo a more straightforward baddie wouldn't be) he was one of my favourite chew toys. so u can add bngn to the list of humanity's crimes that can be attributed to the phrase "wouldn't it be funny if..." bc i thought it would indeed be funny to shove him into the bucci gang, but my partners correctly pointed out that he would just try to kill them, which obviously would srsly hamper the comedy potential. so i had to find a way to make him Not Do That

my preferred way of approaching writing problems like this has always been the mia fey method of plot contrivance: don't ask "why would they do that", ask "why would they have to do that" and the entire initial outlining process (most of which i did in a single v boring night shift) was looking at all the stuff i wanted to do and trying to answer that question. originally it was just going to be a bunch of snapshot drabbles following the vague plot beats of "doppio stuck in the bucci gang" (remember, i had been writer's-blocked for Years and had absolutely no confidence in my ability to do a multi-part project of any real weight) and would be mainly light and comedy with a v barebones plot. but my horrible brain kept niggling those little questions. ok, dop doesn't have kc and the boss isn't in his body anymore, but he could just go back to passione, right? so why can't he do that. why can't diavolo just come back to him. if the boss is "gone" then why don't bruno and co just go home. what does everyone else think about doppio, little weirdo that he is? sure, it'd be easier if they all just basically liked him, but wouldn't it be more Fun if there was friction? it would be easier if he could just talk diavolo into being their pal, but wouldn't it be more Fun if he can't? ("easy solutions are usually less fun" is another of my writing philosophies that i think u can probably pick up on after a while lol. i like to cause problems on purpose. and then you have more fun questions to ask! if doppio can't just come clean to the gang and the boss won't just be nice and make friends, what situations have i forced them into bc of these immovable barriers? why does doppio have to come clean, and why does diavolo have to reveal himself are two questions that have only just been answered in the fic now, 30+ chapters in lol)

and the longer i was chewing on these things the more i was thinking about VA itself and the themes in it, because "these things have to happen" is actually a plot point in the original. the whole tragedy between bruno and giorno had been a big thing while we were watching it, bc they both have just some excellent fights and a really interesting relationship to me, i think in terms of jojo+jobro pairs it's the strongest narrative arc we got until p7 in terms of the central two and their reasons for coming together and fighting together being deeply entwined in the plot and themes. you can't rly talk about VA for any length of time without running up against questions like "what does it mean for someone else to bring your life meaning" and that applies to a lot of the villains as well! so if doppio was gonna be in the crew then it made a lot of sense to draw some parallels there and dig into those relationships as well, and from there everything just kind of naturally problematised itself. what does it mean to live and die for someone in a universe where death is canonically predestined? if i've come in with my funny joke au and now those characters aren't dying anymore, what does that actually mean for the weight of all of those concepts? if doppio and bruno don't die, haven't i kind of undermined one of the things about them that made them so resonant to me? if they can't die for the things that gave their lives meaning, then that kind of undercuts that meaning, doesn't it? it might sound morbid to say, but death is a big way of expressing love in VA (this happens in other parts of jjba ofc, but VA feels rly enamoured with that concept in particular) and i found that if i cut off the latter half of the story it lost a lot of punch, and at this point i was too deep in the weeds and i really, really wanted Punch.

i had seen quite a few fixit fics in the vein of "either GER or some other powerful time stand goes back and undoes all the Bad Stuff and everyone lives and it's fine" and u know, that's chill, u see those in p much every fandom. in fact u see that in actual original fiction sometimes, but something ab it always made me kinda sad in those? you see the characters struggling and pushed to their limits, sometimes bringing out the most fascinating parts of their characters, and even tho we don't want them to end up sad it usually felt kind of frustrating to turn back the clock and lose all of that. and the older i got the more it bothered me philosophically, too, bc okay, in the prime timeline everyone lives, but that other timeline Happened, right? all the stuff they endured hasn't actually been Erased, we saw it, it was as real as anything else in this fictional world. and all of this is swimming around in my head next to things like an extended joke about the word "narcolepsy" and "i think tiziano should wear a suit" and "trish should kill".

so i sat down on my boring night shift and after a slight hiccup (i wanted scenes of doppio's "normal" life and backstory, but i didn't want the whole first third of the fic to be that before we even got to the actual Plot, which i eventually realised i could solve with the flashbacks) i wrote my outline, chronologically, from "how does doppio physically end up with them" through every key event i already had floating in my head, and along the way everything just clicked? that is the fun thing about creating problems for your characters: the problems themselves solve other problems. "why can't doppio just go back to passione > because passione is also in revolt" solves "why can't bruno and co just go home > because they're targetted by them" and "doppio can't come clean > but someone in passione can out him". people have told me that the pacing is very good which tbh is remarkable considering the Length, but i think it comes down to that part of the planning. whenever i encountered any difficulty i just looked for ways to push the characters Harder until they did interesting things lol. once i got to the end i went back over it so that i could flesh out the earlier parts with all the later info i now had down and drop more foreshadowing and foundation-laying, and it's Really fun to see ppl notice those on rereads

and i did not think it would be all that popular! the ships are not the big VA superstars and the main character is a minor villain who isn't exactly getting a nice fun uncomplicated redemption arc and, again, it's a Beefy fic (tho a lot moreso than i originally projected...) with a Beefy plot. the main ship stuff is a big focus but again, not really in a way ppl r necessarily Looking For in their shippy content. low on pda and normal romance, big on the more troublesome aspects and less-than healthy parts. and that's before u even get into the weird meta pomo nonsense (again, something i scribbled in the outline margins all "oh this would be fun" that in the end totally Consumed me). i thought people would like the flashbacks, being more straightforward cute character/relationship stuff, but not really get into the plot or the present events.

i think it is safe to say i underestimated my readership. the support and the people reading and rereading this monster, showing up to updates and getting hype, and the people making fanart?? of my weird complicated meditation on what it means to rewrite a narrative??? it's been genuinely amazing and honestly the entire thing has been worth it just for the people i have met through it. i never imagined anyone would be as glowing over it as people have been. it is Wild to me whenever anyone mentions talking ab this with other people, like i wrote some kind of Real Story that human beings discuss with each other?? genuinely it knocks me out every time, and i love everything from the most scribbly notebook doodle of a scene or character to the pages of theorycrafting to the people just pointing out their favourite lines.

i am v glad my partners bullied me into watching the weird poses-and-punches anime to look at the pretty men.