#i generally never know whats expected from me when it comes to assessments so i usually just add everything i can cram in

[a-sleepy-ginger]

25/2/24

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Saw the moon

Got some work on my sociology assessment done

Read a cute manhwa

Wasn't cold all day after shower

[aemondapologistfrfr]

The Usual

aegon x sister!reader x aemond // 

male!pleasurehouse!worker x reader (beginning only)

Summary: Y/n seeks solace in the form of pleasure and goes to the only place where she can receive it anonymously. She had never expected to find herself in this current situation. 

Warnings: 18+ pleasure house, drinking, oral (f + m receiving), swearing, fingering, loss of virginity, aegon corrupting his siblings, p in v

Authors Note: no plot :), male pleasure house worker is not described in any sort of detail

Word Count: 2.9k

⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆

I don’t often act on such primal instincts but tensions have been so high around the Red Keep lately I’m looking for an escape. I pull a cloak tightly around my body and slip into the tunnels. I click the door shut behind me and listen for others. All I hear are the faint squeak of rats and I’m soon dashing down the hallway. 

The rest of the halls are clear and I’m quickly down the steps making my way to the side exit. Once the crisp night air kisses my skin I breathe out in relief. I keep my head down and enter the crowded streets. My surroundings become more depraved and raw the deeper into the city I go. 

No one looks twice at me as I slip the through streets trying to find my destination. My heart starts to pound in anticipation for what’s to soon come. My face is flushed and not from the walk when I finally stop in front of a large wooden door. I knock and am let in on the second rise of my fist. The door thuds behind us as I take in familiar surroundings. Moans of pleasure and laughter fill the dim space as the woman takes me deeper into the establishment. 

“Princess Y/n, it’s been awhile.” the woman bows her head. “The usual?” she tilts her head with a soft smile and I nod my head.

She escorts me behind a curtain and leaves me. I discard my cloak and sit down on the bed rolling my shoulders. A male walks in with wine and two glasses. He fills them generously and offers one to me. I take a sip while looking him over and admiring his features. 

“It would be my honor to help you relax, my Princess.” he licks his lips. 

“Mm, would it?” I smile looking at him with low lashes. 

“Very much,” he nods his head. 

I finish the cup and set it on the table next to me and look at him expectantly. He sets his cup down and stalks over to me on the bed. His hands cup my cheeks as he towers over me. He dips down to bring his lips to mine and I turn my head chuckling. 

“No kissing,” I shake my head. 

“Can I kiss you other places?” his breath fans across my neck. 

“Of course, how else would you help me relax?” I gasp as his tongue darts across my neck. 

“And your other rules then?” I can hear the smile in his voice. 

“We’re not having sex.” I murmur trying to assess his reaction and it seems as if he’s not bothered by it. 

“Can I take your dress off?” he asks as his hands move to the strings at my back. 

“Yes,” I nod my head. 

He removes my dress quickly and lays me back on the bed. His hands slowly move up to my breasts softly kneading them. I lay back on the bed and shut my eyes as his fingers dig into my tender flesh. I moan as he teases my nipples before his tongue licks across them. He kisses down my navel and I gasp as his tongue circles my clit. 

“Would you like me to kiss you here, Princess?” I look down at him with red cheeks and nod my head. 

“Please yes,” I breathlessly sigh as his tongue lashes against me. 

My hand grabs onto his hair as I grind against his face. My chest heaves as I chase his tongue waiting for my pleasure to take over. Whimpers fall from my mouth as my thighs quake around his head. I close my eyes as- 

“Let’s find you someone else.” my eyes shoot open. I know that voice. “Y/n?” Aegons voice suddenly lost all sense of humor. 

I feel my cheeks heat and I have to bite my lip to stop whimpering as the man never stops no matter how hard I pull his hair. Aegon looks at me with wide eyes as I buck against this man’s mouth. Aemond stands nude next to him and my eyes trail over every inch. A whine breaks through my lips and Aegon pulls the man off of me. 

“Hey what the f- my King,” the man bows and runs out of the room shutting the curtain behind him leaving us three. 

“What are you doing here?” Aegon tilts his head with a smirk on his face. 

“Obviously I didn’t come here for tea,” I huff closing my legs. “And what are you two doing?” I sit up looking to them curiously as a smirk forms on my lips. 

“Aemond here was-“ 

“Enough, Aegon.” Aemond says through his teeth as Aegon bursts into giggles. 

“It seems as if Aegon has interrupted both of our pleasures,” I roll my eyes as Aemonds cheeks flush. 

“I liked interrupting yours more.” he sprawls on the bed next to me. “Tell me sister, do you let them fuck this perfect cunt?” he smiles as his hand grabs my thigh spreading my legs open once more. 

“No.” I shake my head as I spread my legs wider. 

“You just make these poor men come in here and eat you then have them leave? You torturous woman.” he chuckles lowly as his fingers slide through my wetness. 

“Aegon,” I gasp as he circles my clit. 

“What about me and Aemond? Can we fuck you?” his voice rough as his fingers slide down to my core. 

“Yes.” I nod my head as he dips a long finger into me. 

“Alright Aemond come here,” Aegon jerks his head in his direction. “I’m gunna show you how-“

“I know how to please a woman,” Aemond says angrily. 

“Mm, do you?” I try to control my breathing as Aegon continues to pump his finger into me. “Make Y/n come then,” Aegon taunts him. 

Aemond stalks over to the bed and pulls me to the edge. I gasp as Aegons fingers slip out of me and soon Aemond is lowering his mouth towards me. His tongue brushes against my sensitive bud and I cry out. My hips jerk off the bed as he holds my thighs open against the bed. 

Aegon brushes my hair out of my face as he watches Aemond lick me. My fingers thread into his soft hair as I whimper above him. His tongue dips down and circles my core and I buck against his nose. A shiver cuts through my chest as he slips his tongue into me. 

“Aemond,” I whine as I fall apart against his face. He pulls back and looks down at me with a blown pupil.

“I’m impressed,” Aegon hums before he pulls me back up the bed. “I wish to try now as well.” he smiles before moving down the bed. 

He wastes no time attaching his mouth to me. His tongue is quick and frantic and has me gasping quickly. My legs twitch around him and he chuckles into me. He laps up my wetness while always returning to swirl around my clit. As his lips encase me he dips his finger back into me. My breath catches as he begins to move it in rhythm with his tongue. 

“Aegon, yes,” I cry as I burst around his finger as he continues to pump into me. He slowly sits up and I open my eyes and look up to them as my chest continues to rise and fall. 

“Why did you not come to one of us?” Aemond asks brushing my hair back. 

“Indeed,” Aegon agrees as he begins to remove his clothes finally. 

“I don’t come here all that often, normally I’m fine on my own.” I bite my lip as I take in Aegon as he crawls back on the bed. 

“Don’t tell me you touch yourself in bed down the hall from me,” he groans as his length bounces against his stomach. 

“It’s not like I can do as I please like you and come here.” I pout looking to him. 

“Oh no, I don’t spend my nights here,” he smiles widely. “I prefer much more depravity than this, but we can save that for another night.” he chuckles as I squirm. 

“Have you fucked anyone besides that woman?” Aegon tries to control his laughter as he looks to Aemond. He rises in anger and I reach out for his hand to pull him back down to us so he doesn’t leave. 

“Aegon must you always tease him?” I narrow my eyes at him. 

“I just wanted to let him fuck you first. So he can feel how good it can truly feel as you come around him.” Aegon smiles as he watches us both blush at his words. 

“Is that what you want?” Aemond looks to me as his hand slides up my thighs.

“Please, Aemond.” I nod looking up to him. 

He dips down and captures my lips. His mouth is soft against mine as he coaxes my mouth open and slips his tongue inside. I whine into his mouth as he grinds against me. His length slides through my wetness as I buck against him. Aemond kisses down my neck as I softly gasp as he humps into me.

“Are you ready?” he asks lining himself up with my entrance.

“Yes,” he begins to fill me slowly as I mewl. 

“Gods,” Aemond breathes out deeply as his fingers dig into my hips. 

“Bet she feels divine.” Aegon hums watching us. 

“So good,” Aemond pants as his holds his hips still. I slowly begin to relax around him and move my hips slightly. Aemond groans rolling his hips pulling a whimper from me. He starts to pump in and out of me as I look up at him with pleasure filled eyes. 

“Please, Aem,” I whine trying to buck my hips faster. 

His hips snap into mine stealing my breath. Moans pour from my mouth as his hips start to push into me faster. I cry out as Aegon chuckles. I let my head lull to the side and see Aegon stroking himself watching us. Aemond grabs my chin and turns me back to him. 

“Look at me when I’m fucking you.” he grunts pounding into me. 

I can barely keep my eyes open at his brutal pace. I clench around him as I feel my pleasure coiling. He crashes his lips to mine as his hips continue to roll into me after every snap. I cry out as my orgasm washes through me and I feel his hips stutter as he begins to fill me. 

Aemond pulls out and collapse next to me on the bed. Aegon trails his hands between my thighs as I squeeze them shut. His finger ghosts across my sensitive clit and a whimper instantly falls from my mouth. Aegon continues his movements as my legs hold his hand hostage. 

“Gunna come again?” he licks across my neck and I can feel his smile. 

“Yes,” I whine as my nails dig into his arm. 

Aemond attaches to one of nipples as Aegon continues with his fingers. I pant as they shower me with pleasure as my body begins to hum. My high washes through me as both of their names fall between pants. 

“Want you to milk my cock like you did for Aemond.” Aegon murmurs into my neck. 

Aegon settles between my legs as Aemond moves to my other nipple. Aegon slowly pushes into me causing me to arch up into Aemonds mouth. He fills me a bit more and my eyes roll into the back of my head. He snaps his hips into me causing me to scoot up the bed. Aemond looks to Aegon annoyed and sits back. 

“I want to her all to myself once.” he shrugs before he starts to roughly pound into me. 

I’m thankful we’re in a pleasure house because there’s no where else my moans belong. He grabs one of my legs and pulls it up and I reel at the new angle. Tears prick at my eyes as I start to pulse around him. 

“That was quick,” he rasps as he starts a slower pace to keep his composure. 

My body is humming with pleasure as he continues to rock into me. His pelvis brushes against my clit with every thrust pulling a soft gasp from my lips. Suddenly he’s slamming into me again and I cry out. He pulls my other leg up and pushes them against my chest. The new depth has my head spinning as my orgasm bursts through me. His hips slam into mine as he fills me. 

“Fucking perfect,” he falls to the bed next to me breathing heavily. 

I look to the ceiling as I try to calm my breathing. My legs are still shaking as pleasure still courses through me. I feel their release between my thighs as I squeeze them shut. Aemond turns my face towards him and pulls me into a bruising kiss. 

“You’re not to take another, only us.” I nod my head at his words against my lips. 

“Why must you insist on using that ancient language?” Aegon groans from beside us. 

“I told her not to take another.” his words annoyed before he takes my lips for his own again and I feel his hardened length press against my thigh. 

“Aemond you dog, already trying to fuck her again?” Aegon laughs next to us smiling widely. 

“Aegon,” I warn turning my head to him. 

“My name on your lips while his cock brushes against you is absolutely sinful.” his tongue darts across his lips as he looks me over. 

Aegons hand grabs my face as he pushes his lips into mine. He bites down on my lip before shoving his tongue in my mouth as I gasp. As Aegon lifts up for air Aemond pulls me to him as pushes his tongue against mine. I sigh into his kiss as his tongue caresses mine. My body jolts as both of their hands start to spread my legs. 

Aegons fingers swirl around my sensitive bud while Aemond pushes two long fingers into me. He curls his fingers and I arch off the bed as they offer me pleasure. They take turns passing my lips back to one another and soon I’m bursting across their hands. 

“Such a good girl for us.” Aegon coos as my legs shake. 

My chest heaves as they brush their fingertips all over my body. I squeak as Aemond flips me on to my stomach. He lifts my hips as I feel the bed dip behind me. He grabs my hips as he moves his tip around my dripping core. I push back against him and he slips inside and I bury my head into the bed. I turn my head as I sob at each thrust. 

Aemond pulls me up against his chest and my head falls back to his shoulder. I hear Aegon moaning below us and I open an eye to see him bucking into his hand. Aemond roughly squeezes one of my breasts as he plows up into me. Aegon moves to sit in front of us before he nods at Aemond behind me. He lets go of my breast and lowers me back down to Aegons lap. 

My head rests against his thigh as I watch him fist his length. I reach my hand out to replace his and he lets out a low groans as I wrap my hand around him. I let out a whine as Aemond snaps into me particularly hard. I bring his leaking tip to my mouth and give it an experimental lick. 

“Fuck, Y/n” Aegons hips jerk into my mouth. 

I moan around him as he slides between my lips. Aemond continues to push into me with his fingers digging into my flesh. My movements on Aegon are sloppy but he doesn’t seem to mind as whimpers falls from his mouth. I steady myself on his thighs as I try to offer more pleasure as mine begins to course through me. I come around Aemond but that doesn’t stop him from continuing to chase his. 

I moan around Aegon as I feel my pleasure overwhelming me. I feel him twitch as he starts to fill my throat. I pull back licking my lips looking at his blissed out face. Aemonds hips begin to falter as he brings a hand around my front to circle against my bud. I go taught against him as my vision blurs and I collapse to the bed. 

“You did so good.” Aemonds voice is low as he pets my hair. 

“So perfect and just for us.” Aegon smiles trailing his hand up my side. 

⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆

masterlist 🔌 

i have nothing to say 🧎🏼‍♀️😶

Part 2

taglist ✍️

@clarityisnofun @callsignwidow @gabriella-aesthetic @llynx7 @ka1afbr @anaviieiraaa @violetiss3lfish @akiko-oo @papichulo120627 @lizzylovebooks280501 @zanygot7staykidsbonk @thatgirl101blog @1-fuzzy-squirrels @hueanhdang

[moonstruckme]

sirius x reader where reader is remus' roommate at academic and one day she meets sirius when he is visiting remus and they click right away, all flirty and smiles and remus acting all annoyed but is actually happy for them

Hi sweetness, thanks for requesting!

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5

modern au

Sirius Black x fem!reader ♡ 555 words

“Hey,” Remus calls as he walks in the door, Sirius in tow. “I brought a friend over, hope that’s alright.”

You barely look up from your laptop. “Mhm, sure.” 

“Thanks,” he says. He feels weird asking—you’re amiable enough, and have never given Remus any indication that you care what he does in your apartment. Still, you’re a quiet thing. You generally keep to yourself, which suits Remus just fine, but it makes him feel a bit guilty that he’d forgotten to tell you his loudest, rowdiest friend would be coming to visit. 

Sirius’ eyes blow wide as soon as he catches sight of you, and he shoots Remus an open-mouthed look he can interpret without his friend saying anything: You didn’t mention your roommate is hot.

Remus sighs. “Sirius, this is Y/N. Y/N, Sirius.” 

You shut your laptop, looking up with a polite smile that only broadens as you take in the boy in front of you. “Hey,” you say, your eyes assessing. 

“Hello.” Sirius grins at you. “So, how are you enjoying living with our Moony? Is the snoring getting to you yet?”

Remus huffs indignantly, but neither of you seem to notice. 

“Moony?” you ask. 

“Old nickname.” 

“Right.” You shrug, looking bored. “Remus is a great roommate. He’s clean, quiet, not a creep. Checks all my boxes.” 

Remus grins proudly (though really, that seems like a fairly low bar), but Sirius shakes his head in disbelief. “Seems like she’s too nice to you, Moons,” he says solemnly, speaking apparently to Remus but with his attention still solely on you. “Who’s being mean to you when I’m not around to do it?”

You cock an eyebrow. “Sounds like he needs to be meaner to you.” 

Sirius grins. “Ah, he sure does try, but unfortunately there’s not much to say. I’m impervious to insult.” 

Remus is beginning to feel like a piece in a game in which he’s not expected to participate. “Are you sure about that?” he asks innocently. “Because I seem to recall an event during fifth year—”

“Although I have to give it to him.” Sirius rushes to speak over Remus, somehow still maintaining a casual tone. “He definitely knows how to pick the most gorgeous friends, doesn’t he?”

Remus is surprised at how easily you rise to meet Sirius’ bravado, not even the faintest blush coming to your cheeks as you return his smile. “Seems like it.” 

Remus rolls his eyes at the two of you, though he has to admit he’s immensely entertained. “Y/N,” he says, feigning reluctance, “Sirius and I were going to stop by the pub down the road, would you like to join us?”

“Sure.” You stand, shooting Remus a smile sweeter than anything you’ve shown Sirius thus far. “That sounds great, thanks.” 

Sirius almost knocks Remus over in his rush to occupy your attention again. “Excellent! Let me guess, you’re a cider girl?”

You roll your eyes at him, brushing your shoulder against his as you pass and letting him trail after you like a puppy. “Guess you’ll have to buy me one and find out.” 

“Enticing.” Sirius’ grin turns wolfish. “I don’t mind a bit of mystery.” 

Remus heaves a sigh, following the two of you out of the apartment and locking up. He suspects he’s in for a night of third-wheeling.

[itsclydebitches]

Zevlor: An Angsty Character Analysis

Hey, Zevlor simps. Can I interest anyone in 4,000 words about our favorite disaster tiefling? 💀

“We can’t stay, but we’ll be slaughtered if we leave—we’re no fighters.”

Back during my first play-through this is the line that turned Zevlor from another dime-a-dozen, exposition spouting NPC to a character I was legitimately interested in. “We’re no fighters.” My DnD ignorance abounds, but even I could see that wasn’t an accurate statement. Here’s a mountain of a man sporting fancier armor than my level 2 Tav knows exists yet, having wrecked half the goblin hoard with his crossbow and, if you let him, he'll happily turn to punching as a solution to verbal disagreements. Plus, he’s clearly the one giving the orders, so what do you mean you’re not a fighter?

Having explored the Grove a bit I chalked it up to a generalized assessment of the refugees as a whole. They’re mostly kids, civilians, and would-be protectors who only look the part of fighters in cobbled-together armor. One woman is grappling with the guilt of killing someone for the first time, even an enemy. Lakrissa is sure they’re all going to get slaughtered and is willing to put money on that fact. Meanwhile, the couple you meet are more concerned with what pet they’ll get when they somehow, someway, make it to the city. Don't worry about how that'll happen. You learn later that even those like Ronan are small potatoes compared to most of the baddies you’ll face. On paper he looks and sounds like the real deal—dressed in robes, talking up an apprenticeship with the famous Lorroakan—but scenes like the celebration light show and his own fury at needing to be saved, again, highlight how far he still has to go. The point is that Zevlor is right: these aren’t fighters and he at 18 strength, paladin, former commander, is definitely the exception.

However, BG3 is the sort of detail-heavy game where I’d expect them to include that exception in the dialogue. “We can’t stay, but we’ll be slaughtered if we leave—these people aren’t fighters.” Zevlor’s inclusion of himself in this assessment continued to nag at me and it didn’t start to make sense until I delved into his tag here on tumblr, with more patient players than myself posting everything there is to know about the tiefling. (Thanks, all.) Zevlor is fascinating to me in part because he has this contradictory nature, one example of which is that he’s a very talented fighter who desperately doesn’t want to be a fighter anymore.

…but also he totally does.

We overhear in his dialogue to Tilses that Zevlor is adamant about shedding the titles he’s earned through combat: Hellrider, Commander, Sir. He insists that they’re just civilians now and it’s not like he’s being disingenuous here—note that he introduces himself as just “Zevlor” to Tav. Zevlor means what he says to Tilses and we can see that he’s trying to both reinforce his point and lesson the blow by referring to her as “Tilly.” The nickname is a sweet one, hinting at their close bond in just a single word, reminding her that he’s not saying this to hurt her, he cares for her… but the nickname is simultaneously something he never would have used as her commander. The intimacy meant to comfort is also a hard blow to weather. They're now people who use nicknames inappropriate for the hierarchy of battle.

So Zevlor means what he says here, means it enough that Tilses is convinced and drops her use of “Commander,” but there’s definitely a hint of bitterness in his voice. At least, I’ve always heard it. Zevlor is steadfast in his conviction here, even going so far as to say, “I’m done soldiering, Tilly” when discussing what will come next at Baldur’s Gate. Yet for all of that his tone conveys (understandable) anger and disappointment that it’s come to this. Zevlor doesn’t act like someone who truly wants this change, but rather someone who’s been forced to accept it.

Is it outside forces unwillingly influencing him then? Did Avernus truly change things irrevocably? No, not really. At least, not in the way Zevlor likes to claim. Tilses herself states that being a Hellrider is for life; nothing can take away that title. You lost your post? Your whole city? Most of the people under your protection? Doesn’t matter! You’re a Hellrider forever, no matter the circumstances. I can easily picture a time in Zevlor's life where he would have agreed with Tilses wholeheartedly. They are Hellriders, dammit, and so long as there’s one person looking for their help they will wield that title alongside their blades. And right now, Zevlor has a lot more than just one person in need of his assistance.

So it’s not that Avernus truly stripped them of that identity. Nothing can do that. Zevlor is not rejecting titles and planning retirement because the mechanisms of fate are forcing him to.

He’s doing all that because he’s lost confidence in himself.

Even as someone with a shaky understanding of DnD classes, I love the parallel between a broken oath and the rejection of a lifelong title. If Zevlor can fail in his oath—or in his faith entirely, according to the memories stemming from his pod—why-ever would he think that any other ‘permanent’ part of his identity was worth fighting for? If you can loose the very thing you’ve built your entire life around, every important aspect of yourself, tied to your very soul… what’s a bestowed title compared to that? Zevlor doesn’t believe himself worthy of being a Hellrider anymore, but I think that goes deeper than a string of horrific circumstances making him feel incompetent. As an Oathbreaker, Zevlor likely believes that if he couldn’t uphold that, he can’t uphold anything. Calling himself a Hellrider would be a lie. A fiction. A pathetic, dangerous, insulting fiction at that. It’s like calling yourself the “Hero” while continually failing those around you. Sure, others might insist it’s a title you’ve earned, one you will always carry with you, but you don’t believe them anymore and at a certain point calling yourself that feels worse than embracing the title of “Villain." You don’t want to be the villain… but you want to pretend you’re the hero even less. Pretending is exhausting.

We see this struggle in the many ways that Zevlor fails, or almost fails, to uphold the ideals that originally guided him. I use the term “villain” above deliberately because Zevlor is not merely a former hero-type who’s self confidence has been shattered, or who has been reduced to a civilian, or who thinks themselves useless; he’s actively fighting against temptations that, under less stressful situations, he’d never even consider. I don’t think he is a villain, I think he’s a flawed, struggling victim who sees his own, inevitable mistakes as villainous—and the longer that warped perspective continues the easier it is to fall into bad behaviors. This cycle is perfectly summarized in the autobiography Zevlor keeps by his bed:

“When every passer-by thinks you a thief and a heretic, it is deeply tempting to become one.”

We don’t know if this is Zevlor’s autobiography (as far as I’m aware, anyway) but even if it’s not the words have clearly resonated enough for him to keep them nearby. This particular line paints a pretty clear picture of Zevlor’s struggle. If everyone you meet says you’re devil-kin, vermin, or would-be criminal, isn’t it easier to just give them what they want? If you can’t persuade them otherwise, why put in the effort of trying? If he can’t be Faithful to his God, why have faith in anything at all? If he can’t save these people—setback after setback, mistake after mistake—why is he even making the effort?

Zevlor obviously is trying, very, very hard, which is why such thoughts are merely temptations rather than actual, questionable actions. Still, the Grove gives us numerous examples of the precipice he’s balanced on—and the ways Tav can tip him in one direction or another. You can talk Zevlor down from his anger and get him to acknowledge his disgust in nearly sinking to Aradin’s level. You can also let him boil over and punch the human at a time when the last thing anyone needs is more violence. You can convince Zevlor that there are peaceful ways of stopping Kagha's ritual, or you can help him in pursuing the darker temptation to kill her. It’s a “low” thought, but at his own admission he hasn’t been above entertaining it. Zevlor’s requests for help, though always polite and humble, carry a spark of manipulation in them too. He’s not above leveraging your previously selfless good deed to his advantage—"She owes you for saving this grove"—and if you approach him before speaking with Kagha he’ll claim that the ritual will “be trouble—for all of us.” Except, no? Not really? Tav can make it clear that they’re just here for a healer, they’re only passing through, and as a fighter they are not beholden to the Grove’s sanctuary as the teiflings are. It’s not trouble for everyone involved, yet Zevlor frames it as such in the hopes that (unnecessary) self-interest may motivate you if selflessness fails. Finally, if Zevlor dies in your play-through and you use Speak the Dead on him, he will admit to having “plenty” of secrets, none of which he’ll share. Admittedly, this may be the result of cut content, specifically a story-line in which Zevlor knowingly betrays the tieflings rather than being tricked by the Absolute. Still, the game as it stands is the story we have and within it we’re given a man who is both fighting against these dark urges (ha) and has a past riddled with secrets. If Zevlor is anything, it’s blunt when it comes to his own failings, accurate and otherwise. So how terrible must these secrets be that he outright refuses to divulge them when, generally speaking, most corpses speak freely in death?

However, out of all of this the struggle I’m most intrigued by is the one surrounding the gate. Zevlor represents the tieflings: persecuted refugees, vulnerable civilians, people seeking to survive through cooperation, specifically by joining a community. Kagha represents the druids (or at least a vocal subset of them in Halsin’s absence): bigoted individuals, powerful fighters, people seeking to survive by giving in to their fears, specifically by keeping themselves isolated. This is the moral dichotomy of the Grove and it is symbolized through the gate. Zevlor wants to open it to everyone whereas Kagha wants to close it, permanently.

So isn’t it odd that Zevlor is the one ordering it shut?

When the scene first starts Kanon shouts down that no, he won’t open the gate. Zevlor said that no one is allowed in. Notably, he’s saying this to Aradin and his crew, people that the Grove is at least passingly familiar with, given that Halsin left with them to search the temple. It’s also notable that Zevlor isn’t expecting goblins to attack the Grove. He’s shocked that this is suddenly a problem, brought about by Aradin’s decision—“You lead them here?”— and the entire point of staying at the Grove is that it’s at least comparatively safe. Yes, there have been more attacks lately, but Zevlor seems to be relying on the Grove’s relatively unknown location, as well as the fact that goblins are normally disorganized. The safety is only compromised because Aradin brought a hunting party back, so Zevlor has no reason to expect any visitors, let alone ones that would be a threat.

More importantly, he should welcome such visitors even if he did expect them. After all, that’s precisely what the tieflings are: strangers with no ulterior motives other than to survive. Broadly speaking it makes perfect sense why he'd shut the gates. Zevlor’s first priority is to his people, so anything that keeps them safe is, theoretically, a good thing. But through the lens of his specific characterization and this specific, moral dilemma, it’s an awfully hypocritical decision. Based on everything we’ve seen, our party would not have been welcomed by Zevlor if we’d arrived without danger on our heels and a rescue to endear him to us. So his people should be welcomed, trusted, kept safe, given the benefit of the doubt… but Zevlor isn’t necessarily willing to extend that same trust to others. At the end of the day, he and Kagha want a version of the same thing: safety for those they deem are worthy of it.

It’s precisely these flaws and temptations that make Zevlor such a great character to me, even before he’s tricked by the Absolute. The fandom has leaned hard into Zevlor’s self-loathing and let me tell you, I love it (kisses, hugs, and cookies for you all), but canonically I think he has more reason to fear himself than we tend to portray in the H/C fics. I’m not saying he’s a bad person. Rather, it’s precisely because Zevlor is such a good person that he has the capacity to fall so far. It’s his all-consuming desire to protect his family that leads Zevlor to do and consider so much that a paladin would normally balk at. Denying others the safety you’ve been granted. Subtly manipulating others to do your dirty work. Considering murder.

Zevlor is someone torn between doing the Right Thing and the thing he believes will help those under his care survive. Importantly, when we first meet him he considers these to be two separate courses of action. So can you imagine what goes through his head when he first sees Tav saving everyone and doing so righteously? I think it’s integral to Zevlor’s characterization that the game all but forces you to play the Good Guy in that initial encounter. A cut scene starts, you’re thrown into combat immediately afterwards, and unless you plan to start attacking the Grove members alongside the goblins (which the mechanics discourage through the coloring that distinguishes enemies from allies) you will always finish this fight as Zevlor’s hero. Sure, you can be an asshole afterwards and demand payment. You could already be plotting your betrayal and the slaughter of all the refugees. But in this moment you are nothing but a miracle made flesh in his eyes. Right from the start Tav is succeeding in all the ways Zevlor feels like he's failed. You're the hero.

More specifically, you’re an Every-Man Hero. We might have epic backstories for our Tavs, but within confines of the game you’re largely a nobody when not playing an Origin character. How powerful must that have been to witness then? A total stranger, someone who has no ties to the tieflings or even, depending on your class, any sworn reason to help others, putting their life on the line to save what is most precious to Zevlor? I think a lot about the fact that he never asks Wyll to step in and try to change Kagha’s mind. She owes him just as much as she does Tav—Wyll is an equal participant in that fight and, if your shoddy play style is anything like mine, he likely did more damage—and Wyll is clearly invested in the tiefling’s survival, training the kids as he is. Now, obviously Zevlor’s reticence is largely a question of assigned roles (we need to be the one engaging with Kagha because we’re the protagonist/player) but, like Zevlor’s choice to include himself in the Not a Fighter group, it would have been all too easy to explain this away within the narrative. One comment about how Wyll already tried and failed, or how Kagha doesn’t trust Warlocks, or hell, maybe you don’t meet Wyll in the Grove at all. It’s an easy thing to accomplish and though this is edging more into the realm of headcanon than anything else, I can’t help but think that Wyll isn’t the kind of person that Zevlor could turn to for help right now. Because he’s a folk hero. The Blade of Frontiers, known far and wide for his impressive, selfless deeds. Zevlor is struggling so hard to keep the tieflings safe, tempted by all the unsavory solutions that might achieve that, drowning in self-hatred as his past and current failings catch up with him, wanting nothing more than to be his peoples’ protector:

“I would be a paladin again—with a god’s purpose, a god’s power. Everything I needed to protect my people. And all the while, the cult tortured them. They fought, and ran, and died around me, while I imagined myself their savior.”

Three of the things Zevlor mutters while trapped in the pod are “Hellrider… for… life…,” “Trust… in me…,” and “Children… look away… look at me…” He wants to be the protector, the one children look to for reassurance, he wants his words to Tilly to be a lie and he wants a way to prove that he is a Hellrider for life… but he’s not. At least, Zevlor doesn’t believe it. He lost his titles while Wyll still proudly bears his. Wyll trains the children to fight while Zevlor can only get swept up in anger at them being threatened. The people trust Wyll, adore him, he’s the hero and Zevlor… is not. Not anymore.

It’s too painful to approach Wyll and admit all that. That would be a hell of a blow to Zevlor's pride. But Tav? A stranger? A nobody? The Every-man who had no reason to help or reputation pressuring them, saving them anyway? That’s inspiring. Someone like Tav could be the answer and even, perhaps, the proof that Zevlor could redeem himself. Neither of them are folk heroes, untouchable in their assumed perfection. Tav is a living, breathing example of how the flawed, everyday adventurer can be everything Zevlor strives for.

No wonder he won’t shut up about them in the Shadowlands.

All of this is why it’s so tragic that Zevlor wasn’t given a redemption arc. Sure, you can recruit him for the final battle against the Netherbrain, but there’s no quest to change the cast’s opinion of him—or change Zevlor’s opinion of himself. All his content at the end of Act 2 and Act 3 reinforces that self-hatred.

Let’s make a list, shall we?

Nearly every line of his reunion with Tav has Zevlor painting himself in the worst light possible, from “a lie kinder than the truth” to his refusal to join you because he believes he’ll stab you in the back. You cannot convince him of the Absolute’s manipulation and there’s no response to his belief that such horrors start within the person like, “Of course it does! Because we’re all flawed and equally capable of good and evil deeds! That potential doesn’t make you irredeemable, Zevlor, it makes you mortal!!”

He’s utterly failed as his peoples’ champion and he’s also deemed “unworthy” of being a True Soul. Obviously not being chosen by the Absolute is a good thing, but for a man drowning in self-loathing that’s one hell of a complicated rejection.

Nearly all the tieflings hate him now, all those people he’s been sacrificing his soul to keep safe. I found it particularly devastating that this is one of the rare occasions where nailing a persuasion check doesn’t change the person’s mind. There’s at least one tiefling at Moonrise (I’m drawing a blank on her name) who will believe you when you explain how the Absolute influenced Zevlor, but that doesn’t lead to forgiveness.

Zevlor is deemed unimportant on a literal, narrative level. He is very easy to miss in the pods (I nearly did on my first play-through) and the game does incredibly little to dissuade you from that mistake. Putting aside for a moment that obviously an Origin companion is more significant than a minor NPC, compare this to Shadowheart screaming from her own pod, the game making it abundantly clear that this is someone in need of help—someone worth rescuing. She’ll even say later that you could have run past, more concerned with your own survival and the big picture heroics to bother with her. How must it feel then, if Zevlor ever learns that Tav was there and never stopped for him?

If you do miss Zevlor… oh boy. We’ve probably all seen at least a recording of Orin’s so-called gift. There are plenty of characters who can meet untimely and devastating ends, but very few go through this level of horror. Zevlor—after being held captive, remember—is tortured by God’s Favorite Torturer. He is stripped of his personhood and reduced to a mere “message,” a “pet.” Zevlor is further humiliated in death by being literally stripped of his armor—not just vulnerable in his nakedness, but denied the last symbol of his faith, his status, his power—and it’s always struck me that this is the closest we see to him 'enjoying' an intimate moment, this parody in Orin’s painting. Zevlor is one of the NPC’s most in need of physical comfort and instead he’s forced into this torturous mockery of a sex scene. It also hits hard that when Tav first spots his body the narration says that Zevlor “might almost be sleeping.” Undoubtedly this is a man who isn’t taking good care of himself. He needs a good night’s rest, yet this horrifying trick is all he gets.

As if all this weren’t enough, most of your companion are VERY critical of Zevlor while commenting on his demise. It’s one thing for the tieflings to believe the worst given their ignorance and the fact that they are the ones who suffered from Zevlor’s failure, but your company understands the Absolute and the ways that she gets her hooks in people. Still, Astarion calls him a “wet rag” even if he did deserve better than this. Shadowheart wouldn’t have wished this on him either, but she can’t help but slip in a “no matter his failings.” Lae’zel, often the most blunt, straight up says that he was “always destined to fail his people—and to fail us.” Wyll shakes his head and intones that “even good intentions can lead us down deadly paths.” Only Gale and Karlach stick to mourning the dead rather than airing his shortcomings.

When I spoke to my allies before the final battle Zevlor didn’t have a cut scene. It became clear to me later that this must have been a bug in my play-through, but at the time it only reinforced my feelings that his story was incomplete. Looking on Youtube I’ve found recordings of him saying that he is a Hellrider once more and he would “die a proud man if [he] were to die this day”… but that rings as terribly hollow given where we left him. Last we were together, Zevlor was saying in no uncertain terms that he could not be trusted, he would fail again, he was unworthy of forgiveness. Where did this change of heart come from? It makes perfect sense that he would help Tav in this moment—he begs to be of some use after getting free—but not that he would present himself with such confidence. Within the story as it’s been told this feels… fake. Like Zevlor is putting on a mask to fit the mood of this lively, optimistic party. Which, in turn, gives the “I would die a proud man” line a terrifying implication to me. Does Zevlor expect to die this day? Does he intend to? What would persuade him not to lay down his life here and now? His mission is complete. The tieflings are safe—though not by his hand. There's no hero's welcome waiting for him after this battle. They hate him. He hates himself, and by his own admission the one thing that could still make him proud would be to die at Tav’s side, trying to do one last bit of good. If someone said that to me after everything Zevlor has been through I would keep them far away from the front lines.

(I did, for the record lol.)

I’m not saying anything new then when I go, “Larian, PLEASE add more to his story.” Give us a Zevlor side-quest to renew his oath. Let us invite him to our camp. Something to link the broken man mid-game and the confident fighter at the end so that the latter doesn’t feel like an alarm bell with two legs and a tail. I mean yeah, I get hooked on minor characters so 75% of this is simply me wanting more content of a fave, but I also I do legitimately believe that BG3’s story would benefit from tying up loose ends like this.

Zevlor is a fantastic character, someone who contains an astounding amount of complexity for so little screen time. You have to follow up on that complexity though. If he’s meant to be a purely tragic figure, okay, fine, that’s the ending you get with Orin. But one where he joins you with a smile and reclaims a title he's previously rejected with such fervor requires more work in the middle; a through-line that explains how someone with so much self-loathing learns to think of himself as the hero again.

Because it does all come down to Zevlor’s perception of himself. He was always a hero, flaws and all. He always was and always will be a Hellrider.

The UI knows what's up :)

[luminousbeings-crudematter]

matinal

PAIRING: Simon “Ghost” Riley x John “Soap” MacTavish 

WARNINGS:  mature themes || 18+ only MDNI || cw: implied/referenced homophobia

LENGTH:  2.2k

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There is no winning.  

No matter what he does, and no matter how he does it.  

Johnny focuses on the movement of his muscles, the rhythmic contraction and relaxation, the way they burn and ache under his skin.  He counts each rep out loud because if he doesn’t, he’ll scream.  He’ll scream and he’ll keep screaming until he’s hoarse and they section him, and he’ll continue screaming then too.

Because what the fuck else was he to do?  He finds himself facing abject self-betrayal, again, feeling like he’d fucked up, again, and so what the fuck else was there to be done anyway?  What the fuck was he thinking?

Except, the voice in his head whispers, you weren’t thinking.  You just act impulsively, over and over, you never think, never reflect, no conviction, what’s expected of you, big strong man fighting pointless battles—   

He screws his eyes shut and grinds his teeth.

***

She has kind eyes, Johnny thinks to himself, and then blinks when she pauses.  Oh.  Oh. 

“Erm…” he starts.  A quick self-deprecating laugh, and then Johnny resets his features, becomes  Soap again.  “Sorry, one more time?”

Her laugh is sweet, and though she’s been turned away from him, she looks over shoulder and gives him a quick smile.  “I asked if you needed any more pain-killers, Sergeant, or if you’re sorted for it?”

“Och, no, I’m alright, cheers.”

“Of course,” she says, still smiling.  “Now, let’s have a look at those knuckles, yeah?”

When he extends his still bruised fingers to her, she holds his hand in hers for a quick moment, assessing, considering, then turns away to grab her supplies.  When she comes back, she looks up at Johnny for a moment, face devoid of expression, then gets to working on cleaning and wrapping. 

“You heard what the Private said.  About Gho—Lieutenant Riley.  And…me?”

“What about Lieutenant Riley and you?”  When he looks up at her, her gaze is clear again, confident.  Nothing in her expressions suggests anything amiss about the words he’d said and it throws him off for a second.    “A lot of people come here for medical assistance, Sergeant,” she says, matter of factly.  “People I like, people I don’t like.  Soldiers, generals, terrorists, other medics.  Even Lieutenant Riley.”  The name makes Johnny’s eyes shoot up to meet hers, almost expectant of…something, he didn’t know what.  But she continues, undeterred.  “I’ve treated all of them equally.  I do treat them all equally.  I’ve helped them as well as I could in the circumstances, and I’ve given them the medical care that they’d needed at the time.  Because that’s my job.  Because that’s what’s expected of me.”

She pauses then, until Johnny makes eye contact with her, and though her next words are harsh, almost reprimanding, her eyes maintain that kindness that drew him to her in the first place. 

���What’s expected of you, Sergeant MacTavish?”

***

He feels his fists burn from him having taken out his ire on the punching bag, but Johnny knows he had it coming, that it was bound to come out one day, that no one could keep a secret this big on a military base.  Everything was a sensational rumour in this place, among the men here who had never been properly house-broken, had nothing to do all day but sit around in anxious anticipation of the Next Big Thing.  The anxiety made them reach out with clawing fingers at anything they could find, desperate for anything they could get their hands on, anything they could use against each other, anything that made them feel anything at all.

“Heard suspension was on the table,” he hears Ghost say, and Johnny doesn’t even bother wondering how long he’d been there.

The gym is quiet—most places on base are, at half 3 in the morning—but of course Ghost is here.  Of course, Simon finds a way to haunt Johnny at the witching hour, and if that’s not hideous irony, he doesn’t know what is.

“Got away by the skin of m’teeth,” he says shortly, leaving no doubt as to whether or not he’d like any further conversation on the matter, but this is Ghost and Ghost couldn’t care less.

“What’d you do this time, MacTavish?”

Johnny sighs heavily, sets the weights down and turns to Ghost.  “You read the report?”

“Read it.  Want to hear from you what you did.”

“Broke his nose, didn’t I?  Fuckin’ prick,” Johnny hisses, and his next words are more growl than not.  “Had it coming.”  

“Heard you did more than just break his nose.”

“N’ what of it?”

“MacTavish…” Ghost warns.  “You’re not in your right mind, lad.  Have a feeling you’d have killed him.”

Johnny’s sigh is heavy and tired and he feels exhaustion the likes of which he’s only started to feel in the last few months.  It’s an clawing, persistent type—he finds that it increasingly fogs his mind, finds a way to fuse with his marrow, becomes a part of his routine—he’s not quite desensitised to it, but the more it lingers, the more he feels the knowledge and certainty of what the fuck he’s doing slip away from him.  What the fuck was he thinking?  “I—I cannae do this right now, Ghost.  M’tired.”  No sooner have the words left his mouth is he up and turning away from Ghost, ready to bolt away from both the tiresome conversation and the company, leg it straight to his room so he can be by himself for a bit.

“Johnny.”

His entire body slumps with the force of his forced exhale.  He’d turned away from Ghost, but they both knew that that minor detail hardly mattered.  

Ghost knew him.  It came to him effortlessly—Ghost hardly needed to look at Johnny to look through him.

“What.  What d’you want to know, sir?  What is it that wasnae in the report that you’d like me to tell ye?”

 “You’d’ve been suspended, if it wasn’t for Price.”

“I know.”  

“So why’d you do it?”

Johnny  pinches the bridge of his nose.  “Does it matter?  I’m no’ going to have the opportunity tae do it again.”  The words come out through grit teeth even though Ghost isn’t the subject of his fury. 

Well.  Maybe he was.  Johnny can’t ignore the fact that Ghost was at the centre of it all, Ghost was always at the centre of this shit. 

“Sergeant MacTavish reported that unsavoury comments by the Private about his sexuali—”      

“Stop.”  Johnny warns. He clenches his fist shut when he feels the first tremble in his hands. “I mean it, Ghost.”

The toothless words just make Ghost scoff.  “This your first time, Johnny?  Or did they teach you any self control at the academy before they—”

“Ye don’t know shite—”

“I know enough.”

Johnny uses the tense silence to get his breathing in control while Ghost just watches him for a moment, motionless and unblinking.   

But the moment passes and.  It’s strange, Johnny thinks, watching a marble statue melt and come to life right before your eyes.  Ghost’s demeanour softens, and he cocks his head to the side curiously, takes one step forward, crowding Johnny, taking up every bit of his personal space.

“You don’t get to leave here because of stupidity, Sergeant.  You don’t get to make that choice.  Not you.  Not anyone else.  Not even me.”  A finger comes up to point at Johnny accusingly.  “You remember that, Sergeant.”

The words spoken are so matter-of-fact that they make Johnny pause, exhale harshly in surprise, but with hardly any  opportunity for further contemplation, though, because Ghost isn’t done.

“You were stupid.  Careless.  You’re fighting battles that need not be fought, Sergeant, and you’re going to burn out for it.  You’re a risk to the rest of us and you’re a risk to yourself.”  

And that just makes Johnny scoff.  It's the arrogance in Ghost’s voice, he reckons, that rubs him up the wrong way, because it’s all par for the course, isn’t it.  Ghost just doesn’t understand, and he doesn’t need to.  The half of the base that doesn’t respect Ghost fears him.  No one would ever say anything unsavoury to Ghost, no one with half a working mind would dare.

But Johnny’s not Ghost.  A fact he is reminded of, over and over—a fact from which, it seems, there is no escape.

“I don’t care what you think,” Ghost says, interrupting Johnny’s line of thought.  “Don’t you ever fuckin’ do this again.”

“Ghost—”

“I mean it, Soap.”  

Johnny only gets a split second before Ghost is yanking him forward by his collar.

It’s not a kiss.  They’ve shared kisses before, and this is nothing like those times.  There’s no affection or warmth, Johnny’s not even sure Ghost is in the frame of mind to ask or give pleasure at that moment. No, this is Ghost trying to send a message, and he won’t stop until it’s been satisfactorily received.  Every beat they spend locked together feels to Johnny like he’s in the middle of a firefight—the same adrenaline makes his heart race and his palms sweaty, the same uncertainty of not knowing how things will end, the same fear of consequences.  

But, of course, the universe chooses this moment to be in tune with Johnny’s inner turmoil and his universe understands what he needs.  The kisses gradually slow, and when Ghost nips at his lips softly, Johnny knows that he’s being forgiven.  

But Ghost doesn’t know the half of it.  He doesn’t—can’t—understand what motivates Johnny, what continues to be an equally potent source of peace and torment.  

Sometimes, Johnny thinks, Ghost, who has seen so much in his life, protects himself by  what he wants to see.       

And it’s times like these that Johnny wishes he could burrow inside him, thinking it would help him understand why Ghost says the things he says, does the things he does—but it’s a fallacy.  More than anyone and anything, Johnny knows that there is no understanding Ghost.  There is no solving this enigma of man, there is no untangling the assemblage of things and places and experiences that make Ghost.  

No, for Johnny, there’s only staying.  Staying is the most important thing. 

“Ye can’t fuckin change my mind about this,” Johnny pants against Ghost’s mouth.  “I’d do it again.  I’d kill him for talkin’ about ye like that—”

Ghost pushes him away by his collar, eyes wide and glassy, and shakes him a little, trying to get his attention.  “About me?” 

Johnny’s never heard a noise as sardonic as the surprised laugh that leaves Ghost.  He exhales roughly, his grip on Johnny’s loosening, as he hangs his head.  Johnny briefly wonders if he’s off the hook, but…Ghost is breathing hard, he notices.  No, not breathing hard.  Panting.  Like he’s been running.  

Johnny puts a warm palm on the nape of his neck in concern and feels the sudden dampness there.  “Ghost?  Ghost?  Simon.  Talk tae m—”            

“You fuckin idiot,” Ghost seethes, head lifting to fix Johnny with a glare, his words acerbic and tone unbelievably cruel.  “You roughed him up because he said some shit about me?  You fuckin’ idiot, Johnny.”

“Enough, Simon.”  Johnny feels like his own skin breaking out in a sweat, clenches and unclenches his fists at his side.  “That’s enough.”

“Enough?  Enough?  Are y’out of your fuckin mind, then?  What the fuck were you thinkin’?”  Harsh fingers come up to grab Johnny’s face, squeeze his cheeks together, hard.  “What was the point?  What’d you achieve?  WHAT WAS THE POINT?”

The words echo in the empty gym, the resulting reverb making Soap flinch.  Ghost lets his face go, grabs him by the collar again.  But this time, it feels different.  

This time, Ghost is hanging on for dear life.   

“Y—you can’t.  Ever.  Do this again.  I don’t care what they say Johnny.  Not for me.  Never for me.”

It starts in Johnny’s chest when he hears Simon’s words.  Smaller than a seed, smaller even than a grain of sand.  More a suggestion of a feeling, a hint of something.  It starts warm and tingles, but it’s not long before the feeling grows, sizzles, burns him from the inside out.  

Ghost’s secrets aren’t his, not yet, but Johnny doesn’t need them.  Not in that moment.  He wears it on his skin, it’s clear to see.  He may not vocalise it, may never say the words, but Johnny hears them regardless.  Ghost wears what he feels for Johnny on his sleeve, just as much as he physically bears his mark, hidden carefully on the rich tapestry on his forearm.    

Only a man who’s lost everything over and over and over in his life could understand the value of what they have, ill-defined though it may be.  How Johnny could have missed this, he doesn’t know.  What the fuck was he thinking?  There’s nothing to doubt. 

Simon’s still panting, still holding on to Johnny’s shirt in a death grip.

“Don’t leave,” Ghost whispers, desperation bleeding through the words, a vulnerability so telling that Johnny feels tears in his eyes that he’ll never let spill over.  It’s a temporary vulnerability, Johnny knows this, afforded only because of their solitude, and the thoughts of what could have happened and the lateness of the hour.  

He holds it greedily to his chest anyway.

“Where would I go?”

***

Ghost evokes a distinctive feeling in Johnny’s chest when they’re together like this—sweaty and out of breath, face tucked tight against Ghost’s rapidly pounding heart.  Johnny holds on to that feeling, tries to name it, tries to liken it to something, anything he’d felt with past lovers, but words evade him.  Descriptors evade him.

The closest he gets to giving it a name is—

[gerardwayissexah]

WIP Wednesday - NejiTen Tattoo Shop AU

I'm procrastinating on something I need to do, so here's a short excerpt from one of my WIPs. Even though I'm open about generally disliking alternate setting AUs, I've written about 17k words of a modern AU fic inspired by some fanart I saw last year. To be human is to be a hypocrite, so sue me. :)

In what I have so far, Tenten is a tattoo artist/ninja weapons and gun enthusiast. Neji comes into her shop one day wanting a tattoo to cover up his mark - which she later finds out is a magical seal placed by his uncle. Intrigued and a little infatuated, Tenten gets sucked further into his orbit...and I'm still working on the rest. Here's a little preview! Let me know what you think, and please share if you enjoyed the excerpt.

“What brings you in today?” “I...you do tattoo cover ups, don’t you?” he said, his mellow voice airy with a slight nasal quality. “Uh, we do. Usually it’s cheaper than getting them removed.” Tenten lifted the corners of her lips in a smile, eyes upturned so she could meet the customer’s shifting gaze. Not even a hello, huh, she thought. Often customers who wanted their regrettable tattoos covered up came in on the heels of a recent breakup, when they found that their commitments in fact had been outlasted by their ink. Sometimes they showed up with a contrite expression on their faces, because she’d been the one who inked them in the first place. Tenten never commented aloud on their regrettable situation or probed, as was expected of good customer service. “That’s also what I’ve heard,” he answered. His jaw locked before he continued speaking. “Removal...also isn’t an option in my case. It’s not that I can’t afford it.”

She hummed, giving a single deliberate nod in acknowledgment. She didn’t want to pry on why it wasn’t an option for one who apparently had no shortage of resources at his disposal. The nagging interest at the back of her mind refused to leave, despite her repeated urgings to herself to forget them. The customer stepped forward to set a hand on her counter, then turned his head all around to survey the shop for anyone else around. Tenten wanted to tell him that he’d chosen a perfect time to visit, at the slowest hours of the week when only she held down the fort and the shop’s managers and other artists were absent. Maybe he’d even done his market research before coming, and intended to keep his request a secret from all whom it wasn’t absolutely necessary to involve.

Tenten pursed her lips and splayed her hands out in a shrug, to signal that there was little she could do at the moment. The first order of business when it came to covering up a tattoo was assessing what she had to work with. Some designs were easier to rehabilitate than others. Names of past lovers could be transformed into a patchwork of flowers, vines and thorns. Abstract geometric patterns if the customer favored designs of a less feminine bent. The sweeping curves and lines of a past lover’s name could be incorporated into the petal of a rose nested in a corona of thorns, or the arc of a Celtic knot. Turning heartbreak into beauty was among Tenten’s favorite challenges as an artist, one of the rare occasions where she had maximal discretion to exercise her creative mind. Other failed tattoos needed a coverup altogether, and the process of inking over entire patches or swaths of skin was often a painful one.

“Alright, that’s great to know,” Tenten said with a hint of sarcasm matching her dry smile. “Before I can do anything, I need to see what I’m working with. Won’t judge, promise. I’ve seen worse, guaranteed.”

The customer’s face turned even whiter, overprinting the few hints of color on his already pale skin. Tenten saw in his pallor the stark white of a fish belly, or a sheet of fresh printer paper. She knit her brows between her eyes while his lips parted, then he swept the tip of his tongue over his chapped bottom lip. Watching his struggle, she wished she could point to a line of other customers and tell him that she didn’t have all day to wait. Unfortunately for Tenten, the empty shop left her nobody else to draw her attention away, and she had hours left in the day before her shift ended. She weighed concocting some bogus task – restocking the back of house, sanitizing equipment – to break the heaviness in the air. But instead, she returned to her sketchbook and doodled a radial design of sweeping curls and intricate shading. It might make a nice tattoo to place on her shoulder blade or upper thigh, one of the few places where ink didn’t already cover her.

“If it’s an ass tattoo of your ex’s name in a pentagram, trust me, I’ve seen that.”

A breathy laugh met her joke. The idea of the uptight young man before her unveiling an ass tattoo brought a lopsided smirk to Tenten’s face. She hadn’t meant to make him laugh – the outburst of impatience was ill-advised, even when the tenor of her work environment was more on the casual side. Tenten’s supervisor would have rebuked her with a sharp word had he heard her mocking a customer, especially one who gave the impression that he didn’t take such offenses lightly.

“No, no. Nothing like that. I would never get an...ass tattoo of my own volition.”

“Most people with ass tattoos wouldn’t,” Tenten laughed. “Usually they’re under the influence of one thing or another. Not that I imagine a proper gentleman like yourself ever putting yourself in that position. And...what’s your name, by the way?”

[iaminfourthwing]

The Generals Daughter

Chapter VIII

The office is actually General Sorrengails office with my father currently sitting in her chair. A dark aura fills the room, making me even more anxious than I already am. I want to go back, see Violet getting her shit kicked out of her by Xaden and patch her up afterwards. I would desperately do everything to get out of the presence of the general, who is glaring at me like I told him I would switch sides and fight with the gryphon fliers. Or like I just told him I would marry a marked one.

Not that I am opposed to it … a certain handsome face flashes behind my eyes.

“Sit down” his gruff voice orders me, which I oblige, folding my leg over the other, ankle resting on my knee. I wait anxiously for what’s to come but he stays silent for another few minutes, observing me with calculating eyes.

“I thought you wanted to come back for Threshing” I say hesitant after letting my eyes swipe over the massive map to my right on the wall. Something seems to be familiar about this map.

“Changed my decision” he answers coldly, interrupting my thoughts. He leans forward to lay his underarms on the table, hands folding in each other, still studying me and trying to find my flaws like he always does.

“I took the opportunity to see if the marked children are still under control and what you’ve been up to. Can’t stain my reputation, can you?” He doesn’t want me to answer, I know that it’s a rhetorical question. I swallow hard, thinking about my friendships I gained, my interactions with Jack and his minions and Luca, my squad member. There are so many possibilities, for what he could punish me.

“The professors informed me that your academics are excellent, no flaws or mistakes, which was to be expected. Emetterio told me about your first match, assessment. To punches – to be expected as well from a Melgren. And you won every other challenge these past weeks without earning injuries yourself besides …” while talking he stood up to walk around the desk and now stands in front of me, leaning against the desk.

Besides? Oh. Oh, fuck no … the fight against Trevor! Widening my eyes, I have no time to react. “I- “his hand around my throat quickly stops me. I am gasping violently for air while his hand tightens his grip, choking me harder.

“I told you so many times before, you never let your enemy lay hands on you. No injuries, no blood. And yet …. You failed me!” he hisses through gritted teeth and tightens his hand even more.

In my panicked haze I claw at his hand, black spots clouding the edge of my sight. I am barely conscious but then … his hand is gone. Air streams painfully fast into my lungs and my loud coughing fills the office. My heart races with more than one hundred wingbeats per minute.

My father sits back in the chair and reads through some classified rolls, ignoring the way I am still trying to gain my composure back. Without looking up, he speaks in my direction. “I will be back for Threshing in a few weeks. I expect you to do better than this and I also expect information on the behavior and activities of the marked children. We’ll see us again when you have your dragon.” Barlowe’s words swirl through my mind. Does father already know, if I’ll gain a dragon and maybe … what species?

With that, I am dismissed.

To my luck the hallways are still empty, the cadets still at the gym for another half an hour and after that they’ll directly go to the dining hall for dinner. I hope to see Violet still in one piece but all I can think right now is to get to the bathing chambers before I break down. I can still feel his hand around my throat, can still feel my nails clawing at his hand.

Entering the bathroom, I immediately sit down in a corner, breaking down in tears and gasp for air. This is one of the heaviest panic attacks since I had the last five months ago. Normally I have my emotions under control but today was shit, with my father being here.

For over an hour I sit in the corner, without anyone interrupting my thoughts spiraling, when the bells ring, indicating that it is time for dinner.

I am debating whether I’ll skip dinner but then the next meal would be breakfast in the morning and going for so long without food can be deadly here. I am sure that my friends are worried, and I really have to check if Violet is okay, after her “trainings fight” with our wingleader.

One look in the mirror confirms my suspicions – father’s handprint around my throat shimmers in various colors and tones. Covering with my shirt is not possible due to it being cut too low and my jacket is in our room. Fuck that. He did that to me, and even though he knew and wanted the other cadets to see the punishment, I want them to know what kind of person he is.

I walk through the still empty corridors and approach the closed doors to the dining hall. The chatter and laughter can already be heard from afar and as soon as I stand in front of the massive doors that separate me from the others, I want to turn around and vanish.

Taking a deep breath, I notice shadows lingering. Xadens shadows. Confused I observe them, but they ignore my presence and open the doors wide. Thanks for that, fucker.

*Violets POV*

 After my failed fight with our (hot) wingleader, we’re now sitting at dinner. While the other around us talk and laugh with each other, I wait nervously for Arya’s arrival. My friends notice how tense I am. We all saw, before she stepped out of the gym, how nervous and terrified she was.

“I bet Arya is fine and you are too worried” Rhi tries to cheer me up, which doesn’t work really well. I feel a tingly sensation at the back of my scalp, but I don’t give Xaden any attention because the giant doors just opened. Arya steps inside and the chatter is almost completely silenced.

No wonder – the ring of dark bruises adorning her neck attracts all the attention.

Shit, what did he do to her? And above all – why? She won all of her challenges without any problems, and in every subject, she is in top form. She is the best cadet in first year and beyond. So what the hell was the reason?

“I take back everything I said” Rhiannon whispers next to me, her wide eyes fixed on our red-haired friend. Looking around, everyone interrupted their dinner to catch a look at her, or more her neck. Would it be anyone else, no one would’ve been interested in her. But since she is a Melgren … everyone wants to know the gossip.

I can see a few marked ones whispering to themselves while they look at her – Imogen and the rest of the marked ones from our table under them.

A few seats away, at the head of our table, sits Dain. He decided to eat with us today, but right now he watches her with furrowed brows, trying to figure out what could have happened.

Arya knows that she has the attention on her, her tense and hard steps betraying her. And her facial expression. It’s been a while since I saw her so cold, so … terrifying.

Luca’s loud scoff interrupts my worried thoughts.

“Of fucking course, while we get our asses handled at the challenges, our little miss perfect here gets to have some fun” she sneers loudly.

Heads whipping around at her, shocked and confused, even Dain. Even over the distance I can see the leadership, Xaden and Amber Mavis and everyone else, tense and their widening eyes find Lucas figure.

What the fuck did she just say?!

“Luca-“ I start but am quickly interrupted by a loud crash of Arya’s tray, having the most of us flinch at the noise.

“You want to repeat that?” Arya says serious, in her deep voice when she is angry.

“Are you deaf? I said, while we have to get through the challenges, you’ve got some fun with that little officer” she repeats arrogantly.

Oh.My.God. Dain looks my way, his face screaming ‘Is she dumb?’.

Arya still stand behind her chair, arms tightly crossed over her chest, a serious and cold look adorning her face.

“Are you stupid? I am just asking because I am kind of concerned of your mental health.” She says, without a trace of humor in her voice. Ridoc presses his lips together, desperately trying to not let his laughter out.

“Excuse me?!” Luca squeals, which hurts my ears. I furrow my brows.

“Again, for idiots, who are too slow to think in a straight line: the officer you saw is my father’s right hand. He got me because the general wanted … to talk to me” her voice is still raspy, and I noticed the short interruption in her explanation.

“So, you want to add something intelligent to the conversation – then shut the fuck up if you have no idea!” She finally takes her seat in front of me.

Luca opens her mouth again but it’s Dain, that is quick to interrupt her. “Enough! Luca just shut up and eat. I don’t want to hear another word from you!”

*Arya’s POV*

“How are you doing, silver one?” I ask Violet.

“I am okay, not injured or anything, just sore” she says softly. Relief spreads through me.

I can feel eyes on me and let my gaze subtly swipe over the heads of the many cadets till they land on a certain handsome black-haired second year, sitting at the leadership table next to our section leader, Garrick Tavis. Bodhi is observing me quietly from afar, concern mixed with curiosity on his face. Xaden notice our interaction and sends me a threatening glare. What the fuck did I do to you, man?

I am interrupted by Sawyer. “What was your father’s reason to lash out like this?” he asks hesitantly. I swallow the turkey before I answer him.

“A few weeks ago, I was challenged by Trevor Laine form First Wing.” “One of Barlowes little friends” Ridoc says.

“Yeah. The general knew that I won the challenge, but …” I swallow harshly, taking a deep breath.

“A few years ago, when I had a personal training session with him, he told me to never let myself get injured in hand-to-hand combat by my enemy. I had to promise him, that I will do everything in my power to avoid getting hurt, because apparently to him, it shows weakness. Every time I had a bruise or the slightest scratch, he would punish me. You don’t need to know the methods, but it was ugly. That today was the softest one. I had a personal healer assigned to me, that would help me after, so I could start train again quickly after that. I never stayed injured for long and couldn’t rest afterwards. I have to be the best, or he’ll find more punishments way worse than the prior. My bet is, he’ll kill me one day, by accident or not doesn’t matter.” I finish.

“So when Trevor punched you and nicked your skin with his blade-“

“My father knew. And now I wear his punishment as a necklace” I joke darkly but my friends stay silent, even Luca or Dain.

“I’m so sorry” Violet whispers sadly. I send a reassuring smile her way. “I am used to it” is my only answer.

“That makes it just way worse” Heaton says from next to Sawyer, not looking up from his tray.

Just then I notice that the marked cadets from our squad sit with us. I can’t read Imogen’s face; she hides her emotions well.

“Since the day of conscription, I always thought, you being the generals daughter does you so many favors. I never thought about what could happen behind closed doors. I should have known better; he is the most ruthless general on the continent for a reason. I hope you can find your peace one day … without him.” With that she turns her attention back to her food. That was oddly … nice? What the fuck?

[candywife333]

Body to Body

Part 2 of Just want to see you like that

This series is based on Jungkook's 3D and is probably going to have close to 6-7 parts, depending on where the storyline takes me. I'm feeling a bit dramatic, so expect a lot of angst. Tumblr is going to be referenced in this fic under a different name, Bumblr (I know, totally goofy name).

Summary: Y/N, an overworked employee at HYBE , only ever posted on Bumblr when she was feeling cornered. It was truly her escape. She didn't really do insta or even twitter. Most people would look at her and think this glass wearing quiet girl would most probably be posting pics of flowers and cute animals. But no, looks could be deceiving. Y/N's posts were far from innocent. In fact , they were borderline risque. She didn't expect anybody but a few horny people to come across these pics; people who would view and compliment in the best case scenario. What she didn't expect was that a certain star would be a regular consumer of her material. A star that technically had no business simping after her like that.

Disclaimer: This work is not representative of the real Jungkook's personality and behavior. It is merely fiction and please treat it as such.

Trigger Warning: voyeurism, exhibitionism, some swearing

Please don't read the fic if any of these themes are disturbing or offensive to you.

Taglist is open

Link to part 1- https://www.tumblr.com/mred435/729860379581235200/just-want-to-see-you-like-that

I didn't know how to process his behavior. They always seemed like really polite people, all of the BTS members. I wonder why Jungkook was acting like that. Usually he was really quiet and never spoke to any lower down staff in general. He had managers to do that for him. Maybe I should start referring to him in my head as Junglebook, cause he was really acting like Tarzan beating his chest because of a spoiled banana milk.

Actually , never mind , that would be an insult to Tarzan. Maybe he was having a bad day, or the fame had gotten to him. I guess that is why they say never meet your heroes, or idols. Not that he was either for me in particular. I had subliminally just always placed them on a pedestal I guess , with the way other staff always talked good things about them and with how world renowned the entire group became.

Forget it. Not like I cared. He could go complain if that is what he wanted to do. Don't threaten me with a good time, my dude. I didn't even like this job that much. I would just take more hours with my tutoring gig to cover the loss if I was getting fired.

Maybe my eyes were just deluding me. No way could he be my Mr.DaddyofPop. The man had access to supermodels and actresses, he would not be thirsting over me randomly. Preposterous. Utterly.

I received a call from Admin strangely enough just as I was making my way to the cafeteria to check in with them about inventory. I took the call and barely got time to even say anything as I heard a sound resembling frantic yodeling from Jessica (the bloody admin bitch with a stick up her ass), " Come to my office Y/N!!! You are in big trouble". The bitch always hated me, so I never took her pterodactyl screeching to heart. But now I was a little shocked. Was this dude's banana milk shit going to get me fired?

I walked to the office and stepped a foot in the door as Jessica vibrated with anger and yelled, almost spitting in my face, "What the hell did you to make Jungkook-ssi so pissed?! He is in an abysmal mood. And he even scolded me about the poor maintenance staff in front of Bang PD when I was in the meeting room! I am in charge of maintenance staff you little dipshit?!!! It reflects badly on me! DO YOU FUCKING UNDERSTAND"?!!

I stared at her, calmly assessing her, as I firmly asked, "How is his banana milk my fault? I was not in charge of cleaning up in the evening yesterday. I don't even have a hierarchical position over the rest of the staff. Neither do I manage or speak for them. We are like free agents doing our work here and leaving". My statement seemed to make her even more enraged as she stabbed me with daggers in her eyes, "Well, I don't care whose fault it is! You are fired effective as of now! Insolent scum. You workers don't know your place".

I looked into her eyes that reminded me of vipers and dung and all things disgusting with the world as I vehemently sneered, "You think I fucking care, you bitch. Just cuz I've been quiet and tolerating your shit for the past 4 years, doesn't mean I don't remember what type of crap you have pulled around this place. You don't even do your job description justice, with how negligent you are about management in this building. I could go straight to Bang-PD and tell him all the mistakes I have had to cover for you in the past few years, because of your incompetence and lack of planning. Like , since when do maintenance crew type out meeting objectives and edit for grammar errors in powerpoints"???

She looked paralyzed as she froze with her mouth open, probably surprised that I was speaking up for myself (considering that I had silently been working without complaint for the past few years). I continued assertively, "Don't threaten me with a good time bitch. I don't tolerate tyranny, especially when I have no reason to. I get no pay raise, no praise for my work, or any satisfaction whatsoever. Why the hell should I care about little Jungkook's spoiled banana milk?? He's a little boy who takes big dumps that I can't even plunge completely when I have to clean his personal office bathroom. Maybe he should get on a diet, if you catch my drift".

I smirked , " You can fire me to save face with your bratty little pop star, and I simply don't care. You will realize whose work this building actually relies on when I am gone. Now, wire me the rest of my pay for this week and I will be gone without saying a word. Otherwise, Bang-PD will hear about all your stupidity with evidence". She stood silent, in a petrified state as I walked out the building. Damn, I wanted the experience on my resume for one more year. But I guess, whatever. I could always find a different agency, maybe the one I had interned at a few months back. It was a small up and coming one, but it would do. Since I wasn't strapped for cash due to the tutoring gig, I would survive. Living on cup ramen and eating 2 meals a day at least allowed me to have some savings to fall on.

I trudged to the closet to pick up my bag and as I opened the door realized what I had walked in on, freezing . A mop of black hair, broad shoulders with sweat droplets trailing down, and a naked firm ass facing the door as he pounded into a newbie stylist?

Damn, this dude got around. I cleared my throat, "Dude, can you like stop for a minute. I know you are caught in motion. But I don't want to see a porno in 3D with 4k HD clarity in broad daylight. I need my bag." Jungkook turned around, shock evident in his eyes, clearly not expecting me in my own fucking office aka closet.

I grabbed my bag swiftly from the corner and continued, "Carry on, just make sure to wrap it. Wouldn't want a bad outcome. Thanks for getting me fired, you dickwad. I could sell pics of you to the tabloids and make bank. Be happy I have some morals". I tipped my imaginary hat at him, because I am a gentleman and a scholar unlike his raggedy ass and was about to make my way out. But since I am a nasty bitch when pissed, I turned around to quip, "On further deliberation, actually don't wrap it. Hope you get Clamydia and leak pus from your dick, you whore."

Satisfied with my comebacks I walked out the building rejuvenated. Today was a good day.

[grandlinedreams]

Can you do jealous nico robin please??

hi!! absolutely, here you go ㅡ I hope that it's to your liking!!

"Look at this!"

"Don't wander too far ahead," Robin calls as she looks over from where she's standing to find you a few feet away, examining another ware stall with no small amount of fascination.

"I won't," you answer, but it's easier said than done when there's so much to look at, so much to see ㅡ you're suddenly more understanding of Luffy's attitude when it comes to new islands. Said Captain is off doing his own thing, as are the others.

"I see you're enjoying yourself though, which is good." Robin's hand rests on your head, affection that makes your cheeks warm, resisting the urge to lean into it like a content housecat.

"I am," you answer, "aren't you?" There's the abrupt fear that you're annoying her by asking her to come with you, flitting from one stand to the next ㅡ but Robin only smiles, her expression soft.

"Of course I am. I always do with you." There's nothing but honesty in her tone, and your heart hammers in response.

"Good." You're content to walk a little slower with her at your side, though your gaze never stays on anything for too long ㅡ until you catch the shimmer of something and you pull ahead without thinking. "Oh wow..."

It's a hairclip, ornate for the small, gleaming jewels inlaid at the center of delicate loops of gold, but that it isn't what truly catches your attention ㅡ it's the tiny jade butterfly perched towards the center, thin wings outstretched and winking in the sunlight.

You reach for it, mindful of how you hold it for inspection. 'This would be a nice gift for Robin,' you think, biting your lip. You know that Robin isn't one for gifts very often, but this clip is beautiful and practical.

"See something you like?" The unfamiliar voice jolts you from your thoughts and you look up to find a man of around your age watching you, hair swept back from his face and his eyes bright and inquisitive.

"Yes," you answer, figuring that he must be the stand owner as you hold up the hairclip. "I'd like to buy this, please. How much is it?"

He's quiet for a moment, and you watch his eyes flick over you before he answers, "For someone who's beauty rivals that of the heavens themselves? Free, if you'll allow me the honor of showing you around? It's pretty obvious that you aren't from here."

You blink, uncertain of how to respond. Part of you wants to bristle at the latter part of his comment. Had you been that obvious? It isn't like you'd been rude or obnoxious ㅡ but it's also clear that he's trying to flirt with you. You've watched Sanji do so (and fail) enough times to pick up on it, and the expectant way he's watching you makes you uncomfortable.

Is he expecting you to say yes?

"That's a generous offer," comes the answer, but it isn't from you. Relief floods your veins as your girlfriend approaches. Her expression is neutral, but you've been around her long enough to see the flicker of irritation in her eyes. "But they already have an escort."

The stand owner's gaze flicks from you to Robin, silently assessing before Robin continues, "And offering customers items for free in exchange for something like that is not a sound business practice."

The man's eyes narrow, though Robin only stares back before you set the clip down and reach for her hand. "Thank-you for the offer," you say, "but I don't think I want the clip anymore."

And then you pull away with Robin, her hand still in yours. You wait until the two of you are a safe distance from the stall before you huff indignantly, "What was that guy thinking? Even Sanji wouldn't do that!"

"I'm not so sure," Robin answers, though her tone is light and teasing before she squeezes your hand, tugging you to a stop so that you turn towards her, her other hand coming up to cup your chin and tip your head up. "But I'm not fond of people trying to take what's mine. Maybe I should make it clear that we're together, hm?"

[password-door-lock]

“Boss,” you approach Unknown, obviously ready to complain to your heart's content. He knows this game very well by now, for all the times you've made him play it. Actually, when Unknown thinks about it, he supposes that you’ve never really been in any position to make him do anything. If he didn’t want to listen to you, then he wouldn’t have to. 

“What?” he spits, humoring you regardless of his disinterest in wherever you think this conversation is going. After all, sometimes your rambling turns out to be quite entertaining, and occasionally, you want to bring his attention to something which is actually relevant to his revenge. 

“I'm bored of working,” you announce, as if that means anything. “Do you wanna see how much I got done?” 

He narrows his eyes, making one final click before he resigns himself to stepping away from his revenge for a moment. It's annoying that you keep on distracting him— Unknown never expected this when he decided to keep you as his assistant. If he'd known you'd be so rowdy, maybe he wouldn't have held onto you this way, but as it is, he's kind of stuck with you. He can't send you back to where he got you from— even though he's fairly certain that you wouldn't intentionally breathe a word about him to anybody, there's always the possibility that those liars could find you and torture the answer out of you. After all, if the benevolent Savior is willing to try something like that on her believers, Unknown shudders to think about what sorts of things might go on in the world of the RFA. He can't cleanse you, either— with your general weakness and anxiety, which he doubts would be eliminated by the elixir of salvation, Unknown gets the feeling that you wouldn't last an hour as a believer. Ultimately, he has no choice but to keep you here.

Strangely, he finds he's more productive now that you force him to take these little breaks, as you call them— probably because he has to work even harder to catch up in between, but more productive is more productive. Unknown would do anything to be able to bring that redhead to ruin faster, though that doesn’t mean he’s pleased to be wasting his time on something so inane as your fragile feelings. 

“You're bored?” He coos, continuing to humor you. Inane or not, those feelings of yours are fun to play with.“Oh, you poor thing. Then come here, and I'll make it better, hm?” Unknown turns to face you now, making sure that you get a good look at his wolfish grin. 

You must know that it's a trap. You're probably not the smartest person in the world, but Unknown is familiar enough with you by now to know that you’re nowhere near as foolish as he initially expected you to be. “Mmm,” you hum, slipping into his embrace and clinging to him like you actually think you're going to get anything out of this. Maybe Unknown should consider revising his assessment of your intelligence, after all. Or maybe... you know it's a trap, but you like it anyway. Strange. “Thank you.” You really sound like you mean that, like you actually think that Unknown is going to let you off the hook so easily. He saved you specifically so that you could help him with his work, and you don’t get to quit on him just because you’re sick of it. 

Now that he has you in close proximity, Unknown leans in to whisper in your ear, “You don't get to be bored of working, cutie. Since you can't do it on your own, I guess you can just help me with my task instead, hm? What a handful you are.” He feels you smile against his chest, and, not for the first time, Unknown wonders whether he is actually the one in control.

“You want me to just look at the screen?” You ask, clearly trying to restrain your excitement. You really are strange, if that’s something you’re looking forward to. 

“Yes,” Unknown replies, “Turn around and look at the screen.” You do as you’re told, and Unknown feels relieved. He’s still the only one in charge here— of course he is, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

[gogobootz1]

Act II: No. 14a, Pas de deux 

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Since you're generally unlucky in love, it hardly comes as a surprise that your boyfriend cheats on you before Christmas. But if there's one thing Hangman loves, it's saving the day.

8k words

Christmas had rolled around once again. Every year you looked forward to it, and this year was no exception. Your expectations had been higher than ever before, considering this year had been one of your best.

As the lead engineer on the Darkstar project, you had been overjoyed to see your work come to fruition. When Maverick crashed your prototype a little over two years ago, you thought the project was done for. That all the time you spent on it had been flushed down the drain. Only you were proved wrong when the old bastard had somehow proved to the Navy higher-ups that piloted jets were still a necessity. The details of the mission he'd been pulled away on were never made clear to you, but you were happy to see the pilot make a safe return. You were even happier to see that he was returning to his position as your test pilot.

So over the past two years, the two of you had worked closely to rebuild. Every so often he would be called away again to offer expert advice on new missions, but he always found someone to take his place. Maverick was a good friend to you, and you became well acquainted with the younger pilots he mentored. The ones you didn't already know, at least.

In November you finished the project, with the help of Maverick and a considerable number of incredibly skilled individuals. The Darkstar pushed beyond Mach 10, and the Navy couldn't be prouder. Nor could the President, a former Naval officer, himself. As a celebration of your achievement, you received an invitation to the White House Christmas Party.

You could not wait to finally bask in the glory of all of your hard work. The sleepless nights and endless hours dedicated to the notion of creating the fastest plane in the skies. You'd done it, and now you got to celebrate.

Holding the open card in your hand, you could not wait to tell your boyfriend. You'd met him a few months ago when Admiral Caine came by to assess the progress that had been made on the Darkstar. As the man's personal assistant, he could only tell you how amazed he was by your work in a whisper as he left. But the two of you soon started dating. In the minimal time you chose to spend away from your project, he was a pretty good boyfriend, and you could not wait to reward him for sticking by your side with a ticket to the White House Christmas Party.

You entered his apartment with the spare key he'd given you. Having told him you had paperwork to finish this weekend, you knew this would make for an extra pleasant surprise.

"Artie, guess what?!" You called out, excitedly. You raced to tug your shoes off and find him in his apartment. When he wasn't in your line of sight you headed toward his bedroom, thinking he turned in early. You figured his lovely girlfriend waking him up with a prestigious invitation would make it worth it for him.

"Hey Art," you swung the door open, the letter held up high in your hand, only to be greeted with the sight of your boyfriend in his bed with a naked woman. The two of them scrambled apart when they saw you.

In an instant, you blinked and turned around. It would be a cold day in hell before you dealt with this bullshit. He called out after you.

"It's not what it looks like," he pleaded from behind you. You'd already made it to the doorway and were pulling your shoes back on.

"I'm not blind, nor am I a fool, Arthur. Don't treat me like one." You pulled open the door, but he caught it before you could slip out.

"It didn't mean anything," he assured you, and you glared. "No really! But you're working all the time and I... needed an outlet."

You scoffed at his words, "really, Arthur?"

"Yes! You're always gone and when you're here you're... boring."

Finally, your eyes started to fill with tears. "You're actually blaming your indiscretions on me? On the fact that after I've worked a fourteen-hour day I don't always want to have disappointing sex with you?!" You forced the door open wide enough so you could get yourself out of there.

"Baby," he cried after you.

You whirled around and looked him dead in the eye, "we're done." The words came out with more venom than you'd used your whole life. You'd had lackluster boyfriends, granted they were few and far between, but none of them had been so pompous as to think they could do better than you.

You should've known better than to set your expectations so high. Every year Christmas disappointed you. It could never live up to the Hallmark holiday fantasy you created in your head, no matter what you did. This one was no exception.

Three glasses of wine later, you were sitting on your couch. You stared at the invitation in your hand. It was on thick paper. It even had a wax seal. It made you sad. You weren't sure if you could accept it. Four hours ago you'd had a boyfriend as a plus one. Two hours ago you called Maverick to see if he would come with you, only for your hopes to be dashed. Penny's mother would be hosting a Christmas party the same evening. You couldn't blame him for prioritizing his fiancee over you.

But now you were alone. You were practically a fucking Wright brother, and you were alone.

After your third Christmas cookie (you started holiday baking the day after Halloween), your sadness started morphing into anger. Why the hell should you be moping? You were a bonafide genius- Arthur was the one who should be wallowing in his own misery.

And why were you considering rejecting your invitation? You didn't have to have a plus one to have fun. What was so wrong with being alone anyways? It's not like having Arthur around would've been better than being by yourself. If he thought you were boring, he really needed to stop and listen to himself.

So in your mildly tipsy state, you went online and booked a first-class seat on a flight to Washington D.C. You'd be damned if you let someone else ruin your experience. You earned this- and you were going to act like it.

To your luck, the next day was a Saturday, and you were determined to find a dress suitable for the event. But when you got in your car, it wouldn't start. Just your luck. So you called the one person in your contact list who you assumed would have jumper cables, or something to that extent.

Jake didn't look very happy as he pulled up in his pickup truck. The thing was sparkling, of course, a brand-new model he'd rewarded himself with after a particularly grueling mission. He rolled his window down and glared at you.

"Do you not know anyone else?" He asked. The bags below his eyes were heavy- he'd clearly been out the prior night.

"Not well enough to feel comfortable inconveniencing them." You told him innocently.

"Well thank you so much for that high honor." He said, sarcasm dripping off of every word.

You grinned at him, "you're very welcome, Jacob." You hopped up into the passenger seat of his truck.

"I thought you said you needed a jump?" He questioned you.

"We can do that later. First, you should take me dress shopping." You said assuredly. His tired eyes stared at you blankly. "I'll treat you to lunch?" You offered, hoping to sweeten the deal.

He rolled his eyes at you and started to pull away, too tired to argue. "To the mall?"

"Are you kidding?!"

He hesitated, "no?"

"Jacob I cannot find a black tie dress at JC Penny, we're going to a boutique."

"Jesus, fine. What do you need a black tie dress for, anyways? You hardly leave the house."

"Okay first of all, rude,"

"True," he interrupted.

"Second of all," you barreled on, "I was invited to the very prestigious White House Christmas Party," you flaunted.

"Oh, no way me too." He nodded casually.

"What?!" You turned completely in your seat to face him.

"Yeah," he nodded.

"For what?" You asked.

"You do recall I'm a highly skilled fighter pilot, yes?"

"Shut up, Jake," you snap at him.

"I've got a flight out on the 15th," he said, ignoring your attitude.

"So do I," you say suspiciously.

He let out a chuckle, "Wouldn't it be funny if we were on the same plane?"

"Oh, I'm sure we are." You rolled your eyes. Ever since the Academy the two of you had been constantly bumping into each other. From group projects to stopping in the same coffee shops on weekends, the universe threw you together so many times you gave up and became friends. It was easier that way.

"That is just our luck, huh?"

"Oh! Turn here," you told him, pointing to your right.

"Where?" He asked.

"Here! Turn!!" You shout, and he suddenly swerves down the correct street.

"You couldn't have warned me?!?! Christ!" He panted.

You let out a guilty sort of chuckle, "the dress shop is on the right."

He rolled his eyes as he pulled into the parking lot, "the things I do for you, Einstein."

"I appreciate them all, Seresin," you assured him as he pulled into a space. You hopped out and quickly made your way into the shop. Jake trailed behind you reluctantly.

"Welcome to Magnolia Dress Shop!" A woman greeted you both cheerfully from behind the counter, "how can we help you blossom?"

You could feel disdain radiate off of the man next to you. "I can't do this." He said under his breath. You gave him credit for the five seconds he tried.

"Why don't you sit at the Starbucks across the street? I'll text you when I'm done and then we can go to lunch."

He sighed in relief, "I'll get you a croissant." He told you, and you recognized it as a thank you. You gave him a fond smile and nodded him off.

The woman behind the counter let out a light chuckle as the bell jingled behind him. "Don't worry, I've seen some boyfriends never even make it in."

"Oh, he's... not my boyfriend," you corrected her.

Her eyebrows shot up, "have you looked at him lately? Maybe you should reconsider."

You let out a chuckle. You couldn't blame her, after years of knowing him sometimes you were still struck by Jake's Hollywood good looks. "Believe me, if that man wants something he gets it. If he was interested there'd already be a ring on my finger- that's how long I've known him."

She sighed, "if you say so." Suddenly she remembered her job, "Anyways, what are we shopping for today?" She asked you excitedly.

"Something to wear to the White House," you replied confidently.

Her eyes widened, "then let's get started."

Two hours later, you and Natalie, who gave you her name soon after you started shopping, were at a standstill. Nothing had stood out, at least not enough to make it "White House worthy" as she put it.

"Wait!" She shouted, startling you. "We just got a shipment in. I almost forgot."

You perk up at this. Natalie rushes through a door a few feet away to the shop's storage room. "You're gonna love it! I'm pretty sure it's Givenchy." You heard her call from a few feet away. Whatever she was grabbing was sure to be expensive, but you hardly ever splurged. Just once it would be worth it.

Natalie came back holding one of the most exquisite things you'd ever seen. The dress was a gorgeous champagne shade due to the extensive embroidery that covered nearly the entire thing.

"It's beautiful," you told her.

"It's going on you right this instant," she insisted. You weren't one to argue, and when she zipped you in you knew. You turned and looked in the mirror, awestruck. You thought the dress looked good by itself, but it positively sparkled when it was on. You looked radiant.

'Wow." Natalie breathed.

"I'll take it." You practically whispered. She simply nodded.

After you paid enough money to make a pit settle in your stomach, you sent Jake a text.

all done :)

thank god- it was lunchtime an hour ago

don't get your panties in a twist, I'm on my way

I hope this was worth my gas money

you'll see

You thanked Natalie and met Jake outside with your giant garment bag. He exchanged the dress for your croissant and hung it up in the backseat and you enjoyed your snack.

"As an added bonus I will let you choose where we eat."

"How very generous," Jake mocked you.

"Aren't I just?" You joked.

Ten minutes later he pulled into the parking lot of a Texas Roadhouse.

"Are you that homesick?" You asked, a teasing smile gracing your face.

"I like their bread," he said defensively.

"I thought you subsisted on raw eggs and protein shakes nowadays."

"What can I say? I'm generous around the holidays." His words made you chuckle, and you followed him into the restaurant.

The two of you had made it halfway through the bread basket when he asked what you had hoped he wouldn't, "are you okay?"

Your mouthful of bread gave you a moment to consider your reply, "as a matter of fact, I think we could use more cinnamon butter."

"That's not what I mean." He insisted.

"Well, staring at the garland against the wooden walls might give me a headache." You started, but he cut you off with a serious call of your name.

"What's wrong?" Jake asked, gentler this time. You cursed him for his keen observational sense. Then again, you had a similar radar for when something was bothering him. You just knew each other too well.

You sighed, "he cheated on me."

He grew tense, staring at you in disbelief, "you're joking."

"No joke," you confirmed, "apparently, I just wasn't entertaining enough for him."

"What are you, a circus animal? It's not your fucking job to entertain him." Jake said, anger painting his face. "I never liked him anyways."

"You always made that clear." You said, mildly annoyed at his comment. The last thing you needed was an I told you so.

"And you never listened," he pressed.

You let out a huff, "look, Seresin, when I settle it bites me in the ass, and when I don't I get no ass." He tried not to chuckle at your comment. "I. Can't. Win. But excuse me for trying." You leaned back against the seat of the booth and crossed your arms.

"...Is this a bad time?" Your waitress asked, holding two plates in her hands. And just like that, Hangman was back.

"Not at all," he reassured her with a winning smile. "If there's one thing that'll cheer my friend here up, it's her lunch." Just when you thought that Jake was yours, he reminded you all over again he wasn't. It happened every time, and each time it was painful. But each time it was necessary. Although, you weren't sure just how necessary it was to invite the waitress to sit down with you both. And to get her number right in front of you. At that point, you threw a fifty down on the table and told him to take you home because you weren't feeling well.

You didn't see him again until three weeks later. For someone who literally built planes, you didn't get to the airport much. But when you did, you actually enjoyed it. Except when; you had to wake up at four AM for your flight, you dropped your favorite mug in your rush to get ready, security randomly chose you for a pat down, and you ran into old friends who had newly pissed you off.

As you boarded your flight to Washington D.C., you caught a glimpse of golden hair. In an instant, you knew who it was. Of course, the gods had once again thrown your hand in with Jacob Seresin's. When did they not? It was, after all, this sort of luck that had led to your friendship in the first place.

Already settled into first class, naturally, Jake only pulled the sleeping mask from his eyes when he heard your voice. He didn't seem all that surprised.

"What can I do you for, Einstein?" He asked jauntily.

"You can fix your unseemly posture so that I can get to my seat." You snapped quietly at him.

"You? First class? Huh, I never thought I'd see the day," he said, pulling his feet in so you could get to your window seat.

"I figured I'd treat myself," you spoke, sourly.

"And a treat it will be," Jake smirked.

You hummed and nodded sarcastically. It took him a second to figure it out.

His face fell a bit, "what are you pissed at me for?"

"I don't know, Jake, perhaps some might consider it rude to blatantly flirt with a stranger in front of your friend who had just been cheated on." You spat.

His shoulders sagged, "okay-"

"You know what?" You asked, plucking the sleeping mask out of his hand, "save it."

"What are you-"

"Save it," you reiterated, slipping it over your eyes, "I don't want to hear another peep from you until we land." You leaned back in your seat and determined yourself to ignore him for the next five or so hours.

You heard him sigh, "whatever you want, darling." He said, quietly resigned. He made it extremely hard to be angry with him.

After takeoff, you actually did fall asleep. You weren't sure how long you'd been out when you heard voices.

"Is that the Mrs.?" A flight attendant asked Jake. You decided it would be less awkward to simply feign sleep.

You heard him take in a sharp breath, "we're in a bit of a tiff." He told the older woman instead of correcting her. Your chest tightened at his words.

"Well, I'm sure it's nothing a handsome couple like you can't resolve," you heard the woman say. A warm smile accompanied it, you were sure. The kind people always gave Jake, it was almost hard not to.

"Thank you," he said, keeping quiet. Clearly, he thought you were still asleep. "Can I get a pack of cookies and a bottle of water? She's bound to be hungry later." Internally you groaned, Jake knew exactly how to earn your forgiveness- always had.

You went back to sleep soon after that. True to his word, Jake didn't disturb you until the plane was safely on the ground.

"Hey, we're here," he gently shook your shoulder. You pulled the sleeping mask off your face and saw him try to hide an amused grin.

"What is it now?" You asked, annoyed.

"You've got..." he trailed off, but drew a line around his eyes, indicating the mask had left an impression on your face. You practically glowered at him.

"Thank you so very much, Seresin," your words dripped with sarcasm.

"Eh, don't worry about it," he said, "you can thank me after I grab your bag." The chivalry absolutely killed you. How were you supposed to stay mad at him?

"Okay I can take it now," you made to grab your duffel. The two of you had stopped after you got off the plain. He pulled back the shoulder that your bag rested on.

"No can do," he shook his head, "I won't have the guest of honor damage her beautiful shoulder before the party."

"I'm hardly the guest of honor," you insisted, still reaching for it, "besides, I have to go get my checked bag."

"How much luggage did you bring?" He asked, judgement clear on his face.

"You think I shoved a designer gown inside of a duffel?" You asked with disdain.

He put his hands up in surrender, "fine, luggage claim it is." He said, starting to walk in the direction the sign pointed. You huffed but ultimately gave up on trying to get your bag away from him.

"Which one is it?" He asked when you finally got to the luggage carousel.

"It's navy blue with a silver luggage tag," you told him, not expecting him to push throw the crowd and retrieve your bag for you once he spotted it. You shouldn't have been surprised, though, Jake hardly shied away from making a scene or performing a grand gesture.

"Your bag, M'lady," he offered it to you, dramatically, and you snatched it from his grasp. You moved to take the duffel back from him, but he still managed to keep it away. "How are you getting to the hotel?"

You rolled your eyes at him, "you've heard of Uber?"

"Nope, I rented a car," he shook his head and started walking off in the other direction with your bag. You stood there, momentarily stunned, then jogged to catch up with him.

"And how do you know it won't be out of your way?" You asked, suspiciously.

"Where are you staying?" He asked.

"The Jefferson," you said its name just as he did. You threw your head back and groaned, "how do we keep doing this?" You asked.

"It is genuinely beyond me," he supplied, walking you towards the Herz. When you arrive he insisted on grabbing the door for you. You rolled your eyes at him before walking in.

As Jake approached the man at the counter, you looked around. You were happy to see the small Christmas tree on the corner of the desk. A bulb was out, though, and soon you were fixated on it. You walked over and examined the thing. It was an easy fix, as all you had to do was screw the bulb back in.

"Come on, MacGyver," Jake said teasingly, jingling the car keys he'd just gotten. You released your grip on the tree and followed him to the sports car he rented.

"Really?" You asked after taking one look at the thing.

"Did you expect anything less?" He questioned you. You shook your head, choosing to just get into the car.

Jake was more than happy to throw the keys to the valet as he rounded the car to pop the trunk. In a flash, he'd gotten both yours and his luggage out of the car.

"See you soon, darling," he called over his shoulder as he wheeled his bag in towards the front desk. You rolled your eyes at him and heaved your duffel bag onto your shoulder as you followed him inside.

You made your way to one of the check-in counters, steering clear of Jake and his attempts at charming the desk attendant. Getting your room key proved to be quick and painless, and soon enough you were on your way to your suite on one of the top floors. Did you need to splurge on a suite? Probably not. But when you're too busy building a military-grade jet to go spend money and you find out your boyfriend's been cheating on you, fiscal responsibility isn't at the top of your list.

Scanning your room key, you push open the heavy door to be greeted by a luxurious room and a gorgeous view. The Washington Monument peaked through your window and looked striking against the clear blue sky.

"Damn! I guess you always did have expensive taste, even back at the academy." You jumped about four feet in the air at the voice over your shoulder. Turning around, you weren't surprised to look up into the smarmy face of your accidental travel companion. Of course, the two of you had ended up on the same floor.

"Oh don't pretend like you don't Mr. "my family isn't wealthy- we're comfortable"." You snapped once you recovered from your momentary fright.

"We are!" He defended.

"Yeah anyone with a backyard the size of Vermont would be." You sassed back, walking into your room and putting your bags down by the luxe-looking sofa in the middle of your suite.

"It's really closer to Rhode Island," Jake called from the doorway.

"Shut up, and besides, anyone who uses the word wealthy is wealthy." You asserted, flopping back over the arm of the couch onto the cushions below.

"Really?" He asked, skeptically.

"Yeah," you sass him, "the rest of us just say rich."

"Okay, I'm not Jeff Bezos. You don't have to group me in with the one percent."

You sat up, "what are you doing in my doorway again?"

"I'm on my way to the gym," he started, "but I saw you admiring the view and I figured I'd say hi."

"Well that's very kind of you," you told him, getting up so you could push him out of your doorway, "enjoy your workout!" You waved as you closed the door on him.

"See you later," came his muffled voice through the door.

A few hours later, you heard the knock on your door you'd been expecting. Thank God your dinner had finally come. After a long flight and the long day you were bound to have tomorrow, you didn't really feel like putting something nice on to go to dinner. So after having a nice long shower, you settled into your pajamas to eat a (hopefully delicious) hotel meal.

You swung the door open and an older hotel employee rolled a cart with your meal in. He placed your tray on the table and thanked him.

"A lot of orders, tonight?" You asked, trying to make conversation with the nice man.

"Actually no," he told you, "just you and another gentleman on this floor."

You sighed at that, "let me guess, Mr. Seresin?"

He looked shocked you got it right, "yes, room 717." You nodded fondly.

"Well, thanks again, Ralph. Have a nice night," you told him as he wheeled the cart out. You sat down on the couch to start eating your meal but stared at it for a minute before coming to a decision you might regret.

You let out a huff and grabbed your room key, walking down the hall to where the hotel employee told you Jake was staying. Knocking on the door, you waited impatiently for him to open it.

He had clearly already dug into his burger as he opened the door. "What's up?" Jake asked, mouth full. Judging by the sweatpants, he'd had the same feeling about staying in that you did.

"Want to eat in my room?" You asked as he swallowed his bite.

"Sure," he shrugged, "hold on a minute." The door closed in your face as he went to grab his tray.

"How'd you even know I was getting room service?" Jake asked as you led him down the hallway toward your room.

"Ralph told me," you replied, unlocking the door and holding it open for him.

He turned and looked at you like you were crazy, "Ralph?"

"Yeah! The room service guy," you defended.

Jake made a face as he set his tray down across from yours on the coffee table. He settled on the floor right in front of it and you did the same in front of your food.

"What'd you get?" He asked, picking up his burger again.

"The salmon," you said, cutting into your dinner. He nodded in acknowledgment. "You excited for tomorrow?" You asked, taking a bite of asparagus.

He hummed a yes, swallowing his bite of hamburger, "if there's one thing they know how to do at the White House- it's make eggnog."

"Wait- you've been to this before?" You asked, brows furrowed.

"Yeah, they love me there," Jake said, shrugging like it should be common knowledge. You supposed it probably was, there weren't many places where he didn't make friends.

"Of course they do." You shook your head.

"Oh, hey, you know what we should do?" He asked.

"What?" You replied, taking a sip of water.

"Put on a Christmas movie- I bet they have all the streaming services here," he waggled his eyebrows.

"You say that like you don't." You told him, raising a brow.

"Oh come on," he whined, "don't be a grinch."

"I'm not," you said defensively, "I'm just afraid of your poor taste."

"I have great taste in everything, and that's a fact," Jake said.

You rolled your eyes, "fine then, what would you have us watch?"

"National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation." He said, proudly. You cursed, internally, that was one of your favorites.

"You just like that scene where that hot girl takes off her bathing suit."

"You don't?!" He asked.

"I never said that," you shrugged.

"That settles it, then. I'm putting it on." He said, swiping the remote and sitting down on the couch.

You rolled your eyes but got up anyways, grabbing your dessert off of the table. After grabbing a fork, you settled in next to him.

Jake side-eyed your dish. "What is that?"

"Fancy chocolate cake," you told him, offering your fork for him try it.

He took a bite, and his eyes widened, grabbing himself some more.

"Jesus! Save some for me," you snapped, snatching your fork back. He gave you an innocent-looking smile as he pressed play on the movie.

Somewhere over the course of high-speed sledding, non-functioning Christmas lights, and difficult Griswold family relatives, you must have fallen asleep. You awoke to the phone on your nightstand ringing. Thanking your lucky stars that you scheduled a wake-up call earlier in the evening, you answered the phone. As you did, you noticed a note left on the fancy hotel stationery.

You fell asleep, loser. I moved you so you wouldn't complain about your back hurting. Also, I ate the rest of your chocolate cake- it was delicious.

You rolled your eyes at the lovely message Jake had written you. However, you were thankful he hadn't let you just sleep on the couch, even if it came at the cost of the rest of your slice of cake.

You rolled out of bed and quickly got dressed. You had a hair appointment at noon followed by makeup at three. Being back at the hotel by 4:30 would give you enough time to grab a little something to eat and put on your gown.

After eating in the hotel lobby, you grabbed the elevator back up to the seventh floor to get your coat and your purse before leaving. The doors opened up only to reveal the man you couldn't seem to avoid.

"Are you really going to the gym again?" You asked after looking at what he was wearing.

"Hey, these abs don't build themselves, Einstein," he said. As you stepped out of the elevator he traded places with you, "what are you up to this morning?"

"Just about to head to my hair appointment," you told him. "See you tonight!" You said as the doors shut.

After a long day of beauty prep, you were finally ready to put on the dress. You had a surprisingly delicious salad from the restaurant in the lobby and were ready to finish the look for the evening.

Both you and Nicole had agreed a few weeks earlier that you should wear matching gloves with the dress. She'd ordered a pair for you from a shop in DC and had them delivered to your hotel this morning.

After donning the gown, you pulled on the black opera gloves to accompany it. You sat down at the vanity in your room to put in your pearl earrings, and just like that, you were done. You weren't sure you'd ever felt more beautiful.

"Hey, I don't know if you're still getting ready, but I'm leaving for the party soon, and I'm happy to drive you." Came Jake's voice through the door. Originally you were planning on hiring a car to take you, but you'd sort of forgotten about that. "I know we didn't talk about-"

You cut him off by swinging the door open. The words died in his mouth as soon as he saw you. After a moment he regained control of his smart mouth.

"I've never been so glad to have spent gas money," Jake murmured softly.

You shook your head, goodnaturedly, "I just have to grab my purse." You told him. He only nodded, still admiring the view.

As you walked back toward him you couldn't help but admire how he looked in his naval formal dress. "You clean up nice," you told him, adjusting his bow tie.

"So do you," he complimented, smiling.

You couldn't help but give him one back, "then let's go be the two hottest people at the White House."

"I thought you'd never ask," he teased, offering you his arm.

No one could say that Jake Seresin wasn't a gentleman. He could be an insufferable flirt, yes, but his Southern upbringing shined through when it counted. He opened the car door for you twice, both when entering and exiting, and insisted on offering you his arm. That- you weren't complaining about. Designing high-speed jets didn't give you that much practice walking in heels. You knew Jake wouldn't let you fall. On a normal day he probably actually would, but he knew how much this Christmas party meant to you. He would be damned if it wasn't the best night of your whole fucking life.

You couldn't say he was bad company, either. After knowing each other for so long, you were more than comfortable in his presence. In fact, there were times he made you laugh like no other. You were sure tonight would be one of those occasions. With all the politicians and stuffy old people you already saw milling around, Jake would definitely start making cracks at the expense of his fellow party-goers.

The two of you had barely stepped through the door when you heard someone calling your name. You turned to see a young man.

"Hi, the President asked me to come grab you," he told you kindly- like he'd said something casual. Your eyes widened and you didn't move for a minute until Jake nudged you.

"Right!" You said, finally, "yes of course." You looked to Jake for support and found him giving you an encouraging nod.

"I'll find you later," he promised, as the young man started leading you toward where you assumed the President was. You still couldn't believe this was happening.

Finally, you came to where the man was standing with the First Lady. In an instant, the man excused himself from his conversation and walked right up to you. He greeted you by your first name, immediately shaking your hand. He acted as if he'd known you for years.

"I've been told you've done amazing work for the Navy. It sounds to me like you've brought us into the 21st century. I can't thank you enough." He gave you a show-stopping smile. Meeting him in person, it was even clearer why more than half the country had voted for him.

"Thank you so much, sir. It's an honor to meet you." You replied, a little starstruck.

"Believe me," he said, "the honor's all mine. Let me introduce you to some people." He guided you toward the conversation his wife was still taking part in.

Your conversation with the President had left you decidedly starstruck. You'd had no idea just how charming the man was in person. Frankly, it made you think Jake could run for office. With all his charm and godly good looks, he could probably make it pretty far.

Unfortunately, the President had to cut the brief tour he decided to take you on short- apparently, he'd received an important phone call. You were sure whatever it definitely took priority over your walkabout. He wished you a lovely evening and assured you you'd be on the guest list for all of his White House Christmas parties to come. And now you were trying to find Jake. Only you couldn't seem to track him down.

Walking into the main room of the party, you did a scan around. Peering over the couples dancing to the live band, you couldn't seem to spot him. However, you spotted someone you had hoped not to see for a long time. Your ex.

How on Earth did that lying, cheating, son of a bitch get an invite to this? He was a glorified secretary. And you were practically a fucking genius. Despite how much Jake teased you for it, your brilliance was indisputable. Not only that, but you'd spent the last few years busting your balls on the Darkstar project. This was your victory celebration, and now he was taking this from you too.

Tears swelled in your eyes, not because you were sad, but because you were furious. You hated when that happened, and you hated it even more when you had your eye makeup done. Before your ex-boyfriend could see you, you turned away to grab a drink. Almost instantly, you bumped into the man you had been looking for. Two strong hands steadied you from your elbows.

"Hey," Jake started with a smile that soon disappeared, "what's wrong?" His brow furrowed with concern.

"He's here," you said simply. Your shoulders were tense, and you were still trying to keep tears from spilling.

Jake's head whipped around the room. Instantly he spotted the person who'd made you so upset. His jaw clenched in anger, but he dismissed it to ensure you were alright.

"Come on," he guided you away. As a waiter passed he grabbed a glass of champagne off the tray. "Drink this," he said once you were in relative private.

You started shaking your head. You'd been having such a good night, but one glimpse at the man who'd cheated on you and your self esteem practically washed down the drain.

"Jake, what am I even doing here?" You said, face hot with embarrassment. "I really don't know why I thought this was a good idea- I'm just gonna call a cab and go back to the hotel." Your words came out in a rush.

"Woah, Woah, Woah," he said, "slow down, okay?" You shook your head again, but he grabbed your face in his hands and gently forced you to look at him.

He said your name softly, "you deserve to be here." He assured you.

You lightly grabbed his wrists, "Jake."

"No," he said firmly, "you have been looking forward to this for weeks. You work harder than anyone I know. You have more than earned a beautiful fucking evening at a fancy-ass Christmas party." You let out a halfhearted chuckle at that. "You look beautiful, you deserve to be here, and you don't have to worry about him. Trust me." You closed your eyes, relaxing into his hands.

"Hell, the President himself spent half an hour talking to you." You giggled at that. "Speaking of which, what'd you think of Jed?"

That gave you pause, "you and the President are on a first-name basis?"

He smirked, and all of a sudden you felt normal again. You let out a loud laugh.

"You just can't help but show me up, huh, hot shot?" You asked him, grinning impossibly wide.

"It's how I roll, darlin'."

"Well, you can dance with me to make up for it," you said, grabbing his hand and leading him back to where the band was playing.

Jake stopped in his tracks, "you sure?" You heard his underlying question of will you be ok if your ex is watching?

"Positive," you assured him, "Why? Are you not a Tchaikovsky fan?"

"I never said that," he said, "who wouldn't want to waltz to Waltz of the Flowers?" You smiled at his small joke as he led you onto the floor.

"How'd you know I could dance?" He asked you after a few turns around the floor.

"Did you not parade some lucky southern belle around her cotillion?" You asked innocently.

He snorted, "you caught me." To your surprise, Jake was an even better dancer than you thought. Although you shouldn't have been shocked, you doubted there was anything he couldn't do if he really wanted to.

"Do you remember that other time we danced?" He asked softly in your ear.

You wracked your brain for a moment before it came to you, "do you mean when we were drunk and did the Dirty Dancing lift?"

"Yeah," he grinned, "you think that would impress these folks who were around to see the White House built in the 1700s?"

"Actually Jake, the White House was rebuilt after it was burned down during the War of 1812. The President just told me so."

He gave you an unamused look, "fine, then I'll just dip you when you least expect it."

True to his word, just as the song came to an end he enacted his plan. He extended his arm out, then pulled you back in by the hand, instantly dropping you into a low dip. He kept you there for a moment, before slowly pulling you back up by the waist. The band had moved on to the next song, but you didn't know if anyone was dancing to it. You couldn't tear your gaze from his eyes.

A throat cleared from behind him, "may I cut in?" Of course, Artie thought you owed him a dance. Why wouldn't he- the pompous ass? Even after cheating on you he felt entitled to your time.

The look on Jake's face told you he was about to cause a problem, and the last thing you needed was to cause a scene at a respectable event. Letting out a huff, you took yourself as physically far from your ex as you could go.

Despite being able to see the snow from inside, you underestimated just how cold it would be out on the terrace. The breath that escaped you was visible in the brisk night air.

"You'll freeze to death you know," came a familiar voice from behind you. You turned just as Jake shut the glass door behind him, muffling the sounds of the party. The music carried, though, and made the cold a bit more bearable.

"I'd take that over dancing with Arthur," you scoffed. He made his way to where you looked out over the frosty railing.

"You didn't have to rush off. I would've taken care of him." His words made you sigh.

"You can't always take care of everything for me, Jake." Your chest ached. Every time you spent a few days with him, you somehow re-convinced yourself that he'd always be around for you. That, eventually, his role in your life would be more permanent and more than that of a friend. This time had been no different.

"What are you talking about?" He asked, eyebrows furrowed. His expression changed when he saw how cold you were. "Come here, you're shivering," he said, shrugging his jacket off and draping it over your shoulders.

"This is what I'm talking about." You shook your head, backing away a little.

"Really, Einstein, what-?"

You cut him off, "I can't keep letting you take care of me like this."

"Why not?"

You screwed your eyes shut, "because I'm fooling myself into thinking it's not temporary."

He blinked a few times, "it's not-"

"No, Jake, it really is," you said, tears welling in your eyes for the second time that evening. "Because you don't want to spend the rest of your life doing this. You don't want to spend a thousand more nights eating on the floor with me and watching movies and taking me out."

"And what if I do? What if I want to spend the whole rest of my life taking care of you. God knows you don't take good enough care of yourself." Jake said firmly, looking at you in disbelief. Your fists curled in frustration at his words.

"How can you say things like that when you don't really mean them?"

"I do!" He practically shouted.

"You can't say things like that," you begged. "You can't do things like this," your voice grew louder, gesturing to the jacket he'd given you. "Because I can't help but think that you're in love with me."

"I am." Jake said simply.

"What?" Your face fell in surprise, not quite understanding.

"I'm in love with you," he said so earnestly you thought you'd melt. You blinked and he had bridged the gap between you. Wrapping an arm around your waist, he pulled you into a firm kiss that left no room to deny his feelings for you.

It took you a moment to recover from the shock, but soon enough, your arms snaked up to wrap around Jake's neck. He held you there for a long moment, and you reveled in the feeling. How his strong arms kept you close, and his soft lips met yours. You basked in the warmth that radiated from his chest. In that moment, you were sure there had never been a more perfect kiss.

He pulled away but rested his forehead against yours. "Took you long enough to figure it out. I thought you were supposed to be a genius." His eyes shined with mirth as he spoke softly, smiling down at you teasingly.

"Not when it comes to feelings," you whispered, suddenly bashful.

"I think I made it pretty obvious," he laughed.

"Jake," you groaned, burying your head in his chest.

You felt his body shake as he chuckled, "that's okay, in your defense it took me a while to tell you outright."

"Well then, I'll spare you that trouble," you said, lifting your head confidently. "It's always been you or bust for me, Seresin."

He snorted, "how romantic."

"Wait, wait, let me have a do-over."

Jake rolled his eyes at you, shaking his head amusedly. You grabbed his face between both hands, and practically touched your nose to his.

"I love you," you breathed out, staring deep into his eyes. The words fell out of your lips with ease like none had before. Saying them felt good and right.

"Apparently you loved the gourmet onion rings too," he joked.

You reeled back and smacked him on the arm. "Jacob Seresin," you scoffed.

"Kidding, kidding," he assured you. You rolled your eyes but were unable to keep a grin off of your face. "What do you say we head back to the hotel?"

"Already?"

"You got the tour, met the president, and confessed your undying love- what more were you looking to do?" He asked.

"touché," you nodded, taking his hand and letting him lead you out of the party.

The next morning you awoke a lot warmer than you'd been the night before. You let out a yawn and stretched a little, rolling over only to run into Jake. Oh. Oh. Your eyes widened. And of course, he was still shirtless. You couldn't help but admire how the light that peaked out from behind the curtain graced his features.

"Go back to bed," he grumbled, voice raspy from sleep. And how could you argue with that?

"Room service later?" You asked him in a whisper.

With eyes still closed, he hummed in agreement. He then wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you closer to him. A grin grew on your face- it was going to be a very merry Christmas.

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

here is the link to the dress I'm picturing btw

MERRY FUCKING CHRISTMAS I have been working on this bitch since literally the middle of October. Christmas is really fucking for me this year (in a great way)- hope you all enjoy. Also, I wrote- like- half of this while listening to a ten-hour loop of that jazz song from the Incredibles.

(and happy Top Gun Maverick rerelease :D)

[raccoonfallsharder]

Window Across the Galaxy ✧*:･ﾟ updated 10/26

18+ only | rocket x oc | 17/26 Chapters | WIP | Word Count: pending.

girl falls first; racoon falls harder.

His head is down, and she can see the sullen set of his shoulders. Jolie sets Groot onto the floor gently, and he gallops over to his adopted father and climbs onto a couple crates next to Rocket to watch him while he works.  Should she say good morning? Will that just annoy him more? She’s hurt and scared, yes, and even a little annoyed in her more practical moments. But she reminds herself, again, that what this is really a result of - probably, mostly - is Rocket being frightened or wounded, and she doesn’t want him to be alone in that. But he doesn’t exactly look receptive right now. She chews her lip, then winces and shakes her head, and tries to distract herself by doing a quick check on the kitchen cabinets. Most of the dishware is anchored down in the built-in, padded racks that come standard-issue in ships these days, but a few of the plates are chipped on the edges, and one of the new glasses is cracked down the middle. She tosses the glass into the compressor.  All in all, the damage is less than she’d expected, and most things are salvageable. She hesitates, then heads to the hold, peering out into the forest, toward the spaceship Ego left behind.  Rocket doesn’t spare her a glance.

[NEW 10/26] ✧･ﾟ:*Chapter XVII. A Seedling. A Fox. A Little Girl. in which the party is divided.

lots of angst. healing isn't linear but rocket is in a much better position to come back from the consequences of his actions now than he was way back when they were on conjunction. unfortunately there's never enough time for these things, is there ~ ♡

General summary/notes + links to recently preceding chapters behind the cut. let me know via comment, message, or ask if you'd like to be added or removed from my fanfic taglist ♡

Rocket is captured by a Ravager crew hoping to get rich off the excessively large bounty on his head. Throwing a wrench in everyone’s plans is the Terran girl they hired to do some freelance assessing on a recent haul of goods they’ve seized from a Xandaran luxury liner. Oops.

slight AU starting pre-GOTG volume 1 (but will hit most of the same major plot points). slow burn + eventual smut with a lot of pining in the middle. kinda enemies-to-lovers? (but only one of these idiots thinks they're enemies). let me be real with you: this fic is really about wish-fulfillment. not just the eventual smut (but that too). mostly i just want someone to be nice to my best boy raccoon

*･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ:*✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*

Chapter I. A Delicacy. in which our reluctant heroes meet atop a crate of Sovereign porn in the bowels of a Ravager ship.

Chapter II. Monster For A Pet. in which one hero wrestles with his inner Groot, and the other is quite possibly a moron.

Chapter III. A Kindness. in which Rocket gets in his own damn way: not for the first time, and certainly not for the last.

Chapter IV. Got There First. in which our heroes obtain an arsenal and street food.

Chapter V. Things No-One Has Said Before. in which one hero refuses to babysit and the other refuses to leave.

Chapter VI. Two and a Half Billion Units. in which we lean into the “they were roommates” trope. Jolie has misgivings, while Rocket has fantasies - about getting rich, of course.

Chapter VII. I'm Here. in which we visit Knowhere.

Chapter VIII. The Care & Feeding of Human Pets. in which our heroes practice breathing and we lean into a new trope: “there was (technically) one bed.”

Chapter IX. Scrapmetal and a Dream. in which we redefine homemaking.

Chapter X. Thin Fucking Ice.in which our heroes get fucked. Not in the good way.

Chapter XI. Let It Be .in which Xandar is saved and good lives are lost.

Chapter XII. So Much It Hurts. in which we try not to fuck up the vibes.

Chapter XIII. Don’t Wait. in which a lost sister is found and Drax grapples with the concept of sarcasm.

Chapter XIV. Exactly Like a Flower. in which comfort is shared.

Chapter XV: Galaxy-Breaking Shit. in which more comfort is shared, and life is good. Briefly.

Chapter XVI. Run. in which Rocket falls victim to his superstitions.

Chapter XVII. A Seedling. A Fox. A Little Girl. in which the party is divided.

Chapter XVIII. I Happen to Know a Guy. in which our heroes get fucked. Again. Still not in the good way.

Chapter XIX. He Was Loved. in which a planet is killed, a friend is made and lost, and nobody still has any frickin’ tape.

Chapter XX. Some Nerve. in which an ultimatum is given.

Chapter XXI.

Chapter XXII.

Chapter XXIII.

Chapter XXIV.

Chapter XXV.

Chapter XXVI.

Epilogue: Interviewing Rocket & Jo. ten years after Window ends. short/drabbly, silly fluff.

taglist ♡ @evolvingchaoswitch ♡ @wren-phoenix ♡ @pretty-chips ♡ @suicidalshitstick

[tiredassmage]

back at it again at the krispy kreme. I, unsurprisingly, caught "miss my boy [the fictional guy that lives in my head 24/7]" disease again, so I went back to [we've lost count of which playthru I'm on] and I think. Tyr and Kaliyo are just kinda neat. So I'm gonna subject everyone to chewing on it on main, lol.

There's elements of them that maybe shouldn't work out, but in the end, I find them so damn interesting because despite appearances on the surface, something about them works out for one another. They have their differences, but in the long-run, they find some kind of... understanding, I suppose I'd call it?

And neither of them will usually really say it directly - Tyr is used to having to veil his feelings between the lines and Kaliyo would at least feign some repulsed feelings about getting too damn sappy, in turn - but that's... really valuable to them, especially later on.

Now, I think it'd be fair to say that there's a part of him that isn't exactly thrilled Keeper suggests her as an asset on Hutta, and he's not particularly convinced she's worth the risk long-term, but his respect for Keeper trumps his personal hesitations. He sees what Keeper's getting at: she has some sort of potential value, and Intelligence isn't in the business of being wasteful of potential resources.

They very quickly establish some sort of quick impressions that aren't the most flattering. She says she's bound to learn something about him at Fa'athra's palace (and, to be frank, she does - and she's not even wrong) and Kaliyo does leave herself open to Tyr's tactical assessment after they leave Hutta that does leave him bluntly telling her he thinks she's the type to get herself killed if the job doesn't do it first.

So they're by no means fast friends. But they see use for each other. I don't think there's ever a time where he's convinced or entirely oblivious to the likelihood of Kaliyo using her new relationship with Imperial Intelligence to make herself funds or what have you on the side, as comes up later in her companion quests. But I'll also say he does discourage Lokin from meddling too deeply with the crew's affairs. Which I suppose sort of jumps around on the idea of there being any trust between these two, but if you can stick with me, I'm... trying to paint a broad picture. Hopefully.

I think... what Tyr finds is that, at face value, she's "unpredictable." It's easy to write her off as such. Easy to write her off as arrogant and self-interested. There are times where she is these things, but... there's something to be said for the fact that Kaliyo... never tries (successfully, at any rate) to sell him on the idea that she's anything but that. She tries a game a time or two, sure, but Tyr never plays into it as far as her exes. I think what happens is more that they realize the other's sort of... core values. And it's not about convincing the other that they should change, so... he entertains her big talks about taking the galaxy by storm at times. And slips in the bites that keep them honest: when is he going to be on her list of ex-partners that have too much baggage?

And I think what it is is that... out of that... weird flavor of honesty about who they are in their working relationship comes something that can be labeled trust, between them. Tyr's not afraid to tell her when he disagrees with her, but at the end of the day, they'd show up for each other because it's, generally, mutually beneficial. And I think, by the end of the class story, they'd do it even if it didn't exactly net them clear benefits.

Tyr certainly would because Tyr ends up trusting her, in their weird kind of roundabout way. It's not a trust like he has with Vector, or Shara, or later Theron. It's not trust in the warm, we trade our hearts openly and freely between us sort of sense. But it's trust in the sense that I know what to expect when I deal with you. In what I suppose you could really only call ironic, her "unpredictability" is what makes her predictable and reliable to him.

And I think... it is very telling, what she learns of him at Fa'athra's: that he isn't reckless. He has a conscious that will affect his decisions on the job in the kind of work that generally isn't too forgiving to that kind of disposition. Something that generally makes her inclined to scoff at him a bit for being soft. And then he proves consistent throughout their time working together in the fact that Tyr shows up for the people he brings into his circle.

Kaliyo is one of those people, despite the areas where they disagree. And sometimes they clash. Tyr's a brand of loyal that maybe isn't surface-level compatible with her. She's thought him foolish for his loyalty to the Empire, and maybe even more of a fool when I think she figured out his loyalty wasn't, exactly, to the Empire as a whole, but to his masters, to Imperial Intelligence. That his sense of ideals and morals is stronger than a paper-level patriotism he claims brought him to enlisting with Intelligence.

It's foolish. It's soft. It's gonna get him killed one day. They bark about what goes down when they return to Hutta. He means it when he says he can't tolerate her working against what he's given his life to. He doesn't directly say they're talking about Imperial Intelligence's reputation, specifically, but she knows enough about him by then, I think, to know that's what he's really bothered about. He's not some young, bootlicking spaceport officer fishing for a promotion. As fuckin' foolish as it is, he's got his heart and soul behind what he does.

And he genuinely asks her why? Why pick a side? Why'd she pick him? I don't think they get a clear answer in the conversation.

But I do think they both already know the answer. Because for whatever else they are, they've stuck with each other this long. It's not purely transactional at this point. Yes, there's... still probably something mutually beneficial about tolerating each other still going forward, but.

Look, neither of them probably exactly use the word "friend" to each other's face. At least not a lot. They bicker. But I think, at the end of the day, they're two people that have very few people that do see them for who they are, really, and have actually stuck around. For better or worse, they stick.

And he'll... defend that decision, ultimately. When she gets caught up in all that transpires as Intelligence is torn down around them, he simply tells her to look for her opening, and do what she does best. Because grand declarations of devotion don't do it for her. That's not their relationship. She's self-reliant and she'll do what she thinks is best... largely regardless of what Tyr's input is. (Except him understanding and accepting that is why he has any clout to argue with her about morality at all. This is important later in KOTXX.)

And KOTXX is... not what I ever expected to be The Clearest Show of their kind of relationship, but I did clip together that video of one run through Anarchy in Paradise because it... is a really good show of how they get along. Why they work for each other.

Kaliyo was never going to be the type to be the first one looking for him if he disappeared, or sticking through a long search. And that's... just fine. Tyr never would've expected her to. Frankly, she probably does understand that a part of him was just... waiting for that kind of day. That he ended up surviving taking a blaster to a semi-immortal planet-consuming Force-entity is... Well, no one was betting on that, yeah?

Tyr, I think, is one of the only characters I've gotten that far into KOTXX that has felt he's got any ground to argue with her on - because he has experience with her priorities, and how she thinks. Sort of... natural when you work with someone that long, right? So, he knows how she operates, he knows how to reason with her, knows what she needs to be offered to take an opportunity. And, in the end, there's that...

"Agent?"

"Yes?"

"I'm glad you're alive."

Which... I think is where I'll wrap because I feel like I just sort of keep repeating the same point, which boils down to... they took an assessment of each other's motivations and... accepted that about each other. I'd even probably say Tyr would never expect her to defend him, to show up without at least some sort of token protest about compensation and what's it worth to her, but I also think, for all of Kaliyo's eyerolling about him, it's exactly that kind of stubborn candle-burning attitude about him that keeps her around, at times. Something... authentic in them both amidst a profession built on masks, deceit, and betrayal.

It's not even quite "someone's gotta make sure you don't get yourself killed, agent" as it is more likely she'd poke that at least being around when it happens would maybe be interesting or entertaining. It's a kind of friendship where they'd still say they'd sell each other to satan for a corn chip.

Except Tyr never would. And, sure, Kaliyo essentially tried. And it didn't work out. So it's just a lot of work for probably little payoff to try again.

So, in the end... Friends? Yeah... Sort of. She's not writing any speeches for a funeral or anything, but she'd maybe have a drink for him. Tyr's the one for remarks about deserving better, or whatever sentimental crap he fills his head with when he's waiting on sniper shots to line up. (And it just... sorta works.)

[bosspigeon]

some strange kind of euphoria

Rating: M Words: 6230 Pairing: Amir x MC Warnings: references to past homophobia, bullying, and emotional abuse, panic attacks, implications of kink, general horny content Ko-Fi <3

Amir answers the door wearing nothing more than his gauzy dressing gown and a smile, which drops as soon as he sees the look on Jude’s face.

In Jude’s defense, seeing Amir at all brightens him up a bit, but even offering his own smile doesn’t quite feel right. He’s tense, slouching, and he knows his sour mood is broadcasting loud and clear in more than just his expression and posture.

His face feels brittle, but so does the rest of him. “Can I come in?” he asks, wincing at the way his voice cracks.

He shouldn’t have come at all. He should have just… called Amir and asked for a rain check, but Amir penciled out this time for him, when he’s always so busy, he couldn’t just bail. He’s starting to think he should have anyway to save them both the discomfort.

“I’m sorry,” he rasps, swallowing and backing away from the door while Amir stares him down, quietly assessing. “I shouldn’t have–”

“Did the doorman give you trouble?” Amir snaps, eyes blazing. Heat prickles along Jude’s skin, the temperature in the hall rising abruptly.

“Wh– No, he– Well–” He didn’t give him any trouble, per se, he knows Jude well enough by now as Amir’s guest that he didn’t say anything– just gave him the usual quietly critical once-over he does whenever Jude shows up on his own without Amir to shield him. It usually doesn’t bother him overmuch, but he’s… a bit more of a raw nerve than he usually is. Maybe more of an open wound.

“No,” Amir says slowly, calming down quickly as he examines the human. “Something happened.”

“Nothing serious,” Jude assures him, and he doesn’t resist as Amir tugs him inside. The hand curling around his wrist is soft and too-warm, and something in his body eases at the simple touch. “I just… had dinner with my family, is all.”

The door clicks shut behind him, and the silence that follows is tense and weighted.

“...It didn’t go well, I take it?” Amir offers, his voice carefully neutral, his fingers tightening briefly around Jude’s wrist and then relaxing.

Jude can’t help but laugh, a single sharp bark that he stifles as quickly as he can. “‘Bout as well as could be expected,” he mumbles. He’s not sure what else to say beyond that, there’s so much tangled up in his head, in his chest, his whole body is tense and heavy with it.

He wishes he’d thought to change before he showed up. The crisp button-down and pressed slacks are uncomfortably formal, fitting too closely around his shoulders, at his waist. He feels stiff and stifled and… not like himself.

He’s sure Amir notices. Amir notices everything.

He leads Jude to the sofa and urges him to sit. He sinks into it with a grateful sigh, releasing as much of the tension in his body he's able to without medical or chemical assistance. Amir settles in next to him, curling close, and immediately starts plucking at the buttons of his shirt.

Jude huffs out another weak little laugh, lolling his head back against the cushions and watching those long, graceful fingers work.

“Talk to me, darling,” Amir says, slipping his hand under the fabric to rest against Jude's chest. The heat of his hand is comforting in its familiarity, lighting up his skin and settling his nerves. There’s a silky weight pressing at the edge of his thoughts, a presence that he’s grown used to at this point, warm like a physical touch. He’s not sure Amir’s even doing it on purpose, but it doesn't really matter.

"Mom asked if I was seeing anyone." It hangs between them for a long moment, before he manages to eke out, "She… didn't mean to."

She's never asked. Not him, at least. She's asked his brothers, his cousins, the kids of friends of hers or Dad's, but never Jude. She knows better than to ask questions she doesn't want the answer to.

He tries to elaborate, but when he opens his mouth, nothing comes out, like the words are stuck behind a barrier, like there’s a big blinking roadblock between his brain and his mouth. He wants to laugh. He wants to cry.

He’s so tired of talking, and even if he doesn't really need to say much of anything out loud with Amir, he's just so frustrated, like he wasted all his words on people who didn’t even care to listen. He groans and covers his face with his hands.

Amir's slide over them, tugging them away so Jude can't hide from him. "That’s fine. You don’t need to talk." He smiles a sly little smile that always makes Jude's pulse race, kisses his knuckles, and slips off the couch, taking his warmth with him. "I'll make tea, you get comfortable."

It takes a few seconds for Jude to catch on, his head is such a mess, but he feels the familiar whisper of Amir's power twining through his thoughts. Oh.

They've done this before, more than once, when Amir's asked about fantasies of his and he was too embarrassed to say them aloud. It took some practice, but Amir has always been careful, never probed too deeply, and never without Jude's express permission.

He focuses on the pleasant background noise of Amir moving around his kitchen, the gentle thrum of his presence at the edge of his thoughts, and tries to put them in order.

Dinner was… awkward, to say the least, from the start. Jude isn't a talker, never really has been, so it was mostly him listening to his brothers ramble. Seth's youngest is starting middle school. Gabe got a promotion.

Seth asked what he’d been up to, not that he cared. Gabe snorted when he asked, which only proved the point. Jude just mumbled something about work and avoided eye contact. Played with his food. Wondered if his hometown had anything like the things he’d found out living in the city miles away. The conversation moved on without him, like it always did.

His brothers stopped picking on him about the same time he hit a growth spurt and outstripped both of them in height and not just weight. Well, they hadn’t stopped, exactly, just… didn’t push their luck like they used to. Like they did when they caught him sitting happily while their cousin, Lacey, put makeup on him as "practice" for cosmetology school. Like they did whenever his hair got long enough for them to to pull, before Dad got sick of him “looking like a girl” and shaved it off.

"I've got three boys, not two boys and whatever the hell you're tryin' to be."

And then Jude got bigger than him too, and he left him mostly to his own devices. Not without those snide comments here and there, but he was well used to it at that point.

His family is good at ignoring things that upset them–once they've stifled the offending party into silence, of course.

Jude came out when he was a teenager. His mother wept like someone had died. His father looked furious, but bit his tongue–though he spent the next few years making little digs about how lucky Jude was he didn't just kick him out to fend for himself. His brothers weren’t there, but they found out ;ater, and though they couldn't do anything to him physically at that point (head and shoulders taller and nearly twice as broad–and the Marlowe boys all took after their father in stature, Jude just took it further than that) they made sure he knew he was still their punching bag one way or another.

So when his mother asked him innocently, not thinking, hardly looking at him so much as smiling glibly at her family, and they both froze… well, it said more than if Jude had just out and told them he was getting railed by a demon on the regular.

At least he's not like those fairy boys. At least it's not in our faces. At least, at least, at least–

He hates that he still feels guilty. Guilty for ruining his mother's picture-perfect family. Guilty for being a consummate disappointment to his red-blooded American father. For taking his brothers' "friendly teasing" too personally. For missing the way he felt when Lacey put makeup on him and styled his hair and just let him want the things he could never admit to out loud.

For feeling bitter that she left him behind to pursue her own dreams while he was stuck cowering in the shadow cast by everything he was supposed to be.

He doesn't realize he's hyperventilating until Amir's hands, almost scalding hot against his clammy skin, are pressing against his cheeks, tipping his face upwards. He can’t figure out why the demon is so blurry, swimming before his eyes, when he’s too busy trying to remember how to get air into his lungs.

“Breathe, darling,” Amir urges him, firm but so gentle. Jude tries, and at first he only manages a few pathetic wheezes, but a low hum picks up at the base of his skull, a prickle like static skittering down his spine. For a split second, he’s paralyzed by a foreign surge of guilt, but it doesn’t feel heavy the way his own guilt does.

He sucks in a breath, one that makes his lungs burn, and grabs for Amir’s wrist with trembling fingers. “Not you,” he manages to strangle out, listing forward until he can bury his face in the crook of Amir’s neck. “Happens sometimes,” he mumbles in an effort to explain. Amir’s relief settles over him like a blanket, and he clings to it, to him, desperately, until he’s breathing again mostly normally.

He opens his mouth to apologize, but Amir cuts him off before he can even form the words.“None of that." Firm, brooking no argument, but still kindly tempered.

Obediently, Jude stays quiet, and Amir strokes his hair until the kettle chimes.

Rather than parting from him for even the short time it takes to prepare two cups of tea, Jude follows Amir to the kitchen, arms wrapped loosely around his waist, cheek pressed to his silky hair. His thoughts are staticky and nonlinear, feel like they're coming from somewhere beyond the boundaries of his skull. It's strangely peaceful, feeling like he's floating outside his body, like he's barely tethered to himself by just a few fragile threads.

Amir always smells so nice…

He's not sure when they wind up back on the sofa but he's holding a warm, delicate little cup in both hands. They share tea in easy silence, and if Jude's fingers are still trembling against his cup Amir doesn't mention it. Muzzily, he notes how fancy the cup is, and now that he's adjusted a bit to the staggering opulence of Amir's world, he finds the little things like that so endearing.

Jude is sluggish and heavy when Amir guides him to bed, and it doesn't take long at all for him to doze off, their positions from earlier reversed, with Amir curled around his back.

He's just awake enough to feel a little bit of that fire humming along his spine, the banked coals of Amir's temper pulsing between them, and he mumbles a half-hearted, "Please don't fight my family," into the luxuriously soft pillow smushed against his cheek.

There's a bit of a huff against his hair, something close to a laugh, but sleep finally pulls him under and blessedly quiets his overworked mind.

His dreams are washed over with a filter of wispy pink, but he doesn’t really remember much of them beyond that. Honestly, it's a bit of a relief. He wakes in Amir’s huge, soft bed, buried in plush pillows and blankets feeling surprisingly well-rested. Of course Amir is gone already, but Jude doesn’t take it personally. There’s a hurried little note on the nightstand on a scrap of sketchbook paper apologizing for his absence and assuring Jude they’ll meet again in the evening once he’s free of his responsibilities.

Jude tucks the note into his pocket as he dresses and leaves, feeling much lighter than he did when he arrived the night before.

~*~

He tried to get as much of the grime off his hands as he could before he left work, but Jude knows he looks like even more of a greasy schlub than he usually does when he comes ambling into Amir’s building. He brought his car this time, so he doesn’t have to go through the main entrance and deal with anybody grimacing at the state of his clothes, but he’s got a bag of fresh ones over his shoulder and he’s looking forward to a long, hot soak in Amir’s shower.

“I know, I reek,” he says sheepishly when he makes it to the door to Amir’s apartment.

Amir smiles indulgently at him, and gives him a kiss on the cheek regardless (even if he has to rise onto his toes a bit to do it, dressed down like he is) and only scrunches his nose a little. “Just a bit. I wouldn’t mind the sweat so much, but…”

“Engine oil and cheap cigarettes,” Jude laughs sheepishly. “Sorry, my boss likes menthols.” He gestures to the bathroom with his bag. “Mind if I…?”

Amir doesn’t hesitate to usher him down the hall as soon as he’s tugged off his boots at the door, and Jude plods along after him.

“I’d offer to wash your back,” Amir teases, watching Jude intently as he undresses, making a show of biting at his knuckle just to see him blush from his ears to his chest, “but I’ve got a few more things to take care of. Shouldn't take long, I'll be right outside.”

"Y-yeah, of course," Jude stutters, hands fumbling at his belt. Amir leaves him with another peck on the cheek and a sly parting smile, and while he was hoping for a nice hot shower after work, he's debating whether or not a cold one might be a better idea.

In the end, hot wins out. Amir's shower is like everything else in his orbit—spacious and ridiculously opulent to a degree that Jude's almost nervous interacting with it—but he's starting to enjoy the perks that come with drifting into that irresistible orbit himself. The water is just the right temperature, the pressure pounds down on his tight shoulders and back until he can finally feel them starting to un-knot themselves, and while he makes sure to get himself clean, he also spends a long while just standing under the spray with his head down and his hair hanging around his face like a wet curtain.

At some point, he hears the door click, some quiet rustling, but he doesn't pay it much attention. It's Amir's home, after all, he can come and go as he pleases.

Besides, it's not as if he hasn't seen Jude naked before, even if the thought still has heat crawling up his neck.

The door shuts again, and his mind goes blessedly quiet. The water doesn't go cold at any point (another thing that makes showering in his own too-small bathroom even more of a downgrade) but he knows he can't spend the whole night in here, however much he'd like to. He came for Amir, not his shower, though a little part of his brain does offer the helpful suggestion of trying to entice the succubus into joining him.

He snorts to himself as he slides open the frosted glass door, wringing out his hair. As if any attempt of his to be enticing towards someone like Amir, who drips easy sensuality in every breath he takes, would result in anything more than Jude falling all over himself like an idiot.

At least Amir finds it cute.

He reaches for a towel and steps out onto the plush bath mat, and stops short when he looks around the bathroom and doesn't see his bag.

Instead, sitting on the vanity in place of his ratty canvas backpack, is a shopping bag. What he can only assume is the name of the store is embossed on the sturdy, matte black paper in looping gold that matches the designs etched along the trim, but it's not a name he recognizes. Definitely someplace far outside the realm of a scruffy mechanic, that's for sure.

But there's something niggling at him, tickling at the edges of his thoughts, that suggests it's—

No, don't be stupid. Of course it isn't.

"Amir?" he calls out, eyes still glued on the bag as he awkwardly towels himself dry. Of course, Amir has the perfect timing to come swanning in when Jude's scrubbing at his hair, leaving the rest of him bare.

Amir does not hesitate to ogle, because he never does, and his smirk as his eyes take a luxurious stroll over every damp, hairy inch of human is nothing short of salacious. Jude's hair is still wet, but he can't resist the urge to drop the towel to cover himself a bit, which only makes Amir smirk wider.

"Yes, pet?"

It takes a moment for Jude to remember what he was even going to ask, because the casual little endearment never ceases to scramble his brain a bit.

(He's heard more than one person refer to him as Amir's pet, and he knows it's supposed to be an insult, but… he doesn't exactly hate it.)

He shakes his head to get it back on the right track, and winds the towel around his waist, eyes lowered. "Um, did you move my bag?"

Amir's heaves a dramatic, put-upon sigh. "I am begging you to let me replace that thing.” He is pointedly not looking at the bag on the counter.

"It still works just fine," Jude protests, smiling to himself. It’s something they’ve argued about before, if it can even be called an argument. It’s sweet, how Amir likes to spoil him. He shrugs a bit, ducking his head and letting his damp hair hide his face. “It’s sturdy. Dependable.” He's had it so long, it's almost like an old friend.

“Ugly as sin," Amir adds helpfully, rolling his eyes. But there's a smile playing around the edges of his lips. "You're lucky I think that sentimentality of yours is cute."

Jude's ears burn and he stays hidden behind his hair, but he's smiling too. Cute. Nobody but Amir's ever called him that (not since he was a chubby kid, at least) and he does it so freely and so often, Jude's starting to believe he honestly means it, even if he doesn't see it himself.

He feels Amir slinking closer more than he sees or hears him, bare feet nearly silent on the glossy tile compared to those staggering heels of his, and his breath hitches. He peeks from underneath his hair and is met with those stunning golden eyes and that playful, slightly predatory smile. “I… My clothes were in there, Amir,” he protests weakly, shuddering when soft, warm hands slip around his hips, fingers wiggling under the edge of his loosely wrapped towel, sharp nails pricking at his skin.

“Mmhm,” Amir hums. “Don’t worry, I haven’t thrown them out. I just figured you wouldn’t need them for a while yet.”

A quick, shuddery breath rattles out of him, at the end of it, a tremulous, "O-oh? Oh."

Amir chuckles and pokes Jude’s nose playfully. “Mind out of the gutter, darling. Since you’re playing coy, I’ll just come out and say it–I’ve gotten you a little gift, and the suspense of waiting for you to try it on is killing me.” 

“I’m not… playing coy,” Jude protests weakly, but his eyes flick away from Amir for a split second, over his shoulder to the bag on the vanity, and like an eagle spotting a blissfully unaware rabbit, Amir zeroes in on the shift and leers at him, teeth bared like he wants to sink them into Jude's skin to taste the blood rushing to its surface, like the sweetest of threats.

"You're a terrible liar, but it's so precious that you tried," he purrs, smooth and dangerous. With a flick of his nimble fingers, the towel still clinging desperately to Jude's waist drops to the floor, and sharp nails dig into the meat of his hips just hard enough to make him whimper. "I think you've kept me waiting long enough, pet. Don't you?"

Amir doesn’t wait for him to respond (not that he’d be capable of it in the first place, mouth suddenly dry and tongue like lead) and simply herds him towards the vanity, and the gift on top of it. He swallows hard as he reaches out, glancing back as if to ask for permission before he even touches it. It’s given in the form of a silky chuckle and a not-quite-gentle pat to his bare backside.

 The bag feels just as unspeakably high-end as it looks, the paper heavy and textured, and he didn’t notice before that the handles are gold silk ribbons to match the embossed letters. The name on the bag still isn’t ringing any bells, and he can't even imagine what might be inside, but with the way Amir is watching him, those gold eyes so sharp and intense he can feel the heat of their stare pricking at his skin, he's clearly eager for Jude to find out.

He parts the shimmery metallic tissue paper as delicately as he can with his heavy, callused hands, and finds a long flat box lying underneath. His heart is in his throat as he lifts it out of the bag, turning it over carefully in an effort to guess what it might be without damaging its contents.

Amir sighs behind him, and if Jude’s entire body weren’t thrumming with nerves, he’d look back to see if he’s checking a watch he isn’t actually wearing to drive home the point that his patience is wearing thin.

He opens the box. He almost can't parse what's inside at first.

Lace. Lots of lace. Pale, dusky pink lace edged along sheer fabric and adorned with delicate ribbons and thin gold chains. 

Jude's no stranger to fancy lingerie—Amir wears it often enough, and he likes to model it for Jude, even if he's just as clueless about luxury fashion as he is about fine art. Jude's never once complained—in fact, he's found he really likes it, the textures and colors and cuts, the way the airy fabrics cling to the striking angles of Amir's body, the way he always chooses colors that compliment him so well…

Jude's mouth is suddenly very dry, the weight of Amir's expectant gaze pressing down on him, because he's seen the succubus in enough lacy underthings, and removed them enough, to have a rough understanding of the sizes he wears.

The pretty pink garments in the box are much too big to be meant for Amir.

He looks up, and Amir meets his eyes with a sly curl to his mouth. "Well?" he asks, stepping closer, watching Jude’s face, picking apart his reactions with an almost surgical precision. "What do you think?"

He’s not sure he can think anything right now, all of his thoughts a messy jumble of confusion and curiosity and (a bit shamefully) desire. He knows he shouldn’t be ashamed for what he feels, what he wants, but there’s a lifetime’s worth of it built around everything he’s wanted that wasn’t in line with what he was supposed to be, and he’s still digging his way through that.

He wets his lips with his tongue and stares into the velvet-lined box, still trying to make sense of everything he’s feeling. "Is it… are they… for me?" 

It’s a stupid question, but there’s a part of him that still can’t believe it, is still scared this is either a dream or some sort of joke.

Amir laughs, low and sultry, reaching out to curl his ring-laden fingers around Jude's bicep. The touch is so simple, so soft, but it still spreads warmth through Jude's body. "Of course. Not really my color, is it?"

It isn't, Jude knows. Amir prefers bolder colors, stark contrasts, shimmer and shine to draw the eye. He tries to say as much, but what comes out of his mouth is a fumbling, "Y-you look good in everything."

That laugh again, a smoky, rich thing that sinks beneath his skin, curls in his gut and leaves him aching to hear it again and again and again. "You're so sweet," Amir says, scratching affectionately at his scruffy chin with his free hand. He squeezes the other around Jude’s arm, the tips of his nails a tantalizing pressure that makes his chest feel tight, makes his breath quicken. “Why don’t you go try them on, make sure I got the sizing right.”

He did. Of course he did, Jude couldn’t doubt for a second he would. There’s no way the set isn’t entirely bespoke, too, considering there’s no tags in sight to indicate sizing. There’s a bit of embroidery on the inside of each piece (panties, garters, belt, a frilly top that he struggles to identify) that he assumes is a brand signature or something like it.

Amir ushers him back into the bathroom, smiling playfully as he closes the door, and Jude is left to stare at the box in his hands and try to sort through his thoughts.

It’s easier, with Amir there to distract him, when he can’t focus so much on his nerves, or what his family would think of him, or what he thinks of himself.

He keeps his eyes down, away from the mirror, as he carefully takes each piece of the set out of the box. There’s enough room on the vanity for him to lay them out one by one, and he tries to think of it the same way he thinks of disassembling an engine. You have to go into it with a plan, you have to know how the parts fit together, and in what order. He arranges them in the way he thinks (hopes) they’ll need to go on his body, and takes a slow, deep breath.

The most daunting piece, it seems, will have to be the one that goes first. He picks up the panties, wincing when the calluses on his palms snag at the lace. He frantically checks for damage, his heart pounding, and sighs with relief when nothing seems to be out of place.

He looks over his shoulder, towards the door. Amir is quietly waiting on the other side, probably keeping himself busy with organizing his ever-crowded schedule while Jude has a quiet panic spiral about underwear in his bathroom. But he’s been waiting long enough, and though he teased, he’s been endlessly patient with Jude, and kind enough to get him not just a gift, but an expensive, custom gift he literally plucked from the human’s deepest, most secret desires.

Jude takes another grounding breath, and meticulously, cautiously, pulls the underwear on.

He knows he’s in trouble when a shudder works its way through him at the way the lace feels sliding up his legs, softer than he expected. He’s achingly aware of it whispering up his calves, stretching around his thighs, and nestle over his hips. It takes a bit of… adjustment in certain areas, but given that they were made specifically for his body (and that’s still something he can barely wrap his head around) everything, uh, settles in with surprising ease. It’s oddly comfortable and, more than that, it feels right.

He swallows so hard his throat clicks, and keeps his eyes steadfastly away from the mirror as he reaches for the next pieces–the stockings– with trembling hands.

Amir’s bathroom is practically the size of a studio apartment on its own, and thankfully there’s a seat near the vanity in the form of a plushy padded stool. He sits down and feels the panties shift and stretch around his hips and ass, and gently scrunches the first stocking. He tries to remember how people in movies put them on, and goes from there, bunching it and then pulling it slowly up his leg. It shouldn’t feel so sultry to basically be putting on socks, but the opaque material edged with more of that soft pink lace scraping gently against his skin is thrilling him beyond words. The second stocking doesn't fluster him any less, and he spends a moment or two just staring down at his legs, trying to make sense of what he's seeing, and what it might be awakening in him.

The belt and garters come next, and those at least are fairly simple. The belt is broad and subtly patterned, nipping his waist in a bit without being too restrictive. He spends what feels like an age just running his hands over the smooth, satiny panels before he clips the garters with their tiny bows to it and attaches them to the stockings.

The final piece is the top, with its spidersilk-thin gold chains attached a smooth satin ribbon, and sheer ruffled fabric flowing down from the bust. There’s a touch of fear that it won’t fit him, that he’ll move wrong and tear it while trying to put it on, but it really was made to fit his body, and the way the hem floats around his (doughy, hairy, and sort of pale) belly does a lot to hide some of his insecurities. It does emphasize his chest in a way he’s not sure he likes, clinging and translucent, but when he carefully fastens the ribbon around his neck and makes sure the chains attached to it aren’t tangled, he forgets his stalemate with the mirror and looks up.

For a moment, he forgets how to breathe.

He looks like himself, still big, broad, and heavyset, with dense muscle padded with a layer of fat and dusted with dark hair, but the contrast of the dusky, pale lace against sun-browned skin and muted tattoos is something that leaves him feeling things he’s not sure he can name.

As if on cue, there’s a dainty little rap on the door, and he jolts, fingers twisting together. Amir is still waiting, and he has no clue how long he’s been in the bathroom—it feels like hours.

He turns and stands at the door, hand hovering over the handle, and feels his stomach beginning to tie itself into knots.

Amir sees something in him that he doesn’t see for himself, and he knows that logically, but his brain isn’t always the most logical place, especially right now. There’s a sense of impending dread taking root in his chest, leaving it  crowded and too-small, like his lungs hardly have the room to expand. He imagines, a bit panicky, Amir taking one look at him and bursting out laughing, or the more likely outcome of feigning interest, telling Jude he looks nice, then hurrying him to change back into his normal clothes and never speaking of this little venture again.

As if Amir senses the direction his thoughts are going, the door swings open, making Jude flinch and—pulse pounding in his ears, heart jumping into his throat—wanting to scramble for cover. But he’s frozen, a deer in the headlights, as the succubus drinks him in.

"Oh, look at you…" he croons, beckoning him out of the doorway (and, of course, he follows without thinking) so he can circle him like he's sizing him up, like he’s taking in every inch of him before he pounces. "So pretty."

Jude couldn't feel more bare if he were actually naked, especially with the way the succubus is pulling him apart with just his molten gold eyes. But he can't get too caught up in that when he's left reeling over one simple word.

Pretty.

Nobody's ever called him pretty before.

Something slots into place in his chest, settles in and unfurls, a shuddering realization of a desire he never knew he held being fulfilled.

He never knew he wanted to be pretty, but it… it makes sense. And it feels good.

“I’ll admit, I took a bit of a risk,” Amir says, and there’s no teasing to his tone this time, just quiet consideration, a tenderness that makes Jude feel just as weak and helpless as his bold innuendo and sultry purring. “It was just a little hint of something I saw after…”

His expression shifts, brows furrowing, mouth curling. There's the faintest hint of that simmering anger he works so hard to hide. He doesn’t have to say anything, and Jude is grateful that he doesn’t. His thoughts were all over the place the night he had dinner with his family, he’s not surprised Amir managed to find the things he didn’t let himself think about, things he’d been struggling to bury for a good two decades, when all his old hurts were bubbling to the surface and he didn’t have the strength to push them down again.

“It was a guess,” Amir continues, easing closer, looking up with his head tilted, hair spilling over his shoulder in a glossy fall that Jude wants to hide in, bend himself practically in half so he can tuck away somewhere he actually feels safe, but he’s rooted to the spot feeling more exposed than he’s ever felt in his life. At least here, out in the open, he gets to see the way a slow smile starts to curl Amir’s lips again, softly smug. “But I think it’s safe to say it was a good one.”

Amir is so close, the heat of his body is almost enough to have Jude sweating, scantily clad as he is.

That could just as easily be nerves, or rather, anticipation.

Without his heels, Amir's a good six inches shorter than Jude, but it doesn't matter much with a presence like his. He effortlessly fills any room he struts into, and Jude's been helplessly drawn to him since the beginning. The demon stares at him with smoldering eyes, a gaze that clings to his skin like honey, thick and molten and saccharine, dripping from the ribbon at his throat, the slender chains connecting it to the top, and lingering at the bust for a long breathless moment before sliding down to the belt, the garters–

Jude shifts on the spot, shivers at the alien sensation of the stockings rubbing against the carpet, and tries to be subtle when he drops his hands to cover himself a bit. Unfortunately, it's not really possible for a man his size to be subtle in anything.

And then there's a swirl of mild disorientation, the sensation of breath against his ear, and a whisper in his mind that sends a shudder through his body.

No hiding, darling. I want to look at you.

Amir's lips don't move, but his eyes are so intent it feels like a physical touch. He takes his sweet time looking Jude over, admires him from every angle. Jude holds still obediently, doesn't try to hide, and he’s rewarded for his good behavior when Amir finally, finally touches him again, fingertips tracing along where the lace clings to his skin, where the softness of his hip spills out over the waistband of the panties, the lines the garters draw down his thick, hairy thighs to connect to the stockings and back up to slip under the floaty hem of the top and prickle his nails along the band that’s doing its best to support his ample chest.

His skin is burning now, between the hearthfire heat Amir radiates and his own blood rushing, and he’s starting to feel the shift in the atmosphere from an almost artistic appreciation to something a little more focused.

He’s not sure he can take much more of that focus, but thankfully Amir is very good at distracting him when he’s starting to feel overwhelmed. It just so happens that, in the current case, that distraction comes in the form of crowding him back into the nearest wall and pawing at him.

"W…wait," he whines out, helplessly squirming against the wall. He’s been able to restrain himself up to this point, to manage the low thrum of arousal building up in his gut since he starting pulling on all the satin and lace, but he can already feel himself straining against the delicate panties with Amir grabbing two big handfuls of his ass and squeezing. "I don't… I don't want to… mess these up."

There were no price tags, but he knows this has to be one of Amir's more expensive gifts. He's heard enough women in his life complain that just the mass-produced stuff is pricey, much less bespoke luxury lingerie. He can't even begin to guess how much Amir spent on what he's wearing, and he's honestly afraid to think about it too hard.

Amir laughs, something low and throaty that echoes sweetly in Jude's ribcage, settles heavy in his belly, and he tugs the human down to his level by the slip of ribbon around his throat. "Oh, darling," he coos indulgently, honey-sweet and just a touch condescending in that way Jude has gotten a little addicted to, "do you really think I only got you one set?"

[melancholicmarionette]

(One of many things languishing in my drafts, based on my love for long-form, narrative based journalism and the fact that applying anything close to realism to this show is very fun. This isn’t finished and might not be so I’m throwing it out there)

Kids in the Abyss

Excerpts from Team Phantom’s first post-reveal interview together, a long form profile written by Anne Donnelly for Paranormal Digest.

—

The Fenton’s home is unique, even disregarding the laboratory concealed by a secured metal door just off the living room. Jack and Maddie Fenton purchased and refurbished the building, an abandoned fire house, shortly after moving to Amity Park. The changes made varied in scale, from a subterranean lab of glistening chrome and toxic green, to simply removing the fireman’s pole to prevent clumsy children from “learning about gravity too soon.”

Daniel Fenton is one of those children, known as the clumsier one when compared to his sister Jasmine. One of the first things I ask him when we sit down on the Fentons’ living room sofa is if that has changed since he, for lack of a better term, gained super powers.

“Absolutely not,” he replies without hesitation, “if anything, I’m worse.”

One thing the world seems to agree on about Danny Fenton is that he is the kid people would last expect to be a superhero.

“To be fair, there aren’t a whole bunch of superheroes to ask,” he says of this notion.

He’s right, of course, but it still seems unlikely at first glance. He looks different from his alter-ego, his eyes a clear blue and his hair dark, but upon looking closer it’s very clear there’s more to the sixteen year old than meets the eye. His gaze was very calculating when we first met, assessing if I was trustworthy, if I was a threat, as I’m sure he had to do countless times with varying results.

He hasn’t done any kind of interview since his brief guest appearance on the local news, he and his friends refused requests for interviews from the most famous talk shows in the country.

“I just…” he pauses, looking down and away in thought, “I never really wanted to be…famous, I guess. I think I used to, and I definitely wanted to respected and stuff, yeah. I don’t have a choice over a lot of that anymore, but I still have some modicum of control over what people know about me. By the way, my height is wrong on my Wikipedia page and they won’t let me change it. I’m 5’11”, for what it’s worth.”

(He is, for the record)

—

Sam Manson’s home is opulent, decadent in a way that reminds one of a more refined age—not the sleek, modern home of today’s new money, but adorned with historic decor and chandeliers.

“Grotesque, isn’t it?” Sam tells me when I comment. She’s not a fan of her family’s flaunting of wealth, as much as she enjoys some of the privileges it allows her. Looking at her outfit, an extra long Dumpty Humpty t-shirt and fishnet tights Tucker into dark denim shorts, it’s not hard to believe that she would prefer a more Addams Family aesthetic.

It’s clear from existing comment and from her social media—both personal and a Danny Phantom account—that she is a force to be reckoned with when it comes to her boyfriend, whom she’s known since childhood. I ask her why she and their other friend, Tucker Foley, are behind his verified account.

“Danny’s always been really bad at social media in general,” she tells me, “and we don’t get as overwhelmed by all the comments and messages we get daily. Like…Danny’s fought a ghost king and he’s saved the world but nothing terrifies him more than Twitter.”

—

Never having been above the odd conspiracy theory, considering my career, the first thing I ask Tucker Foley when we gather at his family’s kitchen table is to tell me about r/dannyphantom

“About the subreddit, or what I…” he pauses, “may or may not have done to it?” He grins when he finishes the sentence, in a way that’s a bit sinister.

The subreddit r/dannyphantom was spun off of r/amitypark about a year after the hero’s first appearance, and devolved into chaos shortly before the Disasteroid incident, due to the comments of one u/phantomarchiver on various theory threads.

“You’re all chasing your tails” the user would claim in one thread, and in another a cryptic “if I were you, I would stop looking further into this.”

Tucker recalled how he and his friends came to monitor the subreddit, going in anonymously every now and then to throw off the scent if any theories came too close. He didn’t know u/phantomarchiver’s mysterious but concise comments would eventually cause the members of the subreddit to turn against each other and fight to such an extreme that it now sits nearly empty.

“There are a lot of aspects of keeping huge secrets like this that aren’t fun,” Tucker tells me, “but that. That was fun. It was like a piranha feeding frenzy.”

“Did you intend to take the entire forum down?”

“God, no,” Tucker assured me, “I’m all for discussions, but people were dropping peoples real names, bringing up records of missing people that Phantom could be the ghost of. I’m very pro-free speech, but also very pro-[expletive] around and find out.”

[beesmygod]

Uhauls for local and Pods for long distance. Those are used like generic terms like "Jell-o". Look up different companies and compare prices. Pods are very inconvenient because you'll have to live without your stuff before and after, but the cost is by far the cheapest for big distances. Sleep on an air mattress for awhile and eat off paper plates. BIG RISK IF YOU'RE MOVING FAR DISTANCES: See if you can stay with friends to look for a place in person. Websites like Zillow don't list everywhere, and they sell data to landlords to see where people are interested in moving, so they can buy houses and jack up prices. We live in Hell. You might be able to find someplace cheaper if you drive around in person regardless.

Also if you can help it/stomach it, don't move to the city. Move 30 minutes (or more) away from the city. You can always find a cheaper place than getting gouged by some shitty landlord renting you a place in the city for over 2-3k a month where the floor is caving in and the street smells like piss.

Go to shipping places (uhaul not UPS) and liquor stores for boxes. Liquor stores throw them out daily, and shipping places let people donate boxes which is great for everyone. Make a HARD assessment of what you need/what you can stand to lose/what you can replace. I've never had a new couch, and it seems like I never will. Often facebook marketplace (set up an account now if you don't have a facebook account. it's a safeguard for scammers) and craigslist have people who are happy to give things away just so you can get rid of it for them. Second hand furniture grosses you out? Clean it. Get a free couch with stains and rent a cleaner from home depot. Free table? wipe it down and/or paint it. Also consider the landfill. You can clean and restore things. It's time, but it's not money. Youtube is there to teach you how to do these things. If there are things you absolutely can't allow yourself to buy used furniture (no judgement! I wouldn't want a used bed!), either reconsider throwing stuff out or look into refurbished/damaged equipment. Never be afraid to ask friends for help either especially if you're small or disabled. If you feel bad, buy/make everyone lunch and/or dinner. More hands means less work and full bellies make happy faces. All you need is deli stuff to make sandwiches and chips for lunch, and little ceaser's for dinner. Let them know before hand what you're serving when you ask. It's more courteous and you don't have to worry about what if people don't like the food or what if they're expecting something nicer, and that means less stress for everyone around. Moving FUCKING SUCKS and it's expensive. This can save you hundreds even if it won't feel like it, and it will come down to how much work you want to put in vs how much you're willing to save, but every penny saved helps. I have moved enough that this all feels like normal/common sense stuff to me at this point, and I'm sorry you have to move, but I hope this helps anyone if only as a jumping off point.

anon to the rescue!! thank you anon