#i love him because he’s fictional and he’s a safe space to explore darkness in my own mind and heart without it hurting anybody

[sanguineships]

Reminder that it’s okay to selfship/love characters you disagree with. The joy of fiction is that your morals don’t have to align with theirs 100%— part of the love is knowing, at the end of the day, they’re a character, not an evidence source to testify for your real life morality and opinions. Fiction was made to explore that which should not be condoned in real life.

[sorcerous-caress]

I had two thoughts that I can't stop thinking

First was like the obvious like girl dad male drow and Minthara. Cute, Intense TM couple and their warrior daughters. But the second thought was like would it get angsty if Minthara had a son?

Dude i literally had this exact same thought when i answered the ask.

Minthara in-depth Character study + Media literacy 101 below cut.

[Tw: themes of abuse discussed]

First of all

Characters are tools.

All characters are not real, Minthara is not a real person. She is pixels, Minthara can't abuse or be abused because she isn't real.

What she can do, is be a tool or a puppet to tell a story about abuse.

Second of all

Evil characters are not bad characters. Morally wrong characters are not bad writing.

A character doesn't have to be good, moral or have a redemption arc. A character only needs to be compelling, interesting and dynamic.

Third of all

The writers aren't horrible people or freaks for putting a character through trauma or shitty events. Their job is to make an interesting story and not a life guidance manual for newborns.

These shitty events happen to real-life people. Go direct your energy to helping them instead of fictional characters depictions that allow safe exploration of dark themes where no real people are getting harmed.

I'm so proud of you for understanding this. Here is your complimentary media literacy degree. 🎊

Minthara was written to be a typical drow, she was never meant to be the good drow that stands out or rejects the brutality of drow culture.

The drow twins in sharess caress are the unique good drows that completely opted out of drow culture.

Minthara was never meant to be that, no matter how much you twist her or try to look for a deeper meaning. At her core, even after abandoning Lolth, she still abids by drow culture rules for her own personal life.

She is aware of how cruel it is, she accepts and likes it.

Sure, some aspects she hates, she isn't really a huge enthusiastic fan of it. But she likes it enough to still apply it even when she is outside of the underdark, it shows in how she treats Gale or the other people who aren't companions.

Now a final thing to keep in mind.

Minthara adores us the most, as in us the player, not Tav, not Durge, not anyone. Doesn't matter who you end up picking or if you even pick an origin character, as long as you follow her questline, she admits to you being the person she admires the most.

That child is ours too, the player.

Because of that, we can never truly see Minthara as she really is. All of our view of her are wrapped and biased Because she is literally being her nicest self around us. We can only get glimpses of how cruel she is to strangers in stray conversations or throw away lines. Even if you have low approval with her, she still admires you the most.

She is a lawful evil character.

As in evil evil and not Astarion grey evil.

Astarion approves of bullying a child, Minthara approves of killing a child.

And that to me makes her a very compelling and interesting character, I love her dynamic and personality. Much like how I think Cazador is an amazing character because of how good he is at being a tool in a story about cycles of abuse. He more than fulfilled his role which makes him a great addition that shouldn't be changed, redeemed or watered down.

So about the child.

In Minthara's datamined lines, it is clear that she plans to enforce drow culture rules on her child no matter what.

They are abusive by nature, yes.

While some might think a son would have a much worse time than a daughter, I disagree.

While Minthara would resent having a son for how useless she deems males, at the end of the day he will meet her expectations of being a complete waste of space and pregnancy. Kept there for breeding for the bloodline.

But if a daughter doesn't meet her expectations? Do you realise the implications of that. Minthara a previous Baerne princess birthing a weakling of a female drow that can't even yell at someone without crying? Minthara would rain hellfire upon her.

It's more than a shame, a complete disgrace.

Her daughter is supposed to grow to be strong enough to kill her and take her place, that is the cycle of life.

Also about the child itself, you would still be the other parent.

The relationship with Minthara in the game can be controlling and possessive at times. And to remind you, that is the toned down version of her flaws because again, she adores us.

But i don't think it's far fetched for her to do most of the work when it comes to actually raising the kid, she likes to be in control.

Also side note, i have been only talking about her evil side and flaws so far and I wanted to remind you that she isn't just that. Her personality has so much more and there is depth and genuine love in her, it's something that we are also her first ever romantic love. And let's not forget on how she even encourages Gale in act 3 to leave Mystra. Minthara isn't a black or white character, she is a fully flushed out and filled with many complex concept tool.

She doesn't want to break the cycle of abuse, that's her major flaw. It's not something she seeks or even attempts to do. It's not even a debate to her, she simply acknowledges it and lets it be.

Her good ending is starting a new noble drow house with durge for fucks sake.

She cherry picks which areas she "breaks" from. Lolth worshipping for example, and she only extends respect and love to her companions. While the rest of the world gets the same treatment from her that they'd get from a typical drow Matron.

Okay note over, so proud of you for still reading btw, you're an excellent student. Have this imaginary star sticker on your brain.

I have so much to say about her that this post barely even scrapes the surface of what I think about her.

As long as you, the player, intervene and show her that parenting is both of your responsibilities, then I think you can really smooth down a lot of her sharp edges.

I mean the same argument could be said for Laeze, isn't training a child to fight at 12 also a form of abuse?

Not a single one of the companions is equipped to be a parent, not at their current states. Maybe Halsin tho, he has the best potential to be a parent stand in. Tho he has a major flaw of not realising that having too many kids means your attention will be spreadthin and that is a form of neglect abuse. Goodmeaning or not, he won't be a very good parent because he underestimates his capabilities in favour for naive optimism.

I've side tracked a lot ngl.

But yeah that's the jest of it, Minthara would be a shitty mom. Like it or hate it, it doesn't matter because she isn't real and she isn't a mom. She is a tool to tell a story about a shitty mom and she is succeeding at it.

[utilitycaster]

Also Orym, for better or worse, seems to be the PC in C3 that people tend to project onto the most. Likely because he's kind, unassuming and almost a blank slate in a lot of ways (not a bad thing). He's the Good One. Which means a lot of people are projecting their ideals of Good on to him and then if/when he does something they don't agree with, or someone else labels as Bad, it can be confronting. So they say he's going dark when they mean he's doing something they personally wouldn't do.

So I agree that's probably a factor, and I guess my stance on media is like...I don't care, truly, if people project onto media, but so much criticism is based in "the show didn't do what I told myself it was supposed to" and not "the show didn't do what it stated it would do" and that's boring. Again. If you want to make yourself sad, that's fine. But if you can't engage with anything until you've trimmed it down to fit neatly into your comfort zone and experiences you are utterly not worth my time.

I also want to post the longer Brennan quote about rage and conflict because I think it's really relevant (again, from Dom or Be Dommed, episode 14 of season 1 of Adventuring Party):

"I remember one time 'cause in basic improv stuff, you teach people not to fight and a therapist one time, I was working at a camp, teaching LARPing and improv to children on the autism spectrum. We were working with a therapist who was working with them, who was writing a doctoral paper, and she mentioned one time about the no fighting rule. And she was like, "That's such a funny rule," because, of course, people put into a fictional circumstance are going to want to fight, because the idea of being able to express rage without consequence is such a cathartic thing for people who most often swallow rage."

Now this means a lot of things, and can be interpreted all sorts of ways but I think one of my biggest takeaways is that D&D (and other interactive play/acts of creation, whether it be other TTRPGs, one's own writing or art, or playing open-world video games) can be a place to explore some fucked up shit, or even some stuff that's not necessarily bad, but falls outside what you can do in real life. Like, in the real world chances are if you try to kill the unjust greedy baron equivalent you will get in trouble, and in D&D you will not only gain the love of the common people but you will also probably get a cool sword. And I think that occupies a very important place - that you can explore things you would never dream of doing in real life, and express ugly feelings and anger in a safe place and even be rewarded. And to be clear: it's a safe place for the artist or creator. There is no guarantee of a safe space for the audience.

If someone prides themselves on never crossing any lines they wouldn't in real life, and only liking the most squeaky clean morally pure characters, that's their own business. I also have no interest in anything they have to say.

[make-me-imagine]

Hello!! Congrats on 8k followers my friend!!!!🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉

I’d love a ship please!

My Ship Request: Marvel franchise ship (male). I’m a 29 year old woman (she/her) who is Bi-graysexual and Biromantic. I’m 5’1” with a peaches and cream complexion, dark green eyes (tho my right eye has a blue film over it due to blindness), long dark brown hair, and an almost hourglass figure. I’m a Hufflepuff! I’m compassionate, stubborn, get frustrated easily, silly, happy, cute, passionate, have OCD, Dyscalculia, Generalized Anxiety Disorder, and I’m Autistic. I studied general studies in school (I switched majors a few times). I’m ethnically an Ashkenazi Jew and am religiously Roman Catholic. I love animals a lot. I love reading (especially history, romance, myths/lore, and fiction), botany, space, cats, my faith, playing games, dancing, singing, traveling, and naps. When I get frustrated/upset or despondent, I tend to belittle myself and think that whatever is wrong is my fault even when it is not.

Hii!~ Thank you <3

I hope you enjoy it!

Marvel:

I ship you with Bucky!

Bucky is very loving when he feels safe and comfortable with someone, and he definitely does around you.

Runner Up: Sam Wilson

Bucky knows what it's like to blame yourself for everything, and tries his best to remind you how good of a person you are and that no matter what your mind is telling you, it's not your fault.

He likes to read, and obviously has a not to catch up on, so he always takes your recommendations of books.

Bucky is a space geek, and loves to go to space museums (like NASA/Smithsonian), or observatories. He also bought the two of you a big telescope to put up so you could look at the stars together.

Whenever the two of you get the chance, you take trips together. Spending a few days to a week in a new place. Exploring the towns, shopping, and relaxing with each other.

Both you and Bucky learned pretty quickly how to help each other when you got anxious or overwhelmed. You are each other's anchors, and safe places and can always bring each other back from the pain/anxiety either is going through.

He has a few pet-names for you, but his favorite is 'Sunshine', not only because you are a kind and bright person but you are the Sun to him, and his light in dark times.

[ramp-it-up]

...And Forever

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Enhanced!Reader; Bucky Barnes x Enhanced!Reader

AU: MCU A/U, after TFATWS

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. SMUT! Read at your own risk. Alternate MCU facts/timeline, lies, cursing, angst,  oral, (F, M receiving) fingering, spit play rank kink, size kink, unprotected sex (wrap it up!), sex on a pool table, semi-public sex, a special surprise, stalker-ish behavior, almost Dark!Steve? Not Beta’d. All errors my own.

A/N: I am an MCU nerd but not a timeline detail gal. Please forgive me if the timeline is off. This is an alternate universe and a work of fiction. Please have fun with it! This is the second part to Always.  Enjoy!

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

You opened your eyes to see that you were in what looked like a break room. There was a coffee machine, a round table with five chairs, a row of lockers, two Captain Americas, and a Winter Soldier.

There was some strange conversation going on.

“Then who gave me the shield at the lake…?”  

Sam was questioning Steve, but he stopped talking when you started moving around.  You must have still been in the wedding venue, because you saw the name of the historic building on various items in the room. 

You scowled up at Sam, Bucky and Steve.

You moved to sit up and Steve was at your side. “Easy…”

“Sweetheart, are you okay?”

You squinted at Steve. His hair was shorter and he was clean shaven, but he was still gorgeous. Those blue eyes were full of concern. 

You raised your hand, and he held it, holding it and caressing it as you raised it to his face.

“Is it really you?”

Steve smiled ruefully at you. “Yeah, it’s me.”

You held his cheek and looked at him, bringing your other hand up to the other side of his face. He smiled at you. 

You grabbed him and hugged him hard, and then pulled back again as he held you in his arms. He moved back and pursed those ruby red lips. 

You had this irresistible urge to...slap the shit out of him. And so you did.

The sound reverberated in the room. Steve just stared up at you, with that fucking beautiful face, and then smiled, rubbing his jaw as if it hurt. 

But you knew it didn’t. And you were tired of the bullshit.

Sam and Bucky moved to calm you down, but you were too quick for them, pacing to the other side of the room. 

“All of you can stay the hell away from me. Y’all have some fuckin nerve. Especially you, Steven.”  

Your Houston accent was shining through with your anger.

“Wow, Sweetheart, that was harsh. But I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

You pointed at Steve.

“Fuck you.” 

You were seething, especially when he raised his eyebrow at your comment. But he quickly fixed his face when he saw the rage on yours. You looked at Sam, who just looked down, and at Bucky, who looked like he was in pain.  

Fuck thier feelings.

“I deserve your anger. I didn't tell…” Steve tried it. 

“You don’t deserve a got damn thing. Not even my anger.” 

Steve was stone faced at your vitriol. You were shaking, trying to control your emotions and not cry.  You were so hot. You fought to keep your voice steady.

“I thought you were dead.” It came out as a ragged whisper. But you knew everyone heard you.

Your voice was low, even, and scary. Bucky looked at you with wide eyes. Your own were brimming with tears.

“I thought you were dead and that they didn’t want to tell me.” 

You waved your hand at Bucky and Sam. And you waited until Steve looked you in the eyes again. 

“I thought you were in prison, that someone, on some alien star, forced you to play some sick gladiator games. Or that HYDRA was still around and they turned you into an agent for them. Or that you lost your memory in the blip. So many scenarios played in my mind, Steven.”

Steve knew better than to talk. This was his time to listen.

“But I never ever once thought that you chose this. Never thought it was your choice to leave and to stay away.”

“Listen…” Sam started speaking.

“Shut the fuck UP, Samuel.” 

If you had Bucky’s knives, all of them would be seriously injured right now.  

“You knew that he was alive and you didn’t tell me. Despite me begging for any kind of information.”  

Sam just pursed his lips and returned your glare.  You were right.

You went and stood in front of Bucky.

“James…” 

He looked at you, those pained eyes making your stomach flip.  

“How could you?  You knew?”

He just stared at you. Retreating into not speaking.

Steve spoke up.

“Yes, I left. Yes, it was my choice.  I thought I could… Well, let’s just say that hindsight is 20/20 and you can’t ever go back. I swore Sam and Buck to secrecy and I asked them to take care of you.  This all just got out of hand.  Didn’t it Buck?”

You watched Steve in disbelief and you swiveled your head toward Bucky and Sam again.

“You both lied to me. And Sam. Did you tell Steve to come back and ruin my life?”

Sam scoffed, offended. “No. I didn’t. S.H.I.E.L.D gave Steve quarterly updates.  You and Bucky happened so fast…” 

You ignored his explanation.

“But you knew exactly where he’d gone.”

“Yes.” Sam was cornered.

You turned back to Bucky. 

“I asked you a question earlier. Did you know?”

He nodded, imperceptibly.  “Doll… I…”

“James Buchanan Barnes. You knew?” Your heart was breaking even more than it was.

“Yes, but it’s complicated. He didn’t come back, at least not the way he left, and I thought it was a done deal. I thought he found…”

You interrupted him. 

“What. Happiness?” 

You turned back to Steve. “Is that what you were looking for, Steve? Happiness?”

“Sweetheart, you made me happy, I just had the chance to finally settle some unfinished business.”

You nodded.

“So James here took advantage of your little vacation to get with his best friend's girl while you explored your other options. Cool.”

It was not cool.

“Do you remember when you asked me if you could trust me, Steve?”  

He just gave a little smile and came to stand before you, looking down at you in that way of his.  He was trying to shake you. You were unshakeable. You raised your chin and looked right in his eyes.

“What you don’t understand is that you can’t pick and choose the pieces of life that you want, Steven.” 

You moved away from all of them. Steve stepped toward you, but stopped when you held up your hand.

“I’ve lived my life for everyone else, for this country, for as long as I can remember.  I deserve a little piece of life, Sweetheart.”  

Steve really believed what he was saying.

“What about me? Do I get a choice?”

Steve looked around at his two best friends, who were now best friends, and his best girl.

“You’re right. I think you should. You should choose.”

Your mouth hinged open. You spoke at the wall, then looked at Bucky.

“What about you, James? Do I need to choose?”

Bucky walked in front of you

“No Doll. You don’t have to choose.”  

You looked up into his eyes.  Damn, he looked so handsome in his bespoke grey suit that he chose for the wedding. And the tie that you gave him set off his eyes.  

“I just….  I just wanted a piece of happiness too. I knew you were Steve’s girl.”  He took both of your hands in his. 

“I don’t deserve you. When Steve didn’t come back, and you and I connected, I couldn’t help it. I was just going to keep an eye out, but…”

He gave you that cute little side smile of his.  And then he kissed you. It was short and sweet and oh so hot. You looked up at him, shook to the core. And then he ruined it all.

“I love you Doll. It was nice while it lasted.” 

Bucky was giving up. 

You nodded and backed away. Not believing this situation. 

“Ok. I’m making my choice.” 

You raised your chin and looked at Steve and Bucky.

“I’m not some fucking marble that you pass around, play with, and trade with your friend.” 

You took a deep breath.  “I choose me.”

You were gone in a flash, before they could even register it.  And although they ran, they couldn’t catch you before you were out of reach.

-----

Three months later, you walked through the late August soup of Houston heat to the bar, pausing when you thought you heard footfalls behind you. You used your speed to zip along to Willy’s; you were safe there.

You were back sharking with the best of them.  But your training was put to good use.  You never got burned and you never got caught.  You were making a good living.  

There were a jumble of misfit super humans who had gathered there with you.  You were a leader now. And you were doing well on your own. It was a life.

You already knew he was coming, and maybe that’s why you moved to the back room to play.

You were prepared, but when you felt him, you still lost your breath.  But you recovered quickly, straightening your spine, despite the fact that he was standing so close to you.

You looked at the dartboard on the wall across from you and chalked your cue.

“Don’t you have other things to take care of? Other wheres? Other whens maybe?”

You learned more about time travel since you’d left New York, and you understood more of what happened. 

The Avengers had access to time travel.  If only you could go back… but no. You were stronger than those men.  You could live with your decisions. And move forward.

“No. What I need to take care of is right here. Right now.”  

His deep growl stirred something inside you, and you fought your body, which was becoming moist at his proximity.

You bent over the table, super soldier dick poking you in the ass before you drew your pool cue back sharply into his stomach.  Abs of steel met the cue and nearly broke it.  He just stepped aside and shook his head at you.

You turned your head to look into his aqua blue eyes and you fell in love all over again.  Shit.

You gave up and turned around, leaning back against the pool table, because he wasn’t giving an inch, not moving from your space.

You scanned the room and your people were watching, but keeping your distance. They all knew who he was, and your history. They gave you space, but wouldn’t let you be hurt without a fight. You nodded at them and they all went to the front, giving you more privacy.

He nodded in their direction. 

“People fall under your spell fast, I know that all too well. They trust you.”

You lifted your head. “I’ve never done anything to make them not trust me.”

He sighed.  “Point taken.”

“Why did you come here?  I know that you’ve known where I was. Sam must have told you.” 

“I’ve known where you were. How could I not? I didn’t need Sam to tell me. It’s not like you were trying to hide.”  

He cocked his head at you.

“But the reason that I’m here, now, is that I’ve always been slow at math. And I just put two and two together.”

You smirked up at him. “You’re right. This is home. A leopard doesn’t change her stripes.”

He just chuckled at your evasion.

“You wanna play a game?” 

His eyes followed you, undeterred by your challenge.

You walked around to the other side of the table, leaned over and gathered the balls to be racked. 

You held two in one hand and looked at him.  He smiled and the electricity at the small of your back was everything. He slowly walked around to you as you racked them.

He took in your form (including your ample cleavage) as you bent over the table and your mouth as you said the word, “Break.”

“I’m tired of playing games, Doll. I’m just here to win you back.”

You turned around and faced him, looking up at him, now aware of his smell.  You closed your eyes and inhaled leather and metal. You opened them again and his eyes were blazing.

“James.. I”  

Bucky grabbed your face, hands gently cradling your head, and cut you off with a kiss, his lips gentle at first. Then his hands moved to your hips and lifted you onto the table. He slotted himself in between your thighs, your bodies separated by the same brand of black denim. 

His lips and tongue seemed determined to possess you. Bucky kissed and felt your body like he hadn’t in a lifetime. His hands roamed you like they were starved from touching you. 

Your hands were on his neck and in his hair, relishing the feel of him. You’d  missed him so fucking much. You drew apart, and his breath fanned your face as you two panted together, his forehead resting on yours.

“I am never going to let you go again.”

“James…”

“Hold on Doll, I’ve got to say this.” 

He smiled and gave you another quick peck.  You nodded, solemn.

“I said the wrong thing back in Brooklyn. I don’t care that you were with him first. I don’t care if you think that you might want to be with him. When I fell for you, I fell harder than I ever have. Even from the train.”  

He was whispering the words you wanted to hear months ago, causing you to cry.  But a lot of things caused you to cry lately. 

Bucky smiled at you, his eyes crinkling in that adorable way that you loved. You opened your mouth to speak and he kissed you, silencing you again. You responded with a smile. He continued.

“I know that you think that I folded and just gave up on you on our wedding day. I was just thinking that I don’t deserve you. Especially next to Steve.  I mean, you won’t find a better man.  But in the time since, I’ve realized, even though it’s hard. I’m a good man too.”

“You are, James…”

“You helped me come to terms with everything that’s happened. Sam has helped me deal with everything I did...and I’m not perfect, and neither are you, but we can be perfect for each other.”  

You nodded, smiling a little.

“I’m in love with you and I deserve you. You deserve me. We deserve each other.  And I’m not saying this because I think you saved me. But you are the strongest woman I know, enough to be with me when I am weak. I figured out that I can be strong for you too. I have to be now. I am so sorry that I let you walk away. But I’m not going to let you out of my sight now, even if you don’t want to be with me.  But I am asking you, again. Be my family. Make one with me. Choose me.”

You shook your head as tears fell from your eyes.

“James Barnes, there was never ever any choice. It’s you. It will be you. Forever.”

Bucky let out a sigh of relief and started kissing you all over your face, down your neck and into your cleavage.

“I was scared shitless, Doll! I love you so much,…”

You kissed him now, your hands under his jacket, slipping it off his shoulders. Next, you went under his shirt, feeling his nipples, playing with them as he shuddered. Then your hands went up to one cold shoulder and one warm, grasping them as he ground his hard jeans covered crotch into yours.

“Too many clothes.”

You ended up helping him pull his shirt over his head. You trailed your hand back down his abs to the button on his jeans.

“I missed you James. My hormones are going crazy, Baby…”  

His eyes got wide as you popped the top button and bit your lip.  Bucky moaned.  He was about to explode just being near you.

“Th-that’s what we need to talk about…”

“Talk later. Fuck. Now.”

Bucky looked over your shoulder to the other room. To his surprise, the door was now closed.

“Wow, they…”

You hopped down from the table and got on your knees in front of him.

“You gonna let me suck your dick or not James?”

He looked down at you smirking up at him and could feel himself leaking in his jeans.  Three months of his hand had been torture, thinking of you.  

It seemed as if he unfastened and pulled himself out without knowing.  For a moment he feared mind control. 

But it was just love and lust.

You grasped him, testing his girth and admiring how your fingers did not meet around his cock.  

“Mmmmmmmm,” you moaned while you thumbed his tip, collecting the pre-cum and lubricating him as you pumped.

He stared at you, slack jawed and sexy as he watched you.  He reached down and put his hand in your hair, massaging your scalp.

You commanded him. “Eyes on me, Sergeant.”

Bucky locked eyes with you and watched as you licked your lips, opened your mouth, and spit on his cock.

“Fuck.”

You pumped him a couple of times before you opened wide and took him as deep as you could, relishing the feel of his wide, smooth, hard unit in your mouth.  You pulled off of him with a pop.

“Damn I missed this dick.” 

Then you deep throated him again, making Bucky have to hold on to the side of the pool table as he held your head while you spluttered around him.

“And I missed your pretty little mouth, Doll. Damn.”  He watched as you did it a few more times.

When you looked up and  he saw your ruined face, Bucky went feral.

He pulled you up by your shirt, pulling it over your head and wiping your face with it.  Then he kissed you.

“Fucking love how you do that, Doll.”  

He started kissing down your chest, pulling your breasts out of your bra, pinching and rolling your nipples gently, a little more carefully than usual. He looked at you knowingly as you squirmed in pleasure.

“I’ve been doing my research.”  

Then, he leaned down and suckled them with that mouth until you almost came, writhing in his arms. Bucky unbuttoned your pants and pulled them down, kneeling, and staring up at you as you leaned against the green felt table.

You stepped out of your jeans and panties and watched as his flesh hand glided from your ankle to your ass, palming it and then sliding back down as he lifted your thigh on his shoulder.  You shuddered as you could feel his breath on your cunt.

“I’ve been dreaming of this.”  

His eyes held yours as he leaned in for a kiss, then a long wet lick of your cunt.  You grabbed his brown hair as his blue eyes hypnotized you and as he ate you out. When his metal fingers came up, whirring, you started begging.

“Please, James…please…please…..”

He laughed, mouth still fucking your pussy. He pulled away, chin glistening with your juices. His fingers began pumping inside you, the vibration driving you up the wall.

“Are you begging me to stop, or to continue, Doll? Talk to me.”

“Unnnh, unnnnh, oooohhh shittttt. Don’t ever stop.” 

And then you came all over his face,  Bucky slurping it up happily.  He stood up, taking you with him and maneuvering you so that you could feel his thick tip at your hole before it breached you. 

Bucky’s cock stretched you out and made you see stars as you slid down his thick pole while he was standing up, pumping inside you as he deposited you on the table.

You wrapped around him like a vine as he held you, cock pounding from the feeling of being inside you again. He pulled back to kiss you again.  He was grunting in his throat as he tried to speak.

“Fuck you feel so good...Fair warning, Doll. I’m not going to last. Been too long.”

You let go of him, and leaned back on the felt, arms braced behind you as you replied, “Just fuck me James.”

Bucky took in your body, from where you were connected up your torso to your breasts and the beautiful fucked out look on your face and started moving.

“Fuck, fuck, fuckkk.”  You took him, looking down to see the impossible stretch.

“Yeah, look at that. Looks and feels so damn good, doesn’t it, Doll? How the fuck are you so… so… fucking… tight….?”

“Yes, fuck, James, FUCKKKKK.”

All nerves were in your cunt as you went down to your elbows, and then to your back flat on the slate table, pool balls going everywhere.

Bucky pulled your hips off the table and really started digging in, hips snapping at a frenzied pace as his metal hand slid down your body. You could tell that he was almost there.

“Cum with me Doll.” 

When that metal thumb touched your clit, it was over.  You came as soon as you felt his white hot ropes of cum drench your walls. You closed your eyes for just a second, and then opened your eyes wide.

‘Why am I curled up on a pool table after being fucked by my 106 year old fiance? What is life?”

Bucky laughed as he pulled his shirt over his head and helped you off the table. He looked around, going to get you a bottle of water from the vending machine.

“You good?” 

Bucky eyed you as you got your clothes together.  He leaned next to you as he watched you drink the water.

“Baby okay?”

You ducked your head, smiled and grabbed his hand, putting it on your slightly rounded stomach.

“Yeah. I can feel him moving around.  Can you feel that?”  

Bucky just stared at his hand, then at your face.

“Not really… Him?”  He was astounded.

“That’s normal. I’m gonna be able to feel him before you can, And yeah, Him.”  

You turned more fully toward Bucky and he took you in his arms.  

“I had all kinds of tests, to make sure that he was okay.  I wanted to know if… if what they did to me would affect…. “ 

You shook your head, then smiled up at Bucky.

“He’s healthy.  I’m 20 weeks. I figured we’d call him Jamie?”  

Bucky beamed at you and nodded. 

“How did you know?”

“Well, I figured out that you didn’t faint at the wedding just because of Steve. Why didn’t you tell me, Doll?”

You rolled your eyes.

“Are you really asking me that question?”  

Bucky blanched and you decided not to be salty. 

“Well, At first, I didn’t want you to feel trapped. I was so happy that you asked me and didn’t know.”  You beamed at him. “ But then…” Your smile faded.

“I’m an idiot, Doll. Forgive me.  It’s me and you. And Jamie. Forever.”  

You two shared the kiss you missed at the altar. It was going to be okay.

“Now, let’s go get some food. I know you’re hungry.”

You laughed as you punched his arm. 

“Ass. But you’re right.” 

You two walked down the street to Ninfa’s Restaurant hand in hand. Bucky turned his head and gave an imperceptible nod as you two passed by an alley/

Steve returned the greeting as he stepped out and watched you and Bucky make your way down the street.

“That’s okay Sweetheart,” he whispered. “Buck’s a good man. But I know you’ll choose me. In another time.”

He walked to the quinjet, which was pointed toward New York.

-------

Did Reader make the right choice? What do you think about the surprise?And what the what is Steve thinking? Let me know if you liked it by commenting or reblogging!

Tagging:

@olyvoyl @summerofsnowflakes @sillyteecup @riiyy @honeysucklechocolatedrippin @theselilwonders @lonelydance @chattykathysquietsister @anh1020 @nissameta1782 @afriendlyblackhottie @betterkeepmewetterthanabayou @jbrizzywrites @stilltoyou  @donutloverxo @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @kiwisa @food8me @aiikaa @marvelfansworld  @london-grunge @pheebsyells @thesecretlifeofdaydreams-bl-blog @douxtille @ximaginexx @fofisstilinski @bertieandberries @ladystrawberry @bit-of-a-timelord @chesca-791 @calimoi @fangirlfree @bbaengtan @karolsboo @aliceforbes @insertpithyusername @sickknik @photmath @whorekneebrain  @anacrcarvalho @iconicshit @spicybibimbap @fineanddandy @olyvoyl @chaoticsteverogers@txtsfromyourex @sadthotsonlylove @ikatieebabyy@nerdymugsharkempath @maroonsunrise83 @curlyhairclub @spookyparadisesheep @keepingitlokiii​ @weaselbeedisneygeek @toofab4utheatrediva

[tinygameroom]

Interactive Fiction to Look Out For On Itch.io

itch.io is a trove of interactive fiction games, visual novels, and kinetic novels of all types, and I’ve run into a good handful that I think are worth highlighting (and playing again myself!)

Many of these I haven’t finished yet due to the sheer amount of content or because I went for the ending I wanted straight away, but I’d love to finish them thoroughly and perhaps review some of them in the future. 

A couple notes! First, it’s been a while since I’ve played some of these games, and some of them I haven’t seen all of the paths. I try to give warnings where needed, but my warnings might not be complete as I don’t know absolutely everything in each game. Please check the games’ pages and look after yourself!

Secondly, many of these are available free, and some are for sale at a low minimum price, but I encourage you to supporter the writers, artists, composers and developers in any way you can, whether that’s giving them a follow, donating, or just leaving a nice comment. Supporting indie creators is a huge part of what this blog is about so give back to those who create things you love! Now let’s get into the list!

Visual Novels:

Hikeback is a horror visual novel about hitchhiking, time loops, and murder. It gives a lot of incentive to keep playing and replaying, as the story advances almost every time you start again, with new choices and details being revealed as it all unravels. This game is incredibly engaging and beautifully written, and lives up to the promise of time loops and meta game mechanics. I recommend this for anyone who wants a good spooky, existential story. Be warned of loud noises, jumpscares, glitch effects, blood and violence, abuse, and themes of self harm, suicide, and depression. The itch.io pge has a list of content warnings as well as a full spoilery breakdown of warnings if you need them. You can find Hikeback on itch.io here!

Nothing to Say is a Visual Novel dating sim where you go on a date with Zoe, a girl you really like. The only problem is you’re very, very nervous. In this smart little game, you’ll be limited in how many letters you can use to express yourself, and you’ll have to unlock further dialogue options by getting to know Zoe, being honest with her, and being cute together. You’ll only earn letters from dialogue options once, encouraging you to explore more dialogue each playthrough until you get all the options to fully tell Zoe how you feel. Nothing to Say is playable here on itch.io!

Text-Interactive:

The Three-Body Problem is a queer romance interactive fiction about celestial witches living in a dark, magical wood when they encounter a young stranger. It features a nonbinary character, a potential polyamorous relationship, and healthy dom/sub dynamics. I found this story sweet and charming, with likable characters and pretty, easy to follow story writing. The Three-Body Problem deals with themes of abuse in a compassionate manner, and is in large part about healing and finding people with whom you are safe. I recommend it for anyone wanting a nice queer romance read with fantasy elements. Watch out for themes of abuse and sexual themes. You can purchase The Three-Body Problem on itch.io here for $5 or play a free mobile version from Wattpad!

Raik is a deeply Scottish fantasy melded with reality. You play as a young woman dealing with anxiety and stress trying to make it through her day, while a fantasy world unravels around her. This story has layers, and all of it is beautiful. The portrayal of anxiety is poignant and real, and the writing is gorgeous. I don’t want to say anything else to spoil it, but this game is fantastic. I recommend for anyone who likes to daydream. Please be warned of themes of anxiety, stress, and panic attacks as well as some fantasy violence. You can buy Raik here on itch.io for 3 GDP (or more! Please support the author!)

Space Frog! (I saw a lunar eclipse) is a story of a frog in space. He’s a frog and he’s in space! This is a cute, short interactive fiction with low stakes, no worries, just cute adventures of a frog in space. You can direct frog as he travels and learn more about him. It has adorable illustrations and clickable text that reveals extra flavor information. I recommend to anybody looking for a smile. You can play Space Frog here on itch.io and also download a zine of the game for $2 or more!

Floor is a text-interactive game about lying on the floor. You can lie on the floor, and you can get off the floor. What you do next is up to you! This is a short game with no real stakes, just real life boredom and activities. It may evoke feelings of loneliness or disappointment, but you can also just have some hummus. Floor can be played here on itch.io!

Apple Spice Pancakes is another short game about making pancakes with your sweetie! It’s entirely wholesome and adorable. The game text is all dialogue - the dialogue you read is from your partner, and your choices are your real-time responses to them. You can help them design your perfect breakfast while being disgustingly cute. Apple Spice Pancakes is available here on itch.io!

A Witch’s Word is a romantic text game where you have made a deal with a witch, offering her your firstborn. The only problem is you don’t have a child. Or a partner. The witch is here to help. Explore three potential relationships as your witch continues to introduce you to new sweethearts, trying to find someone who you are willing to love and who is willing to give up your child. And if you don’t want any of these people the witch offers you... maybe play the game anyway. See what can happen. A Witch’s Word is available here on itch.io!

Other:

Novena is an interactive poem! It’s a pixel art game that you navigate around, interacting with parts of the environment to read through the poem, which is about the ocean, and wishes, and expectations. And compassion. It has absolutely stunning visuals and music, and the poem makes me cry each time. Be warned of some really heavy feelings, but it will do its best to comfort you. The poem takes about five minutes to read and is here on itch.io waiting for you.

I hope a few of these games are of interest to you and that I’ve inspired you to support these great indie developers! If you wanna support me and see more articles and reviews on indie games, or encourage me as I learn to make my own, you can follow me here and on itch.io and support me with donations on ko-fi! Please reblog if you like this article, since tumblr will make it very hard to find with all these links. Have a great day and play some good games!

[hanazou]

hello,, I’ve been feeling down lately and a loved one of mine recently has passed away...

if you are comfortable with it may I request a scenario of Atsushi and Chuuya comforting their s/o who were grieving over a death of a loved one? ;0 thank you I love your blog 💖💖

𝙘𝙝𝙪𝙪𝙮𝙖 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙖𝙩𝙨𝙪𝙨𝙝𝙞 𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙜𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙛

Books : Chuuya | Atsushi

Genre : Comfort, romance

Category : Headcanons, short scenario

Shelves : Hardback | Paperback

Warning : Description of grief

Note : I am deeply sorry for your loss. I can’t do emergency requests but I tried to get this one out as fast as I could. I could only do short scenarios of this so I added headcanons, I hope this is alright. Once again, my condolences and please stay strong.

Chuuya has to ask you a couple of worried questions before it strikes him what you’re dealing with.

He will be on the verge of panicking when he first hears the bad news, worse if you're the one that has to tell him what happened. He instantly undergoes flashbacks from experiencing something like this himself and he fears that your coping with the grief might harm you.

If you can’t afford to talk to him like you usually do, he understands.

He stands/sits next to you, arms crossed, occasionally glancing at you to see if there’s any change in your stance, expression, anything.

He avoids staring at you directly in concern that you'd become pressured by him.

He’s ready to catch you if your legs fail you

Holds the top of your head lightly yet firmly. If you don’t show signs of protesting, he’d slowly pull you closer to his neck.

Getting physically affectionate is his prime card to comfort you, but before anything, he takes off his gloves so he won’t dirty you.

His fingers move kind of unevenly and feel rough, but that’s how you can feel his desire to support you

If you can’t stop crying or on the verge to go on a complete mental breakdown, he immediately collides his body against yours as tight and strong as he could.

If your legs give up, he drops down with you in his arms instead of keeping you standing with his ability and he’ll clutch your face close when you both land on the floor.

If you won’t hug him first, he’ll pull you to him. He forces your face down his shoulder so you’d grieve as much as your heart can empty while his hand brushes your back up and down.

“Cry as long as you need,”

Words, as I’ve once said, isn’t his speciality, but he tries regardless. He wants to make sure that you know you aren’t alone, that you have him with you.

He doesn’t talk as much but his distressed expression stays as long as he’s with you.

“You can take it out on my shoulder, you know,” He hesitates a bit, unsure if he sounds too rough.

If you can’t stop crying, he pats your shoulder, only knowing how to say “There, there” since he thinks it’s better than saying nothing at all. Chuuya thinks you need to hear him being there.

Chuuya squeezes through his tight schedule to make time for you.

He negotiates as best as he could with Mori to give him as much time off as possible.

If it’s impossible to take a week off, he goes full rampage in his job with the thought of you in his head motivating him to finish everything as soon as possible, making a mess where he goes.

If someone gets in his way, Chuuya shouts, "I've got someone more important to see, you punk!" while blasting them away.

He always brings food and drink over and makes sure you eat. He spoon-feeds you if necessary. He isn’t the cleanest but him wiping your face clean makes up for that.

"Come on, babe, you gotta eat," Chuuya says. "They won't like seeing you grieving like this, so eat, yeah? For them?"

If the emotions exhaust you to sleep, he sits against the wall and pulls you to him so you’d sleep against his body, making sure his limbs are around you so you’d never feel the loss of pressure around your body.

If it's cold, he wraps you with a blanket and occasionally touches your fingers to know whether you're staying warm or not.

Since Chuuya’s goal is to make sure you don’t feel alone or abandoned as I’ve mentioned, he does everything to solidify his presence.

He calls often if he has to be away, he sends food delivery, leaves short sticky notes, and sends voice messages.

It’s noticeable he doesn’t know what to say and even more obvious that he wants to keep reaching out to you.

Chuuya tries to strike a light and brief conversation once in a while. He’s disturbed by your uncharacteristic silence, it scares him.

“Do you want some takoyaki?” He’d ask randomly. The anxiety on his face never wavers away.

He does any activity that comes to mind when he stays at your place, but regardless of what he does, he’s never more than three feet away from you.

Always, without fail, kisses you good morning and good night on the forehead regardless he stays at your place or not.

Or if you're not opposed to it, Chuuya wants to take you to his place. He may still have to go to work, but something doesn't feel right about leaving you alone for so long in a place he's not too familiar with. At least in his space, you're constantly reminded you're not alone and that you're there because you're never abandoned.

Like a strayed ship in a storming ocean, your emotions are the waves storming your damaged vassal of conscience to the point that even looking forward to sunray from the bleak sky of endless cloud sounds mythical, making speaking a heavy chore. You’ve been exhausting yourself to sleep, soaking everything with your tears until it no longer comes out. It’s frustrating, it’s turbulent, so active in making you passive. Your tears run out but not the multiple stabs around your heart. Your voice leaves you but not the intensity or the transparency of hurt on your face.

It feels impossible, fictional, but if it were, then you aren't supposed to have your heart cauterized. It's the reminder of the bitter truth you're grappling against accepting.

If they had to go, why not bring the pain with them? Why do they have to leave you fractured, incomplete, empty, by transcending away while you stay behind, only able to watch them shrink somewhere unreachable?

Why do pieces of you have to be chipped off your already fragile soul, leaving holes in your essence? Why leave many pieces behind, why leave you alone?

“Hey,” A voice zaps your mind back to your head.

You remove your face from your wrinkled, moist, and sweaty palms, everything in front of you foggy from the swelling of your eyes. You still wear your dark clothes, unable to find the heart to change into something new, something brighter, after the sudden tragedy strikes. It was not, and still not is, in your capability to even stand up to eat.

Chuuya’s oddly timid and soft-sounding voice for this week is what makes you feel something other than rocking instability.

Slightly opening your eyes to see him, his figure before you hurts your eyes from how colourful he is. His face appears like a messy mix of vibrant paint, his orange hair, blue eyes and fair skin, and dark clothes sticking out from the stale background behind him.

A pair of silver keys, ones that unlock your door, stand out from his black-gloved hand from beneath his tightened fist. He puts it in his pocket and takes your hands, forcing you to stand and steadies your arms when your knees wobble.

"Have you eaten the lunch I had delivered here?" He pats off the dust from your shoulders and arms, his vibrant face still paining your swollen eyes.

Your eyes roll to the untouched paper bag on the table. You figure Chuuya’s eyes follow because of the stifled sigh he holds in.

"Babe, come on…"

"I can't," is what you try to say, although with your dry throat, it comes out like scorched empty words. "I'm sorry, I know you picked it with great care and thoughts so I'd eat, but I just can't, not when—" You catch a coarse breath. "Not when I'm like this, I can't yet."

"Still don't want to talk about it?" His voice squeezes. "You can't keep it in forever, you know, and you really shouldn't."

With your blurry vision, you figure that his arms extend open. A weak ‘what?’ is all you can hoarsely ask.

“Saying nothing, skipping meals and not drinking.” He says sourly. “Let out your grieve like how it should be done. That's what they'd want too."

Your tears make a reappearance at either a bad or perfect timing, depends on how you tilt your head to see it. They prickle your eyes, some rushing down your face.

“Come here,” Chuuya says, perhaps frowning from the way his voice changed.

Your eyes close slowly before opening again, your puffed eyelids troubling you from keeping your eyes opened. “I don’t think I can,” You sound like an overworked opera singer. “If I hug you, I won’t be able to let go and I might suffocate you without meaning to.”

You think Chuuya makes a sound of annoyance until a force smashes your body forward, lunging your face against him. The brief faint glow of orange earlier helps you process that he used his ability on you to bring you to him. Now his arms trap you in him, your forehead strongly weighted on his shoulder.

“Then suffocate me,” His muffled voice says from behind your head, one of his hands taking your arm to hold his body. “I’m always here.”

Your hands stretch his shirt with your tight clasp as you feel yourself getting lost in the waves. The turbulence crashes out from within you as you incoherently cry on Chuuya’s stable body, him becoming your guaranteer in the midst of the rocking forces that threaten your balance. His rigid arms support your weight as you wail out, ensuring that the waves don’t sweep you away, somewhere unreachable from him. He secures you, letting you explore the storm’s rolling waves while still grounding you safe.

“I’m here,” The soft wind in the storm grazes your ear. “I promise.”

Atsushi is one of the most sympathetic and empathetic people you could ask for when it comes to comfort you through your grief.

He’s nowhere oblivious to someone who’s hurting. He recognizes what kind of pain you’re going through and it doesn’t take him too long to identify what you’re feeling and the intensity of it although he can’t process it into words.

Atsushi is so worried sick for you that he has trouble thinking straight and his breaths get faster.

He’s really anxious about you feeling left behind or abandoned.

He makes sure that you don’t doubt that your beloved one who has to leave earlier definitely loves you.

It breaks him if you think of things such as disappointing them, unable to fulfil their wishes, etc.

Atsushi can feel your hurt as if it’s his own, and because of his heightened emotional senses, he’s quick to jump in to support you. It’s instinctive.

He’s at first hesitant to touch you, let alone comfort you with his embrace, so he starts with generic sentences like “I’m so sorry” and “You can lean on me” while offering his empty shoulder

It’s challenging for him, but Atsushi is persistent to comfort you with his words before he touches you.

He insists on speaking before holding you around him.

Atsushi validates your feelings by putting his guesses of how you’re currently feeling into words. He’s not the best with words so he’ll struggle to pick his vocabulary, but the things he says are mostly true.

“I’m sorry you have to feel like your heart is becoming stiff,”

“If you feel like everything around you is empty, I’m still here,”

When he does get to the point where he feels that physical touch can help you, Atsushi is very tender.

He starts with wiping your tears away until your cheeks are drier and offers you tissues. He’ll help you blow your nose

He removes the hair sticking to your face and wipes your face until you’re dry

He hugs you like he's the one broken; putting his face on your shoulder, arms hanging from your neck. It's because that he fears that you might get as hopeless as him. He dreads for that for that happen so he holds you with the strongest Affirmation he can give.

"I'm with you, I'll always be," He keeps repeating while he hugs you.

Touches your fingers most of the time and squeezes your hand

Atsushi fights tooth and nail to get several days off to stay with you in your place. He’ll have a whole speech prepared so he can convince Fukuzawa and Kunikida

He’ll spend the morning bargaining with Fukuzawa in his office after giving Kunikida a 15 minute TED talk about how badly he can empathize with your loss and how he’s rock certain you need his company

He asks Kyouka to help him make your food that’s easy to digest for the stomach, like soup and porridge. You can best bet that she’s going to add some tofu to it.

“Kyouka-chan helped me make this fish soup,” Atsushi presents you the bento boxes, unwrapping the cloth. “Let’s eat, okay? You have to keep your stomach filled. I’ll help you.”

If he’s unable to spend the night at your place, Atsushi makes sure to arrive at 6 am sharp every day to check on you, and the earliest he’ll leave is around 8 o’clock

He cleans your place every day diligently and does an excellent job at it. Doing the dishes, cleaning the floor, making sure the sink is clean and ensures the bathroom floor isn’t slippery. He doesn’t want an untaken care living space to worsen your emotional state.

Despite always bringing fresh food, Atsushi makes sure to cook fresh batches of rice to eat with anything he delivers so if you miraculously want to eat something, you’ll have something to consume.

If he has to leave for a while, he surrounds you with plush toys. If you don't have any, he borrows Kyouka's bunny plushies collection and arranges them around you, your pillow, the corner of your bed, and on your blanket.

Atsushi never wants you to forget that your loved one loves you. He does everything in his power to remind you everyday that although they're gone, the love they have for you will eternally stay with you and that nothing can ever change that.

He hugs you while verbally reminding you of that.

His hugs always lasts a long while if you're not uncomfortable with it. He can stay long minutes in that position.

Or he sits/lays down next to you in silence, doing absolutely nothing. He's anxious about the quietness himself so his fingers are always near yours.

Words of affirmation randomly comes out. Sometimes he talks about his personal experience to encourage you that everything will be alright, sometimes he tells you the reasons to his belief why your loved one's love for you preserves through all.

He keeps his talks motivational and faithful for the future. Sometimes he'd quote the things Dazai had said to him, filtering out the nonsense if necessary, or the things he always told himself in hope for a brighter tomorrow.

A breathing doll has been haunting your room for a week. It blinks, it moves, it can be spoonfed, but nobody at a glance would argue that it lives. It’s a doll. Calling it an undead is more generous than calling it a doll because of the existing needs. A doll sits inanimately, breathes at the bare minimum, and is devoid of wants and needs.

It’s the perfect status to illustrate how corpse-like you’ve been living like for this week. Your stone-cold face, just as cold fingers, eyes that barely shift, dried mouth and chapped lips make it a challenge to have you described as something living. To even use the word ‘live’ to describe you is contradictory and to hear the word ‘live’ suffocates your throat and clamps your once functioning heart. The indescribable pain mutes you, paralyzes you, turning you doll-like.

A broken doll, you are, once full, once living and moving until the one you love had to bid life farewell first without warning.

One tireless and loyal white-haired boy frequents you every day, bearing food and water to make sure the living doll in your room doesn’t fade into the cold. Cobwebs would have formed between your arms and your bed if he didn’t clean you off the filth you don’t bathe away, your nerves have been too dormant for you to feel filthy.

A bright white figure shifts around in front of you like a poltergeist. You pay it no mind. This isn't the first or second time you're seeing things that aren't there, or rather, someone who isn't supposed to be here. Your cluelessness to cope with the grave reality seems to have driven your brain on autopilot, it seems that this time it decides to give you a hallucination so you'd have someone to cling to.

A sudden snap startles your eyes to open wider, albeit without focus. Something black was in front of you, it had five branches and moves so... humanly. Like it's real. You trace it back to the white hallucination in front of you and it takes you a while to realise that you aren't hallucinating. The white haired boy who has been frequenting your place is here again today.

"Atsushi..." His name falls emptily through your teeth.

Atsushi’s mouth opens and his lips move in accordance. His face wrinkles to the centre. The inconsistent pressure he applies around your cold hand before holding you as tight as now tells you of how fragile he knows you are.

His mouth opens again familiarly. You shift your eyes to him without any effort to listen through the incoherent sound.

When his lips move for the third time, you figure out he has been calling your name. You blink twice and his chest deflates with a long exhale.

“You’ll pull through,” His hold around your hand boldens as he grit his teeth. “They had to depart first but they did so while loving you. You're loved, they love you. You can use that to push on, their love for you lives on and so do your memories of them.”

He observes you with high intensity as if expecting you to speak. You notice the disappointment when all your eyes do is gaze hollowly through him. You think he breathes in a sob from the sudden squeak he makes.

Your eyes lazily roll to follow your hand Atsushi lifts to put against his face. “I’m with you, I'll always will be. You’re not alone, you’re not alone, you’re not alone.” He chants. “You’re never alone, you’re never alone.”

He brings your hand down against his chest. Something beats inside to hammer you the reminder that it will never stop thrumming. The warmth reminds your nerves of something. It feels contagious, bringing you recollecting something you used to feel often.

“I promise, I promise, I promise,” Atsushi hurriedly says, “I’ll always be here for you.”

Like a mantra, his words deliver the familiar sensation his chest makes you feel to your essence. After your slowed blink, you tilt down your head and tilt back up, repeating that movement until it’s fitted to be called a nod. Atsushi heaves a breath out and pulls your hand to get between his arm and side until your upper body drops against his.

“They watch over you, I promise,” His hand holds your head as you passively breathe on his shirt. "Anytime and anywhere, they're with you, and so am I.” He says airily. "You're never alone and never will be. They're with you and I'm staying forever, you'll never see your side empty, I promise they watch over you, I promise, I promise, I promise,"

Your head tilts to the side, giving more space to breathe. His solid body exudes more of the feeling you don’t realize you crave. It reaches your throat eventually, nourishing you with words you once lost.

"Thank you," You whisper.

A living doll you temporarily are but not forever, and most certainly, a loved human you are for as long as the memory of your beloved and Atsushi keep you close to them.

© all rights reserved to hanazou. do not repost, modify, or claim any of my works as your own.

[marymccartneyphotos]

Paul Weller in conversation with Mary McCartney: ‘We used to pinch a lot of Beatles songs’

For this Woking-born son of the 1970s, there were four father figures who underpinned everything, from his first guitar to an inspirational career that continues to expand and explore more than 50 years later. On the release of his latest solo record, his third in three years, we asked Paul Weller to pick through the past with an artist who knows better than any how The Beatles shaped the generation that followed. By Dylan Jones; 4 June 2021 from British GQ Magazine

(edited for Mary McCartney content only)

For Weller’s latest GQ appearance, we thought it would be good to put him together with an old friend, the photographer Mary McCartney. Which is what we did...

Mary McCartney: So, Paul, when did you become a Beatles fan? When you were 12?

Paul Weller: When I was five years old. I had some of the singles, because my mother bought them, but the first time I saw them was the Royal Variety Performance in 1963, when I was five. From the time I saw The Beatles I loved music and then when I was around age 12 I started trying to learn to play guitar. Me and my mate had a few lessons for a bit and got a few weeks in, but the guy was trying to teach us how to read music, so we got bored with that. And as soon as we learnt enough chords we stopped the lessons and we just start doing it ourselves.

MM: When did you actually start writing songs?

PW: As soon as we – me and my mate Steve Brookes – learnt the three or four chords. I’m still mates with him now. We started a band and we just learned together and we just kept swapping whatever we’d learned in the week, swapping back and forth. It was just me and him and then we just gathered up people as we could find them. There was never any doubt in my mind that’s what I would do and, even at around 12, I thought that was definitely what I was going to do for a living. Well, I didn’t know it could be a career, I just knew I was going to do music. So by the age of 14 we were playing pubs, working men’s clubs and social clubs with The Jam. But your dad’s band was the catalyst for all of it.

MM: You know, I’m directing a documentary about the history of Abbey Road Studios at the moment, so I’ve been taken back to those times. There is a photograph of me aged three months on one of the sofas in the studio, so I was there before I can remember being there. Whenever I walk in through the doors I still get a funny feeling. But I’m learning a lot about The Beatles’ recording process, though. What was your writing process in the early days?

PW: When we started to write songs we just used to pinch a lot of The Beatles songs. They were very basic, just us taking our first steps as songwriters. I was actually very passionate at the time, but I didn’t have the skills to articulate that passion. That kind of developed. Our first songs would have been nonsense songs, just “My Baby Love Me” stuff... But, like every other fledgling songwriter, I just started off by aping other people, like The Beatles did, like Dylan did. Everyone starts out copying other people.

MM: I assume you recorded your new album during lockdown?

PW: I did. I had about four or five tracks left over from [last year’s] On Sunset and they were just lying around, unused. So I started working away, chipping away, trying to put together a new batch of songs. As ever, I recorded them all in the studio down in Surrey, just me and a guitar singing along to a click track. If I couldn’t record with the band, I’d send the recordings to them and they’d play their parts and then send them back. It was a very odd process, but it worked. However, when we could finally all record again together, it was like the first day of school after the summer holidays. It was great. The writing process was actually the same as it always is, but because I knew I didn’t have any live work for the foreseeable future, we just created all this space. I think the lockdown was actually hugely influential in a way, as all the quiet made me appreciate nature in a way I hadn’t done for quite some time, maybe ever. I could really feel and hear and see nature again, it started to take over. I loved hearing the birds sing and not seeing any aeroplanes in the sky. It helped me think about things I would never normally think about in any situation. I felt more in tune with nature. I had a thought that if we weren’t here, if we all disappeared, which I’m sure we will do one day, the earth would just reclaim itself and that it will always be here and we won’t.

MM: It was such a nice feeling, actually stopping and looking and appreciating, not rushing around. I was lying in bed one night in the middle of London. It was 2am and it was so quiet it felt like we had gone back 100, 200 years. I couldn’t hear the rumble of the underground and it was almost as though cars hadn’t been invented.

PW: How was your lockdown, Mary?

MM: Mine was good, but we’re not here to talk about me. I’m grilling you today. But mine was good. Well, I say it was good, but it was unnerving. I think, on a global scale, it was just unnerving because it was like living in a science fiction movie. I think the main thing a lot of us benefitted from was having to slow down and not being able to just go and do things. So, in that sense, it wasn’t a bad thing. I was obviously worried about people’s health and the economy, but, like you, I really got in touch with nature. I did a lot more photographic work outside. And, of course, I started to prep for the Abbey Road doc. What’s the perfect recording scenario for you?

PW: Well, I love my studio and, to be honest, I’d be quite happy to never come out of the place. I could quite happily stay there forever. I bought the building in 1999, but it’s only really been the past 15 years or so that we’ve really got it together, with the sound and the vibe and the equipment. I’m continually making little acoustic adjustments to the room. We’ve got a drum kit set up all the time, as well as a mic’d piano, so it’s always ready to roll. I can play guitar, obviously, as well as bass and piano, but I’ve never really enjoyed playing the drums, because I can’t sing and drum with any conviction. It’s a different art altogether, playing drums. I like drummers who play the song, who can play the tune and who aren’t trying to do their own thing. That requires a certain amount of discipline, a different discipline: not playing too much but playing the right thing. Your dad is a good drummer.

MM: Yeah, he is. Mum introduced me to a song he played drums on years ago, called “My Dark Hour”, by the Steve Miller Band. He’s credited as “Paul Ramon” and he does backing vocals, guitar, bass and drums. It was recorded in Olympic Studios in London towards the end of 1969, after an argument Dad had had with the others over Allen Klein becoming their manager. The others had gone off and he said Steve Miller walked in and asked if he wanted to play the drums on this track he was recording. I think the drumming on it is so good, but you can tell he’s letting out a lot of tension.

PW: I love that first solo album of your dad’s, the one with you as a baby on the back. That’s probably one of my favourite records. It was lo-fi before lo-fi was even talked about.

MM: I love the rawness of it, as it’s just so personal. I still listen to McCartney and Ram a lot. They shot the album cover up in Scotland. They were horse riding and he zipped me up in his jacket. He put me in the jacket so I was safe, as he was going riding. I love that picture from a photographic point of view as well, as it’s very real. It’s taken at the end of the day, during the golden hour. It’s so natural.

PW: Now, what was it like growing up, then, as a daughter of a Beatle?

MM: Well, it was more like growing up as a daughter of Paul and Linda, because they were such a great couple. But,

also, they were such adventurous people. So, we were kind of following them around and going on lots of adventures. We went on tour with them and we really only stopped when we needed to go to school. So I have lots of memories of travelling as a girl. I even remember going on the double-decker that they used as a tour bus in 1972. The seats on the upper deck were replaced by mattresses and bean bags.

PW: I assume it was your mother’s inspiration that made you want to be a photographer...

MM: I think so, as I think I just always saw her taking pictures. She had such a casual style too. She didn’t do a lot of setting up and neither do I. It’s just so much nicer when you connect with your sitter and when you just casually take pictures. I much prefer that and I certainly know that you don’t like to have your picture taken in a very set-up kind of situation. What really got me into becoming a photographer was looking at Mum’s pictures from the 1960s. They were about her being with someone and taking pictures and very much not “This is Jimi Hendrix”. Again, casual. When I became a photographer, I took Mum’s talent for granted. She would take pictures out the car window and then they became these books or a print on the wall. When I started doing it myself I’d put the camera up and I’d be like, “Dad, can you turn the car around so I can take this picture?” And he’d be like, “No.” She would take pictures so effortlessly and I didn’t realise there was a knack to it. Mum and Dad would treat everyone equally; I do remember that. We were always surrounded by people, so I suppose that’s why I think I am a bit of a people person. I like meeting people and I like connecting with people, but I still find I’m quite shy about it. I find it stressful, but I like it. But I could never in a million years get up on a stage, ever. Even thinking about it makes me feel like fainting. When did you first walk out in front of a big crowd? How does that feel? Is it just feeling that adulation and love and appreciation and then giving that back? Does that feel really healthy? I always think when it works perfectly, it just must be such a healthy feeling.

PW: It’s almost a weird thing, because just prior to going on stage, especially in the hour before, I’m in bits. I’m so nervous and so don’t want to be there and want to go home, and then within minutes of actually being on stage, as soon as that first tune strikes up, I automatically feel as though this is completely where I’m supposed to be. It feels like the most natural, most comfortable, Zen-like place you could possibly be, it’s so weird. I’ve always felt nervous before going on stage. That’s never changed. I mean, it’s got a little bit better as I’ve got older, but not much. I think I need to have that feeling. It was weird, because there was a time when I tried to stop drinking – before I stopped completely – and when I stopped I suddenly wasn’t nervous before going on stage. And I didn’t like it. It felt really odd.

MM: Isn’t there something superstitious about this?

PW: No, I don’t think so. I just think it gives you an edge. Those nerves can make you edgy and I think that’s important for me.

MM: And then did the nerves come back?

PW: When I started drinking again they did.

MM: But now you’re not?

PW: When I finally stopped drinking it took me at least two years to get used to that feeling of going on stage totally sober and straight. And now I love it. But it took a good two years to get comfortable, as it was really odd at first. I’d be on stage and I’d notice so much, like there’s a guy in the front row who’s wearing a green shirt or something, and now I don’t feel that at all. Now it feels natural and I have a greater appreciation of it. That’s the other thing as well, getting more from it and being more conscious of what we’re doing.

MM: Growing up, watching Mum and Dad on stage just felt natural. But I’ve seen you play a few times and it makes me realise how much I couldn’t do it myself. There is such great energy and it’s really entertaining and you look completely natural, but I wouldn’t be able to feel comfortable in that position. Also, to me, it feels like your music has to be played live. I went to a concert before lockdown and the person was so vacant and not connected to the audience and, because of that, it made me nervous. You could tell they were going through the motions, that it was an act. They had no connection at all. Whereas when I look at Dad on stage he’s all about connection. I think I had taken it for granted before that, but when you see someone who doesn’t connect, you realise how important it is.

PW: I know some people who turn up just before they go on stage and as soon as they finish they get in the car and they’re off. I don’t understand that either. It’s a far bigger thing than that for me, because I’m looking for that connection. As much as the audience might be, I am as well, and my band too, because I’ve seen it happen with my own eyes and there are some nights where you get so connected together by an audience that this thing just grows and grows. It transcends the moment.

MM: It’s like magic.

PW: It’s something special. The last time I played at the Fillmore in San Francisco, a couple of years ago, it was like that, and it wasn’t because of gear. It was almost like we took off, like the whole room just lifted up.

MM: Have you got a ritual for after the show?

PW: No, not really. No.

MM: My dad has this sandwich and a Margarita, because he doesn’t eat before he goes on. He waits until after.

PW: I have a cup of tea these days. In the past, I would have got off my nut, but I don’t any more. But if you have a gig like that and that becomes your benchmark, you’re always looking to get back to that moment, which is not always possible. But that becomes the thing you’re always searching for, to find that connection. We’re always striving for the spectacular. It’s the same with record companies. Sometimes you have to compromise, but what you really want to do is pursue your own passions. It was more difficult when we first started, because the record company tried to step in more and tried to guide us to do this or that. In the early days of The Jam they even suggested we cover a 10cc song. We said, “No fucking way is that going to happen.” You’ve got to stick to your guns. You’ve got to pursue what you set out to achieve.

MM: Fashion and clothes feel important to what you do, maybe because they make you feel a certain way to be able to perform?

PW: Yeah. But although I was too young to be really involved in the 1960s, I still lived through that time and that whole thing has never gone away for me. I love that period and it informs a lot of what I do, including how I dress. The whole look and sound of that time is just really formative. I don’t feel I’m stuck in that time, but it will always be the cornerstone of everything I do. I just thought it was such a brilliant time for music and fashion and art and all that stuff.

MM: What do you think it is about it? Is it experimentation?

PW: I think so. It was those postwar years, coming out of all that austerity, that bleak black and white, grey world – large parts of the country were still like that in the early 1960s. There were still bombsites. There was still slum housing. So it took a long time for Britain to become modern, but when it did, it was explosive.

MM: Dad describes it as it all suddenly going technicolour.

PW: Yeah, I think that’s true and you just see the clothes and music expanding. Men stopped wearing demob suits and started wearing all these bright-coloured clothes.

MM: And the pill came about and made life a lot easier.

PW: Then the other pills came a little bit later and helped expand everyone’s horizons. These people were pioneers. And also look at the art world – Peter Blake, David Hockney, Bridget Riley. It felt as though everything was becoming more modern and opening up and becoming different and colourful. I was only a very tender age, but, nevertheless, that influence was of great importance and value and always has been. Punk was probably the first time I experienced that freedom. We missed out on the 1960s, had a lift with Bowie, but after that it was largely a cultural wasteland. I was always looking for when I thought it was going to be our term. The 1970s were still very much in the shadow of the 1960s until punk. And then it all blossomed. Then it all started to make sense.

Fat Pop (Volume 1) by Paul Weller is out now.

Producer: Grace Guppy. First assistant: Pedro Faria. Digital technician: Alexander Brunacci. Make-up: Jane Bradley. Retouching: The Hand Of God

[luninosity]

Catching up on some @evanstanweek prompts (last week got busy!) - somewhat belated, but still fun!

Here’s day 5: alternate universe. Which my brain decided was...a space AU? With diplomat!Chris and courier ship captain!Seb?

Read at AO3 here (1,834 words, no warnings, adorable attraction and hand-touches) or read here on tumblr below!

#

Stars streak and flow and swirl along the swiftspace tunnel. They spin and flare and flood color through the viewing windows: white, red, golden, blue, against the dark joyous infinity of space. Chris Evans, as a Federated Planets diplomat and ambassador, has seen a lot of stars and a lot of space. The sheer delight of it all kicks him in the heart every time.

 He gets to be here. On adventures. Flying through darkness and light and beauty. Visiting new worlds, helping people solve problems.

 He wanders across the small upper observation lounge, weary and entranced.

 The courier ship’s sleek and graceful, a silver-grey water-bird with the jeweled light of the universe pooling along her skin. From this angle Chris can see her side, the line of her hull, as well; the view’s maybe not as entirely unrestricted as it would be from the larger more forward deck below, but he likes the connection right here.

 He gazes at the stars, and lets himself relax a fraction: sleeves shoved up, collar undone, hands in his pockets. Negotiations at his back. Peace achieved. Success.

 Maybe he grins at the stars, and maybe they grin back, but that’s okay: nobody else is here to witness their casual shared relief and giddiness. It’s relatively late—the middle of the night, according to ship’s time, anyway—and the observation lounge is quiet, up here.

 Except that’s not true. Because there’s a tiny chirp, pleasant and musical—and it’s not Chris’s communicator—

 He turns. The person who’d been settled into the large corner chair—not facing the door—bolts up hastily and silences the notification and says, “Apologies, Ambassador—” and Chris realizes all at once, a supernova to the gut, that that’s not just any person.

 That’s Sebastian Stan, or more accurately Captain Sebastian Stan.

 In command of this beautiful graceful Federated Planets courier ship. Here to ferry Chris back to the capital planet after negotiations. And so damn beautiful himself that Chris, experienced diplomat that he is, had forgotten how to talk for a good five seconds upon first meeting.

 Captain Stan’s got fluffy dark hair and bright eyes the color of morning mist over the geothermal lakes of Skystone. He’s nearly Chris’s height and nearly Chris’s age, human like Chris but raised on the colony world of Apa Sâmbetei; he’s young for a captain, though not so young that it’s wildly extraordinary, and he’s disarmingly sweet and enthusiastic and passionate in a heartfelt way, someone who talks about his ship and flying the stars as if he’ll never get tired of new missions and explorations, whether that’s as big as discovering a new nebula or as small as bringing a single diplomat back home for debriefing.

 And Chris had fallen head over heels—hopelessly, ridiculously, he knows—the second Captain Stan had run down the ramp at the spaceport and said, “Welcome aboard, Ambassador!” with cheerful disregard for formal impersonal protocol but equally cheerful enthusiasm about inviting Chris on board his ship for the next week.

 Chris’s heart’s always loved people who love the world. And Sebastian Stan so clearly does. So glorious, so vibrant.

 Two days in, they haven’t spoken much. That first brief welcome. Dinner at the captain’s table yesterday, which is in fact the only table, because Sebastian’s crew only numbers seven and they’re all friends. A quick encounter outside the rec-holo room that morning, Chris having asked if he could reserve some workout time and Captain Stan apparently just leaving, having been doing…something…in a clinging dark blue gym shirt and grey sweatpants, just before. He’d been flushed and sweat-damp and glowing; he’d obviously not been expecting Chris to show up ten minutes early. Chris had blurted out, “Sorry, sorry, I wasn’t interrupting—I thought it’d take longer to get here—” and then had wanted to bite off his own tongue for implying Sebastian’s ship was too small or too simple or whatever the hell he’d just managed to babble.

 “No, it’s fine, it’s all yours!” Sebastian’d said instantly. “I’m—I mean, we’re—I mean the Calliope’s at your disposal, Ambassador, of course—” He’d vanished into the lift Chris’d just exited, at that.

 Right now Sebastian looks on the verge of vanishing again: swinging boots to the deck’s carpet, picking up his communicator and tablet, plainly on the brink of getting up. “I didn’t mean to disturb you—”

 Chris says, “You were here first!” and holds up a hand, though he’s not even sure what the gesture’s supposed to mean. Stay? Wait? I’ll go? I’m sorry for barging in on your observation deck time? “And it’s your ship—I’ll just go, I just couldn’t sleep—”

 Sebastian’s smile’s sudden and complicated: wry, understanding, gently concerned. He gets up, but tosses communicator and tablet back down onto his chair: not leaving, then. When he comes to stand at Chris’s side, his eyes are very soft and warm, clear smoky shimmery grey-blue opals.

 He’s still mostly in uniform, though he’s unzipped the jacket and also pushed up both sleeves, and the navy-blue top and tight black undershirt and silver trim all frame his face and throat and body like an antique portrait-decoration. “That moment after a mission. And before the next one.”

 “Yeah.” Chris exhales, tries to remember to gaze at stars and not Captain Stan. “Like jumping off the wind-cliffs on Selene. Like sky-diving, in free-fall, knowing you’ve done everything right, you should land fine, but that minute right before you come down safe and sound, but there’s nothing left you can do now…But, look, I didn’t mean to interrupt you, I didn’t know anyone’d be here—”

 “You aren’t interrupting.” Sebastian shrugs, one-shouldered; glances out at the view. “I love this spot too. I always have. And I love the stars in motion. We’re going somewhere, doing something. On our way to help someone. The way you just did.”

 “I didn’t do all that much.” But he kind of likes the compliment, the glow it sparks in his bones. “Part of a whole delegation. We just got the factions in a room, got them to talk. They did the rest.”

 “But you did that,” Sebastian points out. “You gave them the space, the encouragement, the opening to speak and to listen. What you did…that’ll help end the war on Tacitara, and that’ll make life better for all their people. That’s important.”

 “Yeah,” Chris says. “I mean…yeah. I know. It is important. I just…”

 “You want to do more,” Sebastian says. “You want to help even more. More people, more worlds. Get them all to talk to each other.”

 “Well…yeah.” And those words, Sebastian’s words, disarm him. How can someone he’s barely met know him, see him, so well? From a moment alone with the stars, with the night?

 Sebastian’s smile quirks. “And you’re here. For a whole week. Stuck in transit, with nothing to do.”

 “I don’t mean it like that,” Chris protests.

 “I know.” Sebastian, looking Chris’s way, is outlined by star-streaks. They shine topaz and violet and sapphire in his hair, along his left cheekbone. “I get it.”

 A flash of memory surfaces; the Calliope, Chris recalls, had been one of the smaller ships bringing medical aid, and assisting in desperate evacuations, after the horrific planetary eruptions on Cronus. He hadn’t known her captain’s name at the time, or if he had he hadn’t remembered.

 Sebastian would’ve been several years younger then, maybe right out of the Flight Academy. Maybe even a first assignment.

 Those lapidary grey-blue eyes’ve seen a lot, behind sparkling youthful glee about space and courier missions. Probably as much, if not more, than Chris has in Federation negotiations.

 He says, “I know you do,” and he means it. “Thanks.”

 Sebastian now looks surprised. “For what?”

 “Um…talking to me?”

 “You said you couldn’t sleep.” Sebastian gives him a small head-tip: familiarity. “I get that sometimes too.”

 Chris winces again. “I really didn’t mean to interrupt you.”

 “You didn’t, I said.” Sebastian sighs. “Trying to write. Not that it’s working. I’m glad I was here, though. If you wanted someone to talk to.”

 “I’m glad you were here too.” He means that, also. “Writing?”

 “Ah.” Sebastian makes a face: half-abashed, half-amused at his own letting that out, self-deprecating but not exactly shy. “Not anything really…I mean, maybe someday…I just like telling stories, sort of…places I’ve been, people I’ve met, kind of fictionalized, kind of travel writing…sort of memoir…I’ve published a couple pieces, on the holonet…nothing big, though, just in my spare time…”

 Chris narrows his eyes at this dismissal. He’s a decent diplomat; he can tell when someone’s kicking sand over the truth. “Anything I’d know?”

 Sebastian laughs. “Not unless you read The Next Horizon’s creative contributor’s section on a dedicated basis.”

 “Yeah, the thing is,” Chris says, “literally billions of people on billions of planets read some version of The Next Horizon, that’s pretty much the biggest place you can contribute something, if you’re at all into literature and arts and writing,” and stares at Sebastian very hard.

 “It’s only three short pieces so far—”

 “Three?!”

 Sebastian’s cheeks get pink under the rainbow wash of swiftspace star-field color; he does a small head-duck and nose-scrunch and says, “Sorry?” as if that’s something to feel guilty about, and eyes the Calliope’s hull out the viewport like he’s longing for a spontaneous spacewalk.

 “Fuck,” Chris says, wholeheartedly impressed. “I mean…fuck. Wow.”

 Sebastian gets over embarrassment enough to laugh. “Nice diplomatic language, Ambassador.”

 “Chris,” Chris corrects. “Please.”

 And Sebastian’s eyes get even happier, even more luminous and shining. “Then it’s Sebastian. Definitely.”

 “Sebastian.”

 That earns a tiny lip-lick, a shift of weight: suddenly the room and the stars and Chris’s skin prickle with awareness. Sebastian’s looking at him, at the sound of his own name on Chris’s lips; Chris has found him beautiful already, but abruptly it’s real and sharp and thrumming like a plucked wire: Chris and Sebastian, together under space-light.

 “Chris,” Sebastian says.

 “Yeah?” Chris shifts weight as well. Closer to him. Enough to reach out and touch. And neither of them draws away.

 “I’m glad it was us,” Sebastian says. “Me. The closest available courier. For you.” His fingertips are near enough to brush Chris’s, in the next heartbeat.

 Chris turns his hand. Lets the touch happen: lets his skin drink in the feel of Sebastian’s fingers, the way they’re warm and curious and unafraid, moving to meet his.

 He thinks about starlight, and the week’s journey to Earth, and time to get to know Sebastian more, time to talk about words and stories and saving people. He thinks about debriefings, and some accumulated shore leave after that, before a next assignment.

 He wonders whether Sebastian’s got any stored-up leave also; he wonders whether Sebastian likes the ocean, or wind-cliffs, or quiet retreats in a snowy cabin with space to write and some cozy hand-made non-replicator hot chocolate, the way Chris’s mother taught him. He wants to find out.

 He says, under rushing flowing galactic kaleidoscope glow, with Sebastian’s fingers twining themselves into his, “I’m glad it was you, too.”

[theotherdoe]

But It’s the Quidditch World Cup!

Author’s Note: So I wrote a thing! This is my first time sharing fan fiction anywhere, so I hope who ever reads this story enjoy it!

This little one shot was inspired by that cute little part in Goblet of Fire where Harry, Ron, and Hermione are exploring the wizarding camp at the Quidditch World Cup, and Harry is just amazed at seeing magical people in their natural habitat. I had this little idea in my head that James and Lily would have totally taken Harry to the Quidditch World Cup whenever it was in England if they were alive, and of course Remus and Sirius are there. And as soon as Wolfstar became a part of this story, it kind of got away from me...

You can also find it on my AO3 page (my first AO3 story ever! AHHH!)

          “Mama.” A quiet, sweet voice said, as a small warm body pressed into Lily’s side. “Mama, wake up.”

           Lily Potter slowly opens her eyes, looking around the tent her small family is sleeping in. The wood burning stove has a few smoldering embers, but is mostly out, causing the family to snuggle close together under the covers of their shared bed for warmth. James, her sweet, goofy, husband, is lightly snoring beside her, hair wild and face smashed into his hands, drool slowly running down his chin. There’s a chill in the air, and it’s mostly quiet outside, besides the occasional cheer from people partying late into the morning, preparing for the Quidditch World Cup. Lily can tell it is still dark out, signaling it is much too early for her four-year-old son to be waking her up for the day.

           “What is it, baby?” she mumbles, squeezing Harry tight, burying her face into his wild, black hair.

           “It’s time to wake up and watch Quidditch, Mama.”

           Lily snorts loudly in response, waking James up.

           “Wh-what-what’s wrong?” He mumbles, rubbing sleep from his eyes, and slowly sitting up.

           “Daddy. It’s time to get up and watch Quidditch.” Harry repeats, wiggling out of Lily’s arms, and sitting in his father’s lap.

           James stares at Harry, his hazel eyes wide as Harry stares back, his big green eyes wide with excitement.

           “Daddy,” Harry whines, waiting for his father to respond. “It’s Quidditch time!”

           James glances at his watch – it reads 4:13 AM. A time that is much too early for Quidditch.

           “Harry, bud,” James yawns, ruffling his son’s hair, making it even more wild, “it’s too early. The suns not even up – you know the rule – you can’t wake up mommy and daddy until the sun is up.”

           “But it’s the Quidditch World Cup!” he yells, causing Lily to quickly sit up in frustration.

           “Harry James Potter.” She says in her most, stern, mom-like voice. “It is a privilege that you are here, and we can take that privilege away. I know you are excited, but we need to rest to enjoy the match later today. Now, cuddle with Daddy and your stuffed Moony and go. To. Sleep.”

           Harry’s bottom lip begins to tremble, his eyes full of unshed tears. Lily rarely has to be stern with Harry; he’s a clever, sweet, and well behaved child, that, despite the influence of his father and uncles, listens well and keeps his trouble making to a minimum. Whenever Lily is inclined to use her firm, “mom voice,” that James says is remarkably close to her “Head Girl Voice,” Harry gets a little scared and nervous, sad that he upset his mother.

           Seeing Harry’s reaction, James’ heart melts, and he wraps him into his arms, sitting on the edge of the bed.

           “I’m sorry Mama. I just love Quidditch.” Harry mumbles, burying his face into James’ chest, his voice quivering.

           “I know, baby. But it’s so early – if you don’t sleep now you won’t be able to watch the match.”

           “Can I sleep with Padfoot? I’m too excited to sleep, and his cuddles always make me feel better.” Harry explains, giving his parents the biggest doe eyes. He stares his father down, knowing he can never so no to Harry’s big green eyes and toothy smile.

           “What about daddy cuddles?” James asks, pretending to be hurt.

           “Daddy, you don’t cuddle. You just lay on me. And mama snores.”

           “I do no-“ Lily begins, but she stops at James’ look that says ‘if he sleep with Remus and Sirius that means we can sleep in our own bed without a little four year old kicking us and taking up all the bed for a couple hours.’

           “Harry, we’ll go sneak into Padfoot and Moony’s tent, but they might say no to Harry cuddles, just be prepared.”

           Harry grins triumphantly, knowing his two favorite uncles are wrapped around his finger. There wasn’t anything, or anyone, that they believed was more precious and worth spoiling than Harry Potter.

           Lily sighed in defeat as she laid back down, burying her face into her pillow, her dark red hair fanning across the bed, and ruffling her son’s hair lovingly as he leaves their shared bed.

           “Please be clothed and at least semi-sober.” James whispered to himself in a prayer as he walks next door into Sirius and Remus’ tent with Harry on his hip, knowing that the couple was out enjoying some of the festivities last night.

           While the Potter’s tent was modest, but comfortable, magically extended to include a full kitchen and bathroom, but no separate rooms; set up more like a studio apartment with comfortable, deep scarlet and gold furniture and décor, (‘Really?’ Lily had asked, and James had simply responded, ‘Gryffindor forever,’) Sirius and Remus had splurged on their magical tent.

           Throughout the years, Sirius and Remus found that they enjoyed turning full moons into camping trips and retreats for the couple. Once Remus finally began trusting the Wolfsbane potion, and the wizarding world started viewing lycanthropy as an illness, and there was strong movement to change the stigma of werewolves being evil and dark, dangerous creatures, the couple began to frequently take full moons as a chance to get away from their professional lives. It wasn’t always possible for them to run away to Northern Scotland, or the wilderness of Ireland or Wales every month, especially during the school year when Remus had to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts, but when they could, it was special for them to take the time, to just be Moony and Padfoot, in the middle of nowhere, running and being free.

           But Sirius had made sure that if Remus was going to be recovering from full moons in a tent, it was going to be the most luxurious, comfortable, and special magical tent there was. While it was an open studio, like the Potter’s tent, everything was plush, and spacious, with calming colors, and fluffy textures. The kitchen area was huge, with a large assortment of teas and chocolates. James had never been in the bathroom, but he knew it was also massive, and beautifully tiled, with a massive, magical bath that provided the perfect temperature water, and an endless supply of healing bath salts.

           There was a large lounge area with a comfortable looking couch in front of a fire place in the entry way, and in the corner of the space, was a massive, four poster bed with a fluffy mattress, down blankets, and the most pillows James had ever seen in one space.

            Sirius and Remus were cuddled close together in the middle of the bed, and James thanked Merlin that he saw the sleeve of a shirt on his arm that was thrown around Remus’ middle. Harry wiggled out of James’ arms, sliding down his legs, and scurrying over to Sirius’ side of the bed.

           “Paddy.” Harry whispered, and Sirius slowly opened his eyes in response, registering the presence of his godson in his tent.

           Harry opened his green eyes wide, pouting his lower lip out, cuddling his grey stuffed wolf he had named, “Baby Moony,” tight to his chest. He was the picture of pure innocence and adorableness, and Sirius knew he would give him anything he wanted.

           “What’s wrong, Prongslet?” Sirius asked, unwrapping himself from Remus and sitting on the edge of the bed. Remus woke with a grumble, slowly sitting up resting his head on Sirius’ shoulder, a small, sleepy smile on his face once he saw Harry.

           “Baby Moony and I couldn’t sleep. Mama got mad because we woke her up. Can we sleep with you and Uncle Moony, Paddy?” Harry asked, laying it on thick. “Padfoot always makes us feel better. He makes us feel safe.”

           James let out a quiet laugh, and watched the scene in front of him unfold. Remus’ usually worn, but tense or tired eyes softened, and Sirius smiled softly at Harry, quickly picking him and plopping him between Remus and himself. James laughed a little louder – his son, four years old, and already a pro manipulator.

           “Come wake us up when he becomes too much.” James said as he exited the tent and as Sirius turned into his Animagus form - a big black, shaggy dog, Padfoot.

           Harry smiled, cuddling into Padfoot’s side, wrapping his fingers into his long, black fur. His other arm was wrapped protectively around his stuffed Moony, and with a happy sigh, Harry quickly fell asleep.

           Remus looked at the pair, Harry and Padfoot, his heart swelling, and a large smile on his face. He snuggled next to Harry, listening to his little snores, and Padfoot’s light, sleepy whimpers, and fell asleep, his heart full.

[laidbare-a]

1, 4, 18

Mun questions || Accepting!

1. What is your favorite trope to rp?

I think everyone's noticed I'm addicted to angst and hurt/comfort so I don't need to go into those. But one I always find myself drawn to and have for probably a solid decade now??? The 'sweet polly oliver' trope; when a female identifying character has to pass as male for one reason or another, usually to protect herself and/or a loved one.

I feel like I haven’t ever really done it justice and it just doesn't work in settings where there's no conflict in relation to gender or sexualities... which, to me, are honestly really dull settings? Or they sure can be. I get not wanting to deal with that stuff in fictional settings because you're tired of experiencing it irl, but like... for me personally I like to explore things like this in situations where I actually have control, lol. And this trope is one way I can safely explore it. I feel like it's something that can resonate with all kinds of women and that's really important! Things like this and g/enderbending in general are really important tools for exploring complicated things in fandom spaces!

I don't even know how to really put into words why I like it so much? But some of my favorite facets I've seen in stories using this trope would be the idea of keeping a deep ‘dark’ secret by any means necessary, the way the character feels the need to isolate themselves bc they feel guilty like every bond they have is fake because it's under false pretenses. And then when inevitably they reveal the truth to a loved one and they're not turned away??? and now they have someone who they know knows the real them and who has their back and it's just them against the world??? ok actually writing all this down now I do realize why I like it so much lol it's. relatable.

But then you get the bits where like... the reveal doesn't go well. and then everything starts crashing down and there's so much betrayal and it's. oof. that's something I actually have to be in just the right mindset to actually handle, but other than that??? this is definitely way up there among my all time favorite tropes. If you squint I'm sure my love for this trope and similar ones shows a little in how I portray Sanctus, tbh. I would definitely love an au/plot that plays off this trope involving Sanctus.

4. What old character would you love to bring back?

LUKE HARVESTMOON, MY BELOVED. Admittedly I didn't play him much back on my old multi, but every so often he kicks down the door to my brain and throws an absolute smash hit of a party before leaving to climb a tree and scream to the world how much he loves his friends. He's SO much fun and just SUCH a great mindset to get into. I think a big thing that I keep tripping up over is the fact that, yknow, Bo is an important character but my bo is pretty far removed from the original harvest moon bo, and I don't really... know how to handle it. I know I'm definitely overthinking it but I still just get so confused and thats why I still have yet to make Luke his own blog and play him again.

edit: and another character important to my luke is Wizard Gale. My depiction of Wizard morphed into Scholar over all these years and I keep confusing myself as to how a decidedly unmorphed luke would even work w/ everyone. Especially when I went and complicated things further by making a hisui!au Luke one of Scholar’s ye old friends and just. ??????? what am I doing. how do I make all of this understandable

18. What is one thing you’d wish to see more in the rp community?

me. why can I not be as active as I want to be???

jokes aside, more accessibility! Less formatting! Bigger themes and fonts! I struggle with reading comprehension and migraines and having to squint and decipher every post doesn't help!

[lookbluesoup]

I’ve seen a lot of talk about anti anti culture lately and an emphasis on canceling people who write stories where bad things happen (i.e., rape, molestation, abuse). I’m really interested in facilitating a positive, open space here on my blog. So sharing my personal opinion about this at all is something I thought about for a while, and my hope is that it offers a helpful perspective as well as solidarity to people who use fiction the same way as me.

It’s not directed at anyone in particular or any event in particular. The tl;dr version is – people should always have a choice, they should be allowed to read or choose not to read, they should be allowed to write and share or choose not to write or share. Taking that choice away from people ultimately hurts survivors by making topics taboo and forcing everyone to fit a specific moral narrative for their pain or experiences to be valid.

Trigger Warnings: Rape, abuse, cancel culture, child molestation, depression, suicide, dogmatic religion, homophobia

1. These things DO happen in real life, and yes, they are harmful, and yes, reading about them can be triggering. Fully, completely acknowledge all of these things and have experienced my share of it firsthand.

2. People should be allowed to know before they get invested in a story whether triggers might be present so that they can choose to avoid it if they want to. It is their choice, and responsibility to decide not to read something that is appropriately tagged. (And please, please tag appropriately!)

3. Being interested in reading about dark subjects does not make a person evil. Somewhere between 31-57 percent of women admit to having rape fantasies. (x) That does not mean women want to be raped in real life. It does not mean that half the population of women are perverted degenerates. Reading fiction, like indulging in our fantasies, is a safe place to explore and enjoy sensations, dramas, and experiences we still don’t want in real life.

In less touchy examples - I love reading about gladiator arena battles! I love playing apocalyptic games where monsters jump out of the dark and scare the shit out of me! I do not want gladiator rings or to live in an apocalypse in real life! That doesn’t mean my interest in these stories or games condones them in real life. It doesn’t mean I think it was right that Rome irl forced slaves to fight to the death for entertainment.

4. I grew up in an environment without grey areas. The dogmatic Bible-beating hatemongering kind. Someone was good and did everything right according to my beliefs and worldview, or someone was bad and a direct threat to me. If I did something wrong, I had to punish myself physically and emotionally to make up for not being perfect. I was taught to despise myself. My parents believed there was only one correct way to view any situation - their way. I was petrified of punishment and learned that it wasn’t even worth trying to do better or accommodate someone else’s experiences because I would never measure up and would be condemned for doing something that wasn’t perfect. That is immensely, cripplingly harmful to an individual and to society. Cancel culture does the same thing. It excommunicates people who aren’t pure and allows others to get by with abuse because they are ‘teaching’ or an ‘authority on morality’ – and guess what? Nobody is pure. We are all human, we all make mistakes, and we are all learning. None of us have moral authority.

We cannot build a healthy, inclusive society if we are unsafe. We cannot be safe if we are not allowed to first admit that we ALL make mistakes and have prejudices that we can improve on. So we need to be kind and nonjudgmental whenever we have the chance to be. And we have to accept and respect that what’s fun or helpful or healing for us might be the opposite for someone else, or vice versa. Which is okay if we are respectful of each other’s boundaries and don’t try to force a way of being onto someone else without their consent.

5. With regard to writing, this means that people need to be allowed to explore difficult, even painful topics if they wish to. Even for fun. Even if someone else might not want or need to explore those same topics. That doesn’t make either person inherently evil or wrong. It just means we all have different needs and wants and diversity is normal. 

As a serious example, as someone who was molested by a teenage neighbor as a child, I can guarantee you that the fact these topics were considered so disgusting and taboo by society made it very difficult for me to cope. It was not my fault, and I’ve healed from it, but when it happened I didn’t even understand what was going on, and the guilt and self-blame that followed me for years afterward were almost crippling. So yes – what happened to me in real life was wrong, inexcusable behavior. But censorship did not protect me. First it made me ignorant and vulnerable to manipulation, and then it made me feel dirty, disgusting, and isolated. 

What I needed was a safe avenue to talk about it and the thoughts and sensations it stirred up, in order to heal. I needed to know it was okay to have automatic thoughts – they were a result of fear and trauma or even just being human, not a moral failing on my part. I needed to actually talk about and explore what I had felt openly, and how that related to the rest of my life, before I could move past it and have a healthy view of intimate acts that weren’t soaked in guilt and self-loathing.

I read a book after that happened, set in ancient Rome, where pederasty took place. And the victim was allowed to admit that he’d enjoyed some of what had happened to him while enslaved, and was then assured that even though he didn’t hate everything that he experienced, it didn’t make him to blame, nor his abuser right, and those thoughts/feelings did not define him or his morality. That has been immensely healing to me – but this ‘grey’ exploration of a topic is not compatible with mainstream cancel culture.

Or alternatively, I watched the series 13 Reasons Why. I hated it. It felt like nothing but shock value entertainment and not a respectful management of topics like suicide that were very, VERY real to me. Except for someone else I knew who had also struggled with suicidal thoughts and impulses, 13 Reasons Why was immensely validating. They were glad that a series showed such graphic representation of these events in a way that couldn’t be ignored or brushed over. What had been hurtful to me, was empowering to them.

I believe it is not mine, or anyone else’s place, to decide that a piece of media should be across the board banned because of what it might do. Because while some of us share traumas, we still each have different experiences, needs, and healing processes.

Such strict censorship allows for only victims who meet a certain “standard” to receive care and healing. The rest are left to suffer or are even punished further.

All of us have gone through life with vastly different levels of privilege, opportunity, expectations, etc, which leads to vastly different interpretations of the world, none of which are 100% correct or true.

6. Cancel culture hurts LGBTQ+ rights. I’m neither straight or cis, and I might never have learned that if I hadn’t been able to build friendships outside of my social circle who allowed me to integrate and ask questions without being obligated to agree with them. Where I grew up, there was immense prejudice against gay people. My cousin was disowned and disinherited for coming out. I was sheltered from anyone who might argue for gay rights, and discouraged from looking at or being curious of the deep south’s version of ‘problematic.’ That’s what I was taught – to be uncomfortable toward, judgmental, and condemning. If I had been on tumblr during those years and gotten ‘cancelled’ I would have been even more suspicious and condemning of Others, and even more determined that my way was the only right one. I specifically avoided tumblr social circles because I ‘knew’ they hated ‘people like me.’ It’s not exclusive. This trend where people become even more convinced to pick an opposing side because the Other person is being hateful is one of the first things they teach you in social psychology. 

The kind of intolerance that goes with mobbing people for saying anything they consider problematic at all is the same cruelty that makes me unable to tell my parents I identify as agender or pan. It’s what gets women stoned to death and gays beheaded. It’s not moral. 

What changed my point of view was friendships. One of my friends came out as gay and my world turned upside down because here was someone that didn’t match any of the stereotypes I’d been taught to fear. He wasn’t hateful or condemning of me, he was one of the most thoughtful and peaceful people I knew. That is what started to change things for me, and made it safe for me to explore other ways of thinking and interpretations of scripture. Because I cared about him more than I needed to be right.

7. Nobody is obligated to interact with someone who is being violent or hateful to them. You’re not even obligated to interact with someone you disagree with, if the topic is too painful or you simply don’t want to talk about it. Keep yourselves safe. But within the world of writing, live and let live. If someone posts a story you don’t like, and they’ve tagged it appropriately, please, please consider that your experience is not universal. You have the choice not to read that story. Someone else might need to read it. Let them, and don’t shame them for it. 

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

But You Can Never Leave [Chapter 10: Premonitions]

Several weeks and depressive episodes later...I’m BACK! 😃

And guess what: we’re officially approximately halfway done with BYCNL! (There will probably be nineteen chapters total.)  

The Queen/BoRhap fandom is feeling extra quiet lately, so if you’re still out there I’d LOVE it if you dropped me a comment/message/etc to let me know! I appreciate you all so much and hope you are finding things that bring you happiness, fulfillment, and peace. 💜

Chapter summary: Roger makes a purchase, Freddie makes a friend, Y/N makes an unsettling discovery, John makes a bewildering request.

This series is a work of fiction, and is (very) loosely inspired by real people and events. Absolutely no offense is meant to actual Queen or their families.

Song inspiration: Hotel California by The Eagles.

Chapter warnings: Language, babies (but not your babies...or are they?!).

Chapter list (and all my writing) available HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii​ @loveandbeloved29​ @killer-queen-xo​ @maggieroseevans​ @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark​ @im-an-adult-ish​ @queenlover05​ @someforeigntragedy​ @imtheinvisiblequeen​ @joemazzmatazz​ @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye​ @namelesslosers​ @inthegardensofourminds​ @deacyblues​ @youngpastafanmug​ @sleepretreat​ @hardyshoe​ @bramblesforbreakfast​ @sevenseasofcats​ @tensecondvacation​ @bookandband​ @queen-crue​ @jennyggggrrr​ @madeinheavxn​ @whatgoeson-itslate​ @brianssixpence​ @simonedk​ @herewegoagainniall​ @stardust-killer-queen​

Please yell at me if I forget to tag you! 😊

“Roger, this is too much.” Your sandals click on the marble tile floor, a sandy gold like the beaches of Ostia. You peer up at the winding staircase, the Tudor-style diamond windows, the chandelier dripping with crystals. “This is way, way, way too much.”

“There’s no such thing as too much,” he parries merrily. “And look!” He pulls back an armful of sheer white curtains that had obscured the backyard. “The pool has a slide!”

You smile because you have to; he’s so elated, so young. “Roger, baby, unless you’re planning to acquire a literal harem of women we will never have a use for six bedrooms.”

“Sure we will!” He counts on his rugged fingers. “There’s one for us, and one can be the guest bedroom for when my mother or your parents visit, and then there’s one for if Chrissie ever wises up and leaves that wanker Brian and requires a place to stay between husbands, and one for when John needs an escape from that mind-numbing domestic purgatory of his, and one for Freddie’s overflow cats...” Roger trails off. He’s lost track.  

“That still leaves one unnecessary bedroom.”

He grins. “One for Roger Junior.”

“Oh my god.”

“It’s a wonderful home for children,” the real estate agent chimes, flitting around rearranging pillows and dusting off tabletops. “Plenty of space to spread out in, lots of bedrooms, fenced-in yard, security gate, spectacular school district...and such a lovely garden to explore! Does your wife garden?” she asks Roger.

“Girlfriend,” he corrects. “And no, she’s thoroughly useless in the agricultural department.”

You laugh and shove him away. “I have other talents.”

“You certainly do.” He growls as he grips your waist, inhales you, bites playfully down your neck and collarbones. The real estate agent raises her eyebrows, but politely averts her gaze and pretends to check if an artificial fern needs watering.

It’s the downturn of August, 1976. The sun is glaring and hot and spills in through the windows, setting the metallic flecks in the marble floor alight. It makes you think of the Yellow Brick Road, of fantasies built piece by piece into truth. John and Veronica bought a house in Putney, Brian and Chrissie a far larger one in Chelsea, Freddie and Mary a posh flat in West Kensington. Roger has his heart set on nothing less than a Surrey mansion. On the rare occasion that Queen has been home since the start of the A Night At The Opera Tour, you and Roger stay in his shabby—dodgy, you remind yourself—old apartment and pack boxes late into the evening, giggling over all the random and ancient relics you stumble across, sticks of Freddie’s eyeliner and dust bunnies tangled in strands of Brian’s spiraled hair, crumpled up spheres of paper with excerpts of songs scrawled on them, fossilized crusts of grilled cheese sandwiches beneath the couch. Queen is preparing for a brief UK tour at the start of September, including a free concert in Hyde Park organized by entrepreneur Richard Branson. Then it’ll be back to the studio to record their next album, a highly anticipated album, an album that will make millions regardless of what’s on it; and what’s on it, in your humble and musically unlearned opinion, is pretty goddamn great.

“Seriously,” Roger prompts, quietly now. “Do you like it?”

“Of course I like it. I love it. I just don’t need it.”

He grins. “I know you don’t need it. But I do.”

“That list of yours is getting awfully long.”

“You have no idea. We haven’t even started on the exotic pet collection yet.”

“There’s a marvelous koi pond out in the backyard,” the real estate agent says. “You could add turtles, and frogs, and all different types of fish. I can recommend sturgeon, they have such an alluring primeval sort of look to them, and the shimmer on shubunkins is just delightful...”

“You heard the lady.” Rog stretches his right hand like he does when his arm bothers him, when the bone that will never fully heal aches like something ancient and irredeemable, like hunger, like unrequited love: fingertips sprayed outwards, then folded into his palm, then outwards again.

“Rog...I don’t know.”

“Come on, baby! It has everything. Roman-style master bath. Bedrooms with mirrors on the ceiling. Space for my own studio. Land. Enormous refrigerators. You’ll have abundant room for John’s drawings.”

“Ohhh, now that’s true.” John is always adding to your collection, slipping you sketches as the boys scurry around getting ready before a show, during songwriting sessions that last long after midnight, when the band and its expanding circle of friends and family gather for birthdays and holidays. You don’t ask him about You’re My Best Friend, or, come to think of it, any of his other songs. You don’t ask him how he feels about his new life as a husband and father. And in return, John doesn’t ask whether you’re ever going to marry Roger, if you even want to, if you worry about what the future holds. It’s a loaded peace, but a comfortable one. A safe one.

“It doesn’t bother you, does it?” Roger asks suddenly. “The girlfriend thing. The not-wife thing.”

“No,” you reply, smiling. “Of course not.” Roger isn’t someone who pens love letters, recites all the reasons why he cannot live without you, sings love songs. He rarely speaks of love at all. Roger is as he always is: all action, all energy, eyes forever looking forward. But he does love you; you’re sure he does. Everything he does bleeds with love.

“Good. Because there’s no one I’d rather acquire a harem and zoological park with.”

“Okay,” you relent. “But no lions or tigers or bears. I’m quite attached to your limbs, and you’ve come close enough to ruining them already.”

“Deal.” He taps the Canon that hangs from your shoulder by its strap. “We should document this momentous juncture. One day we can pull out the photo album and show Roger Junior. ‘Hey look kid, this was the day Mum and Dad bought the house you were conceived in.’”

You laugh, almost positive that Roger isn’t serious. “I can guarantee you that precisely zero percent of children would ever want to hear that.” Nevertheless, you ready the camera and hold it as far away as you can, the lens aimed towards you.

“Don’t forget to smile!” Roger trills in his high, victorious voice as he rests his chin in the dip of your collarbone.

You snap the photo. The flash bursts through the kitchen of the Surrey mansion, blinding you both. The artificial bluish light dissipates like smoke.

~~~~~~~~~~

His name is Laszlo, and he’s one of the most beautiful things you’ve ever seen...even when he’s not especially well-mannered.

Currently, Laszlo—an Eastern European moniker from somewhere in his mother’s comically vast family tree—is whimpering and squirming against Veronica’s chest as she pats his tiny back and sighs wearily. Veronica, ever the good Polish Catholic wife, is already pregnant again. Chrissie smirks triumphantly and puffs on a cigarette, her rings glimmering on her left hand, her dress violet and new and very expensive. Brian is lost in some deep intellectual conversation with Richard Branson, gesturing with his long nimble hands and nodding empathetically, his dark curls rustling in the breeze like the lithe branches of a willow tree.

“Thank god you’re here,” John calls as you and Roger approach. “Freddie is about to get this concert cancelled.”

“I’m about to make this concert fabulous, darling,” Freddie objects. “We need pyrotechnics, we need sparklers and explosions and fireworks!”

Mr. Branson shakes his head. “Can’t do it, Fred. The embers could travel and set the trees on fire.”

Freddie groans. “Tell him, Roger!”

Roger shrugs, grinning, resting his elbow on John’s shoulder. “I don’t know, maybe we shouldn’t burn down Hyde Park.”

“You’ll be under a huge orange canopy, right over there.” Mr. Branson motions with a sweep of his arm. “You can’t do anything aerial. Flashing lights, sure. Fog, sure. But no fire. No explosions. Oh, and there’s technically a noise ordinance, but we’re working out a deal so the city won’t enforce it on the day of the show.”

“Orange?!” Freddie squeals.

“How will the acoustics be in a tent?” Brian asks, troubled.

John smiles mischievously. “Yes, how dreadful if no one could hear the extraneous guitar solos.”

“I have a gong, Rich,” Roger says. “Everyone will be able to hear my gong, right?”

“Your gong?” Freddie whines. “What about my voice?!”

“I miss stadiums,” Roger grumbles. You exchange a knowing glance with Mary and Chris and Veronica, who is imploring Laszlo to take a bottle. Our boys are difficult, aren’t they?

“The acoustics will be fine,” Mr. Branson snaps. “The tent color will be fine. Everything will be fine. You don’t need any fucking fireworks. Please for the love of god just tell me what kind of sandwiches you want.”

“That’ll be an ordeal as well,” Chrissie quips, and you all laugh; even Laszlo perks up, stops wriggling, glimpses around the open green space with curious greyish eyes like John’s.

Some teenage employee carrying a tangle of cables trots over, sweat dripping down his flushed freckled cheeks. “Mr. Branson? There’s someone from the city here to see you.”

Richard Branson smacks his forehead. “Jesus christ. Okay, I’ll be right there. Hey, Steve, hey, have you seen Dom? Go find Dom and tell her to come over here, okay? Thanks.”

The teenage employee nods and disappears into a sea of bustling people ferrying equipment, fliers, chairs, messages.

“I’m so sorry about this,” Mr. Branson says. “These city bastards are out to crucify me. You’d think they’d be a little more grateful that Queen of all bands is willing to put on a free concert in their backyard, but alas. Hey, Dom, over here!”

He waves to a petite young woman with a glossy shock of black hair and olive Mediterranean skin. She’s wearing all yellow: shorts patterned with daffodils, a tank top the color of butter, a headband like a sunbeam. One of her trim arms is cradling a notebook; the other reaches out so she can shake hands with everyone. The gesture is courteous but somewhat unnatural.

“This,” Mr. Branson begins, “is my personal assistant Dominique. She’s wonderful, she’ll listen to all your pretentious tales of woe and do it with a smile, because she’s a true professional. Better yet, she’s going to ask you the tedious questions I was supposed to so you don’t have to wait for me to finish sparring with the city council. Okay? Okay. Have fun. I’ll be back.”

“It’s a pleasure,” Dom says placidly in a heavy French accent. So that’s why her handshake was off somehow, stilted and weak; the French usually kiss as a greeting. You choke back a snort as you imagine Veronica’s reaction to that. Mr. Branson stalks away muttering about litigious twats.

“Oh, aren’t you just darling!” Freddie circles Dom, admiring her outfit, her hair, her gold hoop earrings. He wafts his cigarette around flamboyantly, completely forgetting to smoke it. “The French are so tasteful, aren’t they? You simply must connect me with your stylist.”

“I would be happy to, Mr. Mercury. But regrettably, I am my own stylist.”

“Ahh!” Freddie exhales, enamored. Mary lifts Laszlo from Veronica’s tired arms and cradles him, tickles his nose, beams down into his fresh and inquisitive face.

Dom pulls a pen from her shirt pocket. “May I ask your sandwich preferences for the day of the show?”

She immediately receives four very different answers, and she raises an eyebrow, her pen hovering over the lined paper of her notebook.

“I’m so sorry about them,” Chrissie says, and Dom chuckles civilly.

“Ham and cheddar,” Freddie tells her, synthesizing the responses. “Bacon, fried fish, steak and onion jam...and something for Brian. Cucumber maybe. Could we get some cucumber sandwiches, dear?”

“You’re a vegetarian?” Dom asks Brian, jotting down notes.

“He’s morally superior to us in every way,” John sighs dreamily, and Rog and Freddie cackle.

“I’m not a strict vegetarian,” Bri clarifies. “But for the sake of the animals and the planet, I try to limit meat when I can.”

Roger adds: “And I order twice as much of it, just to spite him.”

Dominique leads Queen around the portion of Hyde Park where the concert will be held, runs through the itinerary, fields a litany of questions and complaints. And you decide that you like Dom; she’s professional and reserved, yes, but she’s also patient with Freddie, smiles at his jokes, compliments his black-and-yellow striped shirt (“We match, and you remind me of a...oh, what’s the word in English? That bug...it flies around buzzing...buzz buzz...a bee!”), asks him what he’s planning to wear to the show. She assuages Brian, listens to John, takes the time to chat with the women about children, makeup, homes, what it’s like to be in love with rock stars. But Dom mostly ignores Roger, dodges his grins, remains staunchly undazzled. And that would worry you—because Roger loves the chase, you know that firsthand—if he hadn’t already taught you how to trust him, how addictively flawless and exhilarating life with Roger Taylor could be.

When Laszlo begins to fuss in Mary’s grasp, you take your turn holding him; and he blinks up at you with eyes that are wide and clear and seeking, and you find yourself feeling like you always do when you’re around your godson: like maybe you have a stronger opinion about wanting children than you thought you did, like you can’t stop envisioning a baby with Roger’s eyes instead of John’s.

That evening—after leaving Hyde Park, after dinner, after drinks mixed out by the koi pond—as you doze in a sweltering bubble bath and steam curls through the air, you hear Roger’s voice floating from the kitchen downstairs. You rise out of the tub, towel yourself off, slip into a white silk robe as rivulets of bathwater slink down the back of your neck. You tread gingerly towards the kitchen, keep silent so you can hear, lurk in the shadows of the hallway with your palms pressed flat against the wallpaper.

“Hello, is Dominique Beyrand in?” Roger says into the kitchen phone. “I’ve been trying to track her down. Sure, I’ll wait. Thanks.” After a pause, he continues. “Hi, Dom! It’s Roger Taylor, from Queen. The irritating blond one. I was just wondering if you’d happened to stumble across my wallet since this afternoon, I seem to have misplaced it. Oh, you haven’t? Bloody hell. Well, thank you for taking my call. Aw, that’s so kind of you, I’m sure I’ll locate it eventually. I’ve got a terrible habit of losing things. Okay, thanks so much. Goodnight to you too. See you soon. Cheers.” He hangs the phone up as you step into the kitchen. His smile is bright and innocuous. “Hey, baby!”

“Who was that?” Your tone is similarly casual; or so you hope.

“Just Richard Branson’s assistant. That French woman Dominique. I can’t find my wallet and thought I might have left it at Hyde Park, but no dice. Oh well.”

Roger begins rummaging through the drawer full of business cards and address books, tapping his foot, humming to himself. And surely he isn’t trying to avoid my eyes. Your gaze skates over the marble countertop. There, by the refrigerator, just a few feet—a meter, you correct yourself to be properly British—from where Roger stands, is his black leather wallet.

“It’s right there, Rog,” you say, pointing. And now your voice isn’t so nonchalant.

Roger spins to check. “Oh my god, I completely missed it!” He snatches up the wallet with a celebratory chuckle. “I’m such a twit sometimes. You’re too fucking smart, you know that? You’re making me look bad.”

He rushes to you, takes your left hand, bites your knuckles lightly like he did outside Massachusetts General Hospital under dawn skies over two years ago. And then Roger whispers to you, nuzzling your neck scented with lavender soap and doubt.

“Let’s go to bed.”

~~~~~~~~~~

There’s a knock at the door. John is standing on the front porch of the Surrey house with his hands in his pockets and a vague sort of smile on his face. He’s in a black suit.

“Get ready,” he says. “Do your hair, throw on some earrings. Maybe the pearls Roger got you last Christmas. We’re going shopping.”

“Why do I need to look fancy to go shopping?”

John shrugs, feigning indifference; but the puckish glint in his eyes gives him away. Yet there’s something a little sad and weighty in them too, isn’t there?

Your own eyes narrow. “I’m onto you, bassist.”

He laughs as you tug teasingly at a lock of his downy hair. “You always are.”

John takes you to a dress shop on Bond Street where the corsets trickle with gemstones and the designers all have Italian names: Armani, Prada, Abate, Cerruti, Valentino, Biagiotti. He sinks into a leather chair just outside the fitting room and lights a cigarette, takes a long drag, points to you with the lit end.

“Go ahead. Go wild. It’s a blank check.”

“Really?!” You glance around the shop, your pulse racing. “But I don’t know the occasion. I don’t want to be underdressed or overdressed or whatever. Although I don’t think I’ve ever been overdressed in my life.”

“Yes, you can’t seem to shake those pragmatic service industry roots, can you?” Another drag. “You need a dress and matching shoes. Formal, but not too formal. Think a record company party. Elegant but exciting. Lots of sparkle. Slightly slutty, if you’re so inclined.”

“This is an unconventional bonding activity,” you tell John, trying to conceal your nerves.

“Love, this isn’t something you can fail at,” he says, gently now. “You’re going to look amazing no matter what. So just have fun with it. This isn’t a test. This is one of those adventures you’re always searching for.”

I can promise you that your life will never feel like a cage; that’s what Roger once told you. But maybe you don’t always want to be quite so free, so unmoored. “Okay. But you have to swear to give honest opinions. I don’t want to show up looking like a wombat because you were too nice to say anything.”

John just chuckles to himself, shakes his head, devours cigarette after cigarette.

With the assistance of one of the shop employees, you climb into a pastel pink dress with a full ruffled skirt, an emerald green dress with an empire waist and loose sheer sleeves, a shimmering metallic silvery dress with a form-fitting silhouette. John nods at all of them, wholeheartedly approves, defers to your judgment. He periodically consults his wristwatch as he taps his cigarettes on the rim of an ashtray, and deflects your questions when you ask him why. Then you step out of the fitting room—balanced on gold heels—in a white dress with a hem that hits just above your knees, a halter neckline, a slim keyhole down the center of your chest; and John’s cigarette tumbles out of his fingers.

“That’s the one,” he breathes, soaking it in. Then he asks the employee to cut off all the tags and whips out his wallet. “Toss your old clothes and shoes in a bag. We gotta catch a cab.”

“We’re going straight to the party?”

“We certainly are.”

“What the hell kind of ridiculously lame party starts at 3 p.m.?”

John smirks craftily. “The kind of party we’re going to. Let’s rock and roll, Florence Nightingale.”

John gives the taxi driver an address and you sail through the streets of London, splashing through shallow evaporating puddles, squinting when sunlight ricochets glaringly off the slick pavement. The taxi rolls to a stop outside of a grand stone building with columns and intricate carvings of leaves and flowers. The sign outside reads: Kensington and Chelsea Register Office.

You turn to John. “Who’s getting married?!”

He just smiles, a deep harbor of secrets.

“It’s Fred and Mary, right? Jesus christ, John, you can’t wear white to someone else’s wedding, Mary’s going to strangle me—”

“It’s not Mary’s wedding.”

Slowly, your jaw falls open. “No,” you whisper in disbelief.

John darts out of the taxi, jogs around to your side, and opens the door for you. You gape up at him senselessly, struggling to remember how to form sentences.

“John...this...this is some bizarre and elaborate joke, right?”

“Nope.” He offers his hand, helps you out of the taxi, leads you up the front steps of the Register Office. Inside, everyone is waiting: Freddie and Mary, Brian and Chrissie, Veronica with babbling baby Laszlo, Roger’s mother and sister...and Roger, of course, in his best black suit and bleached blond hair and trademark guaranteed-to-dazzle (unless of course you’re Dominique Beyrand) grin. He flies to you and takes your hands in his.

“You look incredible, baby.”

“Roger, what’s going on...?”

“Don’t freak out,” he commands, and instantly your panic vanishes. There’s a pink rose pinned to his lapel. “I know we don’t feel like we need to get married. I know we agree it doesn’t mean anything.” Is that still true? “So don’t think that this is about trying to trap you or control you or bullshit white picket fences or anything. And of course you can say no, I won’t be mad, no one will hold that against you, we can find some other reason to party. But the simple facts are that I’m a British national with a mansion and a plethora of perpetual royalties and you’re an American here on a work visa, and the law gets a bit thorny in this situation. And I want to make sure you’re taken care of if something happens to me. That you can carry out my wishes. That you can stay here with the band as long as you want to. So, I’ve got your passport and birth certificate and everything else we need...and some overly-enthusiastic witnesses. Are you cool with signing a piece of paper today?”

“Of course she bloody well is!” Freddie exclaims, and everyone laughs. Mary is carrying a basket full of champagne flutes, Chrissie several bottles of pink champagne, Roger’s sister a tub of ice. Brian has been entrusted to chronicle the event with your Canon. Veronica is more giddy than you’ve ever seen her, even more animated than she was at her own wedding. Well, I suppose she doesn’t have to worry about any illicit pregnancies or condemnatory great aunts this time around.

“Okay,” you tell Roger. And you wish you weren’t beaming so broadly your cheeks ache, because it feels a little pathetic to be this happy about an admittedly meaningless wedding. But it does make you happy, your general aversion towards conventionality be damned.

You sign papers and you toast glasses and you giggle uproariously in the lobby of the Register Office with the best friends you’ve ever had, guzzle pink champagne, pose for photos, take your turn holding Laszlo, kiss Roger beneath the stone arch of the centuries-old building.

It doesn’t mean anything, you remind yourself, suddenly very aware of the missing weight of a ring on your left hand. It doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t mean anything.

But you catch a few furtive glances between Chrissie and Bri, the twist of a frown on Freddie’s face when he thinks no one is watching, the distance in John’s shadowy eyes as he inhales champagne like air.

It doesn’t mean anything.

[mellow-elbow]

Remember this post?

Hey. I’m back and this time I’m ready to talk about the Plot™. Let’s talk about everything Sonic Adventure 3 was supposed to be.

Before I get ahead of myself, let me first introduce this concept with the fact that Sonic Unleashed (2008) was meant to be Sonic Adventure 3, but after heavy criticisms toward the franchise after the flop of Sonic 06 it was scrapped and changed. Sonic Adventure 3 was also confirmed to originally have Shadow and Knuckles, meaning that the plot I’m about to explore has to have important ties to those two characters specifically.

Now then, that doesn’t mean that ideas from the original Sonic Adventure 3 concept weren’t repurposed for Unleashed. As a writer and an avid Sonic lore fan for ~18 years, I’ve taken a good look at Unleashed’s plot and singled out certain elements of the story that seemed like they got washed down to fit the new narrative of Unleashed. It goes as follows:

the corruption of a character important to the main plot (later became the Werehog)

an amnesiac Guardian with forgotten knowledge of the Chaos Emeralds (later became Chip)

geographical locations of importance relating to the lore of the Master and Chaos Emeralds (later became the Gaia Temples)

a dark, ancient power that happened well before the events of Perfect Chaos ~4,000 years ago in SA1 (later became Dark Gaia)

some sort of importance pertaining to the sun and moon

Let’s start with how the plot probably would have involved Knuckles and Shadow. Knuckles is the well-known Guardian of the Master Emerald- but also just as clueless as how he came into the position in the first place, as originally stated in a now-archived character profile on Knuckles. The plot of Unleashed was already heavily centered around the Chaos Emeralds, so it’s safe to say the original SA3 plot had similar ties with the Master Emerald.

Shadow’s is... a little trickier. Shadow was originally meant to die at the end of SA2 but was brought back with various contradicting backstories due to becoming an instant fan favorite. Chances are, SA3 was going to go more in depth on Shadow’s creation and life aboard the ARK- along with how he survived the fall from space at the end of SA2. I’ll go into more detail about how else he would have been important to a possible plot later.

Now then, let’s start analyzing the parts that actually made it into Unleashed. Corruption, Amnesiac Guardian of the Emeralds, temples across the world, an ancient and powerful force that threatens modern day, and the symbolism of the sun and moon.

Sonic, the main character of Unleashed and the franchise itself, is corrupted to where he’s unable to use his normal powers half the time. It takes a toll on his character as he’s, in a way, lost his sense of self and is desperate to restore his original self and powers- eventually he comes to terms with the new abilities of the Werehog, which is an important plot point as well.

Chances are, Sonic wasn’t originally supposed to be corrupted. With several important, reoccuring characters to choose from it’s understandable that Sonic got the short end of the stick when the cast got severely downgraded to Sonic, Tails, and Amy. So, who else with significant importance to the plot was supposed to get corrupted?

Chip. Or, for lack of SA3 plot, whoever was originally designed to be the amnesiac Guardian introduced in the game. A lot of context clues can be pulled from Chip’s character and story as a whole from being happy-go-lucky and interested in the wonders of the world they can’t remember to the importance of Adabat with how it was that specific temple that helped him recall his origins. Seeing that Adabat is also infested with ruins, it’s safe to say that something pretty terrible must have happened there at some point in the past. The originally scripted Guardian must have come from Adabat and, lilke Chip, was supposed to recall their past at it’s temple.

Speaking of Temples

Unleashed introduces Gaia Temples- large monuments meant to reignite Chaos Emeralds should they ever be damaged. These temples must have had greater significance in SA3, as in Unleashed they’re chopped down to all have the same interior and cutscene. My theory is that each Chaos Emerald belongs to a specific continent, but not neccessarily in the order that they’re restored in in Unleashed. Chances are, these temples were originally meant to be Master Shrines that were once a part of an ancient cycle the Master Emerald followed- I know this might seem like a stretch but hear me out:

In this screenshot of a flashback from SA1, we see the Chaos Emeralds aligned in a rainbow pattern- White, Purple, Violet, Cyan, Green, Yellow, and Red. While this can easily be shrugged off as a design choice, it would be more interesting and plot enriching if a cycle of sorts were introduced- such as the Master Emerald relocating whenever it’s damaged (which would explain why it’s suddenly in... Africa (?) in SA2- it would be following the pattern of Angel Island being the White Shrine and the Purple Emerald being the Sandopolis/Mazuri/Egyptian shrine. The Master Emerald isn’t necessarily at a Shrine when it’s introduced in SA2, but try and keep your mind open about this- in Unleashed the main narrative is restoring the Chaos Emeralds... what if it was originally about restoring shrines?

In SA1, Tikal explicitly mentions the fact that during the Echidna conquer the Knuckles Clan had been attacking the holy places of other countries- could she have been hinting at the destruction of Master Shrines to break the cycle and keep the Master Emerald and all of the Chaos Emeralds in their territory to give their clan unlimited power? It would explain why the Chaos Emeralds seem to ‘randomly’ scatter after being used as well- their resting places have been destroyed and they’re lost without a home. A fully functioning shrine with all the Emeralds would give unfathomable power, as seen in S3&K with Hyper Sonic- a form that Sonic can tap into when balance is restored among the emeralds.

Now, we all know that classifications do really well when introduced in Young Adult fiction (See H*gwarts Houses, Greek/Roman Demigods, Owl House Covens, etc.) and it can be easily implemented in the Sonic franchise as well. Not only with the Master cycle, but with the Chaos Emeralds themselves. There’s been a few confirmed powers linked to the emeralds such as Chaos Control and Chaos Blast- Chaos Control allows users to warp between space and time as seen in SA2 and 06 while Chaos Blast- introduced in Shadow the Hedgehog (2005)- allows users to release a large burst of power as a defense/attack mechanism. Chaos Blast is linked with a fiery red which could link it to the red Chaos Emerald. Red symbolizes passion and strength; it’s color is usually meant to warn us of danger, meaning it’s linked to both our primal fears and the instincts we’ve developed to survive over years of evolution. I’d like to introduce the concept of these powers being blocked if their emerald is damaged in any way- meaning Chaos Blast wouldn’t be accessible via other emeralds if the red one was damaged. I’d also like to link these emeralds to their specific Guardian, meaning that if their Guardian is damaged in a way that would prevent the cycle to continue, the emerald could die out as well. If you’re wondering if these Guardians would exist in the game then have no fear becuase they WOULD and 85% of them are characters we already know and love (I will NOT introduce all of them because I Do Not Wish To Spoil It, but this is definitely where Shadow would play a bigger part like I mentioned before). There is, one, however that we don’t know and that’s because they were reimagined as Chip for Unleashed- the Guardian for the green Chaos Emerald from Adabat. (I ended up making a fan character for this role as you can see in the last installment, but it would be lame of me to force an OC into the game if given the opportunity).

Let’s move on before I go any further into crazy fan-theories. A main villain would need to be introduced- something that Dr. Robotnik/Eggman would want to get his hands on in hopes of conquering the world (a trope we’ve seen before with Chaos in SA1, the Ultimate Lifeform in SA2, and Dark Gaia in Sonic Unleashed). Chaos was, essentially, the first domino to fall over in the pattern introduced in the Adventure games. They were only a small speck in the bigger picture though, as we see that Gerald Robotnik must have taken some inspiration from the stories and depictions of Chaos and created the BioLizard in hopes of harnessing the energy in the Chaos Emeralds. He would later get the idea from an unknown source to instead create a synthetic Hedgehog user, possibly from studying the well-known mural in S3&K’s Hidden Palace Zone:

But there’s something else in this mural we all seem to be forgetting- what is the big figure holding (possibly) the Master Emerald? Well :)) I’m glad you asked. I believe this was originally meant to be the main antagonist of SA3 who eventually became Dark Gaia in Sonic Unleashed. Some sort of powerful being that had some sort of forgotten knowledge pertaining to the Master Emerald.

But there’s more. The Hedgehog-like creature is surrounded by a golden aura, but it isn’t the only one. Behind the creature are 6 smaller aura’s seeming to try and attack the antagonist while it’s preoccupied with the hedgehog. This could depict seven Chaos Guardians using the energy of the restored shrines, all seven Chaos Emeralds and the Master Emerald to become Hyper Versions of themselves in order to defeat this powerful being. So, who could it be? If Chaos introduced the BioLizard and they were both defeated, what could possibly be hinted at in SA2 that would introduce the main villain for SA3?

Well.

OKAY OKAY HEAR ME OUT

We know very little about King Boom Boo and he seems to be a pretty unforgettable character for a reason. There’s something about him that must have been important for a future game. Granted, a lot of this levels design is taken from Sandopolis-

(See the light/dark triggered ghosts from Sandopolis in S3&K vs. King Boom Boo being weakened by light in SA2; see also Egg Golem from S3&K and SA2)

-which also leads us to the Lava Reef zone which then leads to the Hidden Palace Zone- the location where the Master Emerald is first introduced (assuming that these are all the same place) . Could it be possible that the Hidden Palace Zone was once the original and only location of the Chaos Emeralds? What could have possibly happened to that kingdom for it to be buried and haunted for an unknown amount of time? Personally, I believe King Boom Boo committed the ultimate taboo of the Sonic universe and tried to harness the power of all the emeralds to power his kingdom- much like the Echidna’s tried to do and were ultimately punished for as well. History has a funny way of repeating itself like that. Only this time, in modern day, the power hungry monster is Eggman who’s been trying harness the various ultimate powers the Chaos Emeralds can grant. In SA2, we’re also introduced to the concept of a synthetic Chaos Emerald- a fake that can grant a user the link to use other Chaos Powers mentioned previously, but not an infinite power source like a genuine Chaos Emerald. It wouldn’t surprise me if this concept was meant to be further explored in SA3 and present multiple dilemmas for it’s plot. Nevertheless, there’s something about King Boom Boo and the concept of making a deal with the devil that is rather captivating.

Finally, let’s talk about the sun/moon aspects in Unleashed. Obviously these symbolize dark and light, good and evil, yin and yang. There will always be something to fight for and something to fight against. SA3 was meant to have the battle to end all battles. Sonic and six other powerful beings were supposed to work together to fight the greater evil and restore peace and balance until the next Eggman scheme. There was supposed to be something important that would happen once peace was restored. Things were supposed to go back to the way they were before the Echidna’s began conquering and pillaging the world ~4,000 years ago.

Now, obviously I’m ignoring the lore of a LOT of games (modern Sonic games made after SA2, most notably) and this is because there is a hidden plot among these few games. Shadow the Hedgehog (2005) is nine sonic games in a trenchcoat and was only made because of the fandom loving Shadow. Sonic 06 has always been a standalone game from the original series, The Chronicles series aren’t even made by the same people from the Adventure series, etc. Although, I would still like see characters from these games make an appearance.

Anyways... did I do it? Is Mr. SEGA gonna bust into my house and kill me for knowing too much or will he kiss me on the lips soft and smooth and let me turn this concept into a reality? The choice is yours.

[cummingforkylo]

Kylo Ren is Not Nice-A thesis by Tumblr user CummingForKylo

Kylo Ren is a deeply disturbed and haunted individual who in canon repeatedly disregards the bodily autonomy,  as well as the physical and mental wellbeing of many, many individuals; he would struggle to do anything we might consider ‘nice’ or ‘loving’ in any relationship he was in. Kylo Ren is not nice. And oh, do we love him for that. Part of Kylo’s draw is that he is the ultimate bad boy, he’ll choke you and not flinch away as you struggle. Writing and reading smut or fantasy is about exploring things you can’t explore in real life because they are dangerous, unrealistic, or completely imaginary. Don’t dilute or water down bad characters into something that is easier to excuse, or easier for you to love. Pretend that Kylo would be gentle, pretend he’d want to ‘make love’ or kiss you, or provide you aftercare, sure, but don’t say that’s canon. It is simply not canon and never will be and lots of individuals fell in love with Kylo as he was written in canon: mean, aggressive, hot headed, possessive, with a host of behavioral issues because, say it with me: fiction is a place to explore those things safely.

Kylo Ren slaughtered his whole Jedi school, Kylo ordered an entire village of innocent people murdered, he destroys people and property on a whim. Kylo is unrestrained, violent, and angry. Not to mention his has no emotional intelligence. He is incapable of understanding that love could help his anger, he pushes away any attempt to use love to bring him back from he dark side. When his father reaches out to be gentle with him, to offer him love within the safe space of his family, Kylo kills him instead. Kylo doesn’t want to face the pain that has caused his anger, and accepting love would mean he would have to look in the eye of his trauma and his pain so, like so many real life individuals, he chooses to reject love and remain angry. This is why he struggles so much and is being “torn apart” because he doesn’t want to be vulnerable, he doesn’t want to feel things and yet…humans can’t help but feel things so this turns to rage. So the idea that he would suddenly be kind, warm, and affectionate to Reader or even to Rey is laughable.

If you enjoy Kylo’s character, the struggle he goes through and the darkness in him then you have to accept the fact that he’s not someone that would be emotionally available, even in a relationship. Kylo Ren would not be a good real life boyfriend. In fact, in real life, Kylo would be an abusive boyfriend, teetering on murderous.  It’s questionable whether or not he’d even be able to call himself a boyfriend to anyone. In fiction, we can decide that slowly Kylo would allow room for someone in his life but would he suddenly be consistently nice to them? No. Would he call himself their partner? No. Would he wrap his arms around them and whisper that he wanted to have a baby with them? Definitely not. It would take a redemption arc, his return to Ben Solo, and then years of painful therapy and self reflection, forgiveness etc to get Ben Solo to that point. For me, one of the most fun aspects of writing Kylo in some kind of relationship is figuring out how he would show tiny amounts of affection for the Reader, what would he feel like he could do without compromising his strength? Spoiler alert: its not much. But that makes those tiny things feel heart-poundingly huge. The hesitation before leaving the room, the unexpected kiss, the gentle hand on the back, all things we take for granted in real life because they’re expected(as they should be) become enormous and diary-entry level exciting with Kylo Ren. (Dear Diary, he didn’t slap me when I asked for a kiss today. I’ve never felt more in tune with him). So why do people need to get up in arms about writers writing Kylo as he really is?

I get countless asks from people wanting me to write Kylo as a sweet boyfriend who is gentle with them. I’ve also had the question about aftercare come up a lot. Then when I say I won’t write Kylo like this because it’s not like him, I tend to get an amount of pushback. Which is kind of what sparked this essay. First and foremost, Kylo wouldn’t even understand what aftercare is. The idea of taking care of someone after you fuck them isn’t something that he’d understand because of the aforementioned lack of emotional intelligence. Second, Kylo wouldn’t be in a typical BDSM relationship with someone where there are agreed upon limits. He is not a Nice Guy. He is not someone you would want to do these things with you from a place of mutual respect because he is not capable of mutual respect. Kylo Ren does not respect, unless it is someone who is an accomplished dark side of the Force user(Vader, Palpatine…kinda and Snoke but thats questionable near the end too). I don’t know about other people, but my  sexual fantasies do not revolve around contracts, safe words, and gentle aftercare. They revolve around a world where my deepest fantasies can come true as if they’re a real life horrible situation, not a BDSM scene with rules and regulations. I don’t fantasize about Kylo Ren being a realistic and good Dominant. No, I fantasize about what BDSM scenes only simulate. I’m sure there are people that are different from me, and want the contracts, consent, safe words and aftercare. But that means Canon!Kylo might not be for them.

I don’t want to gatekeep the Kylo Ren character at all that is not my intent. If you have a fantasy of him caring for you, being your boo, snuggling you etc thats wonderful! You’re allowed to have those fantasies but please, please don’t argue with me about my want to portray his character as accurately as I can. Don’t tell me that he’s soft, or that he ‘needs love’ or anything. No, Kylo Ren is Not Nice. He is incapable of accepting love. I am honestly taking great creative license when I choose to have him not  kill Reader after he fucks her. There are things I write that aren’t the most realistic, there are aspects of him that I think are fun to explore even though they aren’t totally in character—but generally speaking I like to keep his characteristics as canon as they can be. That is that he is a mass murdering, hot tempered, sarcastic, damaged, rage-filled, aggressive dark side user and I still want to suck his dick.

[kookscrescent]

Midnight Rendezvous (m) │ jhs

➤ pairing│Hoseok x female reader ➤ summary│Because of a rule that was implemented at Hoseok’s apartment, he has to sneak you in without his roommates finding out. But perhaps you were a little too loud... ➤ rating│NC-17, mature, 18+ ➤ genre│smut, fluff, boyfriend au ➤ warnings│unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), cremepie, multiple orgasms (female), swearing, dirty talk?, Hobi is slightly dominant but also not really?, Yoongi kinda hates you and is a little grumpy ➤ word count│6k│semi edited ➤ release date│December 22nd 2019 ➤ disclaimer│This is all fiction! Nothing mentioned/written are facts and/or real! So please just keep that in mind when reading and enjoy! Thank you ♡

⇥ Masterlist

Your feet are doing their best, taking double the steps that you normally would, to try and keep up with Hoseok, that is currently dragging you down the thankfully empty corridor. His grip on your hand is tight and if he were to let go and stop you would without a doubt faceplant right into his back or fall flat on your ass.

“Are you really going to sneak me inside?” You ask in disbelief.

Hoseok turns briefly, his eyes catching yours and a cheeky smile finding his lips before he turns to look where he’s going once again.

“I am. The guys don’t know about you yet.”

When you first started dating Hoseok two months ago, you weren’t aware that he lived in an apartment with six other guys. It wasn’t until you started to question him about why he would always insist on going to your place that he told you.

The thought of seven guys living in an apartment together is funny to you. Like, how would that even work? And how freaking big was his apartment?

“Are you embarrassed of me?” Is that why he hasn’t introduced you to his friends yet? Because he’s embarrassed to be with you?

He stops to look at you. “What? No,” he shakes his head, bringing your hand to his lips to kiss it lightly. “I would never be embarrassed of you. We just have a strict “no girls in the apartment” rule.” He rolls his eyes as he tells you this.

You frown, “A what?”

“I know. It’s stupid, and honestly I don’t even remember why we made that rule in the first place.”

“But isn’t that rule meant for one night stand type of things?” you ask him. “I mean we’re dating, so aren’t I excluded from that said rule?”

Hoseok’s lips form a straight line, his browns furrowing as he ponders over what you just said. “I don’t know,” he finally tells you. “But just for now, to be on the safe side, I’ll sneak you in.”

He continues walking till he stops at the door to his apartment.

22 C.

Next to the door there’s a little gold plaque with names written on it. You spot Hoseoks name immediately at the bottom of the plaque, and you try focusing on reading the other names as Hoseok tries to unlock the door without making too much noise.

Min Yoongi

Kim Taehyung

Kim Seokjin

Kim Namjoon

Jeon Jungkook

Park Jimin

Jung Hoseok

You are too busy reading the names, that you don’t even sense Hoseok opening the door and cracking it open just a few centimeters to peak his head inside to see if anyone is still up. Through the small crack you can see the faintly illuminated living room, and you can hear a television running in the background.

Your stomach drops. Why is anyone up at this hour watching television? It’s way past midnight.

He opens the door further, careful not to make any noise as you both sneak inside. Your head is telling you to not breath too much, but your lungs are telling you otherwise.

Hoseok leaves you in the entrée for a second to look around the corner into the living room. He comes back looking much more relaxed than when he went.

“Come on,” he whispers and takes a hold of your hand.

When he sees your hesitation to follow him, he explains, “It’s just Yoongi. He’s fallen asleep on the couch watching some fishing thing.”

Hand in his, he leads you past the living room that opens up to the kitchen and down a long hallway. In your hurry, you briefly catch a glimpse of a dark haired male lying sprawled on the couch while the television provides white noise for the sleeping body.

The open space is actually quite spacious, with a set of large floor to ceiling windows that are providing one hell of a view of Seoul. And it opens up to a large kitchen as well. It makes you wonder what the rest of the apartment looks like and how much exactly they pay to live in a place like this.

Much cost a fortune.

But you don’t get to register more of the place, because Hoseok has you in what you hope is his bedroom with the door closed and locked behind you within seconds almost.

He turns on the overhead lights and you have to blink a few times to adjust to the now brightly lit room.

You’ve spent so many days and nights at your small apartment, that you’ve many times wondered what his place and his room looked like, and you have to admit that it’s nothing like you imagined it in your mind.

It’s much more spacious and… clean? Not that you thought he was a dirty person, but it’s much more organized and put together. Everything has its place, a home where it belongs.

“I’m impressed,” you comment as you turn to his bed that looks freshly made with new sheets and all.

Hoseok grins, wrapping his arms around you shoulder from the back, hugging you close. “What? You thought I was some kind of slob?” he whispers in your ear.

“A slob? No. But it’s much more organized that what I imagined.”

Turning in his arms, you bring yours around his neck and you have to crane your neck back to look him in the eyes – him being almost a head taller than you.

“I like things to look nice.” He shrugs and pecks your lips.

“I like it.”

“Good.” Another peck and then he sets you free to roam around his room.

Taking full advantage of the opportunity, you move about his room. Starting by the desk that sits in front of the large window. There’s nothing much to see there, only his computer and a few books and some notepads with some scribbles on it.

So you move on, the full length mirror on the wall catching your eye. Or not the mirror, but the various of pictures around it – framing it.

You notice the same faces in many of the pictures. You point to a picture of Hoseok with six other guys. It’s a group shot of all seven of them – sitting together on one couch and posing for the camera.

“Are they the infamous roommates?”

“Indeed they are.” He smiles coming to stand behind you. “We were at a housewarming party and someone took that of us.”

Hoseok continues and points to the guy sitting all the way to the left, “That’s Jungkook. He’s the youngest of the seven of us. And that’s me,” he says next, “and I – of course – need no introduction,” he wiggles his eyebrows dropping a kiss to your neck. Playfully you hit his arm.

“That’s Taehyung,” he goes on. “the second youngest. Then we have Jimin. He’s colored his hair every color of the rainbow by now. He likes to experiment.”

“What color is it now?”

“Brown. His hairdresser told him to stop dying his hair for a while or else he would go bald.” He smirks, the image of a bald Jimin seeming funny to him.

“And that’s Namjoon. You and him actually have something in common.” He continues.

“What?” You ask curiously.

“You’re both really good at English.”

“Oh. Is he the only one that speaks English?”

“No no, combining the rest of us we know a great deal of words.”

You laugh at his sarcasm, but quickly quiet down when you remember where you are.

Hoseok points to the guy next to Namjoon. “That’s Jin, he’s the oldest amongst us, but by the way he acts sometimes you wouldn’t think it. And lastly, that’s Yoongi. Along with Jin he cooks most of our meals for us.”

Lightly you run your finger down the edge of the picture, your eyes zoning in on Hoseoks bright smile. The picture clearly shows how great of a bond they have with each other, all laughing and smiling.

“They are all very good looking.”

“Ya!”

“What?” you ask innocently, a light shrug rolling from your shoulders.

“I’m the only one you’re allowed to think is good looking.” He pouts, his bottom lip protruding.  

Turning, you minimize the distance between you, throwing your arms around his neck and softly giving his lips a chaste kiss. “You are all very handsome, but you are the one that I’m attracted to. You are the one that makes my heart flutter with a simple look.”

He seems pleased to hear you say this. “I make your heart flutter huh?”

“You do.”

“Good.”

No further words are exchanged between you. Instead your lips lock together – starting out as an innocent sweet peck, but you both want more. Separating you lips you let his tongue explore your mouth, his hands are resting on your hips where he gently squeezes.

Tingles shoot up and down your spine, a soft moan echoing between you.

Hoseok walks backwards while blindly aiming for his bed. You have no choice but to follow him not wanting to separate.

He falls back and you land on top of him with a small thud. It takes your breath away and you have to pull back to catch your breath.

It’s a good opportunity to look at the man lying beneath you. His gentle lust filled eyes looking back at your curiously as you silently watch him.

God! He really is handsome!

He recently colored his hair a lighter – almost golden – brown and you still find that you have to get used to it, but it looks incredible on him. It makes his eyes stand out and his skin glow.

Running a single finger down the side of his face, over his jawline and across his chin, you can feel the light stubble there, indicating that he hasn’t shaved yet today. You don’t mind it. Not when it’s this short. It’s an added sensation when you kiss – the way it lightly tickles you.

“What?” Hoseok whispers in question to your fallen silence.

“Nothing,” you say. “I just like looking at you, that’s all.”

“I knew you were just using me for my good looks.” He jokes as his arms circle around your waist.

“Don’t forget your body,” you add with a hint of smile.

You absolutely love the way you can joke around with Hoseok. His sense of humor and positive mood is one of the major things that attracted you to him in the first place. He is so bright and bubbly that even if you happen to be in a bad mood one day, his laugh is enough to cheer you up instantly.

“Ah yes, my body,” he muses. “It is a work of art isn’t it?”

You nod your agreement, the smile on your face so big that it’s almost hurting your cheeks. You kiss him, wanting to feel his soft lips pressed against yours. You lavish them with kisses until a small laugh bubbles past Hoseoks lips. You finally settle on a proper kiss, your lips pressing together and your eyes fluttering shut.

You stay like that for a while. With you laying on top of Hoseok, his arms round your waist and your lips moving together in a slow dance.

But the fire inside of you quickly takes charge, your fingers itching to touch him and your entire body tingling in anticipation of what you know he is capable of making you feel.

Wiggling on top of him, you move your legs on either side of his hips, your core coming in contact with his rapidly growing hard on beneath his jeans.

“Hoseok,” you whine against his lips and roll your hips over his.

He groans in response, his fingers digging into your hips as you continue to move them over his crotch. The tension in the room is becoming electrifying, the air filling with you small gasps of pleasure and Hoseoks low moans.

Hoseok slides his hands under the material of your shirt, and despite the warmth of his fingers, goosebumps erupt across your entire back and arms. He slides them up your back in a caressing manner and stops when he reaches the clasp of your bra. Sliding a single finger under the band, he toys with it, making you think that he’s going to unclasp it, but he doesn’t. He leaves it be. Instead he slides both his hands back down to the hem of your shirt where he effortlessly drags it up your body. Your lips part for the time it takes to get the shirt over your head.

When its off, his fingers dance back up your back and this time when they reach the clasp, he unhooks it. Sitting up straight, you slide the straps down your arms till the bra is completely off. You toss it to the floor not caring where it lands.

A low groan erupts from the back of Hoseoks throat when your bare breasts comes into view. Since day one, he has had an obsession with your breasts. The way they fit so perfectly in his hands, the way your nipples become erect at his simple touch. He could combust on the spot.

He follows your seated position, sitting up on the bed with one arm hooked around your waist to keep you close to him, while the other one is busy feeling up your breast. You throw your head back, a gasped whimper rushing into the air when he wraps his lips around your nipple.

Your nipples have always been sensitive, and Hoseok finds great pleasure in using that fact to his advantage. He sucks gently at first, his tongue circling the nub after each suck to soothe the slight sting. He nuzzles his face in the valley between your breasts, his tongue licking from there and all the way up to your neck. Immediately he sucks your skin, eagerly drawing moan after moan from you.

He loves hearing you fall apart from just his touch, it unravels him. His mind going crazy and his body seeking yours.

Clawing at his shirt, you desperately try to get it off him. You need to feel his skin against yours. Hoseok helps you, parting from the spot of your neck to toss it to the floor.

“Fuck, I want you,” he groans, looking you dead in the eyes. The fire behind them is intense, his normally brown eyes turning almost black.

You begin moving on top of him again, “Then take me.” You purr, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth.

It doesn’t take more than that small sentence to make Hoseok stand from the bed, with you still in his arms. He tosses you on the bed with a devious smirk. With both of his hands now free, he strips out of his jeans and shoes, his black boxers the only thing remaining.

Hungrily, you eye the growing bulge beneath the dark fabric, your entire body tingling with the anticipation of all the pleasure you know is to come in a few short moments.

Kicking off your own shoes, you furiously work your fingers over the button of your jeans, fingers slipping a few times before you finally pop it open. From the end of the bed you hear Hoseok laugh at your struggle to take them off, but he eventually either grows impatient from the waiting or he feels sorry to see you struggle, because he reaches out to help get the jeans off your legs, taking your panties with them in the process.

You lay completely naked on the bed in front of him. Your legs slightly parted and your hands gently cupping your breasts. Hoseok’s eyes rake over your body, from head to toe. Momentarily he stops at the space between your legs – probably his favorite place to be if anyone were to ask him.

With a ragged breath you motion your finger at him, luring him in. Before he climbs on top of you, he rids himself of his boxers. His smooth velvety skin of his hard erection softly bobbing just under his bellybutton. Despite the fact that you have seen his cock so many times, you are always amazed by it every time.

Hoseok lazily places kisses from your ankle, all the way up your calf and the inside of your thigh, his lips teasing your folds, but he swiftly continues upwards placing kisses across your abdomen and between your breasts. Finally, he connects with your lips. His tongue immediately sneaking into your mouth and exploring every nook and cranny. You let him take the lead. Sinking into the mattress and letting your hands explore his chest and back.

With every kiss your desire for Hoseok grows bigger! Your feel like you are on fire, your entire body tingling and your feel desperate to have him.

You manage to maneuver yourself up on your elbows and for a moment you can feel Hoseoks confusion against your lips, until you, with a little help from him, manage to switch your positions.

With you now on top, Hoseok lets you take the lead. He settles his hands on your hips, his thumbs gently stroking across your skin there.

Going in for another kiss, you hum against his lips as you slowly grind against him. His cock nestling between your folds and your arousal making it a lot easier to move. Continuing, you grind on top of him, pre-cum drooling onto his stomach.

Hoseok moves his hands to your ass, kneading each cheek and helping you push your hips over him. He growls, the sound coming from the depts of his throat. “You’re so fucking wet.”

“You make me this wet.”

Another low growl flows through the air and makes you shudder. Sitting up straight, you rest the palms of your hands on his lower abdomen, the movement of your hips never seizing.

You can’t wait any longer! It has been too long since you have last had him to yourself like this. Raising yourself slightly, you reach to grasp his cock. Giving it a few slow tugs and enjoying the way the pre-cum leaks from the swollen tip, before you guide him to your dripping entrance.

Leisurely, you sink down. Your inner walls sucking his cock in inch by delicious inch. The wind is almost knocked out of you once he is completely nestled inside of you. Your fingers claw at the skin on his stomach as you gradually begin to move. Hips rocking back and forth before you gain momentum and really begin riding him.

From you hips, Hoseoks hands travel up your body till they reach your sensitive breasts. There he wastes no time in cupping each of them in his large palms, his thumbs stroking over you erect nipples.

“Fuck…” you gasp. The burning in your thighs are slowly creeping in on your, but you don’t let it stop you, it only spurs you on and you start bouncing on him, his cock glistening with your arousal each time you retreat.

Hoseok notices, “Shit! You have n-“

You are both silenced as voices erupt from the hallway, right outside of Hoseoks room. With a rapidly beating heart you halt on top of him. You don’t even dare breath as the voices continue. After a short minute, Hoseok seems to grow impatient and he takes it upon himself to keep going.

In one abrupt motion he brings your upper body flushed to his chest and raises his leg. Grabbing your ass in both hands, he pounds in and out of you, not caring in the slightest that someone is right outside of the door.

Afraid that you will be heard, you choose to bite down on his shoulder as your hands wildly rip at the sheets beneath you.

Hoseok keeps bouncing you on his cock and at some point, you don’t even hear the voices anymore. You don’t even know if they have left or if you are so wrapped up in the scorching pleasure running through your body that you have just tuned it out completely.

But at this point you don’t even care!

“Hoseok – of fuuuck – I’m gonna cum!” You warn him out of breath.

“Cum!” He whispers hoarsely. “Cum on my cock!”

Rippling waves of pleasure shoot through your body and straight to heat and within seconds you cum. You are gripping his shoulders for dear life as you try your best to not make too much noise. But it is almost impossible when Hoseok doesn’t let up, he keeps pumping in and out of you, drawing the last bits of your orgasm out.

You feel dizzy and like you are having an out of body experience, and you don’t even register that Hoseok rolls you around so that he is now on top.

He still hasn’t finished yet, but he’s close. The way your walls so deliriously contract around him is almost enough to set him off. But he’s not finished with you yet.

Hoseok pick right back up from where he left off. His cock thrusting into you but at a much more leisure pace. You welcome the weight of his body on top of yours, your chests sticking together from the light layer of sweat.

Connecting your lips, you run your fingers through his light locks, a soft gasp of air cursing past your plump lips, as you ravel in the feelings of your post orgasm bliss and the fire you can feel beginning to burn once again inside of you.

It really doesn’t take much for you to cum since you have been with Hoseok. You have never had any trouble in previous relationships, but you have never been this sensitive before – only with Hoseok.

“You like the way I fuck you, huh?” he mumbles, the words vibrating against your lips.

You nod, fingers scratching down his back to the small dimples above his ass, “Yes, so good!”

He slows down, withdrawing from your heat till only the head of his cock is buried inside of you, and slowly pushing back in. You look down to where you are connected, the sight of him slowly working himself in and out of you causing you to clench down around him hard, making it hard for him to push back in.

“Shit!” He curses below his breath. “You’re so tight baby!”

You can do nothing to answer him at this point. Your mind and body too far gone to come up with any kind of answer or sentence that would make sense.

He buries his face your neck, his whole-body tightening, and he begins speeding up. He is now slamming his hips against yours and instinctively you let your legs drop open, creating more space for him to move and also changing the way he hits inside you.

“Hoseok,” you moan his name when the fire furiously spreads and you close your eyes tightly waiting for the explosion.

“Fuck! I’m gonna cum! Gonna cum, gon-“ he doesn’t get to finish his sentence, his words being cut off when he uncontrollably cums inside of you, setting off your second orgasm of the night.

He is breathing harshly against the side of your neck, both of your bodies trying to calm down after that ride. With your hands, you gently caress his back. The tips of your fingers tickling his skin causing a low and satisfied hum to come from him.

You are beginning to feel oversensitive with him still buried inside of you, your walls continuously clamming down around him and it’s too much. You wiggle under him, a silent plea for him to pull out.

Thankfully, he gets it and he sits up and slowly pulls out of you. Instantly, you can feel his hot seeds leaking out of you and your cheeks redden. But it doesn’t seem to faze Hoseok in the slightest. The opposite in fact! Hoseok finds it extremely hot to watch his own orgasm leaking out of you. It makes him want to jump right back on you for another round! But he resists the urge to do so – knowing that you would probably pass out.

Instead he settles on, “That’s so fucking hot!” and switches from looking at your reaction to the happenings between your legs.

You cover your face with your hands in embarrassment and groan. “Doooon’t…” you whine.

He can’t help but laugh at how cute you are, being embarrassed by this small matter when only seconds ago he was inside of you doing much dirtier things.

“You’re so cute!”

“Yeah, well I’m not going to be cute when your cum leaks onto your sheets and you’re going to make me change them.” You half jokingly tell him.

“Shit, right!”

Hoseok springs to his ensuite bathroom and comes back seconds later with a hot washcloth. Gently, he wipes between your legs, wiping away the remainder of him.

He pulls a face looking at the sheet. “Some still got on the sheet.”

Sitting up, you wrap yourself in the crumpled up duvet next to you. “I’m not going to change the sheets.” You tell him matter-of-factly. “Your cum, your task.”

He throws the washcloth through the open door of the bathroom and reach for his boxers on the floor. “Your cum is on there too!” He protests pulling them over his hips.

“Yeah well, that is your doing to. You’re the one that made me that wet.”

“Oh so now that’s a bad thing.” He crawls on the bed till he can reach your lips and he pecks them, before he crawls back off.

“Off you get then,” he starts tugging on the corner of the sheet, and your get off the bed so he can strip it off the rest of the way, because there is no way that you are sleeping on sheets with dried cum on them tonight!

With Hoseok working on ridding the bed, you manage to take a look at the state of his bedroom. It is messy! What the hell had you been doing?!

Both of your clothes are scattered across the wooden floor, your bra hanging off the side of his desk chair. One of his pillows has also manage to find its way to the floor, decorated with one of Hoseoks socks strewn across it.

You laugh at the sight… what a mess.

“What’s so funny?” Hoseok asks with the cum filled sheet in hand.

You wrinkle your nose, “Nothing, your room is just a mess now.”

“Yeah…” he murmurs. “Could you please…” he makes a weird gesture around the room with one arm, indicating the mess, “tidy? Just a little bit babe? While I go throw this in the was and get a new sheet.”

“Of course,” you say. “Do you have to go out to get the sheet?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll be right back,” he tells you and the he carefully unlocks and opens his bedroom door, and just as carefully closes it behind him.

Now alone in his room, you reach for the t-shirt he had been wearing earlier on in the day. His smell ingulfing you and hugging your body. You also put on your panties for good measure.

You start with your clothes. Collecting it all from the floor and neatly folding it despite the fact the fact that it is has to go straight in the hamper, and place is on his desk chair.

You don’t bother with putting the pillow or duvet back on the bed yet, because the sheet still has to go on first, and since there is pretty much nothing left to “clean” up, you take a seat on the end of the bed and wait for Hoseok to return.

2 minutes pass.

5 minutes pass.

8 minutes.

10 minutes.

13 minutes.

When he’s been away for a whole of 15 minutes, you begin to wonder where the hell he has gone to. Maybe he’s gotten lost or fallen asleep somewhere?

Should you go out there and look for him?

What if someone sees you? What would even happen if someone were to see you? It’s not like they can throw you out… can they? No! Surely not. Hoseok would never allow that!

You take the chance. Softly cracking the door open just enough to take a peek into the hallway. It’s dark and all the doors are closed, but the light in the front room you passed through is still on. Opening the door further, you step out and freeze momentarily.

Still, you can hear no sounds other than the television that is apparently still running in the living room. Is that guy… Yoongi? Still sleeping on the couch? It’s well past midnight, surely, he has gone to his bed by now.

You tiptoe your way down the dark hallway, slowly passing by each closed door as if it might burst open at any moment and reveal an angry roommate.

The closer you get to the light, you start to hear hushed voices coming from the room with the television. You stop to listen. Huh, is that Hoseoks voice? You swear that you can hear his voice coming from the room, but you can’t make out what he or anyone else are saying.

You sneak closer to the corner, your head peeking around hit to see Hoseok, still in his boxers and a newly folded sheet in one hand, standing in front of six other guys sitting on the couch looking like it isn’t almost 3 o’clock in the morning.

“But we made the rule for a reason.” You hear the one sitting closest to you say. You think you recognize him as Yoongi, from the picture and the guy that was sleeping on the couch when you walked in earlier in the evening.

Is Hoseok getting grilled by his roommates right now? Because he brought you here? That leaves an unpleasant feeling in the pit of your stomach and you take that as you cue to enter the room.

“But some rules are me-“

The guys speaking stops when he sees you enter the room behind Hoseok. All six pairs of eyes turn in your direction, in turn making Hoseok look as well. He sighs when he sees you walking up to him.

“What are you doing out here?” He asks you, his eyes eyeing your naked legs.

You had completely forgotten that you were only wearing his t shirt. Thank god you put on your panties! “You didn’t come back and I started to worry that you had gotten lost.” You shyly mumble under his roommates heated stares.

“You worried I had gotten lost?” He smiles. “In my own apartment?”

“It’s a big apartment,” you manage to joke.

You can still feel their stars on you, and you cuddle closer to Hoseoks side for a sense of security, his arm immediately bringing you closer.

“I’m guessing that this is ____,” one of the guys say and stands. He is taller than Hoseok and his hair a pale blond color. He gives you a bright smile and extends his hand towards you. “I’m Namjoon,” he introduces himself.

Shaking his hand, you return his smile. “____,” you say even though he clearly already knows your name.

“We were just talking about you,” Namjoon then proceeds to tell you.

“I heard,” you weakly reply. You want to run away and hide in Hoseoks room, but you settle on nuzzling further into his side.

“Listen guys,” Hoseok begins, drawing all of their attention towards him. “I don’t give a fuck about the rule, okay. We made that rule a year ago when Yoongi kept complaining that Jungkook and Taehyung were bringing random girls back every weekend and keeping him up all night.”

So that is why they instated the “No girls in the apartment” rule.

“But ____ isn’t just a random hookup, we’ve been dating for over five months now and it’s safe to say that she is here to stay.”

No one says anything for a moment until another unnamed boy speaks up, you think you recognize him as Seokjin if you remember correctly from the picture on the mirror. “Okay then, let’s put it to a vote.” He says scooting forward on the couch. “I’m Jin by the way,” he quickly adds with a wink before going on with the voting. “All of those in favor of getting rid of the stupid “no girls in the apartment” rule, raise your hand.”

They all raise their hands except Yoongi, who keeps both of his hands firmly crossed over his chest and sour expression on his face. He is clearly not pleased with the outcome of this evening!

“Well that’s final then!” one of them says, jumping up from the couch. He approaches you with a huge boxy smile and an outstretched hand. “I’m Taehyung, but you can call me Tae.”

“Hey,” you smile back not really know what else to do at this point.

They guy, Jimin, that has colored his hair all the colors of the rainbow, leaves his spot on the couch, dragging another guy with him, now only leaving Yoongi to be seated.

“It’s really nice to meet you,” Jimin says. “Hobi has been less of a pain in the ass lately and I guess we now know why.” He winks and you blush slightly.

Hoseok smacks the side of his arm, “Ya! You the one that’s a pain in the ass!”

Jimin ignores him though, still focusing on you. “Oh! How rude of me not to introduce myself! I’m Jimin.”

“I know,” you accidentally let it slip over your lips and Jimin give you a weird look. You quickly explain, “The guy that’s colored his hair all the colors of the rainbow,” you tell him. “Hoseok has a picture in his room and… and he told me that and I-I remembered…”

“Oh…”

Hoseok cuts in, “Stop interrogating her and go to sleep!” He tells Jimin.

“No one’s interrogating her, we’re just curious,” the other guys cuts into the conversation. “I’m Jungkook.” He smiles.

“Hey…” all of these names and new faces is making your head spin, and not in a particularly good way.

Jungkook points to Yoongi on the couch, “And that’s Yoongi. But don’t mind is sour mood. He’s just annoyed he didn’t get his way! You’re more than welcomed here!”

At this you smile, “Thank you.”

You feel your body starting to relax a bit upon hearing this. You really thought that they weren’t going to accept you or like you, and you would never come in between Hoseok and his life long friends. That would break your heart.

Namjoon claps his hands making every one turn to him, “Alright! Let’s just wrap up this conversation and call it a night. We can get to know ____ more in the morning.”

Everyone agrees with Namjoon and everyone leaves the living room to go to their bedroom.

“That went better than I had expected,” Hoseok comments and plants a kiss on the top of your head.

You give him a tender smile, squeezing his side. A few steps behind you notice Jimin following you down the darkened hallway.

“How did they know I was here?” You dare ask Hoseok in what was meant as a whisper before entering the room.

Jimin hears you say this just as he is passing by to get to his room. “The walls are probably not as thick as you think they are.” He turns and blasts you a full on smirk and a wink before turning on his heel and walks to his room.

“Oh my god!” You groan in embarrassment.

Hoseok laughs as you faceplant into the still unmade bed. “It’s not that bad.” He assures you.

“Really?” You hopefully question.

Closing the door, he drops the new sheet on the floor next to the bed and sits beside you. “Well not for me, you were the loud one.”

“Ugh!” You groan yet again as you want to die in embarrassment!

Thank you for reading! I’ve wanted to do a Hoseok one shot for a while now and I’ve had this sitting in my drafts for so long just waiting to be finished! And now i finally finished it!!! I really hope you liked it! If you did please like and reblog :) 

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