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cradle-quill · 25 days

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Surrender, an ABDL Story by CradleQuill (18+)

Disclaimer: All content is fictional, consensual, and intended only for mature audiences. All characters depicted are adults aged 18+ _

Daniel stopped typing and looked up from his manuscript. His eyes wandered to Isabelle, who sat at the other end of their shared table, supposedly chipping away at her latest work project. Her brow was stuck in a permanently furrowed state, and she was massaging her temples as she stared down at her computer screen. She had been at this for hours now. Every so often, a burst of inspiration would hit, and the sound of her acrylic nails tapping away at her mechanical keys would fill the room. Those bursts would not last, though. Before too long, Daniel would notice that the sound of his girlfriend working would disappear, replaced with a suffocating silence that lingered throughout the air, threatening to choke the life from him if he dared say a word.

It had been over thirty minutes since inspiration had last struck, and Daniel knew Isabelle was hitting her wall. He also knew she would be reluctant to admit as much. He looked back to his writing and saw he had hit his word count for the day, so he leaned back and took a deep breath. Daniel eyed Isabelle as he wondered if she was paying attention to his movements.

“You know, honey,” Daniel said with a hitch in his voice. “Maybe it’s about time for you to take a break. Relax for a bit and see if the solution comes to you.”

Isabelle shut her eyes, looking annoyed. She let out a hefty sigh. “I can’t take a break yet. I’m on the clock for another three hours, and I need to finish this by the end of the day.”

Daniel carefully considered his next words. He knew how she got when there were stakes involved, especially when those stakes involved her boss, Jim. He also knew Isabelle had a penchant for building these things up in her head and assuming the worst. “Do you actually need to finish this one today, or is it more so that you’re going to be mad at yourself if you don’t finish it?”

Isabelle shot two twin daggers for eyes at him, and he immediately got the memo. He leaned forward, and in his mind, he debated whether he wanted to continue speaking. In the end, his gut told him to keep going. “You know, honey,” he began, his voice as gentle and soothing as light rain tapping on a window. “It would probably be easier to get a lot more work done if you gave your mind the chance to rest. You don’t want to overwork yourself and fry those thoughts before they come to fruition.”

“And what would you know about that?” Isabelle snapped back. “It’s not like you work an actual job, anyway. I have deadlines, Daniel. People expect me to finish things by certain times, and I’m already behind as is. So please, lay off and let me handle it.”

By the time she reached the end of her little diatribe, she was nearly out of breath, huffing and puffing out of anger. Her cheeks were bright red, but they faded to a lighter shade of pink once she realized that her temper had gotten the better of her. Daniel just sat there, staring at her. There was no judgment in his eyes, not even pain. Isabelle struggled to read him, but as best she could tell, he was unbothered, though also very serious.

She knew she ought to apologize, and part of her even wanted to. It was the mature thing to do. Even if she had a point, she went about expressing that point in the absolute wrong way. At the same time, she could feel that another side of her, a more stubborn, petty side, had latched onto this little spat and decided it was unwilling to move an inch. While she sat there in her purgatory of mind, Daniel stood up from the table. She watched him close his laptop and wander over to where his coat was hung up next to the door.

“Daniel, wait…” She clambered out of her chair and onto her feet.

“Not another word.” Daniel’s tone was stern, but it held the same underlying gentleness as his earlier words. She knew he meant it. He did not want to hear another word escape from her lips, and as hard as that stubborn side of her tried to fight it, she managed to hold it back and keep her mouth shut. She couldn’t bear to look him in the eyes. Instead, all she offered was a nod.

“I’ll be back soon. I won’t be long,” Daniel said before pulling on his coat and leaving through their apartment’s front door. On his way out, she heard the pitters and patters of his boots as he trailed down the stairs to the parking lot.

Minutes passed, and Isabelle had still not returned to her work. Her heart was nearly in her throat. She knew she had messed up, but she hoped it would not be as bad as it seemed. Daniel said he would not be long, and Isabelle would just have to trust that. He wouldn’t just leave her there, all alone, over one fight. If you could even call it a fight. It was more like a temper tantrum. She could hardly call herself a stressed out adult who had been snippy. It was more like she was a spiteful adolescent lashing out at a parent. It reminded her of her teenage years, and for that she felt deep shame.

When another few minutes had passed, and Isabelle still could not get her mind off of things, she forced herself to look back at her computer screen. Sitting there doing nothing would not help. At least if she got some work done, it would be a serviceable distraction until Daniel returned from wherever he had gone off to. He probably just went for a walk to clear his head, Isabelle thought. She hoped it was nothing more than that.

After around another thirty minutes, the familiar sound of Daniel’s boots trudging up the stairs to their apartment rang through the building, and Isabelle let out a sigh of relief she had been holding onto since the moment he left. When he returned through the door, Isabelle noticed something under his arm. Whatever it was, it was double-bagged in two white grocery bags, and she could not make out any signifying labels from beneath the coat of white.

“What’s that?” She asked, but Daniel did not answer.

“Come with me,” was all he said before making his way through the halls and into their bedroom. He had that same tone from earlier, the one that refused to be bargained with, so Isabelle did as she was told. She stood up from the table and followed him into their room, where Daniel was making the bed. He had opened their closet door and pulled out a black leather riding crop, which now sat beside him on the nightstand.

“No, absolutely not-” Isabelle said, but Daniel cut her off.

“You will not take that kind of tone with me. You know better than to speak to me that way, and you know better than to insult me.” He finished making the bed, ensuring it was nice and level for her to sprawl out on. “You also know that I was right about you needing a break. You would never have snapped at me like that if you weren’t so stressed. Now, be an obedient girl for me and lay flat on your stomach.”

Isabelle squirmed where she stood, clenching her legs together and trying not to show how obviously wiggly she was. Deep down, she loved when he got like this. She found him so… irresistible when he took charge. “I-I don’t think now is the t-time…” she trailed off, unable to finish her own thought. Her thoughts seemed to get lost somewhere along the way from her mind to her mouth, disappearing before she could bring them to life through her words.

Daniel simply ignored her. He wore that same unphased demeanor from earlier, and somehow, that made him seem even more threatening. With the crop and sheets all prepped and ready, he bent down and opened his mysterious package, revealing a large bag of disposable diapers, the kinds for little kids who still wet their beds.

“Absolutely not!” Isabelle declared. Her voice was forceful and unwavering. Yet when his eyes met hers, hers darted away. She could not hold his gaze.

“I’m not asking. Lay down on the bed, take your spanking, and then I’m going to put you into something more appropriate for the way you’ve been behaving.”

“I’m not… wearing that.” She folded her arms and gave her best pout.

Daniel turned to face her, not speaking for several seconds. Each subsequent second felt longer than the last, and with each one that passed, Isabelle felt her knees getting weaker, ready to give way. After a full minute of silent stillness, Daniel suddenly approached her. He got right up in her face, forcing her to stand at attention just to avoid him running into her.

Their faces were mere inches apart when he said, “I have seen your BDSMTest results. I know what you’re into. I know how you like to be treated.” He paused just long enough to let her mouth fall open, and for a breathless gasp to flee from her open lips. “You have a safe word. Use it. Or don’t use it, and lay down on the bed right this instant.”

Isabelle could not believe what she was hearing. Even less could she believe her legs started inching their way forward without her permission. Daniel was right. She had a safe word, but she did not utter it. Before she knew it, she was crawling onto the bed, sprawling out over it. Daniel came up from behind her and gave her a forceful push, slamming her stomach onto the bed as she let out a reluctant moan that refused to be held back. A familiar wetness dampened her inner thighs.

As she tried to compose herself, to gather her thoughts which seemed to float around aimlessly in the sea of her mind, there was a sharp sting against one of her butt cheeks, and then the other. The sound of the slaps came first, with the pain settling in whole seconds later. By the time she felt the pain from one, Daniel’s crop was already onto the next. She desperately clung to her physical presence, to keep herself grounded within the moment. She was an adult, a grown woman, someone who was self-sufficient and well adjusted. Except, she wasn’t any of those things.

With each strike of the crop, those illusions, those lies that she told herself, they disappeared bit by bit, until they had faded into nothing more than memories just out of reach. All that was left was herself. Her true self, the one she kept locked away where no one could see. In mere moments, Daniel had beaten it out of her. She could hardly even feel the pain anymore. Instead, it was as if she were floating in the middle of the ocean, with no land anywhere to be found. Or perhaps she was soaring through the air, diving between the clouds, with no rules or expectations hoisted upon her shoulders. She was free. In her bondage, in her submission to him, she was free.

When the spanking was finished, Isabelle’s bottom was bright red and sore. The earlier marks were even beginning to turn purple as her skin bruised. She just laid there, her mouth agape, with tears streaming down her cheeks. Daniel grabbed hold of her and pulled her into his embrace. “There, there, little one. It’s all over. I’ve got you now.” The sternness had left his voice. Now, there was just that same old gentleness, like the first autumn breeze of the year.

She sobbed into his shoulder, and all the while, he held her and cooed at her. He rocked her gently, careful not to exacerbate the pain coursing through her bruised bottom. Once she had settled down and centered herself right there in his presence, in his dominance, he laid her down on the bed. She went limp, ready to let him do whatever he pleased with her. However, Daniel did not take her as she thought he would. No, instead, he ripped open the package of Pull-Ups and slid one over her feet and up her legs. Isabelle’s hands shot up to her face to hide her humiliation, but the childish gesture only served to make her seem more helpless and infantile.

With little effort, Daniel hoisted Isabelle up and pulled the glorified diaper snug into place. She had to admit; it wasn’t so bad. The padding was soft against her princess parts, and the way the garment hugged her hips made her feel swaddled and protected. She was safe. Safe in her Pull-Ups and safe under Daniel’s thumb, right where she belonged. She needed it. She yearned for it.

Daniel wrapped her in his arms once more and laid her head on his chest. He rocked her gently, humming a soft little tune to soothe her. Isabelle closed her eyes and let herself relax, finally. For the first time in longer than she cared to remember, she was at peace. All her worries and concerns had drifted away, and despite her sore bottom and weakened pride, she could not help but smile.

“There’s my girl,” Daniel said. He aimed his own soft smile down at her, and as she looked into his eyes, she did not find disdain or malice there. Instead, she found only wordless comfort and reassurance. “I think someone was extra fussy today and needed an attitude adjustment.” She blushed even more furiously at that.

“D-Daniel…” Isabelle’s meek voice chirped out like a baby bird making its first call.

“Yes, my love?”

“I’m s-sorry… for what I said… and the way I said it.”

“I know you are, sweetie. I know you didn’t mean it. You were stressed, and you lashed out. Little girls do that from time to time.”

“N-no but… I’m serious. I shouldn’t have said those things.”

“Hush, little one. I know you’re sorry, and I know you’re being sincere. I’m telling you it’s alright, that you don’t have to apologize. You don’t have to do or be anything right now. You can just sit here in my arms, and you can just be my little girl, if that’s what you want.” He gave her the kindest smile anyone had ever given her, and in that moment, the last of her reservations gave way. “That is what you want, isn’t it, baby?” All she could do was nod.

That night, she drifted off to sleep in her boyfriend’s arms. Come the next day, she wouldn’t think of him as her boyfriend at all anymore. Instead, she would see him as her Daddy. And by the time she woke the next morning, she would find herself filled with a sense of undeniable bliss, and a new sensation altogether. One of thickness and absorbency between her legs. One that would go on to define the rest of her life to come, and the way her Daddy would look at her as his good little bedwetter.

THE END _

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icallhimjoey · 5 months

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Reinvent Love

♥ ♥ Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader

Summary: You and Joe are treading new waters. You’re no longer flatmates, but still close. More than friends, but nothing defined. Nothing labeled. Determined to not lose what you have, though. But, can you?

CW / disclaimer: rpf, fem!reader, language, adult themes, jealousy, accusations, soft fluff, lil smutty, reader has hair long enough to tie up, season 3 of my flatmate!joe

Author’s note: oohhh big changes! we are TALKING! with our MOUTHS! what a time. This is the last part of flatmate!Joe - for real this time. I truly hope you've enjoyed what is still my most plotless (imo) bit of writing, lmk your thoughts <3

Wordcount: 4.4K

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five

There was something living inside of your chest.

It was only small, but definitely there. Soft. Vulnerable. Silently shrinking. It had gotten hurt and was wearing its bruises on the outside. When it got poked, you could feel the shooting pains as it curled in on itself more. It would find the safest spots to squeeze its eyes shut and you’d mentally tell it, it’s okay. You’re okay.

It wasn’t okay.

Maybe therapy wasn’t an insane suggestion, anymore, at this point. You felt like you were protecting a child to the point where you couldn’t let it see the light of day. Couldn’t let it go outside and play. Couldn’t let it have friends – let it meet Joe. Couldn’t let it experience anything joyful, because if you did, it’d probably experience more hurt too.

But it was hurting anyway.

And now it was only pain it got to feel. Never joy. Just bruises and cuts. Scrapes that slowly formed thick drops of blood that hardened into scabs which pulled at your skin and eventually turned into scars.

You wished you’d known that before you locked it up inside.

There was something living inside of your chest, and it carefully wished it could speak up and be heard.

When you’d walked out of your bedroom and into the living room, a surprised Josh raised his eyebrows at you. He was leaning back into the sofa and had an acoustic guitar in his lap that he was absentmindedly playing whilst he was watching TV on a low volume. The guitar playing stopped when he saw you and didn’t pick back up as he watched you walk over, pillow in hand, facial expression drained.

“Hey, what’s up?” the guitar got moved onto the floor.

You didn’t answer when you put your pillow down on the opposite end of the sofa and took the blanket you’d slept under before. You curled up, ignored Josh who tried to ask if you were okay a couple of times as you stared at the TV. He asked if you wanted to talk about it. Said you probably should talk about it if you didn’t want Josh to think about this all night.

“It’s going to keep me up if I don’t know if you’re okay.”

You ignored it all, didn’t give a shit if Josh was going to get a good night’s sleep, and eventually turned over and faced the back of the sofa. It sent the message it needed to. It took just another moment before Josh turned off the TV, and then the lights as he left you alone.

This was stupid.

But you were stubborn.

You were stubborn and were going to go to sleep on your sofa, even though you were the one that lived here, and maybe Joe should be the one to sleep on the sofa.

Or actually, he could go home. To his own flat. Where all things were his, and the only things that felt like they were yours were the plants you’d brought in and the toothbrush you’d left by his sink.

Yea.

Joe could just leave.

You didn’t care that he was still paying rent.

But you didn’t actually get up to go and tell him that. Of course not. You just wallowed in thought. In all the would-dos and would-says. Shivered because this new stupid blanket Josh got wasn’t thick enough to keep you warm throughout the night.

You made yourself cry inside of that soup of goopy misery. Felt what lived inside of your chest as it drowned and mentally apologised to it when, after three hours of not being able to actually go to sleep, after three hours of anger that turned into fragile neediness, you decided to get up and make your way back.

Find Joe.

Because, and fuck him for this, Joe always knew how to fucking fix it.

And there was something so silly about walking down the hallway of your flat with tears staining your cheeks to sneak into Joe’s old bedroom. To find Joe inside of the bed there, the lay-out of the room still the same. Joe’s side of the bed still the same.

The click of the door closing made Joe lift his head up in an attempt to see into the dark.

He hadn’t expected you at all, so for a second, he thought that maybe you’d just walked in to get something. Your phone. Or your charger. But then you walked around to your side of the bed and got under the covers. It was too dark to see your face, but you found Joe’s warm body and snuggled up. Pressed your forehead to his jaw and hummed through a sigh and Joe didn’t need to see your face to hug you closer. Didn’t need to see if you’d been crying to wrap arms around, and to tangle legs, and to press a small kiss into your hair.

You wiggled as you settled and sighed as you sunk deeper into the mattress. You could deal with the disappointment within yourself in the morning.

“I’m sorry.” Joe whispered into the dark, and you decided you could also deal with your disappointment in Joe in the morning, so you softly whined and said, “Pause.”

“Pause?”

“Mhm.”

Everything could just be paused. Postponed. Just for a few hours. You just needed to get some sleep.

Joe wasn’t in a position to not accept that. His heart felt full with the nostalgia he unexpectedly found with you sneaking into this room in order to get some sleep. It used to be like this. He was in the same location. In the exact same spot. Just, everything was yours now.

Me too, Joe thought.

Everything was yours now, including Joe. Whether you wanted him or not.

He squeezed you tighter and saw that you got to sleep. Traced finger tips across skin that warmed under the covers, and tickled into your hair by the nape of your neck, and he could feel how you were drifting off and, fuck off, he was yours.

He’d tell you in the morning.

Joe was going to tell you in the morning.

He would.

When Joe woke up, you were gone.

Fucking figures, Joe thought.

The private moment of waking up together that would’ve granted him the security and comfortability to say whatever needed saying was gone now.

Joe rubbed both hands over his face and scolded himself for not waking up as you had gotten out.

But it was fine.

There’d be another moment for it, he’d make sure.

Venturing out of your bedroom, you weren’t in the bathroom. Nor in the living area. He did, however, find Josh in the kitchen.

After awkward but polite good mornings shared, there was some uncomfortable shuffling around. Joe had made breakfast thousands of times in this kitchen, and he was already reaching to open the fridge when he realised that, actually, that was a weird thing to do. He no longer lived there. He couldn’t just go into cupboards and find the food that he knew was there – he knew exactly where the oatmeal went. He knew exactly where to find the cinnamon to sprinkle on top. How the coffee machine worked. Which cupboard to open to find the mugs.

Joe opted to busy himself making a coffee first. The machine was right there on the counter – less weird to reach for it and prepare himself a morning brew.

And Josh was cool about it. Opened a cupboard for him to fetch him a mug. It was a bit of an awkward dance, but a friendly one, tight smiles shared as Josh prepared his own breakfast.

It wasn’t until the loud noise of coffee beans being ground up that Joe decided to just… ask.

Might as well act like last night actually happened.

“Sorry about last night, mate,”

“Oh yea, no worries, I didn’t…” Josh frowned and shook his head as he scraped some butter onto his toast. He didn’t finish his sentence. Didn’t need to. Took a bite before buttering the second piece.

“Have you seen her?” Joe tried sounding as casual as he could, but failed miserably.

It was as honest and vulnerable of a question he was ever going to ask Josh. It revealed he had no idea where the fuck you’d gone, which in and of itself revealed that there was probably a reason you hadn’t told him.

But Josh was relaxed about it.

“Yea. Morning run. You just missed her, I think.”

And it took all within Joe to pretend that didn’t surprise him as much as it did. He just nodded. Pretended like that was a normal thing to hear about. Morning run. Sure. Miss be-useful-first-thing, what the fuck? When had you picked up that habit?

The coffee machine stopped whirring, and Joe took his coffee. Went for a sip immediately and instantly burnt his tongue. Rookie move.

“Is um… is everything okay? I don’t want to pry, but,” Josh asked as Joe moved around the island to sit down.

“Ah, well… you know,”

No, actually, Josh didn’t know.

Which was good.

Joe didn’t really want him to know.

Joe didn’t really want to explain.

Couldn’t really explain.

Where the fuck would he even begin?

“Hmm, yea,” Josh accepted the non-answer easily. “She seemed upset, but wouldn’t really say anything.”

Joe had to suppress a smile.

Of course you hadn’t fucking said anything.

“I asked like fifty times if she was okay, but she… I don’t know, she fully ignored me I guess. Kind of went catatonic on me a little.”

Joe drank his coffee and nodded.

“To be fair though,” Josh made big eyes at himself, “I was being really fucking annoying. I would’ve rolled over and ignored me too, I think.”

Both men let huffs of air escape them in silent laughter.

Then a moment of silence followed where Joe drank his coffee and Josh ate his toast. Joe realised he didn’t like how Josh knew things about you that he didn’t, but the upside was that it was incredibly useful, actually.

Josh talked where you... well, you did not.

“Did she cry?”

He wanted to know.

“No, she just… watched TV for a bit. I don’t know, she seemed tired so I went to bed shortly after to make sure she could get some sleep.”

That meant that, if you’d cried, you had waited for Josh to leave the room. Joe didn’t know if that was a comforting thought or not.

It didn’t take much longer for Josh to finish his toast and to casually suggest for Joe to make his own breakfast. Mentioned that everything on the bottom shelves of the fridge was yours before he walked out, and this morning was just full of surprises.

You split the fridge?!

What kind of sensible flatmate behaviour was this?!

When it was you and Joe, your stuff would just be thrown in wherever. None of it sorted. Joe would end up having your oatmilk in his coffee and you’d end up using his cheese in your omelettes.

Actually, he remembered how this had been the source of bickering for more than once. More than a couple of times. You would fall out over Joe having your food all the time, if he really thought about it. But it was always playful. Always something fun about it. A reason to swear at him until you made yourself laugh, and a reason for him to shut you up with poking fingers in your sides. The back and forth had never prompted you to split the fridge.

Had you and Joe ever been normal flatmates?

Probably not, he guessed.

Joe decided against breakfast in the end and just finished his coffee. Waited until you got back from your morning run, which he still had a hard time wrapping his head around, and when he eventually heard the front door open, he got up to make you a drink.

You knew Joe was still there by his coat that was hung up by the front door.

Fine.

It was fine.

You were sweaty and sticky and hot and you could feel your heartbeat in your face, but it was fine.

Walking into the kitchen, you were welcomed by Joe in jeans and a T-shirt, bare feet, hair stupid, already holding out a glass of juice for you.

You took it and refrained from talking as you had a sip. Looked at him over the glass though, and you hoped that what Joe would see was determination. Strength. That he saw someone who wasn’t going to take bullshit, because you weren’t.

You’d just gone for your very first morning run for fuck’s sake.

For a moment Joe just looked right back at you. Watched you have the drink he poured for you. You had bits of hair stuck to your flushed neck and had to breathe through flared nostrils. It was wildly attractive, if you asked him.

“Morning run?”

You caught a small smirk from Joe that you turned away from. Couldn’t look at him be cute when you were supposed to be mad at him still.

Then, in a rogue move, Joe opened the freezer and took a single look inside to find a frozen pizza he took out and tossed onto the counter.

That was meant to mean something.

You gave it a blank stare as Joe looked at you and you sighed.

“Hey,” Joe tried getting your attention back on him, but instead, you put the glass down and turned around. Walked out. Went to your bedroom.

Joe followed.

“Hey,” Joe tried again, stood in your doorway, watching you collect an outfit. “Talk to me.”

It went ignored.

This was the worst part of not having an ensuite; having to take just enough clothes into the bathroom to change in there. You and Josh weren’t exactly on a just-a-towel level yet. Bathrobe felt scandalous too, somehow, even for the five steps it took to get from your bedroom into the bathroom.

Josh could see you in clothes or not see you at all.

Joe easily moved aside when you walked past him, out of your room, and you looked at him as you did.

“Come on. Tell me what you’re thinking.” Joe tried again.

It didn’t feel like you were fully ignoring him, but you weren’t answering him either.

You were thinking Joe was being an idiot.

You were trying, had been trying really hard to meet him where he wanted to be met, and then he just went and let you know he didn’t trust… you? Your flatmate? The situation he’d created with his own two hands?

Felt unfair.

You didn’t say any of that though. Just walked into the bathroom, and then left the door open.

Joe would get the hint, you thought.

He did, but only when you started peeling off your sweat-soaked top with the door wide open, still.

Joe moved quick. Sort of scrambled to get into the bathroom, to lock the door behind him, and then to help you get your top over your head as you struggled with the damp fabric around your shoulders.

You undressed, and Joe helped, and you made eye-contact the whole time.

You could see how he was searching. Trying to find whatever you weren’t saying in your eyes, his chin tucked in, his eyes pleading, all soft and rounded.

Joe tried.

He really tried.

You were getting naked right in front of him, body flushed and glistening with sweat and he got a good look as you stretched your body over the bath to turn the shower on and then you kept staring right at him as you removed more clothes and you were doing something with your eyes and Jesus fucking Christ, Joe was trying.

Trying to not grab you by the shoulders and give you a good shake.

Trying not to let his eyes skirt downward because you’d just removed your sports bra and, oof, man, that was a lot of skin on show.

Joe was trying not to hold you by the face and trying not to get real close and trying not to whisper words into your mouth in hopes of coaxing out some of your own. Which… he failed. Because he did get your face into both his hands just after you’d reached up to untie your hair. He did get real close. And he did ask you once more to just talk to him, please.

You handled the close eye-contact fine.

Handled the cupping of your face fine.

And Joe couldn’t stop searching your face.

Was there truly no budging?

Was this… was this it?

Had he just gone and fucked it all up for himself? Had the big plan behind his move imploded because he couldn’t deal with the fact that you were now… no longer in his flat with him? Joe’s mind tried to make sense of it, but all he could really come up with, was that you probably didn’t even consider the two of you to be together.

You’d never talked about that.

Had never mentioned it.

Hadn’t labeled it.

You were just close flatmates that weren’t actually flatmates anymore, and… and now what?

He just wanted you to talk.

You were just in your underwear now, stood in a small bathroom and Joe ticked off all boxes in his mind: you were alone, check. You were close, check. You were in your safe space, check.

The shower was hot now, slowly filling the room with warm steam and, fuck, if you would just fucking talk.

Joe was about to repeat himself. Was about to say it again. But then he saw it.

Something changed.

Your eyes softened and your mouth tightened as you tried to keep your lips wobbling. As you tried to not let what was living inside of your chest get out. When you started blinking more rapidly as your eyes stung with tears, you also began avoiding eye-contact and, good. This was good. Joe let you go then, and watched as you got out of your last piece of clothing before you stepped into the shower.

You left the shower curtain open, and Joe thought he’d never undressed quite so fast.

You’d never shared a shower before.

Something about it felt really momentous, but you didn’t have the opportunity to think about it for too long. The thought vanished just as quickly as it had crossed your mind, because when Joe stepped into the bath behind you and held you by the shoulders before curling his arms around to hold you close, you decided that, actually, you were going to talk.

“You left,” you started, voice far thinner than you wanted it to be.

“I know.”

“You left and you’re making me feel bad about it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not fair. It’s not my fault you moved out,” you reached up to hold onto Joe’s arm across your front and you felt how your eyebrows knitted together when you softly followed with, “Is it?”

And, fuck.

Something snapped into Joe’s chest.

Something swelled and popped.

He didn’t know what that was, all he knew was that it hurt.

“No!” Joe tightened his arms before he let you go enough to turn around. “No, baby, of course not, is that– do you think I left because of you?”

You looked at each other, and for a moment, Joe didn’t know if he was looking at shower water or tears that were running down your face.

You gave a small shrug before Joe lifted his hands to your face to wipe at your cheeks. If they were tears, they had no business being there, so he needed them gone.

“I didn’t leave this place because of you. Hey,” you avoided eye-contact, so he grabbed hold of you by the face again where both your of your hands found his wrists. “Look at me. Look– I did not move out because of you, all right?”

Well, he did… but, it was nuanced. He moved out for the both of you. He had to be careful. He couldn’t say the wrong thing and ruin what already felt ruined enough.

You gave a tiny nod that he could feel more than he could see, and you looked so fucking sad, Joe couldn’t help but move in to try and kiss some of it from your face.

He hoped you believed him.

You were naked in a shower together, of which Joe was getting none of the stream, and you were trembling because of things Joe had said and done and all he could think to do was hold you.

So he did.

It was a terrible waste of water, but it felt so incredibly necessary for him to not pull back until you did. Let you take the lead. Curl an arm around your head, the other around your waist, and follow your pace.

Joe felt how you were trying to control your breathing, and, you were right. He wasn’t allowed to be the cause.

He was the reason why you were feeling the way you were feeling and he realised he had been, for a while, probably.

Joe pushed you.

Joe had been pushing you.

He shouldn’t have.

He shouldn’t have left and he shouldn’t have tried with all his might to keep you as close to him as you had been before and he shouldn’t have taken his jealousy out on you and he shouldn’t have repeatedly asked you to talk to him because look! Look what all of it had lead to?

Your lead.

Your time.

Your pace.

No more making you meet him halfway.

Joe was going to wait for you.

He would.

It didn’t fucking matter how long it was going to take you, or if you’d even get there at all. He was going to wait. If that meant actually befriending Josh like a normal person, then he was just going to have to befriend Josh like a normal person.

Joe held you close until your finger tips stopped digging into his skin so much, and then he softly said, “I’ll wait.”

That made you look up at him.

“I’ll wait for you. I can be patient.”

And, you frowned. Because what the fuck was Joe talking about.

“But…” you started, and you felt it then. You could feel whatever was inside of your chest collect every little speck of bravery it could find within your body. It pulled it from the muscles in your legs and from the bones in your arms. Found some hidden inside the beating of your heart and then some more in the humid shower air inside your lungs. And then, it said it.

“I’m right here.”

Joe blinked at you. Didn’t get it.

“I’m right– Joe, what do you mean, you’ll wait. Have we not been– is this not what we’ve been…” you furrowed your brow at how words seemed to escape you. All bravery gone.

Joe saw.

Heard what you were saying and, before you even fucking knew what was happening, Joe had both his arms around your waist and lifted you up, effectively pressing his face right into your tits as he scared the living daylights out of you because you were in the bath.

“Joe–” you shrieked, but were quickly shut up by his mouth that pressed to yours before your feet had even properly touched down again.

“I love you.” Joe squeezed it from his own mouth right into yours. Barely got the words out normal as he didn’t want to stop kissing. Didn’t want to break contact, lips and hands doing the most.

“Joe,” you laughed, giving his shoulders a light push before you felt something against your hip, and– oh.

“No, I’m sorry. Ignore that. I love you. Did you hear me? I love you. I said I love–”

“I love you too.”

Joe froze before he groaned with both eyes squeezed shut, and you looked down to see how hard that had made him.

“I love you too,” you repeated yourself and saw it jump, leaking already, and Jesus, that was quick. This was a fun game actually. Talking suddenly didn’t seem so bad.

“Hey, I love you. Did you hear me? I said I lovemmpf–” Joe got a hand over your mouth just for the sheer agony of what it was doing to him.

You took your shot and bit right into his fingers.

“Stop it, you’ve got to– you can’t–”

And, yea, you could actually. You shut Joe up with kisses of your own this time.

You were sharing your first shower together, and it felt sort of momentous.

It felt momentous because you’d shared words that had been stuck in the back of your throat for a while now.

It felt momentous because Joe just told you that he loved you.

It felt momentous because you said it right back and everything about it felt right.

It felt momentous because you were going to have loud shower sex and Josh was likely going to hear you and you actually didn’t care about it. You cared more about the pizza that was slowly defrosting on the kitchen counter which actually sounded like the perfect breakfast food, if you were being honest.

You and Joe were just flatmates, but not.

Were just close, but more.

Were in love. Had said the words now, for the other to hear with their ears, and wasn’t that a shocking turn of events after last night?

Joe couldn’t explain it if he tried.

Didn’t really want to either.

As long as you knew. As long as you understood.

And you did. The proof was in the pudding.

Something felt alive in Joe’s chest. And in yours too.

Maybe someday, they could meet.

Have a chat.

Talk things through.

Or not.

They could also just look at each other. Sit on the sofa. Curl into each other and eat pizza. Watch the first ten minutes of films before they’d doze off together. Make fun of plants that got overwatered in a desperate attempt to keep them alive because they were buddies with yours and Joe could never be responsible for the death of plants that had friends, were you joking?

They’d call you idiots.

And, yea you were.

But it was fine.

You were just close. In love. Together. And that didn’t need explaining. As long as you knew and understood, that was all that mattered.

You were all that mattered.

Your lead.

Your time.

Your pace.

Your love.

the end

---

The Taglisted

@ali-in-w0nderland, @alwayslindie, @babybluebex, @capricornrisingsstuff, @chaoticgood-munson,

@choke-me-eddie, @demonsanddemogorgons, @did-it-work, @dirtyeddietini, @djoseph-quinn,

@dolcevit4, @eddies-puppet, @emma-munson, @emotionaldreamer, @everythinghasafacee,

@figmentofquinn, @ghost-proofbaby, @ghostinthebackofyourhead, @hanahkatexo, @harringtonfan4,

@hazelenys, @jewellethief, @joesquinns, @keikoraven, @kennedy-brooke,

@lovelyblueness, @manda-panda-monium, @mandyjo8719, @mexicanfolklore, @munsonluvrr,

@munson-mjstan, @nadixq, @nglharry, @notverywise, @pepperstories,

@phyllosilicate-s, @royale1803, @sherrylyn628, @sidthedollface2, @solzi1420,

@songforeddiemunson, @sweetberry47, @take-everything-you-can, @thebellenouvelle, @tlclick73,

@werepartnersnow, @winterwakesthewolf, @witchwolflea, @yelyahcardella, @yunirgo

taglist currently full, sorry

#joseph quinn #joe quinn #joseph quinn x you #joe quinn x you #joseph quinn x reader #joe quinn x reader #joe quinn fanfic #joe quinn fanfiction #joseph quinn fanfic #joseph quinn fanfiction #reinvent love #define close #explain us

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measuredingold · 1 month

Text

last bit of bff!noah 🫡 i think i’d love to do a proper one-shot one day of bff!noah, but for now, have this ! part one and two here :)

18+ mdni

after your night with noah, you do the most sensible thing you can think of.

you run.

was it stupid? yes, but you weren't sure what else you could do. noah was your best friend. your anchor, you'd call him. he was always there to keep you steady, help you through the dark times and vice versa. sure, had you always felt that something else was there? yeah, but it couldn't mean anything. he was your best friend. that's all this could ever be. all you could ever allow yourself.

so, the next morning you untangled yourself from noah's sleeping form, and ignored the pang in your chest as you gave him one last look before slipping out of his room at 7am.

you thought you were off the hook, sneaking downstairs without making any noise. you were almost free, slipping your shoes on by the door, hand on the door handle, when jolly speaks behind you.

"leaving so soon?"

you jump, hand on your chest as you stare at your other best friend who's giving you a look super similar to one of a disappointed father, leaning against the wall.

"um. yeah. work."

"it's sunday." he brings his cup of coffee to his lips, taking a long sip. "you don't work sunday's."

fuck. "well... um..."

"at least text him sorry for leaving." he pushes himself off the wall and points a finger at you. "i'm giving you 24 hours to figure out your feelings and then i'm coming for your ass."

"you're so mean in the mornings." you're trying to change the subject, but it doesn't work.

"not mean, just care about you. and him." he walks over to you, using his free hand to pat your head gently. "i saw this coming from a mile away. so. 24 hours, then we're talking it out like adults. got it?"

you stare at him, mouth agape and he gives you a gentle, yet sleepy smile. another pat to your head before he's turning away from you, making his way towards the stairs.

"but i don't-"

"ah." he stops you, turning around to hold a hand up. "no excuses. 24 hours. i'll see you tomorrow."

well. so much for running.

you just shut your mouth and give him a nod, trying to ignore the yelling inside your head. he gives you another smile before disappearing upstairs and something settles in your stomach. fear? excitement? both? you don't know, but jolly's words stick with you for the entire drive home.

i saw this coming from a mile away.

you sit on it for hours while you do your usual errands on sunday's - grocery run, laundry, clean up your apartment to get it ready for the next week. you send a text to noah before you even got home, apologizing for leaving so early and that you'll talk to him soon. you leave it at that, not elaborating that you need to sit with the realization that you fucked your best friend. you don't wait for his response, turning your phone off completely and losing yourself in your cleaning.

was it obvious? the feelings you had for noah? was jolly not the only one that caught you staring at him from time to time, noticed the longing in your eyes?

...was noah the same?

it's crazy, right? you and noah? it could never work. your schedules are so... you with a full-time job and him traveling the world for more than half the year. it wouldn't work. it can't work. it's a disaster waiting to happen.

and who's to say noah does feel the same and you guys do try this, that it won't just end in flames? not only did you waste your time on a romantic relationship that can't work, but your relationship with noah would be destroyed. you could never go back to the way things used to be. you'd not only lose him, but that special bond you've never had with anyone else. it wasn't worth it.

you don't remember how many times you bursted into tears, lost count after 5 and stopped caring. it wasn't until later that you remembered you had a phone that you finally turned it back on, watching as messages throughout the day started coming through. work groupchat, jolly sending you a random picture of a dog he probably found on instagram, and noah.

it's okay. i understand.

can i see you tomorrow?

your stomach turns as you look at the message and then the one directly below it, sent only 10 minutes ago.

actually i can't wait until tomorrow

fuck that 24 hour rule

i'll be there in 15

your heart drops as you look at the time, realizing you have about maybe 5 minutes until noah arrives. jolly said 24 hours! you assume he gave noah the same timeframe, which is why he said fuck that 24 hour rule.

your eyes widen at the sound of a knock at your door, stomach twisting so painfully that you think you'll throw up at any second.

he drove way too fast to get here.

you swallowed down the lump that was beginning to form in your throat and slowly made your way towards the door. before opening it you looked down at yourself, frowning. you were in an old baggy shirt, which you soon realized was one of noah's you stole years ago, and some shorts you'd usually wear to bed. god. you've seen better days. you take a long, deep breath before finally opening the door, showing noah on the other side.

"hey."

you assume you look just like him, eyes wide as if you were a deer caught in headlights.

"hi."

it's awkward. fuck.

you step off to the side and awkwardly throw your hand out, letting him know he can come in. he gives you a tight lipped smile as he does. you press your forehead against the door after you've shut it, counting to three before turning around, pressing your back to it. noah's already staring at you.

"do you um. wanna sit?"

"yeah, yeah. we can sit. that's fine."

he seems anxious, just like you, and that makes you feel somewhat better. at least you're not the only one freaking out about this. you both make your way towards the couch and sit at both opposite ends. you pull your legs up under you and noah leans forward, resting his elbows on his legs.

you don't think it's ever been this quiet between you and him, even when you guys had first met. the conversation always seemed to flow between you two but right now... the silence is louder than anything else. you pick at the couch, eyes on your hands because you have to look anywhere but him. it's painful, almost.

he clears his throat. "i'm sorry."

"for what?"

"for last night."

you look at him finally to find him staring at you, lips dipped in a frown. you tilt your head.

"you don't need to apologize? you gave me an out, i didn't take it. i wanted it."

"but not for the same reasons as me. you were drunk." he groans, rubbing a hand down his face.

"not that drunk. i remember everything, and was very conscious of my decision. i wanted it."

"i wasn't that drunk either but i... i used the alcohol as an excuse to like. i don't know. move forward with my own selfish feelings?" another groan. "i don't know how to word this, but what i did was selfish. and i'm sorry."

"selfish feelings?"

you're not understanding him. you don't know what he means and what he could've been selfish about. he looks at you again and his stare is so... you don't know what it is but it has your breath hitching, stomach tying in knots because he's never looked at you like that.

at least whenever you've been looking.

"the way i feel about you." his voice is quiet, barely above a whisper, and he gives you a sad smile. "i took advantage of the situation. used alcohol as my excuse to be selfish and act on something that i've been wanting for a really long time."

is he saying...

"you... wanted to sleep with me?"

he laughs, but it's weak. "well. like. yes? but that's not all i wanted..."

his words trail off and you watch him look away, but catch sight of his cheeks turning a light shade of pink.

oh shit. this is not happening right now. he glances at you before dipping his head down again, his flush only deepening. shit. okay. alright. if you're understanding this correctly, he wanted to sleep with you. but that wasn't the only thing he wanted, so that must mean...

"i can hear you thinking from all the way over here." he laughs again and finally looks at you. "whatever it is you're thinking - yes."

"fuck." you don't mean to say it out loud but it slips anyways and your own cheeks heat up.

"yeah, fuck." he snorts, sinking against the couch.

"noah-"

"i know, i know. we're just friends. you don't see me that way. i know, and i understand, but i just. i had to let you know." he looks at you again, another sad smile tugging at his lips. "especially after last night. i'd never be able to live with myself if i hadn't told you."

you're stunned to silence. you don't know what to do, what to even say, so you just stare at noah with parted lips and wide eyes.

well, first of all. noah has some kind of feelings for you? enough to make him want to sleep with you and to... confess? you're not sure if this is even a confession, but it sure as hell sounds like one. whatever those feelings may be there and they're for you and that's... a lot to try and process.

second of all, he thinks you don't feel the same. part of you wants to agree, say yes, you're just friends and put this behind you. the what if of pursuing this and then ending in flames eats away at the back of your mind, almost like a warning. but... another part of you wants to tell him you feel the same. have always felt the same.

"i'm sorry if this is a lot to dump on you, i just couldn't wait until tomorrow. jolly tried to stop me but. he couldn't." he gives a shrug of his shoulders before focusing on his hands messing with the strings of his hoodie. "...we can act like it never happened, if you want. i'm cool with whatever, i just needed-"

"that's not what i want."

your words fall from you without much thought, and your brain is screaming at you to take them back but your heart... it's squeezing beneath your chest, warmth spreading throughout you as your tummy erupts in butterflies. noah looks up, eyes wide and shock written all over his face.

"huh?"

"i don't want to act like it never happened." you say again, much louder. "i don't- i can't act like it never happened. even if i wanted to."

he blinks. "what...?"

"jesus. do you really think i'd sleep with my best friend without some type of lingering feelings?" you throw your hands in the air. "you don't see me sleeping with jolly!"

"you could." he says weakly. you laugh.

"sure, but i don't want to." your voice softens, gazing at him from the opposite end of the couch. "however, i wanted to with you."

something flashes behind his eyes and you watch as a smile slowly tugs at his lips. "so, are you saying..."

"jesus fucking christ, noah. do i have to spell it out for you?" he nods, smile only growing. fucking brat. "i like you. and i have for a long fucking time, okay? there."

"why didn't you say anything?"

"i don't know. the fear of losing you?" his gaze softens, smile slowly fading. "why didn't you?"

"same thing."

the mutual understanding of your situation has your stomach turning again. knowing that noah had probably gone through the same inner turmoil as you was... comforting, almost. but also made you a little sad because you know how your thoughts were this entire time. you can only imagine what he was going through, especially this morning when he woke to find you not there.

you don't say anything for a while. still stuck on the thoughts of noah understanding how you felt and how you both went through this alone, when this whole time you could've gone through it together. and also stuck on the thought of what's next? you don't know what to say, don't know what to do, and you finally look up to find noah staring at you, a smile gracing his lips again.

"this doesn't change anything," he says softly. "you're still my best friend."

"and you're still mine." you pause. "just with... benefits?"

"benefits?" you roll your eyes playfully at the smirk he gives you, wiggling his eyebrows.

"you know what i mean."

the smirk slowly fades into a smile, a lot softer than before. he reaches a hand out to you, fingers moving in a "come here" motion.

"c'mere."

you blush and then scoot closer to him, gasping softly when you feel his hands on you. he pulls you onto his lap with ease, your legs resting on either side of him. it's silly to feel... embarrassed about this, being so intimate with him on your couch, especially after last night, but you can't help the way your entire body heats up at being in his position with him.

"hi."

he's so close now, all you need to do is tip your head forward and your lips would be on his again. you really hadn't stopped thinking about it since last night. you watch as his eyes drop from yours and down to your lips, and watch them drag back up your face. you watch the ends of his lips quirk up.

"not getting shy on me now, are you?"

aaaaand there he is. your best friend. your noah. your chest warms at the thought. you roll your eyes but the faint blush on your cheeks definitely gives you away, trying to nonchalantly wrap your arms around his neck.

"shut up."

"make me."

you move before you can even think of it, lips pressing to his with such force it leaves you both just a little bit breathless. his fingers dig into your hips, pulling you closer to him as your lips mouth together, and then you pull away. you stare down at him and notice that now he's the one with flushed cheeks, his eyes wide with parted, wet lips.

"well." he clears his throat, squeezing your hips gently. "that's... one way of doing it."

something beneath your chest squeezes and you card a hand through his hair, giggling softly. "who's getting shy now?"

his blush only deepens and he rolls his eyes, mumbling "shut up" before his eyes widen again. you raise a brow at him, lips pulling into a teasing grin.

you say his words back to him, "make me."

he stares at you for a moment, eyes still wide before they soften. you feel him relax beneath you, and a hand that was on your hip trails up your back to the back of your neck, bringing your face back down to his.

"gladly."

#bad omens fanfiction #bad omens fanfic #bad omens fic #noah sebastian fanfic #noah sebastian fanfiction #noah sebastian fic #bad omens headcanons #noah sebastian headcanons #headcanons #mine

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mistystepmoonbeam · 5 months

Text

Reborn in BG3: Chapter 8

You're reborn into BG3 with only the memory of your past life. Now you're Tav's companion on his journey, and must learn about yourself as much as your new reality.

Chapter 8: Prison doesn’t agree with everyone. But at least there's a bear to keep you company?

Word count: 1.4K.

A/N: I just wanted to say thanks to everyone that has been showing this story love!

The smell of blood is strong throughout the rest of the temple, but it’s overpowering in the prison basement. The stone floor and steps are coated with it, nearly impossible to avoid as you’re taken to what will hopefully not be your grave. The goblin guards poke you eagerly with their pikes if you slow down too much when you attempt to step on stone rather than blood and…ugh, viscera.

They take you down a small set of steps where you can see three cells–the worgs, Halsin’s, and what will soon be yours. You don’t look to your left, already hearing two goblins laughing and a butcher knife hitting into something that definitely didn’t sound like any meat you’d want to eat. The worgs bark and growl at your presence, while the two young goblins One and Three laugh in high pitched squeals.

“Again, again!” Three shrieks. “Make it do the noise again!”

Halsin, as a bear, growls as another rock is thrown at him through the bars. You see him shuffle when you’re moved past the second set of stairs and up another set. The goblins poke at your back with the ends of their pikes to get you into your cell, and seem disappointed when you don’t react with anything other than a grunt as you stumble forward. They’d jabbed you hard, maybe enough to bruise, but still your coat didn’t rip. You’re surprised they didn’t take anything from you, but maybe giving up the staff was enough to…no, you doubt goblins would be satisfied by anything.

You step back to the bars once they’re slammed shut and locked. The guards have quickly gone back to their post, or the party, and you’re left in prison.

“Should’ve stayed with the chicken,” you grumble.

The evidence boxes in front of your cell block your view of Halsin and the other goblins, but you can still hear them laughing and throwing rocks. After the third one you hear him give another growl, but it sounds pained.

“Good throw,” a woman says–the adult goblin that gets crushed by the gate, you think.

More giggles erupt, with no end in sight.

You bite your lower lip. You can’t cause trouble, you can’t do anything about this situation because there’s nothing you can do if you make a fuss. But if they’re like this now…maybe this is what they’ve been doing with Halsin for the past–what, three days? Three days of no food or water, three days of rocks and probably pikes if the bruise forming on your back is any indication.

Before you can cut off the words in your throat you shout, “Stop it! He’s already trapped, stop–!”

“What was that?” One of the goblins that brought you down appears in front of you. You jump back as a pike is thrust in your direction.

Shit, hadn’t they left? “The bear…they don’t–you don’t have to torture him like this.”

“No, we don’t have to. We want to.” He lets out a cruel laugh. You already knew this.

You chew your lower lip. This is a strategy game, you remember. And since it’s not adventure mode, you needed to do things in a less straightforward way, right? “What I mean to say is–where’s the fun in throwing rocks at a caged bear?”

The goblin eyes you warily, but listens.

“You could take it out,” you suggest, arms stretched wide like Volo would do, “up to the party and have a–have a gladiator battle. Two go in, only one comes out.”

He squints at you and you think he’s actually considering it, and the smile that takes over his face tells you it’s working. And then he speaks. “You’re right–I’d like to see that. Human against bear; should be entertainin’.”

“Human?” you stutter. You hold up your index fingers as he begins to open the cage. “You know I was thinking more goblin v. bear, up top and taking wagers.”

“We can bet down here.” The bars swing open and another goblin appears, now two pikes pointed at you. “Let’s go.”

You pull your lips towards your teeth but nod. This is what happens when you fail your persuasion check. Where’s a little Guidance when you need it?

The goblins test the limits of your coat as they jab and thrust the pikes at you all the way to Halsin’s cage. He’s growling, head tilting back and forth as they push you towards the bars. When you’re close enough to touch them the goblins thrust their spears through the bars at Halsin, who’s forced to back up as the gate opens and you’re shoved inside by the other three. Since they barely come up to your waist your knees give out and you fall to the grimy stone floor at Halsin’s feet–paws.

They’re the size of your head and then some. You eye the claws at the end and remember that at one point Halsin says he isn’t always in full control of his bear form–instinct can take over. Granted he was referring to tearing apart goblins, that didn’t mean he wouldn’t tear you apart either.

Your hands are flat on the floor, fear striking you immobile. You blink twice before the goblins outside are bored and one jabs a pike at your boot. It’s enough to snap you out of your daze and flip over, facing your captors. A heavy breath on the back of your head freezes you again. A bear, a giant freaking grizzly bear is right behind you.

It’s Halsin, you remind yourself. But is it? There’s no script here. Maybe that’s just a regular ole bear that’s about to use those regular ole bear claws to rip you to regular ole shreds. You gulp and do your best to contain your shaking.

Three whips a rock in your direction but it smacks the bear on the nose. It roars and takes a step back, the sound vibrating through your body. Oh, bears are really loud, too, you think. Another stone comes flying into the cell and hits the bear–Halsin–somewhere fatty, by the sounds of it. His claws shift along the stone, indenting it. You can see other long marks where he’s been dragging his claws, possibly with each hit, or as he paced the cell.

Your legs are jelly. Your bones are jelly. And your brain must also be jelly because you manage to stand and move in front of the bear that’s three to six times your size.

“Stop it,” you demand. You hold your arms out again as if that will somehow help guard the bear from any more rocks. Another one comes in and hits you in the collarbone where your jacket doesn’t protect, and slices your skin. You almost lose your footing with the force–One has a very good arm apparently. But even as you ache and bleed, you stay where you are. “Stop it!”

The goblins jeer at you, but you persevere. Until another rock comes in, thrown by a guard, and hits you above your left eye. Hard. Harder than anything has ever hit you in your life. You lose your balance and fall backwards, your vision dotted with white and black stars. You blink as blood flows into your eye, your hand unable to stop the pain that now pounds in your skull anymore than it can stop the bleeding.

“Why the head again?” you mumble. You have to squint just to make out the bars of the cell, but everything beyond that is a blur of shapes and blood. One of the guards complains that his partner ruined the bet–he’s not giving up any coin if the human can’t scream while fighting the bear. The shapes move away, voices growing distant–because they’re moving away or because you’re blacking out, you’re not sure.

Between your previous blood loss and exhaustion, and now this, your head falls back onto the stone. No, something hard, but soft too. Furry. A paw. A bear paw. The hand you have covering your fresh wound falls to the side of your head as you blink wearily at the shape of a snout above you.

Right, there’s a bear here. You try to remember the bear’s name but it won’t come to you. Instead you’re struck with images of being eaten alive by the beast, or being chopped up by the goblins and fed to the worgs.

“Please don’t eat me, Mr. Bear,” you mumble. You sigh, vision still spotted with stars but growing darker with each second. “I just…I just wanted to…to help. Sorry…I’m not a good hero like Tav.”

You blink again, but this time your eyes won’t open. There’s the sound of shouting, and clanging, you feel yourself being moved somewhere but at this point it feels like you’re floating.

It’s nice, you think, just floating away from all your problems…even if you can’t remember what those are anymore.

Taglist:

@half-poison-and-half-hope @sanscas @hotmesshobbit @godoffuckedupcats @thequeen-oni @terrenuserinj @straewberrysoda @theomnipotentfox @becksynthetic @quitecontrary-to-mary @furblrwurblr @mega-trash-cringe @fandomsbookclub @dontneedbiologytoadopt @pebble-bb @v3lv3tvampir3 @mrow-kat @jeneralmischief @notsaelty @runaway-17 @aoirohi @tinswhimsy @xxgrimripp3rxx @kemonocat-blog

#reborn into bg3 #reborn into baldur's gate 3 with no memory and plenty of money #halsin #reader insert #x reader #bg3 fanfic #isekai #astarion x reader just not much this chapter #gale x reader also just not much this chapter

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aliregression · 2 months

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Could you do a fic of where chirs slips in front of his brother's during a stream and they like.. laugh at him?? But then after words he goes to his room and your there and your comfort him

Stream Slips

Ship: Little!Chris X Y/n

Summary: Chris gets overwhelmed on stream and slips and Matt and Nick laughs at his “babyish” behavior

Warning: Mean!Matt and Mean!Nick, Nick hates chris stuttering?? (idk if thats a warning)

A/N: This is fan FICTION not fan truth- this is a fictional work.

🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡

Usally Matt and Nick understands Chris regression and often helps him whenever your not around. They love babysitting him! They were a little confused at first but then they got used to it and understood it helped Chris a lot.

Well, most of the times they understand.

Sometimes Chris regresses at the worst times. During filming, streams, meetings, ect. During those times Matt and Nick are mean to him and often say things like “grow up” and “stop acting childish.” Chris couldn’t help it! He gets stressed out easily and it just happens.

Which leads them to this moment, Chris had a stressful week with meets and filming and he has stayed big throughout the week even when he was so close to headspace. Which is why he is on edge now.

Matt suggested that they do a twitch stream for a few hours and play fortnight. Which Chris usually doesn’t mind. He loves fortnight and his fans! So its the best thing about his job!

They have been on stream for at least two ours and he was so tired already and just wanted to regress. The chat was going to fast, making his head hurt. The yelling and screaming caused him little by little to slip. Usually when he is in situations like this he is quite not wanting to sound “babyish.”

“Chris did you hear what we said? We are going to keep playing until we win.” Nick said and Chris nodded his head to show he was listening. “Can you speak up? Gosh the one time this kid wants to be fucking quite” Matt said in a snarky voice.

“Y-ywah tats fwne” Chris said trying his best (but failing) to sound “grown up.” He was looking at the chat and seeing that some people were commenting on it. “Kid speak like your a fucking adult. Your not a child.” Matt said and laughed at him.

“S-sorry” Chris said letting out some stuttering. “And quit the stuttering you werido” Nick said and just like that they moved on. Well not Chris, he sat their quietly playing this round and then telling them he call quits because you where here and wants to spend time with you. Which is true, just they didn’t need to know that he was in little space.

After the round quickly ended, thank god they won, Chris told the chat and his brothers that he calls it a night. To which they called him lamed but let him go regardless. Chris quickly hops off and runs (speed walk he knows the rules about running up/down stairs.) and to the living room where you where.

You usually are over at their house 24/7, which the boys don’t mind its nice to have someone that actually knows how to cook. You decided to stay in the living room giving Chris some space to stream alone. Which all Chris wants rn is you.

“Hey honey, wants up? I thought you wouldn’t be done for another few hours” You said wondering why Chris was with you early, which you didn’t mind at all.

“Mwatt awnd Nick meanies” Chris goes and lays down next to you. You moved to spoon him. “Oh honey, im here for you. Do you want to go to your room and cuddle?” You asked him and he nods.

Luckily for you Chris is easy to carry so you pick him up and take him to his room. You lay him down on his bed and then shut the door and goes and cuddles him.

You and Chris cuddle on his bed while you are playing his hair. You put on bluey for him since he loves it. As he is watching it he talks about the episode and his favorite characters just being energetic.

Anytime with you makes Chris day way better, even if its just cuddling.

🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡

If this was bad im sorry its not proofread 😭

#age regression #age regressor #agere blog #agere community #agere little #sfw agere #age re blog #age re safe space #age regressive #safe agere #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #chris sturiolo fanfic #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo triplets

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prettieinpink · 10 months

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do you have a diet guideline and exercise routine? i'm having trouble figuring out what exactly i should be eating aside from people's vague "fiber and vegetables or whatever". And finding an exercise routine that works and i can actually make myself stick with and keep myself motivated with. Any tips/advice? thanks!

CREATING DIET & EXERCISE GUIDELINES

CREATING YOUR DIET

Determine how many calories you need daily. Your daily caloric intake depends on your age, sex, weight, height, and activity level. Some online calculators can help you with like this. However, if you’re calculating it, make sure to consider your activity levels.

Then, determine how much of what nutrients you need. If you’re lacking in one, you may want to increase the intake of that nutrient. Or, if you think you eat too much of it, you may decrease this.

The best way to find out what nutrients you need is by a calculator. However, the best form of action is to ask your GP what they advise you. Here are the formulas;

Calculate your protein intake 10-30% of total calories (for adults)

Amount of fats - 20-35% of total calories (for adults)

Consumption of carbohydrates 45-65% of total calories

Recommended water intake 1 kcal = 1 mL

Number of grams of fibre Fiber = (kcal/1000) × 14

Limit processed foods, sodium, sugars and saturated fats as much as you can. While it is okay to eat them in moderation, they shouldn’t be a part of your daily diet.

To create healthy meals that are suited to you, consider your daily lifestyle and what times you feel hungry the most. While I cannot speak for your needs, this is typically what your meals should look like.

BREAKFAST - Breakfast should not be anything processed or fatty. It is the meal you break your 8-hour fast with, and it is the energy you use for the rest of the day.

The most ideal breakfast is one that is protein-rich, as it can help you be more productive throughout the day.

LUNCH - A lean, light but colourful meal is best suited for lunch. This shouldn’t be too filling, but enough so it can sustain your hunger until dinner.

Lunch should be a meal that has lots of veggies or fruits that can energise you as well.

DINNER - I don’t want to sound forceful, but dinner should be your healthiest meal. This is the energy that your body uses to recover and heal from the day you’ve just had.

It should be balanced with complex carbs, vegetables and proteins. However, for dinner, it is advised that you either eat early or eat small.

SNACKS - Light snacks that are filling. Avoid snacks in which you mindlessly eat them, those are the type of snacks which are most likely not good for you and you’ll end up overeating. Fruits are the best choice here.

This is a diagram I use often to measure how much food I need to eat without weighing them or counting calories. To be precise;

Vegetables or/and fruit should be ½ of your plate

Proteins should be ¼ of your plate

Grains/Carbs should be ¼ of your plate.

Adjust this to your liking, but I thought it would help you.

CREATING YOUR EXERCISE GUIDELINES

This is a process that does not happen overnight, even if you want to start running kilometres a day if you’re living a sedentary life currently, that is not possible.

Start by finding small intervals in your day to exercise, experimenting around and documenting how each one makes you feel. For now, just try to figure out what you like and form the consistency,

Then, once you get the hang of exercising regularly, you get to make your own rules. For example, your rest days, how many minutes or hours, what you do that day etc.

Exercise is just another way to fuel your body, and you only know your body and what feels good for it. So I cannot provide any further advice than this. Make sure to start slowly though.

#becoming that girl #becoming her #healthy living #healthy diet #healthy eating #wellness #health and wellness #wellness era #wellbeing #green juice girl #clean girl #that girl #pink pilates princess #pink pilates girl #wonyoungism #that girl lifestyle #that girl energy #that girl routine #diet

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brain-rot-central · 10 months

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A preview of something I'm currently working on.

Born from an idea that Astarion would struggle immensely in the first few months after the events of the game. Healing trauma is rarely ever linear; there are many ups and downs to trek through before making it to the other side with newly found knowledge and strength.

Astarion's story encompasses so much of what one does to just survive when that's all they have left. This is a take on what his first few months post-main story might be like.

TW: references to disordered eating, abuse, adult themes, depression, poor mental health. Absolutely not "cute, cuddly Astarion." Our boy is sad, here.

You've saved Baldur's Gate from the Cult of the Absolute, destroyed the Netherbrain, and removed Cazador from the realm of the living. You both weren't sure what would come next. Your feelings for one another bloomed on the battlefield, fighting side by side. Neither of you knew if you'd see the following day, or what that day would bring.

Your fires burned brightly, intertwining out of a mutual desperation to live. To be free of every puppet master pulling at the strings of your destiny. To return to living a life that was truly your own.

Yet, now that it was here…

Both of you were clueless how to navigate the aftermath.

You'd agreed to an attempt at cohabiting. Astarion had his reservations at the beginning, though he’s since thawed to the idea. As for yourself, it took a bit of time for you to adjust to living with another person.

You lived alone prior to the Nautiloid. You were an urchin, having grown up on the streets of the Lower City for much of your life. You kept various blades hidden throughout your dwelling on the off chance an unwelcome visitor decided to drop by overnight. Astarion found most of them not long after moving in with you. He was slightly unsettled, but stated whimsically that he'd think twice before upsetting you going forward.

It had been months since the defeat of the Netherbrain, though Astarion still harbored many doubts. He'd often struggle with intense feelings of inadequacy and shame. He’d be ridden with such intense guilt that he'd lock himself away in your study for days, slipping out quietly during the night to hunt. He didn't dare let you see him in such a state.

And he didn't hunt often during these particular odd spells. Astarion will use his insatiable hunger as a form of self-discipline, purposely starving himself for days on end.

It's a repeating cycle. You don't quite understand why he does this to himself, and your attempts at getting him to speak never succeed. You settle on giving him space as being the best course of action.

When he inevitably emerges from his isolation, a different sort of hunger envelops him.

He seeks you out from your place within the house. Arms wrap around your waist from behind, and you feel the weight of him fall against your back. He buries his face in your neck, and you hear him inhale a shaky breath.

“Oh, hello,” you say to him, softly. “Are you feeling better?” You turn your body within his arms to face him. You push yourself onto the tips of your toes and nuzzle your nose against his.

He groans in mild protest and closes his eyes as you kiss the tip of his nose. “Somewhat,” he replies. He casts his eyes to the floor. “Missed you,” he says quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Guilt clouds his eyes as he stares at the ground. “I missed you, too, Astarion.” He winces his eyes as you speak, his brows furrowing. Your words pain him, though you never quite understand why.

“I… I-I’m sorry,” he says with a shaky breath. You feel his hands begin to roam up your back. He grasps handfuls of your dress within his palms.

You step back from his hold, his expression dropping and his eyes staring wildly into yours. He's beginning to panic, overwhelming feelings of disgust and rejection displayed on his face. He's ready to run. He needs to hide again.

You bring your hands up to clasp each side of his face. “Astarion, listen to me,” you tell him, sternly. “I don't know what's going on in your head all of the time, but I'm here.” You guide his forehead down to rest upon your own. “You do not need to apologize for your darkness. I am here.”

The panic in Astarion's eyes begins to settle, and the tension ebbs from him. You step closer to him, still holding his face. Your lips graze his, and suddenly he's on you. One of his hands holds the back of your head and he crashes his lips onto yours, pulling at your bottom lip with his teeth.

He asks to deepen your kiss with gentle passes of his tongue, and you part your lips and accept him into your mouth. Your arms come up to wrap around his neck and you moan into his mouth.

“Need you,” Astarion begs between kisses. “Please, darling.” His voice is hoarse and rushed.

You pull your mouth from his, a small string of saliva connecting your lips in a brief moment. ‘“Do you hunger?” you ask, resting your forehead once more against his.

“Always,” he breathes out.

“Take me, then.” You kiss him gently once more. “Lose yourself in me, tonight.”

He shutters above you, hearing the same words he's deceived you with once before. He played a game in the beginning. Had a carefully thought out plan, designed to have you within his thrall. His plan fell through horrifically, and these same honeyed words now carry a more significant meaning.

Living with Astarion is intense, to say the least. Cyclical.

Nights of passion come in waves where you lay panting together, letting the breeze cool your sweat-soaked bodies. The only sounds heard during your couplings are the repeated slapping of his thighs meeting your behind with each of his thrusts, and your wanton moans as his length drags deliciously against the inner walls of your cunt. He fucks his apology into you thoroughly, and you couldn't be more happy to accept it.

This part of the cycle always starts off the same. You inform him that you're going to freshen up, and make your way into your shared bath. Astarion takes this as an opportunity to make your otherwise drab bedroom inviting for the coming main attraction. He places candles around your bedroom, lighting them as soon as he hears you stepping into the tub.

He blots on a bit more of his signature cologne: bergamot, brandy, and rosemary. He knows you enjoy this scent, knows that it brings you comfort. He strives to please you in every way possible, especially if it means making such a selfless act more enjoyable for you. He wears his ruffled blouse untucked, and loosens the laces of his trousers just enough to allow for what's to come.

You’re freshly bathed, a towel wrapped around your torso as you emerge from the bath. You enter your shared bedroom while drying your hair with a smaller bath towel, looking around to survey the soft ambiance of the room.

You see Astarion laying out on your bed. He's laying on his side and your eyes meet, the flickering candlelight causing his eyes to shine like gemstones. His eyes are hooded as he watches you move toward the bed.

You sit on the edge of your shared bed, feeling a faint flush spread across your face as you hold his gaze. Astarion glides a hand over the space on the bed next to him, a clear invitation for you to come closer. Your breath hitches and you bring your hands up to undo the towel covering your body.

You watch his eyes narrow as he follows the towel fall freely off your chest. His chest rises as he sucks in a sharp breath, his eyes scanning over your now-bare form. You feel paralyzed within his sight, though also proud. His reaction to viewing your naked form is similar with each encounter, solidifying that this is likely genuine. The thought brings you a sense of peace, willing you forward.

You begin to climb onto the bed and toward your vampiric lover. The bed dips beneath your palms and an all too familiar scent floods your nostrils, becoming stronger as you inch closer to him. You realize then that Astarion had reapplied his cologne while you were in the shower, just for you. The smell is intoxicating. So enticing, that you mindlessly continue crawling toward yet another brush with death.

A rush of uneasy energy surges through you as you reach Astarion. You fold your legs under you, and shaky hands come up to gently cradle both sides of his face. His eyes are molten lava that is melting through your core. He’s refuted your past claims of him charming you prior to these encounters, and your doubts continue for this very reason.

On these nights, your body becomes his. His to possess and manipulate however he pleases. You subjugate yourself to him, trusting him to take only as much as he needs from you. Trusting him to take you through the night and deliver you safely to the dawn. He's been honorable, thus far.

Though, there is always a time for everything.

His hand comes up to cover your own on his cheek. Astarion turns his face into your hand, kissing your palm. “Are you sure you want to do this, love?” he asks. His voice is a soft whisper.

Ruby red eyes glare up at you through hooded lids. His expression is soft, pleading. You quickly realize he's asking for more than what he's said. It's the one question he's never dared to put to words, though asks repeatedly in other ways.

You sigh and nod your head. You know the question he truly is asking, one that he's yet to ever form into words. “Yes, Astarion. I trust you. I trust you to not lose control.”

He seeks the constant reassurance that you accept him as he is. A constant reminder that he is more than the monster Cazador created.

#Astarion #astarion smut #astarion angst #astarion x reader #astarion x female reader #astarion x tav #fanfiction #drabble

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gunsandspaceships · 4 months

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Tony’s behavior: Kid

I spent a few days working on some posts about Tony, Howard and Steve, but ultimately came to the conclusion that I needed to do an analysis of Tony's behavior at all stages of his life first. So here is the first post of a new short series.

To see a real person as he is, without masks, habits, traumas and other alterations (which we call “personality development”), the best we can do is to look at him in childhood.

What do we see in kid Tony?

We don't have much, but we have some.

youtube

September 1973. Tony is supposed to be 3 years old here. He doesn’t look like that, because at the time the scene was filmed, the actor was 5 years old. But okay, let's close our eyes to these discrepancies in dates (by the way, this is not the first time we see them) and imagine that he is Tony between 3 and 6 years old.

He’s playing in his father’s office while the latter is filming EXPO stuff.

From his actions here we see that:

He is playful, as he should be at this age. There are three possible explanations for what Tony is doing in this scene: 1) he wanted to prank his father by removing one of the models from the desk; 2) he was trying to get his father's attention; 3) was just playing without a specific goal. If it was a prank, it means he was already a prankster, and his sense of humor was already developed at that age. If it was a way to get his father’s attention – he got a negative sort of it, which certainly was not what he wanted. And if he was just playing – it sounds more like a child his age.

Judging by his confusion when Howard noticed him and started yelling, and the fact that he was in no hurry to hide the model after he took it, this was not a prank. And looking at the same confused Tony with the model in his hands, we can say it was not an attempt to get attention. So the most logical explanation is the third - he was just playing around. Here is additional confirmation of the conclusion: “he sneaks into his dad’s office and picks up a building from a miniature cityscape on the desk. He also stands on the desk and, in what sounds like an interesting bit of foreshadowing, plays with a golden plane, making it dip and soar in the air.” (Source). So indeed, he was just playing with interesting things that looked like toys in his father’s office while his dad was busy with other people doing some silly adult things. Which means – no, he wasn’t a prankster or an attention seeker. He was a normal kid.

He minds his own business. He is not trying to attract attention to himself or interfere with the adults' work. When he picked up the model, he didn't seem to know they were filming. The unreleased scene where he plays with a plane is also indicative of this.

He is brave. He is not afraid to play around a bunch of people, in the office of his strict father, or to touch his things. He doesn’t need his mother’s presence to feel confident to play there. Looks like he already used to it. He is not afraid of strangers and doesn’t show any distress when a guy from the filming crew picks him up and carries him away. Btw, where exactly was his mother is another question.

He is calm. When he was caught by Howard, he did not show any strong reaction to this, nor to Howard's anger, nor to his removal from Howard's office. He was CALM. How many kids this age have you seen who would not show their displeasure, throw a tantrum, cry or get scared? These reactions are natural at this stage of cognitive development: children from 2 to 6 years old are egocentric by default and react sharply to any restrictions on their will. As we can see, this was not Tony's case.

He is quiet. In this scene and throughout the filming for the EXPO (during which he was presumably in the office), he did not speak a word or make a sound.

He does what he is told. When Howard told him to put the model back in its place, he immediately obeyed.

He is neat. He carefully put the model back to its exact place. Have you ever seen kids who put toys back in their place? Huh?

youtube

From this deleted scene we can get the following:

Tony is a sleepyhead. Howard tried his best to wake him up, dragging him out of bed, carrying him around, touching, patting, talking and shouting in his ear. But despite his father's best efforts, Tony did not wake up. Superpower, no less.

Tony is trusting. Despite the fact that his father, who had recently yelled at him, took him sleeping in his arms and carried him somewhere, Tony did not wake up in a panic, but rather slept calmly on his father’s shoulder.

He is not resentful. Despite Howard's behavior towards him, spending time with his father was important to Tony. He was important to him. And nothing changed that.

Scientifically and technologically brilliant. That’s an easy one. There is no evidence so far that he had other deviations. A normal kid in everything else.

Does not spend much time with other kids. Or none at all. There are no other kids that we can see, only adults: his father, photographers, journalists, Bill Gates, Stane. There are no childhood friends we heard about. Here is an explanation that seems realistic and logical based on our observations (at this point): his parents were too busy with their own affairs, whatever they were, to take him to other children and "waste time" on this "useless activity", besides, Howard did not support Tony's normal childhood activities, and playing with his peers was one of them, plus Tony was not too eager to insist, due to his moderate introversion.

Loves riding and interacting with animals. We can see his happy expression when he is riding a horse in the first childhood picture.

It is clear from the video and photos that he is not posing or showing off. Some kids do. And according to popular perceptions of Tony, he should have behaved that way too. But he didn't. His behavior is calm, even a little shy. The smiles are soft, no grinning, no gestures or anything like that.

These are traits of pure Tony, without the added layers of “personality” and “character development.” There are no signs of personality disorders, attention-seeking behavior, aggression, laziness, sloppiness or other negative traits. If you see any – let me know in the comments. On the contrary, he is very calm, quiet, independent, brave, curious, obedient, careful, and easygoing. I am actually very impressed and would be happy to have a kid like him.

Next time we will see how he changed as a teenager and young adult.

#marvel #mcu #tony stark #iron man #iron man 2 #howard stark #Youtube

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goodluckclove · 2 months

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Why Are You a Writer?

So the other day I did the second of my Writer's Refuge interview series, soon to be posted later this week. It went pretty well! It was with an artist on here I admire a lot and it was a really interesting conversation.

Perhaps even too interesting. We got onto the topic on why a person would tell stories, and their answer ended up being drastically different than mine. It ended up sending my on a little bit of a spiral (No fault of yours if you read this, Cass), but I didn't really talk about it with her at the time. You know, it's an interview. It's not about me.

My instinct when I'm feeling emotionally vulnerable is to sort of hide away most of the time, but it's a sleepy day in the Gardener household and I think it might help me to talk about it. So below the read more I'm going to get deeper into the question often asked to people in my trade: why are you a writer?

Spoiler alert: it's because I'm lonely.

No real gravitas or dramatics there, I don't think. Little actual literary merit. I've heard people say that they're writers because they're overtaken by stories, just a vessel to the act of creation that can't help but craft narratives. I think that's cool in theory, and it's something I relate to, but I also think it's a mind type that doesn't exist in a vacuum.

I grew up a child of addicts with about a five and eight-year age gap between me and the rest of my siblings. We were conditioned to be deeply loyal to each other and care in the way our parents couldn't care for us, but most of the time my siblings didn't want to play with me. My parents didn't want to play with me. I had a few friends at school, but not many of them were able to hang out with me outside of campus for one reason or another. Throughout my developmental years I spent a majority of my time on my own, just figuring out different ways to entertain myself.

And I felt a fundamental other-ing from the rest of the people around me. I was precocious, considered "mature for my age" (a poison adults have been feeding the youth for generations), but it went deeper than that. I would speak quickly to my peers, joking almost frantically without letting them get a word in edgewise. It felt like they all knew a common language I was never able to learn and never could. At one point in middle school I told myself I was better than them. i don't think that anymore. Now I'm just confused.

As an adult I'm often confused by other people, sometimes to the point of fear. I struggle to stay afloat in large social situations, to look charming and keep the other person placated and talking, making sure they don't realize the fundamental truth that I'm not supposed to be there. Sometimes it gets to the point where I'm so exhausted that I physically can't look at human faces for hours afterwards. They all look like fleshy slugs.

Does that make sense? I say that a lot in conversation with those around me, a constant plea for validation. Am I making sense?

So I write. I write a lot. With no other line of work at the moment I've been writing about 60k words every month for the better part of the last year. And I do it to tell a story I'm passionate about, sure. I do it to process emotional ghosts from my past. But if I'm being honest with myself I know I write to create a connection between myself and the audience. To create a story that someone can read or watch and say "I understand", even if their interpretation is different than my own.

I do it because I'm lonely. And I'm not really proud of that. But it's the truth.

Riley was surprised when I told them this. So are you saying that if you were happy you wouldn't be a writer? They asked. Well, I am happy. I'm also lonely. These two things can exist at once.

But if I had a different life. A more functional family system that would've likely resulted in me needing far less treatment than I currently do. If all that was the case then I might not see the need to be deeply embedded in my own head. The rest of the world might not come off as the threat it sometimes is. But then again, my life and my identity would be so drastically different that I don't really see the point in speculating.

Would I be a writer? Maybe. I don't know. I'd probably have other hobbies.

I don't usually like talking about myself like this. It feels indulgent. A little too skin-less for my tastes. But, as with anything else, maybe someone younger and in a similar state could read me talking in this way and feel an aspect of comfort. If one person does then that would be worth it. I'm glad I'm a writer and I think I'm a capable one. I'm also aware that being a capable writer doesn't necessarily mean you're also deeply neurotic, which is both a comfort and a small point of envy.

If you've read to this point - which, by the way, is an oddity of cosmic proportions to me, maybe reblog and speak a bit about how you became a writer. But maybe be a little honest with yourself. If it comes from a deep well of pain, that's meaningful. If you just want to create a powerful story that people can lose themselves in, that's also meaningful.

You don't need to suffer to be a good artist. That's absolutely not something I believe to any extent. I'm just one of the ones that did, and that's something I'm going to have to work out over the course of the next rest of my life.

I don't know. I'm rambling. Maybe it can be your turn to talk now.

#writeblr #writing community #writers on tumblr #authors of tumblr #on writing #queer writers #clove is personal #vent post

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redgoldsparks · 21 days

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August Reading and Reviews by Maia Kobabe

I post my reviews throughout the month on Storygraph and Goodreads, and do roundups here and on patreon. Reviews below the cut.

Heavyweight: A Family Story of Holocaust, Empire and Memory by Solomon J Brager After listening to this excellent interview with the author on the Gender Reveal podcast, I was very excited to pick up Solomon Brager's hefty nonfiction comic about family history, Jewish identity, the Holocaust, and empire. This is an incredibly well researched and thoughtful book. The author grew up with outsized family stories of a Jewish boxing champion great-grandfather from Essen who punched Nazis, and a great-grandmother who carried her children across countries and mountains to escape to the US. But these stories became much more complicated when the author started digging for receipts. One factor is the immense financial privilege of the family which already had bank accounts and significant savings in New York. Another factor is the layers of violence and empire that build up the power of the countries fighting on both sides of WWII. The author's quest to research the family story is a major thread in the story itself and I am absolutely awed by the amount of work that went into uncovering and shaping this story.

My Dearest Patrolman vol 1 by Niyama As a delinquent teen, Shin was mentored and protected by a friendly patrolman, Seiji. Having one supportive adult in his life completely turned Shin's life around and he also decided to become a patrolman. Years later, Shin and Seiji meet again, and Shin decides to confess the feelings he's been nursing for a decade. Lighthearted dating hijinks ensue! Strikes a nice balance between silly, sweet, and spicy.

Go For It, Nakamura! by Syundei An extremely silly and cute high school rom-com. Shy Nakamura has a massive crush on his classmate Hirose. Despite the fact that they see each other every day, Nakamura has never introduced himself. What will it take to get him to finally speak up and try to befriend his crush??

Something Not Nothing by Sarah Leavitt In 2020, Sarah Leavitt's partner of more than 20 years, Domino, died with medical assistance after years of severe chronic pain and a rapid decline at the end of her life. Leavitt, a cartoonist and writer, tried to make sense of this decision through comics and abstract watercolor paintings. The result is a gorgeous, heart wrenching, deeply human meditation on love and loss. There were pages that lifted my spirits and pages that pierced me to my core. I sobbed through the majority of reading it, but couldn't put it down. Leavitt's mapmaking of the landscape of grief is a gift to us all.

Assassin's Fate by Robin Hobb read by Elliot Hill What can I even say about this, the final novel of a 16 book fantasy series, which I have been reading and re-reading now for twenty years, other than holy shit??? I can't believe I've reached the end of Fitz's journey at last. This book is SO long (nearly 1000 pages) and much of it is brutal to read; characters we love are beaten, abused, tortured, and left in pretty hopeless situations for much of the novel. I think Hobb's insistence on revisiting almost every single character from the Rain Wilds and Live Ship sub-series expanded the first third of the book more than needed; had I been editing it, it would have been shorter. And yet! And yet! I was riveted by this too-long book, devouring it in big gulps, scream-texting about it to several friends who were reading the series along with me. The ending hit SO HARD. Its PERFECT, TERRIBLE, WRETCHED, one of the cruelest endings for several beloved characters and while also giving them a kind of grace and eternity I did not see coming, but should have. This book fulfills the themes of the entire series so well, completing repeated patterns, showing cycles that ripple through three generations, while also leaving a door open for the future that I'm already daydreaming about. Literally how did Robin Hobb come up with all of this. Its flawed but its perfect. I am in awe.

BL Metamorphosis vol 1 by Kaori Tsurutani translated by Jocelyne Allen An older woman picks up a BL manga by chance at a bookstore and discovers a new fandom late in life. She ends up befriending a shy high school girl who works at the bookstore and also loves BL, but has no one to talk to about it. This is such a freaking cute premise and I love the loose sketchy art style!

BL Metamorphosis vol 2 by Kaori Tsurutani translated by Jocelyne Allen Unlikely friends Urara, a shy high schooler, and Ichinoi, a widowed calligraphy teacher, bonded over their love of a BL manga series. Now they're heading to a doujinshi event to try and meet their favorite author. This brought me right back to my early days of visiting cons and meeting authors for the first time!

BL Metamorphosis vol 3 by Kaori Tsurutani translated by Jocelyne Allen Urara has been reading and loving BL manga years, but it takes a push from her older friend Ichinoi before Urara considers the idea of possibly drawing her own. Can she find the time to write and draw a story around her cram school schedule? This series PERFECTLY captures the BL reader to BL writer pipeline, I'm so charmed.

BL Metamorphosis vol 4 by Kaori Tsurutani translated by Jocelyne Allen Urara applies for a table at a comics festival, so now she has a deadline for her first original comic. Can she get it done in time? Ichinoi is there to cheer lead and support in every way she can (finding a printer, sewing a table cloth, agreeing to work the table, packing their lunches) but only Urara can get the comic done. This book contained one of my very favorite exchanges of the whole series, when Ichinoi asked "Is it fun to draw manga?" and Urara responded honestly, "No. It's hard to look at my own art for so long. But it feels like I'm doing what I should be doing."

BL Metamorphosis vol 5 by Kaori Tsurutani translated by Jocelyne Allen Urara and Ichinoi struggle through a long, slow day of trying to sell an original comic at their first ever comic event. Unbeknownst to them, their favorite author is there as an attendee. This book felt like one of the most relatable portrayals of the early days of a comics career I've ever seen. I'm obsessed with this series and definitely want to watch the live action movie adaptation!

The Spear Cuts Through Water by Simon Jimenez This complex fantasy novel weaves together a multi-strand narrative of violence, love, and the end of empire in an original world of old gods and talking animals. In the main thread, two warriors carry the corpse of an almost-dead goddess across the country in a five day dash from the mountains to the sea. The goddess was once the Moon, torn out of the sky by her own desire for immortality. Her children became the despotic Moon Throne, a cruel dynasty which has repressed and punished the people and elements. The Moon Thrones' heirs, three brothers with extraordinary powers, chase the warriors and hunger for the last dregs of the fallen Moon's power. In another thread, an unnamed protagonist watches this drama unfold as a play being performed in a dreamy underwater sleep realm, while recalling the stories their lola told of the old country before the war. This novel is often compared with NK Jemisin's The Fifth Season in terms of scope, literary prose, and ambition and I can see why. This novel employs some very creative and unusual writing choices that make it more rewarding to read in print than to experience in audio. I had a content warning for gore and cannibalism going in, so I was prepared for the violence of the middle section. I really enjoyed this novel and I can tell I'll be thinking about it for a long time.

Horse by Geraldine Brooks read by James Fouhey, Lisa Flanagan, Graham Halstead, Katherine Littrell, Michael Obiora This book follows multiple different story lines, some of which captured me much more than others. In Kentucky in 1850, an enslaved black boy watches a new thoroughbred racing colt's birth and begins a lifelong relationship with the horse, who will go on to be one of the most well-known champions in the history of American horse racing. In New York City in the 1950s, a gallery owner known for her modern tastes falls for an equestrian portrait of the great Kentucky race horse, Lexington. And in 2019, in Washington DC, a Nigerian-American art history student and a Smithsonian scientist dig into the mystery of an unlabelled horse skeleton in the museum's collection- and its possible connection with several paintings by a Civil War era equestrian artist. I admired the amount of research that went into this novel, and the way the paintings of Lexington tied the different timelines together. However, I really struggled with how the interior emotional lives of several of the Black male characters in this book were portrayed by this author. When Jarret, the enslaved Black groom, is separated from Lexington and forced into plantation labor temporarily, Brooks writes of him gaining a depth of spirit and understanding for the human condition from this experience. This felt deeply weird to read from a white author! I'm not really the right reader to say whether Brooks did a good job or not, but it put me on edge. When the final climatic moment of the novel read like a heavy-handed lesson in how Black men are still at risk of police violence even in 2019, I wondered who exactly that point was supposed to be for, and if Brooks is the one who needed to make it. So, I felt very mixed as I finished this book. There's a lot to admire craft-wise, and I can understand why so many readers were impressed by it. But I honestly I don't recommend it, unless you want to read it in a book club setting and have a nuanced discussion about what works and what doesn't in this novel.

The Summer Book by Tove Jansson A young girl named Sophie spends her summers on an island of the coast of Finland with her very present grandmother and her rather absent father. Each chapter tells of an incident experienced through the eyes of the very young and the very old- the growth of mosses and wildflowers on the island stones; boxes and bottles of flotsam and jetsam washing to shore; a great storm; an adventure in trespassing; an unexpected visitor; a night spent outside sleeping in a tent. Without much of an overarching plot this book is still a moving picture of living very close to and in tune with the seasons and elements in a very specific part of the world. It's brief and open ended but I really enjoyed it!

Delicious in Dungeon vol 14 by Ryoko Kui As the smoke clears after the explosive ending of the previous penultimate volume, our heroes gather themselves, check on the survivors, and set out on the most collaborative challenge: cooking and eating an entire chimera body. This is a satisfying and in some ways gentler ending than I expected from this series, but I really enjoyed it!

Notes from an Island by Tove Jansson and Tuulikki Pietilä translated by Thomas Teal In the autumn of 1963, Tove Jansson, her partner Tuulikki 'Tooti' Pietilä, and their taciturn friend Brunström set about trying to finish a small cabin on a tiny Finnish island before the onset of winter (and possible legal delays of building permits). Tove and Tooti spent their summers on the island for the next 3o years. This book contains excerpts of journal and introspective writing on the nature of the island, the sea, the changeable weather, the futility of human efforts to shift the natural environment. These writings are paired with delicate prints Tooti made of water, stones, and ocean views. I read this directly after The Summer Book and after listening to a short biography of Jansson- this made a good companion to those other texts, but might have been a bit spare on its own.

#maia kobabe #book reviews #reading #comics #books

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dc418writes · 8 months

Text

✨Pairing✨: NFL!Ari Levinsonxblack!reader

Summary🪄: Your brother has the worst timing

🚨: allusions to past happy adult fun times, mention of nudity (brief), mention of parent death, pretty much all floofy hilarity

🎤: an early Valentine’s Day-esque fic based off an idea I recently had. Hope you guys like it☺️!

*DISCLAIMER!: although visual made by me via Canva, I DO NOT CLAIM OWNERSHIP of pictures used as they were all found via Pinterest*

“What are you doing here?,” you ask locking the door after your brother casually saunters in. Unannounced and uninvited you might add

“Wanted to treat you for Valentine’s Day,” he answers. A slight tilt to his brow - looking every bit like your father - from your unusual greeting. “Sup with you? Why’re you acting weird?”

“N-Nothing I just wasn’t expecting you. Plus you typically call first and let me know you’re in town.” Which would’ve been very useful right about now.

“I wanted to surprise you. Plus I knew you wouldn’t be doing anything.” Rude.

Arms outstretched, he flops back on your light pink sectional making himself comfortable as if it were his own home. His wide smile instantly twisting into a smirk noticing the bouquet of mixed flowers along with a yellow duckling plushy leaning against the clear vase. Luckily you're able to grab the notecard before he can prompting that eyebrow tilt again

"Who're those from?"

You nonchalantly shrug your shoulders, "A friend.”

"This friend got a name?"

"Marshall I don't come in your place being nosey," you sigh feeling yourself becoming increasingly annoyed. "And you haven't been doing anything for Valentine's Day, so why now?"

The mood between you visibly shifts from the drop of his playful smile to something more serious. Regretful even.

"...Since dad passed, I uh..realized how we really don't know when our last day is you know?," he explains slowly rubbing his hands together. His eyes focused on them as a way to help clearly put his plaguing thoughts into words. "I just don't want something to happen to you or ma and I have all these regrets about what I didn't say. How I could've done more."

When his gentle eyes - doe like and dark brown - finally look up to meet yours, an instant warmth mixed with sorrow fills your chest and strikes deep in your heart. At the reminder of your father’s sudden passing and hearing your twin be so vulnerable.

Since college, it was pretty much football 24/7 with Marshall. Training to be the best and improving in any and every area so he could eventually make it big. Now in the NFL, there wasn't much change. If anything it got a bit worse now having to keep up with public appearances and meet with press here and there. Needless to say, you figured you and your parents rarely crossed his mind besides for the occasional, and rare, check-ins

To hear his worries, it sends a pang of guilt from the pit of your gut and throughout your abdomen

“Marshall,” you quietly speak taking a step towards him before a thud startles you both.

"The hell was that?,” he asks.

"Probably the neighbors kids,” you answer with a wave of your hand as if it were nothing. “They play around a lot."

Another thud followed by an “ow”, has your brother standing to his feet ready to investigate. "That sounded like it was in here though."

"Well you know they make these walls thin. Plus it doesn’t help their room is right next to mine," you nervously giggle. Actually it was the bathroom sharing a wall with you, but he didn't need to know that. “I’m gonna go ahead and get changed. Meet you in the car?”

“Uh..yea sure.” You know he’s still suspicious from his hesitation. Taking one last look towards your bedroom - where he could swear the noise directly came from - then at you flashing your most innocent smile, he strides from your living room and to your door. “Aye try not to take so long. I wanna get there before I’m 60.”

Rolling your eyes, you just nudge his chest - well try to at least - urging him past the threshold and choosing to ignore his little jab as he chuckles on the other side.

“What’d he want?”

Turning your head, you’re equal parts annoyed and flustered seeing Ari - your boyfriend not boyfriend? - standing in the doorway of your bedroom naked as the day he arrived on Earth. His sun kissed skin, smooth and toned, with dark hair sprinkled along his strong and defined pecs, arms, and legs. Being a linebacker for the NFL, you wouldn’t expect anything less than the gladiator physique

“He wants to take me out for Valentine’s Day. And what was that? You promised you’d stay quiet.”

“I’m sorry somebody threw my shirt behind the bed,” he retorts rubbing the back of his head with a wince checking to make sure no blood was left on his fingers

“Get mad at yourself then. That was your doing when you took it off me in the middle of the night.”

A smirk forms on his pretty lips remembering that exact moment. You lying peacefully on your side throughly exhausted from your earlier rounds. Lips pouted as your even breaths fanned across his arm under your head.

With your backside positioned right in front of his crotch, he just couldn’t help letting his large hands wander and mouth attack your neck and shoulder. Feeling you push back on him amid your tired groan, he silently chuckled before his shirt on you was gone and moans were filling the room again.

“Oh yea,” he chuckles biting his lip. “Definitely should do that again when we get back.”

“Ari I’m going with Marshall,” you say gently brushing past him for your closet to find something to wear.

“I was here first though.” Even with your back to him you can clearly see his toddler like pout. How his thick arms are more than likely now crossed on his chest. And you can’t lie, the adorable reaction makes you want to stay to make him happy again.

When did you turn so soft for him?

“But he’s my brother,” you call over your shoulder as you scan through your dresses. “I’m not gonna say no if he wants to spend time with me.” Ari knew he couldn’t get too upset at that, but that didn’t stop the small ache at his ruined plans.

“Plus I uh thought dinner last night was it?”

“That was the main plan, but I dunno..was open to see where it went,” he mumbles towards the end with a shrug. At his slightly defeated tone, you turn around unfamiliar with this side of him. Since your first meeting, he maintained that confident and uncaring attitude he carried on the field

Some might even call it arrogance how he paraded around with chest puffed and that signature tilted smile

Stepping towards him - a dress in each hand - you give him a sympathetic smile wanting to hold him but restraining yourself

“Maybe we can do something tomorrow? Or later this week,” you suggest.

His tongue clicks against his cheek. “I’m busy this week. Maybe you could come to my game for once..?”

Ari’s playful, blue eyes and finger tapping under your chin makes you softly giggle. “You know I can’t.”

“No one would know who you’re there for. Just a fan lucky enough to get in a suite.”

“Or someone wonders why Marshall’s sister is there,” you counter. He simply tilts his head back and forth. There goes that hint of disappointment again. “One day though.”

A fraction of that brilliant smile returns on his lips making you feel somewhat better. “One day,” he begrudgingly agrees before his gaze drifts to the dresses in your hands. He goes back and forth for a moment before pointing to the shortsleeved, burgundy knee length dress in your left hand

“This one. And take your black sweater. The long one you usually wear because you know you’re gonna get cold.”

Your stomach flutters as a shy, “thank you” leaves your lips and his soon press against yours. Softly at first, but then moving together how they were last night - and many times before then. So passionate and needy until you’re both left breathless yet still craving more

“Get dressed. He’ll be calling soon,” Ari says leaving one final peck on the corner of your tingly mouth. “I can use the spare to lock up.”

Then that guilty feeling returns. The same one that you’ve tried ignoring the past few times you’ve hung out with him, but just couldn’t shake immediately thinking of your brother. How you’re slowly yet surely falling for his rival

#ari levinson #ari levinson x black!reader #ari levinson au #ari levinson x woc #ari levinson x reader #red sea diving resort #chris evans #chris evans x black reader #chris evans x reader #chris evans x woc!reader

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soobberries · 2 years

Text

Dilf!Seonghwa

Edit: this is a repost from my old blog including the little description below and I decided to not change anything about it. The blog I tagged below doesn't seem to exist anymore. :( also lmao I already started working on a part 2 xD yay!

Guys ahsdgajha. Lmao please I need to provide background for this post. I read @atiny-thingz Dilf!Ateez post and lemme tell you, I screamed. It brought back the memory of this running joke my friends and I used to have in 11th grade about this really hot dad that everyone crushed on. So in honour of the post that inspired me and my real life experience, I decided I would write this.

It is only a headcanon/au thing, but let me know if I should perhaps do a part 2?

Edit: here's part 2

This is the first time I’m writing kinda suggestive content and I’m pretty new to it so go easy on me, but I would love some feedback. It’s only suggestive at the end though lol.

Warning: Despite this technically being based on a legal reader, since there is a somewhat large age-gap - thought I would clarify:

Please be aware that I do not condone any type of relationships between minors and adults, nor do I encourage the idea of being a homewrecker. This is all just fiction! So without further ado, let’s get started!

Genre: Doesn’t exactly have one but has elements of crack and is suggestive.

Age: This is written for a somewhat mature audience so please, no under 16s. Stay safe younglings <3

⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘∙•⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅

Ah yes, another day, another random school fundraiser.

Your mom got you to look after one of her colleague’s daughter, Nila, for the week while they went on a business trip.

It was the middle of the week and, while this kid was adorable, you’d literally do anything else then go to this weird fundraiser on such a beautiful afternoon.

Oh well, duties are duties.

So as this cutie kid drags you along throughout the whole school, showing you all the stalls and requesting that you buy her some food before she has her ‘shift’, you can’t help but notice that there are only parents here. No other students, siblings - nothing.

A deep exasperated sigh left your mouth because you were here for a good three hours, and quite frankly, despite this little fundraiser having some talks you could attend, you really had no idea how you would busy yourself since the talks offered were a bit boring and you had to pay a large chunk to get a space. Bummer.

Anyway after sharing some mouth-watering cookies with the little girl she asks you to come with her to her stall where she and her peers would be selling cold drinks, and of course you couldn’t say no because this kid was actually a sweetheart and you had it nowhere in your heart to do such.

So obviously you proceed to accompany her there.

It’s a cute stall, and you smile at the youthful, yet ignorant excitement shining in the little girl’s eyes as she exchanges the ‘duty cap’ that one of her classmates had on just prior.

Oh if only they knew what a real job was like.

It wasn’t until after the other girls left, that you realised she was alone, causing you to enquire about her job, wondering if she’s working the shift by herself.

“No, don't worry! Yerim is also doing the job with me. I’m sure she’ll come soon. See? That’s why there’s two hats.” She said, gesturing towards the other cap on the counter.

You nodded quaintly and silently decided to wait with her until her friend came.

“Daddy! Look! Nila is working with me!” A shout came from behind you and a little girl came running to bear hug Nila, causing the both of them to burst into a fit of giggles.

You smiled at the pair and watched mindlessly as Nila got Yerim her hat.

“Oh? Are you looking after Nila?” A voice called out.

‘Oh boy, here we go. Time to get out the speaking to parents voice’

Those were your thoughts as you dreaded having to act somewhat proper so the snobby parents around you wouldn’t undermine you. You took a quick millisecond to gather yourself before turning to face th-

Holy shit.

A blessing.You’ve been blessed. You can die happily now.

This man’s smile-

It’s shining. Blinding you and you do not care, he can have your eyesight.

Cue the slo-mo scene in the movies where everything looks ethereal and suddenly you picture him taking your hand, giving you flowers, and asking the same thing he just did in a softer more seductive tone.

AHaha but it’s not a movie so get yourself together you thirsty piece of flesh.

“Uh yeah, I am, her mom is away on business.” You said smiling, dying inside at the realisation that today was the day you decided to wear such a boring outfit.

Oof pain.

“Oh? I don’t recall Shannon saying she was going away,” He said furrowing his eyebrows, before staring at you,

YO SHIT IS HE CHECKING YOU OUT? HE’S CHECKING YOU OUT FOR SURE.

“nor that she would be leaving such a cute babysitter in her place.” He chuckles nonchalantly.

How is he so calm after saying that like it’s nothing??? Tf???

Fine, two can play this game sir.

“Well she didn’t tell me she was acquainted with such an attractive man either.”

That wasn’t the strongest comeback but like you're nervous okay?

He smiled at the remark, seemingly about to say something, only to be interrupted by his darling daughter.

“Daddy you have to buy something ya know!”

He let out a chuckle that you could only describe as handsome.

“Mhhmm! You too y/n” Nila said toward you with such bright eyes you couldn’t bother saying no. [as mentioned earlier, this cute kid has you weak.]

“Hmm okay you two, since you're all grown up, tell us the prices of your drinks.” You say egging the two girls on, to the man beside you’s amusement.

As the two little girls hurriedly tried to find the price list and decide who’s speaking first, Mr. handsome man turned to you.

“I like that name, Y/n,” He reached out his hand in front of him, “I’m Seonghwa. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Hehehehehehehe play it cool.

Daintely placing your hand in his and gently giving him a small squeeze as you do so, you let out:

“The pleasure is all mine.”

The two of you end up buying water bottles, him insisting that he pays for you so the girls have less to work out in terms of prices (apparently)

You greeted the girls, leaving them to attend to their shift, and discovered that Seonghwa was going to be here a while as well, in which the two of you concluded it would be a good idea to talk off the hours rather than wandering around alone.

You both wander around (a little awkwardly in silence mind you) until you find a table made to look like a wine barrel for a rustic vibe with two high chairs beside it. It matched the theme of this area which was made to be like an expensive barnhouse.

Now lemme tell you, water ain’t as classy as wine but that didn’t stop Seonghwa from calling over one of the workers serving cocktails, and asking for two empty wine glasses.

He then elegantly poured the water into both wine glasses.

“I suppose it’s too early to be drinking but never too early to stay hydrated in a classy way.” He said.

LMAO this guy has dad humour or very dry, dead humour.

You let out a genuine giggle since that was such a dorky thing to say.

“My peers would probably disagree with you as most of them pop out a beer by 9:05.”

“Yes of course, around your age, you don’t quite have the same responsibilities as I do.”

“Oh? Such as working and taking care of a kid? Because it would appear that I have to worry about that too” You replied cheekily even though you probably know he’s living a bit more of a tiring life by the way he spoke.

He let out a heavy sigh which you didn’t expect after your poor attempt of making the convo entertaining.

“Well yes that may be true, but at least you aren’t dealing with a toxic relationship - Only staying and sucking it up for the sake of your child.”

Oh. well that’s quite the share.

“I’m sorry to hear you're dealing with some hardships.” You utter out, genuinely sympathetic.

“But in my opinion, regardless of the child, you should make a decision that makes you happy. You can raise Yerim with no issue even when separated. Rather that, than letting her grow up in an unhappy home, no..? Then again what do I know?” You say while spinning the water in your glass as if it really was wine.

He paused while circling his pointer finger around the rim of his glass. His head resting on his other hand, seemingly in deep thought.

He looked towards you with an intense gaze. One that made you feel small and had your body urging you to run away. But it also captivated you, so you fought your body and held your breath instead to calm down the intimidation you were feeling.

His whole aura changed for some reason...

“You’re not wrong in what you're saying,” he leaned over the barrel, a little closer to you, “But what if the decision that makes me happy is looked down upon?” He said lowly, looking you up and down once again.

This shouldn’t make you nervous. In fact nothing could be considered remotely inappropriate and yet your breath was hitching and your stomach was churning.

Why? Why is this random man making you feel, for lack of better words, so weird.

Bad brain! Bad!

You must be looking too much into his words to think he could be insinuating something...right?

You wanted to back up a little, and lean away from him, feeling as though you needed to gather yourself, but as you leaned back the wine glass full of water was knocked over, splaying it’s contents over you.

The glass was saved, thankfully landing on some grass, protecting your wallet from a potential bill from the school or whoever owned this damned glass.

Your clothes and dignity however?

Can’t really say the same thing…

You stand up immediately picking up the glass and placing it on the table.

Only then do you tense up at the sudden coldness against your skin.

“Oh dear, are you alright, should I get you some paper towels or maybe a napkin?” Seonghwa stood up immediately at your side.

Even though this was painfully embarrassing and the looks you were getting from others didn’t help, you wanted to play it cool.

“No, no, don’t worry. I should’ve been more careful.”

You decided to look inside the little bag you had brought with you, trying to see if you have any sort of tissues with you.

What an awful day to be wearing a shirt that becomes somewhat transparent when wet…

As you're searching, you fail to realise just how transparent the shirt is, obliviously just trying to find an easy solution.

You may have been oblivious, but Seonghwa was not. He couldn’t help the large gulp he took as he saw the shirt stick to your skin, basically exposing anything underneath for everyone to see.

He had a few intrusive thoughts but he shook them off, instead, taking his jacket and placing it over you.

“What are-”

He takes your arm in his grasp and your bag in his other hand, leading you away from some of the snobby parents who had the audacity to still be looking at you in disgust because of your now ‘revealing’ shirt.

We don’t stan those parents alright?

Anyway he knows this school well and so he leads you towards a much more empty area and opens a door to what you’d assume is to be a guest restroom since it looked pretty fancy compared to the normal trashy bathrooms you see in highschools.

He placed your bag down onto the sink and locked the door behind him.

It wasn’t as small as a cubicle, but it was still a very small space to be in, not leaving much room to move around too much.

“Sorry, I just thought it would be more convenient if you cleaned and tried to dry up here.”

Oh? Well yeah this works you guess…

Then you see the mirror.

Cue heat rising to your cheeks and your breath hitching a little.

Oh that’s why he thought it would be a good idea…

Bro your torso is on display. Like, deadass.

Mental note: don’t wear white shirts and be a clumsy dumbass simultaneously in the future.

As you’re staring in the mirror in a small state of shock and further embarrassment, Seonghwa mindlessly grabs the towel next to the sink in the small cubicle, and tugs up your shirt a little bit so that he can place the towel on top of the wet mark a bit more easily.

Haha what?

It’s only when he notices that you’re extremely still, that he realises he shouldn’t just be wiping down a stranger’s shirt for them…

He immediately comes to a halt, while awkwardly glancing at you with the same slightly panicked expression that you held on your own face.

However, Seonghwa realised that, your face, flushed out a little, is frustratingly endearing to look at.

He almost felt the urge to just cradle your face in his hands right then and there...Maybe pulling you in closer

Mr. Park NO!

He shakes his thoughts away, immediately apologising, slowly retracting his arm.

But you know what your dumbass did?

Held his arm in place.

Yup.

You don’t know why, but it’s like your brain was straight out malfunctioning.

Body, actions, thoughts, rationality - all of it was not communicating with each other and you couldn’t logically explain your actions.

It just felt like maybe you should keep him there and let him take care of you, no matter how strange that may seem. It seemed right…

Either way this is just awkward and now there’s just so, so much tension.

The air is literally weighing on you a bit, especially since Seonghwa went silent after you instinctively grabbed his arm.

It was still, silent, and it felt as though if you moved, reality would break into pieces.

Dramatic way to explain the situation? Maybe. But it really did feel close to that.

“I uh...It’s okay. You can continue.” You let out shakily.

BRO WHAT ARE YOU SAYING OH MY GOSH. HE’S GOING TO THINK YOU’RE CRAZY.

I’m literally getting second hand embarrassment lmao, moving on.

He just adjusted his throat and gave a quaint nod before continuing what he was doing.

The issue was that now he was hyper focused on trying to not make any direct contact with your skin. His touches are so light, that it’s obviously ineffective, and you and him both know that, but no one wants to say anything.

He’s keeping his eyes glued to the wet patch on your shirt and as you look hopelessly at the soggy thing, you can’t help but let your eyes wander to his arms.

Holy shit his arms. You were already flustered, and now you have to sit still knowing his arms look so good? No way. It’s over for you.

His biceps bulged a little since it was bent, and the dress shirt he was wearing tightened around it, only accentuating how firm he was.

If he’s just that firm on his arms...Imagine what he’s like everywhere else…

Great… Now your feeling heat rush to more areas than just your cheeks.

Look away Y/n. Look away. Literally anywhere but there.

Ah yes, look at the ceiling.

You bit at your lip nervously, and in hopes that it would be a gentle reminder to restrain yourself from looking over at him.

“Can you-”

Your eyes meet his, and he darts his eyes elsewhere almost immediately.

He straightens himself up, letting go of your shirt and placing that hand now on the towel.

“Can you not bite your lip like that..?” He steals a glance at you before sighing.

“Ahem...Please.”

His ears are definitely a shade of pink and it doesn’t go unnoticed by you.

Honestly you couldn’t help but feel a bit prideful and more confident knowing that you weren’t the only one being flustered here.

You felt like you could breathe a little now.

Maybe your brain did a 180 a bit too quickly, since now you decided to lean closer to him, ensuring that your head popped up within his eye view, which was predominantly the floor at the moment.

You tilted your head tauntingly.

“Why? Does it make you nervous?” You said with a playful undertone in your voice - the seemingly newfound confidence urging you on in your antics.

He let out a scoff, turning his head to the side in disbelief before turning his head to look at you with his eyebrows raised, ready to challenge you.

He now leaned closer, clearly asserting a dominant aura with a small smirk graced on his face.

“Trust me, if I wanted to see you wet, this situation would be a lot different.”

Oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit

That was unexpected.

No you won’t back down. You’ve been flustered too much today and you’re tired.

Game face: on.

There’s no time to let the wet shirt of yours get the best of you. It is now no longer your priority in this moment.

[A/N: let’s go Y/N, show ‘em what you got]

You saunter close to him, pushing your hands on his chest causing him to lean back into the wall.

“Is that so?” You chuckle, reaching for his tie, tugging at it a little, before busying yourself with tightening it and making it look a little neater.

“And in what ways, would that situation be different?” you uttered out in the most seductive voice you could muster.

You held back a smirk as his breath audibly hitched.

He found his hand, crawling to grip your hip. Pulling you a bit closer towards him - bodies just touching.

“Well for starters, you wouldn’t have a shirt that would be able to get wet in the first place.”

You flattened out the tie, coming to a halt, taking time to gaze at him.

“Oh? And why’s that?” You said lowly, acting dumb.

His grip tightened around your hip, finally pulling you into his chest.

The slight dampening of his shirt didn’t bother him as much as his urge to touch you more did.

“Because, Y/n,” He spoke, leaning in so that you could now feel his breath fan your lips,

“In an ideal situation, you and I would both be naked.”

#〘manga; writing✎ᝰ〙#ateez #ateez seonghwa #ateez scenarios #ateez au #ateez fanfic #ateez drabbles #ateez reactions #ateez smut

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kinaesthetiqueer · 4 months

Text

What These Hands Can Be

Rating: G

Words: 7,174

Pairing: Jaune Arc/Pyrrha Nikos

Characters: Jaune Arc, Pyrrha Nikos, minor Nora, Ren, RWBY, Oscar, Ozpin, Theodore, & Rumpole

Other Tags: Post Volume 9, set in Vacuo, alternating POV

Summary: Pyrrha barely knows what to do with her hands these days. She's been gone so long that everything, and everyone, is so different now. Even Jaune. Especially Jaune.

Author's note: My gift for @ssarkosghost for @remnants-of-rwby-exchange! I am so sorry that is a day late; please forgive me. I went to edit and accidentally added 3k... It is in its entirety below but the AO3 link will be by chapters.

gloved

Pyrrha spends a lot of time looking at her hands now.

Her nails are often chipped, bitten. When she was young, her mother had her wear gloves to curb the habit. They were just thick enough to keep her from nibbling the thin keratin to ragged edges. Mittens helped protect her young hands from bitter Argus winters when she wanted to build snowmen at the park. Garden gloves kept dirt from gathering under her nails as she worked alongside her mother in the tiny flowerbed their townhouse called its own. As she grew older, darker pairs helped to camouflage the tell-tale glow of her semblance in use, carefully hiding her critical advantage. Gloves, for one reason or another, have followed her throughout her life.

The desert is too hot for them.

Without them, Vacuan sands and wind roughen her palms beyond belief. Her callouses toughen, her fingertips thicken, and her palms crack, no matter how much moisturizer she applies after showers. There are other ways to minimize the damage, but to keep one’s aura shield engaged all the time outdoors was one of many marks of an outsider. Pyrrha shrinks at the thought of attracting even more attention.

Most people don’t recognize her these days anyway. Pyrrha runs her hands through her ponytail, much shorter than she remembers. It had been like when she’d emerged from the glowing golden portal, blinking and confused, stepping into what appeared to be a war room meeting of her closest friends and many unfamiliar adults.

“I’m sorry, I… I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Pyrrha had whispered into the silence, rubbing her throat. Her bare feet made little plap plap sounds on the cool sandstone as she took a few unsteady steps forward before stopping just out of reach of the closest person- a young, wide-eyed boy she didn’t recognize.

The portal shrunk, fizzled, and faded into oblivion while she struggled to remember why she’d just stepped into their midst. She fidgeted with the ends of her sash in her hands. Still, the urge to rub her throat remained, as if she needed to warm her voice box before speaking any more.

The crying and screaming broke the silence first- Nora’s shrieks, Ruby’s choked sobs, Yang’s cracking voice. Then came the questions- Blake’s skepticism, Ren’s disbelief, Weiss’ caution.

Are you really Pyrrha?

Oh, of that, she was positively sure.

What happened to you?

She had died, that was somewhat evident by the scar tissue that twisted and stretched beneath the fabric of her loose linen dress and the horrifying memory of searing heat. Ruby had nearly vomited on the spot at her halting recollection of her death, gaze pinned to the [place that Pyrrha massaged at her collar.

Where have you been?

That question haunts her, even now, a little over two weeks later.

One year, eleven months, three weeks, and five days. The number rolled off Nora’s tongue quicker than it had any right to, but with such fury and despair that no one questioned its accuracy. That was how long it had been since the Fall of Beacon, since she’d been gone, how long she’d been dead to her friends. It’s a massive amount of time to be unaccounted for and unexplainably absent. It had taken a woman Pyrrha had never met to get them to all finally believe that she was herself, that she wasn’t some trick of the enemy or especially vivid group hallucination.

It was when she’d taken Robyn Hill’s hand that she had first noticed she was no longer wearing her gloves. Robyn was wearing fingerless ones, much like Nora’s, but black. Robyn’s grip was firm, her soft smile reassuring.

“Just tell the truth,” she said.

There was not, and still is not, much to tell.

She’d died. There was nothing. Then there was golden light and they were staring at her. She was herself. She was alive. She didn’t know why her hair was cut or why she had a sash that should be ash, just as much as she should. She answered question after question until they sort of devolved into a distressed, hopeful argument about her existence.

At that point, with the truth told and nothing more for either of them to do, Robyn helped her sit in an extra chair to watch the proceedings. The action of sitting only made her realize how exhausted she was by the affair, even if she wanted nothing more than to be accepted into their fold again.

That being said, the results of their argument mattered little. Instead, Pyrrha finally dared to look over to the one person, out of friends and strangers, that had yet to say a word.

Jaune?

He stared at her, blue eyes wide. His hair was cut in an unfamiliar way and streaked with white that she didn’t remember. The lines around his eyes spoke to an age that shouldn’t be possible, but his haunted expression was more than just seeing his old partner back from the dead. That expression spoke volumes, though he did not.

“Hey,” Jaune says now, knocking on her open door “You ready to go?”

Pyrrha looks up from the creases in her palms, the unbroken lifelines and calloused fingertips, the bare nails and chapped knuckles. The tanned skin there is some of the only exposed skin she has. The rest of her is covered in brown, sheer compression arm and leg sleeves, a burgundy athletic romper, copper vambraces and greaves, and long boots and UV goggles, both suited for the sand. Her sash flows to her calves as she stands and reaches for Mellon and Tora, bringing them to her side with just a thought.

Her red gaiter hugs her neck, making it difficult for her to reach up and massage her throat. Jaune nods and turns into the hallway without a second thought though, so it’s not as if he needs to hear her say anything.

Pyrrha pulls the fabric up over her nose and follows Jaune without a word.

2. clenched

Pyrrha is dead.

Three words, one truth. Through the past years, it’s the one thing he has forced himself to believe and remember, despite the pain it causes. He had promised to fight in her memory, to do what she would have done. The tattered remnants of her extra sash always hug his waist, taut when he twists or bends and flaring out when he leaps or falls. Its flowing length reminds him that its owner lost her battle so that he might win a war. Isn’t that the truth of it? Such things are unchanging, immutable. Decades to reckon with that truth and now here it is undone, just as surely as his aching bones and rusted armor.

Pyrrha is back, Jaune thought when she stepped out of the glowing portal. Pyrrha is… alive?

Her bright green eyes, darting with uncertainty and anxiety, were as expressive as ever. Her hair was shorter, though still a ponytail in that same brilliant red. Her crown was absent, though its charms hung from her ears. With the white linen dress and her sash wrapped around her waist, she looked a bit mismatched, contrasting youth with a world weary frown he often saw in the mirror.

Two weeks and three days ago.

Jaune’s own tally picks up where Nora’s left off.

He can hear Pyrrha’s footsteps behind him as he winds his way through the cool hallways of the Shade Academy dorms. Her footsteps don’t sound like he remembers them, less assured. He tries not to listen and focuses on finding the way out. Another quirk of Shade was a particular aversion to exit signage; early on, it was helpful to stick with some of the other students, whether those from Vacuo or those who chose to attend Shade after the Fall. Now he’s that person for Pyrrha, leading her to the open common area that exits to the main campus.

I bet Pyrrha could probably just use a compass to get out.

His chuckle dies in his throat. No longer is it a hypothetical. What once might have been a bittersweet thought is a plausible reality.

Pyrrha is alive. She’s right there. Right behind me.

His thoughts echo her name relentlessly, a plea, a prayer, a petition. It’s caught between his ears in a way that he can’t force it past his lips.

It’s a trick. It’s just another trick- Jaune swallows, closing his eyes briefly to steady himself. In his mind’s eye, he can see Pyrrha behind him, cruel joy in her emerald eyes, a self-satisfied smirk on her face. He can almost feel the pain of Miló slicing through the gaps in his armor again.

No, it’s not. She’s here. We both are.

He takes a deep breath, holds it, and exhales. He hears Pyrrha step around him, approach his left side, and take a deep breath of her own.

“You… didn’t actually explain… what are we supposed to be doing?” Pyrrha murmurs, brushing against his side. The gesture can’t be more than an accident but suddenly it feels like every eye in the common area is on him and her, together.

He sidesteps, awkwardly covering the flinch by heading toward the doors again. He does remember the stilted text he’d sent; it’d taken nearly three hours to compose it.

> Need you ready for combat in fifteen. I’ll come by your room.

“Oh yeah, right. Headmaster Theodore got a transmission from a couple of miles out that a relay tower was damaged badly by the windstorm last night. He wants you to clear and organize the metal before someone actually fixes it.”

Jaune times his shove of the door with the end of his explanation and hopes that Pyrrha will not ask the obvious question. They step into the hot afternoon sun. Jaune squints, but Pyrrha just lowers her goggles over her eyes. She looks even more Vacuan than some of the townsfolk. While the so-called Beacon Brigade students, like teams CFVY and SSSN had to earn their respect at the ‘Skirmish of Shade’ and Jaune and RWBY came upon their respect with their efforts in Atlas and beyond, Pyrrha managed to curry the favor of a fair number of Vacuans simply through her sacrifice at Beacon. Her new outfit, her weapons, even her rudimentary scroll- they were all gifts from local shops. In a way, she belongs to this desert kingdom more than anything or anyone else.

“Jaune?”

He flinches too hard to hide it this time, but her expression is unreadable.

“Yeah?” Jaune swallows bitter bile, waiting for the inevitable question.

“Where are we going?”

We. Right.

“West, out of the city. Come on, we’ll be faster on the rooftops.” Jaune heads for the closest wall gate, desperate to leave his thoughts behind him.

“Jaune, please accompany Pyrrha on this mission,” Oscar had asked simply this morning in Theodore’s office. Before that, Jaune had been unsure why he had been summoned; Oscar’s text had very few details. Probably because he would have already been walking in the other direction, soulless desert be damned, if he’d known what these three had planned.

Headmaster Theodore, Professor Rumpole, and Oscar- yes, actually Oscar, judging by the slightly guilty expression- watched him expectantly.

“A squall came through last night and the Western relay node has gone offline; we need the wind damage cleared before we can actually repair it,” Theodore explained further. “That’s where you come in. I’ve sent coordinates to your scroll. Clear the debris and report back.”

Jaune casually adjusted the straps of his chest plate, trying to conceal the hitch in his breathing. “Oh, well, I was supposed to-”

“Xiao Long has been reassigned to a different mission with her teammate Schnee. Mr. Daichi and Ms. Scarlatina are handling your original mission,” Professor Rumpole raised an eyebrow up at him. “You’re clear to help your partner with this.”

“I mean, sure, but what about back up?” Jaune swallowed, nervous. “I’m sure Nora would love to help! They’ve been pretty close, right? Oh, or Ren! Grimm have been really nasty in that part of the desert, yeah? Wouldn’t it be better if-”

“If her partner stopped avoiding her?” Rumpole finished, crossing her arms and glaring at him. “We’re spread too thin to have full teams on small jobs.”

The room was silent for a moment.

Professor Rumpole wasn’t quite as terrifying as Professor Goodwitch, but eventually, he still looked away.

“Fine. We’ll get it done,” he muttered, already turning to go. He could see Oscar making a face out of the corner of his eye. Good, he could stand to feel a little guilty about it. There’s no doubt this was his idea.

I don’t want to… not yet.

“What’s the problem here? Stop spitting into the wind!” Theodore retorted, standing from his chair, pressing his gloved hands to his desktop and peering at Jaune. “Didn't you miss her?”

He froze, a wave of rage passing through him. He clenched his teeth and fists as the feeling filled every crevice of his soul and simmered into a boil. Then, just as quickly, the wave receded, drawing back until he was hollow once more.

“Of course, sir.” Jaune turned and left without another word.

It’s not as if anyone else would understand.

3. hesitant

Jaune leaps from rooftop to rooftop, with his only objective seeming to be to get out of the city in the westward direction. By the time Pyrrha’s moisture wicking underclothes have soaked up a gallon of sweat, they’re finally on the outskirts of the capital. They’re heading into the blazing sun, which isn’t relenting as it sinks lower toward the horizon.

Not once does he look back at her, only opting to look once she’s at his side in the shifting sands. Even then, he only glances at her and nods once. He pulls his scroll out,much higher tech than hers, and orients them with a map. In the distance, a blue objective waypoint blinks steadily. She nods and he puts it away as they set off.

Her words stick in her throat, like they so often do these days. As they jog through the sand, heat waves shimmer. The trick to running through the desert, as Fox Alistair graciously advised her last week, is to never give the sand a chance to know you’re there. Pyrrha springs from step to step, lightly pressing on the hundreds of grains under her sole for just a moment before pushing off again. Jaune runs alongside her, much more fit than she remembers. It almost makes her laugh, to see him so seriously engaging in exercise that would have had him gasping or swearing at Beacon.

Almost.

The sun has sunk lower into the sky by a few degrees by the time the mangled tower comes into view. Pyrrha almost skids to a stop at the sight of it, slowing her gait as they approach.

“Badly damaged?” She croaks out as they slide down the dunes that have been blown into formations around the structure. Once the sand settles under her, she takes a long drink from her water pouch. Jaune does the same, moving into the shadow of what’s still left standing.

“Emphasis on badly,” Jaune quips dryly. Then he looks over, startled, when Pyrrha snorts. The sound surprises her as well. She clears her throat and busies herself with another drink of precious water.

“Blueprints?” Pyrrha asks, conserving her words.

Jaune passes over his scroll. She peers at them, looking up at the twisted metal structure. Some of it can be bent back into shape, mainly the huge looming top half of the tower that hangs at a seventy-five degree angle. Other pieces scattered around are definitely just scrap now.

As she looks over and over the structure, she circles it and memorizes the appropriate shapes. Scattered shrapnel gathers into a pile without much thought, neatly pulled from the sand before it can pose a trip hazard. On her third circuit, Pyrrha dares to look up at Jaune.

He still sits listlessly in the tower’s shadow, sand pooling around the ankles of his boots. He has his arms folded across his knees, chin on his arms as he watches her work. Their eyes meet briefly before his gaze darts away. Still, he remains angled toward her.

Pyrrha points up at the twisted spires where the forces of nature had torn the metal apart. “Some of these are too big for me to adjust–”

“That’s fine,” Jaune says quickly. “Do what you can and we’ll–”

“–by myself?” Pyrrha finishes, trying not to look too hurt. The face coverings help with that. Nothing can hide how her shoulders curl in for a moment, betraying how much she wants to shrink under Tora and let the sand cover her.

“What am I gonna do?” Jaune snaps bitterly. His anger carries like sand on the wind. They stare at each other for a long moment, at once a few feet and a million miles away. Pyrrha coughs, reaching beneath her gaiter to massage her throat.

“You could… boost me?” Pyrrha suggests gently. No sooner than the words have left her mouth does she regret them.

Oh… I should have let him tell me. She frowns, licking her lips nervously. Would he have though?

Blue eyes snap up, wide and betrayed. Jaune’s eyebrows furrow, putting the pieces together. His accusation is swift and accurate: “Nora.”

“She’s been catching me up on what I missed,” Pyrrha says apologetically, clearing her throat again.

That was a bit of an understatement. Nora had spent an hour or so each night in their shared room rambling about JNPR’s misadventures after Beacon. Even though Nora falling asleep mid sentence was somewhat normal for them, she’d still double checked with Ren that she was okay, or at least close to it. They hadn’t yet gotten to the part where Nora earned the sharp, spider-webbing scars that adorn her skin now; Pyrrha hasn’t been sure if she’s allowed to ask.

“It has been a rough few months for us, Pyrrha,” Ren had said over mugs of cactus leaf tea, squeezing her hand kindly. “Let her enjoy talking to you again.”

It’s hard not to enjoy their late night talks. When the desert is dark and cold and the Shade dorms cool down enough for a light blanket, it’s positively cozy to listen to Nora ramble on about events she can only imagine. Besides, Nora doesn’t expect her to talk; she doesn’t need Pyrrha to clear the scratchy, annoying feeling in her throat to contribute. Her simple hums, sighs, and giggles do just fine.

“She’s mentioned it a few times so far,” Pyrrha explains as she fidgets, twisting her bare fingers around each other until her joints ache with the strain of contortion. There’s no escaping this awkwardness. There’s only the two of them, the blistering heat, and the dead reception tower for miles.

Jaune gets to his feet, stiffly approaching despite stumbling down the small remaining dunes. She watches him flex and clench his hands as he nears, until he’s just inches away from her, standing shoulder to shoulder. He stares up at the relay tower while she stares at the smooth expanse of his cheek.

Her fingers twitch.

“Yes. I can boost you,” he says finally, after they’ve stood there for a moment. She nods. After hovering with hesitation for a half-second, Jaune puts his hand on her shoulder.

Pyrrha gasps, reeling from the sensation.

Once before, she’d felt this power- the clear, pure, and deep well of Jaune’s soul. Back then, it had been just a moment, a passing awareness. Now, Jaune’s aura flows through her, intense and all-encompassing. It’s a cool stream, a fresh snow, a crisp mint leaf, an ocean wave-

“Hey, hey,” Jaune snaps, suddenly in front of her. He steadies her by the shoulders, searching her eyes with panic. “What’s wrong?”

Pyrrha surprises herself by laughing, joy as clear as wind chimes. When she lifts her goggles to wipe the tears of mirth from her eyes, they evaporate from her skin almost immediately. He lets go of her shoulders and steps back, swallowing hard.

“I was right,” Pyrrha gasps, trying to catch her breath. “You do have a lot of aura. Jaune, that’s amazing!”

For a moment, Jaune’s face is open and hopeful, beaming with something close to joy. Then something shifts; his expression shutters as surely as the city of Vacuo before a sandstorm. He takes another step to the side, keeping his hands to himself.

“It’s… well, yeah.” He sighs, looking up at the defunct lights that line the vertical beams of the tower. “I’m not the same stupid kid I was at Beacon.”

What?

Pyrrha opens her mouth but nothing comes out. She squeaks, furious at her voice for abandoning her. She reaches out for Jaune, but draws back almost immediately. He side-eyes her, gaze dropping to her hand, then to the sand at their feet.

“I can do less, if it’s easier. Just figured you’d want to get back to campus as soon as possible, you know?” Jaune continues, concentrating until his hands shimmer with aura. “I also don’t have to touch you. I should have asked. That’s on me.”

She frantically massages her throat with both hands, trying to get her fingers to find purchase on the sweat-soaked skin under her chin. Jaune frowns at the ground again, hand hovering near his belt now.

Finally, her voice struggles free. “Jaune, I–”

He hushes her. Somehow, that hurts more than anything else.

“Do you feel that?” He whispers, hand firm on the hilt of Crocea Mors now. Pyrrha feels anger swell and flare in her heart at the dismissal.

“Jaune, this is important–!”

It doesn’t matter how important what she needs to say next is.

The ground beneath them explodes.

4. sweaty

Beware sudden dunes.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Jaune shouts as the burst of sand sends him flying several feet into the air.

The brisk advice had come from a fair number of people, namely members of CFVY who he'd tagged along with on missions in the early days of their return. The vagueness was purposeful, as any number of wildlife, geographic features, ruins, weather, or worse, Grimm, could cause new sand dune to arise. Velvet had at least elaborated with a story about a huge family of mole crabs.

This was no mole crab.

Jaune recovers midair, twisting to get his bearings as huge claws flail menacingly, reaching for purchase and prey. In mere seconds, the creature uncovers itself, shaking off sand to reveal its inky black carapace, ashen boney plates, glowing red markings, crimson eyes, and golden stinger.

“Deathstalker!” Jaune calls out, unsure where Pyrrha is. He expands his shield and lets its hard light wings catch the wind, carrying him out and away from the relay tower. He stumbles into a run at the far edge of the crater made of dunes. Now that he turns around, frantically sweeping his gaze across the landscape, it’s relatively obvious that the dunes that allowed the tower's full height to be revealed were hiding something dangerous. Relay towers didn’t sit in craters of their own making, not in this ever-shifting landscape.

Not again. No, no. Where is she?

He searches for bright red among the settling sand cloud, shielding his eyes as the Grimm hisses. It swivels its body toward the communication tower. Jaune’s heart sinks as he sees the object of its focus.

Pyrrha crouches within the twisted spire of the relay tower, precariously balancing one of the remaining beams. Her newly forged weapons, not too dissimilar from Miló and Akoúo̱, glint in her hands. The blade of Mellon, in its short sword form, retracts on its cord as she watches warily, making the sound that the creature hones in on. Though she is still, the whirring is like catnip; this Grimm is on the hunt.

“It can hear you!” Jaune shouts to her, running down the dune to the fight. Nothing else is likely to be here, right? A Grimm this big shouldn’t tolerate too many others. But a Grimm this big shouldn’t be so close to the settlements either! …I guess anything’s possible with three Kingdom’s worth of stress calling every Grimm on Remnant.

As he’d expected, the Grimm swivels toward him, its beady red eyes glimmering in the sunlight. With the scattered sand settling, the heat becomes oppressive again. He ducks and parries the pincher that swings toward him with his sword, then blocks the other with his shield. The impact nearly squashes him, but he activates his shield to force it back. His timing is perfect, almost instinctual now.

“Jaune!” Pyrrha shouts from above. As the deflected claw rears into the sky, a swarm of shrapnel attacks the creature’s face, piercing its eyes until they weep black and red sludge. Jaune scrambles out of the way as it flails and screeches in agony. Pyrrha clambers down the ladder-like structure, face unreadable behind her goggles.

The sand explodes in front of them as the Deathstalker slams its stinger into the sand where he’d just been standing.

“Great!” Jaune shouts bitterly as they sprint away from it, putting the relay tower between them and the monster. “Now it’s pissed and blind!”

“I’m sorry! It was about to crush you!” Pyrrha cries out. “What else was I supposed to do?”

He rolls his eyes and doesn’t answer. What else indeed.

The Deathstalker screeches behind them, drowning out Jaune’s harsh bark of laughter. Still, Pyrrha looks at him oddly, tilting her head. He ignores her, looking around. The Grimm itself is nearly half the size of the crater. The only thing nearby is the tower, its twisted metal, and the concrete platform that anchors it in the desert. Above them, the bulk of it twists to the side like a misshapen crane arm.

“Get us up there!” Jaune demands, gratified that Pyrrha questions neither his order nor his tone. She immediately crouches and launches him off her shield. Carefully composed as he soars upward, Jaune grabs one of the steel beams and pulls himself onto it. Pyrrha follows, wrapping Mellon’s grappling cable around a piece of metal a few feet away. It carries her to safety for the second time today just as the Grimm scuttles over, ramming its stinger into the sand again. Its struggle to remove the stinger conceals the sound of the cord retracting this time.

Small mercies.

Pyrrha looks over her weapons in her hands, perched next to him. “Jaune-”

“I’m thinking!” he hisses, watching the beast howl with frustration as sand sprays up into the air and its stinger comes up empty.

She yanks her neck gaiter down to her collar and lifts her goggles into her bangs. “Listen to me!”

“What part of thinking-”

“Jaune,” Pyrrha cries out. “I’m not going to lose you again!”

“You didn’t lose me, Pyrrha!” Jaune snaps back. “You can’t lose something on purpose.”

This high in the air, the hot, dry wind whips around them. Pyrrha licks her lips, expression pinched in a rare moment of irritation.

“What?”

The tide within Jaune swells. The wave crests, but it doesn’t break. He looks away, trying to spot the shimmering mirage of Vacuo city in the far distance. At this time of day, it’s too hazy with the darkening sky to see much of anything.

“I thought you remembered everything,” he mutters. Then he swallows, “this isn’t the time for this.”

Get it together.

“I fail to see any other time for it!” Pyrrha exclaims, voice cracking. “Why is it that it takes mortal peril for us to talk to each other?”

“No way! You don’t get to put this on me!” Jaune snarls, unable to quell the vicious bite in his voice. “All I ever wanted to do was talk to you! You couldn’t even let me return the favor! You kept me going at Beacon, day in and day out, but when the time came for you to actually trust me, you shoved me away! You didn’t even give me a chance-”

“Ozpin didn’t even want us fighting her!” Pyrrha puts her shield on her back so she can balance better, coiled like a spring on the precarious perch. Jaune mirrors her, except he sheaths his sword instead. Old, buried anger comes to the surface. He’s kneeling amongst the rubble of Vale again, trying to make sense of the locker he’s just crawled out of and hoping against hope that he’s having a particularly bad nightmare.

“Exactly! Ozpin died fighting Cinder! But you thought you could do it by yourself?” Jaune laughs bitterly, all too aware that there are tears streaming down his face. “Do you know how many times I’ve defended you and your last choice? Surely, I thought, surely my partner didn’t ship me off and go get herself killed in a fight she knew she'd lose! Of course she thought she stood a chance! Of course she just needed to get me out of her way!”

There’s a moment of stunned silence. Even the Grimm is quiet beneath them.

“Did you… Did you just think I thought you were in my way?" Pyrrha shouts, eyes wide in disbelief.

Jaune doesn’t hesitate to snipe back. “What else was I supposed to think?”

Pyrrha’s face twists with pain or anger; they’re so unfamiliar on her countenance that it’s hard to tell. She clenches her empty hand, pressing her fist against her thigh.

“I was protecting you!”

“I didn’t need you to protect me!” Jaune counters, as the wave of anger finally crashes to shore. “I needed you, Pyrrha!”

5. gentle

In two weeks and three days, Jaune has not once said her name.

His initial silence was unsettling. His surprised stare was unyielding. After all of the excitement and questions had settled, he’d finally spoken, cutting across the chatter.

“Robyn, could you?”

She’d taken Pyrrha’s hand again, almost apologetically, then nodded at Jaune. He’d taken a deep breath, before looking her in the eye, seeing her and not just past her. She’d shivered, feeling undone by his intensity.

“What are you?”

Those three words inspired nothing but confusion. “I… I don’t think I understand. What am I? I’m… a huntress-in-training? A girl?”

Your partner?

She’d kept that one to herself.

Despite wanting to puzzle out the expression on his face, she glanced down in time to watch Robyn’s aura shimmer from pale purple to bright green. She looked back up at Jaune, at Ruby and her team who looked between her and him with varying levels of disapproval and understanding. Finally, Jaune sat back in his chair and sighed, apparently content with that answer. The tension still did not leave his shoulders.

“Alright then,” he said quietly into the silence. “Welcome back.”

The greeting felt hollow, especially since he went out of his way to avoid her from that moment onward. In fact, between her miraculous return and their current mission, she could count their conversations on her fingers.

Now, she rubs her fingertips on the woven texture of her compression tights, savoring the distracting sensation. There’s nothing else to say but the truth.

“I knew I was going to lose you,” Pyrrha insists, using the word that had started this entire argument. “But I wanted you to at least be alive if I had to.”

Jaune is pale, his fury waning by the moment. The tear tracks on his cheeks dry almost as quickly as they’re created. “What did that matter? We could have both made it out. It wasn’t… You didn’t… Damn it, Pyrrha.”

“Jaune, hear me please. Running would have killed me, even if I still drew breath,” Pyrrha swallows nervously, but the lump that has plagued her all these days is completely gone. She continues, “I thought if I fought, I might survive. I could live or die with that, if you were okay. I hadn’t abandoned my duty and I hadn’t failed you.”

“But you made me abandon you.”

Pyrrha smiles, just for a moment. “That was selfish of me, wasn’t it?”

“It was!” Jaune shouts, flinging his free hand out so hard he nearly loses his balance. Pyrrha flings her own hand out, yanking his breastplate toward her with her semblance. He yelps as he stumbles forward over the metal trusses, nearly colliding with her. He flails for a moment, but quickly regains his balance.

The tower groans. With both of them tipping the scale away from the base, its stability compromises rapidly. Pyrrha glances down at the scuttling Grimm beneath them, still wandering in the fugue of its own rage and agony.

“Yes. It was,” Pyrrha whispers. She relaxes her semblance, allowing him to move away from her.

Jaune doesn’t budge. Neither of them do, knelt precariously across from each other. Her hand hovers between them, still outstretched and bare. Gently, she places her hand on his cheek, expecting him to flinch. But he doesn’t. He leans into it, sighing and letting his eyes slip closed. His skin is rough to the touch, with soft barely-there hairs that tickle the ridges of her finger pads. It’s a wonder all of its own, the feeling of her skin pressed to his.

“I have always loved fighting by your side, Jaune,” Pyrrha murmurs, stroking her thumb along his cheekbone and wiping his tears away. “It terrified me that you might die by mine.”

“Then let me choose that,” Jaune whispers. “You owe me at least that much.”

The metal scaffold beneath them shudders, nearly throwing them off. Pyrrha keeps them both pinned to it, gasping with the force of the continued ramming. Below them, the Grimm has finally given up on trying to reach them directly. It slams its pinchers into the heavily fortified poles at the base, screeching in frustration. They gawk at it, then at each other as the metal beneath them begins to creak and sway even more. The Deathstalker screeches and turns in a circle, viciously stabbing into the stand with its claws.

“Okay,” Pyrrha promises quickly, though the thought of it seizes her heart in a familiar vice grip. “I swear I won’t… I won’t make that choice for you again.”

Jaune nods into her hand, closing his eyes briefly. He sighs.

“To be clear though,” Jaune says with a tiny, watery laugh, “I’m not trying to die by your side anytime soon. Or ever?”

Pyrrha responds with a tiny giggle of her own as the Deathstalker begins to slam the tower again, jostling them. “So not today?”

“Definitely not today!” Jaune yelps. “Fight and live?”

“Fight and live!” Pyrrha repeats, pulling away to put Mellon back in her belt. They scramble to their feet, running for the main tower as the metal twists and groans beneath them. Jaune turns back to grab her hand, helping them both stay steady as they leap for the tiny grate that acts as a service platform within the main body of the tower. Some twenty feet below, the Deathstalker continues to bellow and batter the foundation, its single-minded hatred fueling it beyond reason. That fury makes it dangerous to fight up close, but in a few more hits, they won’t have a choice.

“Jaune?” Pyrrha shouts over the cacophony of bestial rage and structural collapse. He tears his gaze away from the furious Grimm and raises an eyebrow at her. She squeezes his hand and grins. “Help me?”

He smiles in understanding. This time, when Jaune activates his semblance, Pyrrha is ready for the burst of power and energy that flows through her. She flings out her free hand toward the huge piece of tower that had been their perch, seizing it and flipping her wrist to twist it off the main structure.

The motion shakes the tower, but Jaune catches her by the waist, anchoring them both by clinging to the foundation beam nearby. Pyrrha gasps her thanks, then continues to focus on the task at hand. She lifts the huge chunk of metal as easily as a handful of ball bearings, then crushes her fist, shaping it into a wicked javelin of steel.

Then, with Jaune holding her steady, she flings the makeshift weapon at the Deathstalker’s back. The Grimm screeches in agony as its carapace rips in two, expelling viscous sludge several feet into the air. Flailing its stinger, it struggles where it's skewered into the sand, then finally goes limp. It, and its sludge, dissipate, carrying black ash onto the wind and into oblivion.

They both relax their semblances as one, exhaling with relief. Still Jaune doesn’t let go of her; she makes no effort to move away. Further beyond the relay tower, the sun sinks below the horizon, throwing reds, oranges, and dark purples into the sky.

“Uh, well… if headmaster Theodore asks…” Jaune clears his throat, looking down at the metal carnage below them. The Grim had completely destroyed every bit of the distribution box and shredded the cable connection. CCT technicians, they were not, but anyone could see it was beyond hope. “It was like that when we got here?”

Pyrrha snorts once, then again and again until she’s howling with laughter. She turns and throws her arms around his neck, gratified when he hugs her back with the same intensity. The tower trembles a little underneath them, but it’s not going anywhere anytime soon. Neither are they.

She’s been back for two weeks, three days, and a handful of hours, but only now does Pyrrha feel that she’s home.

“Hey, Pyr?” The love in the nickname punches the wind out of her lungs. She nods into his shoulder until he continues. “The next time you want me to leave, just ask, okay?”

She nods again, clinging to him even tighter. However, she knows, just as well as he does, that she could want nothing less than that. She pauses, concerned.

Does he know? Please… I need him to know.

Choked, Pyrrha murmurs, “I never want you to leave me again, Jaune.”

She can hear the tears in his voice as he replies, “Okay, good, we’re on the same page then.”

Let’s stay that way.

Their trek back to Shade takes much longer than their breakneck outgoing pace. They take down small Grimm here and there, chatting about pasts both separate and shared, walking shoulder to shoulder in the cooling desert. He hugs her before leaving her at her room door, promising breakfast together. It’s both the most normal and oddest thing that has happened in her whole second life.

Exhausted, Pyrrha showers and crawls under her blanket. Whatever missions she had today, Nora isn’t back yet, though it’s plenty late enough for their nightly life updates. Somehow though, she knows she wouldn’t be able to listen for very long. Her eyelids droop shut and she snuggles into her pillow, grateful for its softness.

“I can only do this for you,” whispers the memory of an unfamiliar voice, just as she’s drifting off. “You’ll arrive just when you’re needed and you’ll arrive just when you need it. You’ll say what you need when the time is right to say it and you’ll listen when you need to hear. Everything beyond that is up to you.”

When she wakes the next morning, it’s because Nora is bouncing on the end of her bed.

“Pyr, wake up! It’s Friday! It’s five-thirty and it’s already hot!” Nora announces gleefully. Moreso than other mornings, she can’t help but notice her energy seems more genuine than usual, more like the joy she once had at Beacon. “Get up, get up! I want breakfast!”

Pyrrha sits up slowly, combing her fingers through her hair. Small grains of sand fall to the blanket. She also has the distinct sensation of a dream slipping through her fingers. She frowns, grasping for the memory to no avail.

“Pyrrha?” Nora asks, coming to rest on her knees in front of her. “What’s wrong?”

She blinks at her friend and smiles. “I had a dream I think… I just can’t remember it anymore.”

At this Nora beams and crows, “Dreams, scheams! Who needs them? We have the whole day ahead of us!”

Her hope and enthusiasm is contagious. Pyrrha grins and sweeps her into a tight hug. Nora squeaks and hugs her back, obviously startled but not unhappy about it. When she finally pulls back, neither of them mention the tears on the other’s cheeks.

“You said something about breakfast?”

Nora takes her by the hand and drags her out of bed, then throws her combat outfit at her face. She catches it easily.

“Yep! And it waits for no one! Come on, we have so much to do today!”

Pyrrha can feel her heartbeat quicken with joy, tugging her lips into a smile.

Today, and everyday after that…

It’s a life worth fighting for.

Epilogue

Thursday Evening

Theodore sighs. “Oz, this is a risky gamble you’re taking.”

The nickname makes him twitch a little bit.

Half a dozen conversations have come and gone, not to mention a host of different people needing their audience. Oscar makes no decisions without Theodore’s council and he makes none without Rumpole’s. They’ve been in this office for hours, and yet there’s no question of the gamble to which he refers. It’s been a few hours since he’d called Jaune in for a mission assignment.

“Oscar,” he reminds the headmaster. True, it was Ozpin’s memory of JNPR’s initiation shenanigans that had given him the idea, but it was a plan all of his own. “And it’s nothing they can’t handle.”

“How long do you think it’ll take for them to realize we’ve sent them to a defunct relay tower with an active Deathstalker den?” Rumpole mutters.

“Hopefully longer than it takes for them to say what they need to say to each other,” Oscar replies, sipping his cactus leaf tea.

Rumpole is even shorter than Oscar, but her unimpressed glare manages to make him shrink into his chair a bit, chagrined.

“I may… also have Ren and Nora on standby at the current Western relay node, just a half mile way?” Oscar admits, flushing. “If something goes wrong, they’ll handle it.”

This made Theodore laugh loudly, his voice booming in the tiny office. Oscar winces at the sound, but it’s impossible to escape it. By the time the older man finishes, he has tears in his eyes.

“Ah yes, the other partner duo famous for currently getting along!”

“How convenient,” Rumpole drawls, dusting off her vest with a roll of her eyes.

“Two Nevermore, one bullet,” Oscar quips. He salutes them with his teacup and heads for the door.

Well, you certainly seem rather pleased with yourself, says Ozpin, amusement plain as day.

Oscar smiles into his tea, a small smile just between them.

By magic and miracles beyond his own power, Jaune, Nora, Pyrrha, and Ren had each other once more. With these little nudges, team JNPR will surely ride again, changed but whole.

It’s the least we could do, don’t you think?

#arkos #jaune arc #pyrrha nikos #rwby #rwby fic #remnants of rwby: fanworks exchange #kina updates #i am unreasonably proud of this one i really hope you like it!#ssarkosghost

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