#if you flip them back to back the first version feels like a shiny version of Siff

[cochineal-leviat]

Broken Stars, Broken Glass

I got a new sketchbook for Christmas, and naturally, I doodled Siff in it and finished it up in traditional style. The hatching was the most fun thing to do! You can create some fun textures with it.

It's not so obvious, but the floor shards are supposed to be glass. It's interesting how every battle in ISAT starts with glass shattering. I like to imagine that when Siffrin reaches for the stars (aka reckless charges ahead for answers to get out of the loop/to learn more about their country), he accidentally breaks the glass that is his memories. Stepping on the shards so many times, they splinter into tinier and tinier pieces until they cannot tell which memory is supposed to be which. Symbolism and all that.

Unfortunately, I coloured this when it was dark out with my very yellow overhead light, so I could not see that my greys were coloured. But in the end, it was a happy accident since my camera picked up the lighter shadows as muted violet. So, there is a neat contrast between the green and purple.

Here is the complete monochrome version for comparison.

I don't know which one I like more.

[frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe]

i had a worm wiggle it's way into my head when 'work song' came on on my way home today.

pairing: steddie | word count: 2,949 | rated: T

cw: major character death (no gore, nothing descriptive, though it's stated that Eddie was sick and getting weaker, then implied that he dies.)

Eddie Munson’s mother was a witch.

He didn’t know this until he was stricken with the same sickness that took her from him years and years before, but he knows now.

He knows from the small chest he found buried deep in his and his Uncle’s attic one day after learning of his ailment, and the handful of months he should expect to have left, from the local doctor. 

The chest was brimming with scrolls, tomes, candles, stones, herbs, vials, even a small pewter cauldron.

“I shoulda known,” was all Wayne had said, heeding Eddie’s beckoning call that hazy afternoon. 

Eddie sorted through everything he had found; spending hours every day flipping through each book and journal, deciphering his mother’s handwriting and the spells she had inscribed onto the pages. 

He even started to try a few; his mother’s ‘powers’, per sae, had come from the earth around her, writing in the largest, most disheveled of the journals that all she had needed to do was to listen to Mother Earth herself, listen to what she had to tell her.

So, Eddie practiced.

Small things at first, like seamlessly re-attaching the snipped off head of a daisy back to it’s stem, snipping it off again only to regrow an identical one in it’s place. Even starting a broken branch of the pine outside the Munson home on it’s way to a new green version of what was lost.

Eddie counted himself very lucky that Wayne was not one to believe the church’s nearly unhinged ramblings about witchcraft being the work of the Devil, and let Eddie practice a couple of the other simpler things on him.

“Jus’ don’t go thinkin’ I’mma let you chop my head off, boy.”

Wayne’s body aching from following their ox around all day with the plow? “Here, drink this, it should help.” It did.

Couple of Wayne’s fingers get snapped under the same ox’s hoof? A little harder, but he managed; the digits sore and achy that night, but good as new come morning.

“There a hair spell in that book, Ed?” Wayne joked one morning over breakfast, a good three quarters of the way through the six months the doctor gave Eddie, and a couple after finding Maggie Munson’s secret.

“Hmmmm….I dunno Uncle Wayne,” Eddie flips through his journal absently, “I think a Get Your Hair Back spell is too close to a love charm to work right. You could end up with hair all over your body and not just on that beautiful, shiny, head o’yours.”

“Love spells are touchy,” Maggie’s journal had said, “There are a rumored few that work, but only for the truest forms. I’ve tried some simple potions and charms…Al still left..and if they didn’t work…” the rest was easily filled in. 

“Oh yeah? Then how's about a Cure What Ails Ya spell? Got one’a those in that there book?”

“Why? You feeling sick, Wayne?” Eddie half-jokes, trying to veer away from having this conversation with Wayne again.

Wayne’s quiet as Eddie focuses intently on the book infront of him, trying, and failing, to scoop up a bite of egg onto his fork without looking away.

“Ed,” his uncle starts, soft and pleading once again, “Is there really nothin’ that can help ya?”

Eddie huffs, dropping his fork onto his plate and pushing it and the journal away from him. Definitely something a younger boy would do, not the nearly 25 he is now. “Why don’t you give them a look, huh? ‘Cause I already have.”

“Ed–”

He snaps his head up to glare at the older man. “What is it Wayne? What?” Eddie snatches the journal back up off the table without looking. “I’ve looked okay? Through Mom’s and through every damn book in that attic. And there was nothing. Nothing! You think she would’ve left if there was?” He stands sharply, knocking the small faded blue table away as he does. “Would’ve left m—”

His free hand wraps around his middle, nausea and the spins taking him for a ride a the sudden movement.

“Hey, Hey, sit back down son.” Wayne stands as well, coaxing him back into his chair. 

The nausea spells have become more frequent, the dizziness even more so, as the months have worn on, so Wayne ties up Eddie’s hair (growing thinner by the day), walks the short few steps to the pitcher of water he’d pulled from the well that morning, and pours some into a bowl, grabbing a clean(-ish) rag on his way back. 

Wayne smoothes the cool damp rag over Eddie’s face and neck, slowly and deliberately until the nauseous feeling passes.

“‘M sorry, Uncle Wayne, I know you’re just worried.”

“It’s alrigh’ boy, I shouldn’t’a pushed.”

“I’m still doing better than most,” Eddie says, voice tilting up at the end, “I think it’s ‘cause of the magic.”

“Thoughtcha said there wasn’t no cure in that book.” Wayne states, moving to empty the bowl. 

“There’s not,” Eddie closes his eyes, relaxes back into his chair. “Doc thinks Ms. Wilson had the same as me and Ma, and you saw how quick it took her.”

“Mrs. Wilson was nearly 70, Ed.”

“Then how about that boy Carver? He was my age, and Doc gave him six when he came down with it too, was gone in two.”

Wayne shrugs, “The devil wanted him back sooner.”

Eddie barks out a laugh, lifting his head to catch a glimpse of his Uncle’s ‘desperately-trying-to-hide-his-smile’ smile.

Wayne jokes, but Eddie’s been contemplating this for a while now. When he had hit his second month, he was about the same as he was, steadily growing weaker, as what was expected, but nothing like how Ms. Wilson and Jason had looked in theirs. 

Hell, Jason had worked on the docks with Eddie since they were boys; both fit and lean, healthy young men with the musculature to show for their work.

That was when he’d found his mom’s books, and ever since, his health had slowed to a crawl. 

“I think using mom’s magic is helping me.”

Wayne is quiet, cleaning their plates from the table and dumbing the leftover eggs out the window to the pigs. 

“I think it’s your magic now, Eds.”

—---

And so it went.

Eddie’s given six months turned into a year, his magic growing from healing fingerbones, to mending their ox’s broken femur with ease. 

His year didn’t come without worsening symptoms though, and his previously well filled out overalls hung loose around him, his calves barely filling out the tops of his boots tied all the way tight. 

Wayne always kept the faith, so to speak, not a religious man by nature, but Eddie could hear him sometimes in the early morning and late night praying to “Whoever’s got their ears on up there,” to keep Eddie safe, to keep him in their sights when the time came. 

Eddie had been doing work of his own, too. Writing down anything new he found out while sitting with the Earth, listening, watching….

Mother told him through the whispers of the trees, the soft humming of the grass, that he’d know when it was time. 

And that time was within the next few days. 

He felt it in his bones, he felt it in the air when Wayne passed him his birthday gift (a flaky scone with the biggest chunks of chocolate in town, an amazing treat he got once a year) on the morning of his 25th year, he felt it in the very ground he walked on…

He was ready, though he did harbor one regret. One thing he knew he missed out on.

He’d never fallen in love.

Over his last year, Eddie would sit with Mother; amongst the trees, lain back in the field of grass on the hill behind their house, and tell her about them. 

The ‘they’ that he’d likely never meet, the they that would love him for nothing but his love in return. 

Nothing was ever specific, only the vaguest feelings he’d get about them, about the way they’d love, the humor they’d possess, the love for Eddie’s stories they’d have.

And every time he’d speak of them, Eddie’d leave with something that he didn’t realize he had picked up until he was nearly back home. 

A chain of daisies Wayne had plucked from atop his head when he sat down for dinner, a scrap of dark blue fabric he’d found walking through town, a bouquet of bright yellow daffodils, the tiny sun bleached skull of a bat.

And he’d write. Over and over, never quite getting it right, but there was something he knew he needed to get out of his very being before he left for good. Something that felt like a promise.

–

The morning came, and Eddie awoke to a silent house. 

Wayne out on the fields already, most likely out helping the folks on either side of them with whatever they needed doing, with only the hens’ clucks and pigs’ snorts keeping him company with the calls from the birds in the trees. 

Eddie got up, slow as slow could be, got himself into his clothes, shuffled down the hall to the kitchen to their small blue table, tore out a blank page of his mother’s notebook and wrote.

Pouring all of what remained within him, Eddie thought of the Earth, of his mom, of Uncle Wayne, and them. His unknown love.

-x-X-x-

Steve Harrington’s mother was not a witch.

But for the last few years, he’s had a suspicion that his Grandmother is.

Everyone says that their food tastes so good because “It’s made with love!”,  but with Mama Harrington, it was real. The love and intent she imbued into her meals was there. And she could cure any ailment.

She would always go on and on about the importance of food, each recipe’s ingredients’ healing powers, and of the recipes and their stories that had been passed down through the years from her mother, and her mother’s mother, all the way to now, where they ended up in a cookbook that’d gone untouched since it was given to Steve’s mother in the late 60’s.

“A gift! Unused for so many years, Steven!”

“I know, Mama,” he nods again, dropping some green something into the pot of sauce bubbling on the stove. “Almost 25 years.”

“Aye! You have catching up to do.” she says, shaking a thick wooden spoon at him.

“Me?” he scoffs, “I don’t know the first thing about cooking, Mama!” Baking? He’d hold his own. Cooking? If his grandmother wasn’t there to help him of on the phone to guide him through a recipe? Kitchen would go up in flames.

“Bah! Watch closely, dear.” she says, shuffling to the pot that stands nearly as tall as her where it’s perched on the stovetop. “It is always your intent behind what you are cooking. You can make anything be anything as long as the intent is there.”

“Even eggs?”

She nods, her nearly fully white bun flopping back and forth on top of her head. “Even just eggs.”

“So if I want a carbonara to help get my friend a passing grade?” he asks, incredulous, but immediately thinking of Robin, who’s coming up on her finals in a couple months (for her doctorate! A PhD! Can you believe that!).

“The intent! Put it into the eggs, into the pasta, I don’t care! But make it for That!”

She throws a concerningly large handful of pepper into the pot on the stove, and gives it a stir.

“Now, this is my Mama’s recipe, and it will help your Pa’s back.”

“How so?”

“Because I told it to,” she growls, glaring at the pot and raising her spoon as if she was going to smack some sense into it.

“Alright, Mama,” Steve chuckles, “What do you need me to do?”

He spends the next hour helping his grandma roll out some of her premade dough for some fettuccine looking noodles, grabbing a wrapped up blob “from the top shelf, Steven. That’s the stuff I made for you.”. 

He rolls, folds, and cuts it as he’s told, then goes to pick Robin up from campus while she finishes everything.

“It won’t take long now, dear, and you shouldn’t either.” Mama scolds, waving her spoon around once again.

“Got it, Mama, be back soon.” He slips on his shoes, looks in on his grandpa in the living room as he passes, grinning at the loud snores he hears from the direction of Pa’s recliner, and slips out the front door to his car. 

In no time, he’s picked up Robin, stopped for a movie from Blockbuster, and is home to the smell of fresh bread.

“We’re home Mama!”

“I’m just setting the table, grab your Pa!”

“Come on Pa, Mama’s got some pasta for you.” Steve says, coaxing his grandfather out of the chair and into his slippers. 

“Ah, perfect, my back’s been real achy lately.”

“That’s ‘cause you sleep in the recliner, Mr. Harrington.”

“How many times do we gotta tell you, Robin? Just call us Ma and Pa.”

Robin plops down in her designated spot across from Ma, “Hey, you should get used to it now; Once I finally get up the nerve to Chrissy out, she’ll come over here all “Mr. Harrington” this and “Mrs. Harrington” that.

“And how’s that coming, Bobs?” Steve asks her, sitting down beside his grandma and immediately passing the plate of bread across the table to Robin’s waiting hands. 

She starts going off at a million miles a minute about her longest standing crush, while Steve shares a look with his grandma, both smirking conspiratorially as Robin takes a bite of the bread.

That’d been Steve’s suggestion, a bread imbued with luck.

It wasn’t a “Love Spell”, Mama said there was none in existence that were worth the pain. But the minimal luck that she had sown before into countless baked goods (especially near February), have had a surprisingly great track record.

With everyone but Steve.

She couldn’t quite figure out what it was that kept him from getting the benefits too, every time she had tried, they had tried, it was an astounding failure. 

First with Tommy Hagan, the carrot cake cookies Steve had presented him with as a special birthday treat back in middle school ended with two missing front teeth and a broken arm.

Then again without even thinking about it, he’d added some luck and hope to homemade chicken pot pies he’d whipped up when he and Nancy were on the rocks. 

It had somewhat worked with Billy Hargrove, but that one hadn’t even been intentional, and he shudders to think about it to this day.

“I don’t know my dearest, maybe it is because you are already tied to someone else?” She had said after her tried and true pot pie recipe failed.

“But it didn’t even work with the one I was already with!” he yelled, sighing deep and pinching the tears away from the bridge of his nose. “She jumped right into Byers’ arms.”

Mama had just given him a pitying look, which was worse, honestly.

Now, he stays far away from any of Mama’s lucky foods, especially with the weird twisting feeling he had gotten the few times he’d tried over the years after leaving Hawkins.

He and Robin came up to Indy for Robin to go to U of I, a year after she graduated, and when Steve was fired from the job that had been paying the majority of their apartment's rent when he was spotted kissing his then boyfriend by his manager….they came to live with Steve’s grandparents, taking to them both with open arms and hearts.

He comes back to the present when his third bite of pasta clears away the last of his headache.

Steve shoots his grandma a knowing look, which she ignores with a sip of wine. 

–

They’re nearly finished with dinner when it happens.

Steve’s listening intently to a story Pa is telling them, something he’s sure he’s hears a dozen times before, when he absentmidedly picks up, then takes a bite of the bread Ma made for Robin.

It’s more than he’s ever felt before.

In the past, whenever Steve’s tried to gain some luck in love, he’s been inundated with flashes, feelings, words, a warmth in his bones that he’s wanted to hold onto forever. 

The feelings grew stronger the older he got, and now, Steve finds himself sitting on a rolling grassy hill. 

It’s not a flash of a vision like before, he’s sitting in the tall soft grass, and his hands are already making a chain of daisies. Nearly done, in fact. 

He finishes it off, turns it around in his hands, then when he goes to put it on…

He’s back at the table with his family, the slice of bread in his hand, and Pa still telling his story.

Steve jumps up, startling the other three, and beelines it to the kitchen, flinging open drawers, searching for just a damn scrap of paper. 

Mama follows him, “Steve, the bread?”

“I was on a hill, chaining daisies, and now I have to get these words out.” He probably doesn't make a lick of sense, but he doesn’t want to lose them.

Suddenly, a pad of paper and pen are passed into his line of sight. He snatches them up, and starts scribbling down as much as he can.

He and Mama stare down at the words on the page. 

“Mama, what is this?”

She is silent for a handful of breaths.

“This is why the luck never worked.”

now with a part 2!

also: i don’t know the first thing about being a witch or anything of the sort, nor do i know anything but the basics about cooking; hope im not way way off on anything!!! this is all in fun 😅

[rosedpetal]

Fandom Leap - Chapter 8

Series Masterlist

Word count: 1.8k

Fandom: The Vampire Diaries

A/N: My contribution is finally here! Just wanna say I'm flattered to be in this project with such wonderful authors! @nickfowlerrr @unabashed-lover-of-fictional-men @crazyunsexycool @swiftlymoniquesblog @missvelvetsstuff @vibraniumarm06-bucket @rosedpetal @imyourbratzdoll @herdreamywasteland @jamneuromain @potterhead2207@supraveng

Previous chapter || You can both feel a shift in the air around you. Sitting in each other's presence the feeling begins to come over you, “Buck, I don’t wanna go” You whisper softly gripping his hand tight. “Please don’t leave me, Doll” his voice trembling in fear, You can’t help but shed some tears because You don’t want to go either, but You have no control over this. “Come back to me baby, please” He whispers holding you close to him, his please sounds absolutely broken which makes your heart heavier. “I love y-,” as the shift overtakes You, You can still feel his presence. Shedding a few tears your heart feels heavy and You hope that where you end up next is a place in which you will be safe and protected like how You were with Bucky.

There was a pounding in your head. Your eyelids were heavy when you opened them, and by the way your stomach rumbled, you knew you had to eat something rather sooner than later.

You looked at your surroundings. You were lying in a queen-sized bed with a cherry print bedding set, a nightstand to your left that had a pink alarm clock that seemed to be broken by having been beaten against the wall too many times.

"Wakey-wakey."

You screamed. You finally acknowledged the pretty blonde that was lying next to you.

"Caroline Forbes?"

It really was her. Her perfect golden locks were around her head like a halo, and her shiny green eyes had smudged mascara around them.

She was as stunning as a beauty queen, all the same.

"Are we on a full-name basis now, Y/N L/N?" She teased you, and yawned, stretching her arms and sitting up in the bed.

"What happened last night?" You asked, the memories all blurred and confusing in your head.

She grinned at you. "Before or after you confessed to Elijah Mikaelson that he was the hottest man on earth?"

Oh. My. God.

"I need context, Care."

She squinted her eyes at you.

"I knew we shouldn't have let you get in a drinking contest with Damon."

"Damon Salvatore?"

"Who else would it be? You're so weird this morning, jeez."

Of course. You were in The Vampire Diaries universe. You didn't know where this left you, or why you had a previous life here. Maybe it was a pattern. The first two times you didn't belong. The third, you did. In other universes, you were an anomaly. A version of you probably didn't exist in those places.

Here, you could see by the memory board in the wall with pictures of you with Bonnie Bennett, Elena Gilbert, Tyler Lockwood, Matt Donovan and the Salvatore siblings that you actually belonged here.

Hell, there even was a polaroid taken by you of Rebekah Mikaelson flipping the camera (you) off, the caption "Barbie Klaus" written with permanent marker under the picture.

Like everything was right.

Except, something was missing.

As your mind drifted to Bucky's lovingly gaze on you and the feel of his hand in your strong grip, the way you were holding on for dear life when you shifted again...

You got up too fast, almost falling in the process, and ran to the toilet. Caroline was behind you next, holding your hair while you threw up.

You had tears in your eyes when she turned the shower on and helped you out of your clothes, washing your hair without another word as you sobbed uncontrollably.

Caroline held you in her arms when you couldn't formulate words, brushing your hair and getting you into something comfortable.

"Do you want to lay down?"

You nodded your head negatively.

"I need to tell you something, Care."

"What is it?" Her voice was soft but you knew she was worried about you. She was your best friend in the whole world.

This world, at least.

"I'm not Y/N. Well, not the Y/N you grew up with, at least. I'm from another universe, and I'm scared to death because I want to go back to my fiancé, but I don't belong there either."

You told her the whole story, from how you were just struggling with too much work and had nothing going on in your life, to the Comic Con event and how you just woke up the next day to find yourself in Bucky's universe. How you jumped through dimensions, finding your favorite characters and bonding with them.

You left out the part that you were obsessed with The Vampire Diaries in your teens. You were not about to tell Caroline she was a character in a show and all the shit that was about to happen to her and each one of your friends in Mystic Falls.

After you finished, Caroline stared at you with wide eyes. "We can't seem to catch a break, can we?"

"What do I do now, Care?"

"Babe, you're friends with vampires, witches, a werewolf and the originals. You have Matt too, but he's human like you so he's useless about anything involving the supernatural. No offense. We'll find a way."

You sniffed, hugging her. "Thank you, Care. Now tell me what the hell was last night about!"

She laughed.

"We threw you a birthday party. Bonnie casted a spell on you so you wouldn't get too drunk when you and Damon started taking shots."

"Oh, crap. And why Elijah was there? Doesn't seem like his type of fun."

"It's not." She snorted. "But he came anyway because he adores you."

It felt weird when she said that, the thought of you with another man making you sick. There was a little flirting now and then, but you couldn't forget that you were about to get married.

Why did it hurt so fucking much?

"Now get up! We're doing research before you leave us too." Caroline laughed humorlessly. Deep down, you knew she was just as afraid as you.

"So, you've made all of us come here, and not that I want to bitch about it, but I had to change shifts last minute, just for you to come with this nonsense story when in reality Y/N could just be losing her shit?"

"Matt!" Elena glared at him.

"I'm not blaming her! I'm just saying, with all the things we have to go through because of you guys, maybe she's just so stressed that her mind is finally shattering?"

"For the love of Taylor Swift, shut up." Damon rolled his eyes at Matt. "Don't worry, kid. We all believe you and we know you're not crazy."

"Not that I'm condoning with that asshole, but what if Y/N is really going insane?"

"Tyler, I'm right here!" You crossed your arms, outraged. "I didn't give you this shit when I found out you were a werewolf." You complained.

Caroline called everyone to the Salvatore's boarding house, just so you didn't have to repeat the same story over and over again. That's why she had the Mikaelson siblings on the speakerphone too.

"Bon, what do you think?" Elena turned to the witch, who had a serious look on her face.

"I don't know. Granny never had the chance to explain to me about multiple simultaneous lives. Let alone the multiverse jumping. All I know is that is possible, but I don't play with this kind of magic. It bends all the rules we know of."

"I'd ask my mother if she wasn't dead." Klaus finally spoke on the other side, and you almost smiled at his words. "The best I can do to help sweet Y/N is get Freya to do some research."

"Thank you so much, Klaus." You sighed, feeling a little bit better.

"In the meanwhile, what can we do?" Stefan asked.

"If there's nothing we can do, we can put her in a straitjacket."

"Too soon, Damon." You murmured, sending him a death glare.

Caroline took on a mission to distract you from your distress. She dressed you up and took you to the Mystic Grill, ordered pancakes and soda for you both, and took you to see the most important spots in the city.

"That's Elena's house. We tried to smoke cigarettes in her room when we were fifth graders and we spent a whole bottle of her mother's perfume to mask the tobacco scent. There's a spot under her rug where we put them out."

"In Bonnie's place, she finally told you she was a witch."

"Damon and you were playing stupid games as always, and he dared you to go to the forest on a full moon, that's when Tyler almost bit you. I tried to save you and he bit me instead, so Klaus had to come here and cure me."

"Matt, Vicky and you used to play hide and seek in the church when you guys were little."

"Oh! You're gonna love this one! Elijah gave you a daylight ring right there in the gazebo! He told that if you ever transitioned you'd need one and it would be nice if that was already taken care of."

The memories were permanently imprinted on you. How you and Caroline always teamed up against Bonnie and Elena when the four of you fought, how angry you were at Matt when he couldn't let Elena move on, how heartbroken you became at Vicky's funeral.

And the day Elijah gave you the daylight ring, you were so touched by his gesture that you spilled "I love you." in a serious tone before hugging him. He was taken back by your reaction, but he hugged you back.

The sun was setting in the horizon, when Caroline received a call. She smiled at you in a cryptic way.

"Okay, I'm taking her."

The whole drive back to the Salvatore's board house was silent. You suddenly had a feeling your time in Mystic Falls was ending.

Caroline pulled over and walked you to the front door. She sighed.

"This is my cue. I hope you find what you're looking for, Y/N. And I just want you to know that you are my best friend and you are loved in every universe you exist. Please, never forget me."

You sniffed, and hugged her tight. Caroline's delicate form embraced you.

"Thank you, Care. I love you to the moon and back. And hopefully, in a few hours, you'll have your Y/N version back."

Caroline took off full vampire speed, leaving you alone on the Salvatore doorstep. The door opened, and a gasp left your lips.

"Elijah?"

"Whenever you say "I love you", you always say "to the moon and back" too. Must've been too much on her."

You looked over your shoulder, grateful for everything Caroline has done for you in the last hours. She let you go without putting up a fight, just so you didn't have to worry about her too.

"I guess we are alone?" You raised your brow, and Elijah's lip curled upwards.

He offered you his hand and as you took it in your own, he guided you to the living room.

"Freya and Bonnie crafted this." He took a little bottle of his pocket, the content a red liquid that resembled blood. "You just have to drink it, and you'll be off again. I guess you'd like to finally do this in your own terms."

"I don't know what to say."

"Then allow me, Y/N. You are a kind soul. You told me once that I deserved to have a life of my own and pursue my own dreams instead of always taking care of Niklaus. You were the one who confronted him when everyone was walking on eggshells around him, and you captivated all of us. You deserve to have a life of your own too, Y/N, and I know it's gonna be brilliant."

As he spoke, Elijah brought the bottle to your lips, and you drank its rich liquid. As you felt the ground swirl under your feet and Elijah becoming more and more distant, all you could keep was an opal daylight ring.

[hoardlikegoldenirises]

Alright hereʻs part 3: the last three suits Peter makes/wears, which all happen to be black lol — only the first one is black because his aunt died, the rest are just cause... they ended up that way. but until that black and red one he still uses the other unstable molecule suits like stealth, sometimes he'll do the red and blue for certain things (trying not to scare small children, for example)

(pt. 1: handmade suits (aka high school and college): link)

(pt. 2: FF suits: link)

UPDATE (jan 2024): ripping the widow suit from Peter and modifying it for Kaine. more than likely Peter will be in the black and white suit in the middle there when he dies.

closeups/details under the cut:

alright so just to get this out of the way the first black suit is cause Peter's aunt dies in 2023 due to failing health (technically kaine's fault but because of something that happened 11 years earlier, but, you know, it's fine,) and Peter's sad about it

this isn't based on any comics suits but it is actually... one of my existing designs that I've used before (though a slightly modified version) for an AU where... Peter... is a murderer lol BUT THAT'S NOT APPLICABLE HERE.

in this AU it's just black cause his aunt died. He doesn't wear it very long. It just felt, to him, like wearing head to toe bright red and blue was obnoxious and the FF suits just reminded him of Johnny dying (though johnny came back a while ago but still, bad memories dug up) so he made himself a black suit. A bit of texture, a bit of black gloss on black matte, dorky mirrored lenses since you gotta sneak the red and blue in somewhere—

the shoes aren't much to write home about.

as you can see by the note, neither of peter's 2020s black suits have stealth capabilities. If he needs that he just shifts into the FF suit or whatever. he really doesn't need it most of the time anyway, black is plenty stealthy.

this is obviously loosely based on The Black Costume™. but this one isn't a symbiote, it's just black and white. Some of the design cues were taken from his initial black suit

(this one)

as well as from mid-2000s comics, in terms of eye shape, but obviously, though there are actually similarities between the symbiote and the unstable molecules (basically one's alive and one isn't, on the flip side one is weak to fire and the other is fireproof), the unstable molecule black suit peter adds to his rotation is a little more physical looking (well, the lenses are at least) as well as a little bit glossier but not as latex-shiny as the inverted FF suit.

the end result ended up extremely Space Knight-y which wasn't on purpose but I'm fine with that esp since there is no Space Knight Venom in this timeline lol so Peter using an unstable molecule suit with a similar aesthetic is not that weird. (anyway, SK kinda looks like a buffer version of the inverted FF already)

But anyway this is basically what he switches to a year after his aunt died. he still doesn't really feel right in the blue and red, and he acknowledges the black suits are kinda... 👀😳 sexy (felicia and flash, and everyone else i'm sure, told him as much) so he sticks to black for a bit, though again he still has the other suits and sometimes wears them if he needs to be more... fun i guess. or more stealthy, though for him wearing black is typically enough to be sneaky.

it's got pretty slim and simple soles not unlike the FF suit's, though not exactly the same.

and then...

well.

—this has been changed and Peter won't be having this costume after all, though I do like it a lot. (I'm co-opting it to give to Kaine in a slightly modified way instead) but i'm including the close-ups etc.

kinda going for a translucent and yet opaque effect on the lenses, like a cabochon of red glass that blocks all the light... benefits of unstable molecules: can do literally w/e the hell i want to the lenses and it's feasible for him to still see out of them lmao

Obviously this is loosely based on/inspired by the black and red suit from SM/DP and/or the suit Felicia gives Peter in the Insomniac game, but... it's not exactly the same obviously, and the logo is completely different. Color scheme is the same, it does have stealth capabilities which are permanently enabled (and can't be turned off, unlike the FF suit), and he basically only wears this from now on partially as a form of aposematism (a warning of his danger) and partially because he's a brooding edgelord (i mean, kaine had to get it from somewhere 😂) (and yet also still extremely sappy w/ flash at home... the duality of man, is that the more dangerous and powerful he becomes as spider-man, the gentler he is as peter, because he's terrified of what he could do to his wife, to a friend, to a bystander, in a moment of carelessness. He used to want kids. (Flash said no.) He doesn't want kids anymore.)

snuck in the little hourglass on the shoes, since i don't like the glove look and i wanted to keep it minimal though obviously the theming is black widow-y... not natasha though lol

edit: changed the soles, didn't like the lugged outsoles, made it smooth instead for a sleek aesthetic, and like it better now.

anyway hourglass also has a double meaning beside the fact that it's a signifier of his deadliness, which is that his time is running out—he'll be killed around 5 years after making this suit 😅💀 just before his 50th birthday... another thing i'm still working out details on but i think he'll die wearing this. feels thematically right lol

has claws, naturally (kaine: dude that's my thing). peter's only clawed suit, actually. and a little shoutout to the red hourglass on the palms of the suit that inspired this one.

compare this black and red suit to the version in Spider-Man/Deadpool and the videogames Dark Suit (though obviously there's no DP or anything like that in my AU, and Felicia didn't make it for him either; if anything this will be related to grim hunt in some way):

oh

might be worth still allowing Peter to have this costume but changing the spider logo to match the comics and video game and then, idk about the soles. i don't love the ones i did for the drawing and those are going to kaine anyway so probably something different for that.

also peter loses some teeth in the process of the whole "killing someone" ordeal lmao (if that happens, idk)

so he has partial dentures in the last 5 years of his 40s/life lol

[sabertoothalex]

One of the exercises my therapist has had me do before is to put some kind of form to my anxiety. She says that being able to picture it as something worth having empathy for, maybe a cute little rabbit or a younger version of myself, would help me transform it from hostile entity to something able to be soothed. I've never been very good at this exercise. Sometimes I'll lie and say I've done it just to move on but the actual form it takes is usually the same. It is dark sludge coursing through my body. It is viscous and slightly shiny, thickly reflecting myself back at me. It burns when you touch it, it stinks when you smell it, and knowing that it is always inside of me makes me want to scream. How are you supposed to deal with that?

This poem appeared in a book I'm currently reading. The book is about how to write and this chapter was specifically about the different voices in ourselves, our "mental illnesses", that keep us paralyzed and unsure. It had an immediate impact on me. I've never seen this exact sentiment put into words quite this way before. The first time I read it I was slightly confused and unsure what I thought about it. It seemed mean because by the end it appeared to confirm my worst fears about the subject: that they're a disaster and demand unreasonable things from those around them. This quickly flipped on a second read, of course this is satirical, and by my tenth read I felt as thought I had found some great truth inside of it. Like the best writing, and sometimes poetry specifically is best suited to this, it introduces a scalpel to some feeling deep in you. It cuts it out and lays it down, separated from the rest of you, able to be turned over and looked at and examined in a way that you couldn't before when it was buried inside of the pieces of yourself that give you life.

The concept of the group meeting discussing whatever latest stupid thing you've said or done spoke to so many moments in my life. It's something that has been happening in my mind for my entire life basically. The idea that somewhere out there the people you've entrusted yourself to are speaking of you negatively, they're out there pouring over your words to find flaws, plotting how to hurt you. It feels comical to type out, this grand conglomerate of Kingdom Hearts-esque villains, sitting with their arms crossed atop massive chairs, deliberating on how to deal with you. I'm extremely susceptible to the kind of thinking the poem describes though. My brain is in a fairly constant miasma of wondering if I said the right thing, have I made a complete fool of myself, is everyone around me secretly having conversations about how terrible I am. At the heart of it is desperately wanting to be accepted in the face of what my brain is telling me is for sure rejection. I feel like this need for acceptance is fairly universal, and I feel deeply for everyone out there who struggles like this as well.

The book contextualizes it in relation to writing and the voices that grind against us, triggering paranoia and deep uncertainty. It says that the poem is an example of turning ugly feelings into something "artistic and true." I melted when I read this. I'm not saying anything unique here about turning bad feelings into good art but I do think it's sometimes hard to imagine positive coming from negative. And the second part was what really hit me: the truth of it. Reading this poem felt so vivid and full of experience, it was like a pair of arms gently draping over my shoulders and a voice whispering that I am not alone. This is I think something I always want to impart in my writing whether it's a subtle attempt to poke at an emotion or a big loud screaming thematic framework. The dark sludge is truth and making sense of that truth may be never ending but it can be beautiful.

[lastchancevillagegreen]

Monday, 1 August 2022:

Miracle of Science Marshall Crenshaw (Razor & Tie) (released in 1996)

I always thought this was the most bizarre CD I’d encountered thanks to that little booklet (and it was like a puzzle getting that booklet smack dab in the middle like that for this was a sealed promo, although it wasn’t billed as being sealed).  Anyhow, I remember my brother and I laughing over this peculiar CD.  I hadn’t bought a Marshall Crenshaw album since Life’s Too Short in 1991 (and I might not have bought that, my brother may have given it to me since he was music director at his college radio station) and I knew nothing about his discography after Life’s Too Short.  I also wasn’t the smartest man at the time so I also believed that poor Marshall Crenshaw had fallen on hard times going from Warner Brothers to MCA to Razor & Tie.  What did a narrow minded guy like that know anyway?

Cut to 9 July of this year when the two disc compilation Definitive Pop Collection by Crenshaw arrives in my mailbox.  I think that Crenshaw’s first three albums are among some of the more perfect pop albums there are and I would hate to ever be without them.  There is a tremendous amount to like on his fourth, fifth and sixth albums as well, I just tend to play the first three more.  But after that, I’m clueless about the man’s music.  Back then I rarely ever followed any artist 100% of the time.  I’ve already mentioned a ten year time span when I gave up on Neil Young, so to stop buying new Marshall Crenshaw music isn’t out of the ordinary for this music lover. 

Anyhow, I began playing Definitive Pop Collection almost immediately and every morning now I awaken with a new Crenshaw song in my head.  That’s as good as life can get for me.  Not awakening with some terrible jingle or lousy song like I normally do and instead I’ve been graced with the likes of For One Day With You (currently my favorite), Monday Morning Rock, Calling Out For Love (At Crying Time) (a co-write with Don Dixon!), The Distance Between, You Should Have Been There.  It’s a great morning to awaken with such pop delicacies in my head.  I feel ready to tackle the day, I’m not reminded of the bonehead moves I made the previous day because I have a great pop song blaring in my head and I’m already thinking positive!

The second disc of that two disc comp features tracks from Crenshaw albums I’ve never owned: Miracle of Science, #447 and What’s In The Bag?  I’ve never even heard of that third album!  But the songs taken from Miracle of Science (only two tracks) are as good as anything he has ever done that I love.  And I knew then, thanks to What Do You Dream Of, I was needing to own Miracle of Science.  And then I made a discovery.  More on that momentarily.  Above are the album cover (that tiny booklet just floats around in that jewel case) and the back of the album. 

Below you will find that little booklet in various unfolds, each getting progressively bigger.  But first, that little booklet on its own.

Now opened up.

And opened up again and then flipped over.

The discovery I made was that both Miracle of Science and #447 have been reissued on vinyl and both include a seven inch.  Both are on the label Shiny-Tone (precisely how I feel when I wake with one of his songs in my head) which is a label that only releases Marshall Crenshaw music, just like Addie-Ville does.  You’ve never heard of Addie-Ville Records?  I hadn’t either until this morning when, at 5:30 a.m. I was obsessing over Crenshaw’s complicated EP series from 2012-2015.  I am unaware if these are Crenshaw owned labels or not.  Discogs doesn’t say but the fact either of them have only released his music suggests they are. 

I was certainly interested in both albums (I love an album that includes a bonus seven inch) but I immediately discovered that the track list for the LPs are different from the original CDs.  Of course they are.  Consistency in the 21st century fails to exist, so I realized I’d never enjoy the vinyl versions until I had the original versions which in this case are both CDs from over two decades ago.  Which is one of the reasons why I now own a copy of Miracle of Science on CD from Razor & Tie (and dammit, I forgot to get the hologram CD version).  I’ve got to hear the original intent before I branch out and buy the album on LP in it’s new configuration. 

Here’s a look at the inlay tray followed by a look at the CD.

If you want to see the Shiny-Tone label which resembles the old Roulette label from the 1940s and 50s and the cover of their take on Miracle of Science, you will find them below. 

Excuse the shadow and the bad framing, but this was pulled from discogs who thrives on using meatheads who have no clue how to work harder and take a photograph sans shadows or reflection of men in the famous iPhone iPose.  Below this you will find the Roulette label.  This particular record came out in the randomly chosen year 1958.  It too was taken from discogs.

[reki-of-the-valley]

More Renga brainrot because that's all I do! - Pet names edition!

Langa calls Reki his Sunshine, but he says it in English to Reki doesn't get it. And Langa starts calling him Sunshine before they start dating so Reki doesn't click that it's a pet name

At first, Langa only uses Sunshine to refer to Reki when he's just talking to himself, mostly when he's tired or his head and heart are just fluttering with Reki Reki Reki

The first time Langa slips up, he's with his mom. They're out shopping, one of the rare occasions when they spend time together.

Nanako is going on about how she wishes she made more traditional Japanese dishes and meals, but she's so used to making western food that she never has any ideas of what to make or how they never taste the way she really wants them to when she does makes dishes from her childhood. Langa is nodding along - Nanako is used to her son being silent - but then he's talking so her full attention is on her son, especially when he's saying things like "I could always ask Sunshine's mom how she makes [insert whatever dish]"

There's a silence, then Langa feels the panic build up in him. "Wait! No! I mean Reki's mom! Not-!" Langa's biting the inside of his cheeks, so embarrassed. Nanako is grinning and she will be asking more about this whole "Sunshine" situation, to Langa's disenchantment

Langa is pretty good with concealing the whole thing, especially when he's only speaking Japanese. But it happens, he does slip up around Reki. It's after an especially thrilling yet exhausting night at S. Both as sweaty and tired, ready to crash, but Langa is hungry because he just burned so much energy. His mind is a blissful haze, somewhere between Japanese and English. That's how he ends up casually asking something along the lines of "Wanna go get burgers, Sunshine?"

He nearly doesn't catch his own words, and he wouldn't have thought twice if it wasn't for Reki looking at him in confusion. Panic once again. Because this time it's not his mom, it's not a stranger, it isn't in his head and heart. He called Reki Sunshine to his face. Reki was sunshine, yes, but saying it, it makes things real. It's putting his feelings out there for everyone to see. It's admitting to Reki that he thinks about him a little too much, a little too intensely, a little more than just platonically

But Reki is oblivious, because it's Reki. Reki who doesn't understand English. Reki who has a thousand nicknames for Langa. So for Reki, Sunshine is just Langa's equivalent of dude but in English, so he doesn't mind at all. And Langa is both extremely relieved and extremely frustrated

After that, Langa only uses Sunshine when he's praising Reki. It's unconscious, really, but it's fitting. And in a way, it's telling Reki he loves him, it's telling Reki that he loves him so much, enough to be giving him pet names. Reki is his summer sunshine, his morning sun, his light, but only in English. Langa can't quite say it in Japanese, in a language Reki understands. That's too much. Langa isn't ready to admit his feelings. Langa isn't ready to confess, not yet. Maybe never, but he is ready to call Reki his Sunshine in a language he's truly comfortable in

And this goes on for a while. Months of a secret pet name. Until Reki is getting ready for a race against Miya. No high stakes, probably something dumb like loser has to do the other's homework of choice (obvs it has to be reasonable, not like a whole essay or asking a middle schooler to do something he doesn't know like advanced math or whatever). Reki and Miya are bickering and teasing each other, friendly trash talk as they're used to at S. At least until Langa is coming along, wishing his Sunshine good luck. Reki grins because Langa is good luck to him. Miya is gapping.

"Sunshine? That's so gross, you slime! Of all the pet names you could choose, you go with Sunshine? And you didn't bother telling me you two are dating? How long have you been hiding it?"

Langa feels his whole insides twist. His heart stops. He feels sick. Miya is staring between the two. Reki is staring at him, frozen. Everything is wrong. This is not how Langa wanted this to go. This isn't how he wanted Reki to learn about-!

"Langa?" Reki's hand is squeezing Langa's arm. "Langa, you good man?" Reki is crouched down next to Langa. Reki - Langa can see the panic in his eyes, the uncertainty, the anxiety - is pushing all his own feelings aside, acting brave for Langa. Langa who never felt this overwhelmed until now.

Obviously, at this point, the race is postponed, Joe, Cherry, even Shadow, having gathered around to see what was happening. Miya is apologizing, but mostly unsure of what he did wrong. At least, he doesn't know until Reki is snapping back, big amber eyes staring the boy down and telling him that he isn't dating Langa. And Langa's heart tightens in his chest.

Joe is the one to clear the crowd, pushing everyone away to give Langa and Reki space. Cherry stays behind, but as soon as the two are calm enough, he gives them a curt nod before walking off.

The silence is thick and awkward, and Langa wants to die on the spot. He can't face Reki. Reki wasn't supposed to know about the pet name in the first place!

But then Reki's hand is on his, his smile soft, his eyes... Deep amber and looking at him in a way Reki's never looked at him. There's something in Reki's expression that makes Langa's stomach flip, his heart doing cartwheels in his chest.

"Hey, man, you good?" "I'm sorry." "What? Why?" "I shouldn't have..." "Is this about the whole Sunshine thing?" Langa nods. "Don't worry 'bout it, dude. And I mean, it's not mean. You're allowed."

That's when Langa notices it, the way Reki's thumb is rubbing his knuckles, the way Reki's looking at him, a light blush making his face glow, every freckle like a star against a sunset. That's why Reki is Langa's sunshine. Because he's beautiful, he's calming, he's the end of the day, the time to wind down and relax. Reki is a continual golden hour, with his grin and shiny eyes

It's now or never, Langa knows that. It's now or he'll have to die with that knowledge. It's now or Langa will never have another shot to see this beautiful view ever again

"I like you. I like you so much, Reki."

Langa feels Reki tense up, his fingers going rigid against Langa's. Langa sees how Reki's eyes widen, his shoulders freezing midbreath. But then he's grinning. And laughing. And nodding.

"Yeah, man? You mean it?" Langa nods hesitantly. "Man, aw, dude! That's- Yeah, yeah, okay, man. I mean- Aw, dude, this is so much harder than I thought... Of course you make it sound so easy to say, but like, man! Langa, dude, I like you too!"

Reki is grinning, wider than Langa's ever seen. So bright, like the Sunshine that he is. And at that moment, Langa almost blurts out that he loves him. (He has more self-control than that. One step at a time)

Reki refuses to let go of Langa's hand after that. They don't talk about what that means quite yet, what they are now, since they're still at S and it's noisy and this is a conversation they should probably have on their own, but Reki doesn't let go of Langa's hand and Langa takes that as a win in his book. Especially when Reki is pulling him up, dragging him back to their friends

Miya's got his hands stuffed in his pockets, not quite wanting to talk to the two, probably embarrassed about all the commotion he caused (he also probably got scolded by Cherry and Joe). He's only pulled out of his teenage pouting when Reki is ruffling his hair, reminding him that they had a beef

Both get ready for the race, everyone's spirits lifted once more. And Reki is especially pumped now. He's just missing one thing: his good luck charm

"C'mon! Say it! Please?" "But I said it before." "Say it again, please Langa?" "Fine, fine. Good luck, Sunshine. I believe in you."

And with the rush of adrenaline that hangs in the air at S, Langa finds the confidence to press a kiss to Reki's cheek, whispering "good luck, Reki" into the warm skin. There's an explosion of cheers and screams but Reki doesn't have time to linger onto the sensation of Langa's lips pressed to his cheek because the lights are already going, the race about to start

Edit: just a reminder that there is a fic version of this that can be found here!

[pepsicup]

Problems Of A Spaceman

Chris Beck x Stripper!Reader  6.4k words

Summary: Chris attempts to gain some confidence back after his fiancée leaves him, though, the journey is different than he thought it would be... (smut, mentions of cheating, self-deprecation, exotic dancing, space kink because duh, dope fucking music choice if I do say so myself)

Author note: yes I did write this four years ago, this is an updated version since I recently found it after deleting my other blog, enjoy.

2037

It shouldn’t even be a thing. Chris didn’t get nervous, this was something new for him. After thirteen years of education, five standard spacewalks and a back-to-back trip to the newly colonized neighbouring red planet, nothing should phase him anymore – but that was space. There were things significantly more nerve-wracking than his current situation; perhaps he was better at being an astronaut than fulfilling his social and romantic life.

While taking all the prerequisites required for NASA and in medical school, he didn’t have time for fraternizing with anyone, most people in the medical field experience that. It was a miracle that he could even keep the attention of his ex-fiancée during the mission to Mars since he didn’t exactly know how to flirt. No matter how intelligent he was, all of that did nothing to help him in his personal life and everything that came with it.

Furthermore, the sexual aspect was a problem for him, too.

He’s never had an opportunity to explore himself with another person, of course, he’s had plenty of sex but, it was nothing more than the standard modus operandi. Beth was hard to navigate, she was disengaged and blatantly selfish, eventually blaming him for her unfaithful tendencies and lack of interest when he was the only one making an effort. It ended as it began, a complete circumstantial shitshow and because of that, he is on a mission to gain self-confidence back.

Since she kicked him out, he’s been sleeping in the spare room of his good friends’ house for the last couple of months while his new apartment is being renovated. Mark Watney was a single man who knew what that position felt like, and who also knew the beginnings of a solution. The ability to pay women for their undivided attention did wonders for a man’s ego, especially at an exclusive gentlemen’s club rather than a regular strip joint. It is more of a candid transaction that was valued at both ends.

And it is very exclusive. It required a reservation to save a slot since it was so well-known and a general, but hefty, fee at the door as insurance.

He made it sound like the easiest thing in the world, but on the other hand, Chris was so fucking anxious to go that he could vividly feel his blood pumping in overdrive. He’s never, ever attended a place like that before. But as he looked up at the classy, luminescent sign of the building that lit up the dark parking lot, he started to wonder what exactly he’s getting himself into. Just as long as he isn’t awkward, maybe everything will be okay.

Don’t be weird, don’t fuck it up. Simple.

He repeated those words in his head as he was looked over by the heavy before being let in and did everything the lady at the front desk told him to. After that, it was time to be escorted through the big fancy door.

The initial shock passed through him quickly, the smell of perfume, cigars and liquor weren’t as bad as he thought it was going to be. But once he rounded the corner into the main lounge the nerves were back. The wild colours in the dusky lighting gave the atmosphere an alluring feel as he bared witness to scarcely clothed women dancing on stage, at tables with other men and walking around the floor.

He adjusted his ball cap to sit lower on his face and scanned the room for a free seat, suddenly feeling a little overwhelmed and needing to sit down before he either collapsed or backed out entirely. Chris Beck was not good at this.

Could he perform surgery after surgery for 16 hours straight? Yes.

Can he proudly say that he is an award-winning astronaut that helped shape the future of space science? Fuck yeah, he can.

Can he say that he can bed anyone he wants and walk around like he owns the place? No, no he cannot.

The spaceman sat in a vacant booth near the left side of the stage, tucked away in a dark corner to observe as he planned. Yeah, he was good at observing. Watney reassured him before he left, stating that he did specialize in human anatomy and he should do what he does best...observe, evaluate and execute, which helped a bit. A doctor’s point of view was his only saving grace right now, he’d stick to that comfortable method for as long as he can.

Observe.

He found himself zoning in on different interactions that played out as time ticked by. Many lovely women took their turn on stage, very healthy and some men had been taken behind curtains and even thrown out for inappropriate behaviour. He made of a note of that in the back of his mind if there ever came a time. No touching.

He didn’t know how much time had passed since he arrived. There were a few nice girls who came over to talk to him, but he declined any offers they threw his way respectfully and chose to remain where he was instead. Although, just when he thought about turning in for the night, the lights suddenly dimmed until it was almost pitch-black. So dark that he couldn’t even see his hand.

The emcee bordered more background music that rattled his chest through the speakers above the circle booth, it increased slowly and he assumed it was building up to another track. The crowd of regulars and new attendees alike cheered loudly at the change of pace, Chris perked up and clapped along with them even though he had no clue as to what.

      “Ladies, gentlemen and every-damn-one in between, we have a special treat for you tonight.” the man announced heartily.

      He continued as the music came to a peak, then dissipated as he spoke the moniker of the next dancer, “Your house favourite has decided to give you a dance that I think is out of this world...please welcome to the stage, Ares”

The patrons went wild as Chris, on the other hand, went rigid – almost choking on his drink.

As the projected images of deep space filled the room in a flash, a dancer was now on stage walking around in something simple, yet sexy. No one could get enough of her or the choreography, staying for her performances that always seemed to have a different aesthetical essence every time she made an appearance.

The modest man couldn’t stop looking at her, she was the main focus of the room – but for him, the significance was completely different from the others. What were the chances that one of his biggest passions in life could be used as an exotic dance theme, materialized right in front of his eyes?

But when the music started...that’s when things even more interesting.

The song wasn’t one he anticipated, he assumed it would be the same club music that made his eardrums shudder, but this slow beat only made his senses buzz, and not just from the vibrations. He enjoyed the older music his commander played after years of listening to it. So, when he detected the beginning of this underrated 1972 classic by Harry Nilsson, this stripper had his full attention.

Bang, bang, shoot em’ up, destiny Bang, bang, shoot em’ up to the moon Bang, bang, shoot em’ up one, two, three (One, two, three, four)

The woman circled the pole as the song started to wind up, making little gestures to the regulars and letting the music guide her. She hit every deep strum of the guitar by waving her hips from side to side delicately, still holding on to the shiny metal planted at her side.

As the artist started to sing the corresponding words, she spun around the pole. The lights caught the small crystals on her one-piece and somehow, scattered like the night sky on her bare skin. Her hips moved sinfully as her body followed the fluid movements like Saturn’s rings, circulating with the natural orbit of the planet. Or pole in this case.

I wanted to be a spaceman That’s what I wanted to be But now that I am a spaceman Nobody cares about me

Next, with every distinct beat, she put her back to the pole, slid down and arose in one fell swoop. She twirled once, flipping her hair behind her head and rolling her lower body ‘round and around and around and around as the words called out above the hollering. The attention was now drawn to her lower body.

Highlighting her assets as dancers called it.

Hey Mother Earth, won’t ‘cha bring me back down Safely to the sea But ‘round and around and around and around Is all she ever say to me

She melted down on all fours to crawl across the platform, doing the next progressions effortlessly. She laid on her back, arching her body like a tidal wave entranced by the moon, rolling onto her stomach, and using her knees to sweep her torso across the floor until she was up in a kneeling position again.

The way she created a giant slip from her ass to her shoulders gave the perfect view of her behind to the men and women on the left side of the stage, money cascading across her body. It was quick yet elegant.

I wanted to make a good run I wanted to go to the moon I knew that it had to be fun I told ‘em to send me real soon I wanted to be a spaceman That’s what I wanted to be But now that I am a spaceman Nobody cares about me

She repeated similar moves to the first chorus but on her knees this time, feeling up her own body, wiggling her assets playfully at whoever she wanted – connecting with the audience. Chris was captivated by the way she carried her body like that, the slightly distorted music gave a sexy edge to her routine that caused his cock to throb in his jeans. 

In his big doctor brain, he was trying to figure out how someone could be so graceful. Even if he felt ashamed of viewing her so strenuously, he justified it by observing her anatomy like the surgeon he was.

She didn’t wear high heels, opting to be barefoot, and the only extravagant makeup she wore was something that made her body sparkle. Her simple lingerie wasn’t something that stole the show, she just came as herself. The differences help him tell a lot about who she was, the little details sending signals to his genius mind.

Hey Mother Earth, won’t 'cha bring me back down Safely to the sea Around and around and around and around Is just a lot of lunacy (yeah, yeah)

The break in the lyrics gave a sense of anticipation, the echo prepared everyone for the next verse as the song swerved in and out of a muffled tone. Then, she was watching him.

Chris abruptly looked away as the mood changed, his breath hitching as he erratically glanced around before settling on her again. She appeared to be showing off for him now with a smile on her lips. He swallowed thickly as his mouth began to water and dry out at the same time, exchanging aggressive eye contact with the woman that had his undivided attention.

The music got lost in the background noise as they disappeared into their own world, his heart pulsed in his ear and his breath shallowed as everything around them was lost. It was like the earth had stopped spinning, the gravity giving out so the spaceman could feel weightless. There were faint pictures of the cosmos floating across his flushed skin, revealing his lip clamped between his impressively white teeth.

'Round and around and around and around and around (So bring me back down) 'Round and around and around and around and around Safe on the ground

He wasn’t trying to be sensual, Chris chewed his bottom lip when he was either content, uneasy or nervous. And nervous he was. Those eyes said innocence but the rest of him screamed sex fiend who could pound her into another universe if provoked, it definitely piqued her interest.

She never had the pleasure of seeing a person in tune with her like that before, it was refreshing. He looked like he was genuinely enjoying the way her body made him react but on a more personal level, something difficult to accomplish from 15 feet away.

Hey Mother Earth, better bring me back down Safely to the sea But around and around and around and around Is all she ever say to me, yeah

She had to be the one to break the intense eyefuck that was taking place, on both ends, in the middle of her set. Chris sensed the music drift back in, the planet rotating once more and coming back to himself after his mind floated away into endless space amongst many stars filling the void. As the song came to a close, she followed the rest of her routine with similar moves, collecting herself after a mere moment.

Everything was simply...simple.

But there was still so much of the unknown that came with the woman she was, remaining understated in this line of work and feeding a lot of emotion into her life passion. He could feel it.

That is the exact reason why she was a house favourite.

You know, I wanted to be a spaceman That’s what I wanted to be But now that I am a spaceman Nobody cares about me Say hey, you Mother Earth, you better bring me back down I’ve taken just as much as I can But around and around and around and around Is the problem of a spaceman

Evaluate.

That spaceman had a problem alright.

She just took him on a fucking cosmic ride that will be burned into his mind for the foreseeable future. His pants were now painfully tight, pressing his cock close to his body so that every time he moved his tip would be stimulated by his silky briefs. He was being forced to evaluate his current predicament.

He thought about the next step as the projections faded from the room and her along with them, completely vanished by the time the lights dimmed down and back up again.

Chris originally wanted to stay for a while longer to watch some more, not pushing himself to do more than he was prepared for; progress takes time and it depends on the person. He evaluated the options in front of him, either pursue the course that led him to the woman who just blew his mind or, stick with what he had been doing for the past five months – fucking his hand while he rested alone in his bed.

Eventually, after he gave into the disconcerted feeling picking him apart, he went with the familiar option and kept his head down in disappointment at his lack of confidence, sliding out of the booth. He just wanted to go home at this point, maybe he would try again another day. He nearly reached the exit when a security guard abruptly stopped him from leaving, he thought he did something wrong at first but as it turns out, that was far from what was the case.

      “No, you didn’t do anything—you’re being requested by a dancer” the large man chuckled.

Chris looked up at the man that towered over him, questioning the authenticity of the claim. He clapped him on the shoulder.

      “If I were you, man...I would take the dance. She rarely takes requests but offering...one in a million”

The security guard walked him into the back where the exclusive rooms were and into one with a large circular seat, gentle lighting and parlour cabinet full of assorted items. It wasn’t a suffocating space, but he felt like he was running out of oxygen

      “Enjoy the show, man” with that final word, he left Chris alone in the room.

Once the door clicked, he rushed to rub his sweaty palms on his dark jeans and took a shaky breath as he sat down, pulling on the neckband of his sweater. In the meantime, he worked on not being so high strung, the door being behind him didn’t help as he waited for her to come. While the anticipation slowly drove him nuts, he ran the three steps Watney reminded him of in his cloudy mind.

Observe, evaluate and...execute.

Execute.

He was startled at the hands sneaking around his shoulders and lightly down his chest, making him jump in a bit in the big velvet chair. He was too deep in his thoughts to hear the door open behind him or her walking in on his stiff back facing her. Chris heard her soft chuckle behind him and felt the warm air caress his sensitive neck.

      “Easy loverboy” Ares cooed in a low voice.

If it wasn’t before, his heart was racing at lightspeed now. She had such a strong effect on him.

      “...you’re very tense. Did you know that?” she whispered behind his ear.

He shivered at the feeling and slowly nodded, not trusting his stupid mouth to not say something awkward.

      She chuckled again, “You have the prettiest blue eyes...even from a distance”

The woman walked around his seated boy, keeping her hands on him but moving them with her until she was faced with the mystery man from the darkest corner in the lounge. He wasn’t looking at her, but around her, and trying to find somewhere to rest his relentless gaze. It was all in vain though, she trailed her finger along his jaw and under his chin, forcing his eyes to hers.

      “Hmm, there they are—better up close” she bit her lip softly.

He looks so timid, with his big beady eyes and those perfectly pouted lips working in the evilest ways. Chris blushed at the compliment, feeling better about himself already.

Watney might actually be right about this whole excursion after all.

      “I—uh, thank you” he murmured.

Chris cursed himself for already stuttering like a dumbass.

In his defence, she was touching him ever-so-gently and how can he not trip up his words with her looking like a holy goddess. Ironic, given the circumstance. And now, he couldn’t look away.

Especially since her hands travelled upwards to pull his NASA ball cap off, then leaning forward while maintaining that close proximity as she unzipped his sweater, helping him pull it off.

      “We don’t need those” Ares whispered, tossing the garments on the floor.

But there was always some teasing before the actual contact.

As she put distance between their bodies, he was resting almost slack in the chair – legs parted, arms limp at his side and in his lap as soft music began to play. The apple of throat bobbed in his tight throat as she began moving slowly in front of him, full of grace and precision. She was like a supernova, its effortlessly soft edges melting into the black of space as her skin did with her bodysuit. The fact that he was the only one seeing it made the experience that much sweeter, all those feelings coming back from earlier.

He was also able to recognize that she was wearing subtle glitter and rhinestones that temporarily fused to her skin, causing the shine and sparkle of her body on stage.

Once she gave him time to get comfortable, she spread his legs apart and hovered her back over his chest, grinding her ass into his lap. The shampoo and light perfume made his sex twitch as he inhaled it in, trying his best not to give in and touch. He kept his hands on the edges of the chair, his fingers digging into it painfully – he remembered what happened to the other guys, how they got thrown out. Chris just wants to watch, that’s good enough for him.

No touching.

Ares leaned forward slightly, arching her back and hitting his private areas in all the right places, gradually making him break out into a small sweat. The woman rubbed her ass on his lap expertly and before he knew it, she pressed herself against him to lay her head on his shoulder.

       “I hope you know, the way you looked at me...you really know how to get a girl hot and bothered.”

Of course, he blushed again. His face was burning like the sun at this point.

       “I...I was just enjoying it—you are very talented” Chris laughed nervously.

He turned his face slightly, absentmindedly following the heat of her skin until he was fanning her neck, so close...but never touching. He was so, sooo close, but felt so far.

She stood up without warning and slowly turned around, pushing him back into the back of the chair more and watching as he widened eyes dilated further at her forwardness. He’d clearly never had a lap dance so he probably didn’t know about what happened during one. She set her legs on either side of his thighs, effectively straddling him to get on with the real deal. She smoothed her arms around his neck and left them to hang lazily off the back of the chair, never breaking eye contact the entire time.

       “That’s very sweet, I can feel how excited you are...”

As she began to move, their heads fell back simultaneously from the direct friction. Ares righted her head after a second and pressed into his personal space, their noses touching every time she moved up his lower body and back down again. She circled her hips a couple of times and breathed out a sigh, it was nice not giving lap dances to the clingy regulars and giving a man like this her talented movements and motions instead. It was different this time around, the atmosphere was weirdly intimate – he just gave off that energy.

       “Very excited...” Ares added.

Chris shuttered as she rested her entire body weight on his clothed erection at the sentence, now realizing how difficult it was not to touch. Though she picked up on his hesitation and demeanour instantaneously. She stroked all over his arms, chest and stomach for the first time, feeling how cut the guy really was, there were endless muscles. Very practical.

       He gave her a shy smile, “It’s been a long time since I’ve felt this way—to, uh...to have my body behave this way, I mean”

       “Ah, I’m turning you on?...” she asked, leaning in.

Chris didn’t know what to say to that, he’s never been good in these situations and more often than not resorted to the only thing he knows everything about. He’s starting to lose his cool and what happens when he loses his cool?

Well, he is not very smooth.

       “I, um...it’s the body sending signals the corresponding part of the brain...neurons fire commands and simulate the, uh...ohh,” a moan cut off his rambling.

He could feel himself getting closer to his release, something he didn’t want but also desperately wanted at the same time. He was already on edge when he was in the booth, his brain constantly stimulating his sex to the point where his boner couldn’t go away. The way it was being dragged across his pants made him groan even more.

       She giggled, “Has anyone told you that you’re a dork when you’re nervous?”

Chris shook his head, closing his eyes to try and fight off his orgasm until the lap dance was over. He had to swallow most of the breaths that became more and more erratic with every sway of her hips.

The way his skin flushed a dark pink and his breathing picked up confirmed she was doing a good job, but the only thing that threw Ares off was the fact that he was shaking violently, a straining vein on his neck making an impression in his flesh. She was unknowingly pumping his shaft along with his jeans, practically coaxing his seed to just burst out of him.

Chris felt his balls go stiff, cock pulse and tighten right before he lost control. The thing that pushed him to his limit was his balls compressing between his legs when she quickly swivelled her hips. He gripped the arms of the chair and thrust his hips upward, letting out a long mewl and finally giving up on holding back as pleasure took over his ability to think properly. Ares stopped moving while he continued riding out his orgasm that felt too goddamn good, cum seeping out of his boxers and down his thigh.

Once he found a way to maneuver himself back to Earth, he went completely limp in the chair as if he just ran a triathlon when the reality of what just happened hit him. That just happened, he hasn’t cum in his pants since his first year of university, and didn’t have a clue of what to do about it.

Why didn’t he just stay home? He could have avoided this if he just isolated himself in his room like he usually did.

       “Huh...that’s never happened to me before,” she said in a tone he couldn’t quite decipher.

       He glanced away after opening his eyes, still in a daze, “I...um”

For a moment he thought he made her uncomfortable and was getting ready to apologize, possibly leave if she wanted him to. But instead, he tilted his head as the embarrassment on his face was replaced by confusion at her smirk and gentle eyes. She dragged her ass across him once, making him hiss at the sensitivity of his half-hard cock still dripping with arousal.

Usually, she didn’t allow excessive touching and avoided any kind of sexual encounters at work, it wasn’t her thing – but there was something about this one that told her he should be pleased. To be honest, he wasn’t some run-of-the-mill scumbag or pompous prick like the usual attendees are, she’s starting to see he’s a plain, genuine guy. That’s why it took him by surprise when she leaned down and pressed a long kiss on the crease of his throat, sucking on it periodically.

       “...I thought there was no, mhmm, touching” Chris stammered.

Ares held on to the baby hairs at the back of his neck, then ran his soft hair through her fingers as she kissed her way across his face. Their lips brush together as she spoke.

       “Shhhh, let me take care of you...and this” she moved on him again, a mischievous gleam in her eye.

Chris whimpered out a noise of surprise when she finally connected both their lips together, she sucked his bottom one between hers and nipped at it tenderly. She grabbed his hands, placing them on her to encourage him to feel her, to touch her body. He was hesitant with his movements, still diffident even when she slithered her tongue into his soft mouth, twirling and caressing his.

When they disconnected he panted heavily in the shared space, she hummed at his expression, desire. After she climbed off his lap and kneeled in front of him as her hands began to unbuckle his belt and tug at his zipper.

       “Okay, this is happening? Right now?...oh” Chris breathed out.

Everything was happening so fast, he didn’t have time to think about the repercussions of his irresponsible, but tempting actions. His voice of reason was screaming its concern and he couldn’t help but listen to it as he sat there, immobilized while she worked his pants, then cum-soaked briefs down his legs.

       “You really don’t have t—” he groaned throatily as she pumped his shaft.

It was always the dorky guys who have the nicest and fullest cocks she had ever seen without fail – he was no different in that department, a decent length, thickness and fit for her. Ares stroked him until he was fully solid again, admiring the way he turned his hips up at the feeling of her hand around him – at least, if they stopped now, he’d have a good visual to fuel his lewd imagination late at night.

       She quirked a wholesome smile, “We need to clean you up before things get too heated”

Chris would have mentally retracted the concept of using her as ammunition for his masturbation thoughts, but he was too busy with his eyes rolling back at the most damning sight in the universe. She began to lick the cum from where it was on his body, on his cock, all over his thigh and what remained on her fingers; swallowing everything before working him over with her mouth.

       “Jesus Christ...” he growled, reeling in an abrupt lust. He held the back of her head as she sucked him off, “it’ll be over very soon if you don’t get up here”

Even taken aback by his tone, she grinned and gestured at him stand up along with her, encouraging him to pull the bodysuit straps down. Chris kissed along her collarbone faintly, tugging the lingerie down to expose her breasts and gleaming heat to his eyes. He kissed her neck as best he could, not knowing if he was making her feel good in the least but still giving it his best shot.

       “God, you are beautiful...”

Luckily, she moaned at his rumbling words on her skin, relaxing him a little bit.

This was crunch time, they need to do it now. Ares rushed to pull his white t-shirt off, appreciating his abs, pecs and biceps as she pushed him back down on the chair forcefully – he looked like a complete stud but had the sweetest personality ever. She giggled as he squirmed out of his pants and kicked off his shoes so he could be fully naked like her, climbing on him again as he did so.

Chris didn’t want anything binding him while this happened.

       “Do you have a condom?” she mumbled against his lips, kissing him again.

He made an affirming noise, gesturing for her to pick up his pants where his wallet held one in a hidden pocket. He quickly fumbled the leather out and tossed it with his pants to the ground, barely getting the condom out before she snatched it and rolled it down the length of him. She propped herself on her knees, coating him in her growing wetness as she prepared to take him. 

But, he hesitated and held her just above him.

       “Are you...are you sure you want to do this—with me?” Chris asked, his eyes held a sadness that she never wanted to see from him again.

Of course, she wanted to...now more than ever.

To reassure him, she cupped his cheek with her free hand and pressed their foreheads together. The woman revelled in the way his mouth dropped open, eyes becoming hooded and a gasp hitching in the back of his throat as she sunk onto him. Looking deep into his eyes and watching the sadness dissipate into satisfaction. He grasped her waist with one arm as she began to ride him at a steady pace, his cock stretching her.

Chris groaned loudly, choking on his moans every so often when she caressed the right spot. The speed increased as he began to enthusiastically meet her thrusts, causing them to both murmur muffled whines and whimpers into each other’s mouths. One hardy smack of his thighs to her ass pierced their ears when he gave a particularly harsh snap of his body, pulling her down as he kept up with his hard thrusts into her.

       “Fuck, do that again...” she shivered as he fucked her so carefully, making her needier every second.

He had his brows furrowed in concentration, focusing on pleasuring her and tried to forget the doubts he had to live in that moment. This was more than spontaneous sex for him, he was making love to someone – feeling good for once. He has never fucked someone before but, if anything, he was giving her the most carnal, admiration-fueled sex he could.

She bounced faster as he, in turn, bucked into her harder. She was clenching, he was throbbing...it was too much.

       “God, that’s it, just like that,” he grunted, continuing to manually move her slowing hips.

       “Shit, you’re gonna make me cum...” she groaned, “...please tell me you’re close”

Chris nodded fervently, keeping his eyes locked on her for as long as he could. In the final stretch, as her clenching became more prevalent, he kept one arm around her as he trailed his hand down to her clit. Just when started to rub, his fingers caught the nerves underneath and made her cry out.

       “Does that feel good for you? Is it okay?” he asked politely.

Ares sobbed her ‘yes’ in a pitchy tone.

He hugged her tightly against him as everything started to unwind, leaving his pelvis to stimulate her clit. The woman clenched hard around him as she lost her vision, the way her cunt gripped made him speed up his thrusts to continue moving. Her low whine near his ear did him in, his lower body ghosted on a final thrust as he stopped completely – his heaving was muffled by the clenching of his teeth, letting himself tremble in her arms as he filled the condom with his cum.

       After a while of sitting there, Chris broke the silence, “I...I think my time is up”

She laughed at his witty remark, not realizing how much that boosted his mood and tugged at his heart, or how she just single-handedly repaired his self-worth. There was no way to process it, all he knew was he felt amazing, he felt...content.

Ares stood on weak legs, climbing off him and allowing him to dispose of the condom. Chris had a dopey smile on his face as he pulled his pants back on and did the fastenings quickly, she was already back in her bodysuit by that time. He appeared to be lost in deep thought as she handed him his shirt, smirking at him – his skin flushed a soft rose when he finally noticed.

She scoffed.

       “Do I really make you nervous—after that?” she retrieved his sweater and cap off the floor where they were forgotten.

Chris laughed quietly before shifting back to his serious face, smiling somewhat. She wondered why he was there in the first place when he could have women lining up; well, if he wasn’t so humble that is.

       He cleared his throat, “uh...thank you for that by the way. You didn’t have to do what you did...I just” then began rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. 

         “I’m not good at this stuff, one-time things and strippers—or, I mean exotic dancers, I didn’t mean for that to sound like th—”

To save him from himself, she curled her fingers around his shirt collar and pulled him in, kissing him thoughtfully. Chris cupped the back of her head right away and held her waist as she encompassed the modest stranger with her warmth. He chased her mouth after she broke away from his pursed lips, brows furrowing at his want to keep kissing her.

       “You talk a lot, it’s sweet” she giggled at his actions.

Following that encounter, he felt like a new man. She let him make love to her, or fuck her, whichever it was. He couldn’t get over that woman, she felt authentic in his arms, unlike Beth who felt out of place and made him realize his ex was never meant for him at all.

Chris was walking away, leftover clothes in hand and messy sex hair weathered by her hands, but before he could slip behind the curtain leading back to the lounge, she called out to him. When he turned to face her, she was in a robe and leaning laxly against the wall, just as dishevelled as he was.

       “For the record, I’m not good at this—” she gestured between them, “—either”

He drove home with a smile on his face and satisfaction coursing through him.

Although, he couldn’t shake the nagging feeling of having a mere fling. Not even knowing anything about her while doing something so intimate, something personal to him. He wished he would have asked her real name or her number, so he could thank her properly or even, possibly ask her out.

He had a feeling about her, the attraction was undeniable now.

Perhaps it was a god working some sort of miracle or the planet’s alignment giving him mystical energy, maybe something as simple as luck. But, as he started to get ready for bed that night, a piece of paper fell out of his jeans as he stripped to have a shower.

Curiously, he picked it up and looked it over.

xxx-xxx-xxxx Just because I knew you wouldn’t ask for it. Call me sometime. – Y/N

Maybe he would take her out.

After all, he felt as if they had this connection, even if it was unconventional from any other relationship he had before. One thing he knew for sure was he liked the sound of her name on his tongue, repeating it in front of the mirror and practicing what to say to her...thinking about her until he fell fast asleep.

The spaceman used to have problems, but now?

He has none.

© August 26th, 2018  |  April 20th, 2021 by pepsicup

[urfavoritemirrorball]

drukkari x taylor swift songs/lyrics

this is pretty long and probably very inaccurate but i tried !!

daylight // i don’t want to look at anything else now that i saw you

——

as we especially can see in the scene where the other eternals reunite with makkari, she and druig are nearly incapable of keeping their eyes off of each other. in addition to this, druig uses the word ‘beautiful’ to describe makkari on multiple occasions.

i almost do // and i wish i could run to you

——

this whole song reminds me of a more angsty version of what takes place between them during those 500 years where they’re separated. it’s from the perspective of someone who wants to reach out to their lover, but is scared of having to say goodbye again. while i’d rather believe that she visited him, i also like to imagine this being makkari’s thought process after they all split up

paper rings // i like shiny things but i’d marry you with paper rings

——

obviously, makkari likes shiny things. we see her steal on multiple occasions throughout the movie, so she definitely fits this lyric. i think that their love for each other is so strong that she doesn’t even care if the rings are paper, she just wants to be with the man she loves

dress // they got no idea about me and you

——

a lot of their moments are more subtle and private. it takes their teammates 7,500 years to realize that they have feelings for each other, which fits this lyric to a t.

come back… be here // and this is when the feeling sinks in, i don’t wanna miss you like this

——

this is another one that reminds me of those 500 years where they were separated. one of the first things he asks her after they reunite is ‘did you miss me’ and it’s clearly more of a soft moment between them. i do think that makkari visited druig sometimes, but this is probably how they felt when they weren’t together.

i think he knows // i ain’t gotta tell him, i think he knows

——

their connection is so unique and strong that they don’t even have to speak to know what the other is thinking. their chemistry is off the charts, and there’s never a moment that we see where they confess their feelings to each other, i like to imagine that it was clear to them from the beginning.

cardigan // and when i felt like i was an old cardigan, under someone’s bed, you out me on and said i was your favorite

——

sometimes, druig seems neglected by the other eternals. told that he shouldn’t use his powers, labeled as the grumpy one of the group. makkari saw through all of this and treated him the same. she only teased him for using his powers, and she didn’t care that he wasn’t as bubbly as some of the others. she simply loved him for who he was.

king of my heart // and all at once, you are the one i have been waiting for

——

this entire song, really, is about finding someone who you love more than anything and i feel like that really fits these two.

wildest dreams // say you’ll see me again, even if it’s just in your wildest dreams

——

here’s another one that fits the time after they separated! again, this would be a more angsty version where they both want to see each other but never actually take that first step. this is the song that i think fits one of them reminiscing on what they once had.

peace // all these people think love’s for show, but i would die for you in secret

——

as i said before, these two have many more private moments. on the flip side, ikarus and sersi have more moments that everyone sees (their wedding, their flirting, etc). they do have some private moments, but i think that this fits drukkari more. plus, they seem to care about each other so much that they would die for each other. makkari goes up against one of the strongest eternals he hurts druig, not caring about whether or not she gets hurt.

call it what you want // starry eyes sparking up my darkest night

——

this lyric is more of a happy one, and i’d like to think of it as something druig would think. he does seem to have an emotional depth that many characters do not have, and makkari is there to make him smile when he’s gone too far into the depths of his own mind. this does sort of boil them down to angry boy-sunshine girl, but i still really like this lyric.

enchanted // counter all your quick remarks, like passing notes in secrecy

——

druig and makkari flirt/tease each other a lot, which is why i chose this lyric. this song is about meeting someone who is perfect for you, and i like to imagine it as drukkari’s ‘first’ meeting on the domo. i’d like to think that they were able to have this in every world, but it’s hard to say. they do seem to be tailored for each other, though. makkari is described as a character who has to have all of the answers, whereas druig likes to ask difficult questions. this alludes to the fact that they are made for each other.

[hansolmates]

(secret) lovers | m

summary; the (not) best friends 2 lovers spin-off where jungkook and you are trying to hide your relationship from his old best friend  pairing; jungkook x reader (f) genre/warnings; established relationship, jiyu is now an old friend and mc went to high school w them, weeb!koo, jk n mc be kinda stanky bc they’re only going to this party for the free booze, soft dom!mc, switch!koo, whiny koo, mc calls jk a slut, cockwarming, gets really soft n’loving at the end, heavy use of the pet name [redacted] i really think this couple is meant to be diabolically dumb together w/c; 2.7k a/n; this couple is really out here living rent free in my mind. jk, mc and jiyu really just are that thruple that i love to hate and hate to love. hope u enjoy this lil spin off! 

[series masterlist]

“You made it!” 

Jiyu flings her hands out, knocking both your heads with hers in the middle in a surprisingly strong hug. It’s a complete episode of déjà vu, from the way her body smells like the peach lotion she used after gym class to the shade of coral lipgloss. From the corner of your eye, you can see the caramel brunette’s tiny face is inching closer towards your ride, her head tucking in the crook of his neck. 

“Jiyu,” you beam. You’re the first to speak, the first to dip their toe in the water. “You look great!” 

“Thank you!” she pulls away, popping her hip against the doorway. The silky material of her coverup gleams in the sunlight, the silvery material showing off the silhouette of her bikini-clad body. Despite the fact that you’re the one who compliments Jiyu, her gaze floats over to the person next to you, “what a coincidence you two came at the same time and—oh my, and where are my manners! Come in, come in!” 

She moves away from the door, revealing an ornate lobby and two twin stairwells. You can’t help but light up at the beautiful crystal chandelier, flecks of pink and blue flickering in your eyes.  Further down the hallway you spot open glass doors that lead to a large backyard that overlooks the lake. Some people are already sitting by the dock, lounging about with drinks and happy smiles on their faces. 

“Actually,” Oh, he speaks. You think with a small smile on your face, side eyeing the man of the minute, “I forgot the rest of my luggage. We’ll meet you inside.” 

“Okay!” Jiyu smiles, “I’ll make you guys some drinks.” 

As soon as the door shuts, Jeon Jungkook, your boyfriend for three years blurts out, “She still has a crush on me.” 

You snort, taking off the duffle bag that’s hiding behind your back. Continuing to stand awkwardly at the front door, you prepare yourself to console your boyfriend’s worries. “She still has heart-eyes for you, Koo,” you tease, pinching his side. 

His eyes are big and swimming with guilt, “We should tell her.” 

“Oh, baby. We can’t break her heart this weekend.” 

“But love, it’s her birthday.” 

“Exactly,” you chirp, bumping your head against his arm, “can’t break her heart on her birthday.” 

Jiyu is an old high school friend. Class president, straight As, and even vied for prom queen. The only thing she wasn’t able to obtain throughout her high school years was Jeon Jungkook, the object of her affections. They were best friends in elementary school, eventually turning into distant friends as their interests changed and they got older. Yet, Jiyu still tried to insert herself into Jungkook’s life. Back in high school it was surely cute, the way she’d pine from the back of the room and place anonymous love letters in his locker, but Jungkook wasn’t interested and avoided any of her advances. Fast forward ten years later and it seems like old flames never die out. 

The meetups with Jiyu have been scarce since college and only in large groups. As former class president, she decided to hold a little reunion for her old friends, taking advantage of her stellar job benefits. A weekend in the woods, perfectly balmy and far away from the city. 

“I don’t wanna lie,” Jungkook nearly whines, pink lips warbling at your inability to budge. 

“Mm,” you hum, tracing the fingers across the seam of his back pocket. His boardshorts hide nothing, and you curl your fingers around the swell of his plump bum, “be good for me and tell a little white lie, will you?” 

Jeon Jungkook, former President of the Anime Club, prom king candidate and your favorite nerd in the entire world. 

A teeny tiny lie won’t hurt anyone. After all, you haven’t seen your high school buddies in literal years, and they wouldn’t dare bother to make a fuss about your relationship. In fact, they don’t know of your relationship with Jungkook. The two of you reconnected randomly, some spontaneous holiday party Kim Seokjin is always inclined to throw. You barely made eye contact the first two hours into it, not really wanting to go back to the hellhole that was your late teenage years. Nevertheless, by the end of the night the two of you couldn’t help yourself. 

As you look around the room with utmost confidence, the two of you have made the finest glow up by far. At first you wanted to keep the white lie to save face, you don’t owe anyone an explanation as to how you and the President of the Anime Club hooked up. However, you’re starting to enjoy the ruse. 

Jungkook’s sitting on the other side of the backyard, looking absolutely delicious as he sips on whatever fruity cocktail he created. Judging from yours, you have a feeling his drink probably consists of 95% orange juice and 5% alcohol. 

Jiyu and him are sitting in the large netted hammock, swinging lightly. Gravity is doing its thing, and Jiyu is practically laying on top of Jungkook’s lap, her body pooling to where his meets in the middle. As soon as his thigh touches hers, his eyes flicker to you in panic. He’s shirtless, only with a pair of mid-cut shorts to protect him. The skin that touches him probably burns. 

You wink and wave him away, assuring him it’s fine. Pretending to flip your hair, you turn back to the conversation you’ve been ignoring for the past five minutes. “Man, Jungkook’s so sexy,” Im Nayeon cooes, looking longingly at Jungkook’s form. 

“Jiyu’s so lucky,” Rina eggs on, taking another shot from the tray (a tray for herself, you might add.) 

“Do you think Jiyu’s gonna get some birthday sex tonight?” 

Nayeon snorts, covering her flared nostrils with her hand. That hand eventually loops around your thigh, eagerly pushing you two together by pressing on the meat of your bare skin. “If she’s lucky! Besides, we all know Jungkook had that big crush on you junior year!” 

Her pretty bunny teeth tease you, and you can’t help but smile back in return. “What do you mean, he really liked me?” you ask innocently. 

“Oh yeah! Drew so many little pictures of you in the margins. Little anime versions of you in his favorite outfits.” Of course, you know about Jungkook’s old crush on you. He’s mentioned it in passing, paired with an adorable blush on his cheeks. Hearing it from Nayeon, the shameless grin on her lips and the ease of champagne on her breath is much more entertaining. “Rina, do you remember when Jungkook set up her desk with rose petals and chocolate in a little heart? And then in the morning the janitor sweeped it up? He was so sad!” 

“Yes! I really felt for him,” Rina pouted. 

“Oh, poor baby,” you didn’t know that bit of information. You put a hand over your heart, watching as Jungkook shares a drink with his old friend Kim Mingyu. He looks so different, yet all the same since you’ve been acquaintances in high school. He carries his own weight now, an air of confidence that he’s finally reached over time.  

“Definitely not a baby anymore,” Rina scoffs. She clicks her tongue back to where Jungkook is seated. 

The sun is doing wonders for him, highlighting every crevice of where his biceps curl and twist as he lifts his hand in another drink. Their side of the lawn is doing a toast. For what, you don’t know. You do know however, that Jiyu is trying very hard to cheer right over Jungkook’s thighs, spilling some liquid over his knees. You smirk when Jiyu sends him an apologetic grin, dabbing a napkin up and across his thighs, far away from the wet spot. 

Jungkook, the poor guy, discreetly shoves her off. He brushes his hands and gets up, letting Jiyu fall back in the hammock all by herself. Avoiding the teasing gazes of his friends, he looks into the lake, hiding his blush. 

Still a baby, you think. Your baby. 

“Jiyu was practically sitting in your lap, baby boy,” you card your hand through his dark locks, fresh and shiny from the shower. The feeling is soothing to Jungkook’s scalp until you tug, arching his neck towards your lips and twisting, “did you like that,” you mumble into his Adam’s apple, “my little slut?” 

“N-no! Never, ohgodnever—” Jungkook is sweating, fat beads rolling down his hairline and glistening across his face. His fingers are practically phasing through your skin, the crescents of his fingernails sinking into the swell of your bottom. 

You clench around his dick, your soft folds urging Jungkook closer to his release. But he knows better not to move, and instead shudders from the ministrations, breaking apart from you to dip his head into your chest. His nose pokes at the bouncy flesh, nuzzling into your breast like the softest pillow. 

“Sh-shit, love,” he cries into your skin, “you feel so warm n’soft.” 

“You need to be quiet, baby,” you murmur, playing with the curls that hang around the nape of his neck, “unless—you want someone to hear? My little slut wants everyone to hear that I’m fucking you?” 

“Mm, no,” you grin at his honest reaction, and you can feel his neck heating up at the thought. Your fingers make their way, finally ending towards the apples of his cheeks. You squish lightly, loving the way his tanned skin puffs under your fingers. “I’m—ah—not a slut. I just really love you, only you. Really wanted to hold you in my lap today and show you off,” he whimpers at the unconscious clench of your folds, “just uh—slut for you, love.” 

You giggle, tightening your thighs around your boyfriend’s tiny waist. Your other hands trail down to the ridges of his abdomen, where you two are connected. You absolutely love the way your thighs wrap around his lean waist. 

Jiyu split the floors by girls and boys, as if you’re still in high school. It took forever for everyone to fall asleep, but you managed to sneak away with your bare feet slapping against the hardwood floor. Call yourself needy, but you couldn’t imagine yourself falling asleep with at least one good night kiss. Jungkook was ten steps ahead of you. Your boyfriend was already naked when you arrived, pumping his cock across the bed and getting himself ready for you. His eyes instantly zeroed in on you in his shirt, the black material hanging off your shoulder and begging to be pulled away by his teeth. 

“If I crawled in your lap today,” you murmur into his shoulder, “our whole secret would’ve been thrown out the window.” 

“I wouldn’t have minded, even if Jiyu got hurt,” Jungkook admits, running his hands up and down your back, “I wanna marry you, y’know.” 

You freeze in your ministrations, suddenly feeling the room go cold. Not in an unpleasant way, but the room freezes, the blue-white light of the moon igniting the seriousness in Jungkook’s gaze. You force yourself to stay on his lap, let his cock settle between your folds. The juices of your coupling are dripping down each other’s legs, cooling at your thighs and onto the white blankets. 

“You wanna marry me?” you echo, running your thumbs across his shiny lips. 

Of course, you’re at that age. Everyone around you is getting married, heck many people your age are already in the middle of creating a family, going on vacations to Disney and picnics in the playground. And yes, you also have thought about marrying Jungkook, he’s the only man you can picture marrying. Yet, hearing it out loud and from him only further fuels your desire to make these thoughts a reality. 

He kisses your thumbs, lips smushing against the pads. “Of course I do, love. You’re it for me.” 

You relinquish, slowly pulling yourself off of him. He’s still hard as you untack yourself, his member slapping against his belly button as he watches you in confusion. You make a show of fluffing up the pillows, arching your back and wiggling your ass as you make yourself comfortable to lay on your back. 

“Show me, baby,” you spread your legs for him, gesturing for him to come closer with a curl of your finger, “show me how much you want to marry me.” 

Jungkook smirks, hands immediately pumping with a squelching sound resulting from yours and his combined arousal. You love it when Jungkook takes the lead, just as much as you do. It makes you feel like a pillow princess, especially when you feel lovey sex is on the way. “Will you be quiet? Just like you tried to make me quiet?” he rasps, wrapping a hand around your waist to arch you up. 

“Depends on how good you are.” 

The head of his dick rubs against your clit, slapping lightly at the shiny skin. You both moan when he finally gives you what you both need. As soon as the tip of his dick sinks down, you feel like you’ve both hit home. It doesn’t take long for him to find his pace, naturally throwing your leg over his shoulder for added leverage. 

“Oh—fuck, baby,” you tug at his hair, pulling him in for a wet kiss. You don’t care that you’re slobbering all over him, the bed creaking and squeaking against his minstraitions. “I—uh, you feel so deep—yes!” 

“When we’re married I’ll fuck you every day like this, love,” he whispers between your lips, thrusting in a particularly sensitive spot that has you arching your back and pulling your chest to his, “I—ugh, I love you so much.” 

“Love you. Love youlovelove—ah! Kook, I’m—” 

The two of you don’t spare any time, the sun will eventually rise and you’ll be back to playing strangers. Jungkook pounds you into the mattress, nails you with enough cum for you to last the next day without having to sneak into each other’s room like horny teenagers. The roughness is smoothed out by love and bliss, eager at the thought of going home and anticipating a permanent life together. 

Five minutes later, you’re starting to feel a little too sticky. “Ohmygod—I need to fucking pee,” you pull yourself away from Jungkook’s sweaty body, palming around for your t-shirt.

“Just pee on the bed,” Jungkook grins. 

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you,” you make a face, “nasty.” 

“You like that I’m nasty.” 

“Yeah yeah.” 

With one last kiss, you skip away from his bedroom and close the door behind you. Unfortunately, as soon as you take five steps in the direction of the bathroom, somebody emerges from the shadows. 

“Holy shit, Jiyu,” you put a hand on your heart, eyes widening at her peeking in from the hallway. “You scared me.” 

“I’m so sorry,” she frowns, squinting her eyes to make you out in the dark. It’s easier to see her in her white slip, a thin chiffon material that barely covers her thighs. 

You don’t question why she’s out in the hallway in really pretty lingerie, or why she’s on the boy’s side of the house. So much for being discreet. Then again, there must be an ulterior motive for her if she’s already here, five feet away from Jungkook’s room. You wouldn’t have been caught if she hadn’t been so sneaky. (Well, not so sneaky. You got to him first.) You smell like sweat, arousal, and Jungkook. The shirt you’re wearing feels far too short and the cum in your panties feels tacky and gooey. You feel like a teenager being caught smoking. 

“Why?” Jiyu’s voice suddenly sounds as dark as the early morning, no sign of the sun. 

“Why what?” you answer, furrowing your brows at the sudden change in demeanor. 

“Why?” she hisses, eyes wide with pain and confusion, “why Jungkook?” 

You frown, not liking her attitude. Did she think it was a contest to who would fuck Jungkook first? Did she think she was being slick, sneaking away into a bedroom she has no business being in, even if he was single? You could laugh. So despite your height you steel yourself, looking at Jiyu straight in the eye. 

“Because Jungkook’s mine, and I’m marrying him.” 

As you pad down the hallway as fast as you can, you send Jungkook a quick text. 

[5:44AM] love: pack it up. Plan b go fake a fever we gotta go lol

[andfollowthesun]

come kiss me silver and gold

written for @dinlukenation's dinluke week day 5! prompt was: knight/prince au.

read it on ao3 if u prefer (5.6k words)

Din is covered in sand and krayt dragon blood and other various fluids when he enters the inn, the smell of it lingering in his nostrils and causing everybody to go silent once he steps past the doorway. Peli swoops the kid from his arms as soon as she sees him, and it’s testament to how exhausted he is that he doesn’t protest. She points up the stairs, “Bath’s waiting for you,” and he only spares her a grateful nod before trudging to his room. He’d usually be a little more considerate— beskar is heavy, and Peli’s stairs don’t deserve his clomping footsteps— but given the day he’d just had, he figures he’s allowed to take a few liberties.

Maybe that’s why he doesn’t notice Luke the first time, because when he comes back downstairs, body and armour clean, vision still tinged the same red fog as the colour of the dragon’s stomach lining, he finds it hard to notice anything but Luke.

He’s sitting in the corner, alone, and that’s the first thing— nobody ever came to Peli’s alone, or if you did there’d be someone trying to swindle you or sell you something within the first five minutes. But he’s just sitting there on his own, a berth of at least four or five seats between him and any other patrons.

The other thing is that he’s so still. Head bent over some papers on the table in front of him, empty plate pushed to the side. Hands steepled in front of his nose, only one hand gloved, brow furrowed. For all appearances, he held himself with the calmness of a man who knew he had all the time in the world and knew exactly what he was going to do with it all.

Din tears his eyes away when Peli sets Grogu down on the seat next to him, along with two covered bowls of stew. He reaches to gather Grogu in his right arm while balancing the bowls in his left, to take up to this rooms to eat, but Grogu rips the covering off one of the bowls and in the blink of an eye is wrist deep in food, half of it already smeared over his mouth. Din stares at him, the grainy feeling in his brain meaning it’s a good few seconds before he computes the fact that apparently, he’s so tired even the kid has faster reflexes than him right now. He’s acutely aware of the way his stomach is cramping with hunger, but he knows getting Grogu to stop eating for the five minutes it will take to move them to their rooms will be more effort than it’s worth.

Peli’s smiling at him, a half-crooked, reluctant twist of her mouth, and Din tilts his head in thanks for watching Grogu as he cleaned up. She nods in return before heading back to the kitchen, and Din settles in to wait for Grogu to finish his dinner. He runs a gentle hand over his head, before letting him grab hold of his thumb and chew on his glove. It’s clean. Mostly.

His thoughts are interrupted when the chair across from him scrapes out with a loud screech, and he looks up to see the dark figure from the corner now sitting at his table.

“Hello.”

Din is suddenly glad that his signature response to people introducing themselves unexpectedly to him is to stare them down in silence, because currently, behind his visor, he’s gawping. The man in front of him, for lack of a better word, is bright, even more so now that he’s right there instead of in the corner. Din feels like he can’t look at him directly, needs to steal glances through his lashes instead, like a bloody schoolgirl. But at the same time, he can’t look away.

“My name is Luke.”

And the last sign that Din has completely lost his mind and is going delirious with exhaustion— and perhaps also that he’s getting old if he’s so easily soft for shiny, pretty boys— is that he answers, before his brain has really caught up to his mouth, “Din.” Not with continued stony silence, not even Mando. His actual name.

“Din.” A smile spreads across Luke’s face. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Din is thankfully saved from answering when Grogu pulls on his glove a little too hard, overbalancing to tip forward and flip the remainder of his dinner over on the table. Din clucks his tongue, and leans forward to clean up the spill.

“Be careful, kid.” he chides, and he’s in the middle of claiming Grogu’s bedtime as his graceful exit from the conversation when Luke holds up his ungloved hand.

“Let me,” he says, and with a wave of his hand, flicks the tissues across the table to clean up the mess, and then sends them flying neatly into the bin across the room.

“What,” Din says, “the fuck.”

That seems to cow Luke a little, or, at least his smile turns sheepish. “Sorry,” he says, even though he doesn’t seem very sorry at all. In fact, now that Din has been staring at him for a couple of minutes and can decipher some of the twitches of his brow, the jut of his jaw, he seems, of all things, a little smug.

Din refuses to think about how the neat motion of Luke’s hand— something he was clearly practiced in, confident, precise— showed the delicate bones in his wrist, which only made him look more fragile, and Din especially refuses to think about how his mouth had watered with the sudden desire to lick over the joint. He has no interest in competing with some wizard in a weird ego game, no matter how attractive he is, so he gathers Grogu more firmly in his arms and makes to stand, but before he can pick up the other bowl that contains his own dinner, Luke speaks again.

“Wait!”

And there’s something in his voice that makes Din pause; a note that wasn’t there before. It’s not quite a cry for help— Din can already tell Luke is too proud for that— but it’s close. That brightness that had first caught his eye before is more apparent than ever, and Luke looks at Din with pleading eyes that rivals Grogu’s.

God, how is he even prettier like this? He curses himself for being weak, and sits back down.

“Sorry.” Luke repeats. His posture as slumped a little, and the bravado from before is all but gone. It’s like he was trying to be someone else before and now he’s exhausted from the effort. “I’m not very good at this.”

Din tilts his head questioningly.

“Making friends, I mean.” Luke elaborates.

Din has to stop himself from snorting. The last friend he made was Cara, about ten years ago. He didn’t need to make friends. He had the kid. He knew enough people.

Luke takes Din’s silence as an answer, and changes the subject. “What brings you to Naboo?”

This, at least, Din knew how to respond to. “Business.”

Luke’s face goes cheeky. Din knows his answer sounds suspicious on a good day, and he knows that Luke knows that. What he doesn’t know is why Luke’s face now looks like a foundling’s on Life Day, momentarily flooring Din with this new, relaxed, open expression. He’s still holding himself incredibly still, but not like before where he was tensed like he was trying to prove something, or even before that in the corner, when he seemed to be propping himself upright with the sheer force of that stillness. Din finds that he likes this version of Luke best so far, bottom lip full with smiling, one dimple sitting on the corner of his mouth, and despite himself, Din finds himself leaning forward.

“What brings you to Peli’s?” he asks, trying to level the playing field. It didn’t seem fair that Luke already had such an effect on Din, when he was still just sitting there, regarding Din slowly, deliberately.

“What,” Luke spreads his hands. His tone is affronted, but the cheeky smile is still on his face. “A man can’t come get a drink?”

“To Peli’s?” Din doesn’t keep the incredulousness out of his voice, and he only lowers his voice as an afterthought. No need to get on Peli’s bad side, but if Luke wants to be secretive, that’s his own business. Din knows what it’s like to hold everything you know tightly to your chest. It would hardly be right for him, of all people, to judge.

“If I’m being honest,” Luke says, after the silence between them has stretched out to the wrong side of awkward, “I came over because I noticed you watching me.”

“I was watching you too.” he adds, when Din doesn’t reply immediately. Din feels his face go bright red under his helmet, and he watches, transfixed as Luke’s tongue darts out briefly to wet his lower lip.

“Why?” he asks, when he remembers how to talk.

Luke gives Din an appreciative once over. “You’re not bad to look at.”

It’s such a line that Din is embarrassed it only makes him hotter. He thinks it’s something to do with how Luke has shifted, bodily, the long line of his legs now sprawled out in his seat like he’s on a chaise lounge, not a creaky chair in a dingy bar. But it’s not just that; Luke has shifted in other ways too, and Din can’t quite put his finger in it, but there’s a hungry look in his eyes that wasn’t there a minute ago, even though that must have been the very reason Luke made his way over to his table. The brightness has dimmed, not like the spluttering out of a torch, but like coals at the bottom of a fire.

The thing is, Din doesn’t do this— doesn’t indulge. The right thing to do, the safe thing, would be to turn Luke down, gently, but firmly, take Grogu back to his room, go to sleep, and head back to Nevarro tomorrow morning.

“It’s my last night as a free man,” Luke says, watching him with those bright, bright eyes of his. His smile is so sad that Din forgets to ask him to elaborate. He wants to wipe away the downturned tick of Luke’s mouth, forget about the dragon, about how the kid nearly died, again.

Luke must sense Din’s resolve caving, because he says, brightening, “So, what do you say you humour someone on his last night of freedom?”

“Who?” he says, pretending to look around, and Luke laughs, the last thing Din can coherently remember is the feeling of his ungloved fingers wrapping around the sliver of exposed skin between Din’s glove and vambrace.

+++++

Din wakes up alone.

Not that he was expecting anything else, but there’s a brief moment while he’s still swimming out of sleep, curled in the warm patch of sunlight that’s filtering through the window, where he can pretend the phantom heat next to him is Luke’s body, bare and soft.

When they’d stumbled up to Din’s rented room last night, Luke’s breathy laugh fogging up Din’s visor as he clumsily bounced his cheek against the beskar in his effort to get closer, closer, Luke’s clever fingers had snuck to the back of Din’s neck, looping to pull him in. And even though there was no indication he meant to pull off Din’s helmet, Din had still flinched, and then marvelled in shock at the way Luke had immediately softened, pulled back, the way he’d been able to read the minute twitches of his body him so accurately already.

“Not the helmet,” he’d said, his voice already a rasp even though they both were still fully clothed.

“Okay.” Luke had said.

And afterwards, when they were both sweaty and Din still trying to catch his breath from quite frankly the most incredible sex he’d ever had in his life, Luke had gotten up without a word, BUT before Din even had the chance to miss him, was back in bed, curled up against Din’s side, finishing off the knot for the blindfold he’d looped around his eyes.

“If you want to take your helmet off to sleep,” he’d murmured softly, and then he was out like a light, leaving Din to stare at him open mouthed for the second time in three hours, stunned at the trust, the thoughtfulness, the vulnerable nape of Luke’s neck.

He’s taken his helmet off with shaking hands many, many times before, but it’s the first time it feels like a benediction.

He shakes himself out of the memory, and rises out of bed. By the time he comes down the stairs, collected Grogu from Peli who is looking at him with a shit-eating grin on her face, he’s mostly convinced himself that he can live the rest of his life with Luke as a sudden flash of brightness, the scent-memory of his skin on the sheets.

Grogu chatters to Din as they walk from Peli’s towards the Naboo Spaceport, and Din makes all the appropriate noises like he can understand him, and he’s concentrating on making sure his kid is getting the enrichment he needs (he read somewhere once it was very important for early development)so he doesn’t notice the unease in the Spaceport at first. But he rounds the corner to where the Razor Crest is parked, and suddenly it’s all there; the prickling silence and sideways glances from the deck crew. Din’s gaze zeroes in on his ship, and he sees the men waiting outside the Razor Crest.

Not just men. Royal guards, from the look of their deep blue uniforms.

They must be on the lookout, because as soon as he steps foot into the hangar, one shouts, “You there!” He keeps walking forward calmly, but he shifts his grip on Grogu to one hand and rests his other hand on his blaster.

“You own this ship?” one of the guards asks once he’s within earshot. The leader, Din notes, spying the gold crescent badge on his breast.

Din nods warily. He’s half-distracted thinking how he can get Grogu to safety, if it all goes to shit, and the other half is mentally running through all of the ship’s modifications. He’s pretty sure most of the illegal ones are well hidden enough that a preliminary search wouldn’t have found them.

“You fought the dragon yesterday?”

Din blinks, jolted out of his train of thought, and he’s too startled to lie. “Yes?” he says, and then tenses, widening his stance a little. Everybody had seemed ecstatic when he’d come back into town yesterday, but the last thing he needed was lord furious about their precious pet dragon being injured.

“Come with us.” The head guard’s tone brooks no argument, and he doesn’t offer any further explanation either. And although his last fifteen years of bounty hunting are all screaming at Din to run, take the kid and get the fuck out of Naboo, there’s a fuzzy feeling behind his sternum tugging at him to follow that makes him feel lighter than a second ago. It’s the same way he’d felt when he’d seen Luke in the inn last night, what had allowed Luke to reach across the table and touch him. And inexplicably, it feels well worn, familiar to him.

Din goes with them.

+++++

Din forces them to circle the speeder back around to Peli’s first, where he drops off the kid. She takes Grogu with a fearful look in her eyes, and Din doesn’t look at her as he presses his forehead against Grogu’s. He doesn’t think about how it could be the last time he sees the kid.

The palace at Theed is built on the edge of a cliff, with domes of gleaming jade and its marble walls carved out straight out of the rockface itself. When they pull over the drawbridge, Din can hear the thundering of the waterfalls, and through the windows of the entrance hall, see the vast ocean to one side, glittering in the sun, and the green of the rolling plans on the other side. It was beautiful and grand and a little bit terrifying all at once, if Din was the kind of person who was impressed by that sort of thing.

The entire trip to the palace is silent, and it’s only when they’re deep into the castle, in front of a huge set of doors, that the head guard finally addresses Din, “Wait here,” before he disappears through the doors.

Din’s stuck outside the grand oak doors, and he briefly contemplates prying one of the rubies or emeralds that are encrusted into the door’s bolts with his vibroknife— could probably get good money for them— and how he could distract the remaining guards around him for long enough to do it, when the doors open.

It’s a throne room, that much is clear, with a lush red carpet and floor to ceiling windows along one wall. The sun is at midday height now, and its glare casts long beams of light across the floor, leaning towards the people at the other end of the room. Din steps through the door and takes stock of his new surroundings.

Seated on the throne is the Queen, who Din understands is well beloved and not at all prone to torturing bounty hunters, although her dark expression says otherwise. To her left, sitting on another throne—although perhaps lounging would be a better word— is a man who Din presumes is the king. In another world, Din knows, instinctively, that he would have been a dangerous opponent, long scar over one eye, shaggy brown hair, gaze sharp and keen. The same can be said for the young woman standing behind him, the same gaze, the same tight line of her lips.

To the Queen’s right stands an old man, white beard and white hair, drab brown robes. He looks mildly more welcoming, mouth drawn up into a soft smile, although Din can still read tension in the way he’s holding himself. And next to him…

Din stops as he looks at the last figure on the left of the room, the warm brightness, the shocked curve of a mouth dropping open. Din remembers how that mouth had opened against his throat last night, hot and wet, and how he’d wanted Luke so badly he thought he might combust.

Luke, who is in front of him right now, in golden robes, nothing at all like the black ensemble he wore last night. Luke, who had disappeared from Din’s bed this morning without a goodbye.

Din feels the mark he knows Luke bit into the inside of his thigh last night throb for a second, and he has to force himself to keep walking down the room. He stops in front of the thrones, and stares at them for a minute, the five of them assembled in front of him.

“What is your name, Sir Knight?” Queen Naberrie’s voice is kind, but there’s a steel underneath. She doesn’t look very happy to be sitting there. Belatedly, Din realises that he probably should have knelt.

Din shakes his head. It’s hard for him to keep his eyes off Luke. “I’m not a knight.”

Her face doesn’t lighten up, exactly, but a flash of humour does cross her face before it’s as gone as quickly as it came. “How would you like to be addressed then, good sir?”

Din tries to hide his grimace at good sir, although he doesn’t think he’s very successful. “Just Mando is fine.”

“Mando,” Queen Naberrie says, all trace of laughter gone from her expression. Beside her, the king’s face goes completely blank, like he’s trying to hide a sudden tide of emotions, and the young woman standing behind him scowls, glaring daggers at Din.

“Naboo is in your debt,” the Queen continues. “We thank you for your act of service.” It sounds like the words are being forced out of her mouth as she says it.

“What?”

The Queen’s expression becomes a little more impatient, a little more sour. Din feels like he’s running out of time, even though he didn’t realise there was any sort of rush to begin with. But before she can say anything, the old man standing the right of her chair speaks.

“You’re Mandalorian?”

“Yes.” Din’s hand goes to his blaster. The old man may not look like much, but Din knew better than to be fooled by appearances. However, the movement doesn’t make him any more tense. If anything, it seems to amuse the old man.

“Padmé,” he says, turning to the Queen. “I don’t believe he knows.”

She turns to her other side to look at her husband, and a silent conversation passes between the three of them, quirking of eyebrows and slight flicks of the wrist. Din takes the moment to drink in the sight of Luke, who is still staring straight back at him, eyes glittering. Din wants to rip those golden robes off him where they’re buttoned up to his neck, run his hands down his sides to the spot where he learnt last night Luke is ticklish, hear the breathy giggle before he firms his touch.

Except Luke is standing next to the throne, not beside him under the coarse sheets, and the distance between them may as well be one of Naboo’s oceans.

“Mando,” the Queen says, drawing his attention back to her. “You slew the krayt dragon yesterday, and in doing so, saved the lives of hundreds of my people. As is tradition, a dragon-slayer is given the princess’ hand in marriage.” She gestures to the girl standing behind the king.

Din’s thoughts come to a screeching halt, and his eyes flicker to follow the direction of the Queen’s finger. The princess’ arms are still crossed across her chest, and her expression looks more thunderous by the second.

“However,” the Queen continues, and Din has to stop himself from sagging in relief, there’s a however, thank god, “my daughter is already promised to another. As such, I hope you will be similarly pleased with my son’s hand in marriage.”

The relief vanishes, and Din turns sharply to look at Luke, who’s practically glowing looking back at him. But all Din feels is the swirling sickness in his stomach.

“No.” He can barely hear himself over the rush in his ears.

The Queen raises her eyebrows. “No?”

“I don’t want to marry him.”

“It is tradition.” The Queen is cool and calm, and it makes Din want to hit something.

“I don’t want him!”

His voice bounces off the ceiling. There’s a shocked beat of silence, and when Din dares to look at Luke, all the light has left his eyes. And no sooner than Din has caught a glimpse of his face, as if Luke senses his gaze— which he probably has— he turns sharply on his heel and leaves the room.

Queen Naberrie watches him, with an eye far too keen for Din’s own liking. “I think,” she says slowly. “We might give these two some time alone.” She stands in a rustle of silk, and gestures for her husband to do the same. She puts a firm hand on her daughter’s shoulders and the old man does the same for the king, guiding them out of the room through a separate door despite the king and the princess’ loud protests.

It leaves Din alone in the throne room, the silence suddenly suffocating around him. The heat from the sun streaming in through the windows no longer feels like an extension of the palace and the view, but instead sharp, urgent, stifling.

Din takes a deep breath, and follows the door Luke had exited through.

It opens out to a courtyard behind the throne room. The air is muggy outside, and he feels the dampness of sweat on his underclothes, the awkwardness of the quiet clank of every movement with the bulk of his armour. Luke is standing on the far side, by a balcony which overlooks the sea.

Din comes to a stop in the middle of the courtyard, unsure if he’s allowed any closer. Last night, he would have said that closing the distance between himself and Luke would have solved any problem between them, healed any miscommunication. He can still feel the phantom strength of Luke’s fingers laced between his, like a balm to his aching joints. Now, he’s not sure if his presence is welcome at all.

“You really didn’t know?” Luke asks without turning around.

Din’s tongue feels clumsy in his mouth. “No.” he says. He knows he’s not saying exactly what he means, because he does, very much, want Luke. Just not like this; passed around like a political jockey, one of the means the end is supposed to justify. Luke, being given to Din like a playing piece in chess, bound to him out of duty, instead of choice. The mere thought of it makes the sickness in Din’s stomach swell up again.

He doesn’t know how to say any of that, so instead, he says, “I wasn’t trying to slay a dragon. I was just protecting my foundling.”

Luke gives a startled laugh. “Of course. Thousands of knights actually trying to kill it and you go and do it by accident.”

They lapse into silence. Din wants to get that awful, stricken look off Luke’s face, but the only way he can think of doing so would be to touch him, just once, softly; cross this vast distance between them and dig until he sees the brightness he’d held to his bones last night. It kills Din to think he’s lost the privilege to comfort him.

“I thought,” Luke says, his voice quiet, wobbly. He takes a breath and starts again. “They told me yesterday that someone had slain the dragon, and I was to be married the next day. Figures the only dragon-slayer I’d actually want wouldn’t want me back.”

He sounds so self-deprecating, none of the soft sureness Din had seen last night, the cocky slant of his smile when he’d wrapped his mouth around Din’s dick. Din wants it back so acutely that he can feel it like a physical weight in his ribs. He doesn’t like this version of Luke, buttoned up tight, uncertain of Din, of the trembling thing they had cradled between them last night.

But he can’t seem to have Luke back without anchoring him to Din, so instead, he says, “I didn’t kill the dragon.”

Luke turns around. “What?”

“I wounded it, sure. But it was definitely still alive when I last saw it.”

“So you don’t have to marry me.” he adds, when Luke just stares at him, but even as he says it, it feels like there’s a crack in his heart. This morning, he’d shored up the hole Luke had left with the curled imprint of his body on the sheets, and now it’s all coming back, all the golden light pouring out with how much Din wants, simply, to hold Luke. Not to marry, not even to fuck. Just to hold.

Luke does not seem to be on the same page as him. “So the dragon is still out there?”

Din nods confusedly, and Luke closes his eyes. “Fuck.” he says.

“It’s a good thing, isn’t it?” Din says. “You don’t have to marry me.”

“It’s still out there.” Luke repeats, but it’s not a question this time, and Din looks away from how he’s wringing his hands, tries not to think about how much he wants to press his palm against Luke’s heated skin, in hopes it would loosen some of this sudden nervous energy. Looking away allows his brain to clear up a little, not completely occupied with the sight and thought and smell of Luke Luke Luke, and it hits him all at once.

“It’s still out there. Oh, god. It’s still out there in the village.” Din feels the dread pool in his heart. “I’m gonna have to go kill it, aren’t I.”

“Well, you don’t have to…” Luke trails off.

Din’s already striding back into the throne room, before a thought occurs to him, and he turns around and goes back to Luke, taking one of his hands in both of his. “If I manage to kill this thing for good this time,” he says, “you still don’t have to marry me. I don’t care about tradition.”

Luke has gone completely still under his touch, just like he was when Din first saw him in the corner of Peli’s, his grip strong under Din’s palm. His eyes are very wide, very blue, and even though Din knows he can’t see through the visor of his helmet, he feels like Luke is reading his face with inexplicable familiarity. With the calmness of a man who knew he had all the time in the world and knew exactly what he was going to do with it all.

Din drops Luke’s hand like he’s been burnt and steps away, his face going red with the realisation of his rash decision in the heat of emotion.

Luke says, “I’m coming with you.”

And Din forgets all about how completely inappropriate it was for him to touch Luke like that. “What? No.” Not Luke, with his soft body and curves and bony wrists, who had a family in the palace who clearly cared about him. Who Din still wanted to hold afterwards, and they couldn’t do that if Luke was dead via krayt dragon.

“I can handle myself.” And there he is, Din can see the man last night who wiped the table clean with his freaky powers just because he could; because, Din realises now, he was trying to impress Din, not compete with him. The relief at seeing the glimmer of that Luke again, without the frills and false airs, almost swallows him.

“Also,” Luke adds, as Din is still marvelling at the appearance of Luke’s brash edges again, “if someone else went and killed it now, I would have to marry them. I’m just making sure you make good on your word.”

Din feels a flare of anger in his chest, way too intense for having only known Luke two days, and resolutely puts it out of his mind, deciding to think about it later. But then Luke grabs his hand again, tugging him through the throne room and back to the speeder, and Din can’t find it within him to pull away. He’s only thinking about peeling his glove off so they can be skin to skin, and then peeling that disgustingly impractical gold ensemble off Luke’s body. He’s thinking about how Luke didn’t pull away when he’d grabbed his hand before, and now, how he’d reached first, and the lucent gleam in his eyes when he’d looked at him, like suddenly everything had become clear to him.

And as the speeder roars to life, the warm shape of Luke in the passenger seat next to him, Din dares to hope, could it really be that easy?

+++++

The dragon, surprisingly, is easy enough to kill, what with Din having mostly incapacitated it the previous day when he’d ripped himself out of its stomach. He’s honestly surprised that the dragon had survived long enough to drag itself back to its lair. Luke almost looks disappointed, and if Din’s learnt anything as a bounty hunter, it’s that as soon as you complain about it being quiet is when things start going to shit.

They’re climbing back into the speeder when the first blaster shots are heard, some very angry knights— real knights— who apparently were banking on slaying a dragon and marrying a princess to get fat and rich off the royal coffers, pissed off that someone else had gotten there first.

Din groans, rolling out the crick in his shoulder— after the dragon (twice!), knights seem as relevant as gnats— but he draws his spear all the same. After all, it didn’t matter what killed you, a blaster shot is just as deadly as krayt dragon teeth.

And then Luke, out of fucking nowhere pulls out a green sword and dispatches them all without breaking sweat. Din hasn’t even moved from his spot next to the speeder. A ball of heat shoots straight through his stomach, and he feels his mouth go dry.

“You weren’t kidding when you said you could handle yourself.”

Luke smiles serenely, sheathing his sword. Din feels his stillness again, this time, the kind that indicates imminent danger. Unfortunately, because Din has now accepted that he just functions on a lower brain capacity around Luke, he can feel certain parts of himself getting very interested in a dangerous version of Luke.

“Luke.” he manages. He knows he has to say this before anything else happens. “You don’t have to marry me.”

And Luke just looks at him, patient, light, none of the heavy sadness Din had seen in the courtyard, and Din knows, then and there, that Luke understands, that he’s been able to read in between the lines: everything Din hasn’t allowed himself to want from fear of losing it. Luke knows what he wants to say— what he’s going to say. He just has to say it.

“But would you like to come with me?” he gets out.

Luke’s face breaks open into a smile, like rain after drought, and this time, Din doesn’t stop himself from crossing the distance between them, pulling Luke flush against him by the waist. Luke knocks his forehead against Din’s helmet, and Din closes his eyes, basking in the sheer sense of rightness.

“I’ve always wanted to see the galaxy.” Luke says after a long minute, and Din laughs, feeling so light he could fly.

[lillian-nator]

Wallflower AU (aka highschool au made w/ @bellfort3)

V i b e s - hanging on the roof; walking across train tracks; skipping school; Lakes, yes, something with lakes; something with different types of sodas. - My angsty teens are gonna have painted nails - Tommy bleaches his hair; Wilbur dyes his hair black - dramatic fuck. - Wilbur in eyeliner plz - Wilbur wears doc martens; black, yellow, maroon, silver shiny - Tommy's worn the same exact jean jacket for the past 5 years; it's 2 sizes bigger than he is; but he wears it every single day; it has fur on the inside; and its light washed with tears; the tears didn’t come like it; he's just ripped it over the years - He doesn't wash it very often, but he's glued patches on it, and Wilbur's drawn on it in sharpie. He just layers hoodies or flannels under it when it’s cold, but still wears it when it's hot - Tommy's also worn the same shoes for YEARS, they’re duct taped together at this point, they're white converse, they're not white anymore, and he's bleach-washed them SO many times that they permanently smell like chemicals. - The laces are frayed, so bad that he doesn’t even wear the laces most days. - Tommy doesn't shy from going in mud or water though, he'll wear the shoes to their fullest and then some. - I think you can tell by now, that Tommy just doesn’t come from a lot of money. - They live in a kind of run down town, very poor, old, smallish. - Wilbur is middle class, which is very well off in the area he lives in. - Wilbur gives off family disappointment vibes. Where he has to sneak out at night, Tommy can leave through his front door. - Wilbur calls Tommy “sunshine”, but very sarcastically since Tommy is a dick :) - Tommy has one of Wilbur's old beanies; it's black and monster branded, the monster logo is green - Wilbur gave it to Tommy 3 years ago, and Tommy never gave it back - btw Tommy's 17 and Wilbur's 19: Tommy's a junior and Wilbur's a senior - Wilbur only drinks Green Apple Monster - Tommy drinks sugar free redbull, but mostly only when Wilbur buys it for him, because Tommy usually doesn't have pocket change - Wilbur and Tommy bring speakers to the train tracks and dance and by that, its them jumping around and occasionally pushing someone over - Tommy uses his allowance to buy cigarettes; Wilbur vapes - both mentally ill - Wilbur is essentially the modern emo. He has this one yellow and black flannel that's oversized, and he wears it multiple times a week - it’s a problem.

- Dream, Wilbur, Karl, Tommy, Big Q, SapNap, Punz, and Tubbo - That’s the group. - I have just been talking about Tommy and Wilbur but they are the main characters so you can suck it. - A scene with Dream, Wilbur, Karl, Tommy, Big Q, SapNap, Punz, and Tubbo, at a lake, throwing each other in, and Tommy gets his shoes soaked, but he saves his jacket from the fall. Water gun fights, and they drink energy drinks and eat chips. they lay in the grass and contemplate life, Talk abt life yes. Abt existence. Abt how shit it is. Half of them have to wake up early and sneak home, the other half get to stay as long as they like. - Tommy tucks his t-shirts into his pants, which are always very baggy black jeans with just gigantic holes. - Tommy and Dream both have ADHD, however, Tommy's meds are purely from welfare, he cannot afford to give any out. Dream however? From an upper-middleclass family. Basically millionaires in this town. He can afford to lose some of his meds. - He yells in the clearing "COME GET YOUR DRUGS CHILDREN" - Besides, I've learned that there are like so many different ADHD meds, and maybe Tommy is just on something a lot stronger than adderall. He can't partake in the pill popping, but he doesn't mind. He does it every morning. - They don't do it often, maybe once a month, depends on how big Dream's prescription is - not that he regularly takes them like a good boy should - And I won't ever write this, but Gogy hangs out with them every so often, in which Gogy and Wilbur have an on and off again hooking up type relationship - whenever they hang out, Gogy like sits and Wilbur's lap and shit - Tommy and Punz GAG - "EW the fuck - get your hands off eachother. ITS GROSS - NO PDA IN MY BACKYARD"

- They hang out in an abandoned Building. But they don't try to fix it up. They're not fucking VSCO girls. They just want somewhere to hang out - If anything they make it worse - they fucking trash the place - It’s not intentional though - It’s like they can have fun without worrying abt the mess - just, sometimes they spill hawiian punch mixed with vodka everywhere - THEY GHOST HUNT AND OUIJA BOARD AND SHIT - They hang out in cemeteries too. they play manhunt in a cemetery, but like the regular version- like just hide and go seek in the dark. - they've done seances even though almost all of them are atheists - anyways the point of the fact is, is that half of them (excluding the minors you know) I'm looking at you Karl and Q - somethings going on between you two have made out with guys, and I'm not gonna sugar coat it, most modern like takes on religion do not take kindly to that

- they go to prom - and Dream somehow ends up with a ton of weed, because he had just turned old enough, and had the money - and they get fucking high OUT of their minds, like they're never doing it again - like, George and Wilbur definitely hooked up at Wilbur's house, which they aren't supposed to do - because Wilbur's parents will fucking flip that Wilbur is sleeping with a random person. No one is quite sure where SapNap ended up, and Tommy lost one of his shoes. In a panic, they spent the next 3 hours looking for it to find it at the lake by the school - Tommy fucking cradles it to his chest. -  (are wilburs parents homophobic?) (yes maybe a little side of homophobia) (Is wilbur bisexual or gay?) (he is ‘whoever the fuck looks bangable’) (fair enough) (he is ‘gogy my king’) (TRUUUE) - the bleachers - they hang out under the bleachers

- Gogy = Stylish stoner - very popular, but never not high - Karl is like the goody two-shoes of the group, doesn't skip class, and is on the principals list, however, he will NEVER back down from space brownies - its his weakness - Tubbo has a subway pass, and they do that thing where Tubbo swipes it and everyone fucking bolts into the subway, and they take all the trains at like 4am and just hang from the bars and shit - Wilbur still dresses relatively like, nicely and scholarly, which puts everyone off. He wears very loose sweaters with button-ups underneath. with khakis or black jeans and his docs - where his best friend, our Tommy, wears borderline yellow converse, and one bleached two-sizes-too-large jean jacket, and some second-hand-store hoodies, that are always a bit too worn in, but so, incredibly Tommy - Tommy who legit hasn't brushed his hair in years, not with a brush anyways - too frantic to brush his teeth most mornings. but always chewing gum; Tommy's always everywhere at once - ADHD meds only half-working on him, they couldn't afford the good shit - He'll never quite understand Dream handing out his adderall for free, Tommy would kill for the hard shit, but hey, he's never gonna stop his friends from having a good time

- Let's talk about Karl Jacobs - good ole' goody two shoes Jacobs - all of his teachers are constantly trying to get him to stop hanging out with Tommy and gang - every parent teacher conference is "we love your boy, but we are concerned about his friends" - Teachers have meetings with him, about how the people you surround yourself with can change your future - Karl's like, from the good side of town, plays first in the drumline, plays violin on the side, straight a's, clean-white-air-force-ones type of guy. Name brand clothes. Combed hair - Packed lunch every day from his mom; gets dropped off by his mom, kisses her goodbye; Mom is like very involved in school too - PTA parent - it's fucking good kid Jacobs - and he's sneaking off with fucking potheads to go to college parties and abandoned buildings - Does he do drugs? Well, he’s a big fan of treats if you know what I mean :wink wink: - ….you ever see Ted's video about a 500mg edible …. yeah. - big fan of gummy bears and brownies - Karl shows up to Parties and there are shouts of "Fuckin' goody-two-shoes Jacobs is HERE" - a lot of people make fun of him and think they can push him around - He seems like a softie; welcome mat type beat - but fucking watch this man chug 5 cups of whatever you give him, and then still win beer pong - Like his best friend is fucking quackity, he can do the hard shit - its very much a his parents have no clue who he actually is type beat - Look, his parents have no clue where he is ever - And if they even know he’s out, they don’t know where or with who - If his mom is at all involved in the school, she'll hear about Quackity, basically a drug dealer with how much hash weed he hands out on a daily basis. - Tommy has to be contained in order for the school to run smoothly, and Wilbur is a dramatic fuck that sleeps through most of his classes - Tommy has to take frequent breaks - They make him spend 3rd period in the principles office - Like he obviously needs help but he can’t afford it at all. Even the school can’t do anything for him bc he can’t get anything official for himself - like he can't even try to concentrate - He gave up so quickly in high school, bc they don’t have enough time or staff to help him - he tried in middle school - but man, did he give up in highschool - Yeah. He knows it is hopeless. Can't even afford college anyway. he'll just do whatever Wilbur does - here's an idea: Fucking Karl Jacobs showing up to school one morning just absolutely hammered out of his mind - Karl just showing up to first period AP Physics, and he's barely awake, honestly smells so much like weed and booze, and if he breathed anywhere near you, you could just feel the alcohol radiating from his breath - He's extra bubbly, laughs at everything - takes out his notebook to take some sort of notes, and just fucking giggles at the shapes and equations. He is very spacy, he clearly stayed up all night doing something very illegal; he gets up and jumps around. 2nd period band? oh boy - He gets sick at lunch bet - Like everyone got Drunk but Karl got FUCKED up - It was his birthday, bet - He took like 17 shots over the course of like 8 - 12ish hours, and I looked it up, despite karl being super scrawny and probably like 140 - 150ish pounds - which isn't a lot for being 5'11 - will not kill him - BECAUSE, you guessed it, he turned 17 - He didn't sleep, he was awake taking shots and just fucking who knows what until 6am when they stumbled to school - at lunch, 11:30 in the morning - he's head down on the table, miserable - he doesn't have a hangover yet, because it's only been a few hours, but man, is he nauseous - just the smell of food makes his stomach churn - and the thing about fucking Jacobs showing up drunk as hell - is that at least one of his teachers has called his mom about it - SHES PRESIDENT OF THE PTA FOR FUCKS SAKE, ONE OF THEM KNOWS HER - And the teachers aren't stupid, Karl is so obviously drunk - generally Karl is pretty quiet in class; but now he has no distinction between hanging with hs friends and being in class - he's shouting and cracking jokes and is very tempted to kick his chair over - Anyways, Karl fucks himself over, end of story  - ONTO PUNZ’S RELGIEOUS TRAUMA WOOOOOOOOOOOO - It's Punz - fuckin' golden boy Punz; he plays football; and goes to church; and calls his mother "momma"; wears a nice church outfit; and is polite to the bible study mothers that come over on tuesday nights and gets them drinks - just a fuckin' golden boy - A religious family. Go to church every Sunday. Sunday school. Holidays. But. The kid just realizes that they don’t believe in god. Them telling the group like they’re high and he’s like “you know? Some of the shit that’s happened to us proves to me that god rlly isn’t real.” - and Punz like prays every day for Tommy's dad to get his job back; or for Gogy to get better parents; or for Karl to live the life he wants; and NOTHING EVER WORKS. THEY'RE ALL STILL FUCKED. - by the way we will get the the Tommy's dad losing his job later - But Punz's life is controlled by something he doesn't even believe in anymore - because he's still going to the like church breakfasts, and christmas service, and every sunday morning, and helping his mom's ladies bible study, and his parents are talking about sending him to a youth bible camp - - and he doesn't even think he believes in god anymore. - Punz kind of took out his own personal, religious, and family struggles out the way most teenage boys do. Drinking, and lots of sex. - SO I just imagined this like, really dramatic moment, where its the morning after Punz had a one night stand at some sort of party down the street, and he's long past saving his virginity for his wife, but he's buying her the morning after pill, which his church is just so against, and he has like the moment of, "if you do this, you're done." and he does it - he's had a couple of those moments, like, when he first had sex, and when he first smoked weed, or popped a pill, or snuck out at night, or skipped church - but that was the moment of "there is no going back" - like any type of drug or procedure that aborts an embryo, or that blocks fertilization thats already in process in like: the biggest no no in his church community - so once he stepped out of that drug store, he kind of took a breath, and just came to terms with it - "I'm an atheist." - Punz is the pastors son. - he's like, pre-commited to a catholic college - he’s in deep. - so when he first announces it to his friends, one really late night, "I think god might not be my thing." - they just start whistling and say "FINALLY, THE PASTORS SON HAS TURNED AROUND." - Dream just like turns over to him "how many chicks did you fuck to make you realize that?" - Tommy just slings his arm over Punz, "I'm glad you've quit the Jesus shit, Punz. Your better than it." - There’s gotta be this girl ok. He rlly rlly wants to have sex with her but he always backs out. The thing that breaks him. Is that he gets drunk and loses his virginity to someone who is not that girl - like, he likes this girl, and has a good connection with her, and she likes him, and he knows that its gonna be comepletly consentual, and she's like fucking beautiful right? - and she's the one he wants to loose it to and he's a stupid fucking idiot and loses it to some fucking random ass chick that doesn't even go to their school - This triggers a spiral. After that? He slowly starts giving less of a fuck abt everything. He fucked up the one thing you can’t do over and god he’s so painfully aware of it and so painfully aware that he didn’t even fuck up right. - You’re supposed to wait till marriage. Nope. You’re supposed to do it with someone you love and trust. Double nope. He. Fucked. Up. - its just like he wanted to do something bad. he wanted to fuck something up. he was questioning his faith, his like, great and sturdy and always-there faith for the first time, and what better way to test faith than to do something shitty and see what comes of it. and so he was planning and planning and planning how he was gonna do this terrible thing - which is such a good kid thing to do, to put so much thought into your own rebellion - but he wanted this to go perfectly. - Little Pastors Son, Punz, wasn't gonna wait till marriage. - He was gonna have sex with the girl of his dreams before they were even dating - but man did he like her. Did he want her. - And then he fucked some random girl when he was black out drunk. He's fucked everything up - he can't wash this away with confession - he's tainted. He's dirty. - He looks in the mirror and doesn't recognize the heathen staring back. - He hates who he's become. - But he never goes back - he can't. He's dirty. He's wrong. - but the more he goes down the spiral - the more he realizes that one mistake shouldn't have made him feel like that - that if god was real, which he honestly wasn't sure in that department, he wouldn't want Punz to feel like the scum of the earth for doing something wrong. especially when he felt so bad after he did it. This system was fucked. He didn't want to be apart of another cycle - and he's just lying to himself every time he goes to church, and reads a cerse for his mom, and meets with younger kids at the church, and plays flag football with fucking church virgins who are good catholics and follow all their mommas orders - And every night when he says grace he means it less and less. he always does it when his momma asks, but boy does the lords word mean shit to him anymore From Ethan: - A turning point to the others in Punz's breakaway from Catholicism is like - He prays before he eats, usually. Sometimes they wait for him to finish his prayer before eating themselves, just out of politeness. He's a friend, he gets that shred of etiquette - And then one day he just doesn't. They got some fast food for a whole group dinner out at their hangout spot (a warehouse, did you say??) Tommy is staring at it intently but he waits for Punz to pray. Tubbo's already started eating but the rest wait - And Punz just starts eating - Dream nudges him, "No prayer, Pastor's boy?" - "No prayer," Punz mumbles into his food. "I'm trying something new." SO, TOMMYS DAD LOSING HIS JOB ARC W000000000 - it starts with Tommy showing up in a different jacket one day - like you have to understand, he's worn this jean jacket every single day for as long as WIlbur has known him, which is like 6 years - Like Tommy shows up in this giant, khaki work-jacket and it's his dads... - HIS DAD DIDNT DIE - his dad lost his job, which is essentially death to a family who already couldn't sustain themselves - and Tommy shows up to school, face pale and cheeks sunk in and there are visible bags under his eyes - and Wilbur just rushes over immediately and hugs him so tight to his chest - and Tommy just sobs, "pops lost his job -" gasp "I can't - we can't pay the bills this month. everything - its all falling apart Will." - "Hey - hey. Stop. It's gonna be fine. You're gonna be okay. You always are dude." - Tommy does have to get a job - and he probably does drop out of school unofficially, like he just stops going. - he sleeps during the morning classes, and heads into work at 10am - he's a carpenters assistant. it pays well as they need young, able men. but most of the younger citizens in the town go to school - he has to take the day shift because the day shift pays better - he doesn't mind it, he doesn't - it gives him the opportunity to get all of his energy out; but he misses going to school. as much as he hated it, he misses his friends. - and lets be honest, its hard as fuck for his dad to find a new job, he doesn't have a great resume - he didn't graduate from highschool. and he isn;t in top health condition, he definitely doesn't have health insurance - so Tommys stuck with this job for a long time - his dad uses his last paycheck to buy Tommy workboots so tommy feels in debt to him - He’ll get his GED eventually. - I think - The like religious status of the rest of the group brought to you by me - Everyone who I don’t mention is just a hard atheist - Karl and Wilbur are catholic, but to a lesser extent, Wilbur doesn't really go through with lent, and Karl only sometimes does. They go to a different church and go pretty much on holidays only, a sunday a month maybe. - SapNap goes to Punz's church, they've been friends for years. - He goes to sunday school but misses a lot of sermons because of his siblings sports games. - He is involved, but not to the way Punz is - SapNap's mother is in fact in Punz's moms bible group - Punz sometimes doesnt attend the bible group and Sap's mother is all "now you tell that pastor's boy to actually attend next time, got it?" and Sapnap dies a little on the inside - And George is an orthodox christian, but he's pretty much quit due to the blatant homophobia he's seen at his church. 

AND NOW ON WILBUR SOOT AND KARL JACOBS AND BARKING - Wilbur has siblings, fun fact - that we will never talk about or address - but definitely nothing like Wilbur, more the Karl Jacobs type - Wilbur is the oldest. he's always lectured about being 'a good influence on your brother and sister.' - They’re big sports kids. Softball and Basketball (tall genes). Straight Bs; Bed by 10pm; Have never missed school - Parents pride and joy :) - Just good suburban kids, Have friends next door, help the neighbors, attend the cul-de-sac barbecues. - Basically who Wilbur used to be up until highschool (until Wilbur met weed and a good group of stoners) - Sure he was a disappointment and he had no clue what to do with his life - But he was happier - Never really liked being the goody- two-shoes boy next door, he doesn't know how karl does it “Playing good boy like a dog” - Also he used dog terms around Karl - Because he’s “Playing good boy like a dog” - He’ll throw Karl a beer and smile “go fetch” - He laughs so hard when he sees Karl be good in a class or play it up for his parents; Because Wilbur’s so past trying - Wilbur will walk by and just bark at karl. Bet. Just Growls lowly; Walks in a  circle; Anything to make Karl’s parents (or Wilbur’s own) stare at him and scurry away - Karl’s parents push Karl forward and like hold their younger kids close to their chest, whispering “keep close, don’t look at him” - They tell Karl to stay away from kids like him. - And boy do Wilbur’s pa#rents hate it, They push him along and whisper yell at him As he throws his head back and cackles - I mean imagine, like a stereotypical middle class suburban family: House wife, blue collared father, Two kids; in sports jerseys, Girl in braids, boy in khakis - And then there’s Wilbur: Doc Martins, black jeans, collar and sweater, beanie. Definitely high on something - Chains LOTS OF CHAINS - And he's Barking. Fucking Barking At the nice family down the street - And then he takes out his vape right in front of his parents and silently offers Karl a hit with a smirk - Cause Karl’s too busy playing good boy - And as Karl’s family looks back, as Wilbur is corralled by his mom - He flips them off with the biggest smirk uou will ever see - Wilbur's kind of an ass - And Karl really wants a hit of that vape.

[not-xpr-art]

Art Advice #4 - A Beginner’s Guide to Digital Art

Hi all!

This weeks entry into my Art Advice tag, where I offer various advice for artists of any skill level, is about digital art! Now, I am by no means an expert at digital (I’ve been doing it for nearly 8 years at this point and that is almost entirely self taught), but I have picked up a few pointers in that time which will hopefully help anyone just starting out!

(this blogpost is a little over 2000 words long btw)

A Beginner’s Guide to Digital Art 

I know that the world of digital art has changed drastically in the 8 odd years since I started, but I’d still say that some of the options I started out with will be just as good for anyone who’s starting out now! 

As always, I’ll be splitting this into sections to make it easier for you to navigate this post!

Part 1 - Equipment/Hardware 

There are a lot of drawing tablet options on the market at the moment, and I’m not going to pretend that I know anything about half of them lol. But I think for a beginner, don’t worry about going for the most expensive option, even if the reviews are really good or your favourite artist uses it, especially if it is way above your budget! 

An important thing to know is that there are two types of tablet. One is the plug-in kind. These are essentially a pad which you plug into your laptop or computer and draw on that whilst looking at the screen (they basically work the same way as a plug in mouse works). The other kind is the screen variety, which is a lot more like what most of us know as ‘tablets’ nowadays. And you draw directly onto the screen. 

(a plug-in vs on screen tablet, both from Wacom)

Now, as for choosing between these, it is honestly a personal choice. But I’d say if you’re just wanting to try digital and you’re on a budget, a plug-in tablet can be really useful since it gets you used to the mechanics of what digital is like, and they are often significantly cheaper than the screen alternatives. I would say that plug-in tablets are a big learning curve, especially if you’re used to doing traditional stuff, but I do know a lot of professional artists who still use this kind of tablet when doing their work, so if it’s something you can get used to I would definitely consider it! Also, they’re often a lot more portable than some screen tablets! The first one I had was a Huion (a model so old that I can’t even find a link to it now lol), and I also know that Wacom are a well known brand that do some decent plug-in tablet. I’d recommend you do your own research on other brands and options, though!

Screen tablets are often a lot more expensive, but if you’re used to traditional art, they are a lot easier to get a handle of! But I know if you already have something like an iPad, or other general use tablets, then they offer apps that you can use to draw on (as well as things like the Apple pen, or other stylus’). The big difference between using these general tablets and ones specifically designed for drawing is pretty much purely a personal choice. I personally prefer the bigger screen of my XP-Pen tablet, along with a special screen protector that removes the shininess of the tablet screen and makes it feel more like ‘paper’ over when I used a general use tablet it draw. But if you already have an iPad, or something similar, then it’s honestly a really great starting point!

I think it’s important for me to mention that you don’t need fancy equipment to be an artist. The incredible Elicia Donze has revealed countless times how she has very basic equipment but still manages to produce the most stunning artworks! All you really need is some kind of drawing apparatus and a lot of patience lol! Getting good at any kind of art takes a lot of time and effort, but I would definitely say it’s worth it when you’re able to look back at your progress!

Part 2 - Software/Drawing Programs 

Much like with the hardware discussion, choosing which program to use is entirely down to personal preference. I personally have never really liked Photoshop purely because it’s really complicated, but I know so many artists swear by it. 

I think the main aspect to consider when you’re starting out is whether you want to pay for a program. Software like Photoshop, Clip Studio Paint and Procreate are some of the popular ones I hear about a lot of people using, but all require you to purchase or subscribe to them. So if you’re young or on a very tight budget, I’d honestly recommend the free alternative versions of these, such as Krita (Krita is quite a large program, but it has a lot of really awesome features and is very similar to Photoshop!), Gimp (this one is similar to Krita, but has slightly less options, I’d honestly recommend Gimp for anyone who does photo editing though!) or FireAlpaca (this is the one I use, by the way and it’s a pretty simple program, but has a lot of fantastic features and is perfect for how I work!). These don’t have as many features as some of the paid alternatives, but I honestly think all you really need to start digital art is some kind of ‘canvas’ and set of brushes!

Another great free program for beginners I’d recommend is MyPaint, which is great for doodling and just getting used to how digital art feels in comparison to traditional! It also has a bunch of ‘traditional style’ brushes, to make it look like charcoal or watercolour (which I’m sure the paid alternatives have too, but it’s always better when it’s free, I find lol...)

(this is an example of a drawing I did on MyPaint using the ‘charcoal’ effect brush!)

Most of the sites are pretty self explanatory, with sections dedicated to different brushes (I’ll go into the types of brushes later on in this post btw!), adjusting brush size, shape and opacity, a colour wheel, etc. You also have a section dedicated to ‘layers’ (another thing I’ll go into more detail later), and various ‘filters’ and editing options and effects you can add to your work to make it more interesting!

I’d really just recommend playing around with programs until you find your one!

Part 3 - The Pros of Digital Art!

I realise this section should probably earlier in this blog post lol, but I kinda wanted to go into what digital art can achieve in comparison to traditional art, and how beginner artists can utilise this!

I definitely didn’t take advantage of certain aspects of digital art when I first got into it, and they’re things that would have definitely made my life a whole lot easier lol!

Digital art allows you to tweak drawings as you do them. So if you accidentally drew the eye too far to the right, then you can easily move it to the right place. (I usually do this by selecting whichever area is wrong, cutting it out and then pasting it into a new area... And yes, there is probably a better and quick way of doing this but...I haven’t found that way yet lol...). And I honestly think that this has allowed me to look a lot more at a reference image in order to figure out where I’ve gone wrong with a drawing! Whereas with traditional art, I usually spend so long trying to get an eye right, that even if it’s slightly in the wrong place, I don’t want to completely redo that section. Digital allows you to completely rub out sections without leaving indents, which is honestly such a saving grace!

Another pro of digital is the Undo/Ctrl Z function! This means you can easily go back to before you made a major mistake with just a click of Ctrl Z... Though I have to say that this function has honestly ruined traditional art for me... Oh what wouldn’t I give for a real life Ctrl Z... But yeah, this is a great part of digital art and definitely something you will grow to love lol!

Another great thing about digital is that it allows you to flip and turn a canvas as you’re drawing on it. I spent a lot of time trying to turn my tablet around in order to draw certain parts of a piece before I realised you can turn the canvas itself without having to move yourself or your tablet!

Layers are another part of digital that can be super useful, and I have to be honest but I don’t really use them a lot. I know a lot of artists create layers for every section of their artworks (so, one for the linework, one for colouring, a separate one for the background, etc etc...). And there’s something really great about being able to paint without worrying about smudging into a previous section of the painting. This works well for my work since I do a lot of bright backgrounds. I also often create a lot of ‘versions’ of my works, so it’s useful to be able to change the background without affecting the main figure of the piece! (I have to say that I often work in one big layer when I’m doing paintings, just because I like how it feels more like ‘traditional’ art that way, but layers are such a brilliant tool, and definitely something you should play around with!)

The eyedropper tool is another one that is really useful! Although I never colour pick from my reference photos, I know some artists find this useful when they were just starting out (especially if you’re not sure what colour to make shadows or how to mix skin tones, etc etc). The eyedropper basically means you don’t need to mix your colours every time

Part 4 - Just some other things I wish I had known about when I was starting out lol...

This last section is just dedicated to a few things that I would have liked to have known when I was just starting out all those years ago. 

First one is fluffy/textured brushes! 

I spent most of my art life from 2013 until 2016 using ‘round’ brushes which are notoriously hard to blend with, so I’d recommend either downloading some fluffy/textured brushes (DeviantArt was where I got mine from a few years back, but there are probably other places you can get them for free too!) to your program of choice, since most of the programs I’ve used haven’t had fluffy/textured brushes as pre-set. 

I may make another post about how I blend in my artworks if that’s something people would be interested in?

(this is an example of textured brush blending vs round brush blending... I usually opt for round brushes for rougher blending styles and the textured brushes for more smooth and ‘realistic’ blending... for a lot of pieces, though, I use both brushes (the round brushes are good for details!) in the same way that you use different sized brushes for real paintings!)

The next thing I wish I’d discovered earlier is the Brush Stabiliser option. Some programs may do this automatically, but the one I use (FireAlpaca) requires you to manually change the amount of stabilising you have on your brush. This is particularly useful if you want to draw neat lines or straight lines (the stabiliser essentially slows down the ‘ink’ as you’re drawing). I only recently started using the stabiliser, and although I still like having it mostly turned ‘off’ for doing sketchy work, it does make doing line work a lot easier, and also gives pieces a more polished look!  

Next advice is to explore all the options you can in whatever program you use! 

I feel like with certain programs, you can get overwhelmed by choice and you end up just using a few of the functions. But I’d really recommend just playing around with these programs, trying all the filters and editing options to get used to how the program works. You can often find interesting ways to adjust your artworks this way! In a way I’d recommend this way of working more than finding tutorials made by other people... Unless there’s a specific function you want to learn how to do, just having fun with digital art is a major part of it’s appeal to me! 

~

There are probably a lot of other options I could go into, but this is already over 2000 words long, so I’ll leave it here for now lol! (I may do a part 2 though so... keep a look out for that!)

As always, if you have any questions to things I’ve said here, or are just looking for more advice, don’t hesitate to message me!

And if you like my work on here (art & blog posts) feel free to support me on my Ko-Fi! <3

[meyeselph]

Gwenpool: Desperate Misanthrope's Confused Angst

Showtime

Ms. Pool woke up in a familiar room. Not in Krakoa - there are no mutants around. This isn’t a story about that. Look, honestly, without an actual Gwenpool series and the constant breaks in her comics appearance I can’t even begin to give a fuck. I cancelled my marvel universe subbie. I might get back to my stories but single issues are iffy. I read fast and don’t pore over the artwork. So I get 10 minutes of entertainment for….FIVE DOLLARS? When did this happen? Jeezus.

Who even reads comics anymore?

Anyway, long story short, Gwen got out of bed and recognized the room as her old one from the “old times.” The dark times. The ‘not running around in pink and white outfits and shooting people’ times. She panicked (Been there. It is what it is though). The only way out of trauma is through.

She dressed in old clothes, immediately hit by old smells, she couldn’t help but cry. Was it all a dream? Have I gone insane (again)? All the usual self doubts cropped up. I mean, really, if you think this kind of thing didn’t pass through her mind regularly why don’t you transport yourself to a comic book universe?

Oh, you can’t?

Oh. It isn’t actually possible for you and I’m stupid for suggesting it. So, yeah. If it actually happened and you kept that attitude then the logical assumption for a normie is a mental breakdown. Trick for Gwen, though, is it's probably always been both real and her being nuts.

So she goes downstairs to the kitchen to figure out why this is happening and Evil Gwen is having cereal. Let's say cocoa puffs. I’ve been thinking about those recently. You ever remember cereal as something worth cherishing. Not as just bullshit that TV convinced you to want? God damn, now I want Cookie Crisp. Cookie Crisp wasn’t even ever that good. Why do I want Cookie Crisp?

So also sitting around the table were the faceless versions of her father, mother, and her brother. Just chilling. No BD. Seen Eternal Sunshine of The Spotless Mind?

Yes, I know that references aren’t jokes - fuck you, I’m painting a picture and I CAN’T PAINT, THAT’S WHY THIS ISN’T A COMIC. Fucks sake. Anyway. So, Gwen is so creeped out that she just sits her butt down by Evil Gwen as if she’s the comforting presence here.

Her name’s too long. Let’s call Evil Gwen uh…….Gren. You know, like Grendel from Beowulf. I haven’t actually read Beowulf and this is all a little confusing but I'm solving problems here. Writing this is harder for me than you would think so it’s best to keep things flowing off the cuff. That’s the Gwenpool™ style anyway, isn’t it? Are you laughing yet? IMPROV. “YES AND” MY SHIT, READER!

“So, you ever really look into the retconned past thing, hun?” Gren said, moving her tongue around her food. Being gross as an attempt to be properly evil. She swallowed before continuing. “This is all I could really put together on short notice but i’m pretty sure what the future people created, all that stuff to try and trick you, it was all bullshit.”

“What do you mean? Are you trying to convince me to go all psycho like you again?” Gwen asked, exasperated, realizing she was now back in the whole ‘fuck with Gwen to decide her fate’ song and dance routine from the end of her first arc.

“Nah, not really.” Gren said. A hammer appeared in her hands out of nowhere and Gren swung it into their fake father’s head, snapping his neck..

“DAD!” Gwen instinctively cried as she saw her father’s body slump to the floor. Gren slapped Gwen’s face. “That’s it,” Gren said, “this is what the trick was.This is a poorly created character in a fictional story. Meant to manipulate you into attaching your concept of “father” to it. Even his finished version in the original comics run wasn’t THAT well drawn. Your dad read like a boomer’s idea of a responsible parent. You were going through a mental crisis and struggling to find purpose in life and his genius idea was get a shitty low paying job and suck it up?”

Gren turned to their brother, pushed his face to the table and smashed the back of his skull. . “Brother dearest, too. Going right along with their victim blaming. He gaslighted you as if what you were going through was just you being ‘irresponsible.’ Bitch, people working a minimum wage job aren’t somehow not impoverished and miserable because they get some of that ‘honest work’ that folks keep badgering on about. Minimum wage work is occupied by many physically and mentally disabled people held hostage; they’re people society only pretends to care about. Then they turn it all into you acting like some world ending threat. No questions about what drove you to the edge in the first place. You are just ‘unstable,’ so you’re just a problem to be solved. They say, ‘Let’s all solve this girl being upset and on edge by ruining her concept of self, reality, and memory.’ Brilliant!”

Gwen barely processed this in horror. Gren then slit the poor facsimile of their mother’s throat while continuing to rant, “You see people die all the time, Gwen. Half of the time you are doing the killing. You do it because it’s in a story. In a story the NPCs don’t matter and, after all, your original schtick in the story was to be kill-crazy. The non-marketable characters can be replaced or retconned at the stroke of the artist’s pen.” Gren leans forward as she pulls a Gwenpool mask over Gwens face. “Then the writers convince you that you have some middle class milk toast family and you take abuse and subsume your emotional needs because the problem MUST be you. You aren’t ‘normal’ so you have to be fixed.”

Gwen wiped her eyes over the mask and sighed. A bit of fire filled her gut as she stared at Gren. “So fucking what? You want me to go on a killing spree and be a big time villain to get myself a nice, shiny permanent big bad status? That’s how I stay around right? Just build my legacy on bodies?”

Gren scoffed “You already lost that fight, girly. Where do you think we are? Because this ain’t Marvel Comics.”

Confused, Gwen blinked and tried reaching for the page margins, finding nothing. Wait….why was everything on this page so ill defined and undetailed? Wait? Why was the story in kinda wobbly third person past tense?

Gwen sighed “Oh. I’m in a fanfic. I guess the publishing fight is for another day eh?”

“My advice, personally,” Gren stated, “is that you consider the lobster.”

“Wait, what the fuck?”

Gren pulled aside the kitchen curtains revealing the face of a giant lobster, its claws tapping on the glass. The lobster muttering gutterally about personal responsibility.

“Because there’s a couple thousand giant lobsters outside that would like to claw you until you read their book.”

--

Scared of Girls

On the rooftop, Gren shoved a high powered rifle into Gwen’s hands while she handled the close range threats. So, this conversation they’re about to have is important. Sniping puts Gwen into a sort of zen space, so that’s a better task to keep her focused, after all.

“So, what? You wanted me to internalize that my “origin story” is bullshit? Okay, what does that accomplish, then?” Gwen asked in a bit of a deadpan. She was so tired today. Not really feeling her happy go lucky energy. More like a “happy go fucky” energy. It was hard to always be on a knife's edge. Still the rifle’s kick into her shoulder was satisfying as she blew through two of the creepy looking lobsters at once. “Also, why the lobsters?”

Gren considered this. “Okay, last question first, I had to experiment a lot and do a lot of research to construct this place for your learning and healing in fanfic form....These buddies are a failed experiment of mine that I repurposed because the fic needed more action. Isn’t that right, giant enemy crap?” As she peppers the nearest goon with a hail of shotgun pellets the entire throng of them burst out, sharply muttering about divine symbols.

“As for what I'm trying to teach you, it’s that you aren’t reaching your potential.” Gren grumpily huffed.

“Duh,” Gwen reloads, “I mean you just killed a mannequin version of the voice in my head that says that to me every day.” one of those crustaceans talks about feminine symbolism while she decides on her next target.

“Not like fake daddy’s ‘Be a responsible member of society by paying your taxes’ type of potential. I mean your creative and emotional potential.” Gren flipped off the slavering throng of monsters, noticing they were starting to keep their distance from the roof.

“I never did finish that fanfic idea I had.” Gwen mused.

“God, don’t mention that,” Gren thrusts a finger at Gwenpool. “Not that I don’t respect fanfic, but when comic book writers make you and Kamala squee about fanfiction to try and relate to “the kids” it comes across as so condescending.”

“Really? I mean…..I'm sure it’s meant as support for the concept?”

“Most fucking superhero comics are just legalized fanfiction! The people who created the characters are either long gone or working on someone else’s characters! They just think they are so much better because they got fucking paid. They can’t imagine themselves as on the same playing field as fanficcers even though most of them have the same level of connection to the roots of the work as anyone else.” Gren groused loudly as she seemed to pull Reed Richards out of nowhere.

Confused, Reed looked around until his eyes met Gwen’s.“Oh great, you again.” Reed groaned as he turned to survey the piles of lobster gibs while Gwen cheered the lobster forces’ retreat with a resounding “EDF, EDF!”. The scattered creatures skittered amongst the bland scenery. It looked like a suburban neighborhood but someone forgot to color in the sky….or write that the sky had color. A castle hung out in the distance breaking up the generic normalcy and lay cloaked in shadow despite being surrounded by an endless white void.

“And…..black….you?” Reed pointed to Gren, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, I have an evil future self….well I stopped that future so it’s an….evil...alternate timeline self?” Gwen said with a nervous chuckle, abandoning the kill quest for the minute and rested her rifle on the roof.

“Ah. Yeah I’ve been down that road. It’s a rather common occurrence. Multiverse being what it is.” Reed laughed heartily while putting his hands on his hips.

“I’m not sure I’m evil, honestly,” Gren interjected. “I think I’m just really fucking grumpy and I’m slightly more gung-ho on the homicide. Considering Gwen’s already one of the more kill crazy characters on the roster it’s not that much of a distinction.” Gren flipped her cape. “My main distinction is I don’t like that meme from The Incredibles! You can just make it so the cape detaches automatically when it’s pulled hard enough!”

“You could still have it tangled up around your face.” Reed pointed out in his standard know-it-all fashion.

“Don’t make me go into fuck wife mode, stretch.” Gren spat. “Okay, anyway, so I brought him here to illustrate a point. Reed. Explain particle physics to me as a laymen.”

“Huh...i’m not sure why but okay. Particle physics (also known as high energy physics) is a branch of physics that studies the nature of the particles that constitute matter and radiation. Although the word particle can refer to various types of very small objects (e.g. protons, gas particles, or even household dust), particle physics usually investigates the irreducibly smallest detectable particles and the fundamental interactions necessary to explain their behaviour. In current understanding, these elementary particles are excitations of the quantum fields that also govern their interactions. The currently dominant theory explaining these fundamental particles and fields, along with their dynamics, is called the Standard Model. Thus, modern particle physics generally investigates the Standard Model and its various possible extensions, e.g. to the newest "known" particle, the Higgs boson, or even to the oldest known force field, gravity.” Reed rattled this off rather mechanically.

Gren then took out her phone and showed Gwen the Wikipedia article on “Particle Physics,” which is naturally the same words that Reed had regurgitated above, just without any formatting and, again, on a phone.

“Reed can’t be a genius in any subject unless he’s written by a genius in that subject. That’s how stories work. Everyone is limited by the understanding and capabilities of the writer. Same with your origin story and all the people you’ve interacted with. If you are as ‘meta’ as you think you are then you have to realize that you aren’t actually talking to people. You are talking to the writer. Dr. Strange didn’t rewrite your existence to be a part of the Marvel Universe. As far as most of Marvel continuity goes Dr. Strange was never there and doesn’t know or care about his MCU casting…..Hey Reed, buzz off please before the conversation pivots to why you haven’t cured all known diseases.”

Reed looked a little surprised but then pulled out a teleportation device (of course he has one) and blipped away with a shrug.

“How awkward is that going to be when he enters the MCU after Kamala is already introduced with a very similar power set?” Gwen chuckled.

“Keep up the way you’ve been going and you’ll never see it. I’m not exactly expecting a young blonde girl casting call for Deadpool 3 and that’s your best bet.” Gren snarked. Gwen winced with a sigh.

“I don’t get what I'm doing wrong. I have a fanbase comparable to some of the characters that have already shown up but I can’t even get comics written about me most of the time. An MCU push seems unlikely. They would literally have to deal with completely recontextualizing my powers and gimmick”

“Let’s ask her what you should do.” Gren motioned her way to the suddenly appearing long hair future Gwen, looming over them like The Attack of the 50 foot Woman for some reason. Dwarfing the roof they are on. Let’s call her BIGwen!

--

Gold Guns Girls

As BIGwen acclimated to her surroundings she stubbed her toe on a car, dramatically flipping it so that it took out a few more lobsters before caving in a nearby house. The lamentations about clean rooms soaring as the remaining couple dozen of them attempt to clean up some of the bodies of their fallen kin. The large and sort-of-in-charge Gwen hissed in pain and adjusted her boot. Getting her balance as best as possible she muttered curses that traveled rather well considering the lung capacity of a giant.

“You know,” Gren started, “I wasn’t expecting much from our previous uses of the ‘make her big for emphasis’ trick, but it really does only work as a vague ghostly background element. I didn’t just want it to be ‘oh, here's a third Gwen for the conversation, though. Would lack umph.”

“ Yeah, I get it, but staring at my own giant taint is unsettling.” Gwen muttered.

“I’d still, hit it.” Gren grinned, then immediately got punched in the arm. “OWWW! Look, I’m the evil one here and we’re in a fanfic. I’m allowed to make internet fetish jokes.”

“And I’m allowed to hit you for it.”.

“Dirty lampshading goody two shoes. Don’t act like half your fanbase isn’t thirsty. It’s “insert current year argument”, all art is sexy to someone.” Gren complained back,rubbing her arm before hopping off the roof. Gwen followed while listening as patiently as she could considering how many changes in topic her evil-caped self is going through to get to her point. “This chick is the reason you’ve been on the path of good girl. Some vague idea that in the future everything will work out for the best. HEY, DOWN HERE, BIG SHOW!” Gren waved at BIGwen and she looked down curiously.

“Yeah what??” BIGwen responded in a booming and agitated tone. Honestly, being in this fic made every version of Gwen a little grumpy.

“How’s she supposed to be a popular hero that makes it into the MCU and has a stable publication history?” Gren asked.

“Fuck if I know.” Came BIGwen’s response. “Have you tried growing your hair out?”

“Rub it in,” Gwen muttered under her breath, “I’m not gonna lie, I’m kind of depressed now.” Gwen said as she sat on an abandoned car.

Gren hopped on the roof of the car, patting Gwen’s shoulder before squatting with enough force to flex the car’s shocks like a rocking chair just to amuse herself. “Future “good” Gwen wasn’t an actual plot point, it was a call to action to the fans to make fanfic like this and support the character outside of the actual Canon. Chris didn’t trust that Marvel would treat the character right. That, and your obsession with getting a new book, are both the writer’s attempt to turn a marketing tactic into fan engagement. If you want to be real then that makes the fans want you to be real even more, too.”

Gwen sighs heavily and leans her chin on one hand. “I mean...the time traveling through the life of an NPC fan complete with a Never Ending Story reference was a bit sappy even by the standard we sometimes set...damn it it really was just kind of a fan manipulation trick wasn’t it?”

BIGwen Sat down on the street next to them and crossed her legs. “Hey, little me. Don’t get too down. I mean it worked for the most part. You have a healthy cult following. Characters have survived on less and there are worse things to be known for then as a fan first character”

“But I have to fight for attention all the damn time, though. It’s so easy for Wade with his fucking meme bullshit. He even gets runoff enthusiasm from me. Jeff the land shark is all over Oldpool online” Gwen felt rather heavy and tired all of a sudden. Marvel editorial forcing a gun to your head is not a fun way to be.

“All that fight is hell on the fanbase too.” Gren sighed. “Advocating for shit, getting crumbs and being expected to accept it while Disney lavishes all the attention based on some bullshit numbers game. Even if you make it into the MCU will it be a Batroc style cameo with obligatory ‘killed off in case we don’t feel like paying the actor again later.’ Will it be an emotionally rounded character or an ambush bug style joke? The thing is. You're Not the one fighting and you never were.”

“The fuck do you mean?”

“This version of her doesn’t know?” BIGwen whimpered.

“You aren’t real, Gwen.”

--

Head Like a Haunted House

“No….we aren’t having this conversation. Fuck you fuck you i’m not a fucking Nihlist and i’m not going to do this right now.” Gwen said as she scrambled off of the car and pulled out some guns. BIGwen then picked her up off the ground.

“You need to hear this, Gwen,” BIGwen boomed. “The gimmick has run its course. It’s fucking with your canon. You’re never going to be a marketable character keeping up a half fourth-wall Kayfabe”

Gren climbed onto BIGwen’s Shoulders and perched over Gwen all menacing like. “You need to listen. I’ve been trying to ease you into this. Making things more meta slowly until you were ready but it was never going to be easy.”

One of Gwen’s guns was fired from it’s holster and pierced one of BIGwen’s fingers. BIGwen screamed and her grip loosened. Soon Gwen was on the move running up her arm and firing at Gren, who dodged like the nimble and cute badass she is. “Don’t do this Gwen. Just because it doesn’t matter to the comic version of you doesn’t mean it doesn’t matter.”

“I’m a real person god damn it! I read the comics out there! I came in! That’s why I know shit I shouldn't know. That’s what I am! THAT’S ALL I AM!” Gwen shrieked as she pulled out a sword from hammer-space and decapitated BIGwen. Suddenly a mess of colored streamers and a pile of Mickey Mouse merch tumbled out. Look, I am busy right now. Gwen is still slashing at my ass. I'm not going to explain it.

For some reason now the remaining lobsters were helping Gren. For Gwen’s own good you understand. This is proof that I’m right for some reason.

Gwen pulled out a revolver, firing pumpkin sized holes in lobsters who were still wailing about self actualization. She fully planned on shoving a sword up her evil self’s ass and getting rid of this doppelganger shit for good. Which is total bullshit by the way. She totally just cut off Gren’s leg because what the fuck you mean I’m not real? I’m going to be real all over your corpse.

Gren didn’t really think that was even a good comeback and also thought you should probably say it instead of meta willing the smack talk into existence, otherwise this fanfic is going to read like trash. Also, Gren’s leg wasn’t actually cut off. In a puff of smoke it is revealed that the cut off leg is a log and her leg is fine. Gren is a ninja now, believe it.

Gwen proceeded to do a sick ass CQC judo throw on Gren and then grab her cape and wrap it around her face like Reed suggested. Callbacks for the win! Callbacks to Checkov’s gun ideas always lead to victory in fights! She then totally shot at her and such.

But the bullet was caught by the cape because the cape was a symbiote! That’s right Gren is also GRENOM!...boy that sounds stupid. Anywho, the cape was no longer around her face and the fight continued and Gren now ALSO had extra powers and special wizard-symbiote armor (that would only show up in the MCU version if Marvel finally got the Sony characters back). The meta powers work like shit in text but this would be really good in CGI or animation if Marvel wanted to adapt this fic and give the writer lots of money. Gren still has more experience with them, though, and Gwen can’t really just kill her way out of this fic so she has to just let the story play out.

…...eh?....oh Gwen’s crying. I love/am you girl but we gotta work on the crying. Fucks sake this is harder than I thought. I’m depressed now too. Well I'll try to get the writing back on track so you guys can see what is going on. Even the lobsters are minding their manners now. Chill vibes, guys.

“The marvel character page for Gwenpool says, and I quote:

Gwenpool arrived in the Marvel Universe from the “real world,” but has wasted no time in making the most of her time in her fictional universe. Using her knowledge of comics to her advantage, Gwenpool causes and solves problems for her fellow heroes.”

Gren drags a lobster corpse slowly toward Gwen and sits on its tail as she talks to her. Taking her time to really scrape the lobster against the ground, smearing the gore on the pavement. Not that it was heavy for her or anything. Totally still has that symbiote, which would make moving it easy. Totally wasn’t a detail added in the second revision of the fic slightly before the lobsters were added.

“The words “Real world” are in quotation marks in that wiki. Real people don’t make it into comics because fiction isn’t real. Half of your versions barely make use of the ‘real person’ gimmick because it’s too meta by half and not every writer wants to waste time justifying it. So they just treat it like Deadpool’s medium awareness. Which it mostly is.”

“I really am just a fucking rip off distaff character.” Gwen moans. “Just a Gwen combined with a Pool. I’m worse than the Batman who laughs. I never mattered because I was never real”

“Fuck don’t say that. You were made with love and care by a team of creators who took a weird offshoot idea and built out a compelling metafiction idea and a likeable protagonist off of it. They just didn’t have the time and foresight to go far enough.” Gren sighed.

“Far enough?” Gwen sniffed as she was pulled up to her feet and dragged toward one of the big castles. As they walked Gren kicked along a Mickey Mouse doll that had rolled out of BIGwen’s severed head. Every time it bounced it cheerfully said ‘hahah. I love you!’

“Too much haha, not enough trauma. You’re not just a joke character.” Gren said as she kicked the Mickey doll into the big front door of the castle. The shadowy thing of course lighting up and being all fantasy and shit as the door opened.

“Well I did end both of my comic runs pretty mopey.”

“Damn right you did. When the jokes run thin they run to your real bread and butter. You’re an empathy machine.” As Gren shoves Gwen through the gate they are swallowed up in the castle, going dark again. “Let’s getcha sad clown on.”

--

Never there

“See, what evil me should have been telling you about in the original run is how to find meaning and purpose when technically nothing means anything. Comic book characters live in a world without real death and suffering. It’s all a puppet show version of real pain and real emotion meant to bring that out of an audience.” Gren opined as they walked through a black void to a couch floating in a nothing area lit only by the static of an old TV.

“Can we turn on a light?” Gwen asked as she sat on the couch. Gren sat on another recliner that suddenly appeared and put her feet up.

“Fuck off. Ambiance is a thing. We aren’t having a ‘lights on with something fun on the TV’ conversation. So look, I am not really ‘evil gwen.’ I’m half an author insert and half a plot device. If we are talking about the reality of the story you are basically talking to yourself. I am speaking about the things you don’t want to admit to yourself. You know, you’ve seen this kind of story sorta... right?” Gren picked up the remote and frustratedly changed channels between a bunch of vaguely illustrative footage on the TV, not finding anything that worked. A lot of black and white footage of trains for some reason. Just what comes to mind when I think of documentary footage? Weird.

“I am not sure how to illustrate this shit visually and this is a text story anyway so I would have to explain the illustration,” Gren griped.

“I basically get it. It’s not that uncommon a trope.” Gwen nodded.

“Because of the level of meta we are on right now we have to really acknowledge that you are basically an author insert, too. I mean, to a certain extent every version of you is more the writer that is working with your character at the time than a set character.” Gren said as she settled on a visual of Gwen being pushed out the window by her own narration text in the original comic run. When all else fails, resort to footage from the last story. That way people can look it up online!

“Right here is where the character crystallized in the mind of the author of the current fic we are in. A vague suicide metaphor wrapped up in the flavor of self destructive escapism. Your parents in the story thought it was a suicide attempt on at least some level. This is serious business. Not just a girl who doesn’t like work and can’t finish her fanfic. In this comic you are built on this understanding. The writer of this fic has ADHD and autism. So his version of you more or less has it, too. Writers bring themselves with them into their work.”

Gwen nods and takes a deep breath. “I….I can feel it. Like the world is closing around you. You aren’t built for anything that anyone wants from you. The one thing you really believe in, the one thing that really defines you, the stories in your head…..it’s just not enough.

You can’t trust you’ll ever make it with writing because you can barely write. You barely have the energy to do anything but wish that you weren’t you. What if someone actually listened? Actually believed in you and whisked you away somewhere else where the world would fit your needs? What if you were someplace you could be someone else, someone strong and confident?”

“Yeah. Like a funny anti hero in a comic for instance.” Gren nodded. “But the original comics sort of left the theme on the table. They were captured by the misconception of Gwen as the problem and not a person who needed help. All that desperation that real fans of the character might feel just bundled up into love for this character that really ‘gets’ them but Marvel doesn’t ‘get’ the character. They won't use her. They won’t go past vaguely gesturing at her mental issues and moving on. They saved the angst for Wandavision.” Gren scoffs.

“I mean the show was okay but they literally have a character built entirely on the theme of escapism and trauma. One that’s custom built for mind-screw visuals and reality bending plots and they think she’s just a lazy fangirl who really likes guns that they can sit beside Deadpool sometimes and stick in the X-Men’s bloated background character roster when they don’t need her.”

Gren leads Gwen off the couch and deeper into the void where a door to a bedroom waits. A room like her own, absolutely slopping over with old toys of comic book characters. An unclean messy space in a run-down house that smells faintly of cigarette smoke. Huddled in bed, reading an 80s era X-men comic with a flashlight, is a 12 year old Gwen.

“This is never going to be canon but this is the version of Gwen in this fic. She can’t stop crying at school. Things that shouldn’t be hard are so hard and she can’t explain why. Everyone says she’s making excuses. Meanwhile her mother is fucked out of her mind on pain killers and her step father killed himself last year ‘cleaning his gun’ while drunk. You know exactly what is on her mind right now?” Gren says as she gestures at the girl.

“I wish the superheroes would save me from this.”

“They won’t. They can’t. They were never meant to.” Gren Slams the door loudly on the scene.

“That is the emotional core of Gwenpool in this fic. The desperation that so many of the fans down here in the fucking muck of the real world feel. Poor and emotionally unfulfilled. Confused and vulnerable. If Disney and Marvel gave two fucking shits about people like that they wouldn’t waste as many stories as they do. They wouldn’t just use untold wealth to make expensive escapist stories with the military. Their gestures toward progressive ideas that they occasionally make in their stories would be THE ENTIRE POINT of their stories and the actual thing they used that money for instead of lobbying the government to keep Mickey Mouse out of the public domain.

“Disney has the power yet they save a fucking miniscule fraction of who they could. Saving people doesn’t make money.”

--

When I Get To The Green Building

Gren stormed through the void. The scene disintegrated around her as Gwen followed. Both now in a bit of a sour mood but with newfound determination.

“Come to think of it. Why is the fucking Hulk getting to fight for social justice in the comics? Why are they making a gay alternate universe Captain America? Why are they grasping at straws so hard to find characters that get to advocate and I am just sitting on a fucking island being grumpy?” Gwen groused. “I’m pretty sure I’m pansexual….at least in this fic. I could advocate for a bunch of shit at once.”

“You have a youth fanbase, a unique story and you technically aren’t an alternate universe version of fucking anything no matter how many people still think you are a Stacey. They made a fucking ‘for the fans’ character and then neglected it. Presumably because some fucking money making metric didn’t pan out despite the comics just being an MCU test kitchen and IP farm anyway.”

“You’re a fucking check mark on a ledger. I don’t even know if anyone technically created Gwenpool as a whole and Disney/Marvel can give the character to whoever they want to do whatever they want completely separate from what the fanbase wants and needs because she isn’t established. The IP landlords have spoken. The fans haven’t risen to enough ‘buy my merch’ calls to action to invest more resources. So tease endlessly until that changes.”

“Gah. Now I'm actually as pissed as you are.” Gwen said as she started fiddling with her guns. “Who do I kill?”

“We can’t do shit. You’re not even a character at this point. You are a meme for an underused character.” Gren smirked all evil like. “See but that’s it. You aren’t just a meme. You’re a MEME.”

“Uhm...I don't follow.”

“Like the concept of Justice. Gwenpool is an idea. Defined entirely by how people who engage with the idea choose to engage with it. The IP law means Disney owns Gwenpool but they don’t own how Gwenpool is perceived. Just like we as a people decide what justice is through popular consent we also decide what Gwenpool is. You see they made a character for the fans…..in my opinion that means the fans can do as they like with it even if it makes Disney uncomfortable.”

“I mean they can’t even stop porn of their characters just because of the sheer volume of the problem. I suppose people could do whatever.” Gwen nodded.

“Exactly. So the fans should just fucking Occupy Gwenpool!” Gren said as she flipped her cape dramatically with a mad smile on her face. That’s right. She was Dirtbag Leftist Gwen all along!

“Squat on that IP. Make Gwenpool a mental health advocate. Make her an LGBTQ activist. Make her fight for social and financial justice so hard that Bruce Banner looks like a poser. Make her talk shit about politicians who put their career ahead of the people. Do all the shit that makes the comicsgate crowd sad. Keep politics in our stories! Rally around that pink and white ass so hard they have to notice and then tie it all to the fact that Disney has great power and with great power they take no responsibility for how shitty the world is.”

“ If they are going to fuck Gwenpool fans they gotta learn Gwenpool fans fuck back. We have already proven we can make all kinds of cool shit. Let’s get serious and make more, harder, faster! Get a hashtag or some shit. They can't DMCA all of us! GWEN IS OURS WE JUST HAVE TO REACH OUT AND TAKE IT. Then they either respect the character and her fans or they just hit a PR disaster.”

“Marvel/Disney neglects fan focused cult character themed protest movements. Proves they are only progressive when it makes them money. They’re so worried about Mickey ending up in the public domain? We’re the public domain! After our entire lives stannin their characters and buyin their merch building them from an animation house into a juggernaut they are just another weight on top of the boot on our necks. They have to take responsibility!” At this point Gren is pretty much ranting maniacally and neglecting the actual writing of the story so this is Gwen taking over to wrap up.

Guys I may not be ‘the real Gwen’ but really, isn’t the version of Gwen that actually came from the real world all of us? Isn’t Gwenpool really the Gwens we made along the way? We could easily bring a little heroism and chaos to the real world (at least to the internet) if we really tried. Put the fear of God into some IP landlords and fight for some cool people that society is screwing over, too.

Prove that even in the fandom abyss people aren’t as powerless as they seem. Use that internet comic fan mobbing for something besides giving Zack more money. Disney is gearing up for their next IP fight for Mickey in 2024. Seems like a fine time for IP themed protests. For now we just need to spread the word that our needs are more important than their profits.

It’s been real. It’s been long. It’s been a real long time coming…..

But I finally finished my fanfic.

See ya, true believers.

[redhoodssweetheart]

Star-Crossed Lovers Part Three

Pairing: Jason Todd x Fem!Reader

Requested: Yes @onfir3​ and @sarcasmismyfirstlove

Word Count: 2.5K

Warnings: Swearing, angst, Reader has an assumed name in this (she is not named, but she goes by Sophia Turner since she is in hiding)

Description:  Secrets are unveiled and Y/N is smacked in the face with a truth she hadn’t expected to find out.

A/N:  Okay first off, I have no idea how long this story is going to be.  It could have one more part, two more parts or more.  I am legit addicted to this story now.  Also the ending may have a sad and a happy version.  One for people who want a happily ever after and those who want to read a sad ending.  Or maybe you’ll want to read both who knows.  But I hope you enjoy this installment of Star-Crossed Lovers.  The song that the singers are singing is Ain’t About You by Wonho featuring Kiiara

Her keys jingled as she fished them out of her pocket.  Clark’s plants were not on the verge of death and she had considered her mission a success.  As she stepped inside the apartment she flipped on the lights and nearly jumped out of her skin when she noticed the dark figure in the corner of her living room.  

“Holy shit,” she gripped her hand to her chest.  Her heart was pounding, but it was starting to calm down now that she realized it was Batman in her apartment and not Sionis.

“Y/N,” he said in his gruff way.  “I have news.”

“Please tell me that Sionis is officially dead,” she didn’t want to hear anything else, but she had a feeling that that wasn’t why he was here.

The way his jaw locked only confirmed her suspicions.  “He’s still alive,” Batman confirmed.  “And he’s using someone at LexCorp to up his drugs.  The effects give the user temporary powers like Superman and Superboy’s.  It’s not on the street yet, but soon.  And Sionis knows you’re not dead.  As far as I’m aware he doesn’t know you're here.”  He reached into one of his compartments and pulled out an envelope.  “I’ve secured you a ticket to a fundraiser tomorrow night that Wayne Enterprises and LexCorp are throwing.  It’s a masquerade ball, I need you to tell me if you see anyone familiar there.  Anyone that was working with or for Sionis.  We need to know who’s supplying him.”

She took the invitation, “Fine.  Where will I meet you?”

“I’ll find you,” then he was disappearing out the window and into the night.

The dress she had picked out was red, with a thigh high slit and a mask to match.  The dress was silk, the light reflecting off it.  She felt sexy and yeah she chose red for one reason and one reason only.

God, she had to get over him.

Her eyes scanned the crowd, but no one stuck out besides the Waynes, Lex, and a few other high society members.  She didn’t like how this mission was going so far.  And when she scanned the crowd again she noticed one of the Wayne boys staring her way.  She quickly ducked into a crowd and hoped not to draw any more attention.  She wasn’t the only one wearing red so she wouldn’t stand out like a sore thumb.

“Does it sound cliché to say / That I just need some space babe / It’s not you, it’s me really, uh,” the male singer began to sing into his mic.  “I’m the one that changed umm / You’re so hard to resist / A love that hurt like this / I wish it wasn’t hell / To love you more than you love yourself.”

“I don’t believe I know your name,” a husky male voice said beside Y/N and when she looked up she saw that it was the Wayne boy that had been staring at her.  

“And who says I’m going to give it to you?”  She fired back, a smirk beginning to form.

He matched her smirk, “You’re a beautiful woman, it’s a ball, I thought I’d ask you to dance with me, but I’d like to know your name first.”

She considered him for a moment and then said, “I’ll give you the dance, but you haven’t earned my name yet, stranger.”

“I see I caught your eye, again / Your pretty little lies / Wish I could stroke your big ego / But sorry not tonight, or ever / You’re so hard to resist / A love that hurt like this / I wish it wasn’t hell / To love you more than you love yourself,” the female singer sang in response to her male counterpart as the Wayne boy led her onto the dance floor.

He swept Y/N into his arms and began to twirl her around with expert ease.  Money could buy a lot of things and dance lessons was probably one of those things.  She wondered if it had been his choice or if Bruce Wayne had made it mandatory.  “So what’re you doing at the ball?  I normally know the people that frequent these,” he said as he dipped her, their faces inches from one another.

She cocked her head to the side as he slowly brought her back to an upright position, “Because you’re a Wayne?”  

He chuckled, “Maybe.”

“I work for the Daily Planet, I’m working on a story,” she said.  A half-truth, but not a complete lie.

Those blue eyes of his were starting to look familiar like she had seen them before. She wondered if he was the man she had bumped into on the street the other day, but she wasn’t about to ask him that.  And right now those very eyes were bright with mischief.  “Oh?  Looking for any sordid secrets of the lifestyle of the rich and famous because I could provide.  I know dirt on everyone here.”

“No sordid secrets for me tonight,” she said, she didn’t want to know what those sordid secrets would cost her if he were to tell her what he knew.  “I’m just covering the event.”  She had learned from articles that the Waynes and Luthor were trying to raise money for people displaced by superhero activity.  Homes that had been destroyed or other places like schools and work.

“How you stay out til 4 am / How you can’t tell me where you’ve been / Go and get that shit out your head / This ain’t about youuuuu / This ain’t about youuuuu / This ain’t about / Hate to tell you but / Hate to tell you but / This ain’t about you / This ain’t about you,” the singers sang, the song coming to a close.

The stranger still held her in his arms after the song had ended, “Have I earned the right to know your name or am I going to have to make one up for you?”

“I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours?”  She fired back.

“Deal.”

“Sophia Turner,” the lie slipped off her tongue, but it felt odd to tell him this name.  She had no idea why, she didn’t even know him other than the fact that he was a Wayne.  “But most call me Sophie.”

“Jason Todd,” he supplied in return.

“Oh so I was dancing with the resident bad boy of the Waynes,” she hummed.  “Let me guess you flash those pretty blue eyes at whoever you want and you can get out of any situation?”

“Not quite, but you think they’re pretty?”  His grin was turning cocky and you pushed away from him.

“Down boy,” she said.  “I’m… well I’m….”  She sighed, “It’s complicated.”

He started walking beside her as she turned to flee from the event, “I’m a great listener, you could tell me all your boy problems.”

“No tonight lover boy, I need to go anyway,” she had gotten all the information she could for Batman.  She hadn’t seen anyone there that could be working with or for Sionis, the whole night had been a bust.  Fun, but a bust.

“I’ll find you, Cinderella,” he called out to her as she made her way through the crowd not once glancing back at him.

The night after coming home Y/N grabbed some ice cream out of the fridge and waited for Batman.  When he showed up she told him that she didn’t know anyone there; he thanked her and promised to keep her updated with anything about Sionis.  But for now, she should stay where she was and lie low because Metropolis was the safest place for her. Before she could thank him he was gone.

Now it was Monday and she was at work.  Lois greeted her and was smiling broadly, “Someone got a gift.”

Y/N’s attention turned to her desk where a bouquet of red roses sat.  She blinked a couple of times because she didn’t believe that anyone would leave her flowers.  “Who sent them?”  She asked to no one in particular as she made her way to her desk, Lois still beside her.  She picked the card and saw that there was a handwritten note.

Cinderella,

I think it’s rude that you didn’t leave a shoe for me to return to you.  I’d like to see you again.  Meet me tonight at the top of the Daily Planet, seven o’clock?

Jason Todd

“Sophie!  Did you run out on Jason Todd last night?” Lois gasped.  Since the moment the two of them had met Lois had been trying to set her up.  In her own words, she was trying to ‘help you get over the man who you clearly hurt you’.

Y/N rolled her eyes, “I didn’t run out on him like Cinderella, he knows my name and where I work.  I just needed to get home.”

“Are you going to meet him tonight?”  She asked, a smile on her face that suggested she wanted you to meet with him.

She gave her friend a look, “I don’t know, Lois.  I’m busy and I have other things that I need to do.”  Getting involved with a Wayne was dangerous.  They were always in the spotlight and Jason especially since he was the most mysterious of the bunch.  He attracted a camera like honey drew flies.

“Just go, see what he wants, have a little fun.  Lord knows you could use it,” Lois squeezed Y/N’s shoulder and headed for her own desk.

Y/N looked at those red roses again and let out a sigh.  One visit with Jason wouldn’t hurt.

Metropolis was nice, but Jason preferred the grittiness of Gotham.  There was something real about it, it wasn’t hiding that there was bad stuff going on.  Metropolis on the other hand was sleek and new.  Superman gave them hope and offered a shiny new take that life could be good.  He always felt like he stuck out in Metropolis, even when he was in the Robin or Red Hood uniforms.  You could tell that he didn’t belong.

The door to the roof opened and he heard her heels against the concrete.  “Flowers?  Really?”

He turned and grinned at her, getting an unencumbered view of her face for the first time in months.  She was still as beautiful as the first day he had met her.

“Well I thought about sending a candy gram, but I didn’t think that would be appreciated,” he quipped. 

She chuckled and came to stand beside him, her gaze fixed on the city beyond.  “It’s almost too perfect,” she murmured, mirroring Jason’s earlier thoughts.  “Unlike Gotham--”  She clamped her mouth shut.

“Oh, you know Gotham?”  His gaze was still locked on her face, trying to recommit everything to memory.  She had changed a little bit about herself when she went into hiding, but it was still her.  Still his Y/N.

“Yeah,” she said quietly.  “I grew up there.  Moved away a while ago.  Needed a change of pace.”  Lie. Lie. Lie.  She hadn’t wanted to leave Gotham.  She wanted nothing more than to stay, but circumstances and fate had other ideas.

Jason finally mirrored her position, “I get that.  I moved away for a bit myself.”

“Didn’t you fake your death?”  The question slipped out before she could stop it.  “Sorry, that’s a little too personal.  It’s the journalist in me, feel free to ignore it.”  She wanted to smack herself, but he huffed a laugh and she finally looked at him.  There was something so familiar about him, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.

“It’s all right,” he said softly to let her know he wasn’t upset by her question.  “And the answer is it’s complicated.  Very, very complicated.”

“I know all about complicated,” she told him.  “At this point, I think it’s my middle name.”

“Sophia Complicated Turner, huh?”  He held out his hand to her, “I’m Jason Peter Todd.”

That made her laugh, “Are you always this corny?”

“There’s more to me than the bad boy the papers like to see, Sophia.”  He hated using that name.  He wanted to call her Y/N, he wanted to tell her everything, but he held his tongue.  

She bumped him with her shoulder, “I can tell.”

Warmth spread through him and he went to respond when a breeze blew by and she shivered.  “Here,” he draped his jacket over her shoulders.  “Why aren’t you wearing a better jacket?”  He asked like a mother hen.  “You live here and even I knew to come prepared.”

Y/N stood there frozen for a moment before gently wrapping the leather jacket closer around her and breathing in the scent of him.  Cigarettes and a familiar aftershave, a combination she had come to know as home.  Though she had tried to get him to quit smoking.  Jason’s jacket smelled like Red and she stiffened even more when the thought crossed her mind.  Red had died once too.  Red would have made similar jokes.  She looked closely at Jason, really taking him in, and there on his lip was a little scar in the same place that Red had a scar.  Then the mole on his neck, and another scar she had kissed over a hundred times.  

Y/N backed away, her breath coming out in shallow pants.  Her mind was running a mile a minute, it couldn’t be.  “I need to go,” she finally managed to say.

“Sophia?”  He asked in concern and God she couldn’t get it out of her head how he was Red.  Jason was the Red Hood.

“Goodnight,” she dashed for the door, his jacket still wrapped around her.

Once she had made it to her apartment, Batman was there.  Still in the city chasing down leads, and probably coming to ask for another favor.  The ball.  Bruce Wayne being in the city.  Everything was clicking in place.  “Call Red here,” she said before he could speak.  “I want to see him.”

“Red isn’t here, Y/N,” Batman said calmly.

“Oh isn’t he?”  She spat.  “I’m pretty sure I just left him on the roof of the Daily Planet.”  She tossed the jacket at him.  “Bruce.”

There was a moment of hesitation, but Batman - or Bruce - pulled the cowl down and revealed his true identity to her.  “How did you figure it out?”

“I’m an investigative journalist, Bruce.  Give me some credit,” she scoffed.  “If anyone looked hard enough I’m sure they could figure it out.”  She sat down on her couch and buried her face in her hands.  “Fuck, I’m so tired.”

Bruce wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do, but he summoned Jason, not telling him that Y/N knew the truth.  He would wait for that bomb to be dropped by the woman herself.  “I’m sorry if we’re causing you this stress, Y/N.”

She waved a dismissive hand, “Please, I’ve been stressed since the moment Sionis ruined my life.  I knew that that plan of ours was a fifty-fifty shot at freedom.  I’ll be looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life if I’m lucky.”

A moment later Red Hood entered through your window and you just looked at him.  And for a moment your times together flashed before your eyes.  “Y/N,” he said, his voice in that robotic monotone.  

“Jason,” she responded.  “Why don’t you sit down?  We’ve got a lot to discuss you and I.”

[ri-ahhh]

breakfast appetizer

morning pancakes with boyfriend E

1.4k, short and to the point lol

warnings: just smut

***

“Are you just gonna sit there and watch me all morning?”

Ethan stands at the stove, shirtless as usual, flipping pancakes and humming along to the Mac Miller song playing through the Alexa. You think this must be the 21st century woman’s version of whatever men in the 50′s loved about coming home to see their wives dolled up in a cute apron and working away in the kitchen. He looks way too good for this early in the morning — or at least as early as 8:30 AM feels right now, anyway.

You’re sitting on the marble counter of the kitchen island cross-legged, in nothing but his hoodie, clutching your empty plate after having already polished off the two pancakes he had given you. You suck a stray bit of syrup off your thumb with an obnoxious smack, and grin. “Yep. I like watching you slave away for me.”

He eyes the finger lingering by your lips with a smirk before checking one of the pancakes. “I hardly think putting shit in a blender and pouring it onto a hot pan is ‘slaving away,’ but I’ll take it.”

“Hey, it’s more work than I was gonna do by eating blueberries straight from the carton,” you point out, dragging your finger through the pool of syrup on your plate to catch some on purpose this time.

Ethan slides the spatula under the last of the pancakes on the stove and places them on a separate plate to join the others that he’d made. The gas stove turns off with a sharp click once he turns the knob to ‘off’, and he looks at you again just as you suck your finger in your mouth rather unattractively, as far as you're concerned. His eyes darken, and you flush behind the hood you’ve got raised over your head; if you knew he was in that kind of mood already, you would have at least tried to be a little more seductive about it.

Trying or not, Ethan doesn’t seem to care one bit, because the effect had been there. He moves to stand in front of you, takes your plate out of your hands, and sets it on the counter behind you. His hands hook under your thighs, and he drags you to the edge of the counter, forcing your legs apart from their folded position so they can wrap easily around his waist. 

You giggle and hook your wrists behind his neck for balance, and he brings one hand to pull your hood down and fluff out your hair. He doesn’t think you’ve ever looked better — all fresh-faced in the morning after a good night’s sleep, in his clothes, lips sticky from the breakfast he made you.

Your fingers play with his hair, long enough to be threaded through and tugged on in that sharp, playful way he likes so much. Sure enough, he lets out a tiny little grunt, and you smile at the renewed heat in his eyes. “You look like you wanna eat me.”

Ethan smiles at that. “I do. Are breakfast appetizers a thing?”

“I don’t think so. But I’m willing to be the first.”

You drag him to you, the countertop making you even in height with him so it’s a simple reach to get his mouth on yours. You moan at that first touch of his lips, already capturing your lower lip between his and giving it a seductive little nibble before fully diving in. His tongue coaxes you lips apart, delving into your warm mouth to explore the sweetness there left by the syrup you had been enjoying just minutes ago.

His kisses never fail to make you weak, but you’re already ready for more. You push down on his broad shoulders, and he follows without hesitation after one last swipe of his tongue across your lips. He sinks to his knees, and something about him looking up at you with the marble beneath you and the other pretty aesthetics of the nice, clean kitchen — the last place you should be doing this, even if Grayson is set to be gone on his morning surf outing for at least another couple of hours — makes you twice as desperate for him.

Ethan hooks his fingers into the sides of your tiny sleep shorts, and you plant you hands on the countertop behind you for leverage as you lift your hips so he can pull them down your legs. He tosses them to the side and pushes the hoodie up over your hips before your ass meets the solid cold surface of the counter again. In the back of your mind you consider how unsanitary this is, but who gives a fuck about that when Ethan Dolan is spreading your legs wide and dragging his soft, warm tongue through the heat of your pussy?

You moan lightly and slide your fingers through the dark strands of his hair, your clit throbbing at the way he looks up at you, pupils blown out and arousal clouding his eyes. His fingers press harder into the insides of your thighs as he sighs and burrows his face deeper into your pussy now that he has the addictive taste of you on his tongue. The slick muscle swipes broad and firm up your slit a few times, then slips into your hole to fuck you with it. 

Encouraged by your increasingly loud whimpers and moans of pleasure, he gets sloppier with it, sucking on your pussy lips and licking up the juices seeping out of you. At one point he just sticks his tongue out, and you groan as you lift up on you hands with your legs hooked over his shoulders to drag your hips over his mouth, the firmness of his tongue pressing just right against your sensitive flesh.

Ethan moans this time, loud and low and rumbly as he grabs your hips and forces you back onto the counter, blanketing his mouth over you to collect a pool of wetness on his tongue before capturing your clit with a harsh suckle. You shriek and pull him tight to you by the hair, throwing your head back.

“Fuck, E, that feels so fucking good!” you groan, dipping your head back down to rest your chin on your chest to watch him work you over with his practiced expertise. 

Ethan hums around your clit and smiles, pulling back with a shake of his head. “Your pussy tastes sweeter than maple syrup, baby. Tastes so good,” he says, watching your face intently as he brings a thick finger up and slips it inside you slowly. 

He follows it with another one, then reattaches his mouth on your clit with a sigh and pushes against the back of one of your thighs with his free hand. His tongue flicks against your swollen, throbbing clit slowly a few times, then circles it before suckling on it persistently once more, his eyes shut in concentration. The fullness inside you with his digits pumping steadily and the consistent rhythm of his mouth on your clit is all you need to get you there and get you there fast.

You pull hard on his hair, forcing his eyes to open and look up at you. They’re dark with lust but shine chocolate brown in the morning sunlight streaking through the back doors and windows. Your hips jerk against his mouth at the sight coupled with the sensations he’s creating in your center. “I’m gonna cum, E, don’t stop...don’t stop!”

He doesn’t, and he groans as your pussy spasms tightly around his fingers, your clit pulsing wildly against his tongue as he works you through it with gentle movements. Your chest heaves, and you grin happily through the last few waves as you finally come to your senses again. 

Ethan stands up, looking extra proud and extra sexy with your wetness coating the lower half of his face. You take his cheeks and lick off the shiny slickness from around his lips and chin, then kiss his mouth slow and deep.

“Still have an appetite for breakfast?” you ask playfully, squeezing him to you in a hug as he wraps his muscular arms around you.

He grips the fabric of your hoodie and starts tugging upwards, grinning. “Oh, for that and more.”