#ten rules object show

[icemintfreeze]

After like. 6 years, Ten Rules is finally real (and you should give it a read too :] )

[charmercharm3r]

Make Love, Not Porn

Hi, My Name Is

HHJ

Masterlist, Story Masterlist

18+ content – minors, do not interact

wc: 7.7k

Synopsis: You crave a life of normalcy, he craves you. And he'd do anything to keep you, even if you're for the world to see.

warnings: smut, explicit sexual content, subby/service top!barista hyune, softdom!reader, oral (m), piv, protected sex, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, consensual recording, lmk if I missed anything :p to be so honest i have no idea what i wrote i kinda blacked out lol so if it’s ass..look away

Past Broadcasts : Puppeteer

Live : Hi, My Name Is

Next Scheduled Broadcast : Sunday

☆ﾟ

Rule number five: know when to cut the cord.

But it was so difficult when he was literally showing up at your front door. You avoided him at all costs, acted like he didn’t exist, even found a new grocery store because it was too close to the coffee shop and you were terrified of the possibility of running into him there even if the chances were slim to none. There wasn’t even a reason for you to be scared to see him, he rejected you. He’s the one that should be embarrassed, turning down a ten out of ten.

Then again, he was a ten out of ten. A twelve out of ten, even. But why did he have to shove it in your face?

You were red in the face, light sheen of sweat all over your body when you’d heard the knock. The middle of the day and you were in the middle of a solo session, breaking in a new toy you’d gotten for the next stream. An hour had probably passed when you realized it just wasn’t working. Nothing was. The last time you’d been with Hyunjin was also the last time you’d cum, and it was frustrating the life out of you. As someone in this industry, cumming as many times as you wanted was one of the few motivators you had left. The amount of times you’d had to fake an orgasm on your streams was hurting your ego, as well as starting to get slightly suspicious to your regular viewers.

And now the sole object of your desire was behind a slab of wood that may as well have not been there at all. Your body heated up as soon as you saw him, like a warm hug. A fucking hug on the chilliest day of winter with a hot chocolate slipping down your throat. There’s also something else that would be awfully nice down you throat, and it’s behind the fucking door.

Through the peephole, you could see flowers and a coffee in his hand, biting his lip waiting for you to open. You hoped he didn’t hear you, that he’d assume you weren’t home and leave you alone for good. If you ignored him long enough, you’ll forget you’d ever even met him.

You backed away from the door when there was a second knock, hand still reached out holding the nob out of habit. The desire to open it was almost strong enough to override the nagging at the back of your head that told you “he’s just using you. He got in your pants so easily the first time, what’s to stop him from coming back for more?”

Almost.

It was a ruse, it had to be, this grand gesture. He was love bombing you. There was something he wanted. If not just sex, then fifteen minutes of fame? Using you for your platform? Still, you wanted to see the best in him, creeping up to the door again and silently looking through the peephole again. He was biting the inside of his cheek, switching the coffee between his hands when it got too cold. At some point he’d put everything into one hand so that he could run his hand through his hair– you gasped a little at how effortlessly beautiful he was, not trying knowing no one was looking and still ethereal. He mumbled something to himself, you blinked then he suddenly dipped out of the frame.

He was finally gone. Another deep breath, your head rolled to the side and your back pressed to the wall, sliding down into a crouch probably a lot more dramatic than need be. But this felt dramatic, fucking theatrical like it was some poorly written fanfiction turned into a D-list casted movie. Twiddling your thumbs as if looking at them long enough would suddenly give you the answer, the small burst of adrenaline had finally begun to wear off, and sulking back into your pitiful showroom you went. 

-

Hyujin doesn’t know how long he’d been waiting outside your house. He’d eventually decided to make himself comfy on the floor with his back to the door. Flowers, coffee, and baked good set aside, he scrolled through his phone and kept himself busy until eventually, he’d fallen asleep. Head lolled to the side, mouth agape, and snoring in the hallway.

Then he’s suddenly falling backwards, beyond startled and looking up at… an angel?

“Definitely not an angel.”

Did I say that out loud?

“Yes.”

Dazed, confused, a little gutpunched, Hyunjin sat up with your help. Just a light hand on his back until he realized you were touching him and he jumped to his feet and scrambled to grab the bouquet. Holding it out to you with shaking hands, “a peace offering.”

You looked at the gifts, leaned against the wall, and back up to his face, “what are you doing here, Hyunjin?”

He glanced around the room to take in the sight of your home without the prospect of sex slightly clouding his mind. It was cute, everything was so you, but also somehow entirely different to what he’d imagined your apartment would look like. It wasn’t reflective of your showroom, which was all neon lights and sultry furniture to keep the mood. The rest of the house was cozy with little pieces of decoration that screamed with personality. The dimming glow of the sunset lighting the living room was the perfect accessory.

Wait, sunset?

You peaked at where he was looking, “did you fall asleep?” Hyunjin nodded.

Now you felt bad, guilty even. You shouldn’t seeing as there was little to no established relationship and you didn’t owe him anything, but you did. His cheeks were puffy, pink tinted, and he still looked a little lethargic. Cute. Very cute. How badly you wanted to nibble on his cheeks cus they looked so edible. He looked edible.

No. Stop it.

“I would offer you a snack but the last time I did that you left me high and dry.”

He didn’t know if you were being serious, turning his attention back to you with a dumbfounded expression. “Really? You didn’t feel so dry to me.” Not a single ounce of shame, but also not trying to be smug. And no filter in his brain or mouth. “You didn’t call.”

Straight to the point.

Hyunjin invited himself in and headed for the kitchen he vaguely recalls following you into for said snack. He shuffled around in search of a vase, pushing the coffee into your chest when he finally found one and bumping into you because you were trailing so close behind. The little sip you took as he filled the vase with water to display on your kitchen counter made your body temperature soothe. 

“You didn’t stay,” the softness of your voice made his heart sink.

“Did you really want me to?”

How were you supposed to answer that? Say that, yes, I wanted you to stay so bad that I chose to ignore you instead of confront you because it’s easier to pretend you don’t exist than risk getting hurt again? Actually tell him that you haven’t been able to make yourself orgasm properly since the last time you were together? That he’s ruined how you view pleasure entirely? That sex and pleasure and dating and basic human relationships seems so fucking pointless if it’s not with him? To a man you’ve known for a week? No, that’s not an option. It’s batshit insane.

What’s also insane is how simple talking to him is. It’s psychotic that you feel more comfortable alone with him than you do people you’ve known for years. You’re delusional to think that this is more than physical attraction, even if it is. It’s so much more than that and every bone in you is telling you let the dainty red string pull you closer, let it guide you towards him. And god, you want to. It’s too good to be real, he’s not real. He’s a figment of your imagination that only exists in fairy tales because little red strings of fate don’t determine your life, they don’t tell you who you’ll love, it doesn't mean anything. Not a single fucking thing.

“Yes.” 

Now, why the fuck would you say that?

“You should’ve told me,” Hyunjin let out a sigh of what you think was relief.  His shoulders slouched forward and smiled up at the ceiling.

His nonchalant made you raise an eyebrow, “I offered! You declined!”

“Don’t yell at me. I left my phone number on your desk, you didn’t call. Drink before it gets watered down.” You frowned and took a sip. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“What are you talking about? What phone number?”

“The one on your desk? With the pretty drawing of you and the… y’know?”

“I didn’t see anything.”

“What?!” He slammed the bag with the baked item onto the counter and stormed through the apartment towards your showroom. You watched as he scoured the room, searching the bed, corners, your desk for whatever it is he was looking for.

Hyunjin had gotten on his hands and knees to look below it, finally to roll your chair back and pull the cupsleeve out from under it. The cardboard was smashed, crumpled, a little dirty. He stumbled to his feet to hold it in front of you, accompanying his raised, unamused brow.

“To be fair, I thought my chair was broken.”

“You didn’t even bother to look at why it might’ve been broken?!” You shrugged, sipping the coffee again. Hyunjin huffed and tossed the cup sleeve back onto your desk. “You’re insufferable. Where the fuck is your phone?”

“Don’t swear at me.” Pointing at the bed, Hyunjin rolled his eyes before taking it.

“Passcode?” You tell him the six digits to unlock it. “Is that your birthday?”

“...No.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll remember. I’ll even add it to your contact so that I get the notification.” After a few moments, he smiled triumphantly and tossed your phone next to the abandoned cupsleeve. “Now… Dinner?”

“That’s it?”

“What do you mean?”

“You forgive me?”

“There’s nothing to forgive?”

“I left you outside.”

“Yeah.”

“For hours.”

“Sure.”

“You fell asleep on my doorstep.”

“Where were you going, anyway? The sun was going down.”

“To get my mail.”

“What?! At night alone?! Now, that’s unforgivable.” Hyunjin took a step towards you, slim yet broad figure shielding yours from just about everything in your immediate vision. He leaned over, placing both of his hands on the sides of your head to hold you steady as he placed a simple kiss to your forehead.

The sudden affection made your brain short circuit because what the hell? How was he so okay with everything? It was almost like there was a wind up monkey toy holding cymbals inside his head that started clapping whenever his attention was taken somewhere else. But somehow, you were even more attracted to him, if that was even possible.

“Were you doing something in here? It smells like sweat.” He said and casually strolled out of your showroom. 

For hours, you and Hyunjin were in your kitchen. Half of that was spent trying to figure out what the two of you could cook without burning the house down. The conversation was so entertainingly mundane that neither of you realized how much time had truly passed, sun fully set and night sky helping illuminate the dimly lit living room. He insisted on doing most of the cooking when you both agreed that boxed pasta and premade red sauce would be the safest thing.

All you had to do was sit back and ogle his back muscles as he stirred the pot, maybe hand him a napkin or spoon when asked. The white shirt he wore was as thin as they come, tank top more than visible beneath it and making your mouth water. The room had become incredibly warm as Hyunjin put the wooden spoon to the side. With his back to you, you got to watch as both his hands threaded through his hair, gathering what he could, and tying it into a messy ponytail. God, how did he do that? That thing where he just exists and it makes you swoon? He needs to stop– it’s getting ridiculous how hearts were basically replacing your pupils.

“If it tastes horrible, lie to me and act like it doesn’t.” Hyunjin placed a full plate in front of you, taking the seat across from you.

For the most part, the meal itself was silent. There just weren’t any words that you could think coherently enough to speak. Great food, made especially for you, and by the most handsome boy you’d ever seen, why would you need to say anything? Hyunjin didn’t seem to mind. All it looked like he cared about was not taking his eyes off you.

It was just the littlest bit uneasy, but nothing that put you off. His stare was just intense, part of you thought he was reading your mind. However, if he could, you probably wouldn’t have had to spend a week apart.

“I don’t understand you,” you admit as you suddenly find your plate nearing clean.

“Do you have to?” He responded, putting his fork down and sitting back while adjusting to spread his knees.

“I’d like to.”

Oh, how his heart fluttered when you said that. It felt like a step in the right direction. “That’s the first time you’ve asked me something personal that isn’t related to sex.”

You frowned along with the small guilt that lingered over your shoulder. “This is only the fourth time we’ve met.”

“Most people ask this before taking their clothes off. I think I’ve told you before, you’re not like most people.” He could see you bite the inside of your cheek, making a cute pout that he could tell was coming from a place of an unnecessary amount of self awareness. “I like it, though. Why do you think I came back?”

“I don’t know why. That’s, like, the whole point of me saying, ‘I don’t understand you.’”

Hyunjin reached over the short distance between him and you, thumb smoothing the ruffle between your brows and you instantly relaxed. As awkward as he could be, he really knew how to make you feel so at ease, second nature for him to be comfort embodied. There was no judgment on his face or in his tone that you could see. If you had asked what he was thinking about, he would have answered with how pretty your cheeks glow after a good meal.

“That day, you agreed to come with me and… participate..?” Hyunjin nodded along and listened intently, continuing to lightly push your hair from your forehead and trace the outline of your cheek. “Then we showered and snacked and then you just… you left. And didn’t so much as twitch when you looked at me after we were done.”

His jaw wanted to drop to the floor just how it did in the cartoons. That was the only reaction he could emit as it all clicked into place. Why you didn’t look for him or stop by the coffee shop, why you were reluctant to open the door and accept his gift, the slightly cold shoulder you gave him when you so clearly wanted to be nothing but a blanket of warmth. “Is that what you think?”

Hyunjin’s heart hurt a little when you didn’t answer, but he also wanted to laugh in your face at how stupid all of this was. However, he had clocked it the second you two had a real conversation, and so laughing at you was probably the last thing he should do. Instead, he trailed his touch down your jaw, gently cupping your cheek. “You’re more than all this,” hands slid quickly, gesturing down your sides and back up. “So much more.”

The tears wanted to swell in your eyes at how sincere his voice was. He could’ve been lying, for all you knew, but the small part of you that wanted to believe him was also the biggest part of you that had always wanted someone to tell you those small words. The small part of you that wanted to be wanted was also the biggest part of you that wanted him. It was all so confusing, you understood him perfectly but also not at all. Hyunjin could read you easily by now, you were like an open book to him.

“But I was naked.”

“And so fucking beautiful,” practically gritted through his teeth because just saying the words couldn’t express the painfully good clenching in his chest. Hyunjin pulled back for a second to stand up and shrink to his knees in front of you, reaching up again to take your cheeks in both of his hands. “But how could I look at just your body when there is so much up here to get to know?”

There it was again, all the right words executed perfectly in spite of how great of a wall you put between you and him. Hyunjin smoothly pressed a kiss to your forehead, for emphasis or not, it made you shut your eyes tightly and the tears silently rolled. His thumbs were swiping it away before making it over the hill of your cheekbone, and he was standing to take your empty dishes into the kitchen for cleaning.

You were absolutely stunned. Unsure of where to go, how to act, what to say, you simply watched him quickly wash the plates with an endearing smile all the way across his cheeks before he was taking your hand to lead you towards the couch. He sat you next to him, millimeters apart and reading your body language. Definitely in need of a lighter mood.

Hyunjin stuck his hand out for a handshake.

“What’re you doing?” Your voice cracked.

“Hi, my name is Hyunjin. You’re incredibly gorgeous and I’d love to take you out sometime.”

“If this is some kind of roleplay–”

“It’s not,” he took your hand from your lap to connect with his. “This is me wanting to know you, and you wanting to know me. I don’t know what you do for a living, and you don’t know what my dick looks like. Just people.”

Just people, that sounded nice.

You hesitated, then shook his hand. “Hi, I’m Y/N.”

“So Y/N, can I take you on a date? Maybe have a picnic in the park, grab some cheap painting supplies and go paint near the river, dessert at the best ice cream spot I know. We can make it a nice day.” He tucked his hand back into his lap respectfully, throwing the other over the back of the couch to get just the littlest bit close to you.

“I’d like to, but I’m lactose intolerant.”

“See, I’d say that’s a lie because of your coffee order. But since I don’t know you, I’m going to take your word for it and offer a cake place that I’ve heard great reviews about.”

“I don’t like frosting–”

“Just go on a date with me!” He raised his voice slightly with aggravation, teasing annoyance because he knew you were being difficult on purpose. You couldn’t help but giggle as he pretended to squish your cheeks when in reality, he was forcing down his cute aggression to keep from taking a loving bite out of you.

Your cheeks warmed up at his reaction, endearing and all together cute. He was a weird combination of adorable and sexy, even now with strands of his hair falling in front of his face, glasses hanging on the front of his shirt but a gold chain peeking out from behind the neckline that would look so good dangling in your face. You couldn’t help taking the glasses and opening them, slipping it onto his face. Hyunjin let you toy with his look by lightly brushing his hair away and pulling the necklace out of its hiding place. He raised his eyebrows when you were done. The skin of his neck tingled from where your fingertips had barely grazed.

“If you dress like this, I’m all yours.”

For a second, he didn’t know what to say as that was all he wanted to hear. For all of the smooth moves and suave lines, there were the split moments where he radiated nothing but dorkiness wanting to flood out.

“If you keep saying things like that, I might just kiss you.”

“What’s stopping you?”

“I– I don’t really know.” There it was, eyebrows knit together in genuine confusion.

While he sulked back into the cushion, you placed a gentle hand over his, just gauging the touch barrier. Hyunjin didn’t seem to mind, but rather he intertwined his fingers with yours as he fell deeper into thought. “I wanna go on a date with you,” the admittance had him darting you a quick, hopeful glance. “But, I don’t know how to do this.”

“That’s okay!” He was quick to perk up and make your grimace back a little at his sudden burst in energy. Hyunjin tightened his grip on your hand for reassurance. “I think our expertise just lies in different areas.”

“I’m not following.”

He jutted out his bottom lip with fake sympathy, scratching the underside of your chin. “If you didn’t notice, I’m not the most intuitive when it comes to sex.”

That was a shock. “I dunno about that,” an honest answer that made him shy away with a laugh.

“My experience is incomparable to yours, and not in a bad way! Just, maybe there were some things I was missing.”

You thought back to the moment you had with him, how unsure he seemed when you spoke about sex and masturbation, he seemed truly mind blown and eager to know more. 

“And I can tell, you haven’t had the easiest times with relationships. I think we can learn from each other.”

“This feels like a weird, illegal exchange.” You frowned again. “But I kinda like it.”

His heart raced, yours was beating a million miles an hour. There was a tension in the air that could’ve gone one of two ways. The first being that you pop open a bottle of wine and put on a good movie. There’s chocolate truffles in the cupboard, you could always grab a bowl to have with the wine. Sweet compliments sweet, Hyunjin might enjoy it. Perhaps you could end the night with a kiss, maybe a cuddle if it went that far. You’d see him again, you didn’t have a doubt about it. You’ve got his number now, there’s no more excuses.

The second, was how things actually went.

You mentally thanked your friend for giving you these dim lights for the living room, they made his honey skin look so edible.

Hyunjin doesn’t know when it happened, you don’t know when it happened. Just that there were half finished glasses of wine on the coffee table, the movie long passed the rolling credits, and that you were on your knees between his legs, staring at his cock with the roundest, glitteriest eyes he’d ever seen.

Your bra strap was slipping off your shoulder along with the entire cup threatening to be overflowed by your breast, he wished it would. More than that, he wished you would stop teasing him. All you were doing was tracing the pad of your finger over his slit, collecting the leaking precum and spreading it around the tip. The warmth of your breath splayed over the skin of his pelvis made goosebumps rise across every inch of his skin, giggling as he shivered.

“How did this even– ah, ah– happen?”

Vibrations of your chuckle prolonged his shuddering, “dunno. I’m not upset about it, though. Unless… unless you are?” You backed away from his cock and expression replaced with something dead serious.

“No, no! God, please keep going.” Hyunjin reached out to thread his fingers in your hair, but a quick slap on his wrist made him retreat.

“Nuh, uh. You haven’t earned that yet.”

Hyunjin repressed a groan, “sorry, sorry.”

He felt overly exposed even if you were just as naked as he was, you actually more so than him. The blurred memory of how this even started was brought back when he glanced at your discarded shirt hanging on the armrest of the couch, your house shorts and his white tee in another pile on the ground next to you. His pants and boxers were puddled around his ankles, and that was what made his face burn. Whatever was to happen next, say you wanted him to carry you to the bedroom or pin you against the wall, he’d literally be caught with them around his ankles. It’s a problem he can’t put on to you, but it still made him flustered nonetheless.

You were a few inches from his bare southern region, now, having to sit up taller so that his leaking dick didn’t obstruct from maintaining eye contact with him. “I… really like you,” tone as small as it could go without turning into a whisper.

“I really like you, too.” As antsy and anxious as he was, Hyunjin restrained from bucking into your face.

“There’s something I wanna do, only if you wanna, too. I think you might like it? Y– you can say no! No hard feelings! I just think that I’ll be seeing you a lot a– and you already know what my job is–”

He leaned forward to tip your chin higher, “I trust you.”

Blush covered your cheeks in a millisecond and it made Hyunjin smile smugly. When you turned around to grab your phone on the coffee table and prop it up against the wine bottle, he got the idea. Before you unlocked it, you spun back to face him. “I need you to say that this is okay.” Not that you didn’t trust him, as well, but you have every reason not to. Not just morally, but this was your career on the line if something were to go haywire.

“I am okay with this. Turn on the camera.”

You nodded excitedly, “this is just for us.”

The angle at which you positioned your phone made it so that his face wasn’t showing, only the view of your body between his knees sitting prettily for him. Hyunjin could see the screen and throbbed even harder, he was torn between looking at you and looking at the hottest video you’ve ever made to date. Or, about to make– with him. Even if no one else is ever going to see this, the act of being recorded made him harder than he’s ever been.

Blipping of the recording being started, you settled comfortably again locked between his legs. Hands strolling up the insides of his naked thighs, Hyunjin’s breath grew heavier the closer in you came. He could feel your body heat again as he prayed you would hurry up. The camera couldn’t pick up the way you ogled his cock, the way you licked your lips, or the way you looked up at him through your lashes just as you stuck the tip of your tongue out to gather the bead precum and swallow. Hyunjin let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding in and the sound of his sigh made you giggle again.

“Can I?” You asked all too sweetly for what it is you wanted.

“Please.”

“So kind,” praised before he was about to be destroyed.

Absolutely obliterated, total annihilation, earth-splitting and volcanoes erupting the same way he did as soon as your mouth took in the tip of his cock. He blew on the spot, and you sucked him through his orgasm until he was dry and shriveled up with embarrassment. “Fuck– god, oh my– fuck, I‘m sorry! I’m so sorry!” He continued to twitch into your mouth as you licked up whatever remained.

It didn’t even seem to phase you, his premature finish was more than worthy of a few reprimands, possibly making him leave all together and deleting his number. Less than satisfactory. But it made you all the more excited. Where he crumbled is where you saw potential to create skyscrapers of pleasure, all intended to blow his mind.

An easy swallow of his seed down your throat, you kissed the inside of his thighs in reassurance. “‘S okay. I liked it,” honest as honest can be.

“Tell me if I should pull my pants up and leave so I can save whatever dignity I have left.”

“Dignity is overrated. Degradation is a whooole lot more fun. Plus,” showing off his whiteness on your tongue, you licked a stripe up the center of his dick and Hyunjin shuddered again, “you’re really sensitive.”

Hyunjin sat back and let it happen to him, he couldn’t find the strength to so much as tell you when he was about to cum again because it was so painfully good. It didn’t take very long or very much effort on your part, simply having to massage his balls and pinch the skin of his pelvis while your tongue worked minimal magic as you kept him sheathed in your warm, wet mouth. His nails raked across the couch cushion in a way that made you feel a little bad that he couldn’t touch you. Just a little. “Did so good for me. Think you can do one more, baby?”

He was on the verge of saying no, until you stood up. Amidst his plummeting energy and evergrowing sensitivity, Hyunjin didn’t have half the mind to remember that you were just as needy as he was. You were having so much fun playing with him that you almost forgot, as well. The face he makes when he cums is the hottest thing you’ve ever seen, you were this close to rutting against his leg like a fucking dog. You’d do it, too, shamelessly. However, you figured you could save that for another day. This was about him. 

You stood, ass taking up the entire view in the camera. You let him watch you strip, unclipping your bra and tossing it somewhere forgotten. Evening the score, you tugged at the hem of his tank top to discard, although you were teetering back and forth on letting him keep it on. Next off was your panties, left along on the floor before you began to climb into his lap.

Oh god, you were straddling him. Really straddling him. Wet pussy on full display, knees spread and so close to his cock that he could feel the dampness on his own skin. Or was that just cus you were sloppy earlier? He didn’t care, nor did he have to try to get hard again seeing as he never went soft.

You didn’t sit fully, hovering over him with the only skin touching being your thighs on his and your arms draped over his shoulder. Hyunjin found comfort in the heat as you wiped away the sweaty hair sticking to his forehead, leaning deeper into your touch. When you dragged your hands down his arms to guide them to hold onto your waist, he struggled not to buck his hips up into you. He thought about how you might laugh when you rewatch the footage later, but Hyunjin couldn’t bring himself to care no matter how ridiculous it looked. He knows that he was rutting into nothing but the air, but the increase in heat when he got close to your cunt was more than satisfactory if you decided it wasn’t what you wanted.

Except you were ready to go for it and was reaching for the side drawer for condoms, even if it meant overstimulating him even more. He wouldn’t protest, he wanted it just as much. “Are you okay?” You asked concerned when he tucked his face into your shoulder.

“Mhm,” he muttered against you, “want you so bad.”

You reached back and between his legs, dragging a delicate finger up from the bottom of his balls to the base of his cock. Hyunjin trembled and molded deeper into your frame. You chuckled, “I can tell, baby. But can you handle it? You’re so worked up already, I don’t wanna break you when we’re just getting started.”

“I can, I can!” He looked up at you with glistening eyes, full of tears and determination. “Please, please, please.” Hyunjin’s hips bucked up again, hitting the inside of your thigh and you pushing him back down.

“Calm, baby. We’ve got all the time in the world. Deep breaths, now.”

Hyunjin followed your lead when you inhaled through your nose and let out a deep exhale. He continued to do so even though you were pressing your lips to his forehead, even though you were trailing them across his cheeks and skipping over his lips. He puckered them, ready to be suffocated by your kisses. But when you planted just a peck on his, he audibly whimpered, to which you laughed and continued down his neck.

Oh, he was extra sensitive there. And when you sat back on his knees to tweak both his nipples? Ascendance.

Hyunjin threw his head back and moaned just as loud as he did when you put him in your mouth. “No, no, don’t wanna cum again,” he murmured, but didn’t try to resist your touch.

Still, you pulled away and placed your hands on his chest. “No? Too much?”

“Wanna make you cum first,” he suddenly grasped the undersides of your thighs and lifted the two of you off the couch. Neither of you had noticed his shins knocking the coffee table as he laid you on your back lengthwise with the couch, lifting your legs up so he could slot himself between them and over his shoulders.

It was a pleasant surprise, his display in strength and stamina, you were proud that he could keep going. The off-guard giggle you let out only spurred him to continue, cupping both your cheeks and stealing the kiss for himself. You couldn’t stop it, didn’t want to as he fit against you so perfectly. Cut through the tension like a knife did the passionate kiss prove to both of you that it was more than just physical attraction. Still, sometimes words do speak louder than actions.

You reached between your bodies to guide him towards your entrance, needing nothing but a moan against his lips to confirm to go further. The stretch was more than you anticipated, burning so euphorically good with a side of neediness for him to move faster. As if you could take all of him in one go, foolish. It’d been a long while since you’d been with someone worthy of sticking their dick in you, this was much different than a plastic toy.

Though, he was worth the wait, even if it did make you pathetically whimper into his mouth. It was just the ego boost he needed, no longer feeling ashamed of his previous poor performance. You still wanted more, you were clawing at his biceps and he was swallowing every one of your moans until his thighs met your ass cheeks.

He wanted to blow for a third time just being inside you, feeling the pulsing of your walls and slick dripping down his balls. Hyunjin used every muscle in him not to begin fucking into you like an animal, brain somehow stronger than the primal need inside him. But while he watched for any sign that you were uncomfortable, trying to be overly vigilant that he wasn’t truly paying attention to see you locking your ankles behind his neck and beginning to fuck yourself back and forth on his cock. His hands were planted near your head, realizing what it is you were doing when you bit your lip and held onto his wrists.

Hyunjin laughed into the air, the kind of laugh as though he had just won the lottery because holy fuck, he did. He watched as you bounced up and down, swiveled side to side, using him like one of your dildos suction cupped to the wall. Except he was the dildo, being used and abused until you felt satisfied. 

“So tight– so hot ‘nd wet. God, you’re so cute, oh my god. Don’t ever stop fucking me, please, please. So good, too good.”

The drip of his sweat from his forehead onto yours broke your cock-induced fever, “why am I doing all the work, baby? You started this, so finish it.” You stopped dead in your tracks and slumped back into the couch.

Hyunjin was more than happy to fuck you silly, if he hadn’t already cum twice and was running on fumes. Alas, he did his best and it was perfectly enough. You had run him ragged for your first time having sex, you couldn’t blame him for being sloppy. 

His best was still better than average, even if his pants were still stuck around his ankles. As he stood up straight and took the hook of your knees into his hands, Hyunjin let his head fall back to summon whatever energy he had left stored in the tank. Surprisingly, it was a lot. He was dripping in sweat, down his temples, neck, and chest and red blush had flushed his supple skin, but he was still the prettiest thing you’d ever seen.

He could say the same thing about you. Although your state was less messy than his, you still looked absolutely fucked out and desperate. Teeth sunk into your bottom lip so hard he was scared you would draw blood, pinching your nipples and occasionally reaching up to claw at his chest. You and him were both worked up and on the verge of crying like a bunch of babies overstimulated by everything around them. 

Your fingers found their way to your clit once he started to move, fast and unrestrained while trying not to blow before you again. Just perfectly did he fit inside you to the point where you were really questioning how the hell you had sex with other people when he was right there all along. This was nothing like your past experiences, fuck whatever it was Hyunjin thought they were like, this was something else entirely. Like waking up on Sunday morning thinking it’s Monday and being able to blissfully fall back asleep. The day when you have no responsibilities or weight on your shoulders and all you feel is relaxed. When you have nothing to do but wake up at noon to feed yourself then crawl back to bed to loaf. A lover coming home after months apart and being able to inhale their scent like it’s the first time all over again. The first cold day of autumn and the first warm day of spring. He’s Sunday. 

Hips against hips, skin slapping skin, sweat mixing and creating the particular cloud of odor where anyone who walked in would know what the two of you did. Hyunjin would stick his tongue out in concentration to make sure he was repeatedly hitting that spot that makes your eyes roll back and toes curl. He was so good at it that after a while, he didn’t need to hold you up anymore. 

Eventually he let your legs rest around his waist so he could hunch over you again, kissing your lips so sweetly in stark contrast to how hard his cock was prodding into your soft spot. He wasn’t moving roughly, but rather strong strokes that made you really feel his entire length slipping in and out of your aching cunt. Slick sounds of your bodies connecting layered the already adulterous moans leaving the both of you, your neighbors will for sure have a complaint about it tomorrow.

Hyunjin fell onto his elbows, millimeters from your face as his thrusts slowed. The way he looked at you, as though he’d set his eyes on the most sought after piece of art. In a way, he was. Of all the people that have seen you completely bare and beg for your attention, all the people you’ve met, spoken to, kissed, fucked, he couldn’t bring himself to care about any of that because you were under him now.

The almost stagnant nature of his movements wasn’t frustrating or annoying. You enjoyed it, more than any kind of rough or needy sex you’ve had with past partners. He wasn’t touching you like you usually would’ve needed, but still felt the bubble in your stomach wanting to burst. If he kept looking at you like, if he kept kissing you so delicately and fucking you just like this, it will.

His palm brushed the hair from your face, keeping it on the top of your head as if to surround you in purely him. 

“My sweetheart.”

Why was that what had to make the bubble pop? As soon as the words left his mouth and you saw the smitten smile on his face, your legs locked around his waist and nails raked down his back as white heat suffocated your body. You felt his face hide in your neck and latch onto the skin above your pulse, sucking a bruising mark as you came down and it was your turn to be covered in goosebumps. Hyunjin hadn’t realized he’d cum again until you were hugging him tighter to your chest, falling limp on top of you and all the adrenaline finally wearing off.

Nuzzled tight into him until both your breaths were regular and in sync, shutting your eyes while his tongue kitten licked over the sore spots he’d been teething at, neither of you wanted to leave from behind the thin veils of bliss. Though, returning to reality with him didn’t seem so bad.

“Baby, clean up time,” you cooed in his ear, to which you got no response but a soft snore. The giggle that left your lips was hushed to let him rest a little longer. But after a few minutes, the stickiness of the sweat was becoming uncomfortable, scratching his scalp a bit harder to gently wake him. Hyunjin hummed into you as he acknowledged the signal. “C’mon Hyune, shower.”

Wordlessly, he clambered off of you and let you lead him to the bathroom again, stopping in the hallways for towels together so that you wouldn’t have to leave him alone. Similar routine to last time except when it was time for you to clean, he opted to stand out of the shower stream until you were finished because he wanted to stay as close to you as possible. 

And when the both of you were clean, dry, and ready for bed, Hyunjin spoke again as you walked hand in hand into your bedroom. “You called me Hyune.”

“Hm? That’s your name, isn’t it?” You smirked and pulled him deeper into the room. For a second, he took a look around and immediately felt like he’d been here before, comfortably familiar. 

As you guided him towards the bed and lifted the cover for him to slide under, he suddenly woke up from your unintentional trance. “No, Hyune’s a nickname.”

“Is it okay if I call you Hyune?” A soft question as you get into bed beside him, the pair of you shamelessly naked and tangled in one another’s limbs. 

“Yeah, or baby.” You nodded against the pillow, sweeping a hand through his hair again when he rolled on his side to face you.

The two of you stared at one another for what could’ve been minutes or hours, neither of you knew. But you were on the verge of falling asleep as he placed a supple kiss on your forehead. It sparked the small memory of the long forgotten phone that had recorded the entire event. It jolted him awake as well when you suddenly got up from bed to run through the apartment to retrieve it.

Hyunjin was sat up on his elbows when you returned and gratefully took in the sight of you naked once again, feeling light as a feather.

You had ended the recording and pulled up the video to realize it was four hours long. Hyunjin gawked and laughed when he saw the time stamp. He rolled onto his back and opened his arms for you to lay in as you watched the video together.

Everything was just as he’d seen it happening from the beginning until you took off your undergarments. If the both of you weren’t deadbeat tired, it probably would’ve turned you on and sparked a second round. Instead you both could watch it with admiration and fondness.

“Oh, that was so sexy when you did that,” he said in reference to you running a finger across his balls as you straddled him.

“I like when you hold me like this,” you commented about how far and tightly his arms wrapped around your torso.

You both criticized and critiqued the video, only able to find positives to praise one another about until it was time for him to flip the positions. The clip showed Hyunjin lifting you up then standing, and suddenly the table shook and the camera tipped over. The frame showed the opposite end of the couch that you were on, the only thing on screen being the tail end of your lower halves, mostly his ass in the air and your feet dangling in the air. You both burst into a deep gutted laugh and were unable to catch your breaths at how funny the scene looked from that angle.

“Everything was so good!” You joked, pausing the video and zooming in to see his butt in the air.

“I don’t even remember hitting the table,” he admitted while taking the phone and looking closer. “At least my butt looks good.”

“You do have a cute butt.”

“Look at your little feet!” He zoomed into your feet just barely in the upper right corner of the frame.

“Not for free!” Snatching the phone back, you lock it and toss it onto the bedside table.

“I was literally balls deep in you and you’re worried about me seeing your feet?”

“That’s different!”

He rolled his eyes and untucked his arm from beneath your head to lay his own on your chest. “Whatever. I’m not a big foot guy anyways.”

“That thing poking my thigh says otherwise.”

“I can’t even feel my dick right now, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

☆ﾟ

tags: @babebatter @changbinluvr @epiphanynaffit @fawnpeaks @linovely @dumplinbokkieracha @finnydraws @naturules @djeniryuu @skzhomiehopper @yesv01 @hyunjinsamdl @dazzlingligth @alexis-reads-fics @0002linoskitten @chillichillicrabcrab23 @zerefdragn33l @straycrescent @binnies-donuts @soldierstangirl-blog @bakedlilgoonie @levanterlily @shelbyyy44 @yeetmehome @in2heartz @astroodledream @the-sweetest-rose @lilbugs-things @viviennenstan @staurdvst @alex--awesome--22 @imzenning @jeyelleohe @iadorethemskz @skyvastbunny @mamabymychem @katsukis1wife @woozarts @noellllslut @straykids5star @like-a-diamondinthesky

[probablyasocialecologist]

The methodology for the Cass review was established by a team from the University of York including Tilly Langdon, who has previously been involved in promoting Gender Exploratory Therapy – an approach which, despite its neutral-sounding name, discourages children from identifying as trans and has been likened to conversion therapy. Her approach included setting a very high bar for evidence to be considered in the review, ruling out 100 of the existing 103 studies into the use of puberty blockers and hormones to treat trans children. The reason given for excluding all these studies was that they did not incorporate a double blind approach – in other words, they did not involve giving puberty blockers to some patients and placebos to others. This might sound like a reasonable objection on the face of it – until one considers that puberty is a dramatic physical and psychological process, and people can easily tell when it’s happening to them, so a double blind simply wouldn’t work in practice. The Cass review called for more research and, again, few would disagree with this. The suggestion that treatment should be withheld in the process, however, is not neutral. It presupposes that the harm done by puberty blockers (demineralisation of bones, which is usually temporary in the short-term treatment recommended and is similar to what occurs in pregnancy) is more severe than the harm done to a trans child by going through the wrong sort of puberty. The latter is linked to high rates of self-harm and suicidal ideation, together with the need, in many cases, for extensive surgical procedures. Confusingly, the review states that children taking puberty blockers showed “no changes in gender dysphoria or body satisfaction”, which suggests that the author didn’t actually understand what puberty blockers do at all. They don’t make children feel better – they just delay a process that makes them feel worse. This is one of several oddities in a report that lacks internal consistency. It states that there is no established definition of social transition, for instance, and does not offer one, but goes on to talk about it as if there were. It also talks about autistic ‘girls’ identifying as trans in increasing numbers, treating this as mysterious and as cause for concern, despite acknowledging elsewhere that more and more girls are being diagnosed as autistic, so one would expect more diagnoses to be present within any subsection of the young female-assigned population.  Perhaps the most worrying of the review’s conclusions – which should concern people far beyond the trans community – is the suggestion that as far as NHS treatment is concerned, trans people should be treated as children until they are 25. The rational for this is that 25 is the age when (on average) the brain stops developing. As any neurologist will tell you, the brain is in fact never static, and within ten years or so of that age, it begins to shrink. Deciding who has the capacity to make decisions based on brain age could have unintended consequences for the likes of Cass (64).  That aside, what would setting the age of true adulthood at 25 mean for everybody else? If we couldn’t allow people to consent to medical treatment at 24, should we ask them to risk dying for us? If not, then at a stroke we could lose a quarter of our armed forces. Likewise, we would have to give serious thought to what to do about a third of parents who might not be considered competent to look after their newborn children.  And then there are issues like contraception. Right-wingers have long contended, on one pretext or another, that teenage girls shouldn’t have the right to take the pill without their parents’ consent. This is where the review’s suggestion starts to look less like a double standard and more like the thin end of a very nasty wedge.

[avocado-writing]

notes: I did a lot of research for this and yes, the manuscript I reference is a real thing. I didn’t put its name in though because that felt a step too far 😂 set in the light, the dark, and the spaces in between after ch3 so hope that’s ok! requests like this give me life.

relationship: aziraphale x immortal!reader x crowley

rated: G, pure fluff

word count: 1.4K

if you like my work you can buy me a kofi!

You’re the one who makes the tea. 

That’s because you’re the only one who changes how you have it: sometimes you fancy a chai, or a green tea, or a lapsang souchong. Sometimes with sugar or a little bit of milk, sometimes with neither, sometimes with an oat alternative. It changes. You’re human, you go through phases. 

But Aziraphale and Crowley? Nah, they’re creatures of habit. Despite the angel’s wide and experimental palate he’s oddly rigorous when it comes to his cuppa. For him, it’s loads of milk and four sugars, drowned to the point where it could hardly be called tea any more. Crowley likes his black and strong and nowhere near anything that could affect the taste. You wring the teabag tortuously into his mug with a teaspoon before grabbing all three servings and heading into the shop. 

You put yours down first, on the side next to the book you’re currently reading, then hand your husbands theirs. They both take them from you in the same way, the way they have done for centuries now, a domestic ritual: accepting the mug you offer and then your hand, pressing a little kiss of thanks and affection to the back of it. 

A heartfelt  intimacy just between the three of you. 

☕️ 

“Hurry Crowley, it’s starting!”

“Yes, yes, alright angel, hang on.”

“We won’t hang on and we’re not pausing it. Not a threat, just a fact,” you call into the kitchen. A couple of seconds later, Crowley emerges from the kitchen with three wine glasses and a bottle of Pinot Grigio. 

“I’ll be mother, then,” he mutters as the other two of you barely take your eyes off of the telly. You’ve got your legs slung over Aziraphale’s lap and he only takes a break from stroking your knee in absentminded, loving circles to take the proffered glasses from his husband, one for himself and one for you. Crowley plonks down the other side of Aziraphale and throws his own legs over him too, the two of you playing footsie for space across his plush thighs. Eventually the three of you find a comfortable pile and settle in. 

“Another ten weeks of torture begins,” Crowley says as the Bake-off theme ends and the show starts. You nudge him with your toe. 

“You don’t have to watch it with us,” you tell him. He harrumphs but doesn’t argue because, really, of course he’ll watch it with the two of you. It makes you both happy. 

🍞 

Your work is as a consultant for museums around the country, which is a fun way of saying you get paid a lot because you know a lot. But mostly, you only know a lot because you’ve been around for a very long time. So whenever a shard of pottery or a scrap of clothing needs dating they call you to come and put its history into context. 

Also, for the bigger museums, it’s a chance for you to smuggle out the stolen artefacts and return them to their country of origin. You consider it a hobby, a bonus perk of the job. 

You’ve set up this exhibition. It’s for pottery around the end of the Roman rule in Britain, stuff you’ve found and identified around the country on archaeological digs. You lead Crowley and Aziraphale through, discussing your findings in detail, before you come to a small, surprisingly intact, terra sigillata oil lamp. It sits on its own, spot lit. You asked for it that way. 

“See this? I made this. Over a thousand years ago,” you tell them, quietly, gently putting your hand to the glass of the display case. Aziraphale and Crowley take a careful look at the engraving on the object. It bears the profile of a man, and with the sharp cheekbones and little glasses there’s only one person it could be. 

“Oh, Nightingale. It’s lovely,” Crowley says, surprisingly touched. He wraps an arm around you and buries his face into your hair. 

“You could say I’ve held a flame for you for a long time,” you say, and grin. Crowley groans. 

“Did you put my face on a lamp just to keep that pun up your sleeve?”

“Maybe.”

🔥 

You next return to the museum when you pick up that Aziraphale is jealous. He isn’t jealous often but he’s pants at hiding it, and it’s not hard to guess why: he’s just seen that Crowley stuck with you for such a long time you put his face on a piece of bloody pottery. You’d probably be a bit put out too. 

So for a couple of weeks you throw yourself into your work to find the thing that will make it even. And you do, even though it takes a lot of overseas bargaining and promises to do some pro-bono work. 

You finally get the museum in America to agree to send it over for a showing. You arrange a special exhibition specifically for this, where it’s held behind a huge glass case in a dark room with only a small light on it. 

But you get special access because, well, you’re you. So you sneak Aziraphale and Crowley in one night and walk into the display room, wearing a face mask and a pair of protective gloves. 

There it sits: the Canterbury Tales. One of the oldest versions in the world. 

“Oh, this is wonderful!” Aziraphale gasps, peeping over your shoulder to inspect. “I can feel the adoration coming off of it in waves. This was a labour of love, wasn’t it?”

“Yes. I’d let you have it for the shop if I had the power. But I think they’d notice if I shoved this one down my top,” you sigh, scanning the pages for what you’re after, then stop dead when you find it. 

“Here. Look.”

You point to one of the illustrations, a mounted rider on a beautiful white horse. Aziraphale takes in a quiet breath and draws closer. Because just as plainly as you put Crowley on your oil lamp, you drew your angel in the Canterbury Tales. Curly hair, pink face, beaming smile. 

“Oh my,” he whispers. You stroke the little picture and remember toiling away over painting it, repeatedly wiping your brow to make sure your sweat didn’t smudge your work. 

“I put you in all the copies I could get my hands on. And you,” you turn to Crowley, “your face is probably buried on my pottery in a dozen dig sites across the UK. I’m just saying I’ve loved the two of you since the day we met; always have, always will.”

Your husbands look at each other and then at you, before as one they step forward to embrace you. 

“And we’re lucky to have you,” Crowley whispers in your ear, as Aziraphale kisses your cheek. Their hands meet at your back and they interlace their fingers with each other, you wrap your arms around them and stay like that for a moment; three working parts of a whole. 

They kiss, and then they kiss you. You feel warm and rosy. Then you spend the evening reading through the book from beginning to end. 

📖 

You keep your wedding ring on a chain around your neck at work. Not because you’re embarrassed that you're married; far from it - it’s far too precious to risk losing while constantly taking protective gloves on and off all day. So you don’t blame your colleague for asking you on a date. He’s young, fresh out of uni, and of course has no idea you’re old enough to be his grandparent forty times over. 

“That’s very kind,” you tell him, and his face falls because he knows where this is going, “but I’m already happily married.”

He sighs in embarrassment but manages to recover quickly, instead telling you: “they must be someone special to have you.”

He’s doing the polite thing by not assuming the gender of your spouse but it turns out “they” is right on the money. On cue, Aziraphale and Crowley walk through the door to pick you up at the end of your shift. You wish your colleague goodbye and go to meet them. 

“Evening, darling,” Crowley calls. 

“How was work, my love?” Aziraphale follows up. 

“Oh, fine. I’m tired now. And hungry. Can we go and get dinner?”

You link an arm through either of theirs, heading out into the London afternoon. 

“Ooh yes, that is a good idea. I quite fancy fish and chips!”

“Let’s go to that spot round the corner. They make their own tartar sauce. Crowley, are you getting your own chips or nicking mine when I’m not looking?”

“The best tasting chips are the ones you steal.”

“Oh, he doesn’t even deny it—!”

Your colleague watches you leave the building, a little dazed, and supposes it takes all sorts to make a world. 

Taglist: @angiestopit @dazed-soul @idontmeanto @smile-eywa @staygoldsquatchling02 @underratedboogeyman @specter-soltare @candlewitch-cryptic @cool-ontherun-world @emilynissangtr @willbedecided @cool-iguana @bdffkierenwalker

[abalidoth]

what is cosmere? (is that what its called?)

The Cosmere is a big, interconnected fantasy universe that is the setting of most of the works by the author Brandon Sanderson. The cool thing about his books is that each series is contained to its own world, and you can read any of them in isolation without realizing you're missing anything, but if you read them all you get a sense of the larger plot happening behind the scenes as those worlds start to collide and things cross over.

Brandon's magic systems tend to be very rule-based and well-defined, with a lot of twists being characters finding interesting ways to use those rules of magic. This lends itself well to the crossovers, because all the magic systems (as different as they are) share the same underpinning principles.

Here's some quick rundowns of different series and standalones in the Cosmere:

The Stormlight Archive

Planned ten-book series, currently four books are out.

A massive sprawling epic about the world Roshar, that's hit by a hurricane about every four days, and all the life has adapted to survive that environment. Knights Radiant -- superpowered individuals with a close bond to a spirit -- are starting to re-emerge in the world after being absent for centuries.

Because there are so many characters, this is where a lot of the character fandom tends to focus their efforts. I wouldn't recommend starting with it, though -- the first book alone is a thousand pages. I'd wait until you have a sense of Brandon's writing. But it's very good.

Mistborn

One trilogy (completed), one tetralogy set a couple hundred years later (completed), two trilogies some time in the future.

One cool thing about this series is that it follows one world (Scadrial) from a vaguely Renaissance tech level in the first trilogy, to 1920s in the second series, and eventually 1980s in the third and space-age magic in the fourth.

The magic itself is very intricate and all woven around metals -- there are people called Metalborn who can ingest metals and burn them in their stomachs to get different effects, including super-senses, strength, and Magneto-ish metallokinesis. That last bit makes the gunfights in the second series particularly fun.

The first book is a heist novel about robbing a thousand-year-old God-Emperor blind. It's a pretty good place to start, although it's a pretty hefty novel to start with.

The Emperor's Soul

I'm putting this one in a different category from the rest of the one-offs for a very good reason -- it's, in my opinion, the single best place to start reading the Cosmere.

It's a novella (just over a hundred pages) about a forger named Shai who uses magic to rewrite the histories of objects. She is captured by the government of an empire to reforge the soul of their Emperor, who has been left braindead after an assassination attempt, in the 100 days before the mourning period is over.

It's a fantastic meditation on art, a cool introduction to the way Brandon writes both characters and magic systems, and Shai herself is one of my favorite Cosmere characters. If any of this sounds at all interesting to you, I recommend you check it out.

One-offs

Brandon has also written a bunch of one-off novels in the Cosmere.

Elantris: His first book, and the one that my tattoo is from. About a prince who is affected by a dark transformation and thrown into a city of fellow undead, and the princess betrothed to him who arrives just in time to be told he died. Good, but suffers from some first book issues, pacing problems, and weird plot cul-de-sacs. Set in the same world as The Emperor's Soul, although there's basically no crossover.

Warbreaker: About a world where souls (Breaths) are bought and sold, and used to animate objects to do work, ruled by The Returned, living gods who require a steady dose of Breaths to live. One of my favorites, and an essential if you'd like to get into the crossover-y parts of the cosmere, as it introduces a bunch of elements that show up later (Especially in Stormlight)

Tress of the Emerald Sea: The first of his wildly successful Kickstarter project books, it's a fairy tale style story about a girl who braves a sea of bubbling, deadly spores to rescue the man she loves. It's lovely, especially if you're into a more Diana Wynne Jones kind of vibe to your fantasy. Probably a pretty good place to start!

Yumi and the Nightmare Painter: The third Kickstarter book. About a shrine priestess who stacks rocks to draw spirits, and a man who paints the nightmares that roam the streets of his city to banish them -- they become trapped in each other's places and must learn about each other's worlds to survive. This is currently my ABSOLUTE FAVORITE cosmere novel, oh my GOD it's so good. I'm not sure it's a great place to start, as a lot of the conclusion might feel a bit rushed if you don't have a good feel for the vibe of how Brandon writes magic, but honestly it might stand alone just fine even then.

The Sunlit Man: Fourth Kickstarter book. I haven't read this one yet.

Novellas: There are a bunch of novellas and short stories, some set on worlds we haven't otherwise seen, some set on Roshar or Scadrial.

If any of this sounds good to you, I recommend you give his writing a shot. He's one of my all time favorite writers (the tattoo should prove that, lol) and the Cosmere fandom is by and large wonderful and welcoming. I've made many lifelong friendships there.

[yukimiyaz]

INSUFFERABLE

todoroki touya x gn!reader

includes: dabi is a shameless flirt lol. brief dire mention bc he’s a dumbass. you fall for his antics

notes: he’s so. dumb. i hate him lol

Sometimes you envy the students whose professors’ lock their doors as soon as class starts. 

The ones that provide that immediate punishment for the students who don’t care enough to show up on time, not giving them so much as a minute past the beginning of lecture to slip in. If they’re late they miss, it’s nothing more than a product of their carelessness and they deserve it. 

Sadly, your biology professor is not one of those people. 

Which is fine for your peers who rush in only five, ten, hell—even fifteen minutes late. Their hair wet from just getting out of the shower or clothes wrinkled from having just rolled out of their cramped dorm bed because they forgot to set their alarm. You can understand that; empathize with the plague that is eight a.m. classes. 

Who you absolutely cannot empathize with is the guy who sits next to you. The one who walks in not ten, not twenty, no—thirty minutes late at the very least into lecture, and doesn’t give two shits about not being disruptive. Lets the door slam shut behind him and his scuffed combat boots stomp heavily down the aisle and shuffle with an unneeded amount of noise before plopping down in the chair next to you. 

He’s simply insufferable, truly. With his box dye black hair and chipped fingernail polish and the intricate canvas of tattoos that sweeps from his jaw down his arms and disappears somewhere below the ridge of his perfectly carved collar bones that look absolutely—whatever. He’s annoying. That’s the point here. And today is, of course, no different. 

“Hey, dollface,” Dabi smirks as he sits down, then immediately scrapes his chair over to you. You think today is a new record, a whole forty-one minutes late. You wonder why he even bothered to show up at all. 

You don’t address him, not at first. You merely send over a half assed side glance as a form of acknowledgement. That is, until something glimmering catches your eye. (Something that isn’t the piercings or rings you’ve become accustomed to over the past month). 

“Why do you have that?” You half whisper-half hiss at him, staring down at the object twirling around his fingers. 

“What? ‘S just a lighter.” He flicks it open to show you, as if you couldn’t tell before, then snaps it right back shut. 

You roll your eyes, turn your attention back to your professor. Just fifteen more minutes and you’re out of here and far away from him. “Obviously.” You sigh, bounce your leg subtly. “Don’t light that in here.” 

And you don’t think you should really have to say that, and you don’t know why there’s an unease bubbling in your stomach due to his presence—but you do and it’s there. And it only increases as you catch the smirk slicing deeper across his face out of the corner of your eye. 

“Or what?” Dabi questions, scrapes his chair even closer to you, opens the lighter again. “Whatcha gonna do about it, doll?” 

“Seriously don—“ 

“Oops,” he grins, wide and cheeky as his thumb flicks the lighter on. He’s holding it up, like he doesn’t give a shit whether the professor catches him with it or not. Like he has no worry for the trouble it could cause. 

“What’re you—stop that.” You can’t believe him, seriously, and the audacity he has for disregarding basic rules. “If you get caught with that inside you could get fined.” 

“Pfft, please.” And this time it’s his turn to roll his eyes at you, scoffing under his breath. “You have to be a student here to get fined.” 

You blink at him. Once, twice. “Huh?” 

“What?” He hums, waves his finger over the flame disinterestedly, not even looking to make sure he doesn’t hold it over it too long and burn himself. “I don’t have to worry about stupid ass fines.” 

“Yeah, but—what do you mean you aren’t a student here?” 

Your lecture is long forgotten, your professor’s voice fading out into static as you stare at the man beside you. That uneasiness in your stomach is twisting, stirring around in a way that’s a little uncomfortable. Because sure, you knew the guy was a little odd. But not being a student? Showing up to your classes all the time? Hanging around campus? What if he’s some sort of creep, or stalker, or— 

“Woah there, sweetheart. It’s not what you’re thinking, I'm not some freak or anything. My dad’s the uni president. I get to sit in on whatever classes I want for free. No need to alert the authorities.” 

Oh. 

Your cheeks heat up, a flush rising so fast as well as the want to hide under the table. Silly you, of course he wouldn’t be some creep. I mean, he might be a tad creepy, but that’s not necessarily a crime. 

(He’d be a cute creep, you think. Then mentally tell yourself to shut up). 

“I wasn’t going to do that,” you huff, still looking at him. You aren’t sure why, but his eyes look particularly blue today; more than normal. Maybe it’s because you’re finally allowing yourself to look, a full proper look at your—sort of—peer. “For the record.” 

“Sure,” Dabi chuckles, leans a little closer to you. His fingers mindlessly play with the necklace dangling around your throat. You don’t know why you let him. “So that wasn’t a total how do I discreetly call 911? expression then?” 

“Definitely not,” you dismiss, tapping your pen to your notebook. “It was a man this guy’s so lame he goes to class in his free time expression.” 

Dabi winces, an exaggerated thing that you hate to admit is a little charming. “Ouch, lame? You wound me, dollface. Right in the heart.” 

“You’ll live.” And it’s minute, a little twitch of your lips before you can catch yourself, but it’s there. And Dabi catches it, pointing a finger annoyingly close to your face. 

“Was that a smile, hm? Did I just make my little doll smile?” He teases, prods his finger into your cheek. If you had any idea where it’d been you might lean forward to bite it off. 

“One,” you tut, pinching his digit between two of your own and pulling it away from your face. “I’m not your doll. And two, not a chance. You’re imagining things.” 

“Oh no no, definitely not,” Dabi presses, devilish tilt to his mouth. “That was a smile. Finally falling for me, that it?” 

“Uhm, excuse me—“ 

“Not now,” the man in front of you cuts off the person’s voice from behind, giving them a cold look, “We’re busy, thanks. Anyways, as I was—“ 

“Sorry, it’s just—“ 

“I said we’re busy,” Dabi grits, brows cutting deep as he snaps his head back over his shoulder. “Or did you not hear me?” 

“I did, but—“ 

“What?!” 

“Their jacket’s on fire.” 

Whatever snark Dabi might’ve wanted to push out at your fellow classmate dissolves immediately as the both of you snap your eyes down. And sure enough, right where Dabi has his lighter open—the one you told him not to light—the edge of your jacket has just caught on fire. 

“Oh shit,” Dabi curses, snapping the lighter shut and tugging it back from your jacket as he watches you frantically pat it out with a sleeve covered hand. 

You’re successful—thank god you don’t burst entirely into flames—but the corner of your jacket (your favorite one, mind you) is now very obviously scorched. Your eyes snap up to meet cerulean blue and what little bit of uneasiness left in your stomach turns into a boiling fit of rage. 

Completely disregarding the lecture (that you admittedly weren’t paying attention to anyways) you shove everything into your bag and get up from your seat to leave. You make your way out of the lecture hall absolutely fuming and don’t miss a single beat as you turn on your heel to yell at the man behind you as soon as the door shuts. 

“You’re absolutely unbearable!” You grouse, jabbing your finger into Dabi’s chest. “Seriously! I can't believe you.” 

“Oh c’mon. ‘M sorry! I didn’t mean to, it was just an accident—“ 

“I told you not to light it. But no,” you groan, and you seriously want to rip your hair out, or punch him, or something. “You just had to act like a tough guy. Mr. Too Cool To Be A Student Here. You lit me on fire!” 

“I didn’t mean to! I said I was sorry!” 

“I don’t care! I could’ve been burnt up in a crisp!” 

“But you weren’t!” He defends. “It's not a big deal.” 

“It is to me, this was my favorite jacket. You know, just because you’re hot and have some big shot dad doesn’t mean you can just do whatever you want!” 

“Well obviously, because if I could do whatever I wanted then I'd be doing you!” 

The both of you pause for a moment, catch your breaths through slightly labored pants as you stare at each other. It’s like the gears are turning in both your heads simultaneously, cogs clicking into place and smoke clearing in the workshop. 

“Did you just admit you think I'm hot?” 

“Did you just say you want to do me?” 

A part of you wishes your jacket was still on fire, because at least then you could try to justify that as the reason your cheeks are suddenly burning. You turn your face away from him, adjust the bag slung over your shoulder. You’re thankful you’re the only two in the hallway, or else you’d probably die from embarrassment right now. 

“Well, how ‘bout I make it up to you then?” 

You let your gaze drift back up to meet Dabi’s, staring into tattoo and mascara framed eyes suspiciously. You narrow your vision, tip your head to the side as you watch that shitty (read: thigh clenching) smirk make its way back to his lips. 

“And how do you plan on doing that?” You tense up a little as he takes a step closer to you and digs a pen out of your bag. Then he grips your wrist—gently, despite the firm hold—and scribbles across your palm. 

“I’ll be outside your dorm at eight,” he grins, dropping the pen back into your bag when he’s done. “Wear something hot. ‘N I don’t mean the burnt kind.” 

You shove his shoulder at the remark, glancing down at your palm to see what you’re guessing is his phone number. “Asshole.” 

He simply catches your wrist again, tugs you close enough that he has perfect range to dip down and kiss your cheek. And if you weren’t flushing before you certainly are now, eyes going wide against your will as you watch him let go of you and take backward steps away. He throws you a wink, chuckles when he sees you snap out of it and scoff at him. 

“Insufferable!” You call after him. And you don’t try to hide your smile this time. Don’t try to veil your expressions. 

“Irresistible!” He corrects, sticking his tongue out and making a corny call me gesture with his hand when you flip him off. 

And you wonder if you should wear your scorched jacket tonight simply to spite him. 

[stxrvel]

welcome home (1)

series summary: you woke up from a long coma with no memory of a part of your life only to be told by your teammates that you're married to the man you hated seven years ago. even though that seemed to be the only problem, as time goes on you're realizing there's a lot more history and mystery behind the accident that left you in medical care for months. blackouts, more memory loss, mistrust and a strange man who seems to be connected to everything. every day it gets harder to trust anyone around you, but you won't stop until you can finally uncover the truth behind the accident.

chapter summary: when an accident makes you forget the last seven years of your life, you're lucky to have someone like Bucky to support you in your recovery. except he's not the Bucky you remember.

pairing: bucky barnes x f!reader

words: +4k

warnings: angst. that's all.

note: this wasn't planned. at all. i had the day off and wanted to write something but nothing was coming to me enough to write another part of the outbreak or how to break a routine in one year, so i was just browsing tumblr until i saw something related to memory loss and this popped into my head. i thought i wasn't going to finish writing it but it came out more than i expected. and clearly this gives for a part two and even more, but at the moment i don't know when that will happen. also, i suck with titles, i think i'll change it later. meanwhile, i hope you enjoy it! feedback is always appreciated, thank u for the support! 💜

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Bucky was right to be scared. He was right to feel his soul leaving his body and his heart bursting with pain. He was completely right to be frightened, unsure of the future and the opportunities it had taken with it. Bucky was right to feel that his world was crumbling, that he was left with half a heart to survive for the rest of his life.

But he was also right in deciding not to show how scared he was. He could have his nerves frozen inside his body and feel his blood boiling inside his veins, his whole insides churning and messing up without any compassion, but he couldn't let that rule his life. He knew that the only solution was to cope rationally and objectively, even if he wanted to burst into tears every ten minutes.

“Okay, everything looks good for now,” Bucky heard the doctor, along with the others who were in the room.

He had been standing in the corner of the room the whole time, not moving a millimeter barely to breathe. The mood was so bleak and melancholy that he feared the sadness would rub off on him if he blinked any faster.

“So, can you discharge her now?” Tony Stark asked, his body closer to the door than any other.

“Yes, she can leave after you sign some paperwork. I'm going to need her to come back for some monthly checkups and let me know if she comes to remember anything.”

“Of course,” Steve Rogers stated.

Bucky wandered his gaze over the other two men in the room and the two women behind them, Natasha Romanoff and Carol Danvers. They all looked wary, not taking their gazes off your figure lying on the gurney after the doctor finished checking something in your eyes. He didn't like the way their bodies moved, anxious to talk, anxious to ask questions. He didn't like how Steve constantly opened and closed his hands; how Tony crossed and uncrossed his arms over his chest; how Natasha suspiciously watched the doctor every time he approached you and asked what he was doing; how Carol glared at the man every time he told them there was no news or progress. They had overwhelmed you before with so many gestures and words that the orderlies had to take them all out almost by force.

In a way, Bucky understood them. He too had been terrified at the beginning, still was to some degree, but it had been a while before they began to regulate their behavior. Bucky understood that the situation was difficult for them, as it was for him, but they also had to think about what it was like for you.

You were on the brink of death and awoke to find that about seven years of memories had been erased from your head.

Bucky had not taken it well at first. He was in a constant panic and searched the internet for all possible solutions that could make up for the mistake that was made. He was anxiously talking to Wanda trying to convince her to find something to do. He had gone to Strange almost begging him for some spell that could fix everything. He had asked the doctor a hundred times on the verge of insanity if it was possible to fix it with another surgery. It had simply been the worst news he had ever been given in his life.

Until, by some divine miracle, the rational part of his brain took control of his thoughts and emotions. That's when his “there's nothing we can do” thought came. The rest of the team was surprised when they saw him calmly walking around the Complex and going on missions, when Bucky had finally understood that he couldn't stop his life for something he couldn't fix. He had to learn to live with that and he hoped the others would too.

But no, it seemed that moment of enlightenment hadn't come to anyone but him.

They returned to the Complex after signing papers and picking up medications with the orders the doctor had given them, some pills for the eventual migraines and muscle relaxants if needed.

The trip was tense. Everyone sent you wary glances and purposely averted their gazes when they saw you watching them. Bucky could tell you were starting to get nervous. Even more, anxious.

Lacking knowledge of your family's whereabouts and that your current address was the Complex, that was where you would spend the rest of the days of your recovery -although Bucky had other options in mind-. The doctor had put his buts in, believing that being in such a tense, busy and overwhelming environment as the main Avengers facility was could hinder your process of getting better, but Tony was very specific and quick to tell him that there was a part of the Complex, a wing, that they had almost completely isolated to keep you in a safe place and away from the stress of the job. The mechanic spoke confidently about how you would be totally at ease as if the decision was entirely up to the doctor, while giving Bucky a helpless look. Finally, to please Tony, the doctor agreed to let you go spend your recovery at the Complex.

Of course, it had nothing to do with the fact that Bucky was your husband.

The doctor who treated you for almost a year, from the time you arrived injured and near death, to your subsequent surgeries and recovery, always knew that the final decision was out of his hands. It was funny to watch Tony argue his points to influence his decisions, but in the end that was not something he had any power in. His gazes always turned to Bucky, waiting for a nod or a shake.

Tony knew that too. You had invited him to the wedding because you were closer to him than Bucky, plus they had to see each other constantly for work. They weren't best buddies, but they maintained a relationship that was professional and affectionate and friendly enough to keep you satisfied. That is, until the accident. Since that day, Tony had taken a completely different stance towards Bucky and he really didn't find it strange. He hadn't even been able to speak to him since the day he had almost apologized with his knees to the floor when they had to tell Bucky that you almost died because of a mistake.

Over time, Bucky had let go of the anger along with his realization that he couldn't do anything to change the past, but it seemed to him that Tony still felt guilty about what had happened.

Bucky looked away from the road when he saw you stir in your seat as they were about to arrive at the Complex. The team tried to make small talk after several minutes of traveling in awkward silence, but it resulted in a much more tense atmosphere with everyone turning their heads to look at anything but you like fish out of water.

Bucky watched you from his position in the back of the van as you moved forward to view the Complex facilities in delight. He couldn't help but smile after spending months in constant stress, realizing that you had done the same thing the first time you had gone over ten years ago.

Carol and Natasha took it upon themselves to guide you through the isolated wing of the Complex to the room you would be staying in. Bucky stayed a few floors down along with Steve and Tony in the living room.

“How are you feeling?” Bucky heard Steve ask next to him, as Tony quietly approached the bay window.

“Fine.”

“Buck, you don't have to-”

“Really, I'm fine,” Bucky nodded, noticing Steve's incredulous look. He had to fight not to roll his eyes in disgust.

One thing the team had taken to doing constantly was treating him like a child, like someone who didn't know what he was feeling and didn't know how to control his emotions. That had been happening since the moment he accepted that he couldn't fix something that was out of his control. That you'd had an accident, you'd lost your memory, you'd forgotten him, and there was nothing he could do about it. He had tried everything, and there was nothing.

But the team thought his attitude was that he was trying to hide his feelings and, well, in part he was. He didn't deny that it still made him scared and angry to think of all the opportunities and moments that were gone along with your memory, but he was aware that showing himself that way in front of you wouldn't bring you any good. Unlike him and completely unaware of the truth, the team believed he was in denial. They believed that Bucky had been trying for months to avoid dealing with his feelings and that at any moment he would break down and suffer fighting the horrible reality.

Bucky had only responded to their unconscious attacks and questions with the truth, but it seemed the team was in more denial than he was.

“The doctor said the chances of her regaining her memory were high. Don't worry.” Steve patted Bucky on the shoulder to accompany his words, a sympathetic smile on his face.

“Steve, I'm not wor-”

“And she'll adjust well to the routine in this place. You know we'll be constantly keeping an eye on her and making sure she's okay, right?”

“I'd rather you stay away,” Bucky mumbled, his teeth grazing at the discomfort.

“What did you say?”

“Nothing.”

Bucky kept his distance at first. He wanted to first meet and see how you were adjusting to your new home and how you related to others. Besides, he was also a little nervous about talking to you. You had done it before, yes, at the hospital. You had introduced yourselves and asked him a few questions when he was around. But when Bucky finally confessed to you that he was your husband, it was as if something had disturbed the gravity around the both of you. Clearly Bucky was quick to notice that change in your behavior and began to pull away trying to give you your space and not overwhelm you, unlike others.

You had some memories with him, Bucky was sure. You had lost the memory of about seven years, and you had come to the team ten years ago. That would have been good for him and your relationship, except that in the beginning neither of you could stand the other.

That's right. You two hated each other's guts. And Bucky eternally regretted waiting until the fifth year of meeting you to make his feelings known to you. Because, at that point, all you remembered about him were his stinging comments and his cold, calculating stares. When he remembered the things he had said to you to hurt you on purpose, he would cringe and his body would tremble in rejection.

Before confessing, he had thought about the possibility of keeping everything hidden, maybe try to win your trust again and suddenly have what you had before. And maybe the Bucky of six years ago would have done that, wouldn't have hesitated to keep the truth hidden just to guide you down the path he wanted to walk. But the Bucky who was there, in year ten, couldn't look you in the eye and try to keep something in the dark. He knew it wasn't right and that lies usually backfired on the person telling them. Besides, ever since you had decided to try to have a relationship, you had made him promise never to keep anything from you, no matter how stupid or horrible it was. You had been in such a toxic relationship with him before that you only wanted to look out for each other's welfare. A relationship based on trust and communication was a good relationship.

And Bucky wanted to keep his promise, even if you couldn't remember it.

So he was keeping his space, but he was always aware of what you were doing. And that's why he noticed every time you would give him a questioning look and then pull back and focus your attention on something else when you noticed he was looking at you.

Bucky wasn't sure if it was a good or bad idea what he was doing. He could just walk up and talk to you, maybe you were willing to do that. Or you might think he was crazy for watching you from afar like he was an eagle and didn't want you near him under any circumstances. Bucky didn't know what to do, and asking the team wasn't in his options, so he just decided to do what he thought best.

One day, a couple of weeks after you returned to the Complex, Bucky met you casually. Really, casually.

He had spent a whole week in constant stress so he hadn't even been able to get near the side of the Complex where you were staying. He had been assigned an undercover mission and it had turned out to be a little more complicated than it seemed at first. There were too many fights involved in the end, but he had achieved his goal.

The day he arrived at the Complex he took a long shower and a long nap. It was the least he deserved. After waking up, he went to the kitchen to make himself a coffee because it was just getting light, when he saw you leaning on the kitchen counter.

You froze at the same time he did. Bucky wasn't expecting the first person he would meet to be you, he didn't even know you were already freely leaving your safe place, but life is full of surprises, apparently. Bucky noticed your wary gaze on him, how the cup you held in your hands had been halfway to its destination and how your body moved only to breathe.

He moved, continuing with what he had gone to do, despite feeling that captivating electricity coursing through his body and asking him to move closer to you. Moving his eyes away from yours felt like a sin and his body was almost reluctant to follow the directions in his head.

Bucky finally approached the coffee pot to notice the steaming liquid coming out of it. So, it was coffee that was in your cup.

He was a little hesitant to drink from the coffee you had made because he didn't know how you would react to his intrusion, so he decided to move to the other side of the kitchen where the drawers were and grab the first cereal to be found.

“You can have some of that coffee,” you spoke to him suddenly, resuming your movements and he could barely turn to look at you over his shoulder. “Clint did it.”

Bucky followed your eyes moving all over the instance, anywhere but on his, and even though he felt he'd had a year to prepare for this, it seemed completely insufficient: nothing would have prepared him to ever again hear your nonchalant voice directed at him the way you spoke to him before you decided to become a couple. Bucky thought that those years had been buried in the back of his head, that the situation you were going through wouldn't bring back memories he preferred to keep hidden, but thinking about doing it was easier than actually doing it.

He moved his body almost groaningly until he was back in front of the coffee pot next to you. Hearing you talking to him like that had knocked his mood to the floor. He wasn't too high either, that mission was both physically and mentally exhausting, but he was more relieved to be back at the Complex.

“I didn't see you this week,” you spoke again as Bucky thought you were about to leave the kitchen. He moved his head to look at you, his expression indescribable, you could barely describe him as dumbfounded and bewildered.

Bucky mumbled a few words before responding. “I was on a mission. Far away.”

“Mhm,” you hummed in response, and Bucky nearly melted at the sound. Even though he recognized your demeanor, because that was how you acted before when you wanted to get information out of him or when talking to someone you suspected was hiding something from you, he couldn't help but rejoice at finding little gestures that made him reminisce about the good times he had with you.

With more encouragement, Bucky poured his black coffee under the umbrella of your expectant indifference.

“How have the others been?”

He moved to stand in front of you with the cup in his hands, and could notice how subtly your shoulders slumped a little. He couldn't define whether in calm or ennui.

“It's been… complicated.”

“Are they very insistent?”

You turned your head to look at him, and Bucky nearly choked on the sip of coffee he'd taken. He thought you'd keep visually ignoring him and not turn to look at him like he was a life preserver in the middle of the ocean.

“They're horrible,” you barely whispered, your head bobbing closer in complicity. Far gone was your mask of coldness the moment you found someone to complain to about how terrifying those weeks at the Complex had been. “I feel like I can't move my hair without having someone behind me asking me if I want my hair combed for me or if I was moving it because I had a headache. Anything I do is over-analyzed and that's so…ugh, so frustrating.”

Bucky definitely didn't expect you to spew all those words in front of him, but he did understand how overwhelmed you must be and mentally berated himself for agreeing to you having visitors from the moment you arrived. His idea was that you would have time to clear your thoughts and to adjust to that new place on your own, but somehow the team managed to convince him to let them in from time to time to greet you because being alone too much all of a sudden wasn't good for your sanity.

He should have known better knowing how clingy and pushy his teammates were.

When he was around you, they behaved, but they seemed to pretty much take advantage of the times when he wasn't around to behave as they pleased.

“I hate being treated like I'm a piece of glass. I understand well what happened and its aftermath and that it affected them too much, but I can still live peacefully without needing them to do things for me. I'm not incapacitated or anything like that.”

“I understand.”

Wow, Bucky, couldn't you have said something much more interesting?

“I'm fine,” you continued speaking as Bucky noticed how your eyes were lost in the distance in the kitchen. “I really feel fine. But they're always on me like trying to convince me otherwise and talking about my memories every other time.”

Bucky furrowed his brow and suddenly felt the sting in his chest from anger. There was only so much Bucky had in life to control his temper and that was you. With anything else, Bucky was nothing but walking indifference. He didn't care about the fights the others on the team had, he didn't care about the decisions that had to be made, he didn't care about what the majority chose, he didn't care about the discussions about the rooms when they had to stay in hotels. But when it came to you, there was no stormo chaser that could withstand his tempestuous attitude.

The limit was that the others could get angry, fight and argue about whatever they felt like, but the moment that started to affect you, Bucky didn't hesitate to step up and shut them all up. That was one of the reasons he was the leader of the mission most of the time. It was easy to recognize his leadership ability, even if he tried to hide it through that window of indifference. He was very objective when it came to making tough decisions and was very capable of organizing whatever chaos had been created around him.

And, at that moment, Bucky felt he had reached his limit. He had let himself be convinced by the team to bring you here to carry out your recovery contrary to what he had thought of leaving you in the city with one of your closest friends that you remembered very well; and then he had let himself be convinced to let them invade your space when it was clear that they were not going to know how to behave around you and would overwhelm you just like they did in the hospital.

Bucky couldn't understand how he could have made such bad decisions about you. He felt he had completely failed you as your husband by not giving you a truly safe place in which to heal.

“I'll tell them not to come back,” Bucky told you after a few seconds in silence and your blank stare focused on his suddenly elated face.

“What?”

Bucky met your gaze. “This wasn't the way I wanted you to spend your recovery, and it's certainly not the way you should spend it. You should be calm, but I don't see that happening. I'm sorry.”

You watched his face, transfixed. Bucky looked quizzical for a few seconds at your dumbfounded stare and no response. His eyes moved around your face trying to figure out if he had said something wrong… until it all clicked in his head.

You didn't remember.

Yes, it seemed stupid because he'd been living with that thought all last year, but apparently he had to remind himself. For a moment, he had gotten so lost, not only in the familiarity of your ramblings and gestures, but also in the annoyance and self-reproach, that he had forgotten for a few measly minutes that you didn't remember. You didn't remember that protective side of him. You didn't remember how much he loved to sit and listen to you talk about others, good things or bad things. You didn't remember how much it made him angry when other people made you the least bit uncomfortable or angry. You didn't remember the way he showed that appreciation, that love for you.

That attitude Bucky was giving you was completely new to you. Surely it was like seeing a different person. Bucky mentally cringed at the thought that you must be thinking of him as a jerk who acted like a teenager and said hurtful things just for the fun of it.

At that moment, he would have liked to take more time when you were in the hospital to talk to you, so he could get to know you and you could see that he was different and not the same person he was six years ago. But at that time he felt so scared. Just the memory of your face contorting when he had told you he was your husband still sent shivers down his spine.

One thing he couldn't deny was that he had lived constantly, even up to that moment, in fear of rejection. When you had reacted that way that time at the hospital, Bucky had at first turned away in fear. But then he had tried to be nice to you, as if nothing had happened. However, he could tell that it was much more strange for you to see the flowers on the table in the room or to have him bring you lunch because the hospital food was so simple. It seemed that no matter what he did, that reluctant expression on your face would not go away.

Then, he stopped trying. He would only show up in your room when you were sleeping, in the daytime or at night, and when everyone gathered for the doctor's checkup. Bucky didn't know how to get back into your life and the very idea was driving him to the brink of panic again. So he tried to have that moment of enlightenment again, but all he got in response was that maybe he should continue to keep his distance.

At that point, Bucky didn't know what to do. It wasn't your fault to react that way because it wasn't what you remembered about him, that wasn't wrong. He felt again that incessant need to pull away and go back to watching over you from a distance, because the look you had given him was so similar to the others that it was scary. Too scary. The possibility that he could never get back even half of what you two had before danced around him like a taunt. The ring on his ring finger too heavy to bear.

“Thank you…? I think,” you replied at last, but without changing the quizzical look on your face.

“I'll talk to Steve,” Bucky announced, a little more impassively than he had planned, and took the cup tightly in his hands with the thought in his head to get out of the kitchen so he wouldn't keep invading your space.

He felt your gaze follow him until he was near the living room.

“Hey, wait.”

He heard your footsteps following him and planted his feet on the floor. He gave you a questioning look over his shoulder, waiting for you to say something. Bucky watched you move from side to side, shifting your weight on your legs, a clear sign of your nervousness. When you looked directly at the contents of your cup instead of his eyes as you spoke, he couldn't help a small smile.

“I'm sorry about that. It's just… This is too weird for me. I wish I could get close and talk to you because that's what my body wants, but my head keeps me alert and defensive when you're around. What I remember about you is not…”

You cocked your head and twisted your lips. Bucky thought that had been the kindest way to describe it.

“You don't have to apologize.”

“But I do have to!” you exclaimed, scowling at him. “It's been a year and you've been nothing but kind to me. You've given me space and time, unlike others-”

Bucky nodded strongly at your words.

“-but I've given you nothing in return.”

He relaxed his features, letting the tension dissipate away from his body. He momentarily pushed away his worries and negative possibilities because you stood there in front of him with such a contrite expression on your face that it caused him physical pain.

“You don't owe me anything, Y/N, okay? What I do I do because I want to, not because I'm expecting anything in return from you. If you feel like you need another week before you talk to me, that's fine, take it. If you feel it's a month, six months, a year, it doesn't matter. Take as much time as you need. Either way, anytime, you know where to find me. I'm not going anywhere.”

Bucky hadn't missed the journey of emotions that roared across your face and he was genuinely happy about it. It had been a while since he had seen you feel not only comfortable but joyful around him, that he had begun to think that those moments would only live on in his memory from now on. But, perhaps, that might not have been the case…

“Thank you, Bucky,” you murmured after sighing, and if Bucky hadn't been so attentive to you he surely would have missed it. Along with the small smile you gave him that would be enough to keep his sanity afloat for the rest of the month.

You saw him give you a small nod and then begin to walk away, leaving as the sun's rays began to appear through the living room window. A strange feeling settled in your chest, and it seemed like a turf battle was taking place between your reluctance to accept that Bucky had changed and that you two had taken your relationship four levels higher than expected, and this new feeling that was akin to hope. You could barely recognize it.

You didn't know how you were going to begin to deal with the reality that you were married to Bucky, but you suddenly felt a little less afraid to know the history of the decisions that had brought you to this point.

You remembered the wedding ring that was tucked away in your nightstand drawer and how it shone just as brightly as the one you saw on Bucky's finger. Maybe you felt a little closer to being ready to start dealing with it.

[juneknight]

•.Be Lost.• 2

Chapter One | Chapter 1.5 | Chapter Two | Chapter 2.5

*

“You talk about them often enough. I feel like we should formally meet. What’s the equivalent of putting a face to a name, but with sex toys?” Marc asks, voice warm with mirth from the other end of the phone. It’s the only thing warm about living up here in the constant snowstorms. Your feet ache today from stomping around in the fields on the frozen earth. Even though Spring approaches on the calendar, you don’t yet feel it in the air. 

You dread the thought of possibly having to delay your return home, to Marc, because of the weather. 

Your box of sex toys (it’s a shoe box, yes, some nice Cat’s boots with steel in the toes and thick insulated soles, a half-size larger than usual to allow for thick wooly socks which you favored) sits on the bed. You no longer even owned the shoes, but the box was heavy, the lid bulging from two years of collecting an eclectic set of sex toys. 

“I’ll show you. But I have rules,” you say, phone wedged between your shoulder and ear. 

“I’m listening.” You can hear the smile in his voice, and it drives you nuts. 

“One–absolutely no naming them. I’m serious. The last thing I want is to be trying to get off and remember that you named a certain dildo Colonel Mustard.” 

“I’m more of a Professor Plum kind of guy anyway, but consider your objection noted.” 

“No making fun of me of any kind. Not even light teasing.” 

“Agreed.” 

“And no questions.” 

“That’s…yeah, I don’t think I can agree to that,” he says, surprising you given how amicable he’s been so far. “Can we agree on premeditated questions? Some basics that you answer for each of them?” 

You purse your lips and sit down heavily on your bed. The box rattles beside you, lid almost coming off. “Depends on the questions, I guess.” 

“When was the last time you used it, and your personal rating out of ten.”

You relax somewhat. Whatever you had been worried about Marc wanting to know—’gross, why that?’ or ‘who used that on you?’—disappears. Maybe it says something about the men you’ve been with lately that your first fear is that Marc will become jealous or judgemental. You should have known that Marc would be different. “Yeah, okay. That’s fine.” 

“Are you sure?” he asks, voice growing firm. “I don’t want you to say something’s okay when it isn’t. That’s a big deal to me.”

“I’m sure, dad.” 

Marc snorts. “Okay, champ. FaceTime. Let’s go.”

You press the button, and while it connects, you experience all five stages of grief, chewing on one of your thumbnails as you shift from one socked foot to the other. At last his face appears, and it’s like a punch to the gut. Marc is so handsome: his brows, the curve of his nose, his whiskey-warm eyes, the curls spilling onto his forehead. His hair is longer now than the last time you saw him, and it makes your heart clench. You find yourself smiling without meaning to. 

“Hey, beautiful,” Marc says, eyes squinting with his smile. “Long time no see.” 

“Too long,” you admit. You study the picture in the background, trying to piece together where he is in his apartment. Judging by the lighting (warm but dark) and the lamp in the background, he is in his bedroom. This is confirmed when he rolls over onto his side and props himself up onto his elbow on one of the fluffy pillows. 

Once, you had gotten too drunk to drive home and Marc had let you sleep in his bed. You had spent the whole night rolling around on the soft sheets, breathing in his scent, aching but too guilty to touch yourself. 

“You okay?” he asks, brows lifting. His mouth settles into a soft, more neutral position, like he is being careful not to convince you one way or another. His lips are so full and soft looking… “If you don’t want to do this, we can say forget it. I just like to know what my options are.”

His options—oh fuck. 

Your face burns hot. You slap one palm against your cheek, feeling the heat your skin gives off, knowing that Marc is watching you (which makes your face burn all the hotter). Fuck, how can he just say stuff like that, calm and casual in his soft, warm voice? You think about turning the camera away for a moment just to catch your breath. 

“You’re so shy right now,” Marc says, a hint of laughter in his voice. “God. It’s cute.” 

“Quit,” you groan, parting your fingers so you can glare at the phone. His grin just grows. “I’m not shy, I have a strap-on.” 

“If you think having six inches between your legs makes you immune to shyness, I’ve got news for you.”

“Is that all you’ve got? Six inches?” 

“You want to see?” The way he raises his brow, the way he so expertly calls your bluff makes your thighs clench together. Like a great neon sign flashing behind your eyes right now are the words MARC’S COCK. You’ve never seen it, but you know Marc is well hung. You’ve seen him adjust his hard ons before—in the morning after waking up, during a particularly steamy scene on Netflix. The bulge in his sweats has made an appearance or two in your dreams, yes. 

“Maybe,” you admit, wondering if he’ll show you. Right now. On FaceTime. Just whip his dick out for you to drool over. 

“Show me yours and I’ll show you mine,” he says, mouth quirking into a smirk. “But really. Go on. I have work in the morning, and I want to see every last toy.” 

You bring out plenty of things that are “normal”. G-spot vibrators. Clitoral vibrators. Rabbit vibes, and pretty glass dildos. Most of the items get a high score—you have narrowed them down to your favorites. A natural selection amongst sex toys, if you will. 

Sometimes you glance to Marc and get flustered at the solemn, studious expression on his face. He hangs on your every word, committing the things you say to memory. No man has ever given you attention the way Marc does: whole-heartedly. Singularly. Unconditionally. 

Your throat gets choked up for a moment at the thought. God, you’re falling in love with him, you think in terror to yourself, as if you haven’t already. As if your knees aren’t skinned and palms bloody from the fall. 

“You okay, honey?”

You jump a little, having gotten lost in your own thoughts. You clear your throat. 

“Yeah, no, I’m good.” You pick up the next item, a candle. When he asks you what scent it is, you laugh a little. “The wax melts at a safe temperature for wax play. You know. Pouring wax on somebody.” 

“Rate it.” 

“It’s…maybe a four. May-be.” 

Massage oil (8), cuffs (10), collapsible spreader bar (9), bite gag (5), blindfold (10), harness (7), all come and go. It is easier to continue once you get talking, and by the end you feel like late night Dr. Ruth. 

At last, the box is empty. 

“That’s all she wrote,” you tell Marc. He looks a little sleepy, though his eyes are still sharp where they focus on you, tracing over your features. He is quiet. You prod: “Well?” 

“I’m going to have to use every last one on you,” he says, eyes on your own. “And until I can, I’m going to be thinking about you using every last one on yourself.”

His shoulder shifts, arm moving off screen—adjusting his hard cock. 

“Fuck, Marc,” you sigh brokenly. “You can’t say shit like that.” 

“That wasn’t one of your rules,” he says, eyes going heavy-lidded. You thought he was just adjusting himself, but the motion continues. Not enough for him to be full-fledged jerking off, but you think that’s he’s teasing himself. Massaging himself maybe. Your thighs squeeze together. Would he notice if you did the same? “Thank you for the show-and-tell. You’re such a good girl for me.” 

You groan. 

He laughs, the sound gentle and teasing. “That gets you, huh?” 

“Don’t laugh at me,” you bark, endeavoring to cover your face as best as you can with one hand. The truth of his observation doesn’t matter; it’s the principle of the thing. Peeking through your fingers, you catch his expression, and your breath hitches. Marc looks at the phone screen with something unbearably tender in his eyes, something so terribly soft. 

Marc looks at you like he loves you. 

“Which one’s your favorite? Let me see it again.” 

Your favorite. Hmm. You step back from your bed and look at the toys spread out so neatly, your brain turning over the question. All of them get you hot in one way or another, but there is one that stands out. You end up choosing a relatively simple rabbit vibrator. It’s ol’ Faithful; what else can you say? 

“Is this what you grab when you want to blow your own mind, or is this what you grab any old night?” 

“I want to blow my own mind every old night, Spector.” 

“Noted. But you’re not pouring hot wax on yourself every old night,” he says. It is utterly distracting how his shoulder still tenses periodically, hand moving off-screen. You spend an inordinate amount of time watching those small muscles flex, trying to recreate the image of what his hand must be doing in your mind. “What is it about this one? What do you like about it?” 

“I like that it fills me up,” you admit. It is a little easier to talk when you’re so distracted by him. “I like that I can use it without hands. Sometimes I put the spreader bar on and bind my hands to the headboard so I can feel like—” 

Marc’s arm has stopped moving. His eyes are sharp, burning hot, like iron from the furnace. How voice is quiet but brooks no room for avoiding the question when he asks: “So you can feel like what, baby?” 

“I…I don’t know,” you say. It isn’t a lie, either. You aren’t sure where the sentence was heading, and so much about your relationship with being submissive eludes you when you try to put it into words. You chew on the inside of your cheek while you think, and Marc is utterly quiet and still while you contemplate. “Like…like I’m suffering for somebody. Like my pleasure belongs to somebody else. Whoever tied me up. I don’t know.” 

Marc nods a little, quiet for a moment himself. “From now on, it belongs to me, yeah? Even if you’re the one tying yourself up—you’ll be doing it because I tell you to, alright? And you’ll be doing it safely. It’s dangerous to tie yourself up when you’re alone. That’s not like my good girl. I don’t want to hear you doing that again.” 

“Sorry,” you whisper. You kneel on the floor, bed too covered in toys to lay on. You rest your head against the edge of the mattress, adjusting the phone so that he can still see your face. 

“I’ll forgive you when I hear that you won’t do it anymore,” he says. His hand is moving again. Maybe he is jerking off. “Promise me.” 

“I won’t tie myself up when I’m alone. I promise.” 

Marc lets out a breath, a literal sigh of relief. His eyes go squinty as he smiles, pride evident in the curve of his lips. “There’s my good girl.” 

You groan again, turning to bury your face in the mattress. 

“Are you on the floor right now?” he laughs. 

You groan in an affirmative. 

“Kneeling for me?” 

You hadn’t intended it that way, but now that he says it, you realize that you are. You nod your head, face still hidden. 

“Thighs apart?”

You peek an eye at him and hope he can tell that you’re scowling. Determined to follow his rules (even if your sex positively aches between your thighs) you shift your legs apart. 

“You make me feel so powerful,” he says, voice a little shaky. His eyes are looking just off screen, like he can’t make eye-contact with you right now. “Kneeling for me, following my orders. So powerful. But so, so small. You know that? Because you’ve got me wrapped around your finger. And I like it.” 

“I like it too,” you murmur, head a little foggy. 

“Why?” 

“It feels real safe,” you admit. “Like you’ll take care of me. Like you’d never have me do something that might hurt me or embarrass myself.” 

“I wouldn’t, baby, I swear I wouldn’t,” he says. Then he sighs. “You’re driving me fucking crazy. I’m jerking off twice a day just to function.” 

“Marc,” you say, your voice literally shaking. “Are you—right now?” 

He hums and lets his arm grow bolder. The motion is unmistakable now. Marc Spector is masturbating on the phone with you—because of you. The knowledge is like an electric zap that you feel from your head to your toes. Is his dick out? Does he have a hand beneath his sweats? All of this is too much; your own hand falls between your thighs. 

“At-at,” says Marc. His shoulder stops moving. “No touching yourself.” 

“What?” you whine. “That’s not fair!” 

“I stopped too!” 

“You’ve been jerking off for twenty minutes though, you owe me!” 

“That’s not how this works,” he laughs. “Not to mention, there isn’t a chance in hell you’d last twenty minutes even if I did let you touch yourself. No—we’re going to wait.” 

“Til when?” 

“Spring. The first time I hear you cum, it’s going to be with my fingers tucked inside you. I want to kiss you and swallow every sound.” 

“Then can we hang up?” you ask, shifting on your knees. “I need to touch myself.” 

“Use your cute little vibrator,” he murmurs. You both hang up. 

He’s right. There’s no way you could have lasted twenty minutes when you barely make it to two. 

Spring is never going to come. 

*

Except it does. Of course it does. There is still the occasional snowstorm, but they are irregular enough that you are no longer needed. You book a flight back home, and send Marc a screenshot of your ticket. 

I’ll pick you up. 

The thought makes your belly flip with nerves. You decide that as eager as you are to see Marc, you are just as anxious too. You would rather prolong it a fraction more, would rather it took place on more familiar turf (outside your apartment rather than the strange unfamiliar-familiarity of an airport). So instead you tell him to meet you back at your apartment. If he brings some basic groceries, bonus points for him. 

Though planes don’t often make you nervous anymore, you find yourself gripping your folded hands so tight that you leave marks from your fingernails. What are you doing, agreeing to have sex with Marc? This could ruin everything: your most valuable friendship. The one person in the world who had stuck beside you through thick and thin, even when you had lost people you thought you’d die without. 

Even more frightening: what if everything goes right? 

Landed, see you soon!! You hope that your exclamation points cover up your anxiety. 

Don’t be nervous, he sends back. Fuck. 

The Uber is the longest of your life, familiar scenery passing by as you leave the airport and enter the city you’ve called home for so many years. The city where you met Marc. The city where you meet him again and again in the spring, like Persephone coming home. It always happens like this too. 

The Uber pulls up to the curb outside your apartment, and Marc is sitting there on the steps. Today is only different because he’s pacing—maybe you aren’t the only one who’s nervous. He’s dressed for spring in just a light jacket, t-shirt, and his jeans. He doesn’t recognize the car when it pulls up, but he recognizes you in the passenger seat. God. His face lights up. Marc goes to the car door and opens it for you, draws you out and into his arms. The first hug he always gives you is bone crushing. He lifts you off the ground and twirls you in his arms before helping you regain your footing. 

“Long time, no see,” he says—like always. 

“Too long,” you say, clinging to him. 

“Uh. Don’t forget your bags,” your Uber driver calls through the open window. 

“I got them,” says Marc. He insists on carrying them inside and up the stairs—nice to see that the elevator is still out of order even after the winter. On the way up, Marc fills you in an the uneventful time he spent popping into your apartment every other day to collect your mail, to dust, to water your plants. 

You wonder if he slept in your bed. If he laid amongst the scent of you and wanted to touch himself, like you had that night you were too drunk to drive home from his place. You hope that he did—you hope that he touched himself. You—

“Bed,” he says, giving you a jumpscare. At the wide-eyed expression on your face, he misunderstands. “Not for sex! Just—your exhausted. That’s what you get for taking such an early flight. You should nap. Then we should get dinner, my treat. Then we should—”

“Talk.” 

“Exactly.” 

At his mention of it, your exhaustion (which you had been adamantly pushing back with nerves and adrenalin) resurfaces. He’s right; you always take the earliest flights you can manage, to get home as soon as possible, and yes you arrive to the airport way too early. You’re a woman with anxiety; it’s a given. But the last thing you want to do right now is part ways with Marc. A part of you believes that if he leaves, then you might chicken out. You might never let him back in…

“Stay?” you ask. 

“For a nap?” he wonders, mouth stretching in a grin that reeks of fondness for you. 

“Sure.” 

“In your bed?”

You swallow past the sudden knot in your throat. Fuck, it feels so real. You’re going to have Marc in your bed tonight—for more than just a nap. You push the thoughts away with violence, feeling the way heat rises in your face at the thought alone. Come on, get it together! The way you’re pining for this guy is ridiculous, like you’re a virgin on her wedding night!

Fuck, but can you help it? 

“Just sleep,” Marc says, interrupting your spiraling. “Then, dinner. Then…we’ll talk.” 

Something inside you relaxes, your shoulders drifting away from where they had been climbing to your ears. Just sleep. You can do that. You’re certainly exhausted enough. A trail of you is formed throughout the apartment: your keys left in the dish by the door, shoes toed off at the shoe-rack, suitcase left haphazardly outside your bedroom door. 

Inside, your room is as pristine as you had left it. The sheets are fresh. You have suddenly never been more tired in your life. Taking the last few steps to your bed—a full, larger than the twin you had suffered on during the winter—you collapse on top of the blankets. Who needs to be underneath them? You’re tired enough to sleep just like this. 

But Marc pulls the blankets and the sheets back, working them free from beneath your body. He tucks you in, and he climbs into the bed on the other side. Peeking one eye open, you see that he is on his side, watching you. He grins when he catches you looking. 

“Sleep tight,” he says sweetly. 

God, you do. 

When you wake up, the shadows have changed on the wall. It is early evening, your sleep schedule properly fucked. Marc has come to spoon you sometime during your sleep, and you relish the feel of his strong arm looped around your waist, his warm chest pressed flush against your back. The both of you had fallen asleep in your jeans and socks, and neither one cared. For a moment, you let yourself lay there, enjoying the intimacy. It’s easy to pretend you are lovers when he holds you like this. 

Then his nose brushes a line up the side of your neck and his breath is hot against your ear as he whispers: “Sleep good?” 

“Holy shit, I didn’t know you were awake.” 

He snickers, unapologetic. 

“Yes,” you say, twisting in his arms. “I slept great. But now I’m starv—...ing.” 

As soon as you had turned in his arms, Marc’s eyes had gone molten. Outside, a car alarm goes off. There are horns honking. Someone plays music, but it doesn’t matter. Inside you room, the only sound is the heaving of near-silent breaths as you both lean precariously over the ledge of friendship—whatever rests below, who knows!

“I’m hungry too,” he says, innuendo in his words. His hand on your back traces a line down to the curve of your hip and then up to your ribs. His thumb barely brushes the space beneath your bra. He whispers your name. 

He kisses you, a soft press of lips on lips. Again, heads tilted a little differently. Again, noses brushing in a way that has him smiling against your mouth. You part for a single heartbeat before he is leaning back in and kissing you deeper, tasting the seam of your lips with his tongue. Eager, you part your mouth and let him in. Fuck the uncomfortable angle of your neck—you’re kissing Marc Spector. 

And God, what a kiss it is. He explores you in a way you hadn’t been explored before. Oh yes, you’d been plundered: had men whose tongues were like their cocks, thrusting away at your mouth, no finesse, no savoring of the moment. Marc kisses you like this is the first and last time he might get to. He traces the line of your teeth with his tongue. He softly nips your bottom lip. He coaxes your tongue into his mouth just to suck at it sweetly. Never have you felt so worshiped from a single kiss—nor so aroused. 

Your hips rock against him, finding that he is already erect. You manage to loop one leg around his waist before he breaks the kiss, laughing breathlessly. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” he teases. 

“Aren’t we—?” you blink. 

“I said dinner first.” 

“But I’m hungry,” you remind him, arching your back to drag your sex over his hard cock. You’ll never forget the sight of his eyes rolling back, his mouth going a little slack as he takes a shuddering breath. 

He rolls you over and straddles your hips, hands finding your wrists and pinning you to the bed. His cock tents the seam of his jeans. Like this, you suddenly feel so small. Something inside you gets small and soft and says, ‘Be good for him. Do as he wants.’ You have long come to terms with the instincts inside you that make you crave this, knowing that they do not make you less of a modern woman but God, it’s still so embarrassing how easily you want to fold!

You argue instead, arching up to rub yourself against him, a spark in your eyes. A challenge. Marc’s own eyes narrow. He kneels up off of one of your legs, gripping your thigh to push it up-and-out, spreading you open for him, and God for a moment you think that you’ve convinced him, swayed him with just a wiggle of your hips, and the coming satisfaction will be (almost) as strong as your disappointment. 

Instead, he brings his hand down on your pussy in a spank. You yelp. Muffled as it was through the denim, you could still feel the strength in his hand, and you are sensitive enough that it leaves you with a brief, stinging ache. He cups your sex with his palm, soothing it with the warmth of his hand. 

“Dinner first. Where’s my good girl at? The girl who fell to her knees a thousand miles away without me even having to ask her, huh?”

You’d cover your face, if your hands were free. Suddenly you are shy and embarrassed at your own behavior. You don’t even allow yourself to rub up against his touch, light though it may be. Looking at him through your lashes, you say: “I’m sorry, I just…” 

“You need it,” he says, thumb smoothing along the sensitive stretch of your inner thigh. “I understand, baby. Was I harsh?” 

“No.” 

“No, what?”

“No sir,” you whisper shyly. 

His grin is broad, beatific. It turns teasing almost right away. He leans down and brushes his nose against yours before releasing your wrists and rolling off of you. 

“I want to be just friends for just a while longer,” he admits in a whisper. “Throughout dinner. There’s something important I need to tell you.” 

[laulink]

Something that I don't often see in the "was Edelgard's war necessary" discourse is the interdependence between the Church and the nobility. The question is always framed such as "are Edelgard's reforms worth starting a war over" or "is the net result of the war positive or negative" or "did she need to invade the Kingdom and Alliance to do her thing or was she just a cold-hearted, power-hungry tyrant" and the arguments given for or against either side of the conflict very rarely includes this simple fact :

No reform is possible in Fodlan because the Church and nobility feed off of each other.

It doesn't matter whether or not the specific reforms Edelgard wants to implement deserve thousands of people to die for them (if such a thing is even objectively quantifiable) ; it doesn't matter what the "net result" of the war is (if you can even make an objective measure on that) ; it doesn't matter whether or not having the Kingdom and Alliance under her authority was necessary to make the reforms she wanted ; absolutely no reform, whatsoever, in any territory, could have been achieved and lasted with the Church still standing. Why ?

Because the Church and the nobility enforce each other's "divine right to rule" and neither wants to lose their power.

Rhea wants to keep Fodlan in stasis until she brings Sothis back. She's done that for a thousand years and will keep doing it for as long as she needs to. How did she do it ? By making the powerful (the Crest-bearing descendants of the Ten Elites) dependant on her. She made their strength (their Crest) dependant on properly following and supporting her Church, instilling in Fodlan's societies the belief that a family won't produce Crest-bearing heirs any longer if they oppose the Goddess. The Crests are therefore both a mark of the Goddess' favour, granting nobles their "divine right to rule", and a pair of shackles binding them to the Church. If the Church falls and the commoners don't believe in the Goddess any longer, they also won't believe in the nobles' divine right to rule anymore and will rebel against the caste system. Therefore, the nobles need to enforce belief in the Goddess by showing how devoted they are, as Ferdinand and Lorenz explain is their noble duty to guide the commoners on the path of the faithful, and by giving the Church money to keep its influence and prestige ; otherwise, the nobility itself will be at risk.

But the reverse is, therefore, also true : if the nobility were to fall or stop supporting the Church (the one Rhea leads, mind you), it would lose power, influence and the money necessary to maintain its presence throughout the continent. The Church needs to make sure that the nobility system either stays the same or at least still relies on the belief in the Goddess. Any reform that abolishes the nobility, title inheritance or Crest supremacy is bound to be an absolute nightmare for the Church. Sounds familiar ?

Three Hopes touches onto this by showing us Rhea's attempts at killing the Bishop of the newly restored Southern Church. She doesn't try to get him killed because Edelgard was the one to choose him, she tries to kill him because this Southern Church represents a threat for the Central Church she leads, and she doesn't accept that.

How is the Southern Church a threat ? Two possible, non-exclusive ways :

The Southern Church's teachings are in opposition to the Central Church's teachings : we don't know exactly what those teachings are, but if the Southern Church's teachings imply that the Central Church's ones are fake, it would put their legitimacy into question. Which brings us to the second point :

The Southern Church is trying to become more prominent than the Central one : the Southern Church was dismantled about 200 years before the start of the game for being "dissident" and is now being revived with Edelgard's support. It doesn't even matter what it teaches the people : it fills a gap in the Imperial citizens' lives. By doing so, and by being morally, publicly and financially supported by the new Emperor, it earns the support of the faithful of the Empire and takes it away from the Central Church, in part at least.

So, because Rhea doesn't accept power being taken away from her, she attacks and tries to kill the "rebellion" in the egg, the same way she did with the "dissidents" of the Western Church in Houses, where she sent her students to execute and capture the priests, then executed the survivors without a trial. Sending an assassin against a bishop is clearly not something she would hesitate to do.

But, in this example, the Church was the one "under attack". You might wonder how Rhea would have reacted if Edelgard hadn't restored the Southern Church or started the war and had simply reformed the Empire without bothering anyone else, right ? Well, the answer is : basically the same thing.

What we know of Edelgard's reforms is that they are meant to end the caste system, let anyone reach a position of power, oust the people who are not competent enough to handle them and deny the very idea that birth determines someone's right to rule over a region or a whole nation. Those are all ideas that the Central Church has spent the last millenia denying and fighting against so the nobles would stay dependant on them ; if Edelgard's reforms were to be implemented, and moreso if they were to be successful, therefore proving that Crests and the ability to rule are not related, the Central Church's teachings would be proved wrong and the people of Fodlan, Kingdom and Alliance included, would rebel and stop supporting the Church and nobility. Rhea would lose her power and Fodlan would evolve, one way or another, outside of her control. She would do anything to avoid that, including sending her knights to support the rebellious nobles (like the ones we see in Hopes) who are bound to fight against Edelgard's tyranny to preserve peace and order in Fodlan, even if it means fighting against the Imperial army until they can march on Enbarr and behead the mad tyrant... which is roughly what happens in SS where the Black Eagles form a rebellion and ally with the Church's forces to fight against Edelgard and ultimately defeat her in order to keep the status quo. Yes, they fought this war because they thought Edelgard was in the wrong and needed to be stopped, but the result is the exact same.

(if you want to get into real world parallels, the Catholic Church was in much the same position of power as the Central Church for a good millenia (the xenophobia and the way it wormed itself into being central in every government by saying the King ruled out of God's will and had to be a good Christian if they wanted to keep their throne is especially similar), but then Martin Luther called it out on its corruption and started the Protestant Church (Southern Church, in Fodlan's case), leading to a long religious and physical conflict where the Catholic Church tried to eradicate the dissidents, with fire among other things)

So, what do we deduce from all this ? Three things :

The Church and nobility feed off of each other to maintain their own power ; if one were to disappear or stop working the way it did in the past, the other would collapse.

Rhea is more than ready to do what it takes to preserve her power and influence over Fodlan because it allows her to keep it in stasis and she believes that is what she should do until her mother comes back from the dead.

Edelgard's reforms would put a dent in Rhea's power, war or no war, which would result in Rhea trying to get her killed so she could put a good, obedient noble on the throne in order to restore the Central Church's power and maintain the nobility's standing in the Empire/Fodlan.

So, in conclusion : no significant change to the system can be made and kept in place for more than a few years, a decade at most, without national level of armed conflict at the very least because the Church and nobility will ally and fight tooth and nail to preserve their power. Taking apart the nobility cannot be done without destroying the Central Church at the same time, for one will always try to save/bring back the other to justify its own power. If Edelgard hadn't started the war, Rhea would have ; if Edelgard hadn't invaded and conquered the Kingdom and Alliance, their nobility would have attacked her in order to avoid her reforms giving ideas to their own population, or the population would have rebelled and started a bloody civil war in order to win their freedom, which would have likely caused more casualties, especially civil ones and children, than a fight between two actual armies.

There would have been war anyway. There would have been thousands of deaths anyway. Edelgard did what she did in order to gain the advantage by attacking first, improve her odds and shape the conflict in a way that would cause the least civilian casualties. We can still debate whether or not she was right or wrong, whether or not there was a better way to achieve her goals and save more lives, but the fact remains that while she did start the war, if she had not, someone else would have in order to stop her reforms. There was no peaceful way to change the whole system. As always, when you want to take power away from a group of people, you have to fight for it, and they will fight back.

[torchship-rpg]

Dev Diary 13 - New Subsystems

Alright, it’s been a while since our last Dev Diary, because we’re been doing a lot of rewriting (and because medical stuff delayed my ability to write a lot for a while). We’re currently working on writing up a new playable draft of the game incorporating lessons learned from the hasty Metatopia rewrite, building new systems to achieve what the first draft did in a smaller and better footprint.

With that in mind, I thought I’d talk about two new subsystems added to the game to make running things smoother in response to playtests, which helps mechanise some of the more abstract issues and sticking points in test games; sensor rules and factions.

Sensors & Scale

In my experience, an issue that arises in almost any Star Trek inspired roleplaying game is that most players are naturally much more cautious than the protagonists of your average television show, and correspondingly are more likely to sit snug in their spaceship for longer and roll lots of scanning rolls when the exciting story thing would be to go and take a look directly (and thus get in interesting trouble). This was a problem that occurred in some of the old playtest Torchship quests, in the metatopia games, and even in some of my brushes with Star Trek Adventures and other similar RPGs long ago.

To get around this, we’ve written up a system for sensors in Torchship which makes it very explicit what they can and can’t discover called Scale. Every sensor has one or more Scales it operates at, in a scale from 1 (microscopic) to 8 (interstellar telescope). This gives both a range you can see things from, and what information you can discover from that distance.

Under this system, a scanner which can gather information from farther away will, inherently, gather less specific information than one which scans closer. A Scale 4 scanner which works on ranges of tens and hundreds of kilometres is also one which lacks the resolution to easily recognize individual people or tools, so if you wanted to find a specific person you’re going to struggle doing it with that Scale of scanner. Fortunately, your hand scanner is a Scale 2-3 device which is perfect for that sort of work, thought limited in range to metres and kilometres so you’ll need to actually get off your butt and into the adventure.

These are soft limits, not hard stops; you can take penalties to scan beyond your normal range or for finer detail than you can normally identify, and higher-tech scanners are better for this because they roll more dice to absorb those penalties, but these limitations mean that gathering the information you need to fill out Checklists and complete objectives will often require you to go down and point a hand scanner at it, or even gather samples to take back to the microscope lab on the rocket.

Of particular note is the ‘orbital gap’, a deliberate hole in the system between Scale 4 and Scale 5. When you’re in low orbit trying to scan the surface of a world, you will almost always be doing with at least one Range penalty, and probably more because high-tech Scale 4 sensors are uncommon on most large spacecraft. This very purposefully makes it inconvenient to just wait upstairs until you roll good enough to see what you want to see; at the very least you will want to take out your shuttle to get close enough to use it without penalty.

You get to choose which scales your spacecraft’s sensors have when you do character creation, which has lots of interesting implications as you try to fit it into the limited options. Do you leave a gap in your sensor coverage in the midband for wider coverage? Do you mount smaller sensors you have to get very close to use? Do you sacrifice some of your short-range detail for long range resolution?

This also makes it easy for us to build sensors into other tools, sensors you can repurpose. Your point defence turrets might have lower-tech specialised radar emplacements at Scale 4 for picking up and tracking incoming missiles, for example, and when you encounter something invisible to your tachyon sensors it makes perfect sense to repurpose it!

A Star Patrol vehicle with a massive tachyon sensor pickup ideal for scanning other star systems across interstellar space, but which is probably going to have a bit of difficulty focusing on something tiny right in front of it.

Factions

The other portion of new mechanics has to do with the diplomatic and political side of the game. As we sat down with the new draft, we made a bunch of notes as we looked over what, exactly, this game needed from first principles before re-adding things, and we came back around to the conclusion that the game should explicitly and distinctly focus on three spheres of Exploration, Politics, and Combat, each of which should have dedicated subsystems which could carry an entire campaign on their own. 

We had a strong scientific element in the Checklists and we have interesting combat mechanics, but Politics was lacking in that; while we had ways for players to interact with groups, we didn’t have much mechanical distinction for what those groups were or how they related to one another. This is where the new Factions mechanic comes in.

When you visit a society in conflict, you will find multiple Factions there. Each Faction is a simple mechanical framework for a movement or ideology inside the society that wants something, with a defined membership and a reason they want to have power over their society. Key to this is the Faction’s Influence, a single arbitrary number that tells you how much power the Faction has over their society.

The faction with the greatest Influence is the Ruling Faction, and they matter because the Ruling Faction is the only one whose promises to Star Patrol get kept at the end of the Episode. You can negotiate trade deals for a planet’s titanium reserves with the labour unions all you want; if the Labour faction isn’t in charge by the end of the episode, you don’t get anything from it. 

This is coupled with the fact that every Faction has a simple binary opinion of Star Patrol; either they like and trust you or they don’t. Factions are like pilots in that way, though unlike pilots they do have object permanence in the sense that they remember Promises. Promises are mechanically binding agreements to give things to one another, though they only get upheld if the Faction likes you at the end of the Episode (and, again, if they are the Ruling Faction).

If you want to negotiate with a Faction, you have to exchange Promises; Factions don’t do anything for free no matter how well you roll, though you can still negotiate with communication rolls to get better deals. Promises can be immediate aid, like getting supplies for your rocket or their support in a mission, but they can also be resources over long terms at the end of the Episode, in the form of Credits from you and valuable resources, political alliances, or military aid from them.

What makes things interesting is that a Ruling Faction which does not have the majority of the Influence in play with all the Activate Factions is unstable. When things are unstable, Factions have a tendency to make lots of big promises to Star Patrol in exchange for help, often blindly agreeing to trade away things they really need because having the local superpower arbitrate their conflict and hopefully decide in their favour (or even just put the issue to rest, honestly) is worth more to them now than material riches or obligations that are currently meaningless to them. 

An unstable society is a big opportunity for the Star Union, but one you have to navigate with care.

[starcaughtsam]

Baby, You’re a Haunted House - J.M.K.

Pairing: Josh Kiszka x Female Reader

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: NSFW MINORS DNI 18+ touching, fingering, oral, public sex, creepy themes, unprotected sex (plz use protection!)

A/N: this fic was the first one I’ve ever put my all into! I hope you enjoy! this was a collab with my favorite, @holybananafuck she was a huge help in writing!🖤 (ps. happy halloween!)

————————————————————————•

A large door slams shut and locks behind you, Josh, and ten other patrons. The room fills with darkness, but becomes quickly illuminated by the static on a TV. The TV flicks onto a recording of a man in a blood-splattered hockey mask, gripping a machete whilst pacing a room. An unrecognizable voice begins speaking, explaining the strict rules, and guidance to ensure success with completing the haunted house attraction.

“Your objective is to escape the house alive! Do not let Masked Mason catch you. Follow the riddles hidden in the walls to find the exit. Please do not touch any scare actors. If you or someone in your party is in need of a sooner exit, please ask one of the actors for such.”

The room goes pitch black once again paired with nervous murmurs from the crowd. A door across from the TV slowly creaks open, but nobody is willing to make the first move.

“C’mon, mama. Let’s show ‘em how it’s done.” Josh takes your hand in his and begins to walk through the door into a red illuminated hallway.

Barely two steps in and Josh screams as high as his voice allows when a girl dressed as a clown crawls across the floor in front of him. In his defense, she was coming towards him eerily quick for being in a backbend. Josh stumbles back, catching him in your arms, causing him to scream again.

“Baby, it’s just me!” You giggle, the room behind you filling with laughter.

“Oookay. Well what’s everyone else waiting for?!” He turns around and throws his arms into the air.

One of the guys standing in the doorway slowly raises a finger to point behind Josh. Anxiously, he turns around and is met by the clown girl standing behind him with her neck crooked and a wide grin.

“Huh-ha! Hiya, handsome!” She flicks her eyes wide.

“Oh god, I’m gonna be sick.” He mumbles.

“Josh, it’s not even that bad!” You reassure him, squeezing his cold, clammy hand.

“If you see me at the end of each hall, you’re on the right path to freedom! Otherwise you’re Master’s dinner…” She runs her hand down Josh’s arm, leaving him to shudder before bending backwards once more and crawling away.

Once the coast is clear, the rest of the party fills in behind Josh. Moments after the previous room is empty, the door shuts behind, signing you all to your doom. The crowd makes their way around the room, curious hands scouring the walls in desperate search for riddles or clues.

“Why do I let you talk me into these things?” He groans, face washed with the red light.

“Because you love me?”

“How could I not?” Josh places a kiss on your lips. “You owe me. Big time.” He whispers.

His skin is cold and he looks on edge, making you second guess suggesting a haunted house. You knew he got scared easily, but he assured you he would be okay. Focused in an attempt to comfort your uneasy boyfriend, the two of you nearly lose the group as they continue to the right. You continue to follow along a little farther back in hopes of avoiding being the victims of the scare actors. Josh continues to stay close to your side.

“Baby, you’re okay.” You reassure him, wrapping your arm around his waist.

“Just keep me close?” He intertwined his fingers with yours, giving you a small smile.

As the walkthrough progresses Josh grows noticeably more confident. Staying a few steps behind everyone else allowed him to know what to expect. Although he seemed much less tense, his body pulled closer to yours, mimicking magnets. You’d finally caught on to when you guys were going the right way. It was given away by a gate that always shut behind you. You suspect they’re on a timer or the scare actors have a key to progress.

Once the next gate shuts behind you, the group stops at the end of the new hallway. There was another fork at the end, but nobody had been paying attention to the riddles to know which way to go. You and Josh, still standing only a few feet behind, started to look around while the rest of the group argued at the end of the hallway. The two of you tread back down the hallway where you’d all just passed, inspecting the pictures on walls for any clues. You’re attracted to one specific painting that stands out from the others. Josh walks up behind you and wraps his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“This one, it’s different.” You say, pointing to the painting.

“Is it because she’s kinda naked…?” He mockingly asks.

You hadn’t even looked at the picture to notice what it was, only that it physically stuck out more than the others. The picture was of a nude woman splayed out on a couch, groin covered by a slash in the canvas.

“No! Of course you’d notice that! I mean it’s physically sticking out.” You tap his hand before fixing your fingers at the edge of the painting to lift it up.

“I know a good pair of tits when I see ‘em.” His hands run up your curves, sending a small chill down your spine. He cups your breasts, giving a tight squeeze before moving his hands back down to your hips.

“You’re really gonna try to turn me on right now, Josh?” Your mind secretly yearns for him to repeat his actions.

“Is that so wrong? A man’s obsessed with his lady’s tits.”

You back up into him in an attempt to lift the picture up all the way, feeling him against your backside, a small gasp naturally escaping your lips.

He’s rock hard, and lucky as fuck it’s so dark.

You’re committed as fuck to getting out of here and getting Josh back home. So much so you consider asking for an early exit, you didn’t care about winning the prize if you could have the greatest one of all.

“Guys, you gotta go left. I found the clue!” You shout, trying to get their attention.

Their arguing drowning out any attempt to do so, but an unexpected sound is all it took. A deep groan inched from the hallway next to you and Josh. The group stops in their tracks, scared as all hell. You’d all made it this far without any Masked Mason sightings, but an appearance about halfway through made sense. The sound of heavy feet echoes down the hallway as the group finally gets a fire under their ass and books it down the left hallway. You let the picture slam against the wall and grab Josh’s hand. You hear the gate slam down, realizing you have no way of escaping. It’s just you, Josh, and Masked Mason. Josh acts quickly and pulls you to one of the rooms. He jiggles the handle until it creaks open.

“Josh, we’re gonna get caught.” You scold, even though all you want is the safety of his hands on you again.

“Nope, nobody’s come out of this room, that’s why it was closed.” He wiggles his body past the threshold and pulls you in behind him.

Josh holds the handle as he shuts it to ensure a silent close, aside from the small click of the lock. The only light to illuminate the room comes from under the door, just enough to make out the surroundings. The room was empty besides a singular chair and desk, presumably for the scare actors to use while awaiting their cue.

“What if he tries to come in here? Then we lose, Josh!”

“Shhh, don’t be loud or we’ll really get caught.” He cups his hand over your mouth and waits until your breathing slows down.

“What are we supposed to do? Hide in here? Until when?” You wrap your fingers around his wrist, moving his hand away from your mouth.

“Well, not very long. We just wait until the gate unlocks itself.” He wraps his arms around you, taking you into his warmth.

You wrap your arms around his torso and nuzzle your nose into his neck.

“I love you, I’m sorry I talked you into this.” You mumble into his neck.

“It’s okay, mama. You always do my weird shit, least I could do was do something with you.” His grip tightens around you.

A moment of silence takes over the room, just two lovers basking in each other’s presence. Still no sound of the gate opening to be heard.

“Josh?”

“Yes, Y/N?”

“We could ask for an early exit, go home.”

“Do you wanna go home?”

“To be honest, I just want your hands on me again.” You grab his wrist and bring his palm up to cup your breast.

“Oh, did that do something to you earlier?”

“You know it did you fucking tease.”

“Nothing’s stopping us, we could handle your debt right now. You just gotta promise me you can be quiet.” He backs you against the wall, pressing his lips to yours.

“I promise I’ll be quiet. I just need you.”

Josh silences your begging with a needy kiss to your lips, his hands working their way up your shirt. His fingertips dance along your soft flesh as he presses himself into you, the coldness of his fingers makes you shiver under his touch.

“Gotta make it quick, mama.” He whispers between kisses, dipping one hand past the waistband of your leggings and panties.

The shuffled steps grow louder. Josh wastes no time dragging his fingers through your slick, rubbing them against your swollen clit. You bring a hand forward to feel his length growing against your palm, already hard just from touching you. He slides your bottoms down to sit just under your ass and grabs your hips, turning you to face the wall. He pulls your hips back, leaving your chest against the wall. With your pussy on full display, he kneels down and places a kiss to your clit, trailing his tongue through you until he reaches your entrance, dipping it inside. You let out a quiet groan, trying not to draw attention to the obscene acts taking place.

“Sorry, I just needed a taste.” Josh puts his hands on your ass, squeezing you as he pulls himself up to his feet.

He unzips his pants and pulls himself out of his boxers, teasing his hard tip between your folds. Josh presses his chest into your back as he slowly pushes into you. You hiss at the feeling of him stretching you out. Josh is quick to bring his hand up to cover your mouth in attempts to muffle your noises. The footsteps are sounding down the hallway, seemingly growing slower as they make way past the room you’re in. Josh begins thrusting himself inside of you, hand still around your mouth, as you gasp against the palm of his hand.

“Shh, mama. Don’t let him know we’re in here.” He whispers in your ear as the handle jiggles on the other side of the door.

You look down to where the light creeps in and see a shadow of boots on the other side. A few more silent thrusts that threaten a moan escape you before the footsteps wander off and you hear the presumed Masked Mason open the other doors, checking for patrons.

“Okay, gotta make this quicker than I thought.” Josh mumbles, picking up his pace.

He moves his free hand down to your center, brushing his fingers in hard circles over your clit. The sound of the footsteps circles back around before you hear a beep and the sound of the gate sliding up.

“Come on, mama. We’re gonna miss the gate if you don’t cum for me.”

“I can’t.”

“I wasn’t asking.”

His originally gentle thrusts are now deep and desperate. Taking his free hand, he picks up your leg, making it so his entire length is filling you. His other still fully focused on your clit.

You feel his balls slapping against your pussy, forcing out a few eager moans from you both. You jolt as you feel two fingers shove themselves inside you alongside his cock. Your clit suddenly unoccupied, you take it upon yourself to continue where he left off in hopes of speeding this up, even though you really never wanted it to end. Josh had never put anything in you along with his cock, and the sensation of it was indescribable. It hurt, but in the best way possible. This awoke something in you you didn't know was there.

“Fuck Josh. What took you so long to try this?”

“You like it mama? I’ve considered it before… Thought now might be a time to try it out.” He increased their speed, you could hear your slick against his fingers and cock, a soaking wet symphony happening between your thighs.

“Josh I’m so close… Don’t. Fucking. Stop…” You feel yourself inching towards climax, a fire rising in your core, legs nearly collapsing underneath you.

“Come on me baby. All over me, now.”

You wouldn't be able to deny him even if you wanted to, it was instant. An echoing moan escaped your lips as you released, your core throbbing against his cock.

The feeling of your hot mess pushed Josh right over the edge, it was only seconds after that his breaths grew heavy, his chest rising and falling against your back.

Suddenly he was dripping down your thighs, your pussy only capable of holding so much.

“Fuck me baby, you’re beyond incredible each and every time. This shit just doesn’t get old.”

“And it never will.”

You were caught in the heat of the moment, you nearly forgot you had to escape. What felt like hours of infatuated sex was truly only minutes.

“Shit we gotta go.” You say, bringing your panties and leggings back up around your waist.

Josh busy rebuckling his belt, you inch towards the door, slowing unclicking the lock.

“C’mon Josh, before he comes back for us!” You grabbed his hand, turning the knob and throwing the door open in which the only response was to make a break for it.

The gate shut behind you instantly. If you’d waited a second more, you would've been caught and the adrenaline was already through the roof. That gate was the last, as you noticed the red lighting grew dimmer and a bright “EXIT” sign hanging above a door straight ahead. You made your way through in which a staff member was waiting upon the other side.

“Now where the hell have you two been!? The rest of your team finished nearly ten minutes ago!” He barked.

“Well shit, guess we didn't win huh babe?” Josh remarked, gifting himself a firm grip of your ass leaving you with a rosy complexion.

“Aw no, that sucks!” You were trying your best to bullshit your way through this interaction.

“That’s alright, I got the best prize right here.” Josh shot you a wink. “Have a good night sir.”

“Hey wait!” But Josh had already lead you two away, eager to remove yourselves.

“Is there anything else you wanted to do tonight, another attraction maybe?”

“I love you, but I think we both know you won’t be visiting another haunted house anytime soon.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, that was perfect. You were perfect.” He chuckled.

“We always are. Let’s go home Josh. Don’t get me wrong, that was fun, but I need you to fuck me good and proper.”

“Anything for you my love.” He picked you up bridal style, bringing you back to his bright white Jeep, excited for the rest of the night to come.

[klapollo]

hey, do you know any good articles or podcast episodes about the coquette aesthetic & its relationship with radical feminism and tradwives? i mentioned it offhand to my mother and she didn’t know what it was so i promised to explain later, but i always feel like i butcher these concepts when i use my own words so i’d rather show her something someone smarter than me has written

Very good question! I feel like there's not a lot of material out there for a few reasons. Coquette aesthetic is both relatively new and VERY nebulous -- if you ask ten different adherents they'd probably all give you ten different answers. There's no real coherent "rules" to it, it seems to mostly be just vibes and represented by objects and things that fall under its umbrella -- lace, feminine clothes, being mentally ill but in a sexy way, pink all come to mind. but for some girls it's an eating disorder thing. for others it's a sex thing. it's SOOOO vague and i'm not even fully sure where it came from. tbh i almost think its lack of objective identity is a part of its identity.

but here are some suggestions i'd have for you:

why is everyone dressing like a little girl? - mina le

toxic femininity - also mina le

femcel femininity and transgrrressive girlhood - shanspeare

tiktok femininity coaching and aestheticizing racism - also shanspeare

style analysis: coquette (this is just a general idea of the style)

coquette wikipedia page (contains a criticism subsection with citations)

death to coquette: the trend cycle & white femininity by maitreya

i hope these help!!

[weeb-polls-with-pip]

Autistic Anime Girls Group 2 Round 4 Match 4

SUBMISSION PROPAGANDA:

Marcille -

"Dungeon Meshi is a manga about autism that just so happens to also have monsters and cooking.

On a surface level, Marcille seems like the most 'normal' one in the main group, she's often playing the straight man role in jokes and objects to their crazier plans. But its all just masking yall. She is a very introspective and anxious person, she spends a lot of time silently worrying about things like mortality and social rules. So whenever she's freaking out about people cooking monsters, she doesn't actually have any personal objections to it, she's just watching people break the rules she has fixated on and is unsure what to do about it. Likewise, she fell in love with her girlfriend after watching her openly being a weirdo who scampers around in the wilderness to look for cool bugs.

And yet, for all of her worrying about fitting in, she never quite manages it. At the wizard school she was seen as a weirdo half-elf who does unusual experiments and gets too excited. Over the course of the manga, she travels in an adventuring party with a few other openly autistic people (and a chronically divorced hobbit), and she slowly opens up to them over time and becomes more okay with the idea of coming across as weird.

A vote for Marcille Donato is a vote for your local weirdo autistic transbian who fails to fit in."

Mai -

"I need you to understand how utterly flat of affect this girl is. I need you to understand that nine times out of ten she communicates nonverbally and almost never shows emotions in any blatant or obvious ways. Even when she does explicitly show emotion on her face it's incredibly slight and subtle. And you want special interests? Her special interests is playing pranks on people. Her special interest is fucking around. With you specifically. She shows affection towards her friends by fucking with them. She loves them dearly and at the end of the day shows that. She's probably queer. She loves dogs. She's The weirdgirl in a show where everyone including the male characters are weirdgirls. And did I mention her affect is flatter than a board? Mai Nichijou my beloved."

[euphoniumpets]

THE CALM BEFORE THE STORM | CHAPTER FOUR

Prompt: ''As long as I can rememer, I've been protecting Alina, it's always Alina who I will protect,'' You told him, looking at Nikolai. ''But who will protect you?''

Warnings: Violence, blood and gore.

Please don’t plagiarize my work - I spend a lot of my time writing, copying and pasting destroys that. 

Pairing: Nikolai Lantsov x Starkov! Reader

A/N: the banter between y/n and Nikolai send me everytime, especially when she gets to know when Sturmhond is actually Nikolai Lantsov lmao. Also, decided to post this chapter since i posted chapter three not long ago :) please comment if i forgot anyone to tag!

Taglist:@lyria-skyfall @khaleesihavilliard @shine101 @waddlingwanderer @clqudias @ducks118 @xceafh @peakyispunk @wilmasvensson @parbatai-winchester @priincehoseok @riot-in-my-soul @feyredarling92 @vendy021 @ssprayberrythings @goldenpoison @shine101 @lili-of-the-dream

prologue - one - two - three - four - five - six - seven - eight - nine - ten - eleven - epilogue

‘’Thanks to navigation from our Sun Summoner’s tracker friend here, we’ve traversed the Bone Road to the island of Jelka,’’ 

Sturmhond spoke as the crew and including you, Alina, and Mal surrounded the table that was filled with maps, books, and other objects. ‘’As for the Sea Whip, we have some storybook drawings, not telling what it looks like, rule of thumb for the unknown, is come prepared!’’ He replied and showed the weapons hidden behind the curtains that were placed against the walls. 

‘’Are all pirates this well-armed?’’ You questioned. ‘’Privateer,’’ He replied and you rolled your eyes. ‘’Can’t tell the difference,’’ You spoke as you and Mal looked at the weapons in front of you. ‘’The difference is that I have a license,’’ He remarked. 

‘’And a healthy love for innovation,’’ He told you and placed his hand on his hip. ‘’Gadgets, marvels, things that go boom,’’ He explained and you rolled your eyes as you and Alina exchanged a look. ‘’Anything piques your interest?’’ He asked and looked at you and Mal. 

‘’Yes,’’ Mal answered. 

‘’Me?’’ You asked surprised. ‘’Well, yes, who else?’’ He questioned. ‘’Well, take it, for our excursion,’’ Sturmhond replied and looked at Mal. Mal looked at you and you gestured for him to grab the weapon first. He grinned at you before he grabbed the weapon. 

‘’Fabulous choice, you have excellent taste in weaponry, Mal,’’ He said. ‘’The cable’s Fabrikator-made,’’ Sturmhond explained. ‘’Tensile strength of 80,000, yield, 50,’’ Sturmhond informed as you kept looking at the weapons in front of you. ‘’Impossible,’’

‘’When people say impossible, they usually mean improbable,’’ Sturmhond replied. ‘’Not to me, it’s incredible,’’ Mal spoke. Your eyes trailed over to a pair of twin blades in front of you. They were small, but it was a perfect size for you since you didn’t like having big weapons that made you clumsy. 

You smirked and grabbed the twin blades as you drew out the swords. ‘’I’ll take these,’’ You replied. ‘’Never thought that you were much of a blade person,’’ Sturmhond replied and you rolled your eyes. ‘’I designed it by myself,’’ Sturmhond replied and looked at you. ‘’In fact, my innovations are all around you,’’ 

‘’You just have to know where to look,’’ Sturmhond whispered and sent you a flirtatious wink before turning to the rest of his crew. You and Alina exchanged a look as you placed your swords behind your back. ‘’So, we will go in quietly, on Miss Starkov’s orders to injure for your death blow,’’ Sturmhond explained and gestured toward Alina. 

‘’I’m not killing it,’’ Alina replied. ‘’You have to kill it, to claim its power, that’s how amplifiers work,’’ Tamar informed her and Alina shook her head. ‘’It wasn’t with the Stag, I think I can do it without killing it,’’

‘’As lovely as that sounds, I’m not sending my crew in to tame a mythical beast with nest and good intentions,’’ Sturmhond spoke and you looked at him. ‘’This is the job you were hired for, privateer,’’ You replied and mocked him by his statement before turning to the others. ‘’We capture it, alive,’’ You ordered them. You heard one of the members of the crew approaching the room and speaking in Shu. 

‘’We’ve reached the island,’’ He told you. ‘’Here we go,’’ Sturmhond spoke as you all walked upstairs to the deck. ‘’Well, that’s not foreboding,’’ Sturmhond commented as you all looked at the island in front of you. 

‘’Could be anywhere in there,’’ Mal commented as thunder boomed over the island. 

-

You drew your sword out as all of you stepped inside the cave. Luckily, the water was not deep enough so you had to swim but below enough so you could walk. ‘’There are holes in the cave floor,’’ 

‘’So be careful where you step, otherwise, no,’’ The man replied. ‘’No, you can’t tell, or no, there’s nothing in there?’’ Mal asked him. ‘’Whichever makes you feel more comfortable,’’ Tolya remarked. 

‘’Comfort is overrated,’’ Tamar commented. The three of you exchanged a look and suddenly, you heard a strange noise. You winced as you armed your sword and listened closer. Nobody dared to move any further and before you knew it, one of the crew got snatched by the Sea Whip. 

‘’Drop the nets! Aim to kill!’’ One of them spoke. ‘’No, don’t!’’ You protested and you looked at your surroundings, hoping to see the Sea Whip. ‘’I couldn’t see us, it’s toying with us,’’ Sturmhond replied. ‘’Conserve your ammo, or we’ll be dry by the time we need it,’’ 

You exclaimed when one of the crews next to you got dragged by the Sea Whip into the water. ‘’It can camouflage,’’ Sturmhond replied. You looked around at the cave walls and you narrowed your eyes slightly, and before you knew it, you saw the Sea Whip. ‘’Alina!’’ You shouted when the Sea Whip began to charge forward her, you grabbed her by the side so that the Sea Whip wouldn’t attack her. 

The Sea Whip went into the water again. ‘’It sounds like it’s everywhere,’’ Sturmhond spoke as you all looked up. Suddenly, the Sea Whip appeared again and you charged your swords, but before you knew it, you let out a scream when the Sea Whip knocked your swords out and tossed you at the cave wall. 

‘’Y/N!’’ Alina, Mal, and Sturmhond shouted and the Sea Whip was about to charge you again, before Alina used her powers against it, killing it. Mal rushed over to you with a concerned expression. 

‘’Are you alright?’’ He asked. ‘’I’m fine,’’ You replied and breathed heavily before your eyes turned toward the Sea Whip in front of you. ‘’It’s dead,’’ Sturmhond replied and you met his gaze. You couldn’t tell but his eyes showed a look of concern, you nodded slightly to know that you were fine. 

The sky had just turned dark and everybody was back at the ship to mourn the people who you lost and to place the amplifiers on Alina. ‘’Alina, we’re ready,’’ Sturmhond said and you looked at Alina with a soft smile. ‘’We got this,’’ You assured her and she smiled. ‘’Ready?’’ You asked her and grabbed her hand in comfort. 

‘’Yeah,’’ Alina responded and walked over to the Heartrender who placed one of the amplifiers on Alina’s wrist. You saw Alina frown before her gaze trailed over to you and Mal. 

‘’Are you all right?’’ The woman asked her and you frowned with concern. ‘’I’m fine, second scale, please,’’ Alina told her and placed on the second scale. Then, a searing burst of light appeared and you knew that Alina was stronger. You smiled as her powers began to grow stronger and stronger and everybody had to shield their eyes. 

‘’Alina!’’ Mal shouted, trying to stop her before she sank the ship. ‘’Allie!’’ You shouted. ‘’Allie!’’ You shouted and tried to step closer. ‘’Alina!’’ You shouted again before you embraced her tightly to stop her from before she could destroy the ship. 

Alina let out a laugh and stopped and accepted the embrace. ‘’No matter how much I love you, you could seriously have drowned us,’’ You commented with a smile and she shook her head. Sturmhond approached the two of you with a grin on his face. 

‘’Well, then, where to now, Sun Summoner?’’ 

-

You walked toward Alina as you saw her with Mal talking. You were on your way toward the Fold and ready to take it down once and for all. ‘’How are you feeling?’’ You asked her and she turned around to face you with a smile. ‘’Ready to take down the Fold?’’ You questioned, watching her glance at the amplifier on her wrist. 

‘’I feel ready to take on the world,’’ She answered, making you smile. ‘’No need to take on the world,’’ Mal replied with a smile and you chuckled. ‘’He’s right, just everyone currently after us is enough,’’ You told her with a shrug. ‘’So, the world,’’ Alina commented and gave you two a look. 

‘’We’ll keep us off the beaten path but we’ll be on our own again,’’ Mal replied with his hands into his pockets. ‘’Who says you’ll be on your own?’’ You heard Sturmhond comment from behind and the three of you turned around. ‘’I want a front-row seat to the light show, thanks,’’ He commented and you scoffed. 

‘’Plus, the king is on the other side of the Fold ergo so is my payment,’’ Sturmhond replied and you rolled your eyes. ‘’We could use your arsenal,’’ You suggested and looked at Mal, who nodded at you in agreement. ‘’Maybe some kind of fortified carriage?’’ Alina questioned. 

‘’Carriage? Land travel is so boring,’’ Sturmhond replied. ‘’And that’ll take days,’’ He continued as he walked away from the three of you. ‘’Come along,’’ He urged you and you sighed. ‘’Prepare to decouple!’’ He shouted as everyone was back at the dock and the three of you exchanged a look. ‘’What is going on?’’ You asked them as Mal and Alina looked confused as you were. ‘’Kovu,’’ He spoke before he pulled the lever down as the squaller prepared for the wind. You widened your eyes when you realized that the ship was going to fly in the sky. ‘’Engage secondary sail,’’ Sturmhond demanded and you tried to steady yourself on the ship. Then, the next thing you knew, a part of the ship was flying in the sky and you laughed with a smile. 

‘’You’ve got to be kidding me,’’ You replied and looked at the view in front of you. You smiled when you felt the wind blow on your face and you turned around to see Alina sitting on the bench with slight fear in her eyes. ‘’Alina, you got to see this!’’ You exclaimed next to Mal as you stood over the edge and looked over the sea. 

‘’No, I really don’t,’’ She answered as you and Mal looked at each other with a grin. ‘’No, trust me, you do,’’ Mal replied and turned around. Alina shook her head in protest while Mal approached her with a chuckle. You giggled when you saw Alina shielding her eyes as Mal dragged her over to the edge. ‘’Told ya,’’ You replied and playfully nudged her elbow. Alina laughed and shook her head and placed her arm around yours. 

‘’How is this even possible?’’ You questioned. ‘’Did you expect any less?’’ Sturmhond spoke and approached the four of you. ‘’It’s like you haven’t met me,’’ He replied. ‘’Years and years of designs and several dozen crashed prototypes,’’ 

‘’Crashed?’’ Alina questioned. ‘’I call her the hummingbird,’’ Sturmhond informed, ignoring Alina's question. ‘’Captain, the Fold’s in sight!’’ Tamar replied as Sturmhond looked at you with a smirk. 

‘’Next stop, destiny,’’ 

-

As the ship approached the Fold closer, all the memories brought you back to the moment Alina discovered her powers and how the story began. You took a deep breath and the next thing you knew, you were in the Fold. You shivered, remembering how it went the first time when Alina tried to save you and Mal before she discovered her powers and now, it was time to finish her job of taking down the Fold.

‘’I hate this place,’’ Mal murmured and you nodded. ‘’Me too,’’ You commented as Sturmhond glanced at the two of you. ‘’Just a bit of pitch black and bloodthirsty monsters,’’ He replied while Mal, you, and Alina gave him a look. ‘’What’s not to love?’’ He questioned as Tamar handed him a rifle. 

‘’Seems like a good day to kill some Volcra,’’ Tamar commented and handed you the gun. ‘’I’d much rather have a hot bath and a book of sonnets,’’ Tolya replied and you shook your head with a smile. ‘’Are you sure you’re ready?’’ Mal asked Alina, uncertain. ‘’I feel stronger than ever,’’ Alina replied and nodded. 

‘’This is my chance to finally eradicate it,’’ 

‘’For good,’’ Alina said and stepped on the edge of the ship. Alina closed her eyes before you saw the power radiate out from her. She reached her arms out as the light surrounded all of you. An explosion of light appeared and you hoped that the Fold would go down as you saw the rift forming in front of you. Alina gasped and you noticed that something was wrong. The powers flickered and you narrowed your eyes at her with concern. ‘’Alina?’’ You questioned as you and Mal exchanged concerned looks. ‘’What’s happening?’’ Sturmhond asked. 

‘’Alina!’’ You and Mal shouted in unison and you saw her collapse on the floor. ‘’Alina!’’ You shouted as you and Mal rushed over to her. ‘’Kovu, get us out!’’ Sturmhond yelled as the Fold grew darker. ‘’Alina, wake up,’’ You stressed out when you heard the Volcras growl. 

‘’You’re alright,’’ You assured her as you heard the others fighting against the Volcras. Alina looked at you with a confused expression as you helped her up from the floor. You heard a Volcra growl and you turned around to see the Volcra approaching you. Alina stood up and used her powers to kill it. 

‘’Kovu, begin to descent,’’ Sturmhond demanded as the ship was out of the Fold. ‘’Brace yourselves for landing,’’ He exclaimed and you widened your eyes. You and Alina gripped tightly at the edge of the ship as Mal tried to protect the both of you before the ship landed on the ground. 

‘’Is everyone okay?’’ You heard him ask as the rest of the crew stood up. 

‘’The Fold’s too strong,’’ Alina replied and looked at you with concern. ‘’I thought with two amplifiers, but…’’ She trailed off her sentence. ‘’It wasn’t enough,’’ She added with disappointment. Suddenly, you heard a whistle blow and you saw the Ravkan Army approach. ‘’Well, looks like we’re about to enjoy a traditional Ravkan welcome,’’ Tolya commented. 

You frowned as Mal helped you step over the ship and onto the ground. ‘’You’ve crossed illegally onto Ravkan soil, identify yourselves,’’ The three of you shared a concerned look. ‘’I’ll handle this,’’ Sturmhond replied and you looked at him in confusion. 

‘’What are you doing?’’ You whispered to him as Alina tried to shield herself. ‘’Identify yourselves or get shot,’’ 

‘’Have I really changed much, Raevsky?’’ Sturmhond asked and approached him. You looked at Sturmhond and frowned. It appears that Sturmhond knew the man in front of you. 

‘’I know it’s been several years, but people swear I remain boyishly handsome,’’ Sturmhond replied before turning to you with a smirk before turning to him. You wrinkled your face in confusion as he kept taking the outer clothes off. ‘’It can’t be,’’ He replied and your face changed. 

‘’You’ve got to be kidding me,’’ You replied when you realized that Sturmhond was Nikolai Lantsov. You watched as he took off his coat and handed it over to Tolya before approaching me. ‘’Yes, it is,’’ Nikolai replied with  grin. You couldn’t believe your eyes when you realized that Sturmhond was prince Nikolai all along. You scoffed and clenched your fist when you realized that he lied about his identity from the moment you stepped on his ship. 

That's why you couldn't shake your feelings that something was off about Sturmhond from the moment you met him. During the night talk at the ship, and how he talked about his family.

And not the mention, the endless flirting with you made your blood boil. ‘’Moi tsarevich,’’ 

‘’My prince,’’ He spoke and bent his knee. You, Mal, and Alina exchanged a disbelieving look. ‘’We’d all but given up hope,’’ He spoke as Nikolai chuckled before he shook his hand to the man and helped him up. ‘’I present, Nikolai Lantsov major of the 22nd Regiment, soldier of the King’s army, Grand Duke of Udova, and second Son to his most royal majesty, king Pytor the third, Ruler of the Double Eagle Throne,’’

‘’You’ve got to be joking,’’ Mal commented. ‘’Saints,’’ Alina replied and you shook your head. ‘’And in your words, as I recall the greenest and most useless grunt you ever had the misfortune of commanding,’’ Nikolai commented. 

‘’At your service, I wanted to return sooner, but not without them,’’ He responded and gestured to you, Mal, and Alina. ‘’May I represent my esteemed traveling companion, former cartographer and sometimes Saint, Alina Starkov,’’ Nikolai introduced. ‘’And her sister in the second command and a great fighter, Y/N Starkov,’’ 

‘’Sol Koroleva, we heard you were dead,’’

You didn’t think much since you felt that you were going towards him with your fist clenched as you glared at him. ‘’You lying bastard!’’ You shouted and punched Nikolai in the face.

-

please comment what you'd think of this chapter! remember reblogging always helps.

[dragonform]

Dragons Rising Season 2 Pt1 overall thoughts!

WARNING: MAJOR SPOILERS DO NOT CLICK UNLESS YOU'VE WATCHED THE WHOLE THING

In no particular order:

Wow, this season was the heaviest one yet. I'd been a bit disappointed by how Season 1 seemed a bit light on the life lessons that I found so compelling in Ninjago. Well, DR2 delivered in spades, from the theme of secrets, to the issues of mental health. Never should've doubted Ninjago writers!

WHY LEAVE SO MANY UNRESOLVED THREADS THOUGH. Not even clues for fans to speculate on?!?

Like what happened in Cole's journey to follow Master Wu?

What really is that glowing orb sprite thingy? Because it showed up in the Monastary of Spinjitzu to close the portal gate, right? How was it doing that before they'd even traveled to Mysterium? Have I misunderstood something? (Granted, I had to do chores here and there so I really might've missed something... need a rewatch)

Where did Cinder even come from? How did Ras recruit him? What's his story?

What really is Arin's object spinjitzu power?

Of course I'm sure all of this will be resolved/revealed eventually, but it seems a lot to conclude in the next 10 episodes. Oh wait, they've said they have enough material for a few more seasons right? Well, sure looks like enough for at least a third season.

I think the ones who are gonna have a falling out are Arin and Sora. It's gonna be revealed, maybe at some critical point, that he didn't actually do object spinjitzu to get them the win, and it's gonna destroy his self confidence as well as his trust in Sora.

They're gonna get all of the Forbidden Five out eventually, possibly by shoving more ninja through the gate. Which is fine, because the ninja will just meet up and come back through the Power of Friendship!

SO CURIOUS to find out what the elemental powers of the Forbidden Five are.

I was a little disappointed by the lack of Euphrasia though. I thought for sure she'd have a more major role this season, but she still remained a side character for most of it. Oh well, patience!

BONZLE. I did NOT expect her story to go this way. Still trying to wrap my brain around a sentient spell, but hey. It's Ninjago.

Love her so much though she's so precious.

Speaking of precious, ZANE. That's it. That's the whole thought.

No, I AM going to expand on that. Look at how he had such a vast knowledge of the Administration's rules and regulations. Look at how he stalled them with it. Look at the pride he had in helping them raise their efficiency by NINE PERCENT. IT COULD'VE BEEN TEN YOU GUYS. IF HE HADN'T GOTTEN RESCUED.

MR FROHICKY. I need that Frohicky plushie like YESTERDAY.

Also PUPPY COLE PLUSH WHEN

COLE. He's still protecting and trying to comfort everyone. What an amazing fight he put on at the monastary, almost a one-man army against the Adminstration's mechs, with Gandalaria's support. I bet his failure to protect Zane would have devastated him if Zane had been deactivated permanently. Fortunately Gandalaria knows more about nindroids than she should...

GANDALARIA! Endlessly positive and chirpy and disorganised. Like a more established Fungus. Wish I could be her. Loved seeing her dynamic with Cole being her straight man (hush, yes I know.)

So happy to see Kai get his focus for a change. Love Lloyd but he gets the focus like... every season. Kai needs the love. He's really cool this season.

Nya gets the least focus :( I miss her

WHY are all the ninjas' powers only as powerful as the plot calls for it :/ Zane's frozen way more than just a runaway mech back in the day!

I still think Ras looks too cuddly to be taken seriously as an antagonist. I mean would you not hug a Ras plushie? Look at those eyes. Look at that nose.

Is Ras's master a Source Dragon or the Overlord? OR BOTH?

Love Rontu, but she is such an archetypal (?) Nurturing Mentor to Egalt's Grumpy Old Master

Egalt has dragon cancer :( he looks way cooler in the show than he looked in the promotional materials and the set

I haven't talked about Jay, have I? JAY. Oh how my heart skipped a beat when he showed up pointing that gun/taser at Bonzle. I literally said out loud "OH NO OH NO OH NO".

I think that was the single most terrifying part of the whole season for me. I don't even know why it was so visceral. I think I was worried that his entire peronality had changed, though I don't know why I thought that, since in Pt1 he was literally playing video games instead of working.

So I was actually relieved to hear that he felt he didn't really belong in the Administration. Pre-merge Jay probably couldn't even fill out a single form properly. He probably had Nya or Zane or Cole do all the paperwork for him.

He clearly wasn't suprised that he had control over lightning. Why did nobody know about it? He's the kinda guy who'd use his powers for entertainment if he didn't have a good reason to hide them.

He didn't recognise his own ninja outfit D:

Lastly, the Finders - I'm also a little troubled by how Cole seems to put them ahead of his ninja family, but then again. He knows the ninja are all very capable warriors who can take care of themselves. On the other hand, for who knows how long, he had felt responsible for protecting his little newfound family. It makes sense that he would continue priotising them even after finding his old family.

In conclusion, Cole is such a dad :D

And to wrap it up, NEED PT 2 NOW 6 MONTHS IS TOO LONG TO WAIT NETFLIX /shakes fist

Sorry that was so long and rambling! Fun though.

I had wanted to do a blow by blow reaction post of every episode, but I can't seem to get clear photos from my device without major reflection issues. Still trying though!

[revlischarm]

Wouldn’t call this one of my most exciting edits for the Noodle Shop Ghost AU, but it’s what I was able to finish recently so it’s what y’all are getting since I’m impatient to share more details and have to divulge them NOW

More LMK Morro info under the cut

• Red Son’s nicknames for Morro include “Accursed witch” and “dead meat” (the witch one is due to Morro having spooky vibes and carrying around a broom)

-Deadass? The first time Red called Morro a witch, Morro did a full 180° and said “did you just call me a bitch?” (Credit to @breathlessmorro for this idea!)

•Morro’s still got some anger issues they’re working out

•Princess Iron Fan shows up with her wind and he’s like “bro I am unimpressed I could do that when I was like, ten”

-The teleporting à la wind gets his attention, tho, since he obviously can’t do that and is immediately jealous

•Morro was a big fan of JTTW Monkey King after reading the story, but then he meets Wukong irl and is just like “Oh. This is it?? That’s…disappointing.”

Wukong: “I haven’t even interacted with you yet and you already dislike me, what the hell.”

-Like Morro and Wukong definitely have some similar interests and hobbies, such as martial arts, protective over MK, a distain for rules…but Morro is still twitchy around him.

-Morro owns a JTTW shirt because he still thinks that the story slaps tho

•Morro thinks the Mayor has cool vibes upon first meeting

-Like, Morro respects how unhinged and creepy he is

•Morro does have a broom for a weapon I’ve decided! It’s comical and it works. He gets a new weapon during Season 3, tho!

-He absolutely 100% knows how to use a broom as a staff because he’s used a staff before. In Season 5 when he possessed Lloyd and was trying to steal Wu’s staff, in the tea shop fight he was kicking ass with it. He’s very proficient with a staff and you can fight me on that.

•Morro forgets that he’s mortal again and ends up walking into a lot of solid objects

•Morro strives for success and likes to be in the spotlight still honestly, he can’t help it.

-The man absolutely despises failing in any way; he doesn’t want to be seen as a disappointment.

-At least he’s ambitious!

•Morro’s working on his inability to let things go, and it’s going. Okay. Ish.

-He struggles so, so much with letting go of a grudge, he never forgets nor forgives but he’s trying to

-It’s part of his goal towards being a better person/not being evil lmao

-“I probably shouldn’t hold onto so much hate for what happened before, huh…well maybe I’ll hold onto a few things.”

•MK sometimes does morning exercises with Morro (stretches and stuff), so for the episode “Duplicination” he makes another clone to do said activities with Morro

-How would that go wrong? Contortionist clone is how. Motherfucker stretches himself into a creepy pretzel

-He crawls up a wall like a spider and gives MK nightmares

-“NOOOO!! MY WORST FEAR IS MANIFESTING!”

-He’s super flexible and very hard to catch; good at dodging!

•Morro definitely sees a lot of Lloyd in MK, but it’s not like he can go back to Ninjago rn (he doesn’t know how), and even then! Lloyd and he are on horrible terms. So Morro is inadvertently projecting onto MK to some extent the apology and like…just feeling guilty and almost responsible in a way

-They’re not doing it intentionally, they really aren’t

-MK just gives them Lloyd vibes that make Morro feel guilty

-Took one look at MK and went: “Is anyone gonna big brother that guy?” And didn’t wait for an answer (credit: @breathlessmonkie )

•Morro being referred to ironically as the “family pet” by Tang and the gang is a reoccurring gag in Season 1. It’s for comedy purposes.

-Pigsy: “This is my husband, Tang, our son, MK, and the family pet, Morro.”

MK: “He’s a rescue!”

-Morro just goes with it

•Morro has residual traits from being a former ghost and you can fight me on that

-For example, his teeth are just slightly more sharp than the average person’s. It’s barely even noticeable but it’s there.

-Morro’s eyes have eyeshine (tapetum lucidum?), basically if it’s dim lighting and you direct some light at him, his eyes seem to glow in the dark. That thing that some animals have, you know? Deer.

-On that note, Morro can see in the dark slightly better than the average person.

-There’s more stuff but I’ll go over it later

•Morro loves flying kites!!! He adores those super complex ones and is saving up money to buy one

•MK called Morro “responsible” one time/refers to him as his “responsible friend”, and Morro ends up having a whole new episode dedicated to him having a crisis over that

-Think a midlife crisis except more aggressive and despairing. Morro’s trying to find an outlet for aggression! He’s adamant he maintain his bad boy persona, and MK’s comment shook him

-Like, his whole thing was defying destiny, making his own path in life, beating the odds and being stubborn…and yet here MK is, saying that’s he’s responsible. It goes against what he thinks of himself and just sets him off. Man literally skips work (which he never does) and gets everyone worried about him.

-He’s just acting out to try and prove that he’s not some domesticated ex-villain, but it’s also about him having difficulty adjusting to this new norm

-Before, Morro was doomed to a cursed eternity for the longest time. He was pent up and bitter and focused on a whole lot of negative stuff, and now he’s waking up and going to work and living life like none of that happened. It’s jarring, and he’s realizing that it’s so far from how he once was.

-He’s thinking, “That angry person I used to be was me, that’s who I was. What changed?” When really he’d just been so bitter and upset for so, so long that that’s all he can think of himself as being—that’s who he was, that’s who Morro was. It’s just he wasn’t actively thinking about it or anything until MK prompted it. He’s changed, and he knows that, but now he’s like…he’s moreso conscious of it, like actually realizing it’s not just that he gave up being so spiteful and tried to redeem himself—he’s forgotten what he was like before he was a vengeful spirit.

-That was what defined them for so long. And now who are they?

-The other part of it is that he doesn’t want to feel like he’s conforming, doesn’t want to be responsible, that it feels like he’s just following along to fate’s rules. And he abhors that.

-Uhhhhhh anyways tl:dr Morro has an episode all his own about self-discovery and also demolishes some stuff along the way.

-OH ONE MORE THING Morro divulges some more about his past to MK and Mei in this episode and also I don’t have a title for the episode yet so suggestions/help with that is greatly appreciated

•Back to our regularly scheduled program

•Morro. Does not trust Wukong very much.

-Like, Morro already has past trauma with Wu, given how Wu told Morro he could be the Green Ninja and fed him a bunch of hopeful nonsense and all that. Morro knows that MK’s been told he has some big destiny and power and whatever by this mentor-figure.

-Also. The Golden Weapons’ parallels with Monkey King’s staff?? Fun stuff. The staff “chose” MK and all that jazz.

-Morro doesn’t trust him from the start, although it’s less of Morro being perceptive enough to pick up on Wukong’s crap and instead that his paranoia ended up being right

-Morro would definitely go “At this point I can’t tell if you or Wu are worse, and that’s fucking saying something.”

-There’s one instance in which Morro straight up punches Wukong square in the face. I’m keeping that scene to myself for now because I gotta have some secrets, you know? Heheh

•Mei’s green power startles Morro every now and then

-Like there’s a flash of glowing green in their peripheral and they jolt. Literally they don’t even do it on purpose, it’s a knee jerk response to glowing green powers.

•Morro drinks soy sauce. He’ll get a little dish and sip from it. Yes, I based this off of myself.

•Macaque is Morro’s dad now btw I should probably mention that /hj

•During the episode “Macaque”, Morro shows up when MK does and actually manages to like. Demonstrate a decently strong attack at Macaque’s shadow kaiju thing. Wind does wonders against smoke monsters (I think Mac called it that??)

-Anyways Macaque quickly takes an interest in Morro! Morro tags along with MK for the training stuff because they’re not letting the kid get taken to some secondary location

-…unless they goes too, lmao

-Plus Macaque doesn’t actually mind him coming along, Morro’s wind powers peaked his interest

•Oh also Morro @ Macaque: “You know back where I’m from, we have an elemental Master of Shadow—I bet they could kick your ass, lol”

Macaque:

Macaque: “a fucking what”

•Also Morro? Actually really vibes with Macaque’s teachings?? Like he definitely reminds MK to take breaks and take it easy every once in a while, but for the most part Morro is like “fuck yeah? This guy is straightforward and makes a good point. Although strategy is important to take into account first and foremost it also helps to actually have a sense of direction here”

-So Morro thinks that Macaque’s got superior skills as a teacher to MK here

-Up until the whole betrayal thing haha

•Macaque keeps a close eye on Morro throughout the episodes following all of this actually!

-Like Macaque checks in on him throughout Season 2 and so they cross paths again fairly quickly

-Morro is very apprehensive at first but begrudgingly understands that it isn’t anything personal against MK, what Mac did—Morro’s literally been in that kind of situation before, sort of. “Nothing personal, just doing this to achieve my goals, you just happen to be involved in this and got hurt.”

-Like Morro gets it. You do evil and fucked up shit because it’s fun at the time and you wanna get back at someone who hurt you

•He’s still very protective of MK but he genuinely understands where Mac is coming from when he pulled that stunt

•They both absolutely open up to each other about their respective deaths eventually, though it takes time

•Macaque shows Morro some cool fighting stuff! They spar together a lot

-Morro finds himself looking forward to those sessions (he can get an actual challenge lmao) and so does Macaque! Mac hasn’t had a sparring buddy in. Well. You know ;)

•Morro 100% picks up on the ex vibes Macaque and Wukong have

•But anyways Morro and Macaque have a great time training and sparring together! Neither of them are afraid to get aggressive, but not because they’re angry—it’s because they know the other one can take it!

•They just overall bond offscreen (and maybe onscreen too? Do I need to make another new episode dedicated to this??) during Season 2/end of Season 1

•Macaque and Morro have a fun dynamic that I’ll expound more upon in Season 3 stuff, but I’m saving anything s3 for a different post because spoilers

•I will divulge that LBD has some difficulty handling Morro for reasons that are ghost-related and that Morro wants to kick her ass

-Well, related to the fact that Morro used to be a ghost and I have a very specific headcanon about his new physical body in that regard

•Anyways

•The Macaque thing is pure self-indulgence on my end because he’s one of my favorite characters

•If it feels forced in, it’s because it probably is, but serotonin go brrrrr in my head and that overrules all logic

•I want to draw what Morro’s intro screen would look like for the opening but I don’t have the skill (can’t draw complex backgrounds well at ALL) rip

-Concept for seasons 1 + 2 would have him standing in the front with a clear shot like the other characters do, arms are crossed or he’s leaning on his broom, and in the background we see a cool dynamic shot of him flying one of those neat Chinese kites. Color scheme is mostly greens and grays? I’m not sure.

-My idea for the Season 3 intro I’m reserving for now

•Morro doesn’t know how to drive I should mention. Man needs to learn to, lol

•Mei and MK teach him lingo and Morro honestly picks it up shockingly fast.

-He can understand some things about it? But others he’s at a total loss for.

-For example Morro doesn’t understand surreal memes or deep-fried stuff, he just doesn’t get what’s funny about them

•Morro knows a lot of occult/spiritual info!! He’s your man if you’ve got some form of spooky trouble ailing you

-So for spooky or supernatural happenings, Morro can give some decent advice.

•Don’t get him wet, he despises water.

•Also he’s still absolutely unhinged. Redemption doesn’t mean he lost any of his violent tendencies, so that’s a lot of manic fun.

-The vibe of what he’ll be saying is all good stuff, but the way he says it sounds like he’s delivering a villain speech

-Oh and don’t get me started on his dramatics either because this man is the smuggest and most theatric bastard ever and I love him for it

-A sore loser and a sore winner.

-So a ton of similarities to Red Son’s behavior, just…toned down a bit more and he’s not trying to be a villain. That’s just how he is. He slips back into villain mode sometimes because he was a villain, and he’s also just kinda like that.

-Morro’s villain tendencies/vibes are always more…creepy? Dark? Than Red Son’s are. Macabre, I’d say. He could actually scare you if he wanted to? It’s hard to describe.

-To sum it up: trying to do good things, but his attitude about it is so diabolical and dramatic. Aaaaannnnd his methods aren’t entirely moral all the time, either. He’s trying, okay??

•Although on that note, Morro is still a master at manipulation when it comes to it. He’s very adept at twisting his words around and can occasionally fall back on old habits without meaning to

-Fucking watch out for him when he’s intentionally being manipulative though, you don’t wanna mess with that

•Morro 100% attends Mac’s shadow plays, they really enjoy them and are the most enthusiastic person in the stands

-Macaque: The hero and the warrior were like the sun and the moon—

Morro: FUCK YEAH LET’S GOOOOOO

Macaque, confused and embarrassed: Uh, anyways.

•Morro would either be very good or very bad at fighting Red Son; wind can either fuel fire or snuff it out. Depends on the oxygen and stuff.

•Anything involving flying/air/heights? Morro is adept at that. Man would kill for one of Wukong’s clouds

•Trans he/they Morro rights

•This post is long enough so I’ll end it here