#the whole earlier part of the dream was very bizarre though… | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bontenten · 3 years

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Bewitch

Pairings: Osamu x F!Reader x Atsumu; Miyacest WC: 7.4k Genre/Warnings: smut, fairytale retelling (Hansel and Gretel), magic au, dubcon/noncon, incest (miyacest), fear, knife, monster, bondage, snuff, vore, gore/blood, object insertion, body horror, a bit of size, tummy bulge, oral (m.receiving), anal (m. receiving), masturbation (f. & m.), voyeurism, arson...

Summary: The unexpected guests at your cottage have a mysterious past and hidden agenda. Will they allow you to accompany them on their journey?

Travelers are advised not to spend the night in the Dark Woods. It's said that beyond the last hiking trail, past a brook, lives an Evil Witch. That witch is vile and merciless; often, fools lost in the woods are never seen again. It's said that she must be over 800 years old, feeding off of the essences of children and young men unfortunate enough to cross her paths. It’s said that she even eats fellow witches. No one really knows. After all, no one who has seen her has lived to tell the tale.

It's been a few months since your teacher has left you to fend for yourself here in the woods—your first time alone during this apprenticeship. She said she had to attend a big conference with a whole bunch of other grand witches. You asked if you could tag along, but she insisted that you stay and watch the cottage. The lack of company is about to drive you insane so you often resort to conversing with yourself or the forest itself.

The soft moss muffles the sound of your footsteps as you begin the trek back home, a faint off-trail path away from the main road that no one else would usually notice. On any other day, you would just go home without a fuss, but loneliness makes people do some bizarre and odd things. For instance, the desperate longing for companionship leads to you dropping a not-so-hidden trail of fancy pebbles to inadvertently lead someone to your abode.

For most travelers, going off-trail is akin to a death sentence as any wrong turn might lure them into the forest's deadly maze. Not for you though, you know this place very well: every fallen tree, overturned log, the wanted signs nailed to the trunk...

Wait. A wanted sign?

You can make out from your distance that there are two heads on it, but the details are fuzzy, and the bounty looks smudged. Before you can get a closer look, you hear the birds caw in the trees, signaling the beginning of sunset. You pull your attention away from the poster and continue on to your way home.

The cottage is extremely cozy and warm. The windows are bejeweled and the door is solid wood. You live here comfortably with your teacher, after all, learning about the principles of magic and what it means to be a witch. It's much more than curses and spells, as your teacher would tell you, witches have character and a moral compass. Although there are certainly those who decide to experiment with the darker arts.

While you get a fire going in the huge furnace and boil some water on the stovetop, you hear two voices squabbling outside followed by three raps on the door. You're stunned by the noise, turning to face the shut door wondering if you were just dreaming about the noise. Is it? Visitors? No, you must have heard wrong.

"'Samu, I bet it's a farce, let's not." The voice sounds both tired and weary, almost out of breath.

"Let me just try again, I can smell a working kitchen in there, someone is definitely there," another voice insists. Three more knocking sounds. "Excuse me! Is the owner of the house available? My brother and I followed a path of colored stone and came upon your establishment...could you spare us some water? A bite of food?"

Two men, though they sound friendly. You're frozen in the kitchen, staring at the door that remains between you and the strangers.

"Is there someone home?" The second voice tries again. "Please, my brother is not feeling very well."

Your initial wariness for the stranger melts when you hear about the brother, which does not sound like a lie based on the raspy voice you first hear. A witch's character is fundamentally kind to all sentient beings, especially those in need. But you're still nervous, so you end up grabbing a metal ladle before carefully going to open the door. When you crack the door open, you see a pair of twins. Beautiful men, one blonde and one grey-haired. The former, with a quirky grin, although his eyes certainly look lackluster. But the other seems like he's at the right place, eyes peering past you into your home, fixated on your kitchen.

"I'm Osamu. And this," he gestures to his twin, "is my brother Atsumu. We're a bit lost, you see."

You nod your head in a casual greeting and introduce yourself as the resident apprentice at this cottage. As a good host should, you open the door to the weary guests preparing to welcome them in.

"Are we welcomed in?" Osamu asks, not moving from his spot. Atsumu isn’t budging either, arms crossed and only looking at you from the corner of his eye, waiting for your answer.

Without giving much thought you nod and open the door wider. "Both of you are most welcomed in."

"Then we thank you for your hospitality," Osamu says, taking a step inside, dragging his twin with him.

Words, especially spoken words carry power and hold intent. And a witch's words, no matter how careless they slip out, contain magic. Welcome, as you say. So welcome, they are.

You shut the door behind them and prepare to go give your first-ever guests some water. When you turn around, you notice Osamu already in the kitchen, the sleeves of his tunic rolled up past his elbows.

"Your food is about to burn. Heat's too high," he tells you, expertly taking control of the sizzling pots and pans. "I got it, don't worry."

Feeling flustered at the faint smell of scorching food, you hurry over to see if you can be of any assistance. "Let me help out."

"No, it's quite alright."

How can a host let her guests do all the work like that? And the first company in a while too! What an utter failure.

"How—" you try to argue back, but you're cut off by Atsumu tugging on your wrist, dragging you over to the sofa in the corner.

"Don't worry about him, he loves to cook." Atsumu brushes out the wisps of his bangs with a huff. "And actually quite good at it. Anything that goes through his hands...well, in short, all become part of his design."

Like his twin, Atsumu's frame is broad and huge, but there is a quality of emptiness of sorts. Osamu's shoulders are wide but there's more substance to it, whereas Atsumu's form seems contained. You can't help but use your learnings to see if you can figure out just what's off about Atsumu. He's slowly walking around the living room and studying the portraits hanging on the wall. He picks up a frame that is set above the fireplace and comments, "None of these are you. How come?"

"Oh, they're my teacher. I'm just a witch-in-training at the moment, so—"

"A witch?" Atsumu questions, clenching the frame tightly. His hands begin to shake, the glass under his thumb beginning to crack.

You did not expect Atsumu to display such a visceral reaction upon the mention of witches. After all, witches normally stayed far away from ordinary human society and when they do mix, it's often a role of healing. But the look that sparks in Atsumu's eyes, it's almost—feral.

"'Tsumu!" Osamu yells while stalking over quickly from the kitchen. He throws his arm around Atsumu's neck and drags him off into the shadows. You can't make out the muffled voices and deep growling noises that are coming from down the hall.

It's their private matter, so you go back to the kitchen. True enough, Osamu's hands are almost like magic. The bubbling pot of broth doesn't seem to be on the verge of overflowing, the onions caramelizing beautifully, filling the air with deliciousness.

Moments later, the twins come back. You notice that Osamu clothes are wrinkled from tugging Atsumu around, but at the very least, Atsumu is looking much better than before.

The three of you set the table for dinner. Osamu brings out the plates as though he knows the kitchen inside and out already. Atsumu comes emerging from the cellar with two bottles of fine wine that you didn't even know your teacher had stowed away. Surely, she wouldn't mind? With Osamu and Atsumu sitting to the left and right of you at the round table, it almost feels like a more familiar, cozier gathering between friends than a situation of a host and her guests.

They tell you that they have been traveling across the lands for a long time now, looking for a cure for Atsumu's illness. It reminds you of the hollow, repressed form you saw earlier and your curiosity gets the better of you. They don't tell you the nature of the malady, but what they do share is that they are looking for a witch to undo the curse on Atsumu, a result of dark witchcraft.

"I am a witch!" you exclaim, feeling your call to action at the moment. "Please, is there truly nothing for me to help to undo the spell?"

Osamu leans in close to you, and wipes a bit of sauce staining the corner of your lips with the pad of his thumb. He smiles. "We're looking for a very high-level witch. One day, maybe you'll get to the level of magic needed."

"You're too weak," Atsumu bluntly points out. You're sure Osamu means to say the same thing, but Atsumu's words are really sharp.

"I know," you sigh. "My teacher tells me that all the time. So, I'm really trying. I'm sure there's at least something I can do."

"I definitely think that. Don't be so hard on yourself," Osamu comforts. "Have you been living alone here for a long time?"

You feel two pairs of eyes glued onto you waiting for your answer. You smile reflexively before your eyes trail to the empty plate and carefully choose your words. "Yea. Just me and my teacher. She's a grand witch...maybe if you wait here for a few days, you can meet her when she comes back from her conference."

"We—"

"We'll be gone tomorrow!" Atsumu snaps, staring into Osamu's eyes.

Osamu doesn't pay any mind to Atsumu, and puts an extra piece of dessert onto your plate.

"We have a long way to go. Atsumu's condition isn't getting better, so we can't stop in one place for long."

It makes you a little sad, because you were hoping to spend some more time with the twins, both of whom you have grown fond of. Osamu and his gentleness. And even Atsumu, despite his quick remarks and outbursts, adds a particular spice to your mundane life.

"Maybe we'll bring you with us," Osamu comments lightly, "'Tsumu, wouldn't that be nice?"

"She'll just be dead weight," Atsumu retorts. You wonder if he absolutely hates you. Is that why he is always so against you being next to Osamu?

Osamu puts an arm around you and blows on the shell of your ear. It tickles and you can feel his body enveloping you. "But she's so sweet," he tells Atsumu and whispers into your ear, "Aren't you?"

You find your wandering gaze looking into his half-lidded grey eyes. His face is right next to you, lips just hovering barely five centimeters away. The overwhelming presence of him is undeniably alluring. Your breaths become shallow as your heart rate speeds up with desire.

"I'm exhausted! 'Samu you too. We're going to bed!" Atsumu drops the silverware onto his plate and stands up. He comes around the table, muttering curses under his breath. Atsumu grabs Osamu by the wrist and drags him off towards the guest bedroom you have shown them before.

You didn't quite catch Atsumu's angry mutters, but you hear "slut" and "harlot" thrown around a few times. Were they directed at you? No, you're not like that, you tell yourself. Atsumu must have been thinking that you are trying to seduce his twin. After you clear out the table, you decide to clear up any misunderstanding.

You tip-toe down the hall to the guest bedroom prepared to knock when you hear muffled sounds coming from inside. You carefully press your ears to the crevice of the door and clamp a hand around your mouth upon hearing the stream of moans.

"'Samu, 'Samu please, ah—"

That's Atsumu? Your eyes are wide and still trying to process the shock of what you're hearing. You tell yourself you shouldn't be here. You should not be listening to whatever is happening behind the closed door, but you can't help it. Hearing Atsumu's moans makes you want to squirm.

You slightly jump when you hear a slap, followed with a pleasured groan. The sound is so clean it feels as though the phantom hands are touching your own heated skin.

Osamu's chuckle nearly makes your knees weak.

"Don't get cocky, if it were any other day ngh—, any other day, I would be the one pushing you into the mattress."

Slap. "Shut up, cute 'Tsumu. I like you being so needy for me like this. What do you want from me? Tell me."

"Fuck me, 'Samu."

"With pleasure."

The wood creaks loudly and you tell yourself, you really need to get out as you back away and try to quickly walk down the hall back to your bedroom.

You throw the door open and lock the door behind you with a click. With your eyes closed, you try to steady your breath and the building heat in your core. It's quiet. There's no noise coming from their room. But they are twins!

You remind yourself that a witch is all-accepting and kind. There are so many circumstances beyond your understanding, judgement is not a part of your nature. And if what they are performing is wrong, what should you say about yourself? You peel off your clothes and step out of the soaked panty that is proof of your lust.

Pillows are fluffed and covers are pulled over your body. You try to sleep, but each time you are about to drift, Atsumu's cries of pleasure come back into your head. Your hand trails down your navel until the fingertips trace over your clit. Gathering some slick from your cunt, you drag it across the sensitive bud.

You shudder from the touch as images, constructed in your fantasy, cloud your mind. You imagine Atsumu's hands spreading your legs apart and Osamu's teasing words next to your ear. He would tell you to open wide and shove his cock down your throat. You suck on three of your fingers until lips wrap over the knuckles, your saliva pooling from hunger. And slip your fingers into your cunt easily, curling them against the plush walls.

"F-fuck me," you moan into your pillow.

With pleasure.

You quiver, clit pulsating, and your pussy juice dripping into your palm. The wash from the high soon takes you into sleep. All throughout the night, you squirm and feel the phantom sensation of being watched. Not just observed, but studied, by two pairs of glinting hungry eyes. You can almost imagine them on either side of the bed, trapping you into the mattress no matter which way you turn.

A few times the weird feelings almost pull you awake, but you don't dare crack an eye open to confirm your suspicions until the morning light begins to filter through the windows, rousing you from sleep. The air is filled with fragrant herbs and the sizzle of delicious brunch from someone awake before you.

No doubt, it's Osamu, because who else can it be? Atsumu? Please. The twins....

You climb out of bed and stretch your neck on the way to the washroom. Your bedroom door is open, but it's too early to notice that detail.

"Morning!" Osamu greets you from the kitchen. You find a fresh mug of coffee shoved into your hands from him.

You mumble thanks and sip at the brew while watching Osamu fry the eggs. Osamu looks to be deep in thought, probably thinking about something pleasant from the faint smile ghosting on his face. You feel a pang of guilt from both listening to their private lives, and also the strange feelings that maybe they heard your private life too—it's all your paranoia talking.

"You're so talented," you blurt out, fisting the fabric of your long skirt.

"Thanks, but better not let 'Tsumu hear ya, he gets jealous super easily."

Even if Atsumu hears, it's fine. You really mean both of them. Both of the twins both seem super talented as a duo; like they've been out there and seen the world. Meanwhile, you're still stuck here, without company. Would it be possible...if they simply stayed?

Osamu senses the words that are stuck in your mouth and answers them for you. "We're gonna be leaving right after breakfast. There's still lots of ground to cover today," he explains, plating the pancake before preparing to ladle a spoonful of batter for the next one.

"Do you have to leave?" you ask, almost pleading.

"It's cozy here and comfortable. We enjoy your company too, but we have to go. Your teacher would hate us, immensely, and on top of that...let's just say, we're always on the run."

"You say it like you two are fugitives or something."

Osamu chuckles and leans closer to you, hot breath flaming your cheeks, or maybe it's just the heat from the stove. A teasing grin pulls his cheeks up slightly as your eyes flicker over to see his lips spell out, "Maybe. Scared?"

Embarrassed, you take a defensive step back, squeaking and bumping into another body.

"MORNING!" Atsumu announces behind you. He's in good spirits and he has his hands on your waist to steady you; he sniffs your hair and smiles before letting you go. "I smell something delicious."

"Breakfast is ready," Osamu says, plating the pancakes. "Hungry 'Tsumu?"

"Tch." Atsumu shoves past you and knees Osamu, mood doing a complete 180. You're almost left like a fly on the wall as you watch the scene unfold.

Osamu is quick to catch his balance while keeping watch on the stove. "Not awake yet?" Osamu grins and passes him a plate of pancakes, essentially telling him to shut up and eat. "Who shoved a stick up your ass? Go eat."

"Fuck you."

"Hm."

Atsumu grumbles but digs into his food anyway. Osamu catches your amused expression in the corner and explains, "It's always like that between us. It's our...way of showing how much we care."

"I know." It's sort of endearing, the banter between the two brothers. Even if the world turns against them, no matter what the odds are, at least Miya Osamu will have Miya Atsumu, and Atsumu will have Osamu. Perhaps it's exactly that sort of bond the two share that you're envious of. Body and soul. Because if only you could have just an ounce of that sort of familiarity with another. But you're just an outsider without an invitation to join in.

While you're mulling over your thoughts, you don't catch the darkening gazes being exchanged between the twins. At some point, Atsmu's plate is already emptied and the wooden table is cleared while you're still lost in your mind. Osamu is fiddling with the metal tea strainer, bobbing it up and down to brew a mug of tea. He threads a cotton string in and out like it's a plaything.

"Do you really want to be with us?" Osamu asks nonchalantly. "'Tsumu and I were talking about it. If you do, maybe we can work something out."

"I just..." You feel like this is your final chance to tell them that you don't want them to go. None of the going around circle hinting that you have been doing. This is the moment to just tell it to them. If you miss this chance, you feel like you won't have another. And even though a pit pulls at your inwards telling you to reconsider, you're brave. "I just want to be together with you all, and help you cure Atsumu. My teacher is so talented, I'm sure she'll have a remedy."

They grin.

Osamu is a great cook, he can do that. Atsumu sometimes seems lazy, but he's super strong and quick to help too. And you can pick up all sorts of other tasks in the area! Maybe because they're so helpful, your teacher will even let them stay once Atsumu is cured. Maybe they can learn magic too! You have heard of warlocks who are powerful with spells too. And you can already imagine, the three of you, like a team, eventually going out into the world to fight demons and monsters and—

"Open wide," a sultry voice sounds next to you. Backing away automatically, you find Atsumu standing right behind you.

"W-wait," your voice shakes, stuck in your throat. "What are—"

His fingers reach for your mouth, prying it open. Before you can voice your distaste, a warm, metal ball gets shoved into your mouth, the thin chain quickly tangles into your hair. The faint traces of tea seep out of its small holes down your tongue and throat, while some spill out the corner of your mouth like trails of drool down your jawline.

Osamu smiles and wipes the liquid away with his thumb, relishing in how your widening eyes gape at him in confusion.

"Being together," he answers the question you wanted to ask, "is what you want isn't it?" He takes a spool of kitchen twine and begins to secure the tea strainer in your mouth. The thin cotton threads wrap around your head over and over again, tightening the steel against your tongue.

You shake your head and try to take another step away from the man you're beginning to become wary of, but the strong grip of Atsumu's hands on your shoulder prevents you from squirming at all. His fingers dig into your flesh, and when you turn to look at him you catch a glint in his eyes, glowering down at you.

"No, no, no, behave," he taunts you, "listen to 'Samu. He'll make you feel real good, trust me."

With the gag in your mouth, all you can let out are weak, warbling gargles from the back of your throat. Why are you doing this? You weren't like this before? Loud snorts flare out your nostrils from the fear screaming through your body.

Osamu comes back with a paring knife, examining the edge under the sunlight filtering in through the stained glass. He presses the cool blade along your cheek, dragging with the dull edge just enough so the sharp end doesn't cut your skin. You feel your knees growing weak and if not for Atsumu's hold on you, you would sink into a shuddering heap on the floor.

"You know, I think you might be the best meal yet," Osamu compliments, blade trailing down to your collarbone. The tip of the knife toys with the first button, pressing tension on the x-cross stitching. Snap. The first button pops off, dropping onto the wooden floor and rolling away to an inconspicuous corner. "I'll prep you well."

Snap. Snap. Snap. Snap. The knife flicks again and all the buttons clatter on the floor before running away for refuge.

Atsumu has cleared the table already and you find yourself hoisted up and laid onto the surface like a slab of meat on a cutting board. The cold surface presses against the back of your shoulder and ass. Osamu ties your wrist together with a hemp rope and secures the other end around the table leg. He also secures your ankles to two other anchor points.

You're utterly exposed and ashamed at your body's display, mortified at how your body is reacting when you catch sight of Atsumu, his eyes dilated, looking at your slit that you know is drenched already. The rough texture of the rope presses painfully into your skin from how tight the bindings are. You can only let out gagged whines in complaint, chest rising up and down from the loud breaths.

"Can't do, love," Osamu chides, kissing the knot at your wrist, satisfied with the results. His fingertips trail down to cup your jaw and his thumb runs across the tea strainer. You close your eyes and groan at his touch. Osamu murmurs, "I won't let anything go to waste."

Atsumu is growing impatient at the sight of his twin treating you like the finest specimen ever. You're not the first one. You won't be the last one, but he still can't stand the sight of someone looking just like himself having first tastes while he's missing out himself. He wants to shove Osamu aside, but he knows that Osamu absolutely hates it when he ravages the meal when it's not ready.

Atsumu unzips his pants and lets his hardened, leaking cock spring free. You stare at Atsumu who is fixated on his own pleasure. His hand wraps around his cock and pumps the length up and down.

Osamu turns your head to look at himself instead. "Someone there is impatient, but let's not learn from him, okay? I want to take you slow, make sure you'll be ready. I don't want you stressed, you release too much cortisol and that toughens the meat."

Anything that goes through his hands...well, in short, all become part of his design.

His hand kneads your breast and toys with your nipple, circling and tugging on the tiny, erect bud.

"Relax," he whispers into your ear. "Just like you did last night."

You try to clamp your thighs shut from reflex. Immediately the resistance from the rope ties stop your movements. Osamu squeezes your thighs and pushes them apart once more.

"Right here isn't it, after hearing me fuck 'Tsumu..." Osamu's finger runs down the sides of your labia. "You just couldn't help touching yourself too huh?"

He knows. They know. You feel your cheeks burn at the realization.

"There's nothing embarrassing about it. If anyone should be, it should be us twins, " Osamu's fingers easily slip in, your pussy already dripping with arousal. "Oh woops, I shouldn't need to comfort you. You're clearly not shy."

Osamu's fingers are thick and long, able to reach far deeper than you ever can. Your tongue is still struggling against the gag while your saliva steeps the tea leaves trapped in the ball.

"Oi," Atsumu cuts in with annoyance. "I thought you said to not play with food. What the fuck are you doing, chef?"

Osamu stops his finger in you for a moment before dragging them out. You're trembling at the sudden emptiness and desire to fill the space immediately. The lack of stimulation is irritating and you are desperate.

Osamu walks up to Atsumu, bringing his drenched fingers covered in your slick to his lips for a taste. Before he can do so, Atsumu grabs Osamu's wrist and takes in those digits, sucking on them gingerly.

Osamu smiles and runs the other hand through Atsumu's hair.

"Patience is a virtue, 'Tsumu, I was just getting her fully prepared for you. I'm giving her all to you already, you couldn't even let me have a taste of her?"

Atsumu releases Osamu's fingers with a pop. "I never said I wasn't going to share," he mutters before pulling Osamu in for a kiss, passing the taste of you along their tongues.

Your body jostles as you finally get a visual matching what you heard last night. You feel your pussy leaking with more excitement, the arousal drips all the way down to your asshole. And the more you squirm, it's as though the rope ties become tighter and tighter, rubbing your skin raw. But even that pain is incomparable to the need to quell your fire.

Atsumu pulls away and presses one last kiss on Osamu's nose. "I always love what you serve, thank you 'Samu." Your heart rate rapidly speeds up as Atsumu comes towards you. He's positioned between your legs, both hands on your thighs, marveling at the display of your body. His hands feel hot.

Atsumu grins. "You probably didn't expect me to be the one taking you, huh?" He guides his cock to your entrance, the bulging tip prodding along your puffy lips. "Did you want Osamu to be the one fucking you?"

No? You want to argue, straining your head up slightly, but only tea-laced saliva drips out from the corners of your mouth.

"'Fuck me, 'Samu. Fuck me, please.' Is that what you heard? Is that what you wanted to say too?"

Your screams are muffled whimpers.

Osamu snorts off to the side, watching Atsumu do exactly what he accused Osamu earlier of: playing with his food. Hypocrite.

Atsumu glares at Osamu before turning his attention back to you. "You'll be begging for me, Atsumu, after I'm done with you."

He lines himself at your entrance and inches himself in, groaning at how your cunt is somehow just sucking him in. You're so warm and tight inside, wrapping perfectly around every part of him. He sits in you for a moment, just enjoying being blanketed by your muscles and chuckling how you tighten around him every now and then.

You whine, urging Atsumu to move a little.

"Okay, okay. Geez, and 'Samu says I'm impatient." Atsumu slowly draws his cock out and snaps his hips forward, the base of his balls slapping against your ass. He delights at how you squeeze your eyes shut and continues rocking into you at a comfortable pace.

Osamu enjoys standing off to the side for a while. He always liked watching Atsumu savor and delight the food he prepares. Atsumu always eats with such gusto. It should have always been that way, until the witch ruined everything. The curse, an experiment with the dark arts, should have never happened. Above all else, it should never have been on Atsumu. Osamu can only wonder if the reason they are subjected to this fate is because they are twins. Until a cure is found, Atsumu, his most beloved other, will have to replenish himself in this way.

A sharp pain rips through you and tears well up in your eyes. You feel Atsumu's cock suddenly begin to pulsate and grow in size. At first, you thought it was because you're clamping down on him too hard and will yourself to relax. But the cock, the thing, is certainly unnatural now. And between your tear-stained vision, you can just barely make out... Monster.

You begin to thrash wildly, head tossing side to side, back arched as much as you can in a futile escape attempt. Atsumu's claws rest on your hips while he pounds into you furiously. His groans, now deep growls, send vibrations that you can feel within your throbbing clit. You fear that you'll actually be ripped in half by the way Atsumu is thrusting into you. The engorged cockhead hits your cervix each time and his ball sack, even heavier, bowls and knocks against you.

Osamu unfolds his arms and comes over.

"It'll only hurt if you don't relax," he tells you, reaching out to press on your clit. "Just let him have his way."

"Go fuck her somewhere else," Atsumu snarls. His voice is warped and bellowing. Your mind is getting foggy as Osamu's fingers on your clit don't stop teasing the bud while having a petty talk with Atsumu. And Atsumu, ticked off by Osamu, picks up his speed.

"There we go, now that's beautiful," Osamu comments, taking his hand away and watching you unfurl in your pleasure. Your abused cunt is puffy when Atsumu pulls out, and you feel the thick liquid start to flow out when you take breaths.

"No, don't do that," Osamu chides, taking three fingers to gather the cum spilling out and stuffing it back in. "Better keep it all in. 'Tsumu isn't done with you yet."

Not yet? You can't even voice your thoughts except weakly shaking your head and moaning into the steel gag. In the moment, your stomach rumbles loudly.

"'Samu, she's hungry," Atsumu points out, rubbing your tummy. "You feed her and I'll stuff her."

Osamu ruffles Atsumu's long hair and gives his new, erected horns a teasing squeeze. Atsumu yelps at the touch. "'Samu!"

"Okay, okay," Osamu relents and stands next to your head. You see him take the paring knife again and slide the icy blade between the cotton ties and your hot cheek. A quick slice and you feel the pressure of the gag release. Osamu removes the tea strainer from your mouth and tosses it into the sink.

"Must have been so over-brewed, I apologize for that," he says. You know he doesn't mean it at all.

"Why?" you croak out. Your jaw and cheeks are sore from being held in position for so long. There's so many things you believe you can ask why about. Why they are prepping you like a meal, fucking you like a toy...Why Atsumu is the way he is. Why Osamu is not who you think he is either. Why you.

Despite Atsumu's grotesque figure, you're sure that you fear this twin more. Osamu's thoughts are so well-hidden behind his eyes; he never gives away what he's thinking or planning. You can only accept his decisions from the receiving end.

"Because of Atsumu," Osamu answers. Everything is for 'Tsumu. "I'll feed you."

Osamu cradles your head with both hands, his fingers tangled in your hair. He prods his cock against your lips. Feeling your resistance, he grips your hair tightly, painfully pulling on your scalp, and presses the tip of his cock to force your lips open. You nearly gag at the length entering your throat and your hands ball into tight fists. Your nose is buried in the base of his cock, pressing into his balls. Each breath you take is heavy with his musky, hot scent.

It's easy to focus on Osamu's cock fucking into your throat, leaving an unamused, monstrous twin off to the side preparing to turn your attention back to him by force.

Atsumu rubs himself against you, preparing to enter you again. You're sure that he has become even bigger. When the tip pushes through, your body attempts to fight the intrusion in self-preservation. The claws at your hips dig in and Atsumu all but pulls you onto his length like a sock. You scream around Osamu's cock, throat clenching around his thick length, and nearly black out from the stretch.

You never had anything this big in you before. Atsumu lifts you up slightly, his grasp becoming large enough to encircle around your whole waist. Your ankles are still tethered and tug on you, much to Atsumu's annoyance. He easily slices through the bondages with a sharp claw. Now free of restraints, Atsumu can cradle you more easily, finally pushing the last section into you.

Crack!

You can’t cry while you're stuffed with Osamu’s cock, but tears stream endlessly from your eyes. You’re sure your pelvic floor is broken, completely forced apart in a futile attempt to accommodate Atsumu stuffing you beyond your physical capacity. Your hips give out as your two legs, bone out from their sockets, dangle grotesquely.

“Just focus on me,” Osamu wipes your tears away and continues to pump into you. But you cannot focus on the human object in your mouth when your whole lower half and inwards are broken, stretched or squashed.

"Hey look ‘Samu! It's bulging," Atsumu marvels at the imprint of his tip pushing your flesh out from the inside. “Look, my cock is saying ‘hello’.”

Atsumu excitement translates into messy thrusts, treating your body like a game. “Maybe I can even touch your dick through her!”

Your whole body is numb, the brain shuts its pain signals off completely, and hormones pour through your bloodstream in overdrive. The broken climax spasms through your body like the last bits of a faltering system.

“Better hurry...she’s...she’s fading soon,” Osamu warns between his grunts. He clasps your head and spurts his seed into you. You mindlessly swallow every drop of him, letting the contents slowly flow down your throat. You can’t process anything nor recognize any of the murky images. Who are you? Where are you?

Your memory fades in and out as your eyesight drifts between black and white. You can’t do anything about how the monster is now on all fours over your body, unrecognizable as Atsumu. You don’t feel any fear towards this grotesque figure. You don’t register how his tongue licks your neck.

Your mouth is now empty but you can’t formulate syllables.

“I’m sorry,” you hear Osamu whisper before sharp fangs pierce into your jugular, digging in deeper and tearing a chunk out. Red sprays across your body in fast spurts, drenching Atsumu and covering Osamu. The teeth at your throat gnaw at the flesh, starved, tearing through the skin, fat, and tissues like a child crunching fruit.

You can feel the droplets falling onto your face like fresh rain after a storm. You vaguely remember your teacher and her warning of strangers. She always reprimanded you and you wanted to make her proud. There will no longer be any chance of that now. You weren’t a good student, and only an utter failure.

Osamu waits for Atsumu to finish you off. Atsumu always gets messy at this point. Osamu tried to help Atsumu section his prey off by cutting and organizing the limbs and even attempted to debone the meal beforehand, but Atsumu has his preferences, and Osamu respects them. So, Osamu delegates cleaning duties to himself instead.

You’re already beyond recognition when Osamu comes back with barrels of oil. All that is left is a kitchen stained with blood and a pile of bone with chewed connective tissue left. Atsumu sometimes eats the bones too, but not always.

“‘Tsumu, are you full now?” Osamu asks, reaching out to cradle his twin. Atsumu has now transformed back to the way he is supposed to be. Osamu threads his hand through Atsumu’s blonde hair and inhales his twin’s scent.

Atsumu doesn’t respond and tugs at Osamu’s collar, trailing down his arm to bring Osamu’s hand to his own cock.

Osamu grins and kisses the top of Atsumu’s head. “Do you want to fuck me ‘Tsumu? I know you like to, after your meals.”

Atsumu whines and nips at Osamu’s jaw, pushing the twin down on the blood-stained floor.

“Okay, okay.” Osamu unzips and pulls down his pants before crawling onto all fours.

Atsumu’s hand cups Osamu’s ass and pries the cheeks open before curiously fingering at the specimen plugging Osamu’s hole. Atsumu holds onto the base and turns the object, before laughing.

“‘Samu, what is this you have in your ass,” Atsumu teases. “I like this presentation.”

This time, Osamu is the one embarrassed. “Last meal, it hurt like hell. So...I wanted to prepare a little.”

“With an egg holder?” Atsumu cackles again, fiddling with the ceramic object. “Should’ve just told me ‘Samu, I could never bear to hurt you.”

Atsumu holds onto the base and slowly pulls the object out before tossing it aside. He smiles and teases Osamu’s enlarged hole that’s opening and closing around nothing. Gathering up some saliva, he spits onto Osamu’s asshole before lining his cock at the rim and slowly pushing in.

Along with the curse comes a near insatiable lust. Atsumu knows that if he doesn’t fulfill his need to fuck or be fucked, he will snap. He doesn’t really care who he kills during a frenzy of that sort, but it’s too risky to get Osamu caught up in the collateral.

The witch that wanted to create the perfect weapon, failed. She failed because she underestimated the twins’ bonds for each other. She failed because the twins discovered that witches excrete a very special hormone in their body after climax, and it is exactly that substance that is slowly curing Atsumu. With every witch eaten and absorbed, Atsumu is healing and gaining magical powers. He is even capable of passing those essences to Osamu. One day, everything will be the way it's supposed to be.

Osamu plays with a few strands of Atsumu’s hair. Atsumu’s softened cock still buried inside of him. Atsumu has his jaw resting on Osamu’s shoulder.

“You make me feel so good,” Atsumu sighs, enjoying the quiet moments after his high.

“And what about her?” Osamu asks, gesturing to the table where your remains are still at.

“She made me feel good too. The best one yet, but don’t be jealous.”

“Come on, let’s clean up and get out of here.”

After washing their bodies and changing into clean clothes, Atsumu and Osamu are ready to say goodbye to the cottage they have overstayed their welcomes at.

"Let's go 'Samu, we're already behind." Atsumu finishes dumping the last bucket of oil along the edges of the room.

The clamor of boots stride across the creaking wood. As though with the passing of its owner, the cottage itself has lost the will to live.

"Coming," Osamu calls back, walking past the makeshift funeral pyre for you. He notices a flash on the ground and bends down to pick up a button.

"'Samu! Get the fuck out or I'll burn ya down too!"

"Yea, yea."

Osamu drops the button into his shirt pocket and joins his twin outside. Atsumu strikes a matchstick and tosses the small flame into the cottage. Fire meets oil and spreads in an instance, engulfing the cottage in an angry blend of orange and red, devouring all contents and remains within. The smell of scorched wood reaches the twins who are looking at the sight from a distance.

"She was good," Atsumu comments, looking at his twin unsure about what Osamu's grey eyes are thinking about. Atsumu realizes that he didn't specify what good exactly means. But it doesn't seem like Osamu is paying much attention. Is Osamu thinking about you? Is he unhappy? Does he regret what happened to you? Although what's done is done already, if time can go back, would Osamu choose? You or Atsumu?

Osamu slips his hand into Atsumu's, erasing the unspoken worries away. He gently leads Atsumu onto the trail, leaving the burning cottage behind.

"Stop thinking such nonsense," Osamu mutters, squeezing Atsumu's hand. No matter what happens, Atsumu will always come first. His needs, his desires. That's what it means for Osamu to love Atsumu. Even though the rest of the world may not understand the relationship the twins share, calling it depraved and disgusting, it's still selfless on their part. What sin is there to honestly love? What sin is there to try and save his loved ones?

While Osamu admits to himself that he does feel a deep attraction to you and knows that Atsumu feels the same pull as well, there's nothing that can be done about Atsumu's condition. But it's not as though you are completely gone. Your essences and core are within both twins, being absorbed as one with their bodies and soul. You'll forever be with them in that way, even if you no longer have any sentient memory of it.

Osamu fiddles the button in his pocket; there's still a physical reminder of you in that tiny form.

It must be about a twenty-minute trek from the burning site. Although the flames are already far from eyesight, the scorching smell and embers still drift over. The twins pick up their pace, eager to exit the forest before nightfall and make it to the next destination. On the way, they pass by the tree trunk with a wanted poster.

"They never get my best angles!" Atsumu complains, ripping a wanted poster that is nailed to the tree trunk.

"It's not like you have a good angle, ‘Tsumu."

"Shut it, we look the same ‘Samu. You're just calling yourself ugly too!"

Osamu shrugs and continues his trek down the main trail. Atsumu huffs, tearing the parchment into indistinguishable pieces before throwing the shreds up into the air like confetti.

"Wait up!"

Osamu stops in his tracks. "Hurry up, loser. We still have a long way to go."

Atsumu takes a few wide strides and swings his arm around his twin's shoulder. Behind them, a very light drizzle falls from the sky.

535 notes · View notes

floralseokjin · 4 years

Text

final sleigh drabble #1

❛ a few hours later...❜

original oneshot here // drabble index here

kim seokjin x reader smut, comedy 8,156 words (🥴)

Rushing to the door as you heard the low knock against the wood, you took a few deep breaths before yanking it open, knowing what was about to happen once Seokjin stepped inside.

He smiled as you came into view, a tiny one that seemed to round his cheeks something crazy. Something inside you went a little gooey. He was dressed in a thin black sweater that hugged his body, a basic silver chain hanging around the neckline. You were half expecting him to turn up in another one of his Christmas jumpers — the one he had been wearing earlier was still embedded inside your brain, but mainly because of what you’d been doing... Seven hours ago you’d thrown caution to the wind and participated in something that could 1000% get you fired. Although... It had been your idea, so.

“Hey,” you said with a smile, feeling momentarily a little awkward. This was no innocent visit after all. He was here to have sex with you. Please, he’d begged. Let me fuck you. The memory of his words were enough to tinge your cheeks a darker shade.

“Hey,” he greeted, taking the first step inside. For a brief second his face appeared not so far from yours and you wondered if he was about to kiss you. You had kissed with abandon earlier on in the day after all. But instead, his lips flickered up into a smirk. He was amused as he spoke. “Pizza guy just pulled up too.”

“Oh.” It took a moment for your brain to process what he was telling you. “Let me grab my purse.”

You toddled off, into your living room and through to the kitchen, leaving him by the open door. Jerk, you thought, realising he’d been messing with you, or at least, that’s what you thought. Who knew, and you weren’t about to ask him. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

When you got back to your entryway Seokjin had his wallet out in front of the pizza delivery guy, fishing for bills. “What are you doing?” You demanded.

Seokjin shrugged. “I’ll pay, it’s no big deal.”

“No way.” You thrust inside your purse, eager to beat him.

“Y/N.” It sounded as if he was half warning you, voice low.

“It was my idea, I’m paying.”

Inviting him over just for sex seemed a little... crude, for lack of a better word, so suggesting pizza helped soften the intent – in your eyes.

Seokjin looked at you incredulously and when he realised you weren’t going to give in, he sighed loudly. “Let’s go dutch then, I am eating half after all.”

“Fine.” You weren’t happy about it, but fine.

You both handed your cash to the delivery guy who had watched the whole exchange wordlessly. You took the boxes from him and waited as he counted out your change.

“Here,” he said, reaching his hand out to pass it to Seokjin, who shook his head.

“She can have it.”

The guy changed direction, holding his arm out as he waited for you to take it (hands full, mind you...).

“No, you can have it,” you told Seokjin.

He turned his head, dismissing you. “I don’t want it.”

You choked out a noise of frustration. However “gooey” you’d been feeling five minutes ago had well and truly disappeared now. Nothing had changed, despite what had happened earlier, he was still an annoying ass when he wanted to be.

“Can someone just take it?” The delivery guy exclaimed, causing you to startle. “I have five other pizzas getting cold.”

“Fine,” you hissed, displeased by his attitude. Yes, okay, you were wasting his time but no need to be so rude about it. “Put it on the box.” You glanced at Seokjin, seeing him try to hold back his laughter. That just annoyed you more.

“Wash your hands,” you ordered him as soon as the mannerless delivery guy left.

He slipped his sneakers off and followed you into the kitchen, stopping halfway as you dropped the pizza boxes onto your coffee table. He washed his hands in silence, absentmindedly looking around the room, as if he was getting familiar with the place again, and then it dawned on you; he’d been here before. Last weekend, after your drunken make out session that had resulted in him packing you off to bed with a glass of water... Your memories were still hazy, but it was something.

As you washed your hands too, you noticed Seokjin watching down at you with a smile that had you feeling a little uneasy. “What?”

Maybe this was a bad idea.

“Nothing,” he shrugged, but his eyes twinkled more than usual, the last syllable bubbling in his throat as he held back another laugh.

You opened your mouth, ready to tell him something. You didn’t know what, maybe to shut up? But then he shifted, moving in one swift motion to lean in and kiss you.

You made a small shocked noise as he pressed his lips against yours, eyes wide open even though his were fluttered closed, but soon enough you relaxed, settling into his touch as he cupped your hips, yours reaching to grip under his elbows.

He pulled back suddenly, grinning. “This is the best. All I have to do is kiss you and you shut up.”

Huh? “You can’t weaponise kissing, Seokjin,” you scowled.

“Wanna bet?” And he was on you once more, you, miraculously quiet again. His mouth was a little more eager now, presses harder as your lips glided together, and your mind was quickly becoming cloudy. Kissing Seokjin was a little addictive. You couldn’t hate it even if you tried.

“Mhm.” He groaned a little against you, sending your lips tingling. “I swear I just experienced the slowest 3 hours of my life.”

You had to agree. From half 5 to now, you’d been practically counting down the minutes.

“Actually,” he added as an afterthought. “I’ve wanted to kiss you ever since we had to stop.”

You couldn’t help but smile, fingers lifting to play with the chain around his neck. Since when did he accessorise, and why was it so hot?

“Well, you’re here now,” you said, your voice a little softer than you’d expected it to be, but whatever, Seokjin wanted to kiss you just as much as you wanted to kiss him. You’d leave it slide.

“Come,” he jerked his head in the direction of your living room, taking your hands in his. “Pizza first, you’ll need your energy.”

The wink he gave you was completely uncalled for. Your legs instantly felt a little shaky.

You spent maybe an hour eating and chatting a little. It was a little strange to be having a proper conversation with Seokjin, in light of what you both had been this past six months, but when you thought about it, you’d shared numerous conversations ever since you’d began the Christmas party planning, so it wasn’t too bizarre. Actually, it was nice. You felt less nervous about the obvious direction tonight would soon go.

You scrolled Netflix, choosing Brooklyn Nine-Nine as background noise as you were in the middle of binging the series and it was something light and funny to fill the sometimes small silences that fell between you. Only, Seokjin informed you he’d already watched all available seasons three times and that meant he could recite any given episode on cue. It was slightly endearing watching him go, if not mildly annoying too, but whatever, he was enjoying himself.

You didn’t know who started kissing who soon enough, it might very well have been you. One minute you were sneaking looks his way, checking out his biceps in that sinful sweater and the next you were wrapped up against his body, tongues furiously crashing together. The line had been crossed once again, only this time things were leading somewhere even more exciting.

You were ready for this. You’d showered before he’d arrived, made sure there were no stray hairs poking out of random places on your body – because this afternoon had taken you by surprise, but now you were prepared. You had your sexiest lingerie on, a black lace two piece that you hadn’t had a chance to wear yet. It seemed to show more skin than cover it, but that’s exactly what you wanted. You’d even painted your god damn toenails. You wanted to knock his proverbial socks off.

Your phone was on silent, no room for interruptions no matter whose house was on fire. Ana had already been informed of your dick appointment, and while her first instinct had been to gloat, you’d stopped her right in her tracks. You didn’t want to hear it and you didn’t want to hear from her tonight, because she often liked to call you when she was bored – very often.

Tonight you were going to get laid and nothing was going to get in your way. It had been a long six months, and yes, it was sex with Seokjin, but honestly, that just made it better. You thought back to this afternoon, how good it had felt to be touched by him and how hard he’d made you cum. You didn’t want to jinx things, but you had very high hopes for tonight...

“This afternoon feels like a dream,” he confessed against your mouth, taking the moment to pull you onto his lap, his hands snaking their way down to ass to give it a firm squeeze, rolling you into his crotch.

You let out a throaty groan, mouth open, giving him perfect access to lick into it, stealing your tongue to suck the muscle gently. You clutched tightly to the nape of his neck, catching some of the small hairs and he moaned. You were under the impression Seokjin liked having his hair tugged...

“It definitely happened,” you grinned as he pulled away, and you took the opportunity to nibble on his plump bottom lip.

“I don’t know, you’re going to have to remind me...” He gave a throaty chuckle, nudging his hips and you felt the very obvious bulge in his jeans.

“What do you think I’m doing right now?” You laughed at a sudden memory, placing your hands on Seokjin’s chest to ease up. “No one had a clue.”

He held your wrists, keeping you to him as he laughed along. “Not even Jungkook. He was so oblivious.”

“Even with the lame excuse with the cake.”

“Hey,” he whined, “in my defence, I panicked.”

Humming, you leaned in to press against his lips, pulling back before he could part them. “Yeah, we probably should’ve thought of a reason beforehand.” Terrible lack of judgement on your part.

“Do you think?” Seokjin asked rhetorically, impatient as he lunged to kiss you, clasping your arms tight to your side to keep you still until they strayed, caressing your sides, ghosting the sides of your breasts. Your skin felt electric, despite the layers that blocked his touch.

You squealed as he gripped your hips, finding your back flush with the sofa cushions in an instant. Seokjin liked to throw his strength around a lot too it seemed. Not that you were complaining, it was hot, and you spread your legs, letting him nestle between them as his mouth found yours again. You clutched at his shoulders, gasping into the kiss from the sheer want you were feeling.

“Been waiting so long to get my hands on this body,” he grunted against you; leaving you wondering if he meant all day, or longer? The way he was tugging at your mouth with his made you want to believe it was the latter... Ridiculous, but maybe...

Hands riding up your shirt as you moaned in agreement, he made goosebumps appear against your stomach, his fingers glided along the hot skin, and then, suddenly, they were on the buttons of your jeans, fiddling in haste.

Anything more was wasting time, and your stomach leaped with anticipation, knowing you didn’t need to wait much longer. Soon he’d be fucking you. You were beside yourself.

An exasperated sigh stole your attention and you felt Seokjin move, kneeling between your legs, sofa cushions dipping with the weight as he yanked at the waistband of your jeans, a groan leaving him now.

“Why do you insist on wearing sex proof clothing?”

You used your elbows to sit up a little, narrowing your eyes at his dramatics. “They’re jeans, Seokjin. Hardly difficult to take off.” Yes, admittedly there were a few more buttons than usual but they were simple to undo. You reached down, swatting his hands out the way to unfasten them. “There. See.”

You watched his bottom lip stick out slightly, his voice small and annoyed as he spoke. “I wanted to do that.”

“Shut up,” you scoffed lightly, grabbing his arms to tug him back to you. You went to kiss him but he was moving you again, hooking his hands around you waist to prop you up.

His mouth found the crook of your neck, half pinning you to the sofa as his right hand slipped into your jeans, and you moaned when the pads of his fingers found your clit above your underwear, rubbing you firmly a few times before he slid down to your opening, feeling and hearing how wet you’d already become. It had soaked through your panties no issue at all.

Seokjin let out a tight grunt as he felt it, lifting his hand to bypass the lace and feel you for real. It was pretty restricted down there, your jeans still snug around your hips but he made it work, rubbing your whole mound, spreading your arousal.

“I can’t believe I’m going to fuck you...” He murmured, although his voice wasn’t particularly soft, more thick with lust. He was sucking on your earlobe, working out you liked that very much by now and you struggled to gain your bearings. “Be inside you...”

“Mhmm,” you moaned in agreement, the noise breaking in half when you felt him insert a finger inside of you.

Again, room was tight and even though he couldn’t finger you like he wanted he still made it feel amazing – or probably you were just too far gone now. Everything he was doing was driving you wild. You dragged your hands up and down his torso, clinging onto any muscle you came across.

“I swear you haven’t felt nothing yet,” he informed you, mouth tight to your jaw and your moans turned into mild tugs for breath if anything, your head falling back against the edge of the sofa. “Jiin–“

He paused his kisses, his hand following suit trapped in your underwear. “Jin?” He repeated, tilting his head back to meet your eyes, his left eyebrow ever so slightly lifting. “Why did you call me that?”

What was he going on about? You were hot and desperate and here he was suddenly questioning you. “It’s your name, isn’t it?”

He looked mildly concerned. “You’ve never called me that before.”

You breathed out a confused laugh. “Am I not allowed? Everyone else calls you it.”

His expression grew softer, sincerity pooling in his words. “You’re not everyone else though. I love it when you call me Seokjin.”

You had to admit you were a little speechless. You knew in the past you’d never used the shortened version of his name because you refused to be friendly with him like everyone else. ‘Seokjin’ held a distance between you, or so you’d thought... In reality it had become something special between you both...

“Fine,” you whispered, pushing your hips into his hand as you moaned lightly, catching his eyes. “Seokjiin.”

He found that funny – you both did, laughing together before you lifted a hand to play with his necklace, giving him a small smile. “Wanna go to my room now?”

You lead him by the hand all the way and he followed you eagerly, eyes hungry. You switched on the lamp by your bed, and safe inside your room he got a little distracted, his eyes darting around the unfamiliar setting, as if he was soaking it all in, but that only lasted for a little while, something, or someone, far more interesting needing his attention. His gaze found you stood at the foot of your bed.

You followed the hand that tugged at his crotch and noticed the now incredibly visible tent inside his jeans. Your gut lurched as he strode towards you. “Come here,” he breathed, reaching for you, and just like that his lips were on yours again. Somehow you ended up in his arms again, his hands firmly cupping your ass as you clung on, moaning into his mouth as your enjoyment started to reach breaking point.

You squealed out his name when you felt him lift his knees to the bed, dropping you down to cage you under his body.

“I got you. Relax,” he chuckled, finding your reaction amusing as you squeezed your fingers into his biceps. A low noise emitted from his throat as he nosed at your neck, mumbling into your skin, “I love feeling you touch me.”

Your heartbeat skyrocketed, sure he could feel your pulse against his lips and you moaned a little too loudly when you felt his teeth bite down on the flesh, continuing his descent down to your collarbones and chest before it became too much and began to tickle you.

“You’re really finding that ticklish?” He asked curiously, lifting his head to catch a look at your face.

You nodded, sucking your bottom lip into your mouth as you stroked down his arms, a little pleased now that you knew it drove him crazy.

He smirked down at you, his eyes near black. It totally altered his face – his whole demeanour actually. “Do you like a little pain, Y/N?”

He had to see the mild shock on his face, but you quickly composed yourself. Where had that come from? His mouth seemed to run wild when he was turned on, if the storage room was anything to go by, and you found yourself enjoying it immensely. You hooked your hands around his neck as you sat up and he eased away, kneeling straighter. Your teeth reached to nip his bottom lip. “Depends on what kind,” you purred as he hissed at the sensation.

He watched you lean back, never taking his eyes off you as you removed your arms from his neck to pull your shirt over your head. Immediately he stood up, his sweater gone in one swift motion as he dropped it at his feet. You soaked in the view, his torso toned, chest firm. The silver chain hung around his neck, patches of skin flush, revealing his evident arousal.

He tilted his head and smirked. “Like what you see?”

You rolled your eyes. “Cocky much?” But yes, yes you did.

He snorted, laughing pretty loudly as he knelt back on the mattress. “I’m just messing around.”

You couldn’t help but touch him, your hands travelling up his body and across his chest as he crawled over you. He grunted as your lips met and you kissed one another hungrily, more eager now than ever. His hands grazed the cups of your bra and no more than a few moments later he was on one breast, licking and sucking at your nipple, quickly soaking the lace. You moaned loudly, the sensation sending you partially shaky until you had to hold the back of his head, rooting yourself in fear of falling backwards.

His left hand travelled around your back, fingers fumbling with the strap of your bra. “Can I?” He asked, and you strained out a yes.

He broke away from your nipple as he used his other hand to help hook you free. The straps fell lose against your arms and he tugged at the middle of your bra to remove it entirely. His eyes ate you up before cupping the soft flesh in his palms, jaw slack as he flicked his eyes up to yours.

“You have the prettiest tits.”

Slightly abashed by his words but turned on by the way his thumbs rubbed circles against your sensitive nipples, you found yourself chuckling. “That’s good to know.”

“No, really,” he half-awed, reaching to kiss you again. “You’re just... perfect.”

He sounded so sincere it shocked you, made you unsure what to respond. Not that you could anyway, his tongue down your throat again, his body pressed against yours as your urge for him continued to grow.

You were thankful when you felt his hands tug at the waistband of your jeans. “I need to get you fucking naked,” he muttered against your shoulder. You were unable to keep track of his mouth, he was kissing every inch of bare skin he found.

You lifted your ass off the bed, helping him shimmy the fabric down and over your ass before they became jammed at your thighs. Okay, maybe skinny jeans had been a bad idea... He got them down to your knees with quite a struggle, leaning back to yank them off the rest of the way. He nearly fell backwards with the force, irritated eyes finding yours. “I swear to God, you don’t want me to fuck you.”

You tried your best not to laugh, he was putting way too much effort into a simple(ish) task, if he carried on like this you’d have no other option than to think he was incapable at stripping women. Instead, now that you were finally free of your jeans, you spread your thighs, revealing your barely there panties.

“Really?” You cocked an eyebrow. You were now more aroused than ever, the delicate fabric stuck damp to your sex, and Seokjin’s eyes immediately wondered to the sight you’d put on display, his eyes glazing over slightly, darkening with lust.

He stood from the bed suddenly, unzipping his own jeans to remove them too, throwing them to the side with haste. You could easily see the curve of his impressive erection in those tight black boxer shorts and as he crawled back to you, you couldn’t help but cup him, tracing your fingers across the thick length before rubbing him, feeling him push into your touch and groan as his lips pressed into yours.

You pulsed when you felt his hand cup your mound, knowing he could feel the heat that radiated from it instantly. He pinched at the sticky fabric, pulling it back and snapping it against you. Annoyingly, he didn’t seem to take much interest in the underwear as you’d hoped, more concerned about what was underneath, so near enough immediately, he had them gone – successfully this time. His gaze travelled to your nakedness, soaking in the view before he traced the outline of your folds with his fingertips. “You’re literally fucking naked in front of me,” he awed, never once taking his eyes off you.

He had to feel you pulsing beneath him, eager for something more, but he didn’t give you it. “I didn’t think being this wet was possible,” he whispered smugly, eyes flicking over to your face.

You grumbled, although probably more frustrated he was teasing you than by his words. “Stop trying to inflate your ego.”

He chuckled, shifting closer, and then suddenly there was a finger inside you. You sucked in a breath, no time to get accustomed to the sensation as he began fingering you, curling and pressing the long digit against your velvety walls. “Fuck. Seokjin!”

He grinned wolfishly down at you, strands of hair falling into his eyes, but you could still see them twinkling with mirth. “Found another way to shut you up.”

You would’ve scowled if your mouth wasn’t too busy moaning. He was not going to weaponise fingering too...

His actions sped up as he slipped a second digit into you, straightening them as he fucked you with them, sending you splayed out on the mattress as he knelt between your legs. You should’ve maybe felt self-conscious by now, but the pleasure coursing through your body was too distracting. Plus, the way Seokjin watched you, eyes hungrily staring at your breasts jiggling with each snap of his wrist, had you basking in the attention.

You were shocked to find out how close to coming you had been when he abruptly pulled out of you, your body on a come down as shaky breaths wracked throughout you. His mouth was on yours immediately, kissing you messily, shallow breathing. His voice shook as he spoke. “Fuck. I can’t think straight.”

He kneeled up, looking between your legs again as he vigorously rubbed at his dick. “Let me eat you out again.”

He went to dive in, but you stopped him, placing your hands on his shoulders as you sat up. “Wait, you’ve already done that.” As much as you’d loved it and wouldn’t mind a repeat, what was the point in waiting? He was obviously as desperate for you as you were for him. There was no point dragging it out, anymore would just be considered teasing.

You looked up at him with half-lidded eyes, running your hand down his chest. He was a little sweaty and you loved it. “Just fuck me. I want to feel you already.”

He looked down at your hand, fingers now toying with the waistband of his underwear and swallowed. “Yeah... Yeah, good idea.”

Standing on the floor, he looked around for his jeans, spotting them near the left side of your bed. You shuffled closer, reaching out to grab his elbow and stop him in his tracks. “Take those off first, I want to get a good look at your ass,” you prompted, gesturing to his underwear.

He looked a little surprised by your request, but listened, giving you somewhat of a bemused smirk as he stripped himself of his boxers. He turned slightly, protecting the fullness of his butt as he reached down for his jeans, but you were more than satisfied with the curve of the flesh you saw. Seokjin always did have a nice looking ass in his work pants – not that you’d been staring, of course...

“I feel like a piece of meat,” he told you, eyes narrowed as he stepped closer, foil packet between his fingers.

“A tasty piece of meat,” you corrected, feeling excited when he sat down on the side of the bed and dropped the condom beside your bodies. You were literally a couple of minutes away from having him inside you, and you quite honestly couldn’t contain yourself.

Crawling into his lap, you hooking your arms around his neck, feeling his wrap around your waist, his cock bouncing slightly against your inner thigh. Pulling you closer he pressed his mouth into yours, his grip firm, kiss passionate. A hand travelled down to your ass, another cupping one breast and he moaned loudly as he pulled away from your lips. “God. I love your body so much.”

You smirked, very much appreciating the praise and as if your body couldn’t help it, you pressed your hips into him, rubbing against his thigh partially.

“You really like to grind,” he commented, looking down between your bodies and that’s when you couldn’t take it any longer, reaching down to wrap your hand around his dick. His hips jumped at the sensation, and you couldn’t help but run your fist up and down the length, feeling the hot, ridged flesh pulse against your grasp.

Condom back between his fingers, you watched him start to tear it open, rushed slightly, his hips absentmindedly jutting up into your hand. Randomly, your eyes caught the writing on the gold square and instantly your mouth became dry.

“What?” Seokjin asked, pausing his movements as he noticed something was wrong. Did your face give it away?

“N-nothing,” you stuttered, tearing your gaze away from the bolded King Size to look down at your hand. Seokjin’s dick almost taunted you. You hadn’t really paid attention to it properly since he’d gotten naked, forgetting the shock you’d felt earlier on in the day when faced with the massive task. Your mouth had accustomed well, but your vagina?! You were getting reservations...

“You really do have a fucking massive dick.”

Seokjin chuckled, angling his head low to kiss your mouth. He knew you’d noticed the text on the condom packet now. “You’ll make him go shy with all these compliments.”

He lifted you in one smooth motion and you found yourself spread on your back, head on the pillow as he hovered over you, sliding the condom on. He held his cock in his hand as he dropped to his knees, tugging it a couple of time just to make sure all was secure and then he leaned in to place a kiss on your shoulder. “Can’t wait to be inside you,” he murmured, rubbing the head if his cock against your sex. You could hear the noise of the latex and you clenched unconsciously, now nervous. “Hm?” He prompted, waiting for a likeminded reply. When you didn’t give him one he lifted his head to look at you, looking a little concerned. “What is it?”

You wrapped your arms around his middle, feeling comforted by the heat of his body and the softness of his skin. It was funny, you didn’t feel embarrassed to confide in him right now, to ask for reassurance. There had been a time, even as far as quite recently, when you had not for even one second wanted to look scared, worried or dumb in front of him. Now that seemed kind of silly...

“You will fit, right?”

“Of course I’ll fit,” he laughed, looking instantly relieved. Had he been expecting something bad?

“You better. I don’t want you breaking my vagina in two.” You warned, chest feeling a little lighter, enough to joke around with him.

“You’re acting like it’s dangling above my knee or some shit.” He repositioned himself, easing his dick away from your heat as he rolled his eyes playfully. The action touched you. Even though he was teasing you, he still wanted to make sure you were comfortable...

Ever so gently, he rubbed the inside of your thigh, his way of reassuring you while also helping you relax. Were you that tense under him? You keened into his touched, loving the way he made you feel.

“You been fucking men with tiny cocks this whole time?” He joked, making you scoff out a small laugh.

“No, just not that... big.”

You expected him to make another joke, something about stroking his ego, but instead he leaned in to kiss you, his hand rubbing circles on your hip now. “I’ll go slow. Don’t be worried,” he reassured. You bucked into him instinctively when you felt his fingers at your entrance. He slid two fingers inside, moving slowly. “I stretched you out pretty good anyway.” He pressed upwards, causing you to moan. “You’ll take it.”

His words made you tingle all over, something kind of vulgar about them that made you not so anxious now. Pulling out, he ran his fist over his length again and you felt a little sorry for him. You didn’t want to keep him waiting anymore. You didn’t want to wait anymore.

Seokjin caught you watching him and smiled, leaning closer. “Yeah?” He asked your permission.

You nodded, crossing your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you. “Yeah.” He repositioned himself, sitting taller on his knees as he pushed the tip of his cock up against your entrance. You wanted him closer, reaching for him as you murmured, “Kiss me.”

He listened immediately, moving over your body to meet your lips. He started to push inside, carefully, an inch or so at a time. “Fuck,” he mumbled, as your warmth continued to surround him. “You feel amazing.”

You moaned out in agreement, the stretch nothing but pleasurable as he sunk a little further. You went to look between your bodies, curious.

“No, don’t look down.” He stopped you, kissing your mouth over and over again, distracting you successfully. “Not yet. Wait until I’m fully inside.”

You didn’t know why he was so adamant. Maybe he didn’t want you to potentially freak out and see him pushing that massive ass dick into you, or maybe he just really wanted your first sight to be you stuffed full of him... You moaned at the thought, feeling him push even deeper. God, you loved this feeling.

“Seokjin–!”

His mouth was against your neck now, kissing you softly. “Just a little bit more.” His voice was tight, strained under the increasing pleasure he was feeling, mixed with the urge to delve straight inside.

You planted your feet to the bed, widening your legs just a tad to silently let him know you were more than ready. With one more nudge he slipped all the way in. You knew because you felt his hips press into yours, that and the moan he gave out. “Ngh. Yeah. Shit.”

You looked down, Seokjin’s lips frozen against your shoulder. “Oh, my god,” you whispered, taking in the sight of where your bodies met. You felt incredibly full, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. If anything, it was pleasant. Incredibly pleasant.

“Can’t believe I’m inside you,” he awed next to your ear, and it took you a moment to realise he was staring too.

You cupped his face, sliding your hands around the back of his head to weave your fingers in his hair, grip firm. “Move,” you informed him, needing him to start fucking you immediately before you cried.

He got to work, your hands now travelling the expanse of his back as he rocked his hips into you at a painfully steady pace, the chain on his neck swinging back and forth. His hands were either side of your head on the pillow, his breathing heavy as he cast his gaze down to your eyes. “You literally have the warmest cunt I’ve ever felt.”

Your face heated up immediately, not expecting such an admission and instinctively you dipped your chin. You might’ve really liked it but it was still embarrassing, nonetheless. You heard him chuckle, a hand reaching to cup your cheek, making you look at him again. “What? Not used to guys talking dirty to you?”

“It’s not that.” You shook your head. “I usually don’t like it.” It was true. Nobody had been able to pull it off well in the past, usually feeling cringey and unnatural. But with Seokjin... It made you feel some type of way.

He smirked, although it looked a little strained due to the way he was still thrusting inside you. “That’s because they never did it properly. It’s an art form.”

He was lucky his bragging held up...

You ran your hands down the small of his back, cupping his ass gently as you pushed down with each thrust of his hips. You couldn’t help but moan each time he bottomed out, wriggling under him.

“It feels good, right? Nothing hurts?” He asked, nuzzling his face into the side of yours. You shook your head. “Good.”

With your assurance, he thrust into you hard, causing you to shoot up the bed. You dug your nails into his ass with the shock. “Seokjin—!”

He repeated, slowly pulling out until just the tip of his cock was inside and then slamming back in. “Told you I’ll fit.” He murmured, sliding out again, looking down your body as it shook. “This pussy couldn’t wait for me to fuck it.”

You cried out as he hit deep, even more pleasurable because of his shameless mouth. “Again!” You begged, hands raking up his back now as you attempted to roll your hips into his, but it was no use, he had you pinned down, held prisoner by his dick.

“Patience, baby,” he purred against your ear. “It’s not a race.”

Your breath shook. There it was, that word again. When he was inside you like this, it didn’t sound half as bad.

Despite his comment, he gradually started to speed up, straightening his back to fuck you harder, his hands gripping your thighs to keep you planted, although you couldn’t help but grind your hips into him, chasing more and more. When his fingers brushed over your clit, you fluttered your eyes closed, brows furrowed.

“Don’t stop,” you breathed, soft moans leaving your mouth involuntary, enjoying the sensation of him circling your clit.

“Yeah? Gonna cum?” He asked – more like goaded. Your skin prickled, his tone setting you alight. “Gonna cum all over my dick?”

You let out a strangled cry, squeezing around him, your thighs spreading further, desperate to feel him deeper. Grunting, he leaned over your body, snapping his hips harder, his motions against your clit firmer, the pads of all four fingers rubbing tight circles.

“You feel so fucking good.” He groaned. “Tell me how much you love it. Don’t be shy.”

Once again you felt your cheeks heat up, reluctant despite how good he was making you feel.

“Y/N.” He commanded gently, and you slowly found his gaze, jaw slack. “Let me know how you’re feeling. How much you love me fucking you.”

You wanted to. You really wanted to. It was only fair given how much he was praising you too. There was nothing wrong with him wanting you to stroke his ego right now, despite how unaccustomed you were to dirty talking.

“I love it so much,” you moaned. “Please don’t stop. You’re going to make me cum.”

Not that you could label that as dirty talk... You sounded a little awkward, cringing at yourself, but Seokjin seemed to like it, dropping lower to kiss you, grunting into your mouth. You felt encouraged enough to continue. You weaved your fingers in his hair, loving the sound of his panting. “Seokjin, please make me cum. You feel so fucking amazing. I love your dick, don’t stop fucking me.”

His hips stuttered as he processed your words and then he growled, kickstarting them again – much harder. “That’s a dangerous thing to ask, Y/N,” he warned, breaking away from your mouth to stare down at you, expression dark. Each thrust sent your headboard into the wall.

“You want me to keep fucking you even after you cum?”

“Oh, god,” you moaned as he slammed into you, his fingers against your clit unrelenting. “Ye-ss! You can fuck me all night if you like.”

“Don’t,” he whined, his face dropping into the crook of your neck before he growled again, flinging himself up.

Still on his knees between your thighs, he lifted one of your legs up, hooking it casually over his shoulder, fingers on his left hand digging into the meat of your thigh. You spread your other leg, resting it on top of his knee, his right hand holding you flat until he found your clit again, two fingertips stroking it steadily.

Your thighs started to shake, the rest of your body tense as your middle jerked up against his touch. He kept fucking you, stopping each time he was fully inside of you to grind against your insides.

“Seokjin, I want to—” You couldn’t even finish your sentence, pleasure too strong. You were so tense your release seemed like it would never come.

“Just let go. Cum.” He told you, his voice tight, neck strained. “Just think of how good I’m making you feel. You’re so wet, I’m sliding everywhere.”

You could hear yourself, squelching with each snap of his hips and circle of his fingers. Suddenly he slapped down with his hand, not especially hard, but it made your body jerk, a cry of surprise leaving you. “Seokjin, fuck.”

He instantly went back to playing with your clit, you pulsed red hot. “You like that, baby?” He purred, voice low, rolling his dick inside you at a deadly rhythm. “You’re such a fucking tease.” He smirked. “Knew you’d be dirty, or do I just bring out that side of you?”

All you could do was moan, the shock of his palm against your core still zapping up your body, your hips moving with his, urging him to keep going because you were so close, teetering over the edge. Pushing his body weight into you, still gripping your leg against his chest, you sunk further into the mattress.

“Just concentrate on how my cock feels.” He helped you along, words flying out of his mouth as you squeezed around his cock tightly. “How my fingers feel. I really want to make you cum.” He groaned loudly, determination in his tone. “Soak me.”

“Fuck.” This was it, you could feel the build-up of your orgasm cresting. “Seokjin, I’m—!” You broke off with a moan as pleasure engulfed you. “Coming. I’m coming.”

Your body stiffened, foot trembling above his shoulder, but Seokjin kept fucking you through the waves that wracked through you, his fingers against your clit easing up slightly, careful not to overstimulate you. Your head was spinning as you started to feel your orgasm gradually wane, warmth flowing through your veins as your limbs started to relax again. You gasped for breath, amazed by what had just happened. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d come like that... if ever.

Seokjin’s hips slowed down, carefully dropping your leg to the bed as he eased up and crawled over you, mouth finding yours, your tongues meshing together sloppily. You wrapped your arms around his neck, legs around his waist and tugged him closer. He was still inside you, not moving, but that soon changed as you started to roll your hips into his. You still wanted him, orgasm only making you hornier, however possible that was.

“I-I can carry on?” He asked thickly, shallowly fucking inside of you now, pace uneven.

“Please,” you murmured against his ear. “I said don’t stop.”

He groaned, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips before knocking into you harder, slow but calculated. He felt bigger inside of you, the result of your walls tightening, but you loved it, your fingers playing with the chain at the nape of his neck. The metal was cool, a big difference to his skin which was hot and slick with his sweat.

“Not too hard?” He asked, grunting with each thrust.

You pulled him to you closer, ignoring the way his pelvis rubbed against your core, still a little sensitive. “Fuck me however hard and fast you like.” Running your hands along his muscular back you felt him shiver, a tight whine escaping his lips as your words got to him. You felt pretty chuffed.

“You feel so fucking amazing, Seokjin. You’re so good at this.” You praised, words falling from you naturally and unprompted.

His brain didn’t seem to be functioning anymore, unable to respond to you, the feeling of his impending orgasm too distracting, but he moaned at your words, face falling to your shoulder as he just. Kept. Fucking. You. His thrusts were hard, but not as calculated as before. You could tell by the way he was breathing he was close, his grunts muffled but still audible.

“Gonna–gonna c–”

You could hear that too, feel the way his body stiffened instantly, and he rammed deep inside you, waiting for the first spill of cum. You gripped him tight, loving the way his body shook as he came, and you welcomed each tremor as his cum filled the condom.

“Oh, my fuck,” he gasped, the last surge the strongest, and you suppressed the giggle that wanted to escape your throat. He was pretty speechless, you guessed. “Shit. Fuck. Shit.”

He laid on top of you for a few moments, catching his breath while muttering expletives into your skin. You liked being weighted down by his body, you couldn’t describe it, it just felt good.

“Seokjin?” You questioned, turning your head as much you could to rouse him. His back was all clammy, the hairs against the back of his neck damp with sweat.

He slowly lifted himself up, hands pressing into mattress. “I think my brain just blew to pieces.” Blowing air out of his mouth, he noticed his lips were wet. He brought a hand up to feel. “I fucking dribbled.” He chuckled, wiping himself clean.

“Hot,” you teased, watching him roll off you and remove the soiled condom, tying a knot at the top. He sat up, looking around for your trashcan before spotting one near your closet. It gave you a great view of his ass when he walked over to throw it away.

You rolled onto your side as he came back, joining you on the bed, stretching his arm behind his head as he looked over at you, a smugness to his face. “I don’t want to take all the credit but I’m pretty sure that was the best sex I’ve ever had.”

You shrugged casually, trying your best not to smile. “Yeah, I’d rate it like an 8/10.”

“Hey,” he exclaimed incredulously.

“I’m messing around.” You laughed, your hand reaching to play with his necklace, your eyes skimming down his torso. “It was amazing.”

“Yeah?” He smirked, stealing a small kiss.

You nodded. “I kinda want to go again...”

He raised an eyebrow. “So you don’t want me to leave?”

Laughing, you hit his chest playfully. “Did you imagine I’d kick you out straight away or something?”

“No,” he insisted, looking a little embarrassed. “I just... I don’t know.” He looked really happy that wasn’t the case though. As if you’d kick him out after that performance. You were making the most out of tonight…

You laid your head down on the pillow, still looking at him, weirdly uncaring that you were still naked. “You have more condoms on you, right?”

“I came prepared – just in case.” He felt the urge to add, not seeming to care his junk was still out at all. “Do you want to go again right now?”

You chuckled. “Give it a little while. You wore me out.” Although, you’d be highly impressed if he was able to go for round two immediately.

“Sure,” he agreed, folding his other hand behind his head too, Adam’s apple bobbing as he spoke. “I could do with a nap.”

A nap definitely sounded good right about now. You tapped his chest, sitting up. “Let me pee first.”

Standing, you grabbed the gown draped over your wicker chair and slipped in on. Not before Seokjin snuck a glance though, groaning to himself and burying his face into the bed as if he couldn’t go on any longer.

“Ugh, your body.”

You woke up to a phone ringing. It sounded like it was coming from the floor because you could hear vibrations against the wood. Seokjin groaned and then slipped from under you, letting your head down gently to rest on the pillow.

Once you’d come back from the bathroom you’d immediately jumped under the covers, feeling it cold now and encouraged Seokjin to follow. You’d cuddled for a little bit, your head on his chest and before long you’d fallen asleep. It couldn’t have been that long ago, and one look at your alarm clock as Seokjin searched for his phone in his jeans, told you it was half past midnight.

“Who was it?” You asked sleepily, hearing it ring off just as he grabbed it.

“Jungkook.”

“Why is he calling so late?”

Seokjin put the phone down on your dresser and got back into bed, wrapping his arms around you. He was still naked, the thought got you a little excited.

“Probably gonna ask if I want to play a game of League.” Video games at this time? What was he, still in high school? You halted your judgement though, settling back against his chest.

“I’ll just pretend I was asleep,” he shrugged.

“You were asleep.”

There was a pause, and then you felt his hand travel to ass, giving it a firm squeeze. You still had your gown on, but it was thin, and you could feel the heat of his palm easily. “I’m awake now,” he murmured. “Are you?”

“I guess so,” you teased, nudging your pelvis into his thigh ever so gently, silently giving him the go ahead.

“I’ll tell Jungkook I was a little preoccupied then...”

You lifted your head, looking unimpressed. “Don’t you dare.”

Laughing loudly, he leaned in to kiss you. “As if he’d believe me.” You weren’t particularly listening though, too busy getting addicted to his mouth again.

You soon found yourself on top of him, his dick hard against your stomach as you made out furiously , his fingers brushing against the lips of your entrance, teasing you.

He pulled his head back, a boyish grin on his face. “Can you ride me this time?”

Written 2020 - 2021. Please refrain from posting my work elsewhere. No translations allowed. © floralseokjin 2021

#seokjin smut #bts smut #bts fanfic #seokjin fanfic #floralseokjin:writings #fic:final sleigh #drabbles:final sleigh #final sleigh:drabbles

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hen-of-letters · 3 years

Text

@spnprideweek day one: flags

This little ficlet for #spnprideweek is brought to you by my big, non-binary bisexual love for this beautiful fandom, and my desire to fix that moment in 'Baby' when Cas indulges Dean by saying "werepire", but Dean doesn't hear him and Cas doesn't know. It ended up getting a bit long, so there's more under the cut or over on AO3. Thanks!

Dean's at Pride, and feeling a rising level of discomfort.

It's not the fact that he's wearing eyeliner in public for the first time in his forty-two years. Hell, he'd been wanting to do that ever since he was a kid, dreaming of being a rock star. The covers of music magazines in gas station racks had been windows on a world free from the brutally narrow definition of what his Dad meant when he told him to "be a man". Gradually, though, he'd learned what is gloriously apparent today under the hot June sun: that there are as many ways of being a man as there are men.

It's not because the sleeveless white t-shirt he's wearing is somewhat snug. (The heat had made him shed his pink, purple and blue plaid shirt - the one he'd worn today because Claire always called it his 'bi flannel' - and tie it around his waist.) He and Cas are both wearing a little of their contentment on their waistlines these days, and he believes Cas when he says that he adores his body because he means it when he says the same to Cas.

It's not the big, heart-shaped sticker slapped on his chest, which is striped in the colours of the bisexual pride flag in a way that's much less subtle than the flannel. Dean's always known that he wasn't only into chicks, but putting a name to it is new. Dean's had jobs and Dean's had roles, but having an identity had always seemed like a luxury well beyond Dean's means. Now he's not constantly running for his life, though, he has the breathing room to figure himself out. And he's good with this part of himself. More than good.

It's not the two flags that are padding the pockets of his jeans. One, he'd bought for Cas: it's striped in pale pink, pale blue and white. Earlier, he'd gone with Cas when he'd met up with some friends he'd met online (having managed to get past all the cats this time). The ex-angel had found that discussing their experiences of being trans had helped him feel happy in the body that had become his own. Dean could only feel immense gratitude for the way Cas' face had lit up afterwards when he'd talked about how he was creating himself, becoming himself, and embracing the human condition of change.

Dean hopes that the gift of the trans pride flag will show Cas that Dean understands and loves him, and the same is true for the other flag, which he'd picked up for Jack. It's yellow, white, purple and black. Dean had had to do a little research when Jack had used the term non-binary - it's amazing how the world can move on while you're living in an underground bunker. He'd kept on researching, too, after he'd learned the basics. Maybe he was still figuring himself out. Maybe there was more to discover about himself, and wasn't that fantastic?

Jack is wandering around somewhere with Claire and Kaia. Jody and Donna are here, too, with Alex and Patience. Adam and Michael have probably partied their way through fifty international pride parades by now, but they should be meeting up with everyone else later. Sam and Eileen are not far away. Eileen was the one who's slapped the bi pride sticker on Dean's chest - with unnecessary force, if you asked Dean. She'd grinned at him, showed off the identical sticker on her own chest, and said, with a suitably cheesy wink, "we need to stick together". He remembered the moment he'd nervously asked her the sign for 'bisexual', and when she'd shown him - the letter signs for 'b' and 'i' - she'd added, "me too," and Dean had scooped her up into a crushing hug.His love for his family is endless, and them all being here is definitely not why he's uncomfortable.

And it's not the body glitter freckling his cheeks and his shoulders with gold, although his feelings might change by the time he tries to remove it tonight. He'd been gilded with it when he'd been dancing up a storm with a group of drag queens. They'd admired his eyeliner - a deep brown shot through with gold along his upper lashes - but winked and said it was "a little subtle for Pride". As soon as Dean had seen the tube of glitter, he'd yelled "hell yes!" and even managed to hold still long enough to be coated in the stuff before moving his body to the beat again. Although he's sure his feet will be aching later, so far his favourite cowboy boots are not the source of his discomfort.

It's not the bright pink feather boa, either, which he'd acquired from the same source as the glitter, when he'd been sent off with a kiss to the cheek and the words "be bold, honey!" He'd expected the boa to tickle or irritate, but for some bizarre reason the sensation of feathers around his shoulders and the back of his neck feels incredibly comforting and reassuring. He feels warm and safe and oh. Oh.

As that particular realisation sweeps over him, Dean tightens his hold on Cas. He's standing behind him with his right hand on Cas' hip, and his left arm is up over his shoulder and wrapped around his chest. His hand is splayed out, at once putting his silver wedding band on display and somehow attempting to conceal Cas from the eyes of his many admirers (and, well, good luck with that. Cas is incredibly beefy these days).

Which brings us to the source of Dean's discomfort; to the thing that's deepening the furrow in his brow and the dimples beside his pursed lips: namely, the sheer number of guys hitting on Cas.

It's not like Dean can blame them. Cas' muscular frame is wrapped in black jeans and a tight black t-shirt bearing the Led Zeppelin 1975 tour logo. The short sleeves show off the floral tattoos trailing down his left arm. Cas is wearing a rainbow-coloured enamel belt buckle and, because he's determined to be the death of Dean, black cowboy boots. Before they'd left, Dean hadn't been able to resist grabbing a black kohl pencil and smudging a little along Cas' upper and lower lashes. And, okay, maybe Cas' wide-eyed bewilderment every time he's flirted with is vaguely amusing. But when Dean is right here? Not cool.

Right on cue, here's another one. From over his husband's shoulder, Dean levels his very best glare at the guy. It's a look that can stop a demon dead in its tracks. A vampire would tremble. A werewolf would wet itself. But one young gay guy with a few drinks in him? Totally unaffected. Like the others, he's all smiles and understanding when Cas politely, if awkwardly, waves him away. (Literally. With a final dorky little wave goodbye.)

Dean realises that he's moved his right arm around Cas' waist, so now Dean is wrapped around Cas like some kind of koala/octopus hybrid. An octoala? A koctopus? Definitely koctopus. Heh.

Dean snorts at the thought, which is somewhat unfortunate, given that his face is right next to Cas' ear. Cas flinches and turns his head around to fix him in a squinty glare.

"Koctopus?" Dean says, apologetically.

Cas narrows his eyes further and tilts his head to the side.

"Um, the way I was wrapped around you. I was like a cross between a koala and an octopus."

Dean nudges Cas. "So what does that make me? C'mon, you know you wanna say it."

Cas just tilts his head a bit further to the side, either in confusion or outright despair. Dean has untangled himself from Cas and stepped back, and looks down at the ground, suddenly self-conscious.

Dean feels Cas' hand on his shoulder, and then it smooths over his back, finding the back of his neck underneath the boa. Whatever his shape, Cas' touch has the exact same effect on Dean. He looks up into the impossibly blue eyes of his husband.

"You're a very glittery," Cas begins, softly, "and very beautiful," one corner of his mouth lifts, and then he purses his lips together, trying to hold back the smile, "koctopus."

The corners of his eyes are crinkled. He's not amused by the joke, Dean knows, just absurdly pleased to be saying something he knows will make Dean happy. Of course Dean knows that Cas loves him, knows the whole cosmic-realm-crossing magnitude of it, but in little moments like this, he's floored by it. Dean can't help his sudden exhale or the massive grin that breaks across his face. He wraps his husband up in hug that they hold for a good long moment, before Dean leans back to kiss Cas.

No one had ever explained to Dean how difficult it is to kiss someone when you can't stop smiling. He'd never had that problem before Cas, but now it's practically a daily occurrence. It's a menace because kissing Cas is one of Dean's favourite pastimes. Now, they trade little pecks between wide, toothy grins, until passion takes over and the kisses become heavier.

It takes someone wolf-whistling for them to part, and then they're back to grinning and staring into each others' eyes, until Dean spots something on Cas' face. And something else. And something else. In fact, there's something all over Cas, and that something is gold glitter. It's on his face, his hands, his Zeppelin shirt, and even in his hair. Dean runs his fingers through the unruly curls - Cas has been wearing his hair longer lately - in an attempt to shake it out, but only deposits more glitter into Cas' locks.

"Oops," Dean says, "I kinda glitter bombed you there. It's all over your shirt, too. Sorry, Sunshine."

He doesn't sound terribly sorry.

"This is your shirt, Dean."

"Aw, man."

He does sound a little sorry now, but his future laundry woes are forgotten when Cas presses another kiss to his pouting lips. They're forgotten again when something across the crowd catches Dean's eye.

"Oooh," Dean exclaims as he drags Cas towards the stall he's spotted.

It's selling cowboy hats in every configuration of colour imaginable, and Dean is practically jumping on the spot excitement. Cas looks his husband up and down, slowly.

"You think your outfit's lacking accessories?" he deadpans.

"Yup," is Dean's gleeful reply, "and so's yours."

Cas' groan is lost to the noise of the crowd and the beat of the music, so no-one will ever know if it was one of protest or defeat. He does, in fact, end up wearing a black cowboy hat with a rainbow band, so if it was protest then it was highly ineffective. Dean's has a pink crown, purple band and blue brim, and he's carrying another black one with a band in the non-binary flag colours for Jack. Cas admits that Jack's going to love it.

"Damn, this is awesome," Dean says as they head back to meet up with the rest of their family.

Walking hand in hand with Cas, Dean's thoughts wander. Dean could kick his younger self for every time he'd called someone gay or a girl as a way of saying they were weak. Because all he can see in the people around him is strength. He grins again, giddy with the atmosphere of defiant joy. All around him is everything he'd spent his life fighting to protect: freedom, family, and love. Holding his husband's hand a little tighter, he's grateful that in the end he gets to have both: freedom and peace.

#sorry to be late posting this - I was poorly but then I'm also naturally blessed with the writing speed of a sloth #thank you so much for hosting this event #spnprideweek #spn #supernatural #destiel #dean winchester #castiel #dean is bi #trans castiel #non-binary Jack Kline #my fic #happy pride 🌈

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alastaircarstairsdefenselawyer · 3 years

Text

if this was a dream pt. 3

i want to apologize in advance because this is literally like 4 chapters in a trench coat... i'm serious chapter 1 was just over 1000 words and this is over 4000, I have no idea what happened. the reason I didn't break it up is because it is very alastair-centric. I promise next chapter we will get back to thomas and see how he's doing with the actual amnesia part of it all.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Fanfiction Masterlist | AO3

Alastair pulled his coat tightly around himself, trying to keep his breathing steady. The walk from the Institute to Cornwall Gardens was long, but it would give him far more time to clear his head than borrowing a carriage or hailing a hansom cab. He fell into the rhythm of his footsteps; this was familiar to him. He had spent more hours than he could count just walking and walking, trying to run from this life the universe had given him.

Now, though, even his walking was infected by Thomas.

Sometimes, I simply needed to get away from all of the hovering. There was this bit of forest near our house in Idris… it was nice, peaceful. The perfect escape, somewhere to wander until I was too spent to continue. Drove my parents a bit mad, but it was what I needed.

Alastair told him about the woods around Cirenworth, how it was his escape, too. He’d memorized nearly every corner of that forest over the years. It was somewhere where he could pretend to be someone, anyone else. He could be no one, even. He’d left most of the details out, as he often did when discussing his childhood. He trusted Thomas completely, but there were some things he preferred to leave in the past.

Now, his sleepless body ached against the increasing pace of his footsteps, pushing forward as if moving quickly enough could outrun the tears burning behind his eyes. He did not know if he could do this again. If Thomas never regained his memories, could Alastair convince him to forgive him again? Their original circumstances were quite peculiar. Could Alastair survive trying to gain his forgiveness again?

He’d do anything for Thomas, he knew. He loved him, even if he’d never said it out loud. And as he said it now, even in the safety of his own mind, it felt far different than it ever did with Charles on the receiving end. With Charles, love felt strangling. It was shackles to his ankles and wrists, tying him to his misery. Looking back, it was not love at all. With Thomas, he felt free. Thomas made the impossible feel possible.

It isn’t possible. It won’t ever be.

He heard his own words repeated back to him. He knew where this was headed from the start. This is how it all works out for Alastair Carstairs. He knew this time would be no different, even if he hoped it would.

He loathed this feeling inside of him. He’d been doing well. He’d been happy. Now all he could think of were his own self-doubts, his own self-hatred, his age-old desire to run away to the farthest stretches of the Earth in the middle of the night, never to return.

A better partner, a better person would not be so consumed in these thoughts as he was. A better partner would not be the recipient of such hatred from the man he loved at all, memories or not. A better partner would know what to do, how to ease the pain and anxiety that flooded Thomas’ eyes rather than exacerbate them. He was not better, however. He could never be what Thomas deserved. He knew it from the start, but it felt different, being thrown in his face now.

Perhaps it would be better this way, he thought, for it to end like this. It was going to end eventually, as all things do. Perhaps this way would hurt Thomas less, even if Alastair would always wonder what could have happened if he’d tried a little harder, if he’d been a little less horrible, if he’d been a little bit stronger, a bit braver.

He was being ridiculous, he knew. Thomas merely needed time. He’d just woken up from his injury, six months displaced, no less. He was grieving his sister again, even more than before. Alastair wanted to ease Thomas’ pain, but he could not, and thus, Thomas needed time and space and he would give it to him.

Before he realized it, he had returned to his home. He could not remember most of the walk, his feet guiding him through the city he now knew a bit too well as his mind wandered to a place he couldn’t quite reach with his consciousness.

He slowly unlocked the door and sighed as he hung his coat. Cordelia started quickly down the stairs but froze as her expression fell when she saw the look on his face.

Realizing what she must be thinking, Alastair quickly shook his head. “He’s alright. He woke up. He simply… appears to be missing about the past six months of memory.”

Cordelia frowned, her face softening as she continued down the stairs and embraced her brother. “Oh, dâdash. Are you alright?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be? Thomas is alive and awake. He just hates me.”

She sighed. “He doesn’t hate you. I don’t think he ever truly did.”

He shook his head. “He thinks he does. Or he wants to. What’s it matter?”

“Take a seat, dâdash. We just made tea, I’ll bring some out.” Before he could protest, she left for the kitchen.

He settled into one of the armchairs. When Cordelia returned, she took the one beside his and began to pour tea for each of them. “You two will work your way through this, you know. Whatever happens.”

“How can you be so sure?”

She rolled her eyes. “Are you joking? I don’t think I’ve ever met two people better matched. It’s as if you share the same soul or something.”

He gritted his teeth. “Most would say we’re opposites.”

“You act like opposites. Believe it or not, though, behaving grumpy or cheerful are not personality traits. In all the ways that matter, you’re two halves of one whole. It makes me utterly green with envy sometimes, seeing the two of you together, the way that you understand each other so completely.

“I love James, of course, with my whole being. But if I’m being honest, for a long time I thought that the reason I liked him was because he reminded me of Father, all introverted and bookish and such. Now, I’m merely trying to decipher what was real and what was not, what parts of me are genuine and which ones are simply who I thought I needed to be to please him. James, too, is finding himself again after all that happened with Grace. Sometimes, it feels as though we’re two clueless children stumbling around with no sense of self, for some reason placed in this big house with adult responsibilities. It’s an utter mess sometimes, though every moment is worth it.

“Yet you… somehow, despite everything, despite all of the odds stacked against you, despite so much pain and fear, you found yourself and your soulmate all in one person. It’s what you deserve, dâdash, what you both deserve. You will find a way.”

He did not quite believe her, but he would not argue.

“Are you going to be alright?” she asked, cocking her head.

He nodded and then paused for a moment. “I don’t know how I’ll explain this to Mâmân.” Despite all the trouble it’s caused, she still did not know the truth about his time in school.

“I could, if you’d like?” Cordelia offered.

He sighed. He wanted to say yes. He wanted to keep the entire matter out of his own hands. He shook his head. “It’s time I did, I think.”

She gave him a bit of a frown but nodded. “If you’re sure.”

“I’m tired of lying. I spent enough time keeping secrets when Father was alive.” He stood from the chair.

“I’m here if you need me.”

He started up the staircase, mustering up a more positive expression as to not worry his mother too much before he could get the words out. He found her in her bedroom, resting in an armchair a few feet away from Rostam’s bassinet. He approached his baby brother first, giving him a small smile though he was fast asleep. It could have been his mind playing tricks on him, but he was certain Rostam was bigger than he’d been just a few days ago.

“He just fell asleep,” his mother said softly. He turned to her. Her eyes looked tired, though no more tired than they had a few days earlier, and certainly no more tired than his own. “Come, azizam, what are you doing home? Did something happen?”

Alastair shook his head. “Thomas is awake; he’s alright.”

“Why aren’t you with him?” she asked after a small stretch of silence.

“He… He has amnesia. He doesn’t remember anything past last summer. It’s best if I keep my distance for a bit.”

His mother gave him a small smile. “It’ll be okay, Alastair joon. He’ll understand given a bit of time.”

Alastair didn’t look at her. “Maybe. I don’t know. He… he’s quite angry with me. The original circumstances under which he forgave me were fairly bizarre to begin with.”

“Forgive you for what, dear? What could possibly be so terrible that he would not forgive you?”

He sighed. He knew he could not avoid this conversation any longer. “I… It was something that happened at school.” He paused for a moment. “I know you think that I got on well with everyone at the Academy, but… That isn’t the truth. When I first arrived, all of the other boys could tell that I was an easy target. I was smaller than them, and… there were rumors. After a while, I just couldn’t bear it any longer. I… I was always quite good with words, as you know. I learned that using them to cut down others would get me a good laugh, and as long as the other boys were laughing they weren’t…” He trailed off. How was he meant to tell his mother this? “It took the attention off of me.”

“By the time James and Thomas and their friends arrived the next year, I was so angry, at everyone and everything… I was so jealous of them. They had…” Picture perfect families, he wanted to say, though he could not. “They had these perfect lives, or at least they appeared that way to me. They never had to worry about attracting the wrong attention on the street or being humiliated because their families couldn’t afford to hire private tutors. They never had to worry about anything but growing up.”

“Alastair…” his mother started. “I know we never discussed things of this nature. It’s alright that you were angry. They benefited from society in ways that rejected you merely by circumstances of birth. But that wasn’t their fault.”

“I know. I know that now, now that I’m older. I know that my anger was misplaced. But when I was in school, society was too big. I only saw what was in front of me. I thought that if I must be cruel to someone, it should be to them. I said terrible, dreadful things about them and their families, things that should never be repeated. They did nothing to deserve the way I treated them. Thomas was kind to me, one of the only people who was ever kind to me in my two years there, and yet I still slandered his family. Last summer, he learned of the things I had said when he was not listening. That is what he remembers now.”

There was a long stretch of silence. Alastair would not look his mother in the eyes. “I always knew that you had a hard time at school, Alastair,” she said finally. “Your lies were never too convincing. I could see how you’d changed. I… I didn’t know what to do. I’m sorry.”

He knew it, too. He knew how his parents had spoken about him in those years, lamenting about what a miserable and difficult teenager he’d grown into when he and his sister were not in the room. He also knew how his father only ever seemed to care about Alastair’s destructive behavior when his mother began to pester him about his drinking.

“It’s not your fault.”

“The world was cruel to you, and I could not protect you from it, but I should have tried. You were a child, my child, I am your mother, and I was meant to protect you, but I did not. Not just from the world, but from… your father, I know. Be kind to yourself, azizam. Regardless of what cruel things you did while trying to balance the weight of the world on small shoulders, it seems to me that those you hurt have forgiven you. You simply have not forgiven yourself.”

“Perhaps they shouldn’t have. Perhaps I never deserved their forgiveness in the first place.”

Sona sighed. “Forgiveness is not deserved, Alastair. We forgive for our own wellbeing, so that we can let go and move on. If you will not fight for Thomas on your own behalf, fight on his. He deserves to forgive you, to heal from these wounds of the past. He deserves to be loved by you.”

Alastair didn’t respond.

“It pains me to see you like this. You deserve to forgive, too. You deserve to forgive yourself and all who have caused you pain. You deserve to be free of it. As long as you keep such a tight grip on it all, you will only continue to destroy yourself, and as long as you continue to destroy yourself, you will hurt those who love you as well. Please-” she cut herself off, her voice breaking. Her voice trembled as she began again, and he realized for a striking moment that he had never seen her this vulnerable before. He’d witnessed her pain after Elias’ death, and he’d caught glimpses of her sorrow before it, but she’d always kept her truest self tightly locked. “Please, my love, promise me that you’ll try. You can start with me.”

He looked up at her abruptly, startled. He opened his mouth to protest, but before he could find the words, she’d stood and crossed the few feet between them.

She took his hands in hers. Seeing the pain in her eyes, he wanted desperately to look away but he could not. “Please, forgive me. Forgive me for all of the ways that I’ve failed you. You were too young for the burdens I placed upon you. I never should have allowed you to take on that responsibility. Please, forgive me for all of the times I overlooked your pain because I was distracted by my own. I am so sorry, Alastair, for each and every time I hurt you and dismissed you. I did the best with what I had, but if I could go back in time and teach myself to be a little stronger, a little braver, to be a better mother than I was, I would do it in a heartbeat, but I can’t. All I can do is promise to try to be a better mother, not just to your brother, but to you as well. If it’s not too late.” Careful tears streamed down her cheeks, rare as they were.

He shook his head, feeling his own tears spill. He fell into her embrace, holding her tightly, as he had not done since he was a small child. “I forgive you,” he said softly, and he meant it.

They stood for a long while, holding each other, taking comfort in each other and the silence. Until Rostam began to cry. They pulled away from each other awkwardly.

“I should… get some rest,” Alastair said, trying to pull himself together. He realized suddenly that he had no idea what time it was or when he’d last slept or eaten.

Sona nodded. “Of course. I love you, Alastair. I’m so proud of the man you’ve become. I’m sorry that you and Thomas are struggling right now, but I know that you two are strong and resilient. With a bit of time and healing, this will pass.”

He nodded, unable to respond without breaking down again.

He returned to his bedroom to the sound of his mother soothing his newborn brother. Shutting his door behind him, he felt the exhaustion of the past several days settled deep into his bones. With heavy movements, he changed into clean clothes, leaving the old ones in a heap on the floor. Typically, he would be horrified at the thought of anything in his room so out of place, but he could not find the energy within himself to care.

He collapsed into his bed, drifting into a deep, dreamless sleep, repeating his mothers words back to himself in his mind. If only forgiving himself would come as easily as forgiving her.

* * *

The next two days passed as a blur. He’d slept heavily the first night. Cordelia had reportedly attempted to wake him for dinner, but settled on bringing a bit of food to his bedroom instead.

The next day passed a bit more normally, though Alastair still felt quite scattered. He’d appeared well-enough put together, however, for Cordelia to feel comfortable going home, so he supposed that was a good sign. Kamala had come for a visit, too, though he wasn’t much in the mood for talking, and they wound up just giving Rostam a bath and discussing Kamala’s latest read.

The day after that had slowly begun to feel more normal, more balanced. Until Gideon Lightwood arrived at his door.

Alastair stared at him for a moment before regaining his composure. He began to call him Mr. Lightwood before stopping himself. It still felt a bit odd to call him by his given name. “Gideon, hello. What are you doing here? Did something happen?”

“No, no,” he said quickly. “Everything’s fine. Thomas is doing well; he’s feeling much better, though no significant improvements to his memory.”

Alastair nodded. “That’s good. That he’s feeling better, I mean.”

“I came here to check on you, actually.”

“Oh.” He paused. “You didn’t need to do that.”

“I wanted to. Well, we all did, Sophie, Eugenia, and I, but I was the most persuasive.” He smiled as he spoke, as if smug at the accomplishment of being delegated the one to come visit him.

“Right, er, come in,” he gestured for Gideon to enter and take a seat in the sitting room. “You’re in luck; my mother just made tea if you’d like some.”

He nodded. “That sounds wonderful. Thank you.”

Alastair returned a few moments later and began pouring tea. “It was very kind of you to come, but I’m truly alright. Just worried about Thomas is all.”

Gideon nodded. “Of course. As I said, he’s doing well, or as well as can be expected under the circumstances. I know it is difficult for him, feeling so disconnected. Regardless of the brave face he puts on. It’s frustrating for him, as if we’ve all got some sort of inside joke that he isn’t in on.”

He could imagine it: the quick glances, the brief answers to Thomas’ many questions. He was certain it was driving him mad. “I wish there was something I could do to help.”

Gideon gave him a small smile. “Because he’s feeling better, his friends are coming by today to attempt to fill him in on the time that he’s missing. I’m certain there will be gaps, though. Perhaps afterwards he will be more open to speaking with you.”

Alastair didn’t know how to tell him that he wasn’t so sure Thomas’ friends would be singing his praises.

“You should stop by the Institute tomorrow if you’re free,” Gideon offered.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“It’s up to Thomas, of course, if he would like to see you, but if nothing else I know that Sophie and Eugenia would love for you to come by.”

Alastair didn’t respond for a long moment. He’d spent these past couple of days mainly sleeping and caring for his brother, but also ruminating over his conversation with his mother. He began to make a mental list, both of the things he felt he had not forgiven himself for and the things he had not forgiven others for. Before he knew it, the list was distressingly lengthy. He had no idea where to even begin. Perhaps if he could put this one mistake behind him, whatever that meant, the rest would seem less overwhelming.

He knew that he would never forgive himself for how he hurt Thomas’ family as long as the terrible things he’d done went unspoken. Perhaps that was why he never brought it up. “Did Thomas ever tell you why he was angry with me?”

Gideon narrowed his eyes and shook his head. “Something that happened back at school, wasn’t it?”

Alastair nodded. He memorized the way Gideon looked at him now, prepared to only be looked upon with hatred in a few moments. He exhaled and looked down, too cowardly to watch the expression change. “I said things… horrible things about your family. About your wife and about Thomas and about Henry Fairchild, but mainly about you, the Consul, and Matthew. There were rumours going around that he was your child, and I repeated them to him. I repeated them after, too. I have reasons for the way I behaved at school, but I have no reasons for that. I was simply angry. Matthew and I were both terrible to each other, and I was so angry for so many reasons. I did not think of the consequences of my words. I am so, so sorry. I am so sorry for the role I played in causing your family such pain.”

“It’s okay,” Gideon replied gently. Alastair looked up in surprise to see not a hint of the hatred he was expecting. Seeing the confused look on his face, he continued. “Obviously, I’m not happy that you said cruel things about my loved ones, but it was a long time ago, and I would be a hypocrite to not recognize a man who regrets his mistakes and has learned from them. You make my son happy, Alastair. That more than makes up for anything you might’ve said when you were younger, in my eyes.” He flashed him a smile and gave an exaggerated sigh. “Here I was, worried that you’d killed someone or something.”

“Well, I’ve also done that, but it’s not what Thomas is angry about.”

Gideon stared at him, clearly unsure over whether or not he was serious.

“Joking,” he said quickly. “...kind of.”

He looked back at him hesitantly. “Do you… want to talk about it?”

“Ha, no. Not today.” His guilt surrounding the deaths of Clive Cartwright and his father would need to be addressed another time.

“Right,” Gideon responded. “Thank you for telling me this, Alastair. I appreciate your honesty. I only have one question, why did you not say anything about this before? It was clearly bothering you. Did you fear we would reject you?”

“I…” That seemed like the logical answer, wasn’t it? Yet he knew it was not the correct one. “I think that perhaps it was the opposite. I was just so ashamed… and I knew that as long as I held on to that, I would never allow myself to truly get too close. I know how horrible that sounds, and I know it hurt Thomas, too, but for some reason that,” he gestured vaguely with his hands, “was scarier than anything else. I’m sorry, I know that doesn’t make sense-”

“It does. I understand, Alastair, even if I don’t like that you felt you had to do that. I know the past couple of months have been complicated for you, though in many ways less complicated than the years before. It will always be your choice, but know that there will always be a place for you in my life, whether you and Thomas are together or not. But I will not ever blame you for anything you feel you are not able to do.”

Alastair nodded, feeling a soreness at the back of this throat that indicated impending tears.

“You should stop by tomorrow and visit us. It’s up to you, but I think that it would be helpful for you to speak with Sophie, too. I will not repeat anything to her, lest you decide not to. I do think it would be somewhat of a relief, though. We thought that the reason you were so distant was because you disliked us.”

“What?” He silently cursed the pain in his voice.

“Joking,” Gideon teased with a chuckle. “Kind of.”

Alastair exhaled, feeling a bit of the tension release, and gave him half of an eye roll.

“Please, tell me honestly, Alastair, are you doing alright?”

He nodded in response, finally feeling it to be true.

“I shall take my leave then. The tea was truly lovely, by the way. You must pass my thanks unto your mother.”

“I will.”

“See you tomorrow, then?”

“Tomorrow,” Alastair responded before he could stop himself. He stood to see him out, but was surprised when Gideon met him with a hug goodbye.

“Thank you for chatting with me.”

“Thank you for… checking in.”

Gideon smiled at him and donned his coat and hat. Alastair watched him as he departed, feeling more at peace now than he had in quite a while.

thanks so much for reading! taglist (reply, ask, or message to be added/removed): @stxr-thxif @satanisanauthor @zosiaenrique @lifewouldbebetteronmars @littlx-songbxrd @dianasarrow @kamalajcshi @bookswitchcraftandcats @jamesherondaleofficial @thomas-gaypanic-lightwood @livingformyself @anarmorofwords @foxglove-airmid

#if this was a dream fic #alastair carstairs #thomas lightwood #thomastair #tlh #the last hours #fanfiction #fanfic #chain of iron spoilers #chain of iron #coi spoilers #coi

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joshhhhhhhhhhhhhhh · 2 years

Text

I don’t usually post my dreams here but this one fucked with me so intensely that just gonna post what I sent my friend verbatim.

In my dream I watched a YouTube video titled "Extra specific text". It had 5 views. It was some sort of incredibly high quality CG animation and live action short film? It starred Sonic the Hedgehog, as he appears in his own live action movie even with the same voice actor, and he lived in a large castle with Toriel and Asgore from Undertale. He very frequently caused a lot of trouble and misbehaved in public places (climbing up people's houses and across their cielings where they could see him, cycling on a 3 story bicycle???), and hated when his parents told him off for it. At some point he hid under a bedsheet in the castle because he got tired of them telling him off. Toriel and Asgore knew he was there, but started approaching the bedsheet as if they knew Sonic was hiding in it, but would then stop and leave him alone, maybe to teach him some weird lesson about behaving or whatever.

Unfortunately I lose the plot here for a while, but I do know that somehow Asgore and Toriel are able to take a far more behaved Sonic out into a sunny summer city, where they stop by a very small corner shop headed by Apu from the Simpsons. He gives Sonic pizza and another food item I forgot for free because of a particular Japanese phrase he remembered. I also remember Asgore and Toriel walking around with these large wide wooden buckets full of water strapped to them? Apparently part of some cultural festival? And Sonic was interested in participating so like coolio.

Unfortunately I've lost the plot *yet again*, but I believe around this time, Asgore and Toriel are home again, but Sonic's now gone on a journey with his friends, who are just a bunch of human boys, ages probably ranging from like 10 to 15 or something. And again, lost the plot, but I think by now the journey involved some loose ideas of time travel or denying fate? I say "involved" past tense because by this point, I think Sonic and friends were actually returning home from the whole ordeal. In order to do this they travel through something of a miniature ocean and several sort of underwater pipes and grates and stuff, even getting hunted by a shark at some point. I believe, bizarrely, the oldest of Sonic's friends here stays behind so he can... spray paint a grate to make it look like Spider-Man was here, which is apparently necessary so Sonic and one of his other friends can escape from the shark? And the older friend himself basically sacrifices himself here. It results in Sonic and the other friend escaping, sure, but they end up mourning his loss and remember how I said time travel and denying fate earlier? Yeah Sonic and friend can't do anything about what happened to this guy, and they're specifically upset about not just his death, but that they're too late to use the time travelly denying fate stuff to help him. The IRL me watching this (because it was a youtube video!!!) found this a bit contrived.

Overall though I did love the video and found it bizarrely gripping in spite of everything. I don't remember who but I managed to talk to one of the other 5 viewers in real life about the thing, and he said something or other about loving the part to do with the power of Earth? Which wasn't something that was actually *in* the video, so I wondered if I'd maybe missed something. What I ended up finding out is that the video was part 2 of a trilogy, and I'd consumed it fully standalone. Unfortunately I woke up before I could watch the other videos. But yeah that was my dream. It feels life changing.

#sonic #undertale #14.6.22

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mamabearcat · 3 years

Note

Proposal fic + hair (braiding/brushing) InuKag

Ooh thanks Nonny 😘

Okay, I'm gonna revive an AU I've never actually written but it's been loitering around in the back of my head forever. I may even write it one day if I feel like doing a longer AU full of comedy fluff. The first bit was posted on Tumblr forever ago, but now it gets to be continued!

Inuyasha wasn’t quite sure how he fell into it; who would have thought you could make a career out of being a model for romance covers for fuck’s sake?! Apparently his half-demon heritage that had blessed him with his father's long thick white hair, amber eyes that glowed in the darkness and pointed dog ears gave him an edgy look, whatever that meant. His ability to retain a lean muscular build no matter what he ate didn't hurt either.

But, the money was very good, even if he had to fight off the occasional stalker, and hide from screaming female fans trying to stuff underwear in his pockets when he went out to buy milk.

His manager Miroku was a total letch, and Sango had been slacking on security - waking up to find a strange woman in his kitchen making coffee in nothing but an apron was more than a little surprising. He actually had more than a sneaking suspicion that something was going on between those two.

But the best part of being a model was Kagome. His photographer, his best friend. He'd known her for years now, and there was no one he trusted more.

Their first photo shoot three years ago had been memorable. He’d accidentally called her Kikyo, and she'd exploded at him. How was he to know? They looked kinda the same, and they were both photographers. It did kinda suck that her cousin Kikyo had possibly ruined her chances of having a serious career in photo journalism, but this gig she was doin’ paid the bills right?

Why did she have to be so serious anyway? He’d abandoned any thoughts of self respect long ago. When you knew what it was like at the very bottom, didn’t know where your next meal was coming from, you understood that self respect was a luxury.

Ah, but Kagome. He couldn't help but love her. Even though this wasn't what she wanted to be doing, she put her whole heart and soul into her work, wanting it to be the best. He knew all her little mannerisms by heart - the way she blew upwards into her fringe when she was feeling frustrated, the way she jiggled her legs under the table when she was feeling fidgety, the way her eyes lit up when she got a good idea for a shot.

He'd always said he'd do anything for her, would gladly take a bullet for her. He'd already blocked a knife attack for her, that had to count for something, right? He'd never been more terrified when she'd been threatened, and the thought of what might had happened if he'd left just a little earlier still broke him out in a cold sweat sometimes.

They'd been closer after her life was threatened, so much closer. He'd been hopeful, but pretty sure she still only saw him as a friend. I mean, how cliche was it for a model to fall for a photographer? He was pretty sure she'd think he was joking, and laugh right in his face. And then on the steps after the trial against that stalker she'd kissed him. And it had been like the heavens had opened and angels had sung.

Kagome had always wanted to be a photo journalist. She'd dreamed of it since high school, starting her career with the local paper, gaining notice when she won a world renowned travel photography competition. That was the chance that should have got her a job with a top magazine, the chance that should have made her career. But it had been stolen by her cousin Kikyo.

Kikyo, who had been her flatmate when they finished high school, so they could share their passion for photography and help support each other in their move to New York as they tried to achieve their dreams. Kikyo, who had taken the message about the year long internship she had been offered after they saw her winning photo. Kikyo, whose features were similar enough to her own that they were often mistaken for each other, if you didn't know both of them that well. Kikyo, who had turned up for that internship and somehow convinced them that she'd used a different name for the competition.

Her cousin had milked that experience for everything it was worth. And now she was the one working for a world renowned magazine, and Kagome was paying rent doing cover photos for romance novels. She may be the best one in her field, but it wasn't quite what she'd dreamed of. It's not like she'd wished upon a star when she was five and asked if she could be the one to discover the next Fabio.

The best thing about her work was spending time with Inuyasha. She'd been so angry at him the first day they'd met all those years ago. Fresh from a weekend at a family event where she'd had to hear once again that Kikyo couldn't make it because she was overseas, doing some big story, and they were all so proud of her. And he'd called her Kikyo, because he'd seen some article recently and mistakenly thought she was her cousin. After she'd calmed down, she couldn't really fault him. They had the same last name, same initial, even looked similar enough.

But he'd grown on her. And it wasn't just his good looks - he had those in abundance, but he didn't really seem to care about that. He was rough around the edges, a little rude, definitely obnoxious, but very funny, charming, brave, and also... kind of sweet?

That day she'd had that terrible cold but had still come to work because they'd had a deadline, he'd given her his jacket and then rushed out to the supermarket at lunch time so he could make her a sure fire cold remedy his mother had taught him. It had tasted absolutely feral, but surprisingly, she'd felt a lot better the next day.

Just a few weeks ago, they had finalised the court case with Inuyasha's stalker. For some reason, Jakotsu, one of Inuyasha's most ardent fans, had bizarrely seen Kagome as a threat, even though it was obvious they were only friends.

At first it was just strange letters delivered to her workplace, which she'd ignored totally. She'd only begun to be worried when weird notes appeared in her own letter box at her apartment. And then the late night phone calls had started.

She'd managed to keep it from Inuyasha until Jakotsu had slashed her tyres, and then he'd been furious. Angry at her for not telling him what was happening, and incandescent with rage at the stalker.

After that he'd been there for her whenever she'd been afraid, so protective and caring. When Jakotsu had snuck up on her late one night in the parking lot, he'd blocked the attack, stepping in front of her in the nick of time, taking a slash to his arm that was originally aimed at her face, then knocking out Jakotsu and holding him until the police arrived.

He'd been the one injured, with nearly 20 stitches in his forearm, but he'd been worried about her. Thank goodness for swift youkai healing. She'd been devastated that he'd been injured, but he'd just shrugged it off, telling her he was glad it was him and not her.

After that, she'd finally admitted to herself that her feelings for him were more than just friendly. Had been for such a long time now. He was gorgeous, but she wasn't the kind of girl that slept around. She needed to be friends first, be comfortable, and there was no one she was more comfortable around than Inuyasha. He was her first thought in the morning and her last at night. But wasn't that a little cliche, a photographer falling for a model? She'd thought he'd probably think she was joking and laugh in her face.

But that moment after the trial and they'd been standing out in the sunlight, she hadn't been able to help herself. She was just so happy, so grateful that he hadn't been injured worse. So she'd practically crash tackled him and kissed him. No tentative pecks. No warning. She couldn't bear to let another day pass without him knowing how she felt. And when he'd kissed her back, with Miroku and Sango cat calling in the background, yelling at them to get a room, it had felt like heaven.

"Where's Yura this morning?" asked Inuyasha, glancing around the make up room, as if she would suddenly appear out of nowhere with her ever present combs and scissors.

"She's called in sick, so you've got me on double duty today. Aren't you lucky?" Kagome teased, poking her tongue out at him.

"So, you gonna model with me too?" he grinned, wrapping his arm around her waist and holding her close to rub his nose softly againt hers. "Who's gonna take the happy snaps?"

"You wish. It's a new model today, Tuva, we haven't met her before. This is for the viking one, so we needed someone with fair hair and pale skin. The photos in her online portfolio are gorgeous. And the agency recommended her, so she should be fine."

Kagome gave him a quick peck on the cheek, laughing at his pouting face, then patted the chair in front of the mirror. "Sit down already will you? I called her earlier to let her know what was going on and she offered to get her own hair and makeup done at the studio there, so now I've just got to do you."

Inuyasha couldn't help the flutter down low in his stomach at her statement, even though he knew she'd meant it innocently enough. She began by brushing his long hair and he closed his eyes, feeling the regular pull of the brush on his scalp, her fingers gently protecting his ears from the rough bristles.

Damn that felt good. If he were a cat he'd be purring, and it took every inch of self control to not let out a deep rumbling growl of pleasure when she ran her hands through his hair, pulling the top back and securing it in a rough pompadour with a ponytail behind his head.

Then her nimble fingers were making small cornrow braids near his temples, adding little leather thongs and silver charms. The gentle tugging of his scalp felt so good. He squirmed in his seat a little, keeping his eyes closed.

"Sorry, am I pulling too hard?"

"Nah, feels so damn good. You're a natural at this. Wanna change careers and become my hairdresser?"

She pretended to think a moment, then giggled.

"Maybe. You're hair is fun to play with. It's much prettier than mine."

He opened his eyes, watching her as her deft fingers twisted his hair together.

"Nope. Untrue. Have you ever seen your hair in the sunlight Kagome? The way it shimmers almost blue? It's beautiful."

Her cheeks pinked, and she glanced at the mirror, her eyes fluttering downwards again when he caught her eyes.

"Stop. You're the one that's the freaking model, Inuyasha. Let me concentrate on this or we'll be behind schedule."

"So Ms. Higurashi can take a compliment about her photography skills but not her person? That's kinda weird don't you think? Especially when you're so pretty."

"Inuuuu..."

"C'mere", he said, tugging on her arm to move her into his lap, ignoring her squawk of protest. "Why can't my pretty girl take a compliment from me, huh?"

"I can! But we're at work right now Inuyasha!"

"Alright, prove it. Look in the mirror and say what I say, and then I'll let you go." She squirmed but he tightened his arm around her waist, pinning him close to her. "Gotta do what I say Higurashi. Gotta keep the talent happy!" She smacked his arm, still trying to wriggle out of his hold, doing her best to hold in her smile, but failing miserably.

"So, how should I keep the talent happy Inuyasha?" she smirked. "You were pretty happy when I left your apartment last night."

He moved his head to rest on her shoulder, looking at her reflection in the mirror.

"Ah, but that's where you're very wrong pretty girl." Kagome's face fell.

"You didn't enjoy last night?"

"Oh I did. Very much", he grinned, bucking his hips underneath her, then kissing a path down the arch of her neck onto her shoulder. "But then you left. And I was in that big empty bed all alone, with no one to keep me company."

"Oh, poor you. You know why I left Inuyasha. You needed to have a good night's sleep before the shoot today, and you know what would have happened if I'd stayed longer. There wouldn't have been much sleeping going on."

He nuzzled into her neck. "Maybe not, but this talent would have been much much happier. I don't want you to leave anymore." Kagome froze.

"You... you want me to move in with you?"

"I want you to move in", he said, his teasing face now serious. "I want you to be with me always. I know we've only been going out for a month Kagome, but I love you. I've loved you for years. And that's not going to change."

She turned on his lap so they were now facing each other, cradling his cheeks in her palms. "I love you too", she whispered. "So much."

"Would it be crazy if... if I said I wanted even more than that?" he asked softly, his eyes searching hers. "Would it be crazy if I said I want to be more than just your boyfriend, that I want more than you moving in. That I want us to belong to each other? And tell the whole world about it?"

Kagome's eyes widened, and her heart began beating wildly in her chest.

"That sounds an awful lot like a marriage proposal Inuyasha."

"That's because, maybe it is. We wasted so much time Kagome. I don't wanna waste another second. Please say yes."

"How could I say no to those puppy dog eyes of yours?" she giggled wetly, her eyes filling with happy tears.

#this kinda got outta hand #but what can you do?#shrugs #writing asks

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cjfritos · 4 years

Text

In Dreams Begin (Jessa wedding story)

Obviously written by Cassandra Clare. I own no rights to this. This was included in first editions of The Lost Book of the White by her and Wesley Chu. It tells the story of Jem Carstairs and Tessa Gray’s wedding and explains why no one remembers it.

Unfortunately it does include some spoilers from LBW so if you have not read it yet, I don’t recommend reading it. Otherwise, enjoy :)

~~~

Magnus Bane was scheming.

To an untrained observer, the High Warlock of Brooklyn wouldn’t look like he was doing much of anything at all. For one thing, he was wearing purple silk pajamas. For another thing, he was in bed, leaning back against a pile of pillows with a spell book open in his lap.

Beside him, Alec Lightwood was stretched out on his side, deeply asleep. Earlier that day, Alec had taken their son, Max, to the Brooklyn Botanic Garden. This had been at Magnus’s request—he wanted Max to have ample opportunity to tire himself out before bedtime. It worked almost too well. Max had made fast friends with a werewolf toddler named Eliza, and the two of them tore around the gardens blissfully for about three hours straight, Max crawling while Eliza ran, albeit unsteadily. Eliza’s mother had been quite surprised the first time Max levitated. Luckily, he was glamoured so only she and Alec noticed.

Though not possessed of much vocabulary, Eliza clearly wanted Max to levitate her as well. Fortunately, Max did not yet have that sort of skill. Alec and Max returned home happy, covered in mud, and—best of all—exhausted. Magnus really wanted them all to sleep through the night.

Magnus shifted position and peered across the room at the mantel clock atop the dresser, a hideous thing covered in putti that Ragnor had given him years ago. The room was lit only by a candle that burned with a blue flame on the table beside him, but he could make out the numbers. It was one forty-five a.m. Surely that was late enough. Surely even the Shadowhunters and Downworlders of the West Coast would be turning in. He’d given Catarina and Jem and Tessa a heads-up, after all, and as for the Blackthorns and Emma Carstairs, they were kids! And not even babies, with their bizarre and erratic relationship to sleep. Surely the would be asleep by now, worn out from running around on the beach or whatever it was that the residents of the Los Angeles Institute did all day. Yes, it was time.

Snuggling a little farther under the blanket, Magnus looked fondly over at Alec’s sleeping form, his black hair like spilled ink across the ivory pillowcase. He closed his book and set it on the bedside table. He mentally reached within, feeling about for a particular pocket of magic folded away deep inside, a self-contained bubble. I had been two weeks since he’d been freed from the influence of the Svefnthorn, and while the markings on his skin had faded, his teeth had shrunk back to their normal size, and the overcharged magic of the artifact had left his system, this one reserve of magical energy had lingered.

At first, Magnus had considered hanging on to it as a sort of insurance policy. A little extra magic went a long way, especially when the magic was this potent, and Magnus was quite certain that he and Alec and their friends would have plenty more dangers to face in the years to come. That was their job, after all. But clinging to the magic out of fear of imagined dangers didn’t feel good. It felt like letting demons have a small victory over him, playing right into their scaly, demonic hands. No, instead he had resolved to use the power in a decidedly un-demon-sanctioned manner—to create joy.

Magnus shut his eyes. Oneiromancy, the study and practice of dream magic, had never been one of his specialties. But with the added kernel of power from the Sveftnthorn, he felt quite confident that he could pull of this one feat, even as complex as it was. The trickiest part, it seemed to him, was holding himself in that drowsy state between waking and sleeping, while maintaining enough awareness to cast the spell. He lay back against the pillows, letting his eyelids flutter shut for just a moment….

~~~

When Magnus opened his eyes again, he was standing in the middle of Blackfriars Bridge, the panorama of London spread out around him in all directions.

He took a deep breath of river-tasting air. The sky was a dark violet, the sun only just beginning to rise. There was no traffic, which was a distinct advantage to throwing a party on a dream bridge rather than on the real thing. There was a warm breeze in the air, and the Thames danced beneath it, silvery in the dawn light. Had he ever noticed wind in a dream before? Magnus wasn’t sure. He admired the view from the bridge—it seemed just about right, though he hadn’t been here for a couple decades. Perhaps some ugly new construction had taken place since then, but who would fault him for omitting that?

“Magnus!”

He turned and saw two figures hurrying toward him. It was Tessa and Jem, both in what Magnus assumed was their pajamas. Tessa’s were gray with white rabbits on them. Jem’s were dark-green-and-navy-blue plaid. They were barefoot, but that wouldn’t matter on a dream bridge. He started to smile as they got closer and he could see that they were both giddy and laughing, a hint of disbelief on their faces.

Tessa threw her arms around him, knocking him off-balance. He marveled at how solid and real she felt.

“It’s working!” she said in wonder.

“A magical discipline unexplored is always worth exploring,” Magnus said, stepping back. “I may be late to the game with oreiromancy, but I plan to make up for my tardiness all at once, right now. Is that what your planning to wear to your wedding?”

“It’s not traditional, but neither was the yellow cotton shirt dress I wore for the courthouse wedding. And I do love bunnies,” said Tessa. “I’m all right with it if Jem is.”

“I would marry you if you were wearing a barrel,” said Jem.

“But why would I be wearing a barrel?” said Tessa.

They were both grinning at each other stupidly. Magnus decided something needed to be done; he wasn’t sure how long his magic would hold out.

“I won’t have it!” he said. “If I’m to throw you a dream wedding, you must be properly dressed for the occasion. It’s in my contract. I do hope you read the fine print.”

He snapped his fingers, and Jem’s pajamas were replaced by an exquisitely cut black suit. Magnus aimed for something that suggested the style of the Shadowhunter gear Jem had worn long ago, in the first years he knew Tessa. Wedding runes were intricately embroidered on the lapels in gold thread. As Jem marveled at the excellent fit, Magnus turned his attention to Tessa.

“I know,” he said, “a wedding dress is a highly personal choice. But as our other guests will be arriving momentarily, and time is of the essence, I’m going to take a stab at it.”

“You have my express permission,” Tessa said.

Magnus snapped his fingers again, and the Tessa was wearing a beautiful sleeveless gown of pale silver, with a full skirt that reminded Magnus of the first time he’d met her, at a vampire ball. A couple more flicks of his fingers, and her hair rearranged itself beautifully into an updo, with a few tendrils loose around her face. One more gesture, and Tessa’s familiar jade pendant appeared around her neck—as did the pearl bracelet she always wore, a gift from Will on their thirtieth anniversary.

Tessa looked startled, reaching up to touch her hair, then brushing her hands over the gown. “How do I look?”

Jem looked very young again as he gazed at her, his dark eyes full of emotion. “Ni hen piao liang,” he whispered. You are very beautiful.

Magnus turned away to give them a moment—and felt familiar arms close around him.

Alec kissed Magnus on his forehead—being slightly shorter than Magnus, he had to pull Magnus down a bit to do it, which Magnus didn’t mind at all—and muttered, “You’re a sentimental bastard, aren’t you?” in his ear.

But he was grinning all over his face as he turned to greet Tessa and Jem, congratulating them. They both looked delighted to see him.

“So let me get this straight,” Alec said. “You, me, Tessa, and Jem will all remember this with perfect recall. For the other guests, they’ll remember it at first, but then it will fade away, the way dreams do?”

“That is correct. They won’t recall it the way we will, but their souls will be present, and glad for it. Well, mostly glad for it,” Magnus said.

“What do you mean, ‘mostly’?” Jem said nervously.

“I mean that I’m not sure how Church will feel about the whole thing.”

“Church!” Alec and Jem exclaimed at the same time, and turned to see the grumpy Persian cat sauntering toward them down the center of the bridge.

Tessa laughed. “Well, he does sleep twenty hours a day. I suppose we shouldn’t be surprised.”

“I took the liberty of adding him to the guest list you gave me,” Magnus said. “I’m trying to get on his good side.”

“Why?” Alec asked, incredulous. “He’s a cat.”

“So he won’t hate me forever when I do this.” Magnus snapped his fingers, and a silver bow in the same fabric as Tessa’s dress appeared around Church’s neck. Church’s eyes widened for a moment. Then he sat down, and after a moment, became very focused on cleaning his front paw.

“Now,” Magnus said, “I simply must get this bridge decorated.”

“It’s decorated perfectly,” said a voice from behind him. Turning, he saw Clary, who was holding Max. Behind her was Jace, followed by Isabelle and Simon, who were leaning together, whispering conspiratorially. Jocelyn and Luke were there, looking slightly unkempt, and Magnus remembered that they were in the process of remodeling a barn at Luke’s farm so Jocelyn could expand her painting studio. Ragnor and Catarina had also appeared, as well as a whole gaggle of kids—the Blackthorn clan. Julian and Helen, Tiberius and Livia, Drusilla and Octavian. Emma Carstairs was with them, though she broke away from the group immediately, running to hug Clary. They were the same height now, Magnus noticed with amusement. Max had escaped from Clary and was riding on Alec’s shoulders now, babbling a story to Helen Blackthorn and her wife, Aline. They looked very amused, though it was unlikely they understood even a quarter of what he said.

Maryse and Kadir were there too, already deep in conversation with Jocelyn and Luke. Kadir hadn’t been on the guest list Jem and Tessa had given Magnus, because they didn’t really know him, but Magnus had added him as Maryse’s plus-one. It never hurt to butter up your boyfriend’s mother, especially when she was willing to babysit for days at a time.

A couple Silent Brothers had appeared—Enoch? Shadrach? Magnus was slightly embarrassed to admit that they all looked alike to him, now that Jem was no longer counted among their number as Brother Zachariah. Magnus hadn’t known if the Gregori would be able to attend, since they didn’t normally sleep. One of them—Enoch?—inclined his hooded head slightly at Magnus, acknowledging this mad thing he was doing as worthwhile. At least that was how Magnus chose to interpret the gesture.

Octavian was climbing Jace like a jungle gym. Clary was talking with Julian and Emma, while Tiberius stood near his older brother, looking around at London with fierce curiosity in his gray eyes. Livia and Drusilla were perched on the railing of the bridge, Livia chatting animatedly with Simon and Isabelle, Drusilla looking around shyly. Catarina went to lean beside her, asking her a question. Magnus looked at the motley assortment of clothing on the assembled group. Mostly casual, though there were more pajamas as well. Magnus made two sweeping gestures, and all at once everyone was looking very sharp in formal attire. Even better, they barely seemed to notice the change. Magnus was impressed. Oneiromancy—who knew!

A hand gripped his arm. It was Tessa, who looked close to tears. “Magnus. I can’t believe you’re doing this for us. I…” She trailed off, at a loss for words.

Magnus regarded her fondle. “Tessa, most people’s idea of a dream wedding is not a literal dream wedding. But since yours is, I am happy to oblige. Shall we get this show on the road?”

Jem and Tessa took their places on either side of Magnus, and the guests gathered around. The sun had climbed well above the horizon, casting rays of warm light between the long shadows of the wedding guests.

“Dear friends,” Magnus said to Jem and Tessa, “we are honored to share this moment with you, and I am doubly honored to be given the chance to speak. Several hundred years ago I got very drunk and woke up as ordained minister. Today I have decided that doing so was a wise choice after all.”

Jocelyn snorted, then looked embarrassed. Luke grinned at her.

“Joking aside, it is impossible to stand here with you all and not feel that there is some greater plan at work, some greater force that has brought these two souls across more than a century to be joined as one.”

Clary’s eyes were glistening. Jace reached into his pocket and offered her what looked like a handkerchief but was more likely a soft cloth for polishing blades. She gave a wry smile of recognition, and sniffled into it.

“I debated which customs to follow in officiating this wedding,” Magnus went on. “Whether to conduct a Shadowhunter ceremony, or a warlock ceremony, or even a mundane ceremony, for many worlds have been united in the two of you. But none of these traditions seemed quite appropriate on their own. So I’ve attempted to tailor a ceremony that will honor your unique paths.”

Magnus nodded to Jem, who reached into his pocket and produced a gold ring. Jem had requested a single word etched around the outside of it: Mizpah.

“It has been said,” said Magnus, “that when two people are at one in their inmost hearts, they shatter even the strength of iron or bronze. Theresa Gray, are you at one with James Carstairs in your inmost heart?”

Tessa’s eyes were wide, her face serious as she gazed at Jem. “I am,” she said, offering her hand to him. He slid the ring onto her finger.

The Magnus nodded at Tessa, who produced another ring, this one from thin air. Magnus had to suppress the grin that threatened to break his calm officiant expression. It delighted him that Tessa was engaging in a small amount of oneiromancy herself, and Jem looked as pleased by it as Magnus felt. This ring was the exact match of the first, and he knew what it said as well: May the Angel watch between me and thee when we are absent from one another.

“James Carstairs—Ke Jian Ming—are you at one with Theresa Gray in your inmost heart?”

“I am,” Jem said, delight visible in his dark eyes. Tessa put the ring on him, and they stood for a moment, holding hands and smiling at each other like they couldn’t quite believe this was happening.

“For I am persuaded,” said Magnus, and Jem and Tessa both looked up at him, recognizing a piece of the old Shadowhunter wedding ceremony, though he had altered the wording, “that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor demons, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate these two.” He stretched out his arms. “Therefore I am overjoyed to declare this marriage consecrated, here in the presence of your friends and family. Tessa Gray and Jem Carstairs, you are married, and the world is better for it. You may kiss each other, not that you really need my permission.”

The assembled crowd cheered as Jem and Tessa kissed, a kiss that had been long delayed. The kiss continued, and Magnus slowly backed away, joining the cheering audience. “Let’s give them a moment,” he said, and happy chatter swelled around him.

Magnus noted that Alec was looking very foxy in his Armani suit, laughing with Maryse. Ragnor and Catarina were cackling over something, glad to be reunited now that Ragnor didn’t have to pretend to be dead—or at least, didn’t have to pretend with them. Clary had her arm draped over Emma’s shoulders, and Jace was arguing with Simon about how to properly tie a necktie. Tiberius and Drusilla were watching this argument as though it were a tennis match. Julian had lifted Octavian up so he could look down at the river flowing by beneath. Isabelle was joking with Livia, who was giving Max a piggyback ride. It was a miraculously good wedding.

Here they were, his friends. They’d literally gone into Hell twice with him now. He found himself reflecting on how much had changed. At first his life had felt like Magnus against the world. Then for years and years it had been Magnus, Catarina, and Ragnor against the world. Now his community was a much larger group, one that had spread wide enough that instead of Magnus and his friends against the world, it felt like Magnus and his friends, a part of the world. Probably the best part of the world.

It was a good feeling.

“Look!” a girl’s voice cried. It was Drusilla, pointing up into the sky, eyes wide with wonder. There was a collective gasp as the crowd saw what she had spotted. Two figures flew overhead, riding a translucent white stallion with two gold hooves and two silver. One of them was a blond boy in ragged clothes, who looked down at the Blackthorns and waved. The figure in front of him was harder to make out—a gentry faerie in clothes just as ragged, only he was as translucent as the horse. The blond boy must be Mark Blackthorn, Magnus marveled. He’d “invited” the whole family, not knowing whether those who rode with the Wild Hunt could be summoned by dream magic. He had his answer, but it came with another mystery. Who was this companion, so close to Mark that they would appear together in a dream?

The riders made a circle overhead, while the Blackthorns shouted and waved, and Mark waved back, smiling an odd smile down at them. Then they faded away into the morning air.

Magnus saw with relief that Jace, Clary, Simon, Isabelle, and Alec had all move in around the Blackthorn kids, giving them an opportunity to talk about what they had just seen—their stolen brother, visiting so briefly.

He glanced over and saw Tessa and Jem still standing by the railing. There was a shimmer beside them, at the edge of the bridge, and the hair on the back of Magnus’s neck rose.

He knew Will Herondale had never haunted the moral world, because he had lived and died happily and had no unfinished business among the living. While Magnus didn’t subscribe to any specific set of beliefs about reincarnation or the afterlife, he had always had a strong sense that Will was waiting on the other bank of a dark river—be it Lethe, or some other border between the living and the dead. He was there among the green grass, the sky above as dark a blue as his eyes, waiting patiently for Jem and Tessa to join him, that he might lead them by the hand to whatever wonders lay beyond the veil.

The philosophers of ancient Greece had believed dreams and sleep to be the twin of death: Morpheus and Hades, standing side by side. And here, in that space, Magnus would not have been surprised if Will stretched out his hand to those he had loved best in life—to Jem and Tessa.

He was, after all, a Herondale, and very stubborn.

Alec sidled up to Magnus, leaving the Blackthorns in the capable hands of his siblings and their partners. The kids seemed to have taken Mark’s appearance as a sort of wedding favor created especially for them.

Alec twinned an arm around Magnus’s waist and pulled him close, kissing him on the temple. “It was very kind of you to use the last of your Svefnthorn magic on this,” he said.

Magnus leaned into Alec. “Well, it wasn’t enough magic to send us to the moon, or get us into the front row at the Alexander McQueen runway. So I figured, next best thing.”

Alec smiled at him pointedly. “Actually, I happen to know that you did it because you are an incredibly kind person, and that is one of the many things I love about you.”

“Oh dear,” Magnus said, turning to face him. “You know all my secrets.”

Then they were kissing, and kissing in a magical dream turned out to be just as perfect as kissing in the waking world.

#jessa #jem carstairs #tessa gray #magnus bane #jessa wedding #the lost book of the white #tlbotw #lbw #tsc #the shadowhunter chronicles #cassandra clare #in dreams begin

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flclarchives · 3 years

Text

Amusing Himself to Death, an Akadot.com interview with Kazuya Tsurumaki (director of FLCL and assistant director of Evangelion) from around December 2001. In the article, Tsurumaki explains a few things about Evangelion, his mentality behind FLCL as a whole, and the meaning of the name ‘FLCL’.

Full article text is under the cut, or read the article in its original form [here].

Kazuya Tsurumaki was a relatively little-known animator when Hideki Anno selected him to work as the assistant director on Neon Genesis Evangelion. For the TV series, which became a smash hit in Japan and one of the touchstones of the current surge of interest in anime in the US, Tsuramaki served as the main storyboard artist as well as assistant director, and when Studio Gainax began production on a trio of Evangelion films Tsurumaki got his first directorial assignment.

As he tells the story, Anno came to him after Eva and announced that he was out of ideas and that it was up to Tsurumaki to dream up the next project because, "you are next." Tsurumaki let his imagination run wild, but by the time he had written a script, Anno - despite his declaration that he had no stories left to tell - was already several steps ahead of Tsurumaki and in pre-production for his next series, Kareshi Kanojo no Jijo, leaving Tsurumaki a chance to have complete and unsupervised creative control of his own series FLCL.

FLCL, referred to as "Fooly Cooly" (or "Furikuri" by its American fans), is unlike any anime series to come before it. Wild, maniacally fast-paced physical comedy; exaggerated, exuberant animation alternately pushing towards surrealist- as when mecha exuviate from a bump on young Naota's head - and deconstructionist - as when the animation literally stops and the story is told by a camera bouncing across a page of black and white manga art panels; and obsessively, often irrelevantly, referential to obscure Tokyo-pop bands and anime insider trivia; FLCL was hyperkinetic and disorienting, yet mesmerizing, almost transgressive, and undeniably original. It inspired enthusiastic admiration for Tsurumaki as a creator, even amongst the perhaps 90% of the series' fans who were absolutely baffled by much of it. One is tempted to refer to it as announcing the arrival of full blown post-modernism in animation, or perhaps as the Exploding Plastic Inevitable of the anime industry.

When Tsurumaki visited Baltimore to speak to American fans at the recent Otokon Convention, predictably, many of the questions were along the lines of, "Hi, I really loved FLCL [or Evangelion], but could you please explain this part of it to me?"

Tsurumaki answered all questions genially with a self-deprecating and often mischievous sense of humor. For example:

Why does Haruko hit Naota over the head with her guitar?

Kazuya Tsurumaki: Naota is trying to be a normal adult and she belts him to make him rethink his decision.

Why does Evangelion end violently, and somewhat unhappily?

KT: People are accustomed to sweet, contrived, happy endings. We wanted to broaden the genre, and show people an ugly, unhappy ending.

Why is the character of Shinji portrayed as he is?

KT: Shinji was modeled on director Hideki Anno. Shinji was summoned by his father to ride a robot, Anno was summoned by Gainax to direct an animation. Working on Nadia [Nadia: Secret of the Blue Water, one of Anno and Tsurumaki's earlier projects] he wondered if he still wanted to work like this. He thought that working on Eva could help him to change.

Is there any particular reason why so many Gainax series feature very anxious, unhappy young male protagonists with no parents?

KT: Yes, the directors at Gainax are all basically weak, insecure, bitter, young men. So are many anime fans. Many Japanese families, including my own, have workaholic fathers whose kids never get to see them. That may influence the shows I create.

Could you explain the mecha bursting from Naota's head in FLCL?

KT: I use a giant robot being created from the brain to represent FLCL coming from my brain. The robot ravages the town around him, and the more intensely I worked on FLCL the more I destroyed the peaceful atmosphere of Gainax.

Why doesn't FLCL follow one story?

KT: In the third episode Ninamori was almost a main character, a kid who, like Naota, has to act like an adult. After episode three her problem was solved so we wrote her out. She has many fans in Japan and we got plenty of letters about that decision. For FLCL I wanted to portray the entire history of Gainax, and each episode has symbols of what happened behind the scenes on each of Gainax's shows. Episode one has many elements of Karekano; episode two, a lot of Evangelion references, etc.

Where does the title FLCL come from?

KT: I got the idea from a CD in a music magazine with the title Fooly-Cooly. I like the idea of titles that are shortened long English words. Pokémon for "Pocket-Monsters" for instance, and an old J-pop band called Brilliant Green that was known as "Brilly-Grilly."

Is there any reason why the extra scenes added to Eva for the video release were cut in the first place? Did you think the story would mean something different with them intact?

KT: The scenes that were added to Eva for its video release aren't that important. We added them as an apology for taking so long to get the video out. Maybe they'll help people understand things, because the episodes were done under tough deadlines the first time around.

Can you explain the symbolism of the cross in Evangelion?

KT: There are a lot of giant robot shows in Japan, and we did want our story to have a religious theme to help distinguish us. Because Christianity is an uncommon religion in Japan we thought it would be mysterious. None of the staff who worked on Eva are Christians. There is no actual Christian meaning to the show, we just thought the visual symbols of Christianity look cool. If we had known the show would get distributed in the US and Europe we might have rethought that choice.

After the panel, Mr. Tsurumaki sat down to speak with Akadot.

Do you enjoy confusing people?

KT: I have a twisted sense of humor. I'm an Omanu Jacku, a contrarian. [Writer's note- Omanu Jacku is a folk character a bit like Puck, a mischief maker]

What do you see differently now that you're working as a director rather than only as a visual artist?

KT: As an animator I have only the art; as a director story is really big. I still feel as an animator and I often have trouble putting the needs of the story first.

Did you intend from the start for FLCL to be as bizarre as it wound up?

KT: From the very start I wanted a different flavor. To achieve this I had to re-train the animators to be as stylized as I wanted them to be because I wasn't drawing it. I knew that not everyone would get it. I deliberately selected very obscure J-pop culture and anime sub-culture jokes and references. Because Eva was so somber I always intended to make FLCL outrageous and wacky.

Why the choice to break out of conventional animation and use manga pages? Was it at all a response to how many anime are using computers to achieve smoother and more realistic visuals? Were you trying to go the opposite direction?

KT: I like manga, not only to read, but the visuals. The pen drawings, the frame breakdowns and layouts . . . This is the first time I have used digital animation, and those bouncing manga shots wouldn't have been possible with cel animation. Personally I'm not interested at all in using computers for realistic animation. I'm impressed by it sometimes, but I'm interested in using computers to do what was once impossible, not to do smoother versions of what has already been done. I want to be less realistic.

Has using digital animation techniques changed the way you work, or the way you feel about your work when you see it? Does it still feel like it's yours if a computer did much of it?

KT: Before I got into digital animation I saw other shows that were using it and I felt that there was no feeling, it was empty. As an animator, there's a sense of release when you draw a cel. There's something there. Working on FLCL, though, I learned that computers can do more, and, most of all, that they allow room for trial and error and revising, more freedom to experiment. That is why I now feel that cel art cannot win against computers. For actual animation everything is still drawn on paper. That work hasn't changed. It's the other stuff, the touchups, and coloring. If we didn't use paper, maybe the feeling would change.

Earlier today you said that you were trying to broaden the genre by giving Eva a sad ending. Does the sameness of much of today's anime bore you?

KT: First of all we didn't use a sad ending to annoy fans. When they're upset, that really bothers us. Personally, I think a happy ending is fine, but not if it is achieved too easily. That's no good.

For all the fans that are confused at all, if you had to define in one sentence what FLCL is about, what would you say?

KT: FLCL is the story of boy meets girl. For me it is also about how it's ok to feel stupid. With Evangelion there was this feeling that you had better be smart to understand it, or even just to work on it. With FLCL I want to say that it's okay to feel stupid.

Even though it may be strange to us, do you have in your head a logic behind it? Are you trying to portray a story that follows the logic of dreams, or is it supposed to make sense symbolically?

KT: I'd like you to think of FLCL as imagination being made physical and tangible, just as it is for me when I take whatever is in my head and draw it.

So what are you working on next?

KT: Right now Gainax has told me that they'll support anything I choose to create, but I'm having trouble coming up with any ideas.

Why is that?

KT: Releasing titles for market, I know I have to make something to please fans, but I'm not a mature enough person to accept that fact. If I'm not amusing myself I can't do it. I feel bad that fans have to put up with such behavior from me. I apologize.

#FLCL #Evangelion #archive.org #Kazuya Tsurumaki #also i can upload the text as a PDF if anyone would like it!#things like these articles make me realize the people who say FLCL is too confusing aren't artists. because as an artist this is cathartic-#-to read. i'd kill to be able to make something as high-strung stylized and full of weird references as FLCL.#and with GAINAX too? holy shit #interview #article

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seeing-the-light · 4 years

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New Dream Appreciation Week Day 4: AU

@gleamful-lanterns @autumn-ravenclaw

A View Like This Read on AO3 “Excuse me... sir? Are you okay?” Eugene blinked, startled at the sudden address. He’d spaced out a bit, and must’ve been scowling thinking about his stupid father, and this stupid train ride in the snow to get to him, because of stupid reunions or whatever, and- “Fine.” He muttered, before he looked up from his seat to see who was addressing him- and froze. The emerald eyes of a woman - younger than him, but not by much, he guessed - stared back at him, brimming with concern. He cursed, internally - this wasn’t the place to let himself slip like that - and straightened, abruptly, “Sorry. That was terribly rude of me, I-“ “Oh, no it’s fine!” She said, hurriedly. Her gaze darted up and down the train corridor as the man behind her coughed, impatiently. “In fact, I’m... sorry for disturbing you, actually, it’s just that... you’re sorta in my seat?”

The words were delivered in the most apologetic way, but Eugene’s brow furrowed. “Oh? No, I’m pretty sure this is my- ah, drat.” He realized, looking over his ticket. “You’re right.” Stupid window seats. Why would he want those, all there was to look at was-

“... You don’t want the window.” She guessed, tentatively, breaking him out of his thought spiral again. There was something... bubbling underneath her tone, now, and Eugene looked up at her again, from gathering his belongings to shift to the inner seat.

“Not particularly. What’s there to se-“

“Can I have it please, then? I’d love to look outside and see all the people and lights and sheep and-“ She cut herself off, abruptly, and gave an awkward laugh, trying to compose herself. “Sorry. But. Would you mind if I took it, then?”

Something of a smile had begun to cross his face at her enthusiasm, and he found himself rising to let her in and gestured as if he’d just opened a door for her. “Be my guest.”

This made her give a tiny giggle, as she squeezed in past him. The man behind her was practically glaring daggers at her for holding up the line at this point, and something made Eugene decide he disliked him instantly.

He sat back down as she moved to arrange her belongings. Mostly, he just stared at his hands, and the rest of car- for some reason it felt like watching her do that would be awkward, which was weird, because awkward wasn’t a feeling Eugene Fitzherbert felt very often.

... correction. Awkward wasn’t a feeling Flynn Rider felt very often, and Flynn was all that mattered to most everyone, because he was far more exciting and charming, without any of the fears and insecurities. In short, Flynn was the much better option.

“So, Blondie-“

“Rapunzel.”

“Gesudenheit.”

She gave him a slightly annoyed look, and Eugene raised his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “My name is Rapunzel.”

“Rapunzel.” He tried it around in his mouth. “Rolls off the tongue, surprisingly.” His brow furrowed in thought, thinking back to his attempted university days. “Say, isn’t that some kind of flower?”

“It is!” All at once, her animation was back. Eugene was just relieved he hadn’t made another misstep - for some reason, he was already beginning to care what she thought.

That’s dangerous, Rider. He told himself, internally. Letting people in was dangerous. Pretty soon they’d find the cracks in your armor, and stab, hard, when the moment was just right.

But he wasn’t going to think about Stalyan, right now, and how she was why he was on this stupid train ride to begin with.

“I can’t believe you know that! Most people just think it’s... weird. Or random.” She shrugged, playing with her braid instead of looking at him

“I don’t think it’s weird or random, it’s kinda pretty.” He responded, before he could stop himself. Dangerous, Flynn, he thought, as her face flushed lightly because of it. “Well,” He amended, trying to recover. “It’s a little weird. But in the unique way, not the bad way.”

“Pretty and unique, huh…” She gave him a small smile. “I think I’ll take it.”

“Great, because I regret to inform you I don’t offer refunds.” He quipped. Wasn’t his best work, but it made her laugh, so he counted it as a success. Not that he quite knew what he was trying to succeed at.

“So, Mr I-Hate-Window-Seats, you have my name, it’s only fair that I learn yours.” “Now that’s just not fair-“

“You called me Blondie.”

“Because you actually have blonde hair!” Some of the passengers nearby turned to look over at them, so Eugene lowered his voice, though it did nothing to diminish his indignation. “I don’t hate window seats.”

“You seemed awfully keen to give yours up.” “Yeah, well, that’s because-“ Eugene gave a dramatic, long-suffering sigh. “I hate snow.”

“How could you hate snow?” The look she gave him was borderline horrified. “It’s so white, and pretty, and it makes everything sparkle, and you can go sledding and make snowmen and snow angels and have snowball fights and then later on when you’re tired out you can go inside and wrap yourself up in cozy blankets and sit by the fire- snow is magical.”

“Some of us don’t have much cause for magic, Blondie.” Eugene said, in a much more subdued tone, staring at his hands. Stalyan used to make a show of being cold, sometimes, so he’d be obligated to give her his jacket. In retrospect, he thought she just liked watching him shiver.

But his comment had left the conversation at an awkward pause- he had to save it, somehow. “It’s just cold, and wet, and it gets everywhere…”

“…did you just use your hatred for snow to make a Star Wars reference?”

The small smile Eugene gave her could only best be described as dorky. “…maybe.”

“Oh my god.” She chuckled, rolling her eyes. “You know, you still haven’t told me what your name is.”

“Hm….” Flynn Rider or Eugene Fitzherbert. Eugene Fitzherbert or Flynn Rider. It should’ve been an easy choice. It should’ve been easy, second nature, Hey, the name’s Flynn Rider, rinse and repeat.

So why did he have this overwhelming, annoying urge to tell her the truth?

“Flynn.” He said, before he could second guess himself, though if anything the answer he’d chosen just made him feel more like a coward. “Call me Flynn.”

“Flynn.” Rapunzel’s eyes twinkled as she said it, and somehow in that moment it sounded better than any time anyone else had ever said that name. “I like it.”

* * *

Eugene – no, Flynn, he supposed, because of that split-second decision – had a big problem.

He was trapped.

Now, most traps weren’t really enough to hold him down for long. He’d been in and out of enough cells and vaults to know a thing or two about breaking out.

His current predicament, however, was … rather more delicate.

You see, he and Rapunzel had chatted about things for about an hour or so in fits and starts, when she’d decided to put her headphones in and journal for a bit. Flynn, being the gentlemen that he always was, had pulled out a book, to give her some privacy and make it obvious that he wouldn’t be reading over her shoulder.

But somewhere in there, she’d fallen asleep. Fallen asleep, and now she was resting her head on his shoulder.

This is dangerous, Flynn, He reminded himself, again. If he knew what was best for him, he'd wake her up right now. But he didn't. Honestly, more than any personal discomfort, he just... wasn’t sure how she’d react when she woke up. But she’d whimpered in protest when he’d tried to move her off, and he didn’t have the heart (funny, really, that he still had one of those) to try that again.

And he’d picked up a few things from their conversation – she was an art major, at university, who was somehow trying to cram as many additional majors and minors into her degree as humanly possible. She truly seemed to enjoy learning, just for learning’s sake, and that outlook… well, it was refreshing. It wasn’t an attitude he came across often in his own circles. But this was her first big trip on her own, without anyone – hence the pent-up excitement that’d released in sporadic outbursts, earlier. She was juggling a lot, and she had a lot ahead of her, so maybe it was best to let her rest.

She’d tried to turn some of his questions on him, too. Not in an intrusive way – he didn’t know how to explain it, but he didn’t think she was manipulating him. It seemed more like she was just… genuinely interested in learning more about him of all people, which was bizarre.

So he’d told her a few things. How he’d recently had a bad breakup [leaving out the altar part]. How she’d retaliated by exposing his whereabouts to the father who’d abandoned him as an infant out of some misplaced desire to protect him.

You know, just the light material.

Her eyes had grown round and wide, even at that much. “Maybe you should give him a chance, though. What if he really was trying to protect you?”

Flynn’s eyes grew harder, but Eugene could only think about hungry nights and always being on the run. “If he was,” He found himself saying, in a low tone. “Then he was just as shitty at that as he is at being a father.” Rapunzel had gone quiet at that. From what he’d gleaned, her parents were a shade overprotective – her father, in particular, seemed borderline stifling – but on the whole they were fairly supportive of her interests. There was something darker hiding behind that, he thought, something in her past that cast shadows over everything she said if you squinted for long enough – but she never alluded to it, and he wasn’t going to pry.

His thoughts were cut off by the train jolting, abruptly. Rapunzel gave a startled yelp, looking around frantically, before slowly coming to rest on him. She glanced at his shoulder, then back at him. “Was I-“

“Don’t mention it.” Eu – Flynn said, moving to stand slowly to see if he could glean any information on why they’d stopped.

As if on cue, a voice came crackling over the intercom. “Good evening, passengers. It appears our passage forward has been blocked by a fallen tree. We’re going to do our best to resolve this as quickly as possible, but in the meantime, please sit tight. We appreciate your patience.”

“Great.” He muttered, aloud. “Just great. As if the snow wasn’t enough when it was rushing past us, now we’re –“

“Flynn, look!” Rapunzel said, giving a tiny gasp. She pointed out the darkened window, and at first he was confused about what she was even seeing out there.

But when he carefully leaned over to peer through it, and look up at the sky, his eyes widened, too.

“Whoa…” He said, softly. Aurora Borealis lit up the night sky – he remembered that from when he’d tried a few university classes, too. The ribbons of green and blue and purple light danced across the atmosphere, and for a moment it was easy to feel like this was a private show, meant just for the two of them.

“Isn’t it amazing?” Rapunzel’s voice was filled to the brim with excitement, and despite the circumstances and not knowing what’d come after this, he couldn’t help smiling. Maybe it was okay not to think about names, or plans, and just live in this, brilliant moment for once. “The stars are coming out too, in the background – I could probably point out some of the constellations, too –”

“And I could tell you the stories about some of them.” He found himself responding. Maybe being stuck wouldn’t be the worst thing…

“I’d love that, Flynn.” Something about the way that she said it so earnestly twisted something in him, and he felt compelled to-

“Eugene.”

“What?” Rapunzel blinked at him.

Eugene ran a hand over his hair, self-consciously. “It’s Eugene, actually. My real name.”

He braced himself for accusations, questions about why he hadn’t told her the truth to begin with… but she just smiled at him, softly. “I like it.“

“But-“ He said, baffled. “But that’s exactly what you said when I said my name was Flynn.”

“It’s not about what your name is, Eugene,” she said, turning back to the window to begin sketching a rendition of the lights still visible through the window. “It’s about liking what I know about the person behind it.”

She said it so casually, as if it was a fact, and he wanted to protest. He wanted to insist that there were demons in his past she didn’t know the first thing about, wanted to tell her that she was better off attempting to befriend practically anyone else. Most of all, he wanted to tell her that he was decidedly not a good person.

But maybe there was such a thing as magic, because something about the train car and leaning out the window to look up at the sky together, as she drew, with the prospect of sharing the stars and stories long after the northern lights died down stilled any words to that effect that he might utter.

Instead, he let himself accept what she said, for the time being. He let himself smile, a little, and relax. “You know,” He said, quietly. “I could get used to a view like this.”

#new dream appreciation week #i'm actually kinda proud of this

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volturialice · 4 years

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me: i’m not gonna write any more of the drugged!human alice au

also me:

it has a title now too I guess. posting in a huge rush because I was supposed to be out the door ten minutes ago, so it’s even more unbeta’ed than usual. oh well

2,180 words

warnings: drugs, discussion of date rape, vomiting

rating: T

pairings: jalice

part 1 here

perihelion 2/?

It’s hard to tell visions from dreams. Sometimes, Alice doesn’t know which is which until a vision is coming true right in front of her, and then it’s like, okay, too late to do anything about this now. It means all of her dreams are high stakes—any nightmare could become a life-ruining disaster, any good dream could be made or unmade real by some hidden catalyst she doesn’t know about. She’s pretty sure she almost bombed the PSAT because she didn’t wear the blue top she had on in the dream where she scored a 189.

But her inability to tell the difference was never that big of a deal until Forks—until she started dreaming about the Cullens, and Jasper specifically. She wishes she could tell which of the Jasper dreams are real. They’re just so…well, horny. If Alice knew they were visions, and not her subconscious making a complete, desperate idiot of itself, she could be less embarrassed about the whole thing.

Tonight she dreams of Jasper and Rosalie in a room with green walls and shiny wood floors. They’re different in the dream, somehow—more still. Rosalie doesn’t sit. Jasper doesn’t blink.

Between them, an open doorway gapes into darkness. Just visible in the room beyond is the silhouette of a prone figure on a bed, unmoving. They watch it for an uncomfortable amount of time before Rosalie speaks.

“If she were any other human, I would have hunted you for sport, you know.”

“I know,” says Jasper, sounding impossibly old and tired.

“I would be off absolutely wrecking your shit right now, and then I would take care of the liability, because that’s how it works in this family. But she’s…this.” Rosalie grimaces, gesturing to the figure on the bed. “And why was it you told us you were following her, again? To ‘ensure her silence?’ Right,” she scoffs, evidently too disgusted with Jasper to keep looking at him.

“She hasn’t said anything. She won’t.”

“No, she won’t, because you’ll stop her at all costs, will you?”

Jasper’s face doesn’t betray the slightest twitch, but his eyes harden almost imperceptibly. “Not that way.”

Rosalie whirls back around. “You were supposed to be the one person I could count on to do what’s necessary! And now you’re telling me you won’t? Listen to yourself!”

Jasper throws up his hands. “Why are you here, then, Rose? Why are you helping her?”

“I’m helping you, you jackass! I know you all think I’m this narcissistic bitch, but I’m not…not inhumane, okay?” Rosalie levels a contemptuous glance at him, then looks away. “I don’t want some girl to be date-raped, however dangerous she is. And I’m not about to sit by and watch you make a complete mess of things.”

“I appreciate the vote of confidence, but I think that ship may have sailed,” grumbles Jasper.

“I’ll say. I drive up and she’s going on about how you’re stalking her and claiming you’re dating? She should have been killed the moment she figured out what we were, but instead you’re following her around protecting her because of some bizarre psychic connection she claims you have? Make it make sense, Jasper.”

“Edward confirmed her ability is real.”

“Great, so she’s a bigger freak than us. That makes it all ok,” snaps Rosalie, dripping with sarcasm. “Wonderful to know your abysmal taste in women hasn’t altered after all these years.”

Jasper ignores both the jab and the implication. “Earlier you made it sound like you were on her side.”

“I just think you ought to admit what’s really going on here. You won’t let us kill her—fine. It’s utterly irresponsible and stupid, but I can accept that. But it’s not like we can allow her to keep existing out there as a human, knowing what she knows.”

Jasper barks out a humorless, incredulous laugh. “Are you advocating that we should have Carlisle change her? You, Rosalie Hale, want to ‘take away her humanity?’”

Rosalie shrugs. “I’m not saying she wouldn’t be better off dead. But she’s not a very good human, is she? I gather she’s not exactly thriving. They have to pump her full of drugs just to keep her functional, and her human peers still think she’s insane. Be realistic. Her life was over the moment she learned the truth about us.”

Jasper’s only response is a slow shake of his head, like he still can’t believe what he’s hearing.

Rosalie’s eyes narrow. “Don’t tell me you’ve never thought about changing her. Don’t tell me it wasn’t your first thought, when you realized you didn’t want her dead. I may not be the mind reader in the family, but I know that’s a lie.”

It takes Jasper a beat too long to answer. “Of course I’ve thought about it.”

“Not enough, apparently. Right now, we’re in as much danger as she is. If she were one of us…well, her life is already ruined anyway. At least then we’d have her oh-so-special ability on our side. Surely you can see the strategic advantage,” Rosalie rebukes. “Better Carlisle changes her than the Volturi. Has it occurred to you that if they ever find out she exists, the decision will be taken right out of your hands?”

“It’s not in my hands.”

Rosalie rolls her eyes again. “Hers, then.”

He sighs. “The possibility did occur to me.”

“You think she wants to learn Italian and live in a sewer? Eat tourists?”

“I have no idea what she wants.”

Rosalie laughs. “Right, because she’s playing it so close to the vest. She called you a simp. Do you know what that means?”

“We’re not talking about this.”

“Funny how you never want to confide in anyone, yet here we are.”

Jasper’s look says that isn’t what’s going on here, but he doesn’t respond. They settle back into tense silence.

“What are you going to do about the man? The one who drugged her?” asks Rosalie after a while.

“Eliminate him. Quietly.”

Rosalie nods. “Carlisle won’t like it.”

“He doesn’t have to.”

“Can you actually do it, though? Without slipping?”

Jasper doesn’t answer, which is an answer in itself.

“I could do it.” Rosalie’s voice is quiet.

“It’s not your problem.”

“Exactly,” Rosalie insists. “It wouldn’t be a problem for me. If you slip…well, we may not have to move, but you won’t be able to come back to school for months. Going to trust the rest of us to babysit your human?”

“I won’t slip,” says Jasper, but for the first time, he sounds uncertain.

Alice’s dream chooses this moment to blur and shift. Jasper and Rosalie melt away, voices distorting until they’re drowned out by other voices, other sounds and images that crowd in and pull at her, like being tossed around in a rough ocean. They come one after another, too fast to make sense of them—muddy tires, a burst of cut-off music, a slow, dark ooze crawling over pavement, an echoing splash. Familiar red eyes, looking down at her.

Then Alice is awake, and the eyes looking down at her are black. Wait, no. There are no eyes looking down at her. It must have been part of the dream.

She’s lying on something soft—a bed. Above her is a white ceiling. Her head throbs with a confused, cotton-y ache, and her mouth tastes disgusting.

What the hell happened? Alice isn’t great at piecing together chronological sequences at the best of times. She remembers being in Port Angeles…splitting up with Bella in order to meet her friends from the art show at a bar, and then…people talking, her legs sticking to the green leather barstool. The lights getting blurry around the edges, the cool, slippery feel of condensation from the glass in her hand, and…oh. Oh, shit. Jasper.

Jasper had been there. The last thing she can recall is Jasper approaching, his face twisted in rage so murderous that she’d thought, huh, I guess he really is a vampire.

She rolls over and—speak of the devil—there he is, standing kind of a weird distance away, halfway between the bed and the door. He looks far less murderous than she remembers.

“Good morning,” she croaks, struggling into a sitting position. “Um. Where the hell am I?”

“Port Townsend,” says Jasper, which means absolutely nothing to her. She’s only been in Forks a few months—is she seriously supposed to know Washington geography?

To Alice’s immense relief, she’s still fully clothed. She does a surreptitious check to make sure her boobs aren’t falling out of her shirt, and when she looks back up there’s a glass of water in front of her face. She takes it and chugs the whole thing down in a few gulps. Why does she feel so hungover? She had only had, like, two drinks last night. Certainly not enough to make her black out and forget the whole evening. No, this big, empty gap in her memory feels more like when they used to drug her at the hospital. In fact, it feels exactly like that.

Jasper takes the empty glass from her and hands her another full one. He’s still watching her in a way that makes her want to squirm and fidget. Why had he been so angry last night?

She chugs the second glass of water while her sluggish brain tries to add it all up. Angry Jasper plus no memory plus waking up in a bed in a strange place, equals…yikes. Maybe she shouldn’t be drinking whatever he hands her.

“Uh,” she taps her fingers against the empty glass, “why do I feel like I’ve been roofied?”

“Because you were. Here,” says Jasper, handing her something else. Her own phone, somehow fully charged. One new voicemail, from…herself.

Future Alice, this is Past Alice. You’re probably pretty freaked out right now, but it’s okay! Jasper didn’t drug you. I repeat, Jasper did not drug you. Be nice to Rosalie; she’s there to help. Now put the phone down, you’re about to hurl. Bye!

Alice has just enough time to think, Rosalie? before a violent wave of nausea hits and she’s throwing up into the waste bin that appears in front of her face. “Ugh,” says the person holding it, and sure enough, there’s Rosalie.

There’s something extra humiliating about throwing up in front of two vampires, one of whom she kind of has a thing with and the other of whom is his super-hot sister who hates her. Thankfully, her stomach was empty except for the two glasses of water.

Rosalie blurs out of the room—damn, she’s fast—and reappears without the waste bin. It’s weird being on the bed while Rosalie and Jasper are standing, so Alice gets to her feet, already feeling way better. “Whose house is this?” she asks.

“Mine,” says Rosalie, practically shooting laser beams of resentment from her eyes.

“You wouldn’t let us take you home or to the hospital,” explains Jasper. “This is Rosalie and Emmett’s beach cottage.”

“Cottage” seems like the wrong word for this place, now that Alice gets a look at it. It has eight- or nine-foot ceilings and the view out the window—a vast, gray body of water that might be the ocean or some kind of bay—looks like a default computer desktop.

“Oh. So, then…someone else drugged me last night?” She tries to remember who she was talking to before Jasper came over, but she’d talked to so many people at the bar that they all kind of blur together in her head.

Jasper nods.

“Like we’d ever need to drug you,” says Rosalie. Oh, right. Vampires.

“So you just…watched me sleep?”

“Yeah, it was riveting. I had no idea snoring like a lawnmower was a side effect of rohypnol.”

So Alice was supposed to be nice to Rosalie, huh? Easier said than fucking done.

Something pushes at the back of her mind—Rosalie and Jasper watching her sleep. She, Alice, had watched them watching her sleep—from outside her own body. A vision, then, and not a dream.

She tries to remember the rest of it on the drive back to Forks, staring out the back window of Rosalie’s BMW like a kid with the two vampires up front. There had been something else in the vision, something besides the disjointed set of images. Jasper and Rosalie had talked about her, about whether or not she should be a vampire. She sneaks a glance at Jasper in the car mirror, at his downcast, shadowed eyes. Had he ever actually said whether he wanted Alice to be a vampire or not?

His eyes snap up to meet hers in the mirror, so suddenly she almost jumps. Alice looks away, guilty for no real reason. The vision, think about the vision.

There had been something else in it: a plan. They were going to…something. Something about slipping, something Rosalie thought she could do better than Jasper…

Right. They were going to kill someone.

rosalie @ human bella: noooo don’t become a vampire you’re so fertile aha

rosalie @ human alice: yeah nobody’s impregnating this little gremlin. bite away

#twilight fanfiction #jalice #jasper hale #alice cullen #rosalie hale #fic: mine #drugs //#date rape mention //#vomiting //#perihelion tag

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albatris · 4 years

Text

ok ok alriiiight ok so the plot of ATDAO

this post is not, like........... well, it’s not gonna be a blurb or a summary or a nice neat synopsis, this is not Professional Writeblr Business, this is, this is, uhhhh

this is like drunk house party logan rambles

works best if you imagine ur just like “hey man how’s it going” super casual and I grasp you firmly by the shoulders and look you dead in the eye and just ramble all of this without taking a single breath

could I have explained in a nice neat concise "elevator pitch" sort of way? probably. mind ur business. that’s not how we do things here at albatris.org

anyway the purpose of this post is “hey people seem to know a lot about the characters and the worldbuilding and the premise but have no clue what happens in the actual story” so I’m not going to be talking about said characters and worldbuilding and premise in depth

in terms of rambles, that stuff’s been covered! this post assumes you know what Ports are, n what the nature of the ATDAO apocalypse is, vaguely what the MCs are like as people......... though I can fetch this info for you if you like

but yeah if you are coming into this post with zero prior ATDAO knowledge........... deeply deeply from the bottom of my heart: sorry

also if this is your first time experiencing One Of These Rambles

also @safe-in-the-steep-cliffs and @siarven I am tagging you because you said you would like to be tagged and also hi and also I hope y’all knew what you were in for

anyway without further ado

(visual representation of my approach to this rant, not of how complicated my plot actually is)

(my plot is not that complicated)

ALRIGHT

there are two viewpoint characters! and two plotlines which converge near the end of the story, but honestly there’s a very real possibility I will decide these are two separate books meant as companion stories to each other because I love making things difficult for myself yeehaw

ATDAO’s co-protags are Tris and Noa, best buds four years and counting. their friendship is one of the single most important aspects of the story, n the ongoing love and trust they have for each other despite the way unfolding events force their relationship to change is integral to the themes and making the heart of the story what it is. I will now proceed to not mention this friendship for the entire remainder of this post. they’re bros. that’s all u need to know. listen. listen. I have a lot to cover

so yeah, ur first key player is Tris Greer, whose parents are dicks but whose siblings are chill. most notably of said siblings there is Jacob, older brother by thirteen years, whom Tris believes is just about the coolest person on the entire planet. this plotline kicks off when Jacob gets caught in the midst of a freak car accident that kills a dude and wrecks a street corner and also somehow causes Jacob to just kind of................. blip out of existence entirely and without a trace?

n Tris is understandably horrified and distressed by Very Much All Of This, but hey, at least there are responsible adults who can look into this obviously Port-related weird disappearance and figure this mess out, right?

INCORRECT

the relevant interdimensional authorities are brought in to suss out the situation and these authorities are kind of like “hmmmm idk about this” but are all set to take Tris at least somewhat seriously until they learn the following:

that Jacob had already been reported missing to police in his home state three days earlier

that Jacob was in the midst of several ongoing personal crises and at least one nervous breakdown

that Jacob was allegedly tangled up in some real weird shit that would more than account for a disappearance under suspicious circumstances

that Tris is schizophrenic, prone to hallucinations, confusion, memory issues and quote unquote “letting his imagination and anxiety get the better of him”, and precisely zero people can actually corroborate his story that Jacob was even there are the time of the accident to begin with

and after some back-and-forth and Looking Into The Evidence pretty much everyone in any position of authority comes to the conclusion that this is just Ordinary Regular People Crimes and whatever happened to Jacob had nothing to do with weird apocalyptic energies, and that Tris is (at best) stressed out and delusional or (at worst) lying through his teeth because he knows more than he’s letting on

so Tris is forced to hop pretty quick from “I’m sure someone will handle this” to “no one believes me but I’m sure if I can find some concrete proof they’ll listen and someone will handle it” to Well Fuck I Guess That Someone Is Me

cue bizarre reality-hopping fantasy quest, which is ten times easier said than done when most of the time Tris is terrified enough just, like, going to the supermarket

he enlists the help of his new classmate Shara, amateur paranormal investigator and professional weird-bullshit enthusiast, who agrees to help him puzzle out what the fuck happened to Jacob in exchange for his assistance in mapping out Adelaide’s interdimensional “fault lines” as part of her ongoing quest to track down the source of the apocalypse

she’s got big fuckin dreams, ok, go hard or go home

slso worth noting at this point that there HAS been an uptick in Ports and their related reality-bending strangeness in Adelaide recently which is why this is of particular interest to her currently. gotta find out What Makes The Weirdness Tick, gotta find out Why The Sudden Extra Weirdness

..........and also Kai is there

Kai has no nice neat reason to get involved with the plot, Kai just likes drama and being all up in people’s personal business. Tris brings them on board for one single afternoon like “hey I will pay you some money to come to my house and fix my fucked up phone so I can listen to an interdimensional voicemail” but forgot the apparently key addendum “and then leave”

their first three chapters of knowing each other is basically Tris being like “stop inviting yourself into my house we are not friends” and Kai being like “that’s a rude thing to say to your friend. also your sister gave me the netflix password and I used your kitchen to bake pastries feel free to help yourself”

but yeah so Tris’s story mostly focuses on his quest to figure out where Jacob got yeeted to and how to get him safely home (y’all probably know a bit about The Unreality already maybe?), whilst also dealing with rising family tensions, whatever shifty stuff Jacob was involved with prior to his disappearance, and his own creeping doubts about his perceptions of reality

n I’m also saying flat out it’s not a plot that’s going the “oh the whole thing was just a delusion all along” route because ew

his psychosis is a fairly involved part of his character but the explorations around it are more to do with, like......... the difficulties he has in trusting himself and whether he has the luxury of letting himself get swept into some Big Weird Implausible Adventure when this has extremely different implications for him than it would someone else. n eventually to how his success and survival is not ~in spite of~ but specifically because of the different way he understands and interprets the world and the skills he’s developed

THAT TANGENT WAS A PERSONAL RANT IT WAS NOT RELEVANT I just have words to say on the subject of how psychosis is treated in fiction and didn’t want people jumping to the “none of it is real” conclusion anyway ok moving on

ur SECOND key player is Noa Yun, who has rather a lot on her plate right now. she’s broke as fuck and her mum is sick and her car is making Noises and she’s not getting enough hours at her job at Not-IKEA and everyone is on her back about her failing studies as if that’s a thing she has the energy to care about. feeling rather backed into a corner by life’s bullshit and her financial situation, she blatantly lies her way into a field job at the Department of Interdimensional Instabilities, because A) surely it can’t be THAT bad, and B) what does she have to lose?

so more or less what she’s doing is the equivalent of emergency services for Port-related weirdness, it’s going out and dealing with highly unstable otherworldly energies head on, navigating Weird Phenomena and bendy patches in reality......... it is, among other things, a job that’s relatively easy to get into because no one wants to touch it with a ten foot pole unless they absolutely have to

n the DII is a whole other post, this shit has lots of different functions and levels and branches and corruption and secrets and a tendency to view workers who have to go out and deal with the brunt of the apocalypse head-on as vaguely expendable and I’ve talked about it a bit before and in more Serious Words

things kinda kick off for her when in true Noa fashion she hurls herself into a dangerous situation to help out a coworker, n enters a pretty standard issue “overlap” where the barriers between universes are a little fucky, but hey, she seems to come out of it with nary a scratch, so it’s reasonable to assume everything is fine, right?

INCORRECT AGAIN

she basically gets some whacked-out otherworldly energies latched onto her that are now following her through her everyday life, and it turns out she’s starting to bend the reality around her the way certain types of Ports do, which is! obviously not ideal! she’s not exactly a Port herself, because she’s pretty sure that’s impossible, but it’s clear capital s Something happened to her in that overlap, and she doubts it’s good news. and to make matters even more disconcerting, she’s now being dogged at every step by strange visions of a child who speaks in an unfamiliar language and who seems Real Fuckin Pissed at her

so her thing is basically “I acquired fucked up reality-bending powers against my will and they might be lowkey killing me ‘cause Ports are notoriously unstable like that and also I’m haunted for some godforsaken reason” which all somehow ended up being, like, the least interesting part of her plotline for me lmao

oh and Noa also enlists the help of Shara, Because Ghosts

anyway yeah so her search to find out what’s happening to her re: Weird Children, being a Port-adjacent something-or-other, and whether there’s a way to stop her own unravelling leads her to (rogue computer programmer? mad scientist? general shifty bastard?) Laurence Marrick Thiele, who claims to have suffered a similar affliction in the past and now does some real interesting research on the subject. n this guy. well. he’s got some fuckin stuff going on

he definitely knows more about the nature of Ports than he should. also is he actually researching what he says he’s researching? also what’s with all the weird tech? also did he just straight up murder that guy Avery? all will be revealed later, maybe, if I feel like it

but yeah at about the same time as Noa goes “actually fuck this you’re shady as hell I’m out” she stumbles into, like, The Actual Reality of what Marrick is up to re: manipulating Ports and interdimensional doorways for his own gain, and the various ways this spells bad news not only for her but potentially for the entire city and anyone unfortunate enough to get caught in the crossfire, and she shifts gear to “actually you know what I’m gonna kick your ass”

there are various reasons for this, but first and foremosterly you have to understand that Noa’s got a fuckload of pent-up rage and she will bring it in full force the moment you say some stupid shit like “some people are expendable” or “it’s inevitable for the greater good”

(there’s also a fun ongoing subplot with her work at the DII where she and her team are investigating a string of strange illnesses with bizarre symptoms that appear to be spreading via obscure radio stations so that’s. happening. I guess?)

but yeah the main story here mostly follows Noa’s attempts to undermine Marrick, bastard supreme, and find a way to fuck him up before he goes, like, Full Cartoon Supervillain, n also like........... her attempts to keep up her work at the DII despite her rising paranoia that the teammates she’s growing to care about will notice her increasingly unstable state and the fact that she’s all tangled up with the very forces they’re meant to be thwarting. n along the way discovering the reality of what happened to her in The Aforementioned Overlap Incident and about her visions and such

so that’s all that. did that make sense

n she’s got a whole arc going on about trust and learning to lean on others, like, she comes into this story as a very standoffish person with lots of paranoia, she’s spent much of her life feeling like she can only rely on herself, n she’s. well. yeah, like I said, she’s got a lot of anger at the world and at the various systems that have failed her and her loved ones, n the story puts her in a position to become even more isolated

and her plotline isn’t so much “you have no reason to be angry or afraid” or her learning to Not Be, It’s more, like........... yeah you have every fucking right to be furious and of course you’re afraid! but there are people around you who love you and who will jump at the chance to defend you and who will help you carry the weight of your anger and grief and none of this needs to be yours to bear alone which is extremely cheesy

which applies to both her Weird Supernatural Goings-On as well as her regular ordinary life goings-on

I feel like Alice and Jet deserve a mention for Noa’s plotline but also this went on and on too long already so. well. Alice and Jet exist! yep. they work with Noa at the DII. I have things to say about them. I will not be saying them today

and uhhhhhh

in general, for Tris, his plotline, you wanna think, like, fantasy/adventure vibes which veer pretty sharply into horror, and for Noa you wanna think...... kinda, sci-fi mystery conspiracy vibes with a dash of some superhero bullshit maybe except not really

and that

pretty much is it I think

also the fact that Kai just invites themself into the plot for funsies and then is dragged kicking and screaming into caring about themself and making positive changes in their life means there was no convenient place in this post to be like

"oh there's also a whole major subplot about a time loop"

but there's also a whole major subplot about a time loop

goodnight! thanks for coming to....................... whatever this was! have a nice saturday everyone

#alcohol mention #just in the first little intro bit #being concise is not my strong suit! this should be apparent perhaps #tl;dr #tris's brother jacob gets lost down the back of an interdimensional sofa and tris has gotta go get him back even though #he's terrified enough just leaving the house let alone leaving this entire reality on a stupid convoluted mystery quest #and noa has a run in with some interdimensional bullshit and acquires Powers and A Ghost neither of which she wants #and then accidentally uncovers the schemes of literal cartoon supervillain marrick and is like #''oh sick i was looking for a reason to go absolutely fuckin ballistic and fuck someone's shit up''#And Both Of Them Make Nice Friends And Learn To Love Themselves :)#atdao #i constantly walk the very fine line between not wanting to be Too Vague about noa's plotline vs not wanting to be Too Spoilery about it #like............... the stuff about the kid and about marrick's endgame i'm never quite sure how much to delve into hahahaha #but yeah anyway #imo i only went on ONE mildly unrelated tangent which should have been cut but i decided to indulge it instead #which is the couple paragraphs about noa's character arc #character arcs not important for this post!!!!!! but also. dfkhgkdfjshg. try and stop me #(i mean i did pretty ok staying on track for the most part i think)#(still a rambly post though)

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