#these are just limited to the versions I’m familiar with

[transk0vsky]

Random April O’Neil icons

(In General I don’t care if you use these without credit…..but like it’s appreciated ♥️)

[communistkenobi]

Would you be willing to dunk on speak more on mainstream feminist theory you're reading? And/or share some of the non-juvenile feminist theory you've read?

(Note: I will try to link to open access versions of articles as much as possible, but some of them are paywalled. if the links dont work just type the titles into google and add pdf at the end, i found them all that way)

If there’s any one singular issue with mainstream feminist thought that can be generalized to "The Problem With Mainstream Feminism" (and by mainstream I mean white, cishet, bourgeois feminism, the “canonical feminism” that is taught in western universities) it’s that gender is treated as something that can stand by itself, by which I mean, “gender” is a complete unit of analysis from which to understand social inequality. You can “add” race, class, ability, national origin, religion, sexuality, and so on to your analysis (each likewise treated as full, discrete categories of the social world), but that gender itself provides a comprehensive (or at the very least “good enough”) view of a given social problem. (RW Connell, who wrote the canonical text Masculinities (1995) and is one of the feminist scholars who coined/popularized the term hegemonic masculinity, is a fantastic example of this.)

Black feminists have for many decades pointed out how fucking ridiculous this is, especially vis a vis race and class, because Black women do not experience misogyny and racism as two discrete forms of oppression in their lives, they are inextricably linked. The separation of gender and race is not merely an analytical error on the part of white feminists - it is a continuation of the long white supremacist tradition of bounding gender in exclusively white terms. Patricia Hill Collins in Black Feminist Thought (2000) engages with this via a speech by Sojourner Truth, the most famous line from her speech being “ain’t I a woman?” as she describes all the aspects of womanhood she experiences but is still denied the position of woman by white women because she is Black. Lugones in Coloniality of Gender (2008) likewise brings up the example of segregationist movements in the USAmerican South, where towns would put up banners saying things like “Protect Southern Women” as a rationale for segregation, making it very clear who they viewed as women. Sylvia Wynter in 1492: A New World View likewise points out that colonized women and men were treated like cattle by Spanish colonizers in South America, often counted in population measures as "heads of Indian men and women," as in heads of cattle. They were treated as colonial resources, not as gendered subjects capable of rational thought.

To treat the category of “woman” as something that stands by itself is a white supremacist understanding of gender, because “woman” always just means white woman - the fact that white is left implied is part of white supremacy, because who is granted subjecthood, the ability to be seen as human and therefore a gendered subject, is a function of race (see Quijano, 2000). Crenshaw (1991) operationalizes this through the term intersectionality, pointing out that law treats gender and race as separate social sites of discrimination, and the practical effect of this is that Black women have limited/no legal recourse when they face discrimination because they experience it as misogynoir, as the multiplicative effect of their position as Black women, not as sexism on the one hand and racism on the other.

Transfeminist theory has further problematized the category of gender by pointing out that "woman" always just means cis woman (and more often than not also means heterosexual woman). The most famous of these critiques comes from Judith Butler - I’m less familiar with their work, but there is a great example in the beginning of Bodies That Matter (1993) where they demonstrate that personhood itself is a gendered social position. They ask (and I’m paraphrasing) “when does a fetus stop becoming an ‘it’? When its gender is declared by a doctor or nurse via ultrasound.” Sex assignment is not merely a social practice of patriarchal division, it is the medium through which the human subject is created (and recall that gender is fundamentally racialized & race is fundamentally gendered, which I will come back to).

And the work of transfeminists demonstrate this by showing transgender people are treated as non-human, non-citizens. Heath Fogg Davis in Sex-Classification Policies as Transgender Discrimination (2014) recounts the story of an African American transgender woman in Pennsylvania being denied use of public transit, because her bus pass had an F gender marker on it (as all buss passes in the state required gender markers until 2013) and the bus driver refused her service because she “didn’t look like a woman.” She was denied access to transit again when she got her marker changed to M, as she “didn’t look like a man.” Transgender people are thus denied access to basic public services by being constructed as “administratively impossible” - gender markers are a component of citizenship because they appear on all citizenship documents, as well as a variety of civil and public documents (such as a bus pass). Gender markers, even when changed by trans people (an arduous, difficult process in most places on earth, if not outright impossible), are seen as fraudulent & used as a basis to deny us citizenship rights. Toby Beauchamp in Going Stealth: Transgender Politics & US Surveillance Practices (2019) talks about anti-trans bathroom bills as a form of citizenship denial to trans people - anti-trans bathroom laws are impossible to actually enforce because nobody is doing genital inspections of everyone who enters bathrooms (and genitals are not proof of transgenderism!), but that’s actually not the point. The point of these bills is to embolden members of the cissexual public to deputize themselves on behalf of the state to police access to public space, directing their cissexual gaze towards anyone who “looks transgender.” Beauchamp points out that transvestigators don’t need to be accurate most of the time, because again, the point is terrorizing transgender people out of public life. He connects this with racial segregation, and argues that we shouldn’t view gender segregation as “a new form of” racial segregation (this is a duplication of white supremacist feminism) but a continuation of it, because public access is a citizenship right and citizenship is fundamentally racially mediated (see Glenn's (2002) Unequal Freedom)

Susan Stryker & Nikki Sullivan further drives this home in The King’s Member, The Queen’s Body, where they explain the history of the crime of mayhem. Originating in feudal Europe (I don’t remember off the dome the exact time/place so forgive the generalization lol), mayhem is the crime of self-mutilation for the purposes of avoiding military conscription, but what is interesting is that its not actually legally treated as “self” mutilation, but a mutilation of the state and its capacity to exercise its own power. They link the concept of mayhem to the contemporary hysteria around transgender people receiving bottom surgery - we are not in fact self mutilating, we are mutilating the state’s ability to reproduce its own population by permanently destroying (in the eyes of the cissexual public) our capacity to form the foundational social unit of the nuclear family. Our bodies are not our own, they are a component of the state. Situating this in the context of reproductive rights makes this even clearer. Abortion access is not actually about the individual, it is the state mediating its own reproductive capacity via the restriction of abortion (premised on the cissexual logic of binary reproductive capacity systematized through sex assignment). Returning to Hill Collins, she points out that in the US, white cis women are restricted access to abortion while Black and Indigenous cis women are routinely forcibly sterilized, their children aborted, and pumped with birth control by the state. This is not a contradiction or point of “hypocrisy” on the part of conservatives, this is a fully comprehensive plan of white supremacist population management.

To treat "gender" as its own category, as much of mainstream feminism does (see Acker (1990) and England (2010) for two hilarious examples of this, both widely cited feminists), is to forward a white supremacist notion of gender. That white supremacy is fundamentally cissexual and heterosexual is not an accident - it is a central organizing logic that allows for the systematization of the fear of declining white birthrates (the conspiracy of "white genocide" is illegible without the base belief that there are two kinds of bodies, one that gets pregnant and one that does the impregnating, and that these two types of bodies are universal sources of evidence of the superiority of men over women - and im using those terms in the most loaded possible sense).

I realize that most of these readings are US centric, which is an unfortunate limitation of my own education. I have been really trying to branch into literature outside the Global North, but doctoral degree constraints + time constraints + my own research requires continual engagement with it. I also realize that most of the transfeminist readings I've cited are by white scholars! This is a continual systemic problem in academic literature and I'm not exempt from it, even as I sit here and lay out the problem. Which is to say, this is nowhere near the final word on this subject, and having to devote so much time to reading mainstream feminist theory as someone who is in western academia is part of my own limited education + perspective on this topic

[pucksandpower]

Crazy Cravings

Max Verstappen x wife!Reader

Summary: pregnancy cravings can make you (and your husband) do crazy things … neither of you particularly minds

Warnings: 18+ content and pregnancy

You sit in the Red Bull Racing garage, feeling the warm Spanish sun on your face through the open door. The roar of engines and whirring of power tools surrounds you as the mechanics prepare for the race.

Your eyes are drawn to the iconic blue and silver cans scattered around the garage. Those tantalizing cans of Red Bull that everyone else seems to be drinking so casually.

Everyone except you and Max, that is.

You rub your rounded belly, feeling your precious cargo kick and squirm inside you. At six months pregnant, your cravings have been … intense, to say the least. But none more powerful than your longing for the crisp, fizzy taste of Red Bull.

The caffeine is off limits, of course. You would never dream of jeopardizing your baby’s health. But oh, how you crave that sweet, energizing flavor that used to be such a routine part of your life.

Max emerges from the back room, his bright grey eyes instantly finding you. He strides over, that effortless confidence and raw athleticism making your heart flutter, even after all these years. His gaze drifts to the Red Bull can in a mechanic’s hand and a grimace crosses his face.

“Liefje, are you alright?” He murmurs, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. “I know how much those are torturing you lately.”

You force a smile, not wanting him to worry. “I’m fine, Maxie. Just … ignoring the siren call of carbonated temptation.”

His thumb strokes your cheek as he studies you, clearly not convinced. Max has been so incredibly supportive during this pregnancy, abstaining from Red Bull himself in solidarity. Cutting out his biggest vice, just so you don’t have to be tormented by the sight and scent of it everywhere.

“We should get you out of here,” he says, looping an arm around your waist to help leverage your bulk out of the chair. “The smells can’t be helping those crazy cravings.”

You open your mouth to protest, not wanting to pull him away from his work, but a fresh wave of dizzying desire hits you as a mechanic cracks open another can. The fizzing hiss and unmistakable scent make your mouth water uncontrollably.

“Max ...” you whisper, feeling your throat tighten with barely restrained craving and hormonal tears prickling your eyes.

He follows your yearning gaze to the Red Bull can and understanding dawns. “Oh, liefje ...” Scooping you into his arms, he strides from the garage, shooting an apologetic look at his crew.

Once outside in the fresh air, you bury your face against Max’s shoulder, inhaling his familiar, comforting cologne as he carries you to the motorhome. He eases you onto the couch, brushing kisses along your forehead and temple.

“I’m so sorry, schatje,” he murmurs, anguish lining his handsome features. “I hate seeing you suffer like this. If there was any way I could make the cravings stop ...”

You catch his hand, lacing your fingers through his calloused ones. “Max, you know I would never actually ask you to give up Red Bull, right?”

He shakes his head fiercely. “Not being able to have it for nine months is nothing compared to your sacrifice, carrying our baby. I don’t deserve you.”

Pulling him down beside you, you cup the chiseled line of his jaw, making him meet your gaze. “I happen to think you deserve the very best, Mr. Verstappen. And right now, the very best for both of us would be ...” Your voice cracks with fresh longing. “A damn Red Bull.”

Max’s eyes blaze with sudden determination, that iron willpower that has made him a champion coming to life. “Then that’s what I’ll get you. If those tossers at Red Bull Company won’t make a safe, caffeine-free version for pregnant women, I’ll personally make them regret it.”

You laugh shakily. “Max, you can’t just bully a corporation into creating a new product line for one person’s weird craving!”

“You’re not just one person,” he growls, tangling his fingers in your hair and bringing his forehead to rest against yours. “You’re my everything. And our baby deserves for its mother to be happy and have her cravings satisfied.”

Pressing a fierce kiss to your lips, he adds, “I’m calling them right now. And then straight to the CEO, if I have to. I’ll get you that Red Bull if it’s the last thing I do.”

True to his word, the indomitable Max Verstappen spends the next several days working every possible connection and calling in every favor. You catch bits of conversations, his clipped tones making it clear just how serious he is about this bizarre quest.

“No, I don’t care if it’s not ‘cost-effective’. This is for my very pregnant wife ...”

“She’s risking her health to grow an entire person! The least your company can do is make a freaking caffeine-free energy drink ...”

The crew quickly learns not to open any Red Bull around you, lest they face the wrath of an overprotective Max. Which is slightly embarrassing … but also incredibly sweet.

Your hormones most definitely approve.

Finally, there’s a break in the stalemate. Helmut Marko himself shows up at the motor home, those bushy salt-and-pepper eyebrows furrowed.

“Max, this is ridiculous. They will not reconfigure an entire product line just because Y/N is having a little … craving.”

You brace yourself for the explosion, but Max just levels Helmut with that intense stare. “If you could experience these cravings yourself, you would be singing a different tune. Y/N is sacrificing everything to have our baby. The least Red Bull can do is give her a safe option to have the flavor she misses so much.”

Helmut’s expression softens slightly at the obvious devotion in Max’s voice. “You know that corporate will never go for it. Not for just one person ...”

“Then make it for all the other pregnant women dealing with the same issues,” Max returns, unruffled. “Or is a company that plasters ‘Gives You Wings’ on every can really too cowardly to follow through on empowering people?”

You suck in a shocked breath at his daring play. But the flicker of anger and resigned capitulation in Helmut’s eyes shows that it worked.

“Fine, you little shit,” the older man growls. “I’ll talk to product development. But I’m not making any promises!”

Except somehow … Max’s sheer bullheaded tenacity eventually batters through all the corporate resistance and red tape. Three weeks later, an unmistakable bright blue can appears on the counter, the iconic Red Bull logo stamped across it.

“What’s this?” You ask in confusion.

Max slides an arm around your waist, beaming proudly. “Open it and see.”

You crack the seal, sniffing cautiously … and almost melt at the nostalgic, beloved scent of Red Bull. But just as you start to panic about caffeine, you notice the slightly different flavor.

“Max, is this ...”

He nods, grinning. “Zero caffeine but all the taste you’ve been craving. No more tears over those damn energy drink cans, okay?”

Throwing your arms around him, you yank his head down to capture his mouth in a grateful kiss. “Have I mentioned lately how incredible you are?”

“Once or twice,” he jokes, then sobers, cupping your belly. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to make you and our baby happy.”

“You’re giving me everything I ever wanted and more.” You take a long pull of the perfectly flavored liquid, sighing in blissful satisfaction. “We hit the jackpot with you, Max Verstappen.”

He kisses you again, reveling in your obvious enjoyment. “The only jackpot I need is right here.”

***

Your baby bump has popped out to truly impressive proportions now at eight months along. What started as an innocent craving for Red Bull has escalated into an all-out physiological war.

Nothing seems to satisfy you for long — you’re a walking bundle of hormones and insatiable desires.

From the plush solitude of the Red Bull hospitality suite, you try not to gaze wistfully toward the Ferrari encampment. But you can’t resist fixating on the tantalizing cones of rich gelato constantly streaming from their hospitality tent.

Watching a couple of Ferrari mechanics stroll by, licking at scoops of pistachio and stracciatella, is enough to kickstart a powerful new yearning. Your mouth waters shamelessly as they pass, the creamy dessert leaving you weak in the knees. Before you can overthink it, you’re shuffling toward the entrance, one hand cradling your belly.

“Scusi,” you call out hesitantly as you peek inside. “Mi dispiace … is it possible to get some gelato?”

You half expect to be waved away — it’s well known that the Ferrari team is notoriously insular and protective of their spoils. But the cheerful greeting you receive is instantaneous and overwhelming.

“Madonna mia! Look at this beautiful piccina!”

Suddenly you’re engulfed by a whirlwind of chattering Italian voices, greeted by smiling faces from the team of elderly signoras who comprise the Ferrari hospitality staff. Weathered hands pat your belly and cheeks, clucking sympathetically at your swollen state.

“You poor bambina, absolutely enorme! Of course we’ll get you some gelato to refresh you. And biscotti too! You need to keep up your energy, si?”

You’re ushered toward a plush sofa, various grandmotherly types fussing over you like you’re the most delicate, precious thing. It’s … surprisingly wonderful. They clearly adore babies and pregnant women. You get the sense that indulging a mother-to-be is hardwired into their very beings.

A tray of gelato cups appears, the rainbow of flavors almost dazzling in their variety — chocolate, pistachio, prickly pear, lemon, stracciatella. Before you can reach for one, it’s plucked from your grasp.

“No no no! Leave it to Nonna Maria.” A stout signora with a green paisley dress and frosted silver curls shakes her head sternly. “I’ll start you with the lemon to whet your appetite. Then a nice creamy stracciatella as a proper treat for the bambino.”

The tangy flavor of the lemon gelato hits your craving exquisitely. As soon as you’ve polished off that cup, Nonna Maria presents another brimming with the creamy chocolate chip perfection of stracciatella. You moan in appreciation, unbothered by the chorus of approving noises from your doting new entourage.

Before you know it, you’ve been plied with cups of hazelnut, strawberry, and caramel flavors as well. These hospitable Italian ladies simply won’t be deterred from pampering a future mamma. As you scrape the last smears of gelato from a ramekin, a new grandmother settles on the sofa beside you.

“Now ... tell Nonna Gina what this little maschietto or bambina has been craving, eh?” She pats your belly affectionately. “We have chefs who can whip up anything your heart desires!”

Is it a pregnancy thing, this sudden wave of tears that blurs your vision? Or just being so insanely touched by the kindness and maternal care of these lovely strangers? You blink rapidly, swallowing hard.

“Honestly … gelato has been my biggest craving these past couple days. I don’t know if I can eat another bite.”

A chorus of disapproving gasps and tuts rises from the assembled grandmothers. “Bah! This pregnancy has ruined your appetite, piccina,” one crows, waving a hand dismissively. “We’ll soon get it back to rights, don’t you worry.”

For the next hour, you’re lavished with attention, fussed over and coddled like the most precious jewel. Cold drinks and chilled towels appear to keep you comfortable as the nonnas take turns sitting with you, petting your belly and swapping outrageous birth stories.

Their colorful Italian voices swell and ebb as they bicker over whose recipe for pasta al ragu is most authentic, who has the most grandchildren, and whose first-born grandson is most handsome.

It’s chaos and noise and overwhelming affection … and you’ve never felt so utterly content.

As the afternoon light slants golden through the awning, a familiar figure appears in the entrance, haloed by the fiery rays.

“Liefje? I’ve been looking everywhere ...” Max’s disbelieving gaze sweeps over the scene in front of him — you, surrounded by a veritable coven of grandmotherly Italians who seem entirely absorbed with you. “What in the world ...”

A chubby signora with a bright orange shawl wrapped around her ample form hops up, beaming widely. “Ahh! We have been absolutely spoiling your beautiful wife, of course. Did you know she had a craving for gelato? Well, no problem for us — we have taken her like one of our own bambinas!”

The others cluck and murmur in outraged agreement at his shocked expression.

“We absolutely will not let a piccina in such a state go hungry or uncomfortable! Now you sit down so we can get you a plate of some proper food too!”

Max gapes at you, utterly nonplussed as you grin back at him with unabashed glee, utterly stuffed with Italian desserts and reveling in the indulgent babying. You pat the space beside you invitingly.

“You’ve got to try Nonna Gina’s tiramisu, Maxie. It’ll knock your socks off.”

He settles beside you, slinging an arm around your shoulders and still looking rather dazed. But the instant the first warm smile and pat lands on his arm or knee, Max’s expression melts. This team of fussing Italian grandmothers has clearly adopted you both as their own.

Nonna Maria reappears, shoving a plate stacked with crispy arancini, indulgent risotto alla Milanese, and a creamy slice of tiramisu into your husband’s hands. “Eat up! You need to keep your strength up too, caring for this sweet cosa bella.” She plants bristly kisses on both your cheeks before scurrying off again.

Max watches her go, then turns to you with a bemused chuckle, squeezing you close. “Well, schatje. I have to hand it to you — at least your pregnancy cravings bring you to some … interesting places.”

You hum in agreement, perfectly content as you snuggle against his side. “Can you really think of a better place for me to nest?” You grin as another nonna appears to pat his cheek, welcoming him into the chaotic fold. “I think I may have just found my second family.”

He tilts your chin up, eyes sparkling with warmth. “Anything that makes you happy and keeps our baby healthy.”

As he kisses you tenderly, surrounded by clucking encouragement and rapturous croons of “bello, bellisimo” from your new Italian grandmothers, you know you’ve never felt so blissfully cherished.

You and Max make your way slowly back to the Red Bull motorhome, stuffed to the gills with gelato and trailed by a gaggle of besotted well-wishers calling out farewells and advice.

“I still can’t believe you managed to befriend the entirety of Ferrari hospitality,” Max laughs, helping ease you onto the couch in his driver’s room. He nudges your belly playfully. “This little one is shaping up to be quite the international charmer!”

“Says the man who single-handedly compelled Red Bull to create an entirely new product line,” you point out, patting your swollen middle contentedly. “I have a feeling this baby is going to be the most spoiled child on earth.”

Max settled beside you, gathering you close with a tender smile. “Can you blame all our people for wanting to give the world to you two?” His thumb traced your jawline reverently. “You’re carrying a little miracle, liefje.”

Your breath catches, as it so often did when he looks at you like that. Like you’re his entire universe. With so much pure adoration and love shining in those grey eyes.

“Our miracle,” you correct softly, cradling his calloused hand over your belly. “I couldn’t have done it without you. Not just supporting me … but giving me everything I could ever dream of.”

He opens his mouth like he wanted to protest, but you press on, needing him to understand how treasured he makes you feel.

“You don’t stop until I’m happy. Even when I get these raging, random cravings that probably seem crazy, you move heaven and earth to give me whatever I need. Most people would never ...”

“Neither of us is most people,” Max interrupts fiercely. He presses a searing kiss to your lips, then the swell of your abdomen. “You and our little one are my entire world. I’ll spend every day showing you how much I love you both, how grateful I am to have you in my life.”

Hormones raging, you pull his mouth back to yours, savoring the taste and feel of him surrounding you. When you finally part, you rest your forehead against his.

“In that case, you better rest up for tonight,” you tease. “I have a feeling that someone’s going to get a craving for sardines and waffles right around midnight.”

***

At nine months pregnant, you feel like a blissfully beached whale.

Your belly protrudes so massively that you can barely see your feet anymore. Simple tasks like tying your shoes or rolling over in bed have become awkward geometric obstacles. Max has to help you up from every chair or couch, his strong arms levering your frame into a vertical position.

Lingering in the paddock is no longer an option either. You’ve been gently but firmly ordered back home to Monaco to prepare for the baby’s arrival.

Thank goodness your nesting instincts are going full tilt — otherwise you might go stir crazy waiting for this little one to make their grand debut. You’ve rearranged and re-organized the nursery a dozen times, washed and rewashed all the tiny onesies and miniature accessories, and baked enough lactation cookies to feed an army of nursing mothers.

Really, there’s only one craving occupying your mind now …

The thump of shoes in the hall makes you look up eagerly. Max appears in the doorway of the sunlit nursery, loose waves of brown hair framing his face. The plain white tee stretches enticingly across his chest and shoulders, making your mouth water for an entirely different reason than food.

“Hey schatje,” he greets, eyes crinkling at the corners as he takes in your flushed cheeks. A knowing smirk tugs at one side of his mouth. “Were you just ... thinking about me?”

You shake your head adamantly, wincing as the motion makes your whole body ache in protest. “Maybe just a little. This particular craving is getting out of control.”

Crossing to you in two strides, Max cups your jaw and brings your lips crashing together in a searing kiss. His tongue sweeps demanding and possessive into your mouth, making you whimper faintly. That intoxicating masculine scent of fresh sweat, motor oil, and sandalwood surrounds you in an alluring cloud.

After all these years, just the taste and smell of your husband is enough to drench you in molten wanting. Baby or no baby, Max Verstappen is still the sexiest goddamn thing on two legs.

“Mmm, I know exactly what you need,” he rumbles against your neck, nipping a tingling path along your sensitive skin. “Luckily for you, I’ve got a free schedule all afternoon to help take care of this craving ...”

He scoops you into his arms effortlessly, cradling your heavy weight against his chest to carry you to the bedroom. You twine your arms shamelessly around his neck, luxuriating in the hard strength of his body against yours.

“Aren’t you worried about ... squashing the baby?”

“Not at all,” he deposits you carefully on the bed. Those bright grey eyes darken with blazing lust. “I’m going to take such good care of you and our little one.”

His hands and mouth seem to be everywhere at once — caressing, nibbling, and stroking every sensitive inch he can lavish adoring attention on. You keen softly when he dips his tongue into your navel, rubbing reverent circles over the tight swell of your belly.

“You’re so gorgeous like this,” Max murmurs, lips brushing the crease where your torso and bump meet. “So ripe and round and radiant with our child. My beautiful, strong girl ...”

All you can do is lie there gasping, overwhelmed in the best possible way. He strips you methodically, leaving a trail of scorching, openmouthed kisses over every newly exposed inch.

“My sexy little pregnant wife,” he husks, tongue dragging up the slick crease at the apex of your thighs. “Can’t resist this craving can you, liefje?”

His fingers plunge inside you, curling expertly as his mouth closes over your throbbing bud. You throw your head back shamelessly, mindless with pleasure as Max devours you.

So good, so unbearably good …

He ravishes you thoroughly, sending gushing waves of release crashing through your body over and over again until you’re gasping and quivering. Atoms of blissful satisfaction hum in your bloodstream as you float back into sweet oblivion.

An insistent nudge against your belly slowly rouses you. Max looms over you, hair deliciously rumpled and eyes glittering wickedly. “Did I satisfy that craving sufficiently? Or should I keep going?”

Your mouth curves in a greedy smile, hands gliding over his flexing shoulders and chest. “Again, please ...”

It had long since become a running gag around the paddock and team — before you were advised to stop flying. When you couldn’t be located, someone would joke that you must be off ravaging your utterly besotten husband yet again.

Max took the ribbing with surprising grace, grinning unrepentantly whenever his shirt collar revealed another blossom of lovebites discoloring the skin of his throat.

You really didn’t care about the teasing. You’re indulging an entirely healthy and normal craving — just a wife thoroughly appreciating her man.

“Can you believe people used to call this a punishment?” You giggle breathlessly one afternoon.

Max nips a stinging path along the soft skin of your inner thighs, tracing tantalizingly close to your heated center. He laves his tongue soothingly over the reddened marks, leering up at you from between your parted legs.

“Let them call it whatever they want. I’m just taking advantage of your hormones making you insatiable for me.”

“Mmm, well I can’t seem to resist your obscenely perfect body either,” you admit with a lazy stretch. “Maybe we really are being punished.”

One dark brow wings up eloquently as Max drags his eyes over you in a deliberately insolent perusal. Taking your leg in hand, he licks an achingly slow, filthy stripe up the crease where thigh meets hip.

You choke on a whimper, whole body jolting as he sucks a blossom of wet kisses into the satiny expanse of your inner thigh. Those bright grey eyes hold yours in wicked challenge as his clever tongue massages and swirls over your sensitized flesh.

“This certainly doesn’t seem like punishment to me,” he husks darkly. “Does it feel like punishment when I do this ...” His mouth moves higher. “Or this ...”

By the time he finishes torturing you into a quivering, needy wreck, you’re more than ready to beg.

“Please, Max!” You sob, bucking helplessly against the maddening sensations. “I need you, oh god I need you so bad ...”

He settles heavily over you, nuzzling your hair aside to trail searing kisses along your damp throat. “Then you shall have me. My needy wife can have whatever she craves ...”

It’s midway through one such shattering round of lovemaking that Max’s phone begins to ring shrilly. You try to disentangle, burning embarrassment tinting your cheeks, but he simply growls and clutches you tighter.

“Leave it!” He bites out, surging forward to recapture your mouth in a bruising clash of teeth and tongue between thrusts. “I’m busy ... satisfying … my wife ...”

After, as you lie tangled in a sweaty heap of satiation, you can’t resist asking with a wry smile, “Was that another craving I just demanded you satisfy?”

Max props himself up on one elbow, thumb stroking idly along your abdomen as his piercing gaze roams over your flushed, disheveled form.

“Whatever my wife needs,” he responds huskily. Those burning eyes promise infinite carnal delights to come as they caress your body. “I’ll always crave giving her everything she desires.”

He stretches beside you, a blissful smile curving his lips as you snuggle up against his side to exchange lazy kisses.

You’ve got a sneaking suspicion this is one craving that might outlast the pregnancy ...

[milksnake-tea]

━━ welcome, rover .

Waking up in a foreign world with no memories and hostile natives isn't what it's made out to be, especially when you have a sassy voice telling you to jump off a cliff.

self aware!wuthering waves au (kinda.)

contains: male!rover, elements of sagau, ooc!chixia, canon divergence, based off of beta wuwa

wc: 2.2k

a/n: i wrote this on the plane while having motion sickness so uh sorry if it's bad but i had a vision... this is based on the old version of wuwa btw !! where everyone was kinda hostile towards rover so that's why chixias more antagonistic bc i heard she was kinda mean in the og... rover might be ooc too bc honestly my experience w wuwa is... limited due to the lagging but i hope i did him decently enough !! if he doesn't have sass that's uhm. that's my bad. anyways self aware beams your wuwa

When Rover awoke on that new world, the first thing he'd seen was a heated glare.

Alright, maybe “glare” wasn't the right word. It was moreso wariness, or distrust. Narrowed eyes, hostile and defensive body language, and hands hovering above where he assumed was their weapons holster - it was obvious that to the locals, he was an unwelcomed guest.

He'd barely regained enough consciousness to comprehend the language - their words were twisted, alien, yet he could somehow still understand them - before he was barraged with an onslaught of interrogations: Who was he? Why was he here? What were his intentions? Why was he alone?

And of course, when faced with all of these questions, his recently wiped mind went blank - that tends to happen when you have amnesia. Unfortunately for him, that answer wasn't exactly satisfactory. It was painfully obvious from their expressions that no one believed him when he explained that he didn't remember anything, not even his own name.

The redhead was the most aggressive - Rover was sure she would've already started getting physical had her companion, a darker-haired woman dressed in blue, not kept her in line. While the others weren't exactly kind to him, they still remained civil… or at least, as civil as they were willing to be.

In the end, the third woman, this one with sharp eyes and presumably the medic of the group, managed to convince the other two that Rover was telling the truth after a brief examination. It was then, and only then that the interrogations stopped, and Rover could finally have some time to himself as the three women discussed what to do with him.

As the details of their conversation faded into the background (he heard a lot of fancy terms that he wasn't familiar with), Rover decided to take a look around.

He'd landed in the middle of a forest, which didn't strike him quite right - out of everything, the one thing he clearly remembered was being underwater. But as he surveyed his surroundings, only looming cliffs, thin trees and swaying grass greeted him.

He winced, his head throbbing suddenly. A stabbing sensation struck through his head like a bullet, and then there was warmth, spreading through his body like sunlight.

“..ey. Hey!”

Rover blinked. The redhead planted her hands on her hips, irritation evident from her scowl.

“We’ve decided what to do with you,” the woman in blue said softly, holding an arm in front of the redhead to calm her.

Rover tilted his head innocently, prompting her to continue.

“We'll take you to the city,” explained the medic. Her voice was just as frigid as her gaze. “There, the officials will examine and determine whether or not you're a threat.”

“I’m-” Rover started, but caught himself. “Okay.”

The medic nodded, then bent down on her knees. Noticing her outstretched hand, Rover realized she was offering to help him up.

He stumbled as she pulled him to his feet. His legs felt like jelly, pins and needles pricking at him as they slowly woke up. For a second, he'd thought he'd fall over.

But then the warmth came again, and this time, with a voice.

“Steady. Easy does it.”

Sudden strength surged into his legs, and he stabilized himself, the pins and needles fading away.

“There you go.”

He looked up as if expecting someone to be there, but predictably, all that met him was a vast blue sky.

“Are you looking for me?” He heard the voice laugh, a clear, bell-like sound. “Maybe do that later, you're making yourself look funny.”

With a start, he realized that the voice was right. The three women were giving him weird looks, and his hand was still intertwined with the medic’s.

Hastily, he yanked his hand away, a sheepish chuckle escaping him as he rubbed the back of his neck. The redhead scoffed.

“Yangyang, this guy’s got a screw loose or something…” she muttered to the woman dressed in blue. Yangyang sighed in agreement, turning on her heel and walking away.

“Bear with it for a bit, Chixia,” she replied. “We'll drop him off at the City Hall, and they'll take it from there.”

Chixia didn't look happy with that, but she relented nevertheless.

“Wow.”

Rover flinched as the voice spoke again, this time closer to his ear.

“They do not like you at all, do they?”

Obviously not, Rover thought incredulously, but can you blame them?

He'd noticed it a while ago - the three were clearly on edge. Something was going on on this planet, something bad. Having an unpredictable factor such as him probably wasn't helping.

“Good point.”

So you can hear my thoughts. Rover huffed as he pulled himself up a cliff, vines scratching at his arms. The route the locals had decided to take wasn't a kind one.

“Well, yeah. How else are we supposed to have our super-secret confidential shittalking sessions?”

Rover paused. What?

“Don't worry about it.”

No, what'd you say-

“I said don't worry about it. Now keep climbing, they're leaving you behind.”

Easy for you to say, Rover thought indignantly, but did as the voice said nevertheless. He quickly caught up to the group, the medic raising a brow as he fell into step beside her. Thankfully, she didn't say anything and only kept her gaze straight ahead.

“Hey, I'm not the one who's being marched to officials for an inspection. And I don't have a reputation I need to maintain.”

Rover hated to admit it, but the voice had a point.

What are you, anyway? He walked past a small pond filled with fish. His hands twitched with the urge to jump in and grab some, but his first impressions were already bad enough as is.

“I'm God, actually.”

Rover deadpanned, unimpressed.

“Jeez, tough crowd.” The voice shifted, moving from his right to his left ear. “But seriously though, I'm human, just like you.”

If you were, I'd be able to see you.

“Fair enough,” the voice mused. “But I really am human. I just… happened to wake up invisible and connected to you.”

Rover grunted as he vaulted over yet another cliff. Very convincing.

“Says you.” He could practically hear them rolling their eyes. “At least I remember what my name is.”

That one hurt more than Rover would've liked to admit.

“...Sorry.” Quieter now, almost meek. “That was out of line.”

Rover closed his eyes briefly, breathing in as subtly as he could before opening them again.

It's fine. You didn't say anything false.

“It was still insensitive.”

Rover sped up. It happens to the best of us.

The voice went quiet, leaving Rover to the slight howl of the wind and the sound of boots crunching against sand. But they hadn't left entirely, no - Rover could feel a presence to his left, subtle but impossible to ignore.

“So you don't remember your name, huh?” Chixia said suddenly.

“No,” Rover muttered.

“Guess that just means we'll have to give you one. Or I could just keep calling you ‘Weirdo’ in my head.”

Rover’s eye twitched. “Let's not.”

Chixia grinned back at him, but the smile didn't ease his nerves at all - on the contrary, it made them worse.

“Why not? I think it's pretty fitting.”

“Chixia,” Yangyang warned, which Rover was grateful for. Had he retaliated, things wouldn't have ended well for him.

Chixia shrugged, crossing her arms behind her head as she sauntered off.

“I must apologize for her.” Yangyang turned to him. To his surprise, she seemed genuine. “Chixia usually isn't that rude, it's just that, well…”

She trailed off, uncertain on how to continue. Rover shook his head.

“It's fine,” he assured. “I can tell that you're all anxious.”

Yangyang’s shoulders slumped. “Is it that obvious? But… yes, you're right. Life hasn't exactly been calm as of late, with Tacet Fields appearing left and right.”

“Tacet Fields?” Rover repeated, tilting his head.

“It's easier to demonstrate than to explain,” the medic cut in, stepping forward as the cliffs and trees opened up. Rover followed her gaze to a darkened field, corrupted by dark matter and with a star-shapped scar at the center.

Abyss-like creatures prowled the corrupted zone, covered in dark armor, scales, and/or fur. They spoke to one another in gargled gibberish with voices that sent chills down Rover's spine.

“Those are Tacet Discords,” Yangyang explained. “They’re born from the distorted frequencies that result from the Tacet Field.”

“Ew.”

Welcome back, Rover greeted, to which the voice didn't respond.

“They're ugly,” they commented instead, scrutinizing the Tacet Discords one by one. Rover silently agreed. “But there's a few pretty ones I can see, like that wolf.”

Rover stared at said wolf's sharp canines and ravenous glare. Pretty… isn't what I would call them, but suit yourself.

“There’s a whole swarm of them out there,” Chixia observed, breaking through their conversation. She stretched her arms as if preparing for battle. “Can't get to the city without getting through them first.”

“Hm…” Yangyang contemplated to herself, before looking up at Rover. “Say, uhm…”

She hesitated, not knowing what to call him.

“Rover.”

His mouth moved on its own as his voice mixed with the voice's. Yangyang blinked, startled.

“I… I thought you didn't remember your name.”

“I don't,” Rover spoke without meaning to, like a puppet on strings. “It just… came to mind.”

Yangyang didn't look convinced, but she let it go.

“Alright, then, Rover, do you know how to fight?”

The feeling of being puppeteered left him as the voice became separate once more.

“Yes,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady.

What the hell was that?

Yangyang smiled. “Good, because we'll need to clear that Tacet Field before reaching the city.”

He nodded, understanding the implications. “I'll do my best to fight alongside you.”

“I don't know what that was,” the voice replied, and sure enough, they too sounded unsure. “I just did what the system told me to.”

The system? Rover questioned, but received no answer.

Rover heard a pistol click behind him as Chixia readied herself. “Don't try anything funny,.”

“I won't.” Operating on instinct, Rover drew a blade of his own. Chixia chuckled.

“We'll see about that.”

One by one, the group jumped off the cliff, deploying a glider so as to land safely below. Rover was the last to go. As his feet skidded at the edge of the cliff, sending pebbles flying down, unease swirled in his gut.

“Hey,” the voice said gently. “Don't worry. I'll help you out.”

What… Rover furrowed his brows, frustrated at how little he knew. What are you?

“Like I said, I'm just another person who ended up stranded here. I have a feeling we're going to be stuck together for a while, so I suggest you get used to me.”

Then, Rover sighed, at least give me a name. You said you remembered yours.

The voice paused.

“[Name],” it finally said, the name foreign to Rover's ears. “That's my name.”

“[Name],” he murmured, feeling it roll off his tongue. “We should get going, the others are waiting. You said you'd help me, right?”

“Yep. Just jump off the cliff and extend your left hand up to glide.”

Rover paused. Aren't these called intrusive thoughts?

“Just do it.”

Taking a deep breath, Rover looked down at the jump before him nervously. Closing his eyes and mentally praying to whatever god was listening that he wouldn't end up a black puddle on the forest floor, he lept.

Mechanical wings unfolded above him in a series of clicks and whirrs, a handle extending down for him to grab onto like his life depended on it. Peeking open his eyes, he let out a sigh of relief, feeling a small breeze brush against his face.

“See?” Although not obvious, relief bled into [Name]’s words as Rover landed safely on his feet. “You can trust me.”

A small smile slipped onto Rover's face, the first since he'd woken up.

“I guess I can.”

The glider folded in on itself, replaced by his blade as he joined the others.

“Took you long enough,” Chixia commented, but for the first time, it wasn't with ill intent.

“Sorry,” Rover replied. “But I'm here now.”

“Enough chitchat,” Yangyang called up ahead. “They've noticed us.”

Sure enough, the Tacet Discords were turning towards them, snarls twisting where he assumed their mouths were. The corruption worsened, dark energy forming in black smoke.

“Let's see what you're made of, Rover,” said Chixia, expertly spinning her pistols. Yangyang had already drawn her sword, and Baizhi, the medic, had summoned a pearly dragon-like creature to fight alongside her. [Name] didn't say anything, but he could feel their energy beginning to seep into his muscles, ready to aid him in battle.

Rover pointed his blade towards the Tacet Discords.

“Let's go.”

reblogs w comments are appreciated !!

tags: @sh0jun, @themoderatelyawesomeninja, @xphantasmagoriax, @rainswept, @lucensei

@akutasoda , @naraven , @scribs-dibs

[eepwtf]

SYNOPSIS - BRATTY

TYPE - SERIES "Thinking about..."

WARNINGS - bratty!soldier boy , top m!reader , 18+ , name calling , overstimulation , some degrading , other shit i’m too lazy to warn just overall smut don’t like it don’t read!

-FEM-ALIGNED, MINORS, AGELESS, PRONOUN-LESS BLOGS DNF

ffffuck thinking about soldier boy who has been pushing your buttons all day, strutting around with that cocky attitude, testing your patience to the limit. his bratty remarks, the constant backtalk, and that smug grin were driving you up the wall. it was like he was daring you to do something about it, taunting you with every word, every glance. you knew he was doing it on purpose, trying to see just how far he could push before you snapped. and god, you were close—so close to breaking.

finally, you couldn't take it anymore. grabbing him by the collar, you yanked him close. with a swift, decisive movement, you shoved him down onto the bed. he landed with a thud, his eyes wide with a mix of surprise and anticipation. but he quickly masked it with that familiar defiance. "you finally gonna do something, or are you just all talk?" he sneered, his words laced with challenge as he propped himself up on his elbows, chest heaving.

you didn’t reply. the smirk still tugged at his lips, but you saw through it now—the brief hitch in his breath, the way his body tensed just a little under your intense gaze. it was all the fuel you needed. gripping his shirt, you yanked it off in one swift motion, and before he could protest, his pants followed. you moved with precision, each action deliberate, each movement commanding. "wait—" he started, but his voice wavered slightly as you grabbed the back of his neck, pushing him face-first into the mattress. his words melted into a soft, almost desperate sound, his cockiness draining away as he felt the roughness of the sheets against his bare skin, your weight pressing down on him. the sound that escaped his lips was almost a whimper, and you reveled in the power shift.

the bed creaked under your weight as you hovered over him, the intensity of the moment palpable. his earlier bravado seemed to evaporate, leaving behind a raw and exposed version of the ben who had been so intent on testing your limits. you leaned in, your breath warm against his ear. the contrast between the softness of the bed and the firmness of your hold was almost cruel.

leaning over him, your hand grasped onto his waist. “gonna keep running that pretty little mouth of yours?” you purred, your breath brushing against the shell of his ear and making him shiver uncontrollably underneath you. the closeness, the deliberate press of your clothed bulge against his backside, was enough to make him tense, his body betraying his frustration with every subtle twitch. “seems like i’m gonna have to fix that, huh?” as you ground your semi-hard bulge slowly against his ass, the friction made him gasp, a soft, involuntary sound escaping his lips.

however, ben stayed defiant, he angled his head to glare at you, his jaw clenched, though there was a faint quiver in his lip. “oh, please. you don’t have the balls—“ but you didn’t let him finish. your hand shot out, grabbing a fistful of his hair and yanking it back sharply. the sudden, painful pull forced a gasp from his throat, his eyes widening in surprise and—was that lust? His breath hitched as you pressed your clothed, semi-hard bulge against his ass, the firmness of your body against his making him suck in a sharp breath. “you were saying?" you growled, your tone mockingly, but you didn’t let go, pulling his head back even further until his back arched beneath you, exposing the curve of his neck. you ground your hips against him, slow and deliberate. His body tensed, trying to resist, but you could feel the slight shudder that ran through him, the way his defiance was starting to crack. You had him exactly where you wanted him, and the satisfaction was intoxicating.

“fuck you,” he spat, though his voice lacked the venom it once had. you could hear the tremor in his tone, the way his breath caught in his throat as you tightened your grip on his hair, pulling his head back even further. “is that right?” you leaned in close, your lips brushing against the shell of his ear, sending another shiver coursing through his body. "guess i’m gonna have to shut you up, huh?” his protests turned to a low whine, his body betraying him as you ground harder against him, letting him feel every inch of your bulge through the fabric. he squirmed beneath you, but it wasn’t in resistance—it was something else, something needy.

for a moment, he stayed silent, his breathing ragged. then, in a last-ditch effort to hold onto that arrogance, he let out a breathless, “do your worst.” you chuckled darkly, leaning back just enough to slide a hand down his spine, feeling him tremble beneath your fingertips. “oh, you have no idea what you’ve just asked for.” with one swift motion, you reached beneath him, your hand wrapping around his pulsing cock, teasing the tip just enough to make him groan, his body instinctively pressing into your hand despite his resistance. “thought so,” you murmured, your grip tightening just enough to make him gasp again.

his gasp echoed in the room, but you didn’t stop. your hand moved with slow, deliberate strokes, teasing his cock as his body betrayed him. every twitch of his muscles, every shudder that ran through him was proof of how close he was to breaking, even if his mind refused to admit it. the defiant mask he always wore was cracking, piece by piece, under your touch. you could feel the heat radiating from his skin, the way he arched his back into your grip despite himself, his breath coming in ragged bursts. his fists clenched the sheets, knuckles white, as though holding on would keep him from completely falling apart.

but you weren’t about to let him keep his composure.

“you talk big,” you whispered against the back of his neck, your voice a low growl. your free hand moved to his hip, gripping him firmly as you ground your cock harder against his ass, letting him feel just how hard you were getting. “but you’re already falling apart under my hands, aren’t you princess? that mouth of yours isn’t gonna save you now.” his body jerked, the insult cutting through his pride, but instead of a saying anything, all he could manage was a sharp, breathy sound—a mix of frustration and arousal. “i—i'm not falling apart, fuck you.”

you chuckled, dark and low, amused by his stubbornness. “is that so?” your hand tightened around his cock, pumping him faster, but not enough to push him over the edge. you were going to drag this out, make him beg for it, break him down until there was nothing left of that bratty attitude.

he was panting now, his body betraying him more with every passing second. his hips bucked slightly into your hand, a reaction he clearly wasn’t in control of, and you smirked, knowing you had him exactly where you wanted him. “look at you,” you taunted, your voice dripping with dark satisfaction. “begging for it without even realizing it.” your fingers grazed over the sensitive head of his cock, drawing a strangled sound from his throat. “such a fucking slut aren’t you?”

his response was little more than a pathetic moan, muffled as he pressed his face into the mattress. his body was betraying him, every muscle trembling as your hand worked him with practiced precision. finally, after a long moment, he couldn’t hold back anymore. his voice cracked, breaking through the heavy silence of the room. “f—fuck… fine. you win.”

the words hung in the air between you, heavy with the weight of his surrender. but you weren’t satisfied with just that. “say it,” you demanded, your grip tightening around his cock, pumping him harder now, fingers grazed over the sensitive head of his cock, smearing the slick pre-cum and drawing a strangled sound from, pushing him closer to the edge. “i want to hear you admit it.” for a moment, he hesitated, his pride warring with his need. but in the end, his body made the decision for him, the overwhelming pleasure ripping the last remnants of control from his grasp. “i’m—” his voice was shaky, breathless, as he gave in. “i’m a slut, i’m your slut.”

a wide smirk spread across your face as the words left his lips, and you leaned down, your breath hot against his ear as you whispered, “that’s my good boy.” the phrase rolled off your tongue like silk, soft yet commanding. his body jerked beneath you, reacting to the praise despite himself, a low groan escaping him as he edged closer to release.

but you weren’t done with him yet.

slowing your strokes just enough to keep him teetering on the edge, you pulled back slightly, letting the tension build between you. he let out a frustrated whine, his body writhing under you, desperate for the release you were denying him. “don’t get ahead of yourself,” you murmured, your voice thick with control. “i decide when you get to cum.”

the noise that escaped him was somewhere between a groan and a growl, frustration evident in every strained breath. but he didn’t fight back this time. he was at your mercy, and he knew it. his body trembled beneath you, every muscle tense as he awaited your command, knowing he couldn’t take much more. you shifted your hips, grinding your clothed cock harder against his bare ass, the friction making both of you groan. he arched his back instinctively, trying to press himself closer to you, but you pulled back just enough to keep him on edge, leaving him straining for more. "please,” he panted, his voice a wrecked, shaky mess. he tried to twist his head to look at you, his eyes half-lidded with desire, but the firm grip you had on his hair kept him pinned in place. “please, i—”

“oh, now you’re begging?” you growled into his ear, cutting him off as you tugged his hair sharply, the action making him gasp. “no. you don’t get to beg now.” you released your hold on his hair, letting his head drop back to the mattress. he sagged, only to tense up again when your hands grabbed his hips, pulling him up, positioning him just how you wanted him—his ass perfectly angled for you.

you didn’t bother to ease him into it. with no warning, you lined yourself up behind him, the tip of your now fully hard cock pressing insistently against his entrance, teasing, stretching him without entering just yet. he writhed beneath you, his body reacting to the sensation with instinctive desperation. his breathing was shallow, his hands gripping the sheets like they were the only thing grounding him to reality. “tell me how bad you want it,” you whispered, your voice thick with dark amusement as you pushed just a little harder against his tight hole, still not giving him what he craved. the tip of your cock slid teasingly over him, rubbing slowly against his entrance, the pressure enough to make his body tremble uncontrollably. “c’mon, beg for it.”

he tensed beneath you, his pride keeping him silent at first, but you could feel the rapid pulse beating through his body, the hitch in his breath betraying how close he was to breaking. you pressed harder, the head of your cock pushing just enough to stretch him, but still not giving him the satisfaction of being filled. his muscles clenched involuntarily, his breath catching in his throat. then, just when you thought you’d have to force it out of him, he finally caved. his voice was low, breathless, barely above a whisper. “please… i want it.”

that was all you needed to hear. with one hard thrust, you buried yourself inside his tight hole, a deep, guttural groan escaping your lips as his hole clenched around your cock, the sensation almost overwhelming as he struggled to adjust to your size. he let out a sharp gasp, his entire body tensing under the sudden intrusion, his fingers digging into the mattress. for a second, there was no sound but his ragged breathing, broken only by the occasional whimper that escaped his lips.

you gave him no time to adjust, pulling back only to thrust into him again, harder this time, setting a brutal pace that had him gasping for breath. his body shook beneath you, every thrust sending shockwaves through him, and though he tried to hold on to his defiance, the way his body was responding told a different story. “you’re such a good boy, fuck—taking me so good.” you grunted, your hands gripping his hips tightly as you drove into him, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. His earlier cockiness was long gone, replaced by breathless moans that he could no longer suppress, each one more desperate than the last.

you didn’t ease him into it, didn’t give him the mercy of preparation. instead, you positioned yourself behind him, your now fully hard cock pressing against his slick entrance, teasing him, savoring the way his body tensed and writhed beneath you. his breathing was shallow, shaky, his hands clutching the sheets as if they were the only thing tethering him to reality. “tell me how bad you want it,” you murmured, your voice low and taunting as you rubbed the tip of your cock against his entrance, the pressure building with each teasing stroke. his body trembled, the anticipation practically dripping off him. “beg for it, c’mon.”

he remained silent for a moment, trying to hold on to the last shred of his pride, but you could feel the rapid pulse beneath his skin, his breath hitching with each subtle movement. you kept pushing, dragging the head of your cock slowly, torturously against him, making his legs twitch with frustration. you could hear his resolve breaking, like a dam about to burst. finally, he gave in, voice shaky, breathless. “please... i want it.”

that was all you needed. without hesitation, you pushed forward, burying yourself inside him in one hard thrust. the sensation of his tightness gripping you sent a shudder down your spine, and a deep, guttural groan escaped your lips as his body clenched around your cock, instinctively trying to adjust to the sudden intrusion. he let out a sharp, choked gasp, his body tensing beneath you, every muscle coiled tight as his fingers dug into the mattress. his breaths came in ragged, uneven bursts, punctuated by soft, desperate whimpers that slipped from his mouth before he could stop them.

you gave him no reprieve, no chance to adjust. pulling back, you thrust into him again, harder this time, setting a brutal pace that had him gasping for breath. his body shook with each forceful thrust, his fingers clawing at the sheets as though they could anchor him. despite the defiance that still lingered in his eyes, his body was betraying him completely—giving in to the overwhelming pleasure. “such a good boy,” you growled through clenched teeth, your hands gripping his hips tightly as you drove into him again and again. the sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, drowning out his broken moans. “fuck, you’re taking me so well.”

his earlier brattiness had dissolved, leaving behind nothing but breathless, desperate sounds. his legs trembled with each rough thrust, his chest heaving as he tried to form words. all he could manage was a hoarse, “f-fuck…” his voice barely a whisper, drowned in the haze of pleasure and pain. “hm? what was that?” you chuckled, leaning forward until your chest was pressed against his back. your hand slid up the length of his spine, fingers digging into his skin, leaving marks that would linger long after this was over. “did i fuck you dumb already?” you spoke into his ear, your voice dripping with mockery as you rolled your hips, grinding deeper into him.

you could hear him trying to form a response, but all that came out were broken gasps and strangled moans. you gave his hair a sharp tug, forcing his head to tilt back slightly, exposing the vulnerable line of his throat. “use your words princess,” you taunted, your breath hot against his skin. “you had a lot to say earlier.”

“i... i want to cum,” he gasped, the words spilling from him in a wrecked, needy tone. his body was trembling beneath you, his cock twitching with every thrust, the tension in his muscles telling you just how close he was to unraveling. you grinned wickedly, sliding one hand down to wrap around his cock, stroking him in time with your thrusts. the added sensation sent him spiraling, his hips bucking uncontrollably as you worked him closer and closer to the edge.

“please... fuck, please,” he panted, the desperation evident in every word, his voice barely holding together under the onslaught of pleasure. his head lolled to the side, eyes glazed, mouth hanging open as he teetered on the brink of release. you could feel him tightening around you, his entire body trembling as he hovered on the edge. his breaths were shallow, ragged, each one punctuated by soft, pleading sounds as he clung to the last threads of control. but it wasn’t long before he broke.

with one final, brutal thrust, you drove him over the edge. his body went rigid, back arching sharply as he came with a shuddering groan, spilling over your hand. his muscles clenched around you, the aftershocks of his orgasm rippling through his entire body, making him twitch and writhe beneath you. but you didn’t stop. you continued thrusting into him, riding out his orgasm, feeling every tremor that shook his body. he was a mess beneath you—spent, shaking, and overwhelmed—but you weren’t done. not yet.

you pounded into him relentlessly, chasing your own release as his body went limp under your weight. his chest heaved with ragged breaths, his head lolling forward as he moaned weakly, the overstimulation making him whimper. his legs trembled, barely able to hold himself up anymore, but you kept going, gripping his hips hard enough to leave bruises.

only when you were sure he was completely spent, shaking and exhausted beneath you, did you finally let go, allowing yourself to succumb to the overwhelming pleasure that had been building inside you. with a deep, guttural groan, you buried yourself inside him one last time, releasing with a force that made your entire body tremble. you stayed there for a moment, your cock still buried deep inside him, your chest pressed against his back as both of you panted, struggling to catch your breath.

finally, after what felt like an eternity, you pulled out, watching as he collapsed onto the bed, completely wrecked. his chest heaved with every breath, his body trembling with the aftershocks of the intense pleasure that had just ripped through him.

you leaned over him, brushing a sweat-soaked strand of hair away from his face, your voice soft but laced with a dark satisfaction. “next time you run that mouth,” you whispered, “you’d better be ready for the consequences.” pressing a final kiss to the back of his neck, you rolled off him, leaving him there—panting, spent, and trembling from the intensity of it all.

𝐄𝐄𝐏𝐖𝐓𝐅 © 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒. 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐋.

[gloryofroses19]

The Force of a Curl

Major John ‘Bucky’ Egan was hungover, wet and missing a shoe. Hungover because those boys in the 389th challenged him to a drinking contest, wet because his mother stopped pestering him to take umbrellas when he was twelve years old and missing a shoe because of that damned English mud. 

If the boys could see him now, Bucky thought, shaking his head. He could practically hear Curt and Buck’s laugh all the way from the US. 

Sighing loudly as the storm increased, the pilot moved to pick up his shoe. But as his fingers brushed the shoe, the Major was shocked to find that the rain had stopped. No, not stopped he amended noticing the umbrella extended above his head.

“Are you alright, Major?” Asked a feminine voice conveying a mixture of concern and thinly veiled amusement. 

While he had only been at Thorpe Abbots for two days, John Egan recognized the woman before him. Lieutenant [last name] was a notable figure to many. To most on the base, she was the pretty faced WAC lieutenant included in the upper brass briefings. To Bucky Egan, she was a puzzle he wanted to solve. Though their interactions had been limited to a short introduction and shared proximity during meetings, he already knew she was beautiful, smart, calm and confident. Even when facing the asinine questioning of Colonel Huglin. However, this interaction was offering something entirely new… 

Standing to his full height, John ran a hand through his hair. Whether it was because of the rain or self consciousness of being caught in this position by her was something he’d never tell.

“Oh, I’m doing great, Lieutenant. Just enjoying the feeling of the ground.” Shooting her a confident smile despite his sorry state.

“Just with one foot?” Raising an eyebrow, [y/n] struggled to keep the laugh from escaping. “Guess you pilots really do forget what it’s like to be on solid ground. Bit of advice then, try to avoid the puddles. They’re deeper than they seem.”  [y/n] teased as the Major moved to rescue his shoe from the mud. 

“Oh, why didn’t I think of that?” He responded airly feeling his grasp on the situation slip. With no teasing retort brewing on his mind, the pilot was left feeling mollified by the teasing glint in her gaze. 

Raising the umbrella to adjust for the height difference, [y/n] watched transfixed as a stray curl fell in front of his eye. He really was a handsome sight to behold [y/n] mused as his hand brushed hers to take the umbrella from her grasp. 

If anyone were to pass by them, the pair offered the illusion of intimacy and familiarity through their shared laughter and proximity. However, an illusion was just an illusion unless perceptions were altered. 

“You been here long?” Like in any small town, she had heard of the new Major before she met. His singing alone had reached her ears before she entered the pub two nights prior. Though his voice was loud and brash when singing, the deep Midwestern baritone during conversation was far more pleasing. “I hope you’ve fared better with the mud than I have, Lieutenant ''. 

“5 months and yes I have,” [y/n] began before pausing to giggle at a memory, “but two weeks in being here I…”  Looking up into those inquisitive cerulean eyes, [y/n] stopped herself from continuing. Clearing her throat, she reminded herself that he wasn’t just any handsome man, he was a Major. And therefore, it was probably best to not inform her superior of some slight trouble that happened to find her. “Nevermind, sir”. 

Noticing the tone of professionalism that blended into her dulcet tones, John frowned. He had heard this tone before, it was how she responded to him when he introduced himself and when she spoke during the Brass meetings. 

“No, don't give me sir, I don’t want sir. I’m soaked and missing a shoe, rank’s off. Call me Bucky or I’ll even take John.” He liked this version more, because there’s nothing he loved more than someone he could laugh with. Even if it was at his own expense as Bucky Egan wasn’t a man who took himself too seriously. 

“Come on, can’t leave me hanging like that. You’ve seen me at my lowest, it’s only fair that you share as well.” He countered, his determination to get her to smile at him again unwavering. To further emphasize his point, he wiggled his sock clad foot hoping to get another laugh. 

She could see why many were transfixed by the new Major on the base, he carried himself with a genial ease that was both disarming and charming. 

Deciding she might as well dig her own grave, she relented with a sigh. “Two weeks in I got locked in the enlisted men’s mess hall on an unnecessary errand for Colonel Huglin.”

Eyes crinkling in delight, John took in her deadpan delivery that was obviously a pass fake to her underlying embarrassment. “How’d you get out?” John asked in response, knowing it would be a worthwhile story. 

“As the metaphor goes, when one door closes another one opens. Namely a window in the back of the kitchen.” She remarked casually as if any rational person’s first idea would be to climb through a window. 

Laughing in warm boisterous bursts, Bucky’s gaze was unwavering and full of affection and intrigue. 

The implication of his gaze was enough to make any girl flustered, [y/n] included. Deciding to busy herself with pointing in the opposite direction, she hoped to quell the butterflies. “Can I walk you somewhere, Major?” 

“How chivalrous of you.” He responded softly, with a matching grin. Watching the rain drops land on her otherwise pristine uniform, he stepped forward. Leaning closer, he was captivated by the teasing curl of her lips. 

“Well if being one shoe down and soaked doesn’t make you a damsel in distress then I’m not sure what else would.” 

With the way she was smiling at him, he wouldn’t mind being saved by her again, John thought. “Well you got me there. Walk me to my billet kind knight?”

Up until this point in the war, her mindset had firmly been 'loose lips sink ships’. No unnecessary comments or connections or else her heart would be broken. However, watching that damn curl fall across his face, [y/n] knew she had lost this battle. And if she was so easily defeated by Major John Egan then she feared for the poor unsuspecting Germans. 

“Lead the way, Fly Boy.”

[williamrikers]

On the subject of consent in recent BLs

In this analysis, I will take a look at several love scenes in recent Thai BLs, how they frame consent and the sexual agency of the characters, and why those matter.

(KinnPorsche deserves its own post: I’m sure people have already written in detail about how much emphasis is placed on issues of consent/non-consent throughout the show and how fundamental consent is to the relationship arcs of both KinnPorsche and VegasPete, and I won’t belabor the point here. Also, special shout-out to The Warp Effect for what it brought to the conversation about gay sex, but TWE isn’t technically a BL so I decided not to include it in this analysis.)

I am going to take a closer look at the following shows in this essay: Not Me, The Eclipse, A Boss And A Babe, Step By Step, and La Pluie.

Not Me and The Eclipse predate the other shows by two years/one year respectively, but I feel it is valuable to include them here because both show very explicit negotiations of consent that I feel are spiritual successors to the wonderful scenes we’ve been getting in the other three shows.

Why am I even writing this? There used to be an unfortunate tendency in the genre to have a power imbalance between the “seme” and the “uke” character, which translated into the seme deciding when to have sex and what kind of sex to have—and even though recently, several shows have done good work in dismantling the seme/uke dynamic and questioning the associated stereotypes, it cannot be denied that the archetypes are still an important part of most BLs, and even in cases where the tropes are played with and questioned, understanding those subversions still requires a knowledge of and familiarity with the original tropes on the part of the audience.

However, gone are the days of Until We Meet Again and Dean’s “I’ve waited long enough, make sure you’re ready.” (I enjoyed UWMA a lot but that was. Yeah. Not Great.) Now, we see characters actually talking about and negotiating their limits, and doing what feels good to them.

Let’s start from the very beginning. Not Me was an absolute trailblazer in this regard, and not mentioning it here would be a gross oversight. The first time Sean and White have sex, it happens in their version of the beach episode. (Which, in Not Me, is the two characters briefly living in a tent inside an abandoned building. This show is the best.) Sean and White are removed from their usual environment and protected from the outside world by two barriers: the walls of the old house and the tent that’s literally enveloping them and giving them a space that is unequivocally theirs, shared, in which neither one of the characters has any sort of power over the other. And what happens in that space when they’re about to have sex is extremely interesting: the first thing Sean asks is whether White is afraid of him, which White denies. The following exchange goes like this: White: "So, what are we doing?" Sean: "What should I do to you?" White: "That’s up to you." (Watch the whole scene here.)

I find this exchange incredibly meaningful because this already turns the seme/uke dynamic that can be found in a lot of other shows on its head. OffGun as a branded pair can easily be stereotyped into the seme/uke dynamic just because of their physical appearances, and clearly spelling out that both characters have agency in this scene is incredibly important.

And then it gets better! Sean assumes that White is sexually inexperienced (which is not true but the fact that White was actually in a relationship with a woman back in Russia never comes up again after the pilot episode, so maybe the show expects us to assume this, too), and suggests they try different things and White can tell him what he likes and doesn’t like. Compared to the stuff we’re getting now, this scene isn’t very high heat at all, but it’s one of my favorite intimate scenes ever because them asking each other “Do you like this?” after every kiss, every touch, is so incredibly unique and transports a wonderful sense of figuring out sexual pleasure together, as a couple.

Sex in Not Me is not something one character does to another, it is something that is discovered and shared together, and we even get an afterglow scene in which they gently tease each other about their fast beating hearts. (And don’t get me started on the importance of White choosing to ask Sean whether Sean is okay with White not being like Black in that moment right before they have sex, because he doesn’t actually want to have sex with Sean as Black! He wants to discover and share intimacy with Sean as White, as himself, not as his brother! The layers!)

Anyway, I think that scene paved the way for a lot of the conversations around consent we’re now getting in BL, just because it is so explicitly, unashamedly putting forward a definition of sexuality that has nothing to do with one character actively giving and the other passively receiving, but frames intimacy as something that is built together. (More on giving and receiving later!)

Now, moving on to The Eclipse. I decided to include the first time Akk and Aye have sex for a different reason: while we don’t really see them actually talking about consent, we see them practicing non-verbal consent. Let me explain. Akk’s and Aye’s whole thing is teasing each other. At first, Aye is usually the one doing the teasing, but Akk gets the hang of it towards the end of the show and teases his boyfriend right back. When they’re in Akk’s childhood bedroom together, Aye clearly alludes to the fact that he thought they might use this opportunity to have sex for the first time, which Akk pretends not to understand, all while alluding to it himself. I love this guy. (Watch the whole scene here.) Anyway, Akk says he wants to sleep, lies down and once again, tells Aye jokingly he just wants to sleep, clearly expecting Aye to do what other BL protagonists do at that point and not take no for an answer (sidenote: I HATE the “saying no as foreplay” trope with a passion and as far as I’m concerned it should die already).

However, Aye is not like other BL love interests, and he backs off. He stops touching Akk, lies down with his back to Akk, showing Akk that he takes him by his word: if Akk says he wants to sleep, Aye is going to let him do just that. So now, it’s on Akk to say that, no, that’s not what he meant, can Aye please come back to cuddle. And then Akk is the one to escalate from cuddling to kissing, which is extremely important: we know that Aye has been ready to have sex with Akk since forever, it’s Akk who’s been having hangups about intimacy this whole time.

They don’t put consent into so many words on this show, but Aye shows Akk that he respects his limits and that Akk only has to tell him he doesn’t want to do something and Aye will take him at his word.

So, these are, to me, two foundational scenes of establishing consent: one that shows consent as something that is established verbally, as an ongoing conversation, and one that shows consent as something that is established physically, by showing your partner that you respect their choices and limits by way of simply acting accordingly.

Now, let’s get into the fun part: scenes we got so far in 2023. I’m writing this post on the 13th of June, and I’m sure this year still has some great things in store for us, especially because Step By Step and La Pluie are both ongoing and neither of the main couples are actually together yet at time of writing. However, they’ve both already given us AMAZING scenes on the topic of consent, so I feel it is worthwhile to write about those already.

I want to start off by talking about A Boss And A Babe.

Let me just preface this by saying that the intimate scenes in ABAAB are some of my all time favorites in BL ever, because in them, sex is something that is just so normal. When Gun and Cher have sex, we don’t see them very passionate, excited, reluctant or wide-eyed innocent (which are some of the emotions traditionally associated with sex in BL). On the contrary, in every single scene that shows them being intimate, both characters are incredibly calm. They’re certainly happy to be with each other, but in a subdued way. Someone described their second intimate scene as them seeming like they’ve been married for a few years. They’re both just… incredibly normal about having sex with each other. It’s simply something they like to do together. It’s a part of their romance but it’s not more or less important than any other aspects of their lives.

And consent is at the very heart of it.

When Gun and Cher have their first time, we see Gun explicitly asking for consent two times: first, “Can I kiss you?”, then, “Can I do more?” The second one even comes with the promise that if Cher says no, Gun will immediately go to sleep without mentioning it again. And then it is on Cher to say yes, to pull Gun close and kiss him to show him that he is comfortable with taking things further. (In the show, these two questions were shown apart from each other, I cut together a version of the whole First Time Scene in its entirety, watch it here.)

Now, things get more interesting: the second intimate scene shows Cher initiating the encounter (watch the whole scene here). Cher pretty consistently falls into the uke category, both physically and as far as characterization is concerned, but he’s certainly not shy in the bedroom. And this time, he’s the one who asks for consent from Gun: Gun asks “You’re starting it?” and Cher’s response is “Can I?” Despite him being framed physically lower than Gun, basically at Gun’s mercy, he still seeks confirmation that Gun is okay with the way things are going. Not to overstate it, but to me, this feels revolutionary. Once again, we’re being shown that sex is something two people do together, as a shared activity, and that the “seme” character isn’t expected to just be up for it. He, too, has the right to say no.

On this show, sexual agency is taken extremely seriously, and it is clear that both Gun and Cher give each other space to decide what they’re comfortable doing. This is shown in non-intimate scenes as well: there are so many moments on ABAAB in which the characters negotiate physical touch and closeness, asking each other for hugs before actually hugging each other, Cher leaning on Gun’s shoulder in the car but not allowing Gun to touch him because that’s not what he’s comfortable with in that moment, and so on. (The only exception to this otherwise pretty consistent rule is the kiss in the car scene, which I’m still extremely confused about because it seems to go completely against Gun’s character. Who knows what happened there.)

Of course, the fact that so much emphasis is placed on negotiation and consent isn’t surprising on a show that has such obvious kink undertones and whose Our Skyy 2 entry basically consisted entirely of Dom/sub roleplay at work—I’m just saying, I think someone on the writing team is way into BDSM and knows all about the importance of enthusiastic consent from all parties involved, and I would like to send them flowers.

Step By Step hasn’t really reached the point where we can analyse the dynamic between the main couple (although we can take some educated guesses based on the interactions we’ve seen so far). However, last week’s episode had an extremely important scene between Pat and Put: Pat wanting to have sex with Put, then changing his mind mid make-out (watch the whole scene here). I really like the way this scene was done. No matter how shitty Put treats Pat at times, in this instance, he immediately understood and respected Pat’s change of mind without Pat even saying or explaining anything—at the end of the episode, Put says to Pat that Pat should tell Put when he feels ready to have sex. (We already know this will never happen because of course, Pat and Put are not endgame, but I do appreciate the sentiment.)

BLs rarely include a whole storyline in which the protagonist is in an actual, serious romantic relationship with someone other than his endgame love interest (hi Moonlight Chicken!), or if they do then just to up the angst factor. In this case, however, I feel that this scene raises our expectations for Jeng even further: if the guy who is definitely not a romantic match for Pat treats Pat with this much respect in the bedroom, then Jeng has to do at least that and then some. I do feel confident that Jeng won’t disappoint in this regard, but it’s fascinating to see a show frame this kind of respect as the absolute baseline minimum, with the endgame love interest expected to do even better.

Now, the one you’ve all been waiting for. The one that made me write this whole essay in the first place: La Pluie.

Oh boy. Where to start.

A week ago, we got an incredible make-out scene on Saengtai’s floor, which ended in Patts stopping the encounter because he could tell Tai wasn’t really comfortable taking things further—@bengiyo talked about that scene in detail here. And then, three days ago, La Pluie gave us the most unique, trope-defying, timeline-changing blowjob scene of all time, and I want to talk about it.

Tai and Patts are making out on their bed, Tai is not ready to go “all the way” and stops Patts from undressing him. We see a very realistic frustrated reaction from Patts, who nevertheless immediately stops and accepts Tai’s wishes—it is clear that Patts does not expect things to go any further at this point, and that he won’t pressure Tai into anything.

And then, Tai offers to blow him.

(Unfortunately, this show is only on iQiyi so I can't link to it, but you can get a good impression of the scene here.)

I mentioned the concepts of giving and receiving earlier: other people have said this more eloquently than me, but there is a tendency not only in BL but also in wider society to view sex in terms of giving and receiving, with a lot of expectations and stereotypes attached to the roles during different sexual acts. On other shows, that blowjob might be framed as a consolidation or an apology, something that the giver does out of a sense of obligation without enjoying it much. Not so on La Pluie! Tai is shown incredibly happy and satisfied afterwards, both when they’re sleeping next to each other, as well as on the morning after (see also @ginnymoonbeam's post about that here). Tai offered to blow Patts because he simply wanted to, not motivated by guilt or anything of that sort. And he genuinely enjoyed it! In the post I linked above, @bengiyo points out that La Pluie consistently centers queer desire, or more specifically in this case, male desire for a male body; much in the same way that the camera fucking loves Force’s body on ABAAB: the sensuality of the skin, the hands, the abs, the flat chests, the broad backs and shoulders of these men is explicitly emphasized, and Tai’s desire for a dick in his mouth is made absolutely crystal-clear. Of course, since this is a TV show and not a porno, we only see Patts’s thumb in Tai’s mouth instead of his dick, but the imagery, the implications, are clear as day.

And it is such a gentle framing, too: Patts caresses Tai’s lip lovingly, Tai opens his mouth slowly, seductively, then faces Patts’s crotch with a soft look on his face. We do get a clear sense of this encounter as tender, and gentle, and most of all, desired. Tai’s queer desire is at the heart of this scene, and at the heart of the afterglow scene as well. He wanted this man’s dick in his mouth, openly suggested it, showed Patts he was sure about his decision after Patts asked him whether he was, and ended up clearly happy and satisfied with the sex they had. This post, also by @bengiyo, goes into more detail on that.

This, once again, shows us sex as a conversation rather than a series of predetermined acts, shows us sex as a shared activity, as something that can be wonderful and intimate and make people happy without following what society views as “the correct steps”. I think this is extremely important because one part of queer identity is figuring out one’s own relationship to sexuality, one’s own desires and needs, and BLs that ignore this aspect fall a little short in my opinion. Sure, those men are kissing, but do they experience queer desire? Do they experience joy in their queer desire?

For me personally, a show that does not shy away from these questions is a lot more meaningful than a show that does, and consent is at the heart of it all. By framing sex as a conversation, as something that is built and shared together, the shows I looked at here are actively positioning themselves against the idea that there should be predetermined roles for partners during sex, and instead suggest that queer joy can be found in communication and consent. Understanding sex and intimacy as something that is built together, with both partners as equals in conversation, is just as radically queer as a man waking up with a smile on his face after giving his soulmate a blowjob the previous night.

And quite honestly, a male character who clearly, passionately, unquestioningly communicates that he wants a dick inside of him—that is incredibly sexy. But maybe that’s just me.

[liz-allyn]

sugar and vice, pt 1 [mob!tasm!peter x fem!reader]

summary: I have a meet-cute in a coffee shop. but for mob!peter.

words: 5.5k

warnings: Shameless TASM mob!daddy Peter fantasies, including, but not limited to, kidnapping, knives, bang bang shoot shoot, pining, eventual smut

Part 1

“Just a coffee, black. Biggest ya got.”

Wearily, yet still wired, Peter tapped his fingers on the stainless steel counter. It was late. Or early. Streetlamps still blazed in unholy darkness outside. It had been a long night. But he had felt like he’d been up for years. 

Across from him, a young woman wearing overalls and a daisy-yellow bandana gave him a heavy nod. “Sure,” she replied, gravely. “I have to warn you, though. We over-roast our beans. It’s bitter as hell.”

He blinked at her, not expecting such honesty. She had a trusting face. Pretty eyes. 

“Ya wanna sweeten it up for me?”

He could hear the lame pickup line of a younger version of himself. One that wore a confident smirk, walked with bravado. One that hadn’t lost what he had lost. The older Peter of today brushed that voice away. “I like bitter.”

He glanced up at her eyes and saw sympathy. “Oof, tragic,” she frowned, shaking her head teasingly, her coyness peeking through. She retrieved a paper cup and filled the dark liquid to the brim. 

The personalness of it threw him off. Peter had wandered in like a zombie. He only briefly heard her ask for his order and his name, both of which he gave, and he expected nothing in return but the coffee. He watched her carefully, shifting uncomfortably. He was the only customer in the shop at this hour, but he didn’t expect to be seen. 

“Here you go,” she declared, handing the cup over. “One large black graveyard dirt, extra tears.”

It wasn’t so much the joke, rather the way she beamed when she said it. It was like sunlight peeking through the curtains just right, casting a familiar space in an ethereal glow. 

She glowed.

Seeing it awakened his senses. He felt the way flowers must feel, desperately reaching their petals out toward the sun after they’d been neglected through a long, dark winter. 

Before he knew it, he was smiling back. Teeth bared, eyes crinkled, grinning like a fool. He thought his muscles couldn’t remember what smiling felt like. It ached.

She reached out, extending the cup towards him. But it was so much more than that.

His gaze darted from her sparkling eyes, to the curve of her mouth, back to the apples of her cheeks—

“Thanks for stopping by, Ben!”

The illusion vanished, as did his smile. He pulled away, staring at the stainless steel countertop for a moment. He thanked her and took the cup from her hand, dropping a couple of bucks in the jar. He didn’t spare her another glance as he turned on his heel. 

For a moment there, he felt free. He’d forgotten what he was underneath the leather gloves, thick cashmere coat, the bitter coffee, and the fake name.

His hand found the door, the winter chill penetrating his glove. Just as he began to push it open, he heard a shout.

“Wait!” 

He did, glancing back at her, against his better judgment.

“I forgot to tell you,” she said, almost shrinking into herself with a sheepish expression. She blushed at the eagerness and volume of her own voice. “To have a great day.”

He blinked, brow creased.

“It’s, uh, sorry— it’s stupid,” she rolled her eyes, slapping her palm across her forehead. “But I’m… I’m supposed to say ‘have a great day’ and I always forget, maybe ‘cos I’m a little ADHD, and my boss always reminds me that I need to say it every time, but that’s awkward, right? Like it needs to come up in conversation, I can’t just blurt it. I mean, I can. Like, I just did. But that was weird, right? It was weird. And sometimes, I’m thinking about the next 3 things I have to do, or the thing I just did and I get… I don’t know, a little lost in the moment, and then it passes, and then I felt like I missed out, y’know?”

He stared. “No?”

“On saying what I want really to say,” she said with a voice full of warmth—gentle and genuine in tone. Her babbling ceased as she emphatically declared. “I really hope you have a great day. You deserve it.”

There it was again. That smile. Sincerity and kindness sliced through him like a razor. He was a child again, getting a kiss on the cheek from his mother. Her cheerful gaze lit him up inside, like setting off a roman candle beneath his ribs. It wrapped him in a firm embrace, filling him, shielding him, and grounding him all at once.

This time, he couldn't look away. Didn't want to. He waited until he could hear the flutter in her heart. He was smiling again.

“Thank you. I think I will.”

And as if she’d cast some sort of spell, he did. The way she enchanted him, he was certain if they lived 400 years ago they might accuse her of witchcraft. He always had a good day when he saw her. No matter how painful, or dirty, or bloody. She became his good luck charm. His ability to ‘have a good day’ became entirely dependent on seeing her.

He shouldn’t go back there. He should try the Starbucks down the street. But he couldn’t help it.

She’d pour him basic drip coffee, announcing aloud to the whole shop as she handed it to him. “Here you go! Extra large, extra-hot dark roast, with extra-darkness and a splash of angst.” There was affection in her gaze despite the sarcasm of her voice.

“One extra large coffee, black as the devil’s soul.” She’d whisper to him privately, gifting him with a good-luck smile, even when the coffee shop was full of people during the morning rush. In those moments, she made him feel like they were the last two people on the planet. And it always made something in his belly flutter.

“I have an extra-black ‘Fault in Our Stars,’ with a shot of ‘The Road’ for my friend in the suit!” 

Her friend. He couldn’t help but blush. How could he come to this place every day, stand in line, and feel like he was coming home? She was magic.

The coffee really was awful.

“Let me know if you ever want me to sweeten that up for you,” she graciously suggested, as the cup left her fingers. The brush of her fingertips against his felt like wildfire. Her comment was innocent, but his mind wasn’t. “I think I can make it taste better—I have some window cleaner left.”

He was smiling again. It blossoms into something reciprocal. That should be enough. He shouldn’t be greedy. He should walk away now. He should run. 

“What would you suggest?” he asked coyly. It was the first time he had ever done so.

A million saccharine-infused terms of endearment flowed through his mind—sweetness, sugar, gumdrop, sweetheart, sweetie, cookie, peach, muffin, angelcake—most of them were trash. (Really, Parker? What is this, high school? Whaddya doin’? You ever talk to a woman before? Why do you sound like somebody’s grandpa? Such a creepy —

Some of them weren’t appropriate between friends. None of them appropriate coming from a stranger.

That’s what he was, deep down. God, this precious girl—she was so trusting. Was she friendly like this with everyone? No, he had noticed as time went on. She’s warm and kind to everyone she meets. But not like this. Not the way she is for him.

“Ooh, getting adventurous, are we?” she teased him, stars in her eyes. 

For him. All he could do was stare back in awe at the Milky Way in her gaze. He would follow them and venture on any journey where they may lead.

“How do you feel about lavender and honey?”

Flowers and sugar for Brits and fancy people. He quirked his brow at the concept. “In coffee?”

Her eyes twinkled with excitement, as she spun around and began her concoction. 

For him.

He needed to leave. But he followed the length of her arms, the delicacy of her fingers, the way her hips moved as she danced around her workstation. He was hypnotized again. 

He imagined dancing with her. Letting her body flow and wrap around his like curtains billowing in the breeze. He barely registered that she was holding a new cup out toward him. While he was daydreaming, she had written his name on the cup and drew a little heart next to it.

He stared at it. It’s not exactly his name. But it’s the one he’d given her. And in return, she had given him so much.

He took the cup from her hand and couldn’t help but feel like he was undeserving of her kindness. Or her attention. Or her heart.

“Don’t make that face,” she softly admonished as if she could read his mind, or she might have read his sad look as disproval of her efforts. “Don’t knock it ‘til you try it.”

She gave him a smile. She gave and gave and gave. Gave him a reason to keep living. She didn’t even know.

He took a sip. It warmed his tongue, his throat, his heart. It ached.

“S’good,” he hummed, honestly surprised. He was telling her the truth. He reached for his wallet with his free hand, retrieving a wad of bills. He always paid in cash.

She waved him off, mock offense on her face. “No, silly. That’s not how gifts work!” Her laugh sounded like church bells. 

She was a gift. For him. His flower. His Honey.

“This one’s on the house,” she assured him, as he hesitantly lowered his wallet. She whispered low, in a tone that burned him up inside. “It’ll be our secret.” His mind felt like it was rebooting. She said it innocently, but he was anything but. She scoffed with a flippant laugh, “Just don’t tell my boss, okay?”

Her boss. He knew about her boss. Tod. With one ‘D’. 

Some mornings, particularly Monday through Thursday, he’d see the pencil-like man stiffly pacing the back of the bar while she and another young girl kept up with demand. Hawkish eyes, always watching. Always judging. Rarely picking up a milk jug himself.

He dominated the register. Peter hated handing him cash. His face reminded him of a cheese grater if it could look unhappy. “Are you sure you don’t want a pastry?” he offered the ‘add-on’ with what was supposed to be a smile. 

Peter’s eyes shot over to his Honey as she was artfully pouring foam, adding her magic to someone else’s cup. She refused to look at Peter and he hated it. It reminded him of a defense tactic. Don’t look at the thing you don’t want to be taken away. As if he was a prized possession that she wanted to hide away from Tod, who might accuse her of having ‘favorites.’

It stirred wild emotions to be thought of that way, especially by her. 

How dare her boss accuse her of any wrongdoing. How dare he threaten her.

“I’m fine,” said Peter, with a chill he hoped Tod could feel. 

He needed to leave. 

He needed to take his Honey and his Lavender Latte and just go. 

He shook his head. His brain was lagging again. He turned away from the straight-backed scarecrow before a robotic ‘thank you for being a customer’ could be responded to. 

Peter waited. Eyes on the floor. Eyes on the exit. Eyes on the windows. Eyes on her, but only briefly. He waited and daydreamed bitterly, waiting for her to call out a name that wasn’t his. 

“Honey Lavender Latte,” his enchantress called out. Hearing her voice caught him from his downward spiral. He made eye contact with her as he took the cup from her hands. Warmth radiated from her eyes, although muted. It was enough to soothe and comfort him. 

She blushed, sheepishly, unable to contain the smile in her voice. “Have a lavender-ly day.”

His mood lifted. Such a silly girl. Witchcraft, indeed. “Thanks, Honey,” he replied, without thinking.

Her big eyes widened for a moment, and her heart quickened. Her breath caught in her throat as she looked away, unsuccessfully hiding her teeth.

Peter would call her that a million times in a row if it would elicit that reaction.

“Have a great day,” Tod interrupted, murdering the moment.

Poor girl. She cowered slightly, like a dog hearing the word ‘no.’ She took a breath and put on a smile, turning back towards her work. 

Tough girl. She didn’t need Peter to defend her. 

He glanced over at Tod with a deadpan expression, and walked out of the shop before he did or said anything else stupid.

The world was full of Tods. It was also full of monsters. Sometimes Peter was one of them. No Tod was truly worth his attention.

Except for that one time. 

A Tuesday morning in the middle of the holiday shopping season. Peter stood in line patiently, arms crossed, gritting his teeth. He glowered behind the bar at Tod, standing too close to his Honey. She gazed up at her boss helplessly, watching him turn red in the face, as the flagpole of a man waved his arms wildly. Clearly agitated, he kept his volume low but his body language screamed at her. 

“What I need your help with is this,” Tod hissed as he towered over her. “I need you to tell me what is the best method for getting information into your head. How can I communicate with you in a way that you’ll understand?” His voice was soft although he flailed like a wavy-arm inflatable man in a car lot. 

“Tell me honestly,” he sneered, dressing her down in front of a line of customers. At this point, Peter didn’t need any superpowers to be able to hear the conversation. She visibly fought the urge to cry. “Do I need to write it down? Do I need to scream at you? Do I need to throw something? Do I need to take you aside and have an hour-long conversation?” She kept her eyes on the ground as he kept pelting her with icicles. “Tell me your preference here. What is it that you’ll respond to?”

The scene came to an abrupt end when the glass of the shop window shattered. The sound silenced him finally. The front door swayed limply, having been yanked off its hinges and slammed into its frame. His Honey glanced around the shop with concern. 

Peter was no longer there.

He didn’t come back that day. 

Neither did Tod.

Some sort of accident, his Honey told him the following week, although he already knew the details. She explained to him why the shop had a new manager, a well-composed woman named Leyla. By the airiness of her mood, he could tell she greatly preferred Leyla’s managerial style.

She was happy, and that made him happy. 

And that should be enough. 

He should leave. He should run. Get as far away from her as possible.

But he was intoxicated by her. Drunk on her sweetness and her Honey Lavender Lattes.

He looked at her like she was the queen of the hive. He’d let her take that crown, any anything else she could ever want, if he had the chance. He’d worship her. He already looked at her like she was a goddess. The devotion in his honey-tinted eyes was clear to anyone who bothered to look.

“Peter Parker!”

Hearing his real name while he stood grinning like a fool in front of his Honey one afternoon made him flinch, sending a shiver up his spine. He turned around, yanked from his reverie, watching three men stroll into the shop. 

He positioned his body in front of her, obscuring her from their view. His hands were tight balls at his sides.

Peter was familiar with two of the faces, but razor-sharp focused on the mountain in a suit they called Filch. He’d seen that greasy face more times than he’d want to admit, shrouded in darkness and cigar smoke. Seated at the hand of Wilson Fisk.

His jaw locked in place.

Filch looked overjoyed to see him. Like they were old friends. Like Peter didn’t know that Wilson Fisk was plotting to move against him. 

“I thought that was you!” he brightly exclaimed. He strolled through the shop, like a cheetah stalking prey. Removing a hat and revealing what little hair he had left underneath. “Long way from Queens. Fancy finding ya all the way out here, eh?”

Peter knew better. The only surprise in this situation was intended for Peter. He’d been followed here. Watched.

His spine went rigid, shoulders into stone. 

Don’t look at the thing you don’t want to be taken away.

He could hear her heart flutter faster behind him. As if she could sense the way he bristled when they arrived. Trouble in her kingdom. A disturbance to the delicate sanctuary she had built, like all of her totems and protection spells were wearing out.

Peter kept his back to her. He kept his eyes trained on the three men, who spread out in a familiar pattern. They were scoping the place. Checking for cameras, other patrons, and all possible exits. 

Don’t look at the thing you want—

“Hey, Sugar, it’s cold outside,” Filch called out, with all the grace of flagging down a hooker. “Whaddya got to warm us up?”

Peter stared straight ahead. Glaring. Fuming.

“Might I suggest the coffee?” his Honey answered. “Just made a fresh pot of the dark roast. It’s good.”

He might have cracked a smile if he wasn’t busy envisioning a scenario where he’d have to kill the three men in the room with just the tools available in a coffee shop.

“Pour me a cuppa that,” Filch replied, his eyes never leaving Peter’s.

Peter only slightly relaxed when he felt her presence back away behind the bar. She grabbed a paper cup and filled it with steaming-hot tar. She set the cup down on the counter and backed away, minding her workstation. “That’ll be $2.50.”

Good girl, Peter thought. He saw Filch go for his breast pocket. 

“I gotcha,” Peter cut in before Filch could move closer. He grabbed the cup and handed it over to his rival’s lapdog. “‘S’on me.”

Filch eyed Peter cautiously, reaching out where both hands could be visible. He took the cup with exaggerated gratitude. “No, I couldn’t possibly—”

“I said I gotcha,” Peter firmly cut him off, the cords in his neck going tight. Peter retrieved a few bills from his coat pocket, never breaking eye contact with his opponents. “We good here?” 

Too many seconds passed with no response. He could feel the twitch of his pulse in his throat. Filch’s eyes drifted back behind the counter. He was too close to her. He studied her in a way that was far too intimate. It made Peter’s skin crawl.

“We’re good,” Filch replied. A smile curved his lips. He held the cup up, toasting him. “Have a great day.” 

Peter swallowed hard as the three men sauntered out. He watched them go, his stomach sinking, bile rising. 

They’d been watching him alright. Who knows how long. He’d been a patron of this shop and he would order from this girl and stare at her with doe-eyes and hearts swirling around his head, out in the open where anyone could see. And they did see. He showed his hand and now the game was over.

“Who’s Peter?” he heard her voice softly ask. 

The illusion was shattered. He turned his head, but couldn’t bear to look at her. He felt sick. Empty. Furious. Petrified.

The monsters were gone now. But they’d be back.

“I’m sorry,” was all he could say, as he walked out of the door.

They’d be back. He’d be there first.

She watched her favorite customer disappear into the night, her eyes wide with longing as she followed him. He disappeared in a few blinks of her eyes.

Something unsettling crawled beneath her skin. Maybe it was longing, but she was familiar with longing. This was new.

Her hands were shaking and she wasn’t sure how that happened either. One minute she was staring into his dreamy, honey-hued eyes, then the next he was running in the other direction. Not unlike their first meeting, a scene which she replayed over and over again in her head, trying to figure out what made him go so rigid.

Who’s Peter?

Peter Parker.

Peter Parker.

She repeated his name in her mind, reciting it like a mantra. She wasn’t great with names, but he told her his name was Ben on that first morning so many months ago, and she made a point to remember his name, and to say his name, because people liked it when you said their name, it made them feel closer to you and she wanted more than anything to be close to him.

She squeezed her eyes shut. Her wheels were spinning again. She used her thumb to push down hard on the center of her opposite palm. The dull pain grounded her back to reality. 

When she opened her eyes, she half expected him to be there. He always seemed to show up when she least expected it. He was a bright spot in her day, despite his gloomy demeanor. He could be dark as a raincloud, but she loved dancing in the rain. 

Or as her co-worker Nasrin teased her one day, he was her “tall, dark, hot cup of coffee.” She hid her face in her hands as Nasrin got to the “sucking him down with a straw” part of the analogy. She was incredibly grateful that he had been standing by the door, and there’s no way he could’ve heard that.

Now she had a first name and a last name and a... another name? And a place — you’re a long way away from Queens. A quick Google search of the names in question pulled up too many generic results. There was a dated article about a Ben Parker who was killed in an armed robbery, but her tall, dark friend couldn’t have had anything to do with that.

It twisted her stomach when she considered the fact that she really didn’t know him. She didn’t know who those guys were, and by the looks of things, she didn’t want to know. She should just drop it.

She did the best she could to keep busy, but there weren’t any more customers after that. She sent a quick text to her new manager that she wasn’t feeling well, and closed the shop early. She took the subway home. 

Once she got on the train, she didn’t make it back to the platform. It was late, but the subway car was still unusually empty, save for a couple of randos sitting at the opposite end of her car. Any other night, the near-solitude would’ve been a blessing. Tonight, something felt off.

Twenty minutes into her ride, just as the train was about to cross the river, it jerkily slowed to a stop. Her cessation of movement stirred her. Her head popped up from the glow of her phone screen curiously. She worried her lower lip as she glanced at the doors and windows, as if she could somehow see whatever it was that was stopping the train. 

She jolted as she felt a hand clamp down on her upper arm. Startled, she looked up at the two other occupants of the train car, now standing inches behind her. Two men that had been seated quietly, also seemingly distracted by their phones. 

“Come on, sweetie pie,” one of them said, towering over her. “It’s time to go.” She didn’t recognize either of them, but her instincts reminded her of the altercation in the coffee shop. These two had the same ‘goonlike’ look.

She tried wrenching her arm away, but the stranger held tight. “Get off,” she hissed. His partner on the left took her other arm, albeit more gently.

“Hey, take it easy,” the other man admonished. “No need to be rude.”

“Yeah, we’re friends,” the first man added, with a greasy smile. Her eyes darted around frantically. Panic set in as she realized she was alone in the subway car. The doors slid open, but there was no platform. Instead, the doors opened to building rooftops. The train had stopped on an elevated track above the street.

“Let’s go,” the gruffer man beckoned, grabbing her arm more tightly. He dragged her through the doorway, on a dark walkway next to the tracks. As soon as he lifted her, she erupted into a fit of screams. She kicked her legs, shrieking for help, but no reply came. She didn’t know if no one could hear her, or if people knew better not to respond.

“Keep it down,” one of the goons ordered coldly, dragging her along. She desperately resisted, letting her legs drop out beneath her. 

She heard a hiss and pop as the subway train sprang back to life behind them. She watched helplessly as it pulled away. 

“A wild one, aren’cha?” the red-haired roughneck tutted, yanking her back up to her feet. “Be a good girl or I’ll throw ya over my shoulder.”

She tried jerking away again, but halted as she faced the edge of the walkway. The dizzying height stunned her into submission. Her knees began to lock up, trembling with fear. 

“Take it easy, Katz,” the man’s partner chided him, albeit insincerely. The two of them practically carried her down the walkway. “You’re scarin’ her.” 

They arrived at an old set of metal stairs leading to the street below. The sharp, steep grade of the steps made her vertigo even worse. 

“No, help! Somebody help!” she hollered, wrapping her fingers in a death grip around the banisters and anything else she could reach. 

“Keep your mouth shut!” the red-head called Katz snapped at her. He reached around and tried to put his beefy hand on her mouth, but she bit down on his flesh the second his fingers reached her lips.

“Ow!” he roared. “Bitch!”

She saw him rear back his fist. Then she saw nothing.

When she came to, her whole body ached. Every muscle throbbing, like she’d been twisted into a pretzel. Her eyelashes fluttered open. Flickering flourescents stung her eyes. Bleary, she gazed around in a dreamlike state until her senses slowly started to awaken. 

She tasted glue. And blood. Took heavy humid breaths through her nose. She was on her side, on a concrete floor in a garage she didn’t recognize. The smell of motor oil and cleaning solution stabbed her nostrils. She gazed up at the shadowy, filthy undercarriage of a Rolls Royce lifted high up above her. Loud bangs jarred her out of slumber further. She faintly wondered who would be jackhammering—

Loud pops. Gunfire.

Her body went rigid, then sprung to life in terror. Attempting to open her mouth to scream, she realized that it was taped shut. Even slight movements of her jaw stung her flesh. She tried to sit up. Her arms tingled, like her limbs had fallen asleep. When she tried to move them she felt a sharp sting on her wrists. 

Alarm started to take hold. She couldn’t move her arms or legs. She glanced down and passed her dirty, blood-stained shirt to the duct tape wrapping her ankles. It might as well have been iron. Her wrists were also firmly bound behind her. Trying to pull them on them felt like ripping off her own skin. She whimpered excruciatingly.

The sounds were getting closer. She glanced around, eyes begging for help. Searching frantically for any reprieve amidst the scattered car parts and junk. 

The gunfire was getting closer.

She scooted, inching her way across the floor until she reached a work table. She was lining her spine up against the table leg when the garage door rattled open. She was out of time. A spill of light from outside lamps flooded in, blinding her. She could only vaguely recognized her own shrieks behind the wall of duct tape.

A group of people stood at the garage doors with their backs to the light. She watched their imposing silhouettes with horror.

A tall, male form approached her, his long black coat trailing behind him. Tears that she couldn’t contain sprang from her eyes. She was trapped, terrified, like a rabbit staring down a wolf. All she could focus on was the gun in the man’s hands as he stalked toward her. She squeezed her eyes closed, waiting to hear a final shot that would end her life.

“Easy, easy,” a familiar, deep, and soothing voice rolled over her. “Shh, don’t be scared, Honey.”

Her breath hitched. Eyes popped open.

Crouched down to her eye level was her tall, dark, and bitter friend. Ben—Peter—whatever his name was— the moment she recognized his soft chocolate eyes and the scattering of a peppery beard on his otherwise boyish face, she felt a wave of relief. 

His leather glove still held firmly onto a pistol. The sight of it dropped her back to reality. Like a bucket of ice water being poured over her body. She shuddered as he scooted closer.

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay,” he placated with a calm voice. “You’re okay.”

She wanted to believe him. He set his gun down on the concrete floor and reached for her with both hands. Another sound of a distant gunshot made her jolt. She recoiled away from his touch, shrinking herself up against the table leg. 

He flinched at her reaction with a pained expression, as if she’d stabbed him. His hands faltered for a moment.

A man’s voice rang out from the group lingering behind, a youthful tone from someone barely older than a teenager. “Boss, we gotta go!” 

A deeper voice called out in response, “C’mon, Pete. The calvary’s on the way. Get her on her feet! ”

Her eyes widened, tears streaming down her face. He stared back at her, his expression turning grim. She gazed up at her savior to realize that this was no true rescue. 

A sickly feeling crept over her as she put the pieces together. Whatever this was, whatever was happening, whatever had happened to her—it was because of Peter. 

Her tall, dark, and dangerous stranger. He grabbed her by the hips, scooting her closer. She wailed as he scooped her body up in her arms, dizzy with how fast and effortless it seemed. He carried her like a toddler having a tantrum, except she was restrained already. 

Peter said nothing as he carried her out of the garage, barely looking at her, as he marched towards an idling, blacked-out SUV. She barely had time to spot the driver, a gorgeous woman with long silver hair. 

She smirked at her, eyes sinister.

When the SUV finally came to a halt, all she knew is that they were in an underground parking garage. Her limbs felt heavy, the assault of adrenaline starting to take its toll. Few words were spoken during the car ride, and none to her. Thick tension filled the air.

She was on the floorboard, her cheek pressed up against the carpet. She gazed at the feet of two men seated in the back. One of them was the fresh-faced teenager she heard calling Peter ‘Boss.’ His name was Miles, she had heard. The other was a rugged, haunted-looking man, with large dark eyes fixed on the windows, ever watchful. Miles called him Miguel, before the older man shot him a look to stay quiet.

“That’s the unifying issue with the men in this car,” the woman driving the SUV snarked. “You all talk too much.”

Her heart hammered at the glint of a knife. Miguel opened a switchblade, grabbing her ankles. 

“Whoa, hang on,” Miles talked to her—the first one to do so. “He’s gonna cut the tape, just so you can move your legs, okay?”

She gazed up at his soft dark eyes, her own still welling with tears. She felt the release on her legs give way as she kicked the rest of the tape off.

“Lights out,” a cold, distant voice ordered. The sound came from the front passenger seat, where Peter sat in tense silence.

Both Miles and Miguel seemed to hesitate, glancing at each other.

“You sure?” Miles questioned.

“He didn’t stutter,” the silver-haired woman replied, definitively. There was a bite in her voice, but it carried with it a tiredness filled with frustration. She sounded more like an older sister jabbing a younger sibling.

The woman popped open her door to get out. “Let’s go, boys. We got groceries inside.” 

The world went black again. A dark hood was thrown over her head, obscuring her view. 

Continue to Part 2

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[ariesqueencobra]

what we used to be | lll

Pairing: Eli Moskowitz x Fem!Reader

Summary: You're excited that your relationship with Eli is flourishing. A big fight leaves you and him making a decision that could benefit your lives.

Warnings: bullying, slut-shaming, kissing, violence (school fight/karate)

Word Count: 1k

A/N: A short and sweet chapter but I love it! Make sure that if you want to see more of this story to comment and reblog! Comments let me know what you like about the story and reblogs help others see the story! Thanks!

I don't consent to this work being copied, translated or reposted.

“I’m sorry to hear about what happened at the dance,” you frowned, sitting on your bed.

You and Aisha finally made time for your hang-out. It was agreed between the two of you to go to your place. 

It had been a few days since you and Eli kissed. You both hadn’t talked about it, but it was unspoken between the two of you that it was where you wanted to be. 

While your mind had been distracted by that plus the emotional turmoil that was caused by Yasmine and Moon–it was nice to just be with a friend.

“Don’t worry about it, it sucks, for sure,” she sighed. “But I joined Cobra Kai,” she smiled. “Sensei’s teaching me how to actually kick ass”. 

“Woah, really? I’m happy for you,” you nodded. 

You were happy she joined the dojo. At least one of you is building confidence to stand up against Yasmine. 

“If you want to build strength, join Cobra Kai. We can use more students too,” she suggested. 

“I don’t know, it sounds intense,” you winced. 

You don’t think you’d do well in an aggressive environment such as that. Based on how Miguel talks about his sensei and now Aisha? You don’t think you’d last a day.

“It’s not that bad, honestly,” she reassured. “Before it felt like I didn’t have anything to use to get back at Yasmine, but now I have this confidence, this strength. Something I have that she doesn’t,” she licked her lips. “But you really wanna know the truth?”

You leaned forward, telling her you did.

“I’m doing this to better myself,” she smiled. “I’m the best version of myself I can be and it’s so freeing,” she sighed out. 

“Wow, maybe I’ll put some more thought into it,” you hummed. 

That freedom she was talking about was calling your name and for once in the few weeks you’ve heard of Cobra Kai, you really considered it. 

~

You were reviewing your Calc homework before the big test today at your locker when a familiar voice called your name. You looked to your right, happy to see Eli.

“Hi, oop,” you were taken aback when he greeted you with a kiss. “Hi,” you felt your cheeks warm, your hand clutching your locker door. 

“Was that okay?” his eyes grew worried that he went overboard.

“Yeah,” you sheepishly said, reassuring him. “I’m just still getting used to it,” you giggled. 

And it was true.

Going from best friends to kissing each other was such a huge jump. It wasn't the norm even as excited as you were that you got to kiss the boy you’ve been in love with since you could remember. 

“Does this mean we’re dating now?” you chewed on your lip, closing your notebook.

“I hope so,” he smiled, hiking his shoulders up. 

“Cool,” you nodded, checking your phone for the date to remember it.

“I’ll walk you to class?” he offered and you nodded. 

Your hands became intertwined and for once you felt more than complete. You couldn’t wipe your smile off when you went into class, your mind not even thinking about limits or functions because you had a boyfriend!

~

You were walking alongside Eli and the boys to your lunch table, happy to see that Aisha was there. 

The whole cafeteria grew silent though when Sam threw a tray onto the floor. Oohs were whispered around. The four of you slowed down as you stayed back and observed.

“You see that billboard with the giant dick? I guess, Sam takes after her dad,” Kyler had a shit-eating grin on his face.

The cafeteria got riled up at the awful comeback.

You saw the way Sam’s eyes coated with anger, her jaw clenched, gaze narrowed. You felt for her, truly. 

She seemed like such a nice person and a good friend, based on what Aisha told you, but you didn’t understand why she was friends with such assholes.

You didn’t know what was going to happen between them until Miguel spoke up. 

“Oh no,” you said under your breath. 

He slammed his tray on the table next to Aisha before approaching Kyler. “Why don’t you shut the hell up and stop being an asshole?” 

“Want another beat down, Rhea?” Kyler shoved him. 

Miguel grunted as he fell back but caught himself on the chair behind him.

“I’m ready for your lame-ass karate this time,” Kyler shoved him again.

“It’s not lame-ass karate,” Miguel gritted just as Kyler went in for a punch but he blocked it, gripping his arm that caused pain to radiate all over his face. “It’s Cobra Kai,” he said before knocking him straight in the teeth.

“Woah,” Eli said. 

Blood spilled from Kyler’s nose, anger coursing through him before he body-slammed Miguel into the table, dragging him by the neck to another. People moved and jumped out of the way as Kyler got him in a headlock, but Miguel elbowed him in the gut, grabbing him by the arm and pulling it behind him, using that leverage to punch him in the cheek and then kicking him.

“No mercy!” Aisha shouted.

So much passion, you thought.

Another guy came behind Miguel but he anticipated it, sweeping him right off his feet. Then two others came but he got them too, kicking one in the stomach and another in the face.

Using his chance to run, Miguel rolled over a table, grabbing onto a tray. He kicked a chair towards an attacker before using the tray to hit Kyler and the blond one. 

He kicked and hit, knocking them down until Kyler charged at him. He jumped onto a table, sweeping his leg behind him, and kicking him before he knocked the corner of the tray right into his face. 

He actually did it. 

He took down at least six guys by himself.

Miguel stared in amazement, at the crowd surrounding him.

You felt so proud of him, being very impressed but his victory was cut short when Counsloer Blatt ordered him to come down.

~

Eli’s mouth pressed against yours, your hands placed on either side of his face while his hands were on your arms.

It was awkward navigating kissing but it was also the best thing you’ve ever experienced. 

“We should probably get back to homework,” you said, face hot and lips puffy as you pulled away. “Before your mom catches us,” you licked your lips, growing flustered at the thought of being caught.

This was the only way you’d agree to have a make-out session with Eli—at his house, not yours. If your dad found you guys locking lips, that would be the end of Eli. Frankly, you didn’t want that to happen. 

Still, you wanted to keep your fresh relationship under the ropes from your parents.

“Sure,” he nodded sheepishly, grabbing his pen.

You were doing homework at his house today, Demetri declining because he didn’t “want to get in the way of young love”. The thought made you laugh, but there was no denying how grateful you were about it.

“What did you get for problem four?” you asked, your arm and thigh pressed against his.

This time around, you didn’t care that your body was as close to his as possible. You both welcomed it and the butterflies in your tummy fluttered in delight.

“C,” he answered. 

“Damn,” you sucked in a breath, looking over his work to see where you went wrong. “You think it’s too late to drop out of Chemistry?” you wondered.

“I think you’ll be fine,” he reassured. “So what did you think about Miguel today?” he fidgeted with the pen.

“The fight?” you furrowed your brows, copying his work onto your paper. “I thought it was totally badass,” you grinned. “I guess he and Aisha were right, their sensei knows what he’s doing,” you snorted. 

“I think I’m gonna join,” he admitted, chewing on his lip and he averted your gaze.

You paused, a smile appearing on your face. “That’s great, Eli!” you reached over to kiss his cheek.

“I even talked Demetri into joining,” he added. “So I was thinking maybe you should join too,” he shrugged, searching your eyes for any sign of disagreement. 

“Really? You think I could learn to kick ass like that?” you turned to face him.

“I think you could become the best in the entire Valley,” he blushed, mirroring your movements. “So what do you say?” he smiled.

“Let’s do it,” you grinned.

[okaystoptellingmetomakeanaccount]

Guys. Scrooge McDuck already traveled the multiverse in 1995

Hey look, it’s the doors from doctor strange

-my dad

This year will mark a historical moment in Disney comics history. The first Marvel-made Scrooge McDuck comic. Uncle Scrooge and the Infinity Dime coming up in June will have Scrooge travel through the multiverse to defeat an evil AU version of himself.

To some unfamiliar with Disney comics, this might sound like a lame idea in the trend of many multiverse stories that we are seeing in the cinemas today.

To some familiar with Disney comics, this sounded exactly like the plot of Zio Paperone e il predone dimensionale.

Truth is, the multiverse has always been a part of… just comic books. It’s now starting to slip into other mediums because of the many, many comic book adaptations just getting to that point of the lore, but the comic books themselves have had it for a long time now. Including Disney comics.

Though for Disney it’s less a case of: we wanted to explain continuity errors and then went a bit too far, and more a case of: if you have comics coming out literally every single day of the week then at some point you just get to the multiverse.

There are many of these to be found in Disney comics, which we might talk about later if someone is interested or I feel like it, but today we are going to go over the one most similar in premise to the upcoming Marvel release.

Because I just think it’s really funny how similar they are. Like at this point I would call it a reboot.

Oh oh, Scrooge and multiverse, look at this. I’m pretty sure the Loki tv series just copied their time doors from this comic.

Federico Povoleri wrote a pretty simple story. Someone is stealing from Scrooge again, and this time, the culprit turns out to be… himself!

‘Our’ Scrooge is signified by the red coat (and later the multiverse hopping suit). All the alternates will be clad in blue. DT87 Scrooge is just another AU that no one cares about confirmed

This stealing Scrooge is our ‘Scrooge above all’. He wants to be richer than all his other variants and steals from them for that or something. I don’t remember very well but why he does it doesn’t matter. It’s evil Scrooge and he steals that’s all we need to know.

As we have seen already, he escapes with an universe hopping door. As he always does within these kinds of situations, Scrooge calls Gyro who finds some kind of dimensional energy lingering around where the door used to be. He does the usual explain the multiverse bit.

Then Gyro does in a few hours/days/wedontactuallyknow what Red Raider has been trying for years. There’s a reason they kicked him out of PKNA he would be too overpowered.

Yeah altronave my nose.

Scrooge arrives in the bin of another him, and explains as well as he can. This repeats a few times and I would love to show it but there is a 10 image limit on tumblr mobile for some reason.

Finally he arrives at the bin of the Scrooge who steals and they have a little typical multiverse discussion (I am the real one. No bitch I am. But which one are you. A real me would never do this. That kind of stuff)

But he gets defeated by bad Scrooge. Oh no the only one who could defeat Scrooge has defeated him. What will happen now?

Exactly what you think happens. prime!Scrooge never closed the AU doors and so everyone he visited could just hop through and arrive at Scrooge above all’s office. Yay.

It is not a bad comic. It has the single idea, it sticks to it, it executes it well. The interactions with AU Scrooge’s are just plain fun. At the time of writing the story has place 6020 on inducks which is pretty dang high for such a silly comic.

It’s very much a multiverse story in a classic Disney comics way. It’s not used to bring multiple continuities together. No storia e gloria Scrooge VS life and times Scrooge. Nothing dramatic happening or high stakes. Just Scrooge going on another adventure, and for being one of the first multiverse comics involving Scrooge that didn’t pull random bullshit, it’s considered good by most of the fandom it seems. That the Comicup artists was pretty decent helped as well.

But now, what can we expect from what is totally gonna be a remake of this?

Infinity Dime is Marvel. It’s gonna take a Marvel approach. Assuming it’s not gonna be parody (which i kind of really hope it isn’t), then what will it be? Are we gonna see something similar to this, where Scrooge will just meet different versions of himself or will we see established AU’s? Both Ducktales and all his other animated counterparts (i heard the americans like christmas carol scrooge) seem like easy picks. Will they fight? Will it be Secret Wars? Or will they work together like in this comic?

Marvel has still given out zero information about the story (hell, they haven’t even made clear which artists aside from a few are drawing. “celebrated Scrooge artists” does NOT narrow it down) except for that super vague premise. So the best we can do is imagine this story but with the Marvel flavor. Not that I have read enough Marvel comics to properly understand what that means but ive seen some movies okay.

We can probably imagine there will be more ‘evil’ Scrooges. Some Scroogehenchmen. And they will fight. We gotta have action scenes. Which I trust will look good because Mangiatordi I believe his connection to the project alone will secure that the art department will be amazing. His existence is enough.

I’m also expecting DT17 Scrooge to at least cameo. He’s the perfect character for this type of story, fits way better than any other non comic variant. DT87 Scrooge could work as maybe a younger version? Who is not sure what he got caught up in. But then we would need emotional scenes between Scrooge and Scrooge and that’s probably asking too much from Jason Aaron.

Oh hmm actually. I can see when good Scrooge fights bad Scrooge in the climax he will do a big speech that will last a good 4 pages and will teach bad Scrooge what it takes to be a real Scrooge. That sounds stupid enough to be a Marvel thing but not so stupid as to become completely ridiculous.

I’m not expecting actual references to other established comic Scrooge AU’s. We will probably have Barks and Rosa references and that’s it. I’m not even expecting a Van Horn reference tbh. It’s all Barks and Rosa we gotta keep it beginner friendly. It might even just be Rosa. Which indirectly will result in a Barks reference because every Rosa reference is just a Barks reference but with extra steps.

I’m trying to make predictions okay? So I can go I SAID SO when it comes out. It’ll be really funny for me and annoying for you guys. You don’t even have to read this (yet). This is just for in the future so I can look like a wizard.

The scene where Gyro explains the multiverse might just get copied one on one. Maybe Gyro will be replaced by Ludwig? At least I don’t think they will have Scrooge just go: oh yeah ive seen this before. Maybe another Scrooge will explain it to him/secretly the reader. It WILL involve a big cosmic looking image that will represent the multiverse. It just has to. Even if just to show the Marvel audience how good these Italian Scrooge artists are.

I don’t think Donald or the nephews are gonna play a big role. Maybe at the beginning and end, maybe they will somehow stay in contact with Scrooge or he thinks about them a few times to remind us of hey this is Donald Duck. But I think most is gonna be a solo Scrooge adventure just like we have already seen.

Idk. I really want to talk more about Infinity Dime because it’s the most exciting US made Disney comic in ages. Idk why no one else seems to be hyped. Where is all the rambling and speculation guys?? Not about the covers, but about the actual story!

Anyways now we get to the most important question: do i think it will feature Magica?

Maybe. (Definitely not gonna play a big role if she even appears. Maybe a cameo when at some point there will be a dramatic flashback… Or she could show up in one of the AU’s. Maybe just a short scene in the beginning showing his usual life but that sounds lame. Probably not gonna have a role in the story at least, and I kinda hope it won’t have any Magica at all because I’m scared that they will go of off Rosa’s characterization lol.)

Ok Remember to infinity your dimes and uncle your scrooges gby

[moonlight-prose]

#10 "why are you doing this?" "because I love you" with Joel from the prompt list? The angst potential is limitless but also the fluff ♥️🤌

THE WASTELAND OF A BLEEDING HEART

a/n: i took a small writing break for a few days, but i finally managed to churn out the end of this fic. it's not my best thing i've written. to be entirely honest i don't really like how it turned out, but we live and die by the pen right. i hope you like it babes.

summary: joel's fears began to interfere.

word count: 1.2k+

pairing: joel miller x reader

warnings: not explicit, angsty ass joel, stubborn joel + stubborn reader dynamic, miscommunication (cause...*gestures to joel* yeah), fluff.

You had every right to be mad at him. After what you two had gone through, the way he had been treating you, gave you enough reason. You should be mad at him. But then he looked at you, his lips pulling up into a barely there grin, brown eyes pulling you in, and you knew…the anger would never last.

Until now it seemed.

“Miller!” you called out, jogging to catch up with Tommy, his quick pace a little too fast for even you. “Where’s the fire?”

“No fire,” he smiled, his hands shoved in his pockets to stave off the cold.

“Good.” You should have grabbed your thicker jacket off the back of the chair. Although it never even occurred to you at the time. Not when your mind was going in a million different directions at once. “I’m looking for Joel—”

You stopped at the sight of his expression shifting, quickly being masked by another carefree smile. Yet you could see beneath his facade; caught the glimpse of worry in his eyes that darted away from you. That was the problem with Tommy Miller. He was too easy to fucking read. Which left you in a predicament such as this.

“What happened?” you asked, noticing how he barely even looked at you.

“Joel uh…”

Your brow creased. “Joel what?”

“Listen it wasn’t my idea and if somethin’ is happening between you two—”

“Tommy.”

He sighed, glancing up at the sunlight that seemed to be the only warmth in Jackson. “He told me to take you off the outdoor patrol shift.”

“He—” You felt your chest tighten painfully, that familiar feeling of loneliness settling back in your bones. “Did you…take me off?”

Tommy nodded reluctantly, his eyes never once meeting yours. “Said he didn’t want you to get hurt, and I…well shit I kind of agree with him.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” You felt the burn in your chest begin to spread—an uncomfortable sensation you always hated. “You can’t just take me off patrol when everyone is supposed to—”

Tommy’s eyes finally snapped to you, his lips forming a thin line. “I know you’re pissed, but think about it honey. If Joel loses you…there’s no coming back for him.” He sighed, dipping his head to glance at the icy covered ground. “I’d rather not bring back that version of my brother.”

Pain erupted throughout you, clogging every part of your body until you could feel your heart screaming. Though Tommy wore the face of a sorrowful man, you knew that he had simply taken away your initiative. He made the choice for you just as Joel did without bothering to let you in on any of it. Anger simmered beneath the surface of your pain; the mask you were wearing—clear and free of any emotions.

Somehow that made Tommy’s expression even worse. He would never truly know how hurt you were, because you wouldn’t tell him.

How could you?

“Have a good day Tommy,” you said, your voice void of any emotion.

“Wait—”

You didn’t give him a chance to say anything more, too focused on the fact that Joel had once again made a choice for you. Simply because he believed it was the best option. Part of you wondered where it stemmed from; why he was so adamant on keeping you in the town limits, unwilling to let you go. Except then you began to count. Each person Joel lost, each tragedy he had to endure, all added up to something in the end.

Hours later you found yourself still thinking about it as you attempted to engross yourself in a novel. One you read over and over again, too stubborn to let it go. Maybe that’s where you and Joel were the same. Two people who couldn’t find it in themself to allow change in a world that had already taken away so much.

The familiar creak of the front door brought you back for a brief moment, your anger flickering to life in your chest. Joel simply grinned at the sight of you curled up in a chair, one of his shirts adorning your body. A blanket so old he was worried it was unhealthy to be around, was spread out across your legs. 

Except that’s not what stopped him in his tracks. The glare he felt burn through his chest, plummeting straight down to his stomach, caused him to freeze. His eyes tried to search your steeled expression for an explanation.

“What’s wrong?”

“Tommy let me know today that you told him to take me off the patrol shift.” The ire in your voice surprised you.

His eyes fell shut, a breathy shit leaving his mouth. “I was gonna tell you—”

“He said you didn’t want me to get hurt.”

“That’s true,” he replied, shrugging out of his jacket and draping it over the back of his chair. “Can I explain please honey?”

You stood, letting the book and blanket fall to the floor. “No. You don’t get to make those decisions for me Joel. I’m more than capable of handling myself out there and you more than anyone knows that.”

The step he took forward coupled with the look on his face nearly bent your resolve, but you stood your ground. You were upset with him for a reason.

“I told Tommy to let me tell you first before doing anything rash. Apparently he still doesn’t listen very well.” He sighed, his hands falling to rest at his hips as he saw your guarded demeanor. “I just don’t want anything happenin’ to you.”

“That doesn’t give you the right to make that choice for me,” you said. “I just want to know why. Why are you doing this?”

“Because I love you.” The words were blurted out before he even comprehended them himself. His eyes widened slightly, mouth snapping shut as he waited for your response.

You let out a shaky breath, your hands falling to your sides limply. “What?” you breathed.

Two months ago you had said those exact words to him in the safety of your bedroom. The fear of setting them free continued to linger in the back of your mind. Yet there he was. Finally telling you the one thing he was most scared of—loving you completely…only to one day lose you. That alone broke off a piece of your heart.

“I can’t lose you like I lost her,” he said softly. “I won’t.”

“Joel,” you whispered, finally moving towards him until you were close enough for his hands to reach for you. “You won’t lose me.”

“You don’t know—”

Grasping his face, you pulled him close, his breath washing across your chin. “You won’t lose me. Okay?” He nodded, his lips brushing against yours. “But you have to let me choose for myself.”

“I will,” he replied, giving into your touch, allowing himself to be loved wholeheartedly for the first time since Sarah. “Just promise me you’ll be careful.”

“You got it cowboy.” You smiled, pressing a kiss to the corner of his lips as his laughter washed over you, settling deep in your chest and keeping you warm.

[dancingtotuyo]

Scathed 7 (Javier Peña)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: anxiety, trauma, self worth, recounting of suicide attempt, discussion of miscarriage and abuse

Notes: shoutout to my non tumblr bestie, Ashley and @janaispunk for beta reading and constantly encouraging me.

Words: 4174

Series Master List | Author Master List

Journal Entry May 25, 1994,

My birthday is tomorrow. Javier is taking me out tonight. Just the two of us and whatever plan he’s concocted in an unknown place. It’ll be fine. I’m safe with him…

A knot formed and set itself squarely in Emily’s gut. She was all too familiar with anxiety, but this one was different. It was laced with excitement. In fact, it was mostly excitement with fear of the unknown, fear that subsided with every assurance that Javier knew what was happening. She trusted Javier. 

Then came the second round of nerves, one Emily thought she’d never feel again, what to wear? She didn’t know where they were going. Javier had assured her he wouldn’t put her in an uncomfortable position which meant limited crowds. 

It was a birthday dinner. That meant fancy, right? But this was Loredo, jeans were welcomed at every event, but so what if she was a little overdressed? This was her birthday. The first time she’d celebrated in a while. Her Dad and Anna had tried, but Emily always refused. They’d gotten away with cake and ice cream after dinner last year, but no candles. She always found a neatly wrapped box on her bed from Jaime though. Emily knew he felt bad for missing so many birthdays. Maybe next year she would be able to celebrate how he wanted to. 

Emily looked over the clothes spread out across her bed. Her going-out clothes were limited for obvious reasons. The dress felt too formal, the jeans not formal enough. She sorted through her closet again, searching for anything else, and then she saw it, peeking out of the Sears bag she’d shoved into the closet as soon as she got home last summer. 

Emily pulled it out, the pale fabric with little sunflowers called to her like it had in the store. It wasn’t anything over the top or skimpy, but still exposed more skin than she tended to show. Emily tended to stick with clothing that wouldn’t draw attention to her, blue jeans and a solid color top or sweater.

She unfolded the dress, the tags still on. She’d felt stupid for buying it as soon as she got home, but could never bring herself to return it. This would do, but Emily didn’t move, staring at the delicate fabric like it might combust. It taunted her, dared her to put it on. She remembered the way it felt cool against her skin, hugged in all the right places, and made her feel like a less damaged version of herself, one that could go out without fear or worry, one a man might find attractive. Immediately, she had shucked it off her body like it was on fire at that thought but hadn’t been able to put it back on the rack. 

It would be perfect for tonight. She fingered the skirt, thumb running over one of the sunflowers. She heard the front door open. Her father greeted Javier. She cursed under her breath, picking up the dress without a second thought. Ripping off the tags, she dropped her towel, pulling the fabric over her head. 

It slipped into place like she was a Disney Princess, fabric flowing around her thighs and knees. She glanced at herself in the mirror, stilling. She felt like she had in that dressing room almost a year ago. This wasn’t her, but who she wished she could be. Who she thought she would be. The pale pink lipgloss and mascara taunt her from the drugstore bag. Those had been impulse purchases today. Emily couldn’t remember the last time she’d put on makeup. 

“Em.” Her father tapped on the door. “Javier is here.”

“I’ll be right out.” She called back, grabbing the makeup without a second thought. She fumbled with it, leaving the packaging scattered on the bedroom floor. 

With inexperienced hands, Emily carefully applied the mascara. Then she ran the lip gloss over her lips. She didn’t give herself another look over, grabbing her purse and light sweater as she teased her curls absentmindedly with a hand, smacking her lips together with the unfamiliar feel of the gloss. 

Javier and Jaime were talking in the living room as she entered. Javier’s eyes clocked her immediately, unable to pull his eyes off of her. She locked eyes with him, heat flooding her cheeks as she caught the way Javier’s eyes roamed her frame. 

“Hi.” He smiled at her.

“Hi,” she smiled back. Emily wasn’t sure what else to say, feeling as if there were more behind his eyes.

Anna walked into the room with a gasp. “I forgot about that dress.”

Emily jumped a little, turning to face her stepmom with a soft smile. “So did I.” She laughed. 

Anna smiled, pressing a kiss to her daughter’s cheek. “You look beautiful, Mija.”

“Thank you.” Emily smiled, unable to calm her beating heart. 

“You ready to go?” Javier asked, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

“Yeah.” Emily bit her lip. Neither moved, simply looking at each other as the room filled with unspoken and unrecognized feelings. 

Jaime looked between them with his brows furrowed. He cleared his throat. “I’ll pick the kids up at 8 from the sitter’s.”

Emily snapped out of her thoughts, which were more like a tornado siren going off during the middle of a clear day leaving her dazed and confused, like danger was so near but you couldn’t see any sign of it. 

“Thanks, dad.” Emily said, kissing his cheek. “And remember, do not let them stay up late. We have an early day tomorrow.”

“No promises.” Emily glared at him. “There’s more of them than me, sweetheart.” 

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Bedtime is 8:30, and no ice cream either.”

“Go celebrate your birthday.” Jaime chuckled, shooing her toward the door. “We’ve got things covered here.”

Javier opened the door, smiling as she matched her father’s strides. In Spanish, she said, “I’m serious, Dad.”

Jaime raised his brows, responding in kind. “Have fun. Enjoy your birthday for once.”

“Dad.” Emily stopped hand on her hip. 

He laughed, putting his hands up in surrender. “I promise. Early to bed and no ice cream. Scouts Honor.”

She eyed him suspiciously, not buying it, but decided to let it go. Javier chuckled. “Jokes aside, we’re going to be late if we don’t go.” 

“You two have fun. Keep her out as late as you want, Javier.” Jaime said with a teasing grin. 

Javier laughed and Emily rolled her eyes. “Will do.”

Javier pressed a hand to the middle of her back to propel her toward the door. Her head snapped back to him, eyes wide but not with panic. Javier dropped it immediately realizing what he’d done. He swallowed, motioning to the door with his head, feeling stupid for doing that. This wasn’t a date.

Emily brushed it off, stepping out of the house without another word. She couldn’t shake the way the warmth of his hand lingered across her back. 

“You gonna tell me where we’re going?” Emily asked once they were out the driveway. 

“God, you’re impatient.”

“I’m sorry if I’m not too keen on surprises.” She narrowed her eyes at him.

Javier laughed. “But you trust me.”

“That’s what I keep telling myself.”

He smiled. “I’m sorry about touching you before we left. I wasn’t thinking and-“

“It’s okay, Javier.”

“No, I know I need to be careful.”

“You didn’t scare me.”

He glanced over at her, studying her face for a moment longer than he safely should from behind the wheel of his truck. Emily smiled at him, any lingering anxiety draining. She trusted him more than she thought possible in a relatively short period. 

“You look beautiful tonight,” Javier said. It just slipped out like the words had just formed in his head and needed to escape. “I like the dress.”

Emily felt her cheeks warm again, a smile pushing against her lips. She turned to look out the window, biting the smile back. What were these impulses she felt helpless to stop? She cleared her throat. “Thank you.”

Even the implication that she looked attractive didn’t scare her. She had Javier next to her. He would keep her safe. That spot on her back heated again. The more she tried to ignore it, the hotter it burned becoming impossible to forget. 

Javier pulled into the parking lot of one of the most popular Friday night destinations in Laredo. Her pulse quickened. All the trust that had assured her moments ago flew out the window. 

“Hey,” Javier said, throwing the truck in park. He grabbed Emily’s hand. “Trust me.”

She nodded, taking a steadying breath. Javier darted around the vehicle, opening the passenger side door for her. “I’ve got you.” He held out his hand with a wink.

Emily took another deep breath, nodding as she took his outstretched hand. Javier squeezed it, keeping her close to his side. Her stomach twisted in knots as they approached the packed restaurant. The front door opened as a couple walked out, the roaring noise from within growing and then muting as the door swung closed. 

Javier felt her breath catch and directed them away from the main entry. “I wouldn’t take you in there, Mustaña. I know better than that.” 

He led them around to the back patio of the restaurant. Emily expected it to be thrumming with life. She’d heard this place had live music on the patio, but when they rounded the corner it was still. Javier opened up the gate, motioning for her to go first. 

Emily bit her lip in amazement. “You did this?”

”I told you. You deserve to be celebrated, Em.”

Without a second thought, her arms flew around his shoulders. Javier’s hands wrapped around her back of their own accord, not wanting to let her go. Emily’s head laid on his shoulder for a single glorious moment. “Thank you.”

“Anything for my best friend.” Javier smiled, fighting the urge to kiss her cheek. He had no doubt that would push things too far, and tonight was about celebrating his best friend. A panic attack would not be very celebratory. 

“I knew I’d get you to admit it.” Emily smiled as Javier pulled a chair out for her.

She sat, allowing Javier to help push her in. The big grin he wore never left his face as he settled in next to her around the small circular table. “How’d you pull this off on a Friday night, Javi?”

“I can’t reveal all my secrets now.” He chuckled. 

Emily cocked her head to the side, curls falling into her eyes. Javier laughed as she pushed them out of her face. “Damn hair. Keep saying I’m going to cut it.”

”You don’t like it?” Javier’s brows furrowed. 

“It’s just a lot, and sometimes you just need a change.” She shrugged. 

Javier bit his tongue. He liked her hair. He was beginning to think he might like it any way she styled it, but there was something about the way her long curls bounced and moved about that captivated him. He wanted to bury his hands in them. 

Javier swallowed, giving himself a moment to push those thoughts away. “A friend from high school owns this place.”

”They must owe you quite the favor.”

”Something like that,” Javier winked, tilting his head to the side.

The roar inside the restaurant grew throughout the night as people filed in for dinner, but out on the patio, it was peaceful. Streaked with orange and pink, the sky slowly darkened until the sun disappeared. Crickets chirp from the grove of trees at the back of the parking lot. The heat of the day began to ease. They took their time eating, enjoying the spring night, and each other's company. 

“How is it we always seem to find ourselves outside? Under the stars?” Emily said, gazing above her as the first twinkles started to appear. 

“Guess it’s our thing.” Javier sipped his whiskey, holding it close to his chest. 

Even within Loredo city limits, stars shone in the night sky. He glanced over at her, eyes tilted toward the heavens, curls falling over her shoulders. She looks so at ease, so blissfully at peace. Javier couldn’t help but feel honored that she’d found that, even just for a few minutes, next to him. 

“So we have a thing?” She raised an eyebrow.

“You just said we’re always finding ourselves in this situation.” He laughed. 

“Suppose I did.” 

He handed her his glass. Emily accepted, letting the dark liquid burn down her throat. “Might be the first night I haven’t craved a cigarette.”

“Progress.” 

“Or maybe it’s the company.” He smiled at her.

Emily rolled her eyes, handing the whiskey back to him. “It most definitely isn’t that.”

“What makes you say that?”

“I’m one of the most anxious people around.”

“Not with me.” 

Emily froze, eyes stuck on his brown ones. What was he trying to say? Nails dug into the pad of her thumb. She chewed on her lip. 

Javier caught it, the overthinking, her brain trying to process things it wasn’t ready for. Fuck, what was he saying? He wasn’t ready to process it either. 

“Hey,” His hand landed over her wrist, fingers easing over her. “You shouldn't be anxious with your friends. It’s a good thing.”

She nodded, her mind accepting the thinly veiled excuse. “You’re right.”

“Always am,” Javier smirked. 

She let out a laugh that came from deep within her belly. Her head fell back, curls dangling in the air, and Javier knew. He knew he was falling in love with a woman he could never have as more than a friend. If and when she traveled down that path, she deserved someone not stained by the drug war. She needed someone so far away from it, her past didn’t feel so tangible. She didn’t need someone who fucked whores and watched children die, someone marked for death but somehow managed to avoid it. 

“Javi?” Emily straightened in her seat, catching the way his demeanor shifted. He had that faraway look in his eyes she only saw when he was reliving the bad parts of Colombia. The one Emily imagined she got when she talked about Mexico. 

He tried to push the thoughts back. Today was not the time or place. It was a happy day. He was supposed to be celebrating her. 

“Javier,” she said again, placing her hand on his bicep. He looked down, eyes flickering to it. Soft hands, free of calluses from her secluded office job. He swallowed. Her hand bumped under his chin, pulling his gaze back to her like a mother to a child. “What’s going through your mind right now? Tell me.”

“I was supposed to die,” Javier said. It slipped out, almost like he wasn’t in his body, and then the weight of it hit him. He pulled out of her reach. “Shit.” He rubbed his eyes. “Now’s not the time for this conversation.”

“Talk to me,” Emily said, not taking no for an answer. 

Javier threw back the rest of the whiskey, giving it a few extra seconds before he opened his mouth again. “We got a tip about Escobar- backed up by Centra-Spike. Our boss pulled us out as we were about to leave.” 

He didn’t explain the “us.” She knew who he meant by now.

“Carillo- he-“ Javier struggled to pull the words out. Emily set her hand on his shoulder. His eyes met hers sparkling with unshed tears. “He walked right into an ambush. All of his men too. They never stood a chance. I was supposed to be with him. Steve too.

“Instead, I listened to it all go down on the fucking radio. I felt so goddamn useless.” Javier clenched his fist. 

Emily studied his face, the deep creases in his forehead, the guilt heavy across his features. He couldn’t meet her eyes. She knew it was more than the survivor's guilt. It was that child in the comuna, the teenager he watched “The Good Guys” shoot to send a message, the work he did with Los Pepes, and so much more she didn’t know about. 

Before she knew it, her fingertips dragged from his chin up his jaw. His skin was smooth under her touch like he’d shaved right before picking her up. Javier’s eyes widened, but he didn’t say a word, scared to move a muscle and spook her. He focused on her eyes as she followed her own movements over his cheek. 

As her fingers smoothed the lines in his forehead, his eyes fluttered. His head lilted to the side slightly, barely noticeable except for the extra pressure against her cool fingers. A small gasp escaped her lips, pulling Javier back to reality. When his vision came into focus, Emily met his gaze. 

“I don’t think you were supposed to die, Javier,” Emily said. She could see the dismissal of her statement in his eyes. “And I’m really glad you didn’t.”

Javier let out a long breath, tension easing with it. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to ruin your birthday.”

Emily bit her lip wondering if this was a bad time for her to share her own story. Instinct quickly took over. This is what they did. They exchanged their war stories. She slipped the worn leather wristwatch from her forearm. Javier had never seen her without it. As she revealed the underside, he understood why. The watch covered up a long thin scar. It was long enough to show the single sign of what she’d attempted to do. She’d never shown it to anyone, not even her dad. She was the only one who knew about it. Well, she, Juana, HIM, and the doctor. 

And now, Javier. 

His eyebrows knitted together as Emily bit her lip. His thumb traced over it softly. “Mustaña…”

Emily inhaled, breath shaking. “I told you I thought about it, but… I shouldn’t be alive either, Javier.” Tears filled her eyes.

“Shit.” Javier said, hands moving to her cheeks, thumbs swiping away her tears. To their belated surprise, she didn’t flinch or move away. “‘Em…”

“I had two miscarriages.” She swallowed. “One when Ale was 5 months old, another 3 months later.”

Bile rose in Javier’s throat. The bastard hadn’t given her a break, never gave her body a chance to recover.  

“When the second one happened- I’d just found out. I hadn’t even told him yet.” Javier swiped more tears away. “There was so much blood and-“

She stopped. Javier held his breath. The air felt hot and sticky around them. 

“And I thought he was going to kill me because of it.”

“Em.”

“I’m okay now.” She said, quickly cutting him off. She pulled out of his grasp. Javier’s hands dropped to his thighs feeling empty. “Even as dark as things got, I never tried again.”

She expected to see pity from Javier, the kind that felt condescending, but it never came. He took her hands in his again.

“I know.” She felt his sorrow over everything that she went through, including the things she hadn’t told him yet, and she accepted it. 

Emily bit her lip, staring into Javier’s eyes. The patio lights sparkled off of them. Something tugged at her heart, almost as if it was pulling her into him. The more she resisted it, the more the tension grew. Unfamiliar with the feeling, Emily wasn’t sure how to respond to the tug. Did she give in? Did she pull away? Her instincts and feelings screamed from opposing sides.

“Sorry for making you cry on your birthday.” 

“Technically, my birthday is tomorrow.”

Javier rolled his eyes, the smile on his face lightening the mood as he leaned back into his chair. Emily missed his proximity and tucked the thought away for later. 

“Close enough.” He said, glancing down at his watch. “I do have a surprise. Should be here any minute.”

Emily narrowed her eyes at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise.” Javier winked. He grabbed her watch, slipping it back on her wrist. He turned her arm over, finger slipping over her scar before letting the watch fall into place A quick moment, but one that lingered on her mind. “Just promise you won’t be mad.”

“What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything.” Javier raised his hands, a smile tugging at his lips. “It was your dad’s idea.”

She crossed her arms. “Now I am worried.”

“It’s not bad.” 

“That’s what they always say.”

“Oh, I’m one of them now?” Laughter glimmered in his eyes as he teased her. 

“I'm afraid so.” She tried to keep a straight face, but the truth was, she felt excited at the premise. It was a testament to how much she trusted Javier, and it felt nice to feel almost normal for once, almost whole. 

“Why don’t you turn around then,” Javier said, pointing behind her. 

Emily caught sight of her family, accompanied by Chucho, walking across the parking lot, a big white box and balloons in hand. Her mouth dropped open. Alejandra stopped in her tracks, waving at them as she caught sight of her mother. Emily laughed, waving back. 

“Race you!” Miguelito yelled, taking off across the parking lot.

“Not fair!” Alejandra called after him, her shorter legs unable to catch up with her older brother. 

“No running in the parking lot!” Jaime called after them but it was no use as they ran into the gate laughing and out of breath. Mateo pulled against Anna’s hand, wanting to join in with his siblings, but she kept a hold of his hand. 

Emily couldn’t help but laugh. For the first time in years, the implications of a true celebration made her excited. She realized how much she actually wanted her family here. 

“I take it you’re not mad?” Javier grinned, standing to open the gate. 

“Not at all.” Emily smiled, holding her arms open as the kids ran in to greet her with hugs and kisses. 

Mateo pushed his way through his siblings, crawling up into her lap, his favorite place in the world. She kissed his head. Alejandra’s eyes roamed over Emily’s dress, fingers playing with the hem of it. “You look very pretty, Mami.”

“Thank you. So do you.” Emily spun her around. 

“I know you said no ice cream,” Jaime grinned, setting the white cake box on the table next to hers. “But you never said anything about cake.”

Emily rolled her eyes, unable to keep the smile off her face. “I also said bedtime at 8:30.”

Jaime shrugged. “Rules were made to be broken.” He pressed a kiss to his daughter’s forehead. “Happy birthday, Sweetheart.” 

“Thanks, Dad.”

Off to the side, Chucho stood next to his son as he worked on putting candles on the cake. “It was nice of you to arrange all this for her.”

Javier shrugged it off, mind focused on the task at hand. “She deserves it.”

Chucho nodded thoughtfully, taking stock of his son. “And that’s all?”

“Well, it is her birthday.” Javier felt around for a lighter, so used to having one on hand. “Do you-?”

Chucho handed his over before Javier could finish asking. He smiled at his father. “Thanks, Pops.”

“Javi?”

“What?”

Chucho searched his son’s eyes, always so expressive. He’d never been able to get away with lying to him, though Chucho did let him think he had from time to time. It kept him from becoming a better liar. The older man quickly realized now was not the time the time or place. He wasn’t sure his son had fully realized everything he was seeing. “Nothing.”

“Mr. Javi!” Alejandra joined his side. “Be careful with the cake.” 

“Always, Alejandrina,” Javier grinned, flicking the lighter to life. As he set the last one ablaze, he smiled at the girl. “Alright, start us off.” 

Ale grinned, starting The Birthday Song with one big, loud breath. The rest of the group joined in, a mixture of English and Spanish carrying through the air. Javier picked up the cake, walking it over to her. As he kneeled in front of her, presenting the flaming cake, he winked. Emily laughed, shaking her head. 

Over the glow of the birthday candles, Javier watched her eyes sparkle, her smile infectious to the world around her. He’d never seen Emily so relaxed and carefree. She smiled at him, and Javier wished he could keep this moment frozen in time for forever.

A bright flash went off, causing spots to blur his vision. “Oops,” Alejandra giggled, snatching the photo from the Polaroid camera. “Sorry.”

Emily shook her head, trying to clear the flash spot from her vision as The Birthday Song came to a close. Her eyes landed on his big brown ones. “Make a wish,” Javier said. She smiled, biting her lip in thought before taking a big breath and putting every single candle out.  

Taglist: @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

[writingforstraykids]

Loveeed "I need a hug", can I request a nswf version of that with like the same beginning? 😍

I need a hug - nsfw edition

Pairing: Minchan

Word Count: 1614

Warnings/Tags: angst, emotional hurt!comfort, fluff, fwb to lovers, smut, sub!min, dom!chan

Chan looks up from his laptop at the timid knock against his door. “Come on in,” he calls out. Glancing at the time displayed on his laptop screen makes him frown. Who of the kids could possibly be still up at that time after their concert ended hours ago? Minho answers his question by quietly slipping inside his room and closing the door. His hair falls around his face, still damp from his shower before, his eyes glistening suspiciously. The soft lilac hue of Chan’s lights dances across his finest features, making Chan’s breath hitch at the sight. He stops in the middle of his room, freezing in place and contorts his face a little as if he’s debating to leave again. “Min?” Chan asks softly and turns toward him. “You’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” the younger one utters a response, fidgeting with the sleeves of a black sweater Chan recognizes as his own. 

He bites back a sigh and shakes his head. Minho hasn’t been fine in weeks. He’s been pushing himself beyond his limits for the group over and over again, staying late at the practice room, helping his members perfect their moves, and listening to their worries. “There’s no shame in admitting you’re not.”

Minho closes his eyes for a brief second as if he’s in pain. “But they need me to be okay.”

“How can I help?” he changes tactics, tilting his head at him. 

Minho shrugs his shoulder. “I tried everything, hyung,” he says barely audible. “I’m so tired, but I can’t get comfortable to find any rest. Everything hurts,” he explains, subconsciously taking a few steps forward. “I took a long bath, stole some of your ridiculously expensive shampoo, made some tea…I even stole your sweater because they’re warm and cozy.”

Chan reaches out for him, taking his hands and pulling him forward the last few steps separating them. “Nothing worked?”

“No…I-I guess I need you,” he whispers, and Chan’s heart melts right there. He knows how much it means for Minho to come here and ask for this when he feels that vulnerable. It wasn't the first time they'd pushed the boundaries of their friendship like this, and still, it feels so new every time. “I know you’re working and everything-”

“No, no, none of that,” he says firmly but kindly. “If my hardworking Minnie needs some love, that’s what he’ll get,” he announces and gently guides him into his lap. 

Minho buries his face in his neck with a soft sigh, inhaling Chan’s so familiar and soothing scent. He wraps his arms around his neck lazily, and tears shoot to his eyes as Chan wraps a fuzzy blanket around him, slipping his arms beneath it and wrapping them around him. Chan rubs his back, and after a minute of comfortable silence, he hesitantly slips his hand beneath his sweater. Minho tries his best not to let the soft sound lingering on his lips slip at that but subconsciously tightens his grip around him. Chan’s hand feels warm against his skin, giving comfort to his aching body. At first, it rests on his lower back, but then he starts moving, rubbing soothing circles up his back and pressing down gently between his shoulder blades and neck. It’s ridiculous how much such a simple touch means to him. He always admired his only hyung among the group for so many things. It didn’t help that to him Chan was stunningly handsome and had a smile that brightened his darkest days. Now that he knows how he sounds and looks, being intimate with him doesn't help either. 

Minho feels lonely so often in a world where he has to deliver and function to be accepted. He doubts himself more often than he’d like to admit and is almost envious of how easily Chan accepts that about himself, often showing it openly. It seems easier than eating it all up and pretending to be just fine. In all his worries and doubts, Chan became his safe place. The one he felt like he could be more open around, the one who held him without any judgment when things got rough. Shit, Minho loves his hyung.

Chan loves the feeling of being needed, and he loves Minho even more. The younger has been the rock keeping him from drowning more often than he could count. He loved giving him back part of what he did for him, so naturally, at all times. Chan cautiously threads his fingers through his hair, smiling softly as Minho melts into the touch, a soft sigh escaping him. “That’s okay?” he checks in, and Minho hums lowly. 

“Very,” he whispers, nuzzling his face deeper into Chan’s skin as the older starts massaging his scalp, easing all his worries for now.

Chan tenderly drops his head against Minho’s and allows himself to relax in the feeling of Minho clinging to him. “You did amazing today, you know that, right?”

“I did okay,” he hums, eyes fluttering close as Chan scratches his scalp.

“More than okay, Minnie,” he insisted. “I’m proud of you.”

“Thank you,” he whispers, touched, can’t helping the warmth spreading through him at his words. 

"Need me to keep touching you or more?" he checks in, and Minho slowly lifts his head, locking eyes with him. 

"Already prepared myself," he confesses, and a soft groan escapes Chan's lips. 

"Fuck, you're so incredibly hot sometimes," he admits, and Minho smirks playfully. 

Chan drops the blanket to the floor and watches Minho getting on his knees and shuffling down his pants and boxers quickly. He lifts his hips, pushing them down to his knees. Minho doesn't waste much time and fumbles for the bottle of lube stored in Chan's desk. He spreads a bit over his hand before stroking Chan a few times. A soft smile covers his lips as he watches Chan's face relax, clearly welcoming the touch after their long day. 

It doesn’t take long, and Chan is buried deep inside him, hands gripping his hips to steady himself for a moment as they get used to the feeling. Minho braces himself on his shoulder as he experimentally lifts his hips. A relieved moan escapes his lips as he sinks back down on him. Chan gazes up at him as Minho works out a rhythm, face flooding with pleasure. He lifts his hand to cup his cheek and smiles as Minho leans into the touch. Chan lovingly fondles his thumb right above his eyebrow, easing out his worried frown and brushing it against Minho's lower lip. Minho's lips part with a soft moan, eyes sinking deep into his. "Channie," he whispers. 

Chan hums in response, a little overwhelmed by how vulnerable Minho looks with those wide, wet eyes. "Kitten?" he asks softly as Minho remains quiet beside his little sounds of pleasure. 

"I don't deserve this," he whispers, afraid of his voice failing him. "You shouldn't have to take care of me." 

Chan shakes his head firmly, and his hand wanders down to the back of his neck. He pulls him in close and gently nudges their noses together. "Stop talking," he tells him softly. "You, kitten, only deserve the best…so I'm the lucky one here." 

Minho blinks at him, stunned, and stops moving, eyes brimming with tears all over again. "I love you, Chan hyung," he says, and his eyes widen in shock once he realizes the impact of his words. Chan stares at him, stunned for a moment, and looking at him is enough to know he means it. "Shit, sorry," Minho croaks out and moves to climb off his lap. 

Chan's grip on his hip tightens, and Minho blinks at him, confused. "I love you too, Minho baby," he says, and nothing has felt as right as those six little words in a while. "Always have and always will," he adds, and a weak chuckle leaves Minho's throat. 

"You're ridiculously cheesy," he comments, and they smile at each other before their lips meet in a long, passionate kiss. Minho's head drops back with a moan as Chan starts kissing down his neck, and he quickly buries his hand in his hair. His other hand comes up to cover his mouth in shock as Chan slams his hips up into him. 

Chan chuckles and does it again, watching Minho's eyes roll back, struggling to keep down the noise. "Min, if loving me means you want to be my boyfriend-," he says and moans sweetly as Minho clenches around him. "-then we can stop hiding around the dorms, so let me hear you." 

Minho's hand drops down, gripping the fabric of Chan's shirt as he hits his prostate next. "Oh, fuck, right there," he moans out in pure bliss. 

Their moans mix, only muffled by them kissing passionately. 

Chan watches him tense up only shortly after and shivers at the broken sound of his name. Minho paints his sweater, holding onto him, head dropping against his with soft, weak sounds. He soothingly rubs his back, surprised as Minho already starts moving again. "Kitten," he breathes out, moaning softly at the needed friction. 

"Don't stop, Channie, need you so bad," he confesses and finds himself in Chan's bed only seconds later, the older one hovering over him. His head falls back into the pillow as Chan thrusts into him, deep and forcefully. He pulls him down, desperate for a kiss, and wraps his legs around Chan's waist. He doesn't care that they're still mostly dressed. He doesn't care that his cum is all over Chan's sweater. He doesn't care that the others could probably hear them. All that mattered was Chan. Always had and always would. 

MASTERLISTS | PROMPT LIST | GUIDELINES

Taglist: (Please let me know if you want to be added to/removed from the taglist!)

@atinyniki @mal-lunar-28 @lilmisssona @aaasia111 @galaxycatdrawz @kthstrawberryshortcake @channieaddict @soullostinspaceandtime @malfoygalaxies @rebecca-johnson-28 @michelle4eve @lixie-phoria @gxtwllsn @xxstrayland @kibs-and-bits

[perhaps-in-anotherdream]

[CN] Victor’s Nostalgic Memories Date (Eng Translation)

“You’re my first.”

“You’re my first, too.”

⌚Warning⌚ This post contains detailed spoilers for a date, 旧忆之约, that is yet to be released on the global server! ♡

•─────⋅◍♡◍⋅─────•

─  

【Subbed Video】    

[Heads-up]: Read the transcript for reading, but  PLEASE DO WATCH THE VIDEO!! THE BGMS, THE VOICE ACTING, EVERYTHING!! (also, yes, I’ve made my real-time reactions 🤪)

───────

【Transcript Version】

【Chapter 1】

Not long ago, Victor received a commemorative book.

The sender is his alma mater, Loveland Central Elementary School, which is about to celebrate its 100th anniversary.

The book is filled with old photos of his school. With unending excitement, I relentlessly search for that familiar figure among them.

Little Victor holding up his award certificates with a composed demeanor, hoisting the national flag with aplomb, or standing on the winner’s podium during the sports meet… all these are images of him I haven’t seen before.

MC: Model student, flag-raiser, long-distance running gold medalist… how many more surprises does this man have in store that I still don’t know about?

?? (Victor): What are you muttering to yourself this time?

I look up and find that Victor has entered the bedroom without me noticing.

MC: I can’t help but feel sentimental~ After all, you were that “kid from someone else’s family” when we were little.

–

[Tidbits]: The term MC uses here is “别人家的小孩,” I guess you’ll understand this better if you are an Asian/ of Asian descendance/ have Asian parents LOL; it’s often used to describe how parents spur their own kids into working harder by often mentioning “the other kid” as a role model who usually excels in many aspects~ :> And MC playfully follows this with– he belongs to her/ they’re a family now. So, she can take pride that “the prized boy” is all hers 🤣💕 (aside from the obvious knife about MC being regretful of missing out on each other’s lives, which comes later~ 🥲)

–

Victor: Someone else’s family?

Watching his cool and collected expression as he arches an eyebrow, I cheekily walk up to him.

MC: Hehe, but now you’re mine~

As I notice him smiling slightly, I can’t help but be insatiable and pull him along to join me in flipping through the photo album.

We have just flipped through a few photos of the “Campus Singing Competition” when the person beside me seems to have seen something, causing his pupils to quiver ever so slightly.

Following his gaze, I catch a glimpse of a young kid with dramatic stage makeup, sporting a red dot on the space between his brows.

Before I can take a closer look, the commemorative book in front of me is abruptly snapped shut.

MC: Wait!

Hastily, I clutch his hand down and carefully inspect the photo. There is actually a small caption below it that reads–– “Little Victor, photographed by Dad”

Astounded, I snatch the book and examine it closely–– the child’s solemn expression, with furrowed brows, is unmistakably identical to that of a certain someone I know so well.

I stare at Victor in utter disbelief, while he seems to have already resigned himself and closed his eyes.

MC: Hahahaha–– you’re so cute, hahaha!

Victor: …stop laughing, give me back the book.

MC: Alright, but you have to agree to one condition of mine.

Victor: ...you sure know how to make demands.

MC: Don’t want to agree? Well, then I might just turn you into an emoji pack, huh?

Victor takes a deep breath as if he has reached the limit of his patience. He then takes out his phone, quickly taps on the screen, and holds it to his ear.

Victor: I had planned to bring a certain someone along to visit the school when I’d sign the contract to donate to the school building.

Victor: But since the photos seem enough to satisfy you, I think I’m gonna talk to the school about reducing your title to a colleague.

Hearing his words, I immediately grab his arm, displaying a sincere expression.

MC: Why didn’t you tell me about the building donation before? I’m not laughing anymore, I promise!

He arches an eyebrow and moves his phone a few inches away, as if waiting for me to offer a bigger bargaining chip.

I narrow my eyes and steel myself.

MC: I’ll give you three of my embarrassing childhood photos!

Victor: Deal.

Hearing a muffled chuckle in my ears, I suddenly realize what’s going on. I seize his phone and, sure enough, find that the screen is still locked.

MC: …you’re so childish, Victor!

Despite my reproach, he remains composed and raps my head.

Victor: He who touches ink becomes black, you know?

—

•─────⋅◍♡◍⋅─────•

—

【Chapter 2】

Victor: …wish strips?

An old metal box is gently placed on the table, inside of which is stacked with many pieces of weathered papers, tinged with a yellow hue.

After the completion of the donation contract signing, only three people remain in the empty conference room— the two of us and the principal.

Principal: When I learned that you were coming back, I inquired with your homeroom teacher about anything that might have been left behind from back then, and she really found it.

Even as I try hard to focus my attention on their conversation, an inevitably innate urge drives me to reach out and flip through the wish strips with my fingers, looking for a certain one.

Soon, a weathered piece of paper catches my eyes, with meticulously and neatly penned six letters that form the name “Victor.”

However, before I can reach my hand for it, a large hand with slender fingers lands on top of the paper––

Forced by the seriousness of the atmosphere we are in now, I can do nothing but watch helplessly as Victor nonchalantly slips the note into his pocket.

Victor: If there’s anything else you need help with in the future, please feel free to contact me again.

Principal: Thank you, Little Vic. Despite your remarkable achievements in the outside world, you still haven’t forgotten your alma mater.

–

[Tidbits]: I’m freaking crying, haha–– look at his Principal still calling this grown-ass man “小李 (Xiao Li)” aksdknld– the sheer adoration you can’t let go of despite the admiration a person has achieved from you– 🥺 

–

Victor: You’re too kind. On a different note, I wish to take my girlfriend on a tour of the school later. I wonder if it would be convenient?

Principal: Absolutely! You two are welcome to wander around and have a good time.

–

It’s summer vacation, and the campus is absolutely empty.

The continuous symphony of cicadas seems to transport me through countless summers, carrying me to the past that belongs to him.

Hand in hand, we walk beneath the shade of the sycamore tree, retracing the journey captured in old photos, from the faintly plastic-scented crimson athletic track to the library, and eventually arriving at his former classroom.

–

MC: Where would you sit back then?

Seeing him pointing to a seat in the back row, I press against the window frame and peer inside, yearning to glimpse that small figure across the boundaries of time and space.

MC: Do you have any special memory from your elementary school days?

Victor: What do you mean by special?

MC: Copying homework? Not paying attention in class? Or maybe… puppy love?

It seems like he’s heard something that displeased him; a slight frown creeps onto his face, and he gives me a subtle, scrutinizing look.

Victor: [strikes immediately LMFAO]  Your elementary school life was this eventful and colorful? It seems like I underestimated you a little.

MC: Of course not; I didn’t do anything of the sort! I’m just simply curious about your school life~

Victor: It was like any regular elementary school student’s life–– attending classes, doing homework after school, and occasionally playing soccer. Nothing out of the ordinary–– 

Suddenly, the sound of a series of brisk footsteps interrupts his words. Before long, two kids carrying backpacks appear at the far end of our sight.

Little Boy: Did you check? If you forget to bring your homework again, I won’t come with you next time.

Little Girl: I’ve really brought it this time! Where should we go to do our homework today?

Little Boy: The library.

Little Girl: But we need to stay quiet in the library, and I won’t be able to talk with you there.

Little Boy: …let’s go to the burger joint then.

Watching their departing figures from behind, I tug at the corner of Victor’s clothes.

MC: Have you ever done homework together with other kids?

Victor: Might have done some group assignments at some point.

MC: With you sitting next to them, their study efficiency must have gotten a massive boost. I’m really envious of those classmates who had the chance to do homework with you…

Hearing me say this, Victor’s face takes on a curious and contemplative expression.

Victor: Don’t be envious. I’ve got an idea.

MC: What do you have in mind?

Victor: It just so happens that I have to work tonight. You can bring in your unfinished proposal, and we can “do homework” together.

MC: …I’ll pass. Even a dummy can tell the difference between a friendly invitation and being supervised by a capitalist.

As we are talking, I see the kids from earlier run out of the convenience store in front of the school gate.

With delight on their faces, they share a pack of crisp instant noodles. The savory and crispy aroma from afar feels as if it reaches the tip of my teeth as well.

Just like me, Victor turns his head toward the source of the noise. Upon seeing his reaction, I immediately reach out and take his hand.

MC: Wanna go to the convenience store? It’s my treat!

—

•─────⋅◍♡◍⋅─────•

—

【Chapter 3】

The store is not big, but it boasts a diverse selection of snacks arranged on the shelves.

However, my eyes are drawn to a seemingly ordinary pack of candy tucked away in the corner. Memories of my elementary school days rush back, when this candy was all the rage for playing pranks, and I also couldn’t resist tasting it once myself––

Even at this very moment, the fast secretion of saliva in my mouth is a vivid reminder of its “special” flavor.

Filled with curiosity, I pick up the candy and shake it at Victor.

MC: This candy used to be so popular back in the day. Have you ever tried it?

Victor: Nope, I haven’t.

MC: Your childhood is missing just a little something, then.

Victor: If being a glutton is your yardstick, you probably had the most complete childhood in the whole world.

Listening to his playful banter, I silently make up my mind to tease him a little. I grab the candy and settle the bill.

Just imagining the look on his face when he tastes the sourness makes me involuntarily curl my lips into a smile. However, realizing that his gaze is fixed on my face, I hasten to temper my smile.

MC: Victor, may I fill in the missing pieces of your childhood?

Victor: No need.

Ignoring his attempt to decline with a shake of his head, I affectionately bring a candy close to his lips.

MC: Come on, give me some face! I never asked any boy students out for snacks back when I was in school. You’re my first.

Upon hearing my words, his motions pause momentarily, and he stares at me fixedly with downcast eyes.

Just when I think he’s going to reject me again, he softly lets his lips part, lowers his head, and eats the candy from my hand.

I instantly widen my eyes, not wanting to miss any nuance of his expression. But all I see him is chewing the candy nonchalantly without any changes in his demeanor.

This isn’t right… could they have changed the recipe? Puzzled, I pop a candy into my mouth, but as soon as it touches my tongue, I grimace from the sourness.

MC: Sss! So sour!

Victor seems to can’t hold back and bursts into laughter.

Victor: Mmm, it’s indeed sour.

MC: You did that on purpose!

As my indignant glare meets his eyes, he arches an eyebrow in response.

Victor: You sure have a talent for turning the tables. But speaking of doing it on purpose—

Victor: Back when I was in school, I never teased or played with any girl students, either. You’re my first, too.

The candy in my mouth still gives rise to an unending stream of sourness, yet I can distinctly taste a sweet flavor.

Victor: So happy that you’re in a silly daze?

Upon hearing his teasing, I  realize I’ve been rooted to the spot and giggling like a silly person this whole time. I quickly pretend to be composed and divert the topic.

MC: I was thinking that we visited all the locations where each of the old photos was taken, except for one that slipped through the cracks!

MC: Where was that adorable picture of you with the red dot between your brows taken?

Victor: Why do you always apply your surplus obsession in places where it’s not necessary?

MC: Humph, it took me so much effort to get you to bring me here. Even if I have to dig the school three feet deep today, I’ll definitely find it!

Seeing me steadfastly staring at him, he lets out a sigh and helplessly takes my hand.

Victor: My alma mater had to spend so much effort to reach the lifespan of a hundred years. I’m not letting it be dug up by you.

—

We’re obviously supposed to be searching for the location of the photo. However, Victor brings me back to his old family home, which is currently empty.

Before I can even ask anything, my gaze is captivated by a rather extravagant box of jewelry on the foyer table.

As I let out a small gasp of surprise, Victor also glances over, and his expression turns somewhat speechless.

Victor: Aunt Grace purchased these during her trip abroad. She said you might get tired of seeing me in formal attire, so I should occasionally change things up…

MC: Pfftt! Why didn’t she just send them to you directly?

Victor: Because I declined. She probably planned to take a roundabout approach and ask my dad for help.

MC: Well, that works out perfectly. There’s no need to bother Uncle.

I “obligingly” pat my chest as an expression of “taking responsibility” and put the ornaments in my bag.

MC: But you didn’t especially bring me here just to pick this up, right?

Victor shoots me a wordless glance and then points toward the flower house ahead.

–

Victor: Not just the head is slow, the eyes are slow too.

MC: Hey, you meanie…

After a few seconds, I’m suddenly taken aback, my eyes widening. I pull out the photo from the commemorative book and compare it to the flower house before my eyes. To my surprise, it turns out to be exactly the same.

MC: This photo was actually taken at home?

Victor: After I came back from the performance, the teacher notified us that we needed to take a photo.

MC: But I thought you would remove your makeup right after the performance!

Victor: You’re right. I did wipe it off as soon as I got off the stage. But my dad deliberately used a red seal ink paste to reapply that dot.

Seeing the awkward look on his face, I can’t resist the urge to tease him and fish out the lipstick from my bag.

MC: How is it fair if you just make do with a red seal ink paste? Since the other kids have it on, you should too.

Victor: …I should not have told you.

He firmly grasps my unruly hand, but I use my left hand to snatch the lipstick and persistently keep inching closer to him. At this point, I’m practically draped onto his body.

Just as the lipstick is about to touch his forehead, he suddenly looks behind me.

Victor: Dad, you’re back.

I jump off him in a panic, and with my eyes closed, I immediately bow towards the entrance.

MC: Hello, Uncle!

After waiting for quite a considerable amount of time without any response, I’m beginning to feel slightly puzzled when I hear a soft chuckle from above me.

Victor: Turns out that there are still ways to restrain a certain someone’s out-of-control unruliness.

I raise my head and see that there is no one at the entrance.

Seeing the smirk of triumph in his eyes, I let out a “humph” and decide to turn the tables against him. At this moment, I coincidentally spot the wish strip peeking out from his pocket because of our earlier playful fooling around.

But he’s guessed my intentions, and almost simultaneously, he presses his fingertips on the slip of paper along with me. This results in a brief standoff as neither of us releases our hold.

The silent confrontation lasts for a few seconds until I pout, and that’s when I hear him let out a resigned sigh of compromise. I finally have my wish fulfilled and get my hands on his wish strip.

The paper has already yellowed and become brittle, but the carefully and neatly written words haven’t faded even a bit during the overlong passage of time––

“I want to grow up fast so that I can find her.”

Caught off guard by intruding into the “secret” of his past, I somehow feel a mixture of indescribable emotions flooding my heart.

How come he never mentioned to me that he had such a wish before? I can’t help but lift my eyes to look into his.

And he stares at me for a long, long time, as if he too wants to glean something from my expression. His lips twitch, but he doesn’t utter a single word even after a long time passes by.

Seeing him hesitate like this, I decide to be the one to break the silence first.

MC: Haha, I didn’t expect your wish to be so sincere and honest.

MC: But don’t worry, who didn’t have some little secrets in their childhood? I’ll just pretend I didn’t see it!

Victor: Little secret?

He doesn’t seem to have expected me to say this, causing him to evidently be stunned for a moment. But soon, a glint of playfulness sparks in his eyes.

Victor: Well, that’s a shame. I was originally going to share it with you, but since a certain dummy isn’t curious––

Victor: I guess I’ll just have to leave it be.

—

•─────⋅◍♡◍⋅─────•

—

【Chapter 4】

He has really done what he said, not uttering a single word of explanation.

He even seems to be in high spirits as he grabs a bottle of whiskey from the liquor cabinet, as if he does not feel my indignant glare fixed on him at all.

Victor: Let’s celebrate together.

MC: Celebrate what?

Victor: I’m really lucky; my wish has come true.

With a hint of tenderness crested between his eyebrows and in his eyes, he uncorks the wine bottle. “Pop”–– the celebration begins, but I feel as if it’s my heart that has begun to deflate.

I push down the bitter feelings in my heart and take a sip of my drink.

MC: Congratulations to you, then.

Victor: Why does this “congratulations” sound a bit like you’re saying it against your will?

Being relentlessly pressed by his step-by-step advances while he is greatly amused, I suddenly feel a mix of embarrassment and anger soaring into my chest.

MC: How should I congratulate you then? Do you want me to take a photo of you for comparison to prove that you’ve grown up properly, just as you wished?

Victor: Sure, how do you plan to take the photo for me?

Originally, it was just an impulsive remark I made out of anger. But his reply suddenly causes me to choke, rendering me momentarily speechless. I can’t help but feel a little itch in my teeth.

However, upon glancing at the extravagant jewelry box in my bag, I narrow my eyes.

The next second, I push him onto the couch and start “hanging” all the jewelry on him without even asking him.

Victor: …are you decorating a Christmas tree?

MC: Since we are taking new photos in the once familiar place, you naturally have to dress up enough like an adult to give them the true value of commemoration.

However, I gradually realize that the ornaments on him don’t look over the top at all; instead, they make him look even more exquisite.

Seeing this, I wickedly pull open a section of his collar, exposing a large expanse of sculpted muscles that charges into my eyes. I can’t help but gulp at the sight.

Victor: Is this how a certain dummy defines an adult?

MC: Why? Can’t I do this?

Hearing his soft chuckle, I huff in anger as I mutter under my breath.

The next second, my wrist is clasped in place, and I find myself falling into his arms. That familiar scent of his hems me tightly.

Victor: Of course you can. But I think there’s still a bit of room for enhancement.

His warm breath grazes my ear now and then, making my heartbeat accelerate involuntarily.

Realizing that my chance to counterattack is slipping through the cracks, I inwardly compose myself and tilt my head slightly, forcefully suppressing my racing heartbeat.

Aiming my gaze at the lipstick on the table, I immediately come up with a plan.

MC: You’re absolutely right; there’s still room for enhancement. It was my bad. I still need to mark you like an adult––

I grab the lipstick and apply several thick coats on my lips, then seal it with a big kiss on his cheek.

The corners of his lips twitch slightly, seemingly evident that he didn’t anticipate my move at all. After a brief moment, he just casually leans back against the couch.

Victor: Have you finished all your preparations for taking the photo?

Looking at his face painted with the mark of my kiss, I nod in satisfaction.

He raises an eyebrow at my reaction, then pulls me closer to him once again.

Victor: Now it’s my turn.

Victor: Photos that hold the true value of commemoration should be taken alongside the witness testimony who made my wish come true.

MC: Witness testimony? Me?

Victor: Is there a third person here?

Victor rubs his temples helplessly, but the smile hanging at the edge of his lips seems to validate the daring conjecture harbored in the depths of my heart.

MC: The “her” you wrote about in your wish strip… it’s me?

Victor: You dummy, who else could it possibly be except you?

Without a moment’s hesitation, he admits it candidly.

In this instant, my heart feels as if it has been drenched.

The mottled wish strip in front of me is akin to the tip of an iceberg I have somehow peered into. It reminds me that in places I’ve never seen, millions of emotions lie buried that I still don’t know about and have yet to fathom.

And those deep eyes of his, which have been fixed on me all along, are so honest and sincere without the slightest concealment, make me surer than ever that––

The impact of our childhood encounter, the bond that forged our destinies together, perhaps runs much deeper than I had ever imagined it to be possible.

It turns out that I have already had my place in his past long ago.

By the time I speak again, my tone has already become joyful.

MC: Ah–– it turns out I had already become your heart’s desire so, so early on. I must have had quite the charm back when I was little, huh~

Victor: …I really underestimated how thick-skinned you can be.

He laughs involuntarily and watches me quietly for a while. The light in his gaze becomes even deeper and more earnest.

Victor: But MC, when I say “I’m lucky,” it’s not because I found the little girl from my past.

Victor: It’s because of the fortunate circumstance–– that little girl turned out to be you.

I instinctively find myself rooted to the spot, feeling a tingling itch sprouting in my heart, as if a wobbly little flower has blossomed within me.

It’s not until he takes hold of my hand that I finally snap out of it. Accompanied by the silky smooth touch of his fingertips, an English word takes form on the glass wall of the flower room –– Morii.

MC: What does it mean?

He lowers his gaze to look at me, his eyes seemingly concealing a subtle smile.

Victor: Originally, for me, those past days were nothing but ordinary moments, days that I would never want to look back on.

Victor: But the moment you stepped inside and looked around, those old times suddenly came to life again.

Victor: Perhaps it’s the gift of a certain dummy; you’ve always made me want to keep holding onto these moments that exist because of you.

His gentle voice is reminiscent of a feather landing in my heart, creating concentric ripples of waves.

I find myself unable to contain my giggle and lean in closer to him.

MC: Then let’s keep holding onto it.

He is slightly stumped for a moment but soon understands the meaning of my words and turns on the camera, aiming it at us. From beginning to end, those eyes of his gazing at me have held a perpetual interplay of tender and fervent glimmers.

Lifting myself up on my toes, I approach the figure that is also drawing closer to me.

Two throbbing hearts appear to have traversed the confines of endless dusty time, seeking solace in each other’s arms time and time again.

Right at this moment, the flash of the camera lights up.

────────

[Tidbits]: Didn’t wanna break the immersion, so kept it for the last here. The word Victor led MC to write together, i.e., “Morii” means the “desire to capture a fleeting moment that cannot be retained.” It’s basically the ephemeral nature of life, the reminder of everything inevitable. It’s like a time in which you expect the least, a time in which that moment spontaneously confronts you, but there is nothing you can do to preserve it— and the desire to do all you can to keep that moment to yourself is “Morii.” And if you know Victor and Victor x MC’s story, I’m sure you understand why it’s so important that they wrote it together, or rather MC instinctively followed his strokes without asking why— (இ﹏இ`｡)❤️

—

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[Anika’s Long Analysis & Ramblings]

───

[teecupangel]

Hello dear angle. I'm back with an ask that idk if it's wierd or not. Actaully I'm trying to start a fanfic about a civilizade xenomorph society and I'm turing everthing I like to these cute little parasites. So… I wanted to ask what do you think about an android Desmond with his three white xenomorph ancestors? I've read several comics and novels of alien and what I discovered was that xenomorphs were created to be a biological weapon. So I was thinking what if Desmond android was created by abstergo to controll the xenemorphs. He is like a queen to them because of the DNA they share. In this au the assassin-templair war is not still over. And even in the sky they are trying to take cotroll over the galaxy. What if Desmond works in one of abstergo's labs. Until he saw a xenomorph for the first time in his life. It was pure white with a strange looking mark on its forhead. Some thing about this mark was familiar to him which he didn't know why. The first time he saw it he felt a strong bond between them. He felt so safe around that monster. It felt like family. Like home. He put his hand on the glass. The creature came closer with curiosity and placed its hand where was desmond's. And suddenly something flashed before Desmond's eyes. A face. A man with white cloak that was standing there and staring at him in a kind smile. And then he was in the lab again. He stared at the monster and smiled. "Ezio. So it's your name."

I will leave it from here for you. I belive in you. You can turn this to a movie that worths watching. And mabey it's ezides? I love ezides fanfics and i don't know why. They're kinda apposite but still cute. Your blog is wonderful 🤩

(Thank you! While I cannot promise I can make this a movie worth watching, I will do my best to make this something monster fuckers would at the very least be curious about XD)

It’s not weird. I mean, I’m fine with weird ideas XD

Also, Alien is one of my favorite horror movies.

For this one, what if we just throw away Alien/Prometheus canon and spin this into another AU (mainly because this gives us an excuse to not use the canon explanation of white xenomorphs and the proto xenomorphs.

For this one, let’s set up Abstergo as being sorta in a decline after humanity decided to live among the stars. While they had been focused on profiting and trying to eradicate the Brotherhood, Weyland-Yutani slips pass them and became the juggernaut corporation that more or less controlled human settlements.

DESMOND was meant to be the prototype of an android line that should have exceeded everything Weyland-Yutani approved androids could.

But there were a bit of problem with DESMOND. For one, he appeared too cold, less expressive than the cheapest android and has a hard time understanding orders.

It was a failure.

So Abstergo had to pivot and create a new product. They manage to get samples of Weyland-Yutani’s ‘prized’ secret project and a basic ‘overview’ of what it’s meant to be.

Unfortunately, the samples didn’t have enough genetic information to complete their version and they thought, “Hey, you know what we have? The DNA sample of some dude that died during the 21st century! That might work!”

In their defense, the lead of the project, Dr. Vidic (relation to the late Warren Vidic is unknown), believed in this ‘rumor’ that Sample 17 is the golden ticket to Abstergo’s success. It was the key to the success of the Animus Project. Why not this project as well?

If the human DNA is unusable for this project, Sample 17’s Isu DNA might be what they needed.

For this one, they made three Prototypes to use for different ‘experiments’.

They were called Zero-One, Zero-Two and Zero-Three.

Zero-One is taken to the deepest part of the space station to be experimented on.

Zero-Two is kept in one of the more secured floors to be observed with limited ‘contact’.

Zero-Three is kept on stasis while Zero-One and Zero-Two are being ‘observed’. Once the observation period is over, Zero-Three will be eliminated and dissected to gather more data using what data they gathered from Zero-One and Zero-Two.

DESMOND has been turned into a messenger android, delivering devices and other items and acting similar to someone who takes picture of the person who took a package.

It was one of the few things it could do without having to be supervised the entire time.

It is during one of its delivery to Dr. Vidic that it sees Zero-Two.

There was something about Zero-Two that makes it feel something.

Makes him feel something.

Their first meeting ends with him calling Zero-Two ‘Ezio’.

His Ezio.

DESMOND starts visiting him whenever he has the chance.

And Abstergo sees this all.

Hard not to considering the floor Ezio is in is covered in surveillance tech.

Dr. Vidic thinks this is a good thing.

DESMOND can communicate with Zero-Two. With enough time, DESMOND can be used to control Zero-Two.

No.

Control an army of them.

So he takes DESMOND under his wing and starts to supervise the meetings.

The tried and true method of carrot-and-stick.

With DESMOND being the carrot.

During that time, the team in charge of experimenting of Zero-One fuck up big time.

Maybe they didn’t take in consideration the idea that Zero-One would use its acid blood to destroy its cage.

Maybe they underestimated Zero-One’s intellect and it manages to get them to open the cage by pretending to be sick or dead.

Whatever the reason will be, the end result is the same.

Zero-One kills the team that has been experimenting on it and starts to hunt down everyone in the Space Station.

During this time, Dr Vidic gets the idea of hunting Zero-One using Zero-Two.

And he does it by having DESMOND become bait because he knows Zero-Two will protect DESMOND.

He didn’t take in consideration that DESMOND’s connection might not be exclusive to Zero-Two alone.

So when DESMOND sees Zero-One, he sees him about to kill another Abstergo personnel. The personnel begged for help but DESMOND simply stood there.

Dr. Vidic thought (as he watched the feeds from a drone) that DESMOND is doing as ordered, to find Zero-One and to place himself in danger until Zero-Two gets to his position (Zero-Two has been fashioned with a device that would push a strong sedative inside him in a push of a button, deliberately placed in a part of his body that he cannot use his acid blood to dissolve it)

Zero-One kills the personnel and starts moving to DESMOND’s position on all fours. A predator slowly making its way to its next kill.

That’s when Dr. Vidic sees DESMOND take a step towards Zero-One and reach a hand.

Without any mirror, DESMOND touches Zero-One as he says, “Altaïr?”

“You want to kill them all? Okay.”

“… We can do that.”

.

Unorganized Notes:

They take Ratonhnhaké:ton out of stasis during Altaïr’s rampage and DESMOND stays with him because he hasn’t gotten used to moving yet and is the most vulnerable of the three.

Considering it’s me, I would suggest we just turn this into all three main couples (AltDes, EziDes, ConDes) for triple the ‘fun’.

They feel a connection to DESMOND because he is created to be a complete copy of Sample 17 with an android body. Technically, his ‘genetics’ is more or less in that ‘white fuel’ he creates himself and a bunch of 1s and 0s makes up Sample 17’s entire DNA.

In a more… ‘strange’ level, they feel a connection to DESMOND and DESMOND feels a connection with them because they’re the closest species to one another. Both created from Sample 17.

If you want smut in this one, well, they see DESMOND as their Queen and they have the instinct to mate with their Queen because Sample 17’s genetic code had a hardwired ‘order’ of needing to reproduce sexually. (to create Desmond Miles but the order is still there). Otherwise, they feel the need to protect DESMOND and to satisfy his every desire.

The xenomorphs take one more and more characteristics of the ‘target’ ancestor in terms of personality and habits. On the flipside, DESMOND starts acting more… ‘selfish’ the longer he stays with the three.

This would end with the space station succumbing to the xenomorphs but Dr. Vidic manages to send out an SOS before he dies.

This is the part where we can focus on developing DESMOND’s relationship with the xenomorphs (insert smut here if you want).

Then… an Abstergo rescue ship is pinged on the radar and… more cannon fodders as well as the possibility of finally leaving the space station.

The twist is there’s an Assassin aboard the rescue ship and this Assassin would get in contact with DESMOND and realize who he is based on because the Brotherhood never forgot Desmond Miles. (this gives us the chance to make this either (1) DESMOND and the xenomorphs joining the Brotherhood for a sorta morally gray good guys scenario or (2) they kill the Assassin and go on full on corrupted “the world against us” setup)

[leafofkudzu]

Slightly delayed posting this, but hello again! The first Saturday of a new month fast approaches, which means it’s soon time for yet another community art party hosted by [VS] Verdant Shield! Last week I ran our first ever location-selection poll, and the winner by just a teensy margin was The Grove, so let’s try out a new location in the same map!

For those not in the loop about what an art party is, they’re an idea carried over from Final Fantasy XIV - big (or small!) get-togethers for artists/writers/creatives of all kinds to hang out, chat, and create together! Get your most eye-catching outfit together, find someone else who strikes your fancy, and create! Afterwards, everyone shares their creations on social media (mostly here on Tumblr for us) using a party-specific tag (ours is #VSArtParty) so others can see and spread the love around via reblogs! The tl;dr is the same thing I’ve been saying every time I make these posts, and will continue to say ad infinitum: the ‘goal’ of an art party isn’t to be drawn, but to draw others, and share with the community!

General party details are in the image above, but a text version with some additional details such as /squadjoin information is under the cut!

Location Details:

The last time we were in the Grove we tried Dawngleam Pergola as a location, but it very quickly overflowed during the NA party and has as such been disqualified from future large-scale events (sorry!). The Omphalos Chamber (aka the place where you go to visit the Avatar of the Pale Tree) is also limited in size, but is easily spilled out of onto the main floor immediately below it should the need arise (which it very well may). The closest waypoint is Upper Commons Waypoint, and the easiest way up to the uninstanced Chamber would be via a mount such as a springer or skyscale, but you can also use a teleport-to-friend or just kinda yell in an upwards direction to summon a helpful portal-bearer should the need arise. The map looks a little weird when viewed from Chamber-level, but here’s a screenshot just in case you aren’t familiar. If you still aren’t sure, just go the middle of the top floor and look up!

Time & Squad Details:

As always, the party will consist of two separate events, with an hour break in between (though technically people jump from one to the other immediately anyway so weee).

The first party will be on EU servers and begin at 9pm Central European Summer Time (aka 3pm Eastern Daylight Time or 5 hours before in-game reset). I’ll be hosting on my EU alt account, so to join either /squadjoin or whisper Aemryn of Dusk for an invite.

The second party will be on NA servers and begin at 7pm Eastern Daylight Time (aka 1am Central European Summer Time or 1 hour before in-game reset). This one I’ll be hosting on my main account, so to join either /squadjoin or whisper Kirslyn for an invite.

IMPORTANT NOTE (mostly for the NA party): If you join and the squad is at or above 45 members, please just taxi into the right map and then hop out of squad to allow others to do the same! Essentially all conversation now happens in say chat so you won’t miss out on anything by being outside of squad!

Closing Words:

For those who missed it, a week ago I posted a poll in the party tag where people could vote on one of the five main cities as a party location, with the promise that I’d select a location different from the previous party held in that map for whichever won. Going forward this will be the general format, with the poll going up 2 weeks before and the announcement 1 week before (yes I know this one is delayed I’m sorry D:). If you have suggestions for locations outside of the racial cities that are low/no combat and wouldn’t interfere with events/metas, feel free to DM me and I’ll scope them out for possible inclusion in future polls!

Anyway, that’s all for now! Sorry if I worried anyone by not having this posted back on Saturday - I had some irl stuff going on that delayed me a bit. Thank you so much to everyone who comes out to these and helps make them so memorable and fun, I can’t wait to see you all again soon! ♥