#this is probably my lack of oxygen and period talking

[sterwood]

I haven’t used this platform in a long time, so I’m not even sure who is here to see this now, but Rachel passed away earlier this evening. She was in the hospital for what we thought was some kind of sinus infection and the combination of the various drugs she was given, along, perhaps, with one of her tumors (probably a cervical spine tumor) caused her to lose oxygen. The lack of oxygen, even though it was for such a short period, caused damage to her brain. She was pronounced brain dead today.

I met Rachel here. I posted one of those stupid memes that’re meant to goad people they have a crush on you and Rachel actually had the guts to do so. We began talking, flirting, and falling in love. When we first started dating, I was unemployed and she was living in run down dorms on UNLV campus. It was a mess in the most beautiful way.

But since that moment, I have loved Rachel, I have loved my wife, for 9 beautiful and wonderful years. And now all of that is over. Letting go of her hand this evening was the most difficult thing I have ever done.

I don’t know if anyone here still knows Rachel and I but if you do, please keep her in your thoughts and prayers. Hold on to her memory, whatever memories you may have of her, because that is how we preserve her: through her impact on all of us, both big and small.

[writingforfishes]

hiiiiiiiiii asking on anon cause my blog for this is a secondary blog ( @hic-hic-dreams )

i saw star trek in your intro update thingy and omg another trekkie in here!!!

any headcannons or stuff? your pick anything!

i personally think Data is fascinated with hiccups and has tried to imitate them before, and that spock is the only recorded vulcan to ever hiccup cause biology

(I realize I haven't filtered this as I have other fandom musings. I suppose the Star Trek fandom is so big and weird that I don't think this'll make a fingerprint regardless of the weird kink it muses on. But, normally, I do request for fandom asks to be filtered with either periods or slashes in the words and character names. I'm throwing caution to the wind with this one, I guess. Let's see what happens. One I started writing about it I couldn't stop.)

Oooooooh.

So I do have a headcannon about Data. I think at least once there has been an internal dysfunction in Data's respiratory/cooling system or circuitry that has created a hiccup-type phenomenon.

I believe in an episode someone asks (possibly Bashir) why Data breathes. It's stated that even though he doesn't require oxygen he uses breathing as a cooling method to keep his inside mechanisms from overheating. I assume Soong (as he was obsessed with mimicking human biology) created this system in a similar way as a respiratory system. Data possibly has a muscle-like structure that mimics a diaphragm and connects with his chest via comparable intercostal muscles to create the breathing simulation so it can be convincing and not startling for humans to watch.

I'm not sure how Data's hiccups would sound as the air is gasped and brought through his voice modulator (as opposed to vocal cords), but I imagine the hiccups would have similar if not identical motions and cadence and unexpectedness as human hiccups. Data's reaction might range from fascinated to something similar to frustration when he attempts to speak for long periods of time.

A cure would probably require some sort of reboot of that specific system leaving him vulnerable to overheating for a time. But the hiccup spell would probably not affect his temperature too much unless they came too quickly.

As far as Spock is concerned, I think he would be more prone to hiccups than other Vulcans. But I suspect even Vulcans aren't immune. Any being with something similar to a diaphragm can develop a spasm or nerve miscommunication. Vulcans might have learned greater control over their parasympathetic systems, but no control is perfect 100% of the time no matter what Vulcans say to outsiders.

I do wonder whether Vulcans would find hiccups to be an indication of a lack of control or whether hiccups are so logically benign that it wouldn't be an issue. I suppose if the hiccups are emotional in nature they'd be more inclined to take offense or be disgusted.

I think Spock is such a perfectionist in being a Vulcan that any deviation in that perfect façade is much more offensive. His hiccups probably tend to hurt because when they're hard to get rid of he holds them in, even though it's not logical.

Do Cardassians hiccup, though? With their biology is their breathing mechanism still closely related to that of amphibians or lizards? Does that mean they hiccup more or less?

Did Odo get a case when he was biological for some time?

Are there any alien races that find hiccups to be a positive aspect?

There was a Star Trek novel I once read that, quite unexpectedly, featured hiccups. Picard was talking to a Trill who was paired with a symbiote. The Trill contracted hiccups and seemed to be quite uncomfortable. He considered going to the med bay to seek a cure if they didn't stop soon.

When Picard queried as to why such an extreme measure was necessary for something seemingly innocuous (not in a rude way but in a curious way) the Trill responded something like, "Imagine if you were being bounced violently around every few seconds as the environment you were in spasmed around you."

As he was connected with the symbiote and the symbiote is located somewhere in the Trill's abdomen he was speaking as if the sensations of hiccuping were unsettling as he was sensing the feeling of being inside a body when it was hiccuping.

I read this passage I don't know how many times over and over again. Even thinking back on it now I find it absolutely fascinating to imagine how disorienting a person would be if every time they hiccuped they felt disoriented or dizzy as if their body had just been tossed about a little bit.

As I recall, the hiccups were also written really really well.

[squirrellypoo]

I will be your blood loss consultant

Hey IWTV fic writers - want to ensure your character's blood loss feels realistic? Got a situation where a petit coup has gone too far, or a character got gravely injured? I've got a unique perspective to offer to the fandom - I've lived for extended periods of time with extremely low blood counts* and I'm happy for you to send me WIP snippets or to ask for advice on blood loss storylines.

To break it down a bit further, from my experience, how being low on the different types of blood feels/affects you:

Red blood cells - Red blood cells carry oxygen around the body, so if you're low on these, you're effectively low on oxygen in the blood. This is the most obvious, but you feel really sluggish, tired, and will be breathing heavily at the slightest physical exertion. Physically, it kinda feels like you're moving underwater, and your limbs feel heavy, and even short walks feel hard. (I went from running 10km 3x a week to getting out of breath just walking up stairs, for example). Cognition is fine, but frequent naps are a requirement.

Platelets - Platelets are what allow your blood to clot and heal cuts, so a lack of these means you bleed and bleed for a long time. But also you bruise super easily, and bruises last a really long time (weeks/months). You can also have spontaneous burst blood vessels in the whites of your eyes. Parts of your body that wouldn't normally bleed also do - like waking up to blood on the pillow because your gums bled overnight. The most unexpected part for me was having a constant background rushing sound in my ears - kinda like holding a seashell up, but all the time (until a transfusion).

White blood cells / neutrophils - A lack of these doesn't make you feel that different, tbh, but a lack of WBC means you can't fight off viruses so you pick up every single cough and cold, and have it for twice as long as normal people. A lack of neutrophils means you can't fight off bacteria, so your body's normal bacterial cohabitors cause problems that can really mess you up. So you've got to be insanely conscientious about what you eat (no runny eggs, unpasteurised cheeses, raw vegetables!), and brush your teeth and mouthwash after you ingest anything. You'll really only need to worry about these symptoms though if you've got low blood levels for an extended period of time (several weeks+).

Overall though, I've described the extreme examples. If your character is young and healthy, they will probably only experience the red blood loss symptoms (and possibly minor platelet symptoms) for a few days, depending on how much blood was lost. If they're in a situation where a hospital would give transfusions, be aware that you'll only ever be given enough to get you out of the dangerously low territory, never so much that you'd be "back to normal" counts after the transfusion(s). But transfusions do make you feel better almost instantly (better, but not good).

But again, feel free to message me with any specific questions (I can also tell you how chemo, meningitis, spinal taps, surgery w/o anaesthetic feels if that's of use!), I'm happy to talk about all this and I want to give back to this fandom and IWTV fanfic writers in particular to say thanks for the hundreds of hours of enjoyment you all have given me!

* I'm absolutely fine now! Over my lifetime, though, I've survived off the blood of literally hundreds of people. A bone marrow transplant saved my life 14 years ago and I run marathons now and am probably healthier than most 40-somethings, except I'm still Clinically Extremely Vulnerable to Covid and can't go into crowded places or unmask indoors. But my bloods have been fine for over a decade and this is in no way traumatic for me to talk about!

Please consider joining your country's bone marrow donor registry and/or donating blood regularly if you're able to! Both saved my life.

[outofangband]

@camille-lachenille sent this ask about Maedhros post Angband and I wanted to address it in two parts!

This first one deals with the possibility of brain damage post Angband

cw: aftermath of torture, discussion of brain damage, brief mentions of ableism (both in universe and out)

Angband World Building and Aftermath of Captivity Masterlist

I hc Maedhros really struggling with speech and communication in the years following his rescue, and he has to basically relearn how to speak properly. Even centuries later, it still takes him a lot of energy to make complex and long sentences, or understand a long speech, and that’s why he’s so often silent or just barks orders to his troops without much ceremony. And he tends to muddle the words when he’s tired or very emotional, or forget altogether how to speak Sindarin/Taliska/Khuzdul, and he can only speak Quenya, so his land is the only beside Gondolin where Quenya is still spoken on a semi-regular basis despite the ban. Before important events he will prepare what to say as to reduce the chances of getting stuck on his words. He also has "cheat cards" in his pocket with prewritten sentences in Sindarin for emergencies.

He also has to relearn how to read and his writing is awful because he has nerve damage so he struggles with fine mobility tasks. For official papers, he has Maglor write for him so it’s readable.

He gets better until the Nirnareth but the trauma of losing both the battle and his dearest friend makes him regress in his speech abilities.

First I should say I really like your headcanons! I think way way too much about the profound effect of Angband on the body, mind and soul, both generally and for certain characters in particular, Maedhros being one of them!

And Angband does have a profound effect. 

with regards to brain damage, first I should note that while I have some brain damage myself though obviously from considerably less severe circumstances than Maedhros’s and while I have done my research, I am by no means an expert

Though there is no canon evidence for Maedhros suffering brain damage there is absolutely a veritable wealth of circumstances that could have caused it at least for a human during his time in Angband; hypoxia/lack of oxygen to the brain, malnutrition and poisoning, actual physical damage from directed violence, etc

As I’ve talked about in many places (I think here is one of the more recent ones) we must assume at least some intervention and difference to human anatomy for Maedhros whether that comes from differing elven physiology or intervention by Morgoth to keep him alive or as I believe, likely both. 

That being said the conditions of Angband are devastating and effect the bodies, minds and souls of elves (and humans) in ways that rarely occur on the outside

One thing that’s fun about The Silmarillion is that it a, takes place over a long period of time and b, there’s a lot of ambiguity in the text in places. Maedhros does conceivably have longer to recover physically and emotionally 

Though the few bits of dialogue we have for Maedhros during the time between his rescue and the Nirnaeth do not seem to show him struggling with speech It is notable too that while he seems to have much skill as a diplomat, a lot of his recorded communication takes places through letters he could have spent much, much longer drafting, revising and consulting on rather than in face to face discussions where significant difficulties in communicating would have been harder to deal with. 

I like the idea of him having cards to consult with! I think that makes a lot of sense!

I do think Maedhros had specific issues with speech and communication. Some I think were due to physical damage and some I think were due to psychological. I know I’ve said almost exactly this probably more than once but I really cannot understate how profoundly damaging it is to be in an environment where your ability to speak, advocate, communicate and express yourself is just completely oppressed and stolen. I do headcanon that Angband severely limits and in some places/circumstances outright bans many elven languages (It can’t completely because some communication between especially newer prisoners learning the tongues of Angband is necessary during labor and such but that’s other posts...) Anyways Maedhros was in an environment where he was actively punished for speaking up, for using his own languages, for daring to act in any way that suggested that his words have meaning. 

This does not lift just because he is outside of its walls. 

That’s also absolutely not to say that brain damage couldn’t be a confounding factor as well. The combination of physical and psychological factors complicate his recovery in many ways especially in the beginning where these sorts of injuries were almost unheard of among the returned Noldor

(I should also note that even if it’s not fully supported by canon, it’s still a good and interesting headcanon/perspective and I share much of it!! unfortunately while Tolkien did seem to have a compassionate understanding of many aspects of trauma, the depiction in The Wanderings has always struck me as especially profound, due to when he was writing and such, it’s not surprising that many aspects of disability might have been overlooked or dismissed. It’s always worth considering these aspects, I think)

I also personally headcanon that writing especially took him decades to relearn properly. Even alongside brain damage, having to write with a completely unfamiliar hand while likely dealing with chronic pain and other symptoms! Due to my own neuro issues I have enough issues writing with my dominant hand! I can’t imagine having to relearn with the other. 

Finally, it makes sense both medically and in universe that Maedhros experiences a regression in his symptoms post Nírnaeth. The body-mind-soul connection is so strong for elves and symptom regression following severe physical or psychological trauma can absolutely happen.

Also on a similar note I headcanon that Húrin has severe neurological damage from Angband too

Anyways I hope this is an ok reply! As I said I also get super fixated on the effects of Angband on the body, mind, and soul of elves and humans

[adagaium]

ok haha wow im ready to cry im going to talk about the crucifixion (with like 2 references)

hey let’s start off with just uh how did this happen. from what we get in game, ardyn was once a healer meant to be the founder king. his method of healing is basically the oracle method. he takes the scourge into his body and saves countless people. when he goes to the crystal, he’s rejected because his soul is tainted. somnus becomes the founder king and it is said that ardyn survives being killed. 

there is also canon artwork that has an eerie resemblance to uh paintings of the crucifixion of jesus christ [1], so that’s how i came to the conclusion that his death was by crucifixion. 

crucifixion is REALLY FUCKING AWFUL and here’s why:

how does a person die? here’s a thing from the guardian.

“’[s]uffocation, loss of body fluids and multiple organ failure. [...] [t]he weight of the body pulling down on the arms makes breathing extremely difficult,' says Jeremy Ward, a physiologist at King's College London. [i]n addition, the heart and lungs would stop working as blood drained through wounds”. 

“[s]omeone nailed to a crucifix with their arms stretched out on either side could expect to live for no more than 24 hours. [s]even-inch nails would be driven through the wrists so that the bones there could support the body's weight. [t]he nail would sever the median nerve, which not only caused immense pain but would have paralysed the victim's hands” [2].

so of course, ardyn is immortal due to the scourge, but he probably died for at least a short period of time, enough for his body to be dumped in angelgard. as cruel as it is, the whole issue of 2000 years could’ve been avoided if his body was left there. while there would be the eerie fact that the body never seemed to change or rot, he would’ve been in a position where the lack of oxygen would basically act as a sedative, keeping him in some sort of stasis.

of course, this would’ve been very hard to maintain, especially since no one knew at the time that he was immortal. the weight of his body would inevitably cause his body to fall, that’s 174 lbs up on a cross, gravity kicks in, that’s part of how people died. 

ok you probably think this is bad, well uh it gets worse. while the usual procedure is driving seven inch nails through the wrists or palms according to paintings, this is final fantasy and the astrals just made ardyn suffer. his body was pinned there by swords from guess what jazzhands the armiger, possibly his own turned against him or somnus’, either way it was a huge betrayal and he never forgot the agony of the betrayal. 

once the people believed him to be dead, his body was taken down and brought to angelgard where his body was laid to rest in a mausoleum. the healing process of his body took a good century, leaving the scars on his hands that he keeps covered with the gloves. on that note, while his body is capable of survival and healing, that means the injuries become scars, not that they disappear, so his whole body is just a traumatizing map of everything he’s suffered and he hates literally everything and wants vengeance on all of existence. 

thanks for coming to my tedtalk

citations

Jha, A. (2004, April 08). How did crucifixion kill? Retrieved May 4, 2018, from https://www.theguardian.com/science/2004/apr/08/thisweekssciencequestions

Langetti, G. B. (1670). Mary Magdalene at the Foot of the Cross[Painting]. Santa Teresa, Venice, Italy.

[crazybigredlove]

4th September 2013

Oh Pete. Miranda pulled me aside at work yesterday. 

Gulp. I would've told you yesterday but I was completely consumed with self-pity after that phone call from the ginger King Kong. 

Tried not to nervous vomit my lunch on her when with a sympathetic look she took me by my forearm down the hallway towards her office, all the while the unmistakable feeling that something bad might be about to happen began to well from deep inside. 

Sitting in her little office she folded her hands and looked over at me with such a caring, maternal expression that I knew it could only be bad news. Had there been anyone in the company that I cared dearly for (obviously with the exception of Michael, but had been talking to him only seconds before so knew that he was okay) I would have feared she was about to tell me that someone had passed on. As it was, I was starting to suspect that maybe my own doctor had asked her to deliver some tragic, terminal diagnosis. 

Turns out she is increasingly concerned by my mediocre performance of late. It has not gone unnoticed that I have missed the last three deadlines, and while all three pieces were eventually turned in, each was well below the usual standard. 

Honestly, it just seemed a little harsh for her to keep kicking me like this. How many times have we had this talk now? 

Of course, I start to shift uneasily in the seat. Sweating in that gross way that I do when I'm nervous, I'm practically sticking to the chair. This is it. Going to get fired. I will lose my job and be forced to turn to prostitution in order to keep Buffy in the manner in which he has become accustomed. 

Or worse, I’ll have to start touring him in dog shows to make money. I would rather prostitution. 

Just as I'm about to pass out from anxiety and lack of oxygen in the room, she suggests to me that she is aware that things haven't been great in my private life and perhaps I should take a week or two of annual leave to sort my head out so that I can come back refreshed and ready to tackle the world. 

Oh sweet baby, Jesus. Thank you. 

Now, safe in the knowledge that Buffy and I are not homeless as yet, I am actually quite excited about the prospect of spending some time during those two weeks weighing up my career options. No doubt Christopher will tell me to write a novel, but I'm not sure that's ever been done before. An entire manuscript in two weeks? This is one of those times when self-belief can only get you so far... Then again, I am completely broke and can neither afford to go away nor leave the house for even short periods. Staying at home writing is actually my most feasible option. And watching movies. Probably mostly watching movies. Having romantic fantasies of writing in all different cafes across the city and eventually finding the one that will inspire me to write a hit novel in the manner of JK Rowling. Aiming high, yes, but what is the point in having dreams and goals if achieving them doesn't take you to a level higher than the funk you're in? 

It sort of brought home how tough things have been lately. Those fine-tuned coping mechanisms I thought I had in place are clearly failing if Miranda is onto me. As surprising as it was that she's helping me out like this, it was a bit unsettling that she kept squeezing my hands and looking at me like, well, like people used to look at you when you first got sick. It's pretty obvious that she thinks I'm completely insane. It was nice to hear her say that she appreciates my work though and that the fitness section wouldn't be the same without me. She also said that she feels perhaps lately they haven't been challenging me enough, and if when I get back I am doing better she will give me some features to write, but without the extra demands. 

Never has a near breakdown been more rewarding. 

Rather than celebrating the start of a two-week vacation from the comfort of my couch wearing yoga pants, I had dinner with Jamie instead. Insistent as she was that I drink copious amounts of wine with her, I couldn't possibly say no or I'd be that rude guest, so I'm writing this from her spare room relying heavily on the autocorrect function in my email and apologise profusely if certain words or sentences are nonsensical. We went full pathetic and watched How To Lose A Guy In Ten Days. Pointed out to her the ridiculousness of watching that movie given that I practically have a Masters degree in how to lose men in far less time than that. Sympathetic as her eyes were at first, the wine flowed and they made a definite transition to pitying. Relax, she wasn't so saddened by the state of my life that she was discouraged from talking incessantly about Holly's fast-looming wedding. 

"Seven." I cut her off and squint at the wedding picture hanging on the wall. "Seven what?" She eyes me quizzically. "Seven days," I state matter-of-factly. 

"For what?" "Seven days was the length of my shortest relationship." "No! Really?" "Yup. Seven days. Although if you count Big Red it's less than twenty-four hours. He asked me to be his girlfriend and the next time I heard from him was like a fortnight later when he was telling me he had a new girlfriend, so I feel like maybe that was a pseudo-relationship and shouldn't count. If that one doesn't count then it's seven days." "Wow. I mean I knew things didn't always work out for you, but that is just cruel." "Yeah," I try to hide a hiccup. "He turned out to be more of a jerk than he let on. I think that's the unfair bit. They shouldn't be allowed to hide it. They should just have to be open at the start. Like, 'Hey I'm a jerk. Don't date me.' Why don't they ever say that?" "It would make it significantly harder to get laid." 

"That's right. And all they care about is getting laid. See. Jerks." "Liv, you knew he was bad news. You knew it from the start. Right now I think you're only holding on so tightly because you realise you want a committed relationship, you want your life to move to the next phase, and you're scared you won't find someone to do that with. It's okay, sweetie. Lots of people in your situation feel that way. No one ever thinks they're going to be the one who is in their thirties and single. Now hand me those ribbons would you? I want to put bows on the envelopes. Did you think the silver and blue theme like the invites or the usual penis theme on the night?" 

Is it clear to you now why I'm drunk? I'm refusing to be lured into bridal shower talk. Especially when it is penis-themed bridal shower talk. 

"I mean, I knew. I wrote a list. But I didn't really know. How can you ever really know that?" Jamie's tongue pokes out the side of her mouth as she drunkenly tries to paste a ribbon on an envelope and it was impossible to tell whether she was even listening. "I think it was the point about his maturity level that should've made the argument to not date him beyond refute. With a quizzical expression Jamie looked up. "Why are you still thinking about him? He has a girlfriend and he spends his time calling you and trying to make you cry. That guy is bad news. Such bad news. You have got to get rid of him." 

She's right. Of course she's right. And I have. I think. Until the next time he calls anyway. I'd block him but then I wouldn't know if he called or not and the fact that I need to know tells me I may not have completely grasped how people act when they are over someone. 

"Yeah. I will. Find me a Franco. That would make it easier." 

"This probably isn't the time to point out to you that it's unlikely you'll be marrying a Hollywood heartthrob." "Feed my cookies, tell me I'm pretty, and let me have my fantasies." 

"Here. Have a cookie." She reaches out with a plate and a smile. "You already know you're pretty. If you want to marry a famous actor I will even got ordained so I can be the celebrant for you." "See, I knew you could be supportive." 

"Now no more cookies or you'll get fat." Supportive only goes so far apparently. 

Liv x 

[theatricalplacenta]

Just having some early morning thoughts on relationships. Contemplating and reflecting on how trauma affects your ability to connect with people or have basic fucking emotions, or how to trust people, or connect with them.

Growing up with a literal bat shit crazy biological mother, who was narcissistic and didn’t love her children beyond loving them as possessions, beat them to shit, verbally abused them, left them in situations where they were sexually abused, and on one occasion even sexually abused her eldest (me) herself; /REALLY/ fucked up my ability to form relationships of any kind. I’ll never leave my friends, and I consider them family because they are much more to me than my birth parents were, and I love them like I love my siblings, but they can leave me, and i will “understand”, because I see myself as unlovable.

Years and years and years of therapy didn’t fix it. Didn’t help it.  Years and years and years of seeing a psychiatrist didn’t help either. Everyone always says “see a shrink”, like it’s an instant fix. Sometimes, things take your whole life to work with, to understand, to make peace with, and learn and teach yourself to do things you would have learned as a child. (Or maybe you had, and became unable to process a certain strain of thoughts, or feelings after a certain situation or occurrence.  Sometimes things are never fixed. Most of the time, you learn to live with it. Ptsd can be reversed... as can depression... but it is not something to expect. Aiming for “normality” can set you back. Striving for perfection instead of taking baby steps towards living with your mental illness; living with yourself, is just setting yourself up for failure. the need to “fix” can make the world seem so much bigger, or can make the path you want to walk seem so much longer as you haven’t planned any pit stops. I use to cry when people would hug me when I went into foster care. My foster mom would ask to hug me, and I had never been asked before. I would say no, until one day I said yes, just to see what it was like. To see what a hug that wouldn’t be accompanied with crazed whispers, or spindly, dagger fingers clawing into my back, keeping me captive as my birth mother conveyed her love and care; love and care that was never present, but she desperately tried to make it seem like it was, and it wasn’t very believable after being beaten to hell and back, screamed at and taken down with verbal assault until she foamed at the mouth and turned red and blue in the face with hatred and anger, or after she would make me watch her beat and abuse my baby brother and sister, my children, that I raised, because I was too strong to be hurt physically. Because hurting them was the only way I would understand how much she “loved me”, and hugging me- making me look, constricting my body- touching the body she so vehemently made me aware of  being ugly and disgusting, putrid-  What would it be like to be hugged by a mom who respected me, and thought I was good, and kind, and artistic, and wanted what was good for me; genuinely... Well... I can tell you. It still repulsed me. Not her- never my foster mom, but the touch. The memories that came with it. The physical feeling of nausea and revulsion, and the instinctual panic and fear that came with it- it was all there. It still is to this day- BUT, just because I am not over it...does not mean I didn’t learn to rationalize, and live with it. See, hugging was bad for me. It still is- but back then, I started going out of my way to welcome hugs, or to initiate them, because I needed to condition myself at the very least, if not train my brain to expect positive interaction with hugs. I do now, but the initial trauma will always be there, and I think I will always feel sick when being hugged, or touched in general- But... I learned to live with it. Not to say that I- nor ANYONE else has to learn to just... “live with it”, because that’s ridiculous... but if you work towards it... just baby steps... things might get better. Hell, I still panic at the sight of shoulder-blade length, wiry, curly, dark hair. I had a full on crying my eyes out silently, breath taking panic attack on a bus from seeing a woman with her hair on the road outside the window. ANYWAY The point is, shit like this affects your relationships on a primary level, and it can stay that way. I don’t have the tools to apply to my own ptsd, nor to attempt to try and help another work past their trauma, and who fucking knows if others do... I honestly haven’t found anyone who gave me factual life advice to ease these sorts of problems, but in general these people, the psychiatrists and therapists, gave me a better understanding of what is happening to me, and why... but I've come to the obvious conclusion that you can’t just /fix/ what is broken when it’s trauma.I can’t make myself attracted to people. I can’t make myself okay with being touched, even if I can become accustomed to it. I can’t just decide to have a relationship with someone like I see so many do.  But does that make me broken? Does that make me strange? Does that make me less of a person? I’m not sure... I love people in my life wholly and unconditionally, and I want to love someone some day in the way of romance.... but is my want for romance simply a want for the idea of romance?  I’m a private person... I don’t like to be nagged or when people are super clingly- or expect to talk to me every single day.... I could never not have my own bed (But i’ll peg that on my bed being my safe place, and only my closest friends may share a bed with me) I’m just.... maybe I’m just meant to die alone. On a sort-of-less-serious note: WHAT IS LOVE- HOW DO I FIND IT.  DO I GO ON TINDER!? DO I HAVE TO BE SKINNY FIRST AND LOOSE ALL THE WEIGHT I PUT ON FOR THE SOUL PURPOSE OF SCARING OFF ANYONE THAT COULD SEE ME SEXUALLY- AND NOW I’M LIKE “Damn, i wonder if sex with a person is cool. The fuck do I do- do I make a craigslist add?  Hire an escort? LOL “HELLO, I WOULD LIKE TO KNOW WHAT SEXUAL INTERCOURSE IS LIKE WITH A HUMAN BEING. IS IT AS DISGUSTING AND AWKWARD AS IT SOUNDS? OR IS IT AS HOT AS WHAT I WRITE ABOUT?” SHOULD I JOIN CHRISTIAN MINGLE AND SHOW UP WITH MY RELIGION-HATING ASS!?

AMERICA, ESPLAIN. This has been a delusional 1 am self reflection with Thea. Who should have used those two golden hours of awake time from not sleeping off her pneumonia, to finish colouring her villain deku zine piece! It’s so close to being done, and yet, HERE SHE IS!- wondering about how people could possibly be comfortable getting married, how they find and keep love- how the hell they’re having babies, and living happily- while she’s over here, crying into a bag of mcsweenies original beef jerky, with a dog at her side, and has a 95% expectancy to be living in her car or under a bridge at any given moment.  Life is really something else. I really don’t expect any of you to have read this, but if you have, share your experiences! Maybe you have pointers! Tips! Pick up lines. Maybe you can just re-affirm i’m stupid af and I should just shut the fuck up.

[minisugakoobies]

Fight or Flight | MYG

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

Genre: smut, crack, DadYoongi!AU, BadCop!AU

Rating: M (18+)

Warnings: weapons - guns, choking, switching POVs, angst, allusions to murder, mentions of blood, lots of blood actually, someone almost dies, once again I fail to write Jungkook as anything other than soft, Jimin is less mischievous and more full-on sociopath here, Yoongi is not a good guy (ymmv)

Word Count: 1.6k

Disclaimers: NSFW, obviously I don’t own BTS - they just inspire me

Summary: After the big shootout, Yoongi fights for his next move, while you flee to save a life.

A/N: Holy crap, has it really been almost four months since I posted the last chapter? Still no real plan for this, so I appreciate everyone hanging on for the ride! 💜

Unbeta'd as usual. I'd love to know what you think - my inbox is always open! 💕

Part 4 💵 Bad Cop Masterlist 💵 Part 6

“Shit!” Jimin lowers his gun as the red tail lights of the cop cruiser vanish into the distance. “Damn it! Well, at least I hit the kid - hey!” 

Jimin squawks as Yoongi’s hand finds his throat. Moving swiftly, Yoongi pushes him back into the house and slams him up against the kitchen wall. He knocks the gun from Jimin’s grip before his long fingers squeeze the younger man’s neck, cutting off his oxygen. 

“What the fuck was that?” he growls, fury blazing in his dark eyes. He relaxes his hand just enough for Jimin to inhale.

“What was what?” Jimin’s own eyes glimmer with mirth. He’s clearly enjoying this. Fuck, Yoongi really needs to stop hanging around with sociopaths. They get off on this shit.

“You! Shooting at them!” 

Jimin’s brows knit together. “Uh, you called me for a clean up! So I was taking care of your mess and trying to finish the job! We need them dead - or have you forgotten what we’re doing here?”

Yoongi’s fingers dig into Jimin’s skin. “Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?” he spits, carefully enunciating every word. “I know why I called you here. And I know what we need to do. But you cannot go shooting up my neighborhood! Fuck, what happened to being discreet?!”

Maybe it’s the venom in his tone, or maybe it’s the way his hand twitches around the younger man’s throat, but as Yoongi watches the glee fade from Jimin’s gaze, replaced by fear, he knows Jimin’s finally getting the message. Yoongi’s on the brink right now. Won’t take much to push him over.

Jimin mouths an apology, lacking the air to voice the words. 

Yoongi releases him, starting to pace, and Jimin slides to the floor, rubbing his neck and coughing. Yoongi’s mind races, trying to solve the problem. He can probably explain away the gunshots as his tailpipe backfiring - his neighbors hate his noisy muscle car anyway. And the sight of a police cruiser speeding away from his house isn’t that alarming, since everyone knows he’s a cop. 

But what the fuck is he going to do about you? And Jungkook? Damn that kid and his doe eyes. Yoongi can’t believe he fell for his innocent act. 

Then again, he fell for yours too, didn’t he? Once again, he marvels at what a colossal fool he’s been.

Jimin slowly rises to his feet, still clutching at his neck. “Shit, man, I think you bruised my windpipe. Hurts to breathe.” 

Yoongi sneers. “Lesson learned, then.”

“So what do we do now? Go after them?” 

“They’re too far gone by now.” And he has no idea where you’d go - obviously not the precinct. Or your dingy little apartment, which he realizes now isn’t really your apartment. It’s just the set where you’d played your role all too well. He’d bought every single line. Every single lie. “And the fact that we haven’t been swarmed with federal agents right now tells me that they don’t have enough to bring us in yet. Or that they don’t have any backup, period.”

“Okay, great. So, back to my first question - what do we do now?”

Yoongi sighs, running his hands through his long hair. There’s a knock at his front door. He glances through the kitchen window. It’s his neighbor, already here for answers. Yoongi really doesn’t have time for this, but he’s got an image to maintain. 

“Shit, I gotta handle this. While I’m taking care of him, I want you to go into my office and see if there’s anything left in the safe, or if YN- if she took it all.” His face remains blank, but his heart stutters at the accidental utterance of your name. 

Fuck, it’s not even your real name, is it? Yoongi’s starting to think he doesn’t know anything. 

The knock comes again. Jimin nods. “Fine. But if you need me, just whistle.” 

Yoongi’s not about to have Jimin shoot his neighbor, but he nods back all the same. As he apologizes to the man, saying he was working on his car and lost track of the hour, he breathes deeply, calming the panic threatening to seep into his blood. After all, he’s a fighter. 

And he’s not down yet. 

The cruiser hurtles down the street, flying past the impressive houses with their well-manicured lawns and large luxury vehicles resting in the driveways, tires screeching as you take a turn too sharply. Yoongi’s not chasing you, but you still feel his presence looming, like he’s right on your back, and the urge to put as much distance between you as possible guides your foot to push a little harder on the accelerator.

Your partner is slumped against the passenger side door, moaning, hand clutching his left bicep. Somehow that asshole Park managed to hit him right where the Kevlar ends, blasting away a chunk of Jungkook’s upper arm. It could have been so much worse, but it’s still a gunshot wound, and he’s still bleeding, enough to make you worry when he falls silent.

“Jungkook?” you ask, heart jumping when he doesn’t respond immediately. “Kook?? You still with me?” 

“‘M here,” he finally grunts, trying to sit up, grimacing at the pain. Your heart leaps again. “Think that fucker might’ve hit an artery. I’m gettin’ a little woozy.” 

“Shit. Shit shit shit.” You need to think, gripping the steering wheel tightly as you drive out of the ritzy neighborhood and out onto the two-lane highway that connects it to the city. Where can you go? You can’t take him to a hospital, there will be too many questions asked that you can’t answer. You could go to your tiny apartment, but it’s on the other side of the city, and even in a cop car you’re not sure that you can get their quick eno-

“Tourniquet,” Jungkook gasps out. 

“What?” 

“Tourniquet. In the emergency tactical kit. Trunk.” He grits his teeth, swallowing down another moan, struggling to sit up again. 

“Kook, fuck, stop moving around!” With a sharp yank on the wheel, you steer the car off of the road, coming to a stop on the shoulder. Thank god there isn’t much traffic this time of night, so no one is around to witness you emerging from a police cruiser in a blood splattered dress. Grabbing the kit from the trunk, you open the passenger side door, screeching as Jungkook tumbles out onto you. 

“Shit! Kook!” 

He groans, eyelashes fluttering as he fights to stay conscious. Blood has soaked through most of his shirt. You move faster than you thought possible, applying the tourniquet, silently thanking your hardass trainer from the academy for insisting that you learn how to do so under the most stressful of circumstances - because right now, with Jungkook’s life in your hands, the stakes can’t get any higher. 

There’s a clotting dressing in the kit, and you rip the packet open, pressing it firmly into his wound. That wakes him up, sending him into a flurry of loud curse words that would make a Tarantino character blush. 

“There’s my partner,” you grin shakily, trying to act like he didn’t just scare the shit out of you. “I’d recognize that filth anywhere.” 

Jungkook manages a single weak “ha” solely for your benefit, and that’s what finally breaks you. You double over, hugging him tightly, still holding the clotting gauze to his arm as you start to cry. 

His right hand reaches up to cup your cheek, stroke your hair. “I’m okay. It’s okay.” 

You half-laugh, half-sob in relief. “Stop comforting me, you idiot, you’ve been shot. I’m supposed to be comforting you.” But because he’s Jungkook, he doesn’t listen, holding you until the tears stop. Once you’re calm again, you wrap his wound with more gauze, and help him back into the car. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks once you’re back behind the steering wheel. You’re not sure what he’s referring to specifically - his near-death experience, the shootout, what happened between you and Yoongi tonight - but it doesn’t matter. It’s the same answer for all. 

“No. Not now,” you add, putting the car in gear. “Right now, we need to figure out our next move.” 

“Should I call -”

“No.” You cut him off. “Not yet. Let’s just wait on that.”

“Fine,” he says. You know he’s never actually fine when he says that. But he’ll follow your lead, as always. 

“Look in the box.” You gesture to where your tote bag lies at Jungkook’s feet. The box you’d stolen from Yoongi’s safe rests inside. “Let’s start there. Maybe there’s something we can use.” 

As you speed through the city, the weight of what just happened slams into your chest, knocking the breath from you, and you dig your fingernails into the vinyl cover of the steering wheel, leaving crescent-shaped indentations behind. There’s a roaring in your ears. If you see Park again, you’re not sure you’ll be able to hold yourself back from striking out. Seeking blood for blood. 

But first things first. The priority is getting Jungkook to an actual medic, because that tourniquet’s not going to last forever. You need to take care of him, because there’s no way you can do this without him. 

And once he’s safe, then you can get your revenge.

© 2022 by sunshinerainbowsbts. Crossposted to AO3. Please do not copy or repost.

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[bts-bay-bee]

blue

↳ pairing: park jimin x reader

↳ genre: smut, fluff, a tiny bit of angst if you squint

↳ summary: teaching your cold boss to love might just be the hardest thing you’ve ever done.

↳ warnings: CEO!jimin, cold!jimin, dom!jimin, assistant!reader, cursing, male masturbation, fantasizing (?), vaginal fingering, oral (male and female receiving), cum eating, marking, daddy kink, pussy slapping, praise kink (kinda?), choking, handcuffs, nipple clamps, clit massager, multiple orgasms, creampie, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), degradation (slight)

↳ word count: 13 066

↳ meaning of blue: heaven. authority. cold. wet. slow. depression. trust. intelligence.

“Is he here yet?” You asked, out of breath as you ran to your desk at work. The office secretary shook her head, no, making you sigh out in relief. You had been massively late for work which ended up with you running up the many flights of stairs – in heels – deeming the elevator too slow to get you to your office.

 You flashed the office secretary a huge smile, hoping that would further prod her to cover up for your tardiness, before walking over to your office, which was conveniently located right next to your boss’s much larger, much sleeker office.

 Park Jimin had been your boss for the better part of five years now. You had undertaken the job when you had finished high school, looking for anything and everything to bring any amount of money into your bank account. University tuition fee statements were your personal version of hell; the obscenely large number crushed any of the dreams you once had. But then came along Mr Park.

 When he had seen your curriculum vitae, he had immediately been intrigued. Back then he wasn’t CEO of the company, but he had started to quickly move up the proverbial ranks, which allowed him to finally acquire a personal assistant to handle the lesser tasks. A high school graduate – with straight A’s in every subject – hadn’t chosen to go to college? That’s what had made him so intrigued with you. In a few short hours after he had first reviewed your resume, you had gone through a short telephonic interview then you had been asked to come in for a trial period. One which you had passed with flying colours.

 Jimin couldn’t help himself but ask about your lack of tertiary education. With a flushed face and shaking hands, you embarrassedly told him about your lack of funds. It was only embarrassing because here you were talking about your financial issues to a man who had a year’s worth of tuition on his wrist in the form of a shiny gold Rolex. Another year’s worth of tuition was probably wrapped around his ring finger, because of course no man as rich, successful and not to mention handsome wouldn’t have a wedding ring on.

 Jimin’s wife, Irene – who you had only met a handful of times – was the complete opposite of the warm, caring man. She was cold and distant, even towards her husband, who was supposedly her high school sweetheart. How they managed to stay together for so long boggled your mind. Slowly, you started to see Jimin change. His once fond smile slowly disappeared, now being replaced by a cold, grim straight line. He stopped caring about the people he worked with. He even began to sneer at lesser workers, not bothering to greet the janitors or the office secretary.

 Sitting at your shiny, mahogany desk you began to review emails for Jimin, sifting through the numerous subject lines and forwarding the emails to him so that he could take care of them. At around 10am you left your desk, realising that you had to make Jimin coffee. After adding the espresso shot and steamed milk into the coffee mug, you walked to the large door of Jimin’s office, knocking three times before waiting for a response.

 “Enter.” His voice was clipped, meaning he was already in a foul mood.

 You quietly pushed down the door handle and entered, your eyes trained on the floor as you made your way to his desk. Without speaking you placed the steaming cup of coffee in front of him, then began to make your way back to your office. Jimin hadn’t taken his eyes off of his large LCD screen, not paying you any attention. However, before you could take a step away from him, his cold, hard voice reached your ears.

 “Take a seat, Miss L/N.”

 Oh, you were screwed. There was no two ways about it.

 “Yes, Sir.”

 He never told you to sit after bringing him his coffee. Taking a deep breath, you turned back to face him and took a seat on the edge of the plush chairs. Jimin’s cold eyes still trailed over his monitor, making you squirm slightly from awkwardness. What did he want? He hadn’t asked you to sit with him since… Well, since before he was married. This just wasn’t something you did anymore.

 After what seemed like hours, he lifted his eyes from the harshly lit screen, bring his eyes to your own. Flushing a light shade of pink, you cleared your throat and looked down again. You didn’t want to disrespect him by staring right back at him.

 “Where’s your coffee?” He quietly asked, picking up his mug.

 “I, uh… I didn’t make myself any, Sir.” You replied, eyes trained on your twiddling thumbs. He sighed, rolling his chair back slightly so that he was more comfortable.

 “Don’t you want to go make yourself a cup? I need to speak to you about something.” Jimin said, loosening the tie he had dawned today slightly. You were frozen in the leather chair – had you done something wrong? Was he going to fire you? He noticed you hadn’t moved, which caused him to frown. “Is the idea of drinking coffee with me really that appalling, Y/N?”

 “No! I just…” You began, wringing your hands nervously, your eyes still not leaving them. “Are you going to fire me?”

 Jimin looked at you, stunned. “Why would think that?”

 “Well… I was a little late for work today, and you asked me to sit down. You don’t ask me to sit down and have coffee with you, Sir. It was almost as if you were going to give me bad news.”

 “I used to always ask you to have coffee with me, Y/N.” He replied, frowning slightly. He knew that you used to have coffee with him on a daily basis, usually to discuss the work for the day, but coffee, nonetheless. He also knew that at one point you used to meet his eyes when you spoke to him. When did that change? “Why aren’t you looking at me?”

 “What did you want to talk to me about?” You asked, avoiding his question that you had no nice answer to. Did he really want to hear that his wife berated you repeatedly for working with him so closely? For looking at him when he spoke to you, and vice versa?

 Jimin eyed you warily. “Are you sure you don’t want coffee?” You nodded wordlessly, only making him deepen his frown. Nevertheless, he ploughed on, settling on the fact that this was now what your relationship had been reduced to. “I have a promotion of sorts for you. Well, in actual fact, it’s just a favour for me. A rather large favour.”

 “Sir?” You prodded, urging him to speak when he had stopped. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes out of sheer tiredness. He had been awake all night, thinking about how to ask you this.

 “As you know, Irene and I have been separated for some time now.” He began, making you reel with shock. When did they split up?! And why did he think that you knew about it? “We recently decided to finalise it and get a divorce. She left last week. She left Ezra with me.”

 Ezra is Jimin’s five-year-old son. Despite his mother being an absolute witch and his father turning colder with each passing day, he was still a respectful boy. Like Irene, you hadn’t really seen him that many times.

 “I’m… I’m sorry.” You softly replied, not knowing what else to say. Where was this going? “I didn’t know this had been happening, Sir.”

 Jimin shrugged, not really worried about the fact that he was divorced. That’s not what had been bothering him. “It’s not a big deal. It’s not like we were ever actually in love. Anyway, Irene isn’t what I need to speak to you about. It’s Ezra.”

 “I’m sure this has been very taxing on him too.” Your voice was barely above a whisper. You still didn’t know where this was going, and it was driving you crazy.

 “He’s too young to really understand what’s been happening.” He replied, his jaw clenched, angry at himself for not being able to articulate why he so desperately needed your help.

 “I, um… I’m not really the domestic type. I don’t know how to cook. I don’t know how to take care of a child. I’ve been dropping Ezra off at my parents every day since Irene left, but I don’t want him to grow up spending most of his day at someone else’s house. He should be at his home. And, I know, I can hire someone to babysit him, but he’s still so young to be left with strangers, and I don’t want to put his life in unnecessary danger. I mean, you never know what these people could be behind a façade –”

 “Sir, where do I fit in?” You asked, amused at his rambling. This isn’t the cold CEO that you became used of. This was the old Jimin, the Jimin that had actually been interested about his employees, regardless of the amount on their pay cheque.

 He cleared his throat, a slight blush on his cheeks. “I know that you’re not under any obligation to help me, but I trust you more than anyone else in my life, Y/N. I need… I need someone to help me with Ezra. Not just with Ezra, but with the whole domestic thing.”

 “Mr Park, I still don’t know where I fit in.” You said soothingly, getting somewhat of an idea of what he was asking you.

 He ran his hand though his styled blonde hair in exasperation. Why couldn’t he just say what he needed from you? “Move in with me.” Shit. That’s not how he had meant to phrase it.

 You choked on nothing; the way he had blurted it out had surprised you, which ended up with you looking up at him with watery eyes from a lack of oxygen. He immediately jumped out of his chair and rushed over to you, lightly tapping your back until you could breathe easily again. Having him this close to you made you even more nervous than you already were. After your choking ordeal was over, he surprised you by taking a seat next to you instead of going to the other side of the desk. His cologne wafted over you, dosing you in his masculine scent. It honestly made you more nervous that you already were.

 “Move in with you?” You repeated, in a small voice. Jimin looked mortified at your reaction, mentally bashing himself for even thinking of asking you this. But he was already in too deep to change the narrative.

 You swallowed the lump in your throat. Obviously, you wanted to help him – you want to help everyone around you. It was just who you were as a person. But how would it look? The world you lived in was a rather nasty, judgemental one.

 “Sir… Forgive me for speaking out of turn, but what would people think? You barely finalised your divorce and you already have another woman moving in?”

 “Just temporarily.” He weakly replied, embarrassment showing on his cheeks. “Of course, I know that this is such a huge favour to ask, I know it’s odd, but I wouldn’t be asking this of you if I wasn’t completely out of options.”

 You bit your lower lip, then sighed. Curse your soft heart. Running a hand through your hair, you nodded to him. “We have a lot more to discuss, but when can I move in?”

 ***

 “This is the living room… This is the kitchen… Your bedroom is upstairs, next to mine.” Jimin timidly said, scratching the back of his reddened neck. This nervous side of Jimin was quite new, and you’d be lying if you said that it didn’t make you amused. Ever since you drove into the driveway five minutes ago, he had been stumbling over his words, tripping over nothing and wringing his hands.

 “Sir, are you okay?” You asked before you could stop yourself. He caught your eye, opening his mouth to brush you off, but was left speechless when you didn’t shy away from his gaze. His mouth curved into a soft smile, realising that it was just you. There was no reason to be a nervous, rambling mess.

 “I’m fine, Y/N.” He murmured, seeing the way your eyes danced with amusement. Who would’ve thought that the cold, cutthroat CEO would be rendered speechless from having his personal assistant in his home? “I’ve been thinking… I mean, you are essentially going to be living here for a while. I don’t want you to feel as if you’re forced to maintain a professional persona the entire time. Call me Jimin.”

 “Okay, Si – Jimin.” You replied, quickly catching yourself. The feel of his name on your tongue foreign yet… Right. Jimin smiled at you, his nervousness of having you in his house now forgotten. Who would’ve thought that all it took to get rid of them was just one look into your eyes? But now his stomach was twisting for a different reason. Why did it flip when you said his name?

 “Where’s Ezra?” Your question hung in the air as he abandoned any thought about the butterflies wreaking havoc in the pit of his tummy. Almost as if saying his name summoned him, the boy suddenly appeared to walk down the stairs. His dark hair was greatly contrasted by his honeyed skin; his cheeks so full that they gently shook with every step he took. Ezra was truly the miniature version of Jimin.

 He bowed to his father almost a little too fast, making you raise your eyebrow. Upon setting his eyes on his son, Jimin stood up even straighter than he already was and lifted his chin, regarding Ezra with cold eyes.

 “This is Y/N.” Jimin told the young boy, his jaw clenched. Jimin almost seemed angry at Ezra. “She’s going to be helping us while your mother is away.”

 ***

 “Good morning, Ezra.” You sang softly as you slowly opened the curtains in his bedroom. You saw his eyes peak up at you through the covers of his grey blanket, then abruptly squint when the sun’s rays hit them. “Did you sleep well?”

 “Hmm.” He mumbled, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. The long sleeves of his blue pyjamas flopped over the tips of his fingers, only increasing the cuteness currently assaulting your eyes. You smiled at him, hoping that today was the day that he completely opened up to you – having already been here for two weeks surely must’ve made him somewhat comfortable with you, right?

 “How about after you get bathed and changed, we have pancakes for breakfast?” You suggested as you ran your hands through his messy bedhead, smoothing the black tufts of hair. Ezra said nothing, instead he nodded at you, sleep still quite evident in his eyes.

 After tidying up Ezra’s room, you walked into the kitchen with the intent of making some coffee for Jimin and yourself. As you put a couple scoops of ground coffee beans in the machine, you began prepping the ingredients for breakfast. If you worked fast enough, Jimin might be able to eat before he goes to the office. Humming as you gracefully moved throughout the kitchen, you quickly lost track of time.

 “Are you… Making pancakes?” Jimin incredulously asked, eyes sweeping over the stack of pancakes that he found next to you on the counter. You hummed, flashing him a small smile, before going back to flipping the golden pancakes in front of you.

 This was the first time that he had seen you in your natural state – usually you were already showered and changed before he even woke up, but today you just didn’t feel like keeping up the pretence. You were basically going to be living here for a couple more weeks – you didn’t feel like faking how organised you were as soon as you woke up. Even though you did feel kind of insecure and quite frankly embarrassed about the way you were dressed at the moment, Jimin felt totally different. Of course, he knew that you were gorgeous, but with your hair pulled in a messy bun and your thighs on display thanks to your sleeping shorts, Jimin just couldn’t help but stare at you.

 His eyes studied the exposed flesh of your legs, unknowingly biting his plump lip when you turned around to get something from the cupboard behind you. Jimin only tore his eyes away from your unmarred skin when Ezra climbed onto the stool next to him.

 You smiled at Ezra as you placed a stack of pancakes in front of him, the breath-taking curve of your pink lips were enough to make Jimin reciprocate the action, even though it wasn’t even being directed at him. When did he become to enamoured with you? Was it when you agreed to help him in his desperate time of need, or long before that? He couldn’t help but think that you were somewhat like a guardian angel – his own, personal angel, who makes his day a little brighter.

 “Jimin? Jimin? Jimin!” You called, trying to capture his attention. He had spaced out, not realising that both you and Ezra had been attempting to talk to him. You nudged his shoulder gently, causing him to finally get out of his daydream and look at you confused. “We’ve been trying to speak to you. You kind of entered your own world there.” You explained to him, unable to prevent the tiny laughter from leaving your mouth.

 Ezra had long since given up trying to talk to his father; any five year old child would want their father’s attention, but Ezra (even at his tender age) knew that his relationship with Jimin was somewhat strained; his father had already been corrupted by the cold CEO attitude to ever give him any attention. This was why Ezra was already almost done with his stack of pancakes – he didn’t want to spend any more time with Jimin than needed. Well, he knew that Jimin didn’t want to spend any more time with him than needed.

 “I’m sorry, I was… Thinking.” Jimin apologised sheepishly, making Ezra confused. For as long as he had been alive, he hadn’t heard his father utter an apology. Not even to his mother. But Ezra was already confused – not once had his mother ever made him breakfast, let alone eat breakfast together. Was this what a normal family did every day? “What were you saying, Y/N?”

 “I was wondering if it would be okay for me to take Ezra to the craft store today.” You repeated, nervously. “Ezra likes to draw and paint, and so do I, so I wanted to get us some more supplies –” Jimin didn’t even wait for you to finish before sliding his credit card over to you, making you look at him confused. “I wasn’t hinting for money, Sir, I just wanted to take Ezra with me.”

 “I know, but please take it.” He murmured, dropping his gaze to the delectable stack of food in front of him. “And what did we talk about, Y/N? Stop calling me Sir. I’m not your boss here. Think of this as your home.”

 “It’s just a habit…” You awkwardly explained, trying not to make too much a fool of yourself, as Ezra hopped down the chair and went to wash his hands. “It feels disrespectful to call you anything other than Sir.”

 “I remember that you used to call me Chim before.” He muttered, thinking back to when you had first started at the company. You had been so playful with him, something that he misses dearly. His admission made you blush a deep scarlet. How did he even remember something as trivial as a stupid nickname?

 As you opened your mouth to respond, you heard Ezra struggling to reach the faucet in the basin. Before you could turn to help him, he frantically hit the tap falling to the floor, subsequently turning the water on to a very high pressure. You suddenly felt water spray everywhere, falling all over the granite top, the floor, as well as you and Ezra.

 You quickly shut the tap off, ignoring the water dripping down your face and checked to see if Ezra was fine.

 “Are you okay, baby?” You murmured, wiping the water off of his face as his eyes filled with tears. “Did you get hurt?”

 “Why didn’t you ask one of us for help?” Jimin asked in a firm voice, anger obviously showing on his face and in his voice. “Now look at what you’ve done!”

 Ezra doesn’t respond to either of you. Instead, he took one look at Jimin’s face and ran out the kitchen, tears streaming down his face. You stood up and looked at Jimin in disbelief.

 “It was just a mistake, Jimin. There was no need for you to speak to him like that.” You said stiffly, trying not to let your irritation shine through. You turned away from him, quickly cleaning up the water before ignoring Jimin’s silence and walking up the stairs into Ezra’s room.

 Jimin really didn’t mean to do what he did. It came from years and years of being forced to be strict and abrupt with his employees. He meant to tell you that – he really did. But when you angrily snapped at him with a soaking wet, white shirt, he lost all train of thought. The water had turned the material see-through, showing off your plump tits, even flaunting the darker ring of your nipple. He was so lucky you were not there to see him frozen, mind unable to function from seeing your breasts.

 ‘Stop acting like some fucking schoolboy,’ he chided himself as he fixed his semi-hard length through his slacks, ‘you got hard after seeing her tits, for God’s sake. Pull yourself together.’

 After checking the coast to make sure it was clear, he all but ran back into his room, hoping to hide his slightly stiffened member from you. As Jimin walked past Ezra’s room, he heard you soothingly reassuring the child that he hadn’t meant to shout at him. Hearing the way you had to quieten Ezra made his heart clench – you barely knew his son, yet you were comforting him after one of Jimin’s many outbursts. Of course Jimin didn’t want to compare you and Irene, the two relationships you shared with Jimin and Ezra were completely different, but she never cared for Ezra the way you do. She never bothered to notice that Ezra had been interested in art; hell, even he hadn’t noticed that.

 Thoughts of how loving you are, how much you cared about people, filled his head for the rest of the day. His employees and business partners must’ve thought he had completely lost his mind: Jimin’s face had this faraway look the entire day, only changing when his mind decided to remind him just how delectable you looked this morning.

 Jimin had been so out of it, so infatuated by you, he decided that there was no use being at work anymore. He wasn’t getting anything done anyway so that’s how he found himself driving back home early, subconsciously wanting to be back in your presence immediately.

 “Y/N?” He called as he walked through the front door, loosening his tie. Not hearing your voice in response made him frown; you were usually waiting in the living room to greet him, with a steaming cup of coffee in hand and a bright, dazzling smile on your lips. He could care less about the coffee if he’s being honest. “Y/N, where are you?”

 Silence once again met his ears causing him to frown deeper. Worry suddenly filled his every orifice. Immediately fishing his phone out of his pocket, his fingers almost went on autopilot, dialling your number before pressing the phone to his ear. His heart pounded in his chest when you didn’t pick up by the second ring. Where had you gone?

 “Hello?”

 “Y/N? Are you okay?! Where are you?” Jimin said loudly, almost yelling. His tone made you confused; you had told him that you were taking Ezra out today. Why was he so frantic?

 “I’m fine, Jimin. Ezra and I just picked up some stuff from the store. Why are you asking?”

“I thought…” He couldn’t even finish the rest of his sentence because he didn’t know what he had thought. He cleared his throat, trying to clear your mind. “Never mind. Are you on your way back?”

 After you reassured Jimin that you were indeed coming back soon, he let out a sigh of relief and ended the call. He didn’t know why, but not coming home to you felt… Wrong. You had only been here for two weeks, yet he can’t imagine living in this house without you; he sure as hell couldn’t figure out how he lived here with the emotionless statue that was Irene.

 Jimin walked past into the kitchen with the intention of getting himself a snack but his eyes drifted to the sink, his mind betraying him by vividly reminding him of the way you looked this morning. God, the way your shirt had stuck to you, tempting him with the subtle curve of your waist, your voluptuous tits… Not to mention the way you had looked at him sternly. Everything about you made his head spin. Everything about you seemingly sent a rush of blood down to his cock.

 Biting his lip, his mind veered into uncharted territory by imagining just how good you looked without the dripping wet shirt. He imagined kissing down your body, marking you as his, and his alone, then spreading your legs, suckling on your needy clit…

 Before he knew it, Jimin was rock hard in his slacks from the mere thought of you for the second time today. He groaned when he felt his stiffness, irritated with himself because now he knew he had to get himself off, and he hated it. Jimin had only his hand to keep him company for the better part of two years now – himself and Irene hadn’t engaging in sexual activity whilst separated, despite living in the same house, and he couldn’t bring himself to bed anyone else whilst still legally married. Other than that, he found it humiliating to buy a sex toy in person, or even online – his company’s IT people could probably see his search history if they tried hard enough.

 Jimin sighed, knowing that his erection was solely his fault. He trudged up the stairs, situating himself in his en-suite bathroom, before turning the shower on. He hated jacking off, but he might as well make the clean-up easy. Stripping out of his work clothes he quickly hopped into the shower, trying to ignore the almost painful stiffness protruding from his body.

 Leaning his back and head against the tiled wall behind him, he allowed the water to cascade over him, relishing in the steaming hot water that soothed him. Jimin tried to not touch his boner for as long as he could but five minutes into the shower, he just couldn’t stop himself from gently stroking himself. He grabbed his shower gel, foaming up his hands so that it would be easier to jack himself off.

 “Oh, fuck!” He groaned, taking his curved length into his slippery palm, moving back and forth on the sensitive flesh. Continuing the motion, he applied more pressure around his cock, relishing in the feeling of getting himself off. But he so wished it were you.

 He wished it were your wet pussy squeezing and clenching around his dick, gripping him like a vice. He wished he could wrap your legs around his waist and pound into you, pulling on your hair and sucking on your neck, leaving deep purple marks so that everyone knew you were his. He wished he could paint the inside of your dripping cunt with his cum, making you hold it in and walk around the office with no panties, seeing evidence of his climax slowly drip down your legs.

 “God, Y/N…” Jimin whined, his usually steely voice reduced to a pitched, needy moan. He wanted you so fucking badly, and he was so fucking close. His hand moved with a mind of its own – it doubled its speed, exerting itself to relieve Jimin. Throaty groans left his plump lips, bouncing off of the tiles and echoing throughout the bathroom. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

 Somehow squeezing tighter around his pulsating cock, he got more frantic. Jimin began bucking into his fist, ignoring how his wet hair stuck to his forehead. After a few more seconds of fucking into his hand, he let out a growl, his cum squirting up and landing on his toned stomach. “Y/N, I’m coming!”

 ***

 “Why don’t you go up to your room.” You suggested to Ezra, ruffling his hair lightly as you walked into Jimin’s living room. He leaned into your touch, clearly affection-starved, making you frown. You’d have to talk to Jimin about that. You noticed just how cold and strict Jimin was with Ezra; of course it wasn’t your place to say anything about how someone raises their child, but it did become your place when said child has to look for comfort from you.

 “Are you going to come paint with me?” Ezra asked timidly, one hand gripping the shopping bag filled with art supplies, while the other gripped your hand tightly, not wanting to let go.

 “In a little bit, sweetheart.” You murmured, walking up the staircase that lead to the rooms. “Go set up. I just need to talk to your father about something.”

 He nodded, only leaving your hand when you walked past his bedroom. You walked to the end of the hallway, planning on giving Jimin a piece of your mind for being so unloving towards Ezra. Without knocking, you entered the room hoping to find Jimin laying on his bed or something, but he was nowhere to be found.

 “Sir?” You said quietly, before berating himself. Hadn’t he told you not to call him that? You cleared your throat, steeling your voice before calling loudly again.  “Jimin?”

 As you walked further into his room, you heard the shower running, indicating that he was already occupied. You decided to talk to him later, so you turned on your heel and began to walk out the room. Suddenly, you heard Jimin’s voice. “Y/N, I’m coming!”

 Huh. Okay. Guess he was cutting his shower short for you.

 You sat on the edge of his bed, elbow resting on your crossed legs and chin resting on your open palm. What if you were about to say something hurtful and he decided that he didn’t need you anymore? Maybe this was a bad idea.

 In a split second, you decided that this conversation could happen another day, so you started to make your way out of his room. As you were about to lift yourself off of the luxurious bed, the bathroom door opened, letting steam escape the bathroom, and also allowing you to see your boss.

 Your jaw dropped open seeing Jimin in nothing but a white towel covering his lower body. Water droplets streaked down his chest, down to his toned abs. Upon seeing them, you felt your mouth go completely dry… Oh god, his body looked like it was carved by the gods themselves. Jimin looked shocked, almost panicked by your presence, which was weird since he had told you he was coming out of his shower.

 “I, um… I needed to talk to you.” You said, quickly, standing up hurriedly. “I was about to leave and then you said you’d be coming out the shower. I just assumed you wanted me to wait for you.” Jimin’s cheeks were tinged red, probably from the hot shower, paired with his second-hand embarrassment from you. “I’m sorry. I’ll just speak to you later. I’ll be in Ezra’s room if you need me.”

 And with that, you practically ran out of Jimin’s room. You didn’t realise that you didn’t allow him to get a word in. Speed walking to Ezra’s room, you felt your cheeks heat up from extreme embarrassment – how, just how, did you think it was appropriate to check out your boss? Sure, you were living in his house, but it’s totally a different thing.

 “Y/N?” Ezra called, confused when you rushed into his room and shut the door behind you quickly. You quickly took a deep breath to calm your radical breathing, then turned to the young child, putting on a dazzling smile.

 “Yes, sweetheart?” You replied, seeing a smile forming on his lips due to your own. Your eyes drifted to the painting supplies that he had spread in front of him, all untouched, because he was waiting for you to paint with him.

 “Did father give you work? Or can you come paint with me?” He timidly said, eyes full of hope. You felt your smile turn tender; you know that you only spent a few weeks with him, but Ezra had completely captured your heart. But paired with your tenderness, you felt yourself feel a pang of sadness: Ezra never called Jimin anything other than ‘father’. It wasn’t that big of a deal, but it just showed that their relationship wasn’t the best, nor were they the closest. God, how can you think about fixing their relationship when you were drooling over his father five seconds ago? You’re pathetic.

 “I came to paint with you.” You reassured, swallowing hard to try and get that delicious image of Jimin out of your mind.

 ***

 After you left, Jimin sat on the edge of his bed, extremely embarrassed that you had heard him jacking off. Sure, you didn’t exactly figure it out, but you had heard him nonetheless. He quickly found himself regretting doing what he did, not because you were his PA, but because you were obviously so innocent; even though he had caught you checking him out, he’s pretty sure that your mind didn’t extend to anything else. Unlike him.

 He sighed, knowing that he had to face you momentarily. Park Jimin – a married man – had been thinking of his assistant, who’s selflessly helping him by living in his house, while he masturbated. How fucked up is he? What kind of person –

 Stopping his self-derogatory monologue, he realised that he had nothing to be angry or ashamed about: he was no longer a married man, and as far as he knew, you were completely single. What was stopping him from advancing on you? It was almost as if a lightbulb had gone off in his brain. What was stopping him?

 With his mind made up, he decided to quickly slip on some clothes, probably needing to make a better impression than just a towel hanging loosely from his hips, then walked down the stairs to where you were making dinner.

 “Y/N?” He called, walking with purpose into the kitchen. His eyes fell to you chopping up some onions with Ezra quietly sketching something next to you. He suddenly felt awkward – the whole situation was too… Domestic for him. It was something that he never experienced.

 But it was too late for him to change his mind. Swallowing hard, he cleared his throat and directed his gaze to Ezra. “Go to your room. I need to talk to Y/N.”

 ***

 “Y/N?” Jimin called as he walked into the kitchen, seemingly angry. You immediately shrunk, thinking he was about to yell at you for waiting in his room. You felt nervousness fill your being at your pending doom. He turned his attention to Ezra, voice turning even harder. “Go to your room. I need to talk to Y/N.”

 That simple command, ‘Go to your room. I need to talk to Y/N’, was enough to bring back all your anger that consumed you earlier. Jimin needed to fix his relationship with Ezra, and he needed to fix it fast.

 Ezra wordlessly obeyed Jimin, hopping off the chair from next to you and making his way up to his room. Once he was safely back in his room you turned to Jimin, meeting his cold gaze, you refused to back down. Ezra needed you now.

 “Y/N, are you –”

 “Why do you speak to him like that, Jimin?” You coldly asked, trying to match his usual tone. “That’s what I needed to talk to you about earlier.” He didn’t reply to you, seemingly shocked in your tone and words. “I know it’s not my place to say anything, but it seems like no one else is willing to confront you about it. Ezra is just a child. It’s fine if you speak to me like that, I’m just your assistant, but he’s your child.”

 “You’re more than just –”

 “I wasn’t finished.” You said, visibly vibrating from fear, yet you still stood your ground. “You’re so cold towards him, Jimin. And why?”

 He stood frozen in place, unsure of what to say. In the many years he has known you, you’ve never seemed so… Angry about something. You were almost a completely different person and it made Jimin feel unsure about himself for the first time in forever. He swallowed hard and broke eye contact with you, deciding to instead stare at the floor.

 “I know that things must be hard because Irene isn’t here anymore, but you cannot allow that to effect Ezra.” You said softly, knowing that you had overstepped multiple boundaries. He opened his mouth to reply but found that he had no words to say. He had no excuse for his harshness towards Ezra.

 Before you could say anything else – perhaps an apology, perhaps more wakeup calls for him – he quickly walked out of the kitchen, probably going to hide in his bedroom. You sighed, knowing that you were too harsh, yet also knowing that it needed to be said.

 ***

 A few hours later, you still haven’t seen Jimin. He had been holed up in his room, doing God knows what, and didn’t even come out for dinner, which left you and Ezra to enjoy a quiet supper. But now it was late, and Ezra was currently knocked out in his room; apparently the shopping trip and then painting for hours was a little too much for his small body. The fact that he was sleeping was bad news for you – it left you to wallow in your thoughts, it left you to overthink.

 Sighing as you turned on the shower, you began stripping and jumped into the shower, enjoying the soothing feeling of hot water caressing your skin. However, your relief was short lived as unwelcome thoughts of Jimin swam through your mind. It wasn’t your place to say anything; all you did was hurt him when he needed someone to help him.

 ‘I should probably apologise’, you mused as you rinsed soap off of your body, feelings of guilt and shame pooling in the pit of your stomach. Nodding to yourself, you quickly wrapped yourself in a fluffy towel, before going back to your room, planning to quickly change into your pyjamas before going over to apologise to Jimin. Before you could do anything of the sort, you heard someone knock on your door, making you frown.

 “Ezra, is everything okay –?” You began, tightening the towel around you before pausing. It wasn’t Ezra, it was Jimin. He looked exhausted, worried even. Before you could say anything, he beat you to it.

 “I think I have feelings for you.” He blurted, causing you to look at him confused. You didn’t even get a word in before a look of realisation came over him and he all but bolted back to his room, leaving you with your mouth agape. What. The. Fuck.

 “J-Jimin!” You called, now worried for his sanity. You definitely shouldn’t have yelled at him earlier. He didn’t look back at you as he hurriedly closed his door. Exasperatedly, you walked down the hallway, and opened his door.

 He was laying on his bed, face buried into a pillow. If you weren’t so worried about him, you might have actually laughed at the situation. “Jimin?” You softly said, making him groan.

 “I’m sorry, Y/N. Just ignore whatever I said. Go back to your room.”

 “Why are you apologising?” You murmured, shutting the door and walking closer to him, ignoring what he said. He sighed into his pillow; face still buried there.

 “Please go. I can’t face you right now.”

 “I’m not going anywhere.” You said gently. “You need to learn how to express your feelings, Jimin. You can’t say something like that then run away.”

 “I didn’t run away.” He grumbled, barely lifting his face off of his pillow to eye you out. This was so unlike the usual Jimin that you couldn’t help but feel worried. “Go get dressed, Y/N.”

 “Then you’ll just lock your door so that I cannot get in.” You replied, suddenly acutely aware of your lack of clothing, making your cheeks heat with embarrassment. Clearing your throat, you tentatively walked forward, placing a hand on his muscular back. “Jimin? Please talk to me. I’m worried about you.”

 “I’m fine. Go to your room.”

 “Stop acting like a child.” You chastised, realizing that this was the only way to get him to talk to you. “You need to get used to talking about your feelings. Yours and Ezra’s relationship needs open communication –”

 “Y/N, I swear I’ll talk about my fucking feelings as soon as you get some clothes on.” He all but yelled, suddenly sitting up with his eyes running hungrily over your exposed legs. “I can’t tell you what I need to when my mind is set on tearing that God damn towel off.”

 You froze, completely shocked that he could ever say such a thing, let alone to you. Quickly shaking off your astonishment and arousal, you knew this was just a ploy to avoid talking about his feelings. Brushing your hand on his cheek, Jimin’s eyes fluttered shut while his chest rapidly rose and fell. Unbeknownst to you, he wasn’t using this as some tactic to get rid of you: he genuinely couldn’t get his mind off of your luscious thighs, wanting nothing more than to sink his teeth into it and mark you everywhere.

 “Please…” He whimpered, leaning into your touch despite wanting – no, needing – you to leave. He didn’t know if you were at all interested in him, but if by some off chance you were, he didn’t want this to be the first time anything like that happened.

 “Talk to me.” You whispered, worry and anxiousness blooming in your heart. What happened to the fearless, scary CEO? Where was he?

 Within a millisecond you felt his hands grip your towel-clad waist, flipping you underneath him, allowing his toned thighs to trap your own bare legs. Your heart began to pound rapidly, only adding to the growing heat between your thighs.

 “What do you want me to talk about?” He murmured as plump lips ghosting over your earlobe, resulting in a silent gasp to leave you. Why were his lips so soft? And why, oh God why, were you so responsive to his barest touch?

 Gulping, you tried to move, knowing that Jimin wasn’t in the right state of mind for this. Even so, it was almost as if your body didn’t want to believe that; your arousal from him doing basically nothing was slowly becoming evident.

 “Jimin, you’re not all there at the moment, we can talk about this in the morning –”

 “No, you wanted to talk, so let’s fucking talk.” He snapped, running his hands over your calves, head buried in the crook of your neck and his lips ghosting over your pulse point. “Now what do you want me to tell you, Y/N, hmm? Want me to tell you that I want to bury my face in-between your legs?”

 “Jimin!” You said, shocked at his lewd words. He didn’t even have the decency to look abashed, nor did he even pull away from your neck. Quietly kissing over your sensitive flesh, you began to feel goose bumps rise over your skin. He paid you no mind as his hands continued to roam over your exposed legs.

 “Do you want me to tell you that I want to have my lips wrapped around your pretty little clit? Or how about finger fucking you until you’re cumming all over my hands? Hmm? Is that what you want, baby?”

 As much as you wanted this, as much as you wanted him, you couldn’t allow him to do this. Not when he has such emotional issues. Tearing his lips away from your neck, you held his face securely between your hands.

 “You’re thinking with your dick.” You firmly said, not missing the way his eyes were clouded with lust. He shook his head, trying to move back to ghost lips over your soft skin. “I cannot let you do something you’ll regret. I came here to talk about your feelings. You need to communicate with me.”

 “Let me show you what I’m trying to say… You know I can’t… Use words for this.” He mumbled, feeling the foreign feeling of nervousness gnaw at him. “I’m not going to regret it, Y/N.”

 Without waiting for a response, he removed your hands from his cheeks and instead cupped your own. “Can I kiss you?”

 You were frozen, unable to think. Was this really happening? Did he really mean it?

 Before you could answer him, you felt his soft lips gently ghost over your own, allowing you plenty time to move away if you wanted, before urgently pressing his lips onto yours. He tasted like mint, the fresh feeling making you sigh into his mouth. The tip of his tongue ran over your bottom lip, silently asking you to let him in. Tentatively parting your lips, you felt his tongue slowly slip next to your own, the corners of his mouth slightly lifting upwards to create a small grin.

 ‘Is this what it is supposed to feel like?’ he mused, feeling butterflies erupt in the pit of his stomach. He never had this feeling of Irene; hell, they never kissed unless he was balls deep inside of her, and even then, affectionate kisses were few and far between. Kisses between them used to be a clash of teeth, sloppy, usually out of irritation and just to keep each other quiet because they had a child down the hallway, but this… This was different. This was right.

 Pushing his nervousness aside, he took one corner of your towel and slowly pushed it out of the way, giving you plenty time to stop him if you were uncomfortable. You didn’t stop him; you didn’t push him away – and why would you? You wanted him just as much (if not more) as he wanted you. Threading your fingers through his hair, you began kissing him harder, no longer fighting against your need for him. Even though you knew he wasn’t serious about his feelings for you, the sexual tension was too much for you to handle, especially since he looked so delectable hovering over your now naked body.

 “Knew you had fucking amazing tits.” He murmured to himself, breaking away from your lips to kiss down your neck and chest. Your towel lay underneath you, no longer a barrier between your bodies. He sucked hard on your chest, marking the flesh just above your nipple with a love bite, eliciting an audible gasp from you.

 Your arousal had begun to slowly drip out of you, the sticky fluid making your folds glisten, something that wasn’t missed by Jimin. After trailing down the length of your body, he placed a kiss over your mound, his eyes never leaving your own. With your heart beating profusely, you watched with bated breath as his eyes left yours to settle on your dripping folds.

 “You can stop me whenever you want.” He promised, struggling to contain his excitement at finally being able to taste you. Nodding at him, you watched as he spread your thighs, trailing his lips over the sensitive flesh, before abruptly sucking harshly on your inner thigh. He proceeded to do this to your other thigh as well, taking his time to get to where you needed him. After marking both your thighs, he soothingly ran his tongue over the bruised flesh, only adding to your frustration.

 “Jimin…” You quietly complained, your pussy throbbing from lack of attention. He looked up at you, laying his chin on your stomach, with a small smile on his features, making your heart stop. He was so gorgeous like this: carefree, happy.

 “I have to take my time.” He whispered sadly, his smile still on his face. “I don’t know if you’d want anything to do with me afterwards. You might leave.”

 “I’m not going anywhere.” You promised, heart wrenching at how lost he looked. Before any more words could be said, before any more reassuring sentiments could be uttered, Jimin peeled apart your folds, strands of sticky arousal visible connecting your lips. Whilst locking eyes with you, he repeatedly licked up your arousal, spreading your folds further to get him what he wants.

 His warm, soft tongue glided against your slickness, drawing soft sighs and moans out of you. Your fingers made their way into his hair, needing to feel him in some type of way as he so gently suckled on your dripping core. The pleasure engulfed your entire being, all curtesy of Jimin’s delicate mouth. Slowly, you felt him prod a finger at your honeyed entrance, resulting in a moan being drawn out of you.

 While he slowly worked his finger into your core, he leaned up and kissed you again, allowing you to taste yourself on his tongue. As you sucked on his bottom lip, making him chuckle at you, he inserted another finger into you, making you clench around his digits.

 “Shit, baby, you’re so tight.” He groaned, feeling you contract on his fingers. “When’s the last time anyone stretched you out?”

 “Jimin!” You moaned, feeling him massage that spongey flesh inside of you while his thumb rubbing loose circles over your slightly swollen clit.

 “As much as I want to hear your moans, I need you to be quiet, baby.” He murmured onto your lips as he continued his actions. You whimpered into his mouth, unable to contain yourself. “Think you can be quiet for me?”

 He didn’t wait for a reply; instead, he removed his hot mouth from your lips and placed it right on your clit, sucking harshly. Throwing your head back from the white-hot pleasure, you bit down your moans, wanting nothing more than to please him and be quiet.

 “Pussy taste so fucking good.” He praised whilst smirking, a result of you bucking your hips further into him while biting your lip, silently asking for more. Suddenly, he gripped your hips tightly and pressed the flat of his tongue over your leaking cunt, collecting your arousal on his taste buds before swallowing the nectar down, eventually abandoning the movements to stick his stiffened tongue in your entrance repeatedly. His tongue fucked you mercilessly, relentlessly, all the while rubbing forceful circles on your clit. Pressure continued to mount in your abdomen, only amplifying the extreme pleasure Jimin was inflicting on you.

 “J-Jimin… I’m going to…” You whimpered, your hands tangled in his hair as he suddenly added two fingers in you, using his mouth to suck on your clit harshly, almost painfully. He spread his fingers into a V, stretching your tight walls, kick starting your climax.

 Your body arched off the bed, pushing your exposed breasts into the cool air. Jimin worked you through your orgasm, his tongue and fingers not relenting as you continuously convulsed around him, your cum sliding down into his tongue. Your cunt throbbed, the pleasure foreign after not being stimulated for so long, yet he didn’t stop. Continuing his actions, he began to lick thick, bold stripes with his tongue, giving no sign of stopping, despite you ceaselessly pulling on his hair out of sheer overstimulation.

 “Jimin, Jimin, stop!” You whined, feeling the euphoric feeling evolve into something different. Because of your begs and pleas, his tongue relented; removing it from your pulsating clit to your lips. Tasting your cum on his tongue made you whimper, the mere thought of you tainting him was already turning you on again.

 His plump, pink lips never left your own, even when he switched from hovering over you to laying next to you, using his hands to continuously rub and knead your soft thighs.

 “You did so well for me, baby.” He praised, pulling you over his lap, making you straddle him. Subconsciously, you began to grind down onto him, feeling his hard cock through his pants. Letting out a strangled moan, he forcefully held your hips to prevent you from rubbing your slightly swollen, still glistening folds over his length. “We don’t have to go further, Y/n. Too much has been left unsaid. I just had to have a taste of you before you…”

 “You still haven’t told me if you meant what you said.” You whispered, not at all feeling awkward still being the only one who wasn’t fully clothed. “You need to get better with your emotions.”

 “I –” He choked out before looking away with tears in his eyes, causing your heart to clench. “How am I supposed to do this?”

 “Don’t cry, Jimin.” You whispered, using the pad of your thumb to gently wipe away the small tear that fell. “Just tell me how you feel. I won’t judge you. You’ve never judged me, right? You stood by me when no one else would. I’ll never forget how much you helped me, despite not even knowing me.”

 He slowly turned back to you, burying his face in the crook of your neck and holding you tightly. You felt silent sobs wreck through him, bringing forth tears to your own eyes; but you couldn’t cry, not when he needed someone, anyone, to be there for him. While allowing the sobs to die down and ignoring the sudden wetness on your neck, you stroked his hair soothingly, wondering when’s the last time anyone encouraged him to let out his emotions, encouraged him to cry. You didn’t rush him. You knew this was more than just him and you – it was Ezra, it was his lack of emotion and affection to everyone around him.

 “I’m ready to listen whenever you’re willing to talk, okay?” You whispered, softly kissing the top of his head. The action caused him to immediately tighten his arms around your waist, pulling you impossibly close. After a few moments, his croaky voice rang through the room.

 “I feel like the worst father in the world.” He admitted through his tears, small sniffles leaving him. “I know I should be doing better, but how? I don’t know my own son, Y/N. You’ve barely moved in and you know more about him than me. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to be affectionate.” He spat out the word, his tears drying on his cheeks.

 “You seemed to know how to be affectionate with me…” You said quietly, pointing out how he had become so caring when there was a sexual element. He sighed, running a hand through his messy hair.

 “That’s different.” He admitted. “I know what you like, I know how to make you cum, I know the right things to say... That’s just sex. It’s easy for me to do all those things, but anything other than that…”

 “Keep going, baby.” You encouraged, using a pet name to show him that you are listening.

 “I’m confident enough in my body, but I’m not confident with my words.” He carefully explained, voice cracking slightly. Taking a shaky breath, he finally looked up into your eyes, finding comfort in them despite being scared, terrified even, of opening up like this. “I really like you, Y/N – oh my God, I sound like some teenager –”

 Quickly pecking him on his lips, he fell quiet, mesmerized by the softness of your lips, if only for a second. “I like it when you sound like a teenager.” You replied, no teasing tilt to your voice as you looked at him with adoration.

 “I can’t love you like anyone else can.” He admitted, still gazing into your eyes, seemingly unable to look away. “I don’t know how to, evidently because I’m already fucking divorced. But I can try. I can learn. You can teach me.” He breathed, saying everything rather quickly. “Please teach me. I can’t let you go. I need you. Ezra needs you.”

 “Jimin,” You said carefully, trying not to sound too harsh. “I’m your assistant.”

 “I don’t care.” He breathed, heart pounding through his chest. “You can move to another department if you want, but I need you in my life.”

 “What if it doesn’t work out?” You whispered, having to think all the consequences through for the both of you. He frowned at the thought of not being able to work out your relationship.

 “Then at least we tried.” He whispered back, his forehead leaning on your own. “But please give this a chance. I need you. I need this. Teach me how to love again.”

 ***

 One year later

 “Dad, I’m going to be late!” Ezra huffed, trying to move away from the hugs and kisses his father was trying to give him. Jimin elected to ignore him, kissing his forehead one more time, before Ezra ran to you, hiding behind you. “Y/N, please make him stop! Grandma’s waiting for me.”

 “Why would I stop him when I want to do the same thing?” You laughed, picking him up and peppering his face with kisses. Jimin chuckled, gathering Ezra’s backpack, various toys and paint supplies, packing them neatly. Jimin’s mother had asked Ezra to accompany her for a short holiday to the countryside, which Ezra basically jumped at.

 “Mommy, please!” He whined, making you freeze. He had never called you that, and by the silence echoing throughout the room, Jimin hadn’t expected it either. Before you could break the silence, Ezra gasped and ran over to his Grandmother, who had just walked through the open front door, hugging her tightly in greeting.

 “I’m sorry for rushing you, but we really do need to get on the road.” She apologised, all of you standing outside as Jimin placed Ezra’s luggage in the trunk of his mother’s car.

 A few minutes later, you and Jimin were waving goodbye to a retreating car. After seeing them safely off, Jimin snatched up your hand, intertwining your fingers and bringing it up to his lips. He still had an irrational fear of showing affection to you and Ezra when people were around, but when you were in your safe haven, he was the most affectionate person you’ve ever met.

 “Mommy, huh?” He asked while smirking, using his free hand to bring your hips to his body. You smiled and blushed in response, shrugging as if it was nothing, but inside you were jumping for joy. He planted a kiss on your lips before leading you back inside, his hands squeezing your ass gently. “So, mommy and daddy are having some alone time this weekend…”

 “Ezra didn’t call you daddy.” You laughed, walking into the kitchen to get a snack to eat.

 “Yeah, but you did.” He replied, biting his lip as you gasped, feeling heat rise to your cheeks as he brought up your hidden kink that you had accidentally let slip a few nights ago. He hadn’t brought it up until now, making you think that he hadn’t heard your whines as he had been too busy fucking you senseless.

 “Park Jimin!” You chastised, swallowing hard as your hands barely grasped the ice cream pint you had gotten from the freezer. He raised an eyebrow at you, squaring his shoulders. “I didn’t think you heard me.” You admitted, blushing tomato red.

 “Oh, don’t worry, I heard you loud and clear, baby girl.” He promised, pressing his bulge against you as you leaned on the large island in the middle of kitchen. His hands found purchase in your hair, roughly yanking it backwards so that your neck was exposed. He ran his lips all over your neck, biting the flesh, leaving dark red marks.

 “Ezra is barely out the door and you’re already this horny?” You snarked, trying to hide your gasps as he sucked rather harshly on your pulse point.

 “We haven’t been able to really fuck lately.” He shrugged, lifting you up on the cold granite surface and wrapping your legs around him. “Quickies aren’t as fun as being buried in this pussy for hours and hours on end, baby.”

 “We have to go through that presentation – Jimin!”

 “Where are your panties, huh?” He teased, his hand slipping under the hem of your skirt to knead your bare ass. “You’re acting like you don’t want my cock, but you aren’t even wearing anything to cover this pretty, little pussy.”

 You didn’t reply, knowing that if you did a whimper would slip out of you, only adding to Jimin’s smugness. He ran his fingers along your folds, revelling in the way thick strands of your arousal clung to his fingers, essentially coating them in your arousal. You couldn’t take it anymore, the charade of not wanting him, so you threaded your fingers through his hair, using it to bring him to your mouth.

 “Jimin, please…” You breathed, feeling his fingers dance around your clit. As you spoke, he froze, pulling away from your lips with his eyebrow raised.

 “What did you just call me?” He asked sternly, his fingers retreating from your wet cunt, only to come down hard on your clit, the slapping sound echoing throughout the kitchen. “You need to be more respectful, you little brat.”

 “Daddy…” You corrected, voice still barely above a whisper. “Daddy, please.”

 He slapped your pussy again, ensuring that whimpers left your lips. Your arousal coated his fingers, the sticky substance making his skin glint in the light.

 “Look at what a mess you’ve made, baby girl.” Jimin murmured, inspecting his shining fingers before looking you right in the eye and slipping one in his mouth. The sight alone was enough to release another gush of arousal out of you, some of your juices now coating your thighs. “Fuck, you taste good.” He groaned, sucking on his finger. He glanced up at you, his eyes showing just how smug he is. “Want to have a taste?”

 Without waiting for a reply, he placed his fingers in your mouth, allowing you to taste yourself as you sucked his fingers clean. Maintaining eye contact with him, you swirled your tongue around his digits, licking him clean.

 “Like that?” He asked, eyes dark with need. With his finger still in your mouth, you nodded, looking up at him through your eyelashes. “What do you want now, baby?”

 “Daddy’s cock.” You instantaneously replied, almost quivering with need. He smirked, allowing you to grind into his bulge, trying to desperately get any source of friction.

 “And what do you want to do with Daddy’s cock?”

 “Suck it.” You answered, mouth salivating at the mere thought of it. “I want to suck it and taste Daddy’s cum.”

 “Then why aren’t you on your knees?”

 Wordlessly, you hopped off of the counter, knees harshly hitting the floor, yet you couldn’t care less. Your hands messily unbuckled Jimin’s belt, precariously shoving his jeans and boxers down his muscular thighs before you began to palm him in your hand.

 “Don’t fucking tease me.” He groaned, voice deep and laced with seduction. “I still have half a mind of punishing you for being disrespectful, baby.”

 Not wanting to get punished – well, at least for now – you slipped him into your mouth, sucking gently on his tip while maintaining eye contact. You gave it a few kitten licks, sucking off his precum, you run the flat of your tongue on the underside of his cock, making him grip your hair. His eyes hardened as he knew you were still teasing him, so he used his grip on your hair to push you all the way down to the hilt, making you take every inch of his cock down your throat.

 “Ah, fuck yeah, baby.” He moaned, feeling your throat muscles expand and contract as it tried to swallow all of him. Tears sprung to your eyes, the lack of oxygen evident, but it only made Jimin chuckle. “Who fucking told you to tease me, huh? You wanted my cock in your mouth, baby. Now take. It. All.”

 He punctuated every word with a thrust, increasing the tears in your eyes as well as the spit leaking out the side of your mouth. You loved it when Jimin made you take all of him, and it was evident as your arousal had slickened your thighs even more. He eventually took pity on you, pulling you off his dick as you gasped for air, your tears now streaming in rivulets down your face.

 Allowing your lungs the chance to get air, you begun using your hands to jack him off, your spittle and his precum acting as lubricant. You stared up at him as his face relaxed with pleasure, head thrown back as your hands continuously pumped his length. Eventually, when your lungs had recovered, you put him back into your mouth, bobbing your head on the parts that you could reach without choking. With your hands fondling his balls, and your hollowed-out cheeks repeatedly sucking on him, he quickly met his end.

Grabbing your hair, he once again pushed you right up against his pubic bone and shot his cum right down your throat. High pitched, melodious moans reached your ears as his orgasm hit him. The salty, tangy taste of his cum coated your taste buds, the taste alone making you clench your thighs.

 After the rush of his climax was over, you came off his dick with a ‘pop’, nuzzling your head into his thigh, clearly looking for praise. With his chest still heaving, he looked down at you, affection blooming in his eyes.

 “You always suck Daddy’s cock so well, baby.” He murmured, helping you to your feet, bringing your lips to his own. “Such a good girl, hmm? Does my baby want a reward?”

 “Swallowing your cum was my reward.” You breathed, still revelling in the feeling of having him fall apart in your mouth. He smirked, enjoying how submissive and God damn fuckable you were. His hand slipped around your throat, squeezing the sides gently, while his lips ghosted over the shell of your ear.

 “Run up to our room. By the time I get there, I want you to be naked and laying on the bed for Daddy. Got it?”

 Nodding, you felt excitement bloom deep in your chest, knowing that you were truly about to be rewarded. Once he let go of your throat, you all but ran up the stairs, wanting nothing more than to please Jimin. You stripped out of your skirt and stockings before you even made it to the bed, throwing them haphazardly over your shoulder, then you began to unbutton your blouse, peeling off your bra in the process.

 Waiting with bated breath, you found yourself squirming with impatience on the cool, silky sheets. Right before you could huff out with irritation, Jimin made his appearance in all his glory. His own shirt was nowhere to be found, and his jeans hung low on his hips, giving you quite a view of his abs and defined v-line.

 He paid you no mind, walking over to the closet to rummage around in the drawers. He came back a few moments later with a pair of handcuffs and nipple clamps, as well as something shoved in his back pocket. You quivered at the thought of him tying you up; despite the amount of times it had happened, it still brought an insane amount of adrenaline to your bloodstream.

 “Good girl…” He trailed off as he took in your naked body, feeling his cock stir again. The silence in the room faded as he slipped the cuffs around your wrists, then fastened it to the headboard so that your arms were stretched above you, pushing your breasts up into the air. Using this to his advantage, he immediately snapped the clamps onto your nipples, the soft silicone doing little to soften the blow of the pinch.

 A hiss left your lips when he tugged on the chain, accentuating the pain that claimed your nipples. He tugged on it again, gauging your reaction, and smirking when you whimpered.

 “Does it hurt, baby?” He asked as he kissed your neck, sucking red blotches onto your skin. You nodded in response, causing him to smirk even further. “But you like it, don’t you? Daddy’s baby girl enjoys the pain.”

 Before you could respond to him, his lips claimed yours, quickly claiming every breath you had. After a year of being together, Jimin’s lips knew exactly how to move with your own, not to fast nor to slow. His tongue swiped your bottom lip, slowly snaking its way to your own, where it massaged it gently.

 In the midst of his lips ravishing your own, his hand slipped into his back pocket, retrieving a clit massager. Without breaking the kiss, he slipped his hand in-between your legs, prying them apart so that he could place the toy right above your clit.

 As soon as he turned on the toy, the gentle sucking caused you to moan into his mouth. Continuing to move his tongue in tandem with yours, Jimin slowly began to circle the head of your toy around your clit, getting maddeningly close to the bundle of nerves but never actually touching it.

 “Daddy…” You whined, wiggling your hips so that he could place the toy directly on your clit. “Stop teasing!”

 “Weren’t you just teasing me when we were in the kitchen?” He cockily asked, once again circling your clit with the toy. “Remember, baby? When you weren’t giving me what I wanted?”

 “But you came!” Your argued, voice slowly becoming whinier as your stomach began to clench uncomfortably in anticipation. “I want to cum too, Daddy. Please!”

 “You want to come?” Jimin asked, amused at the way your hips were trying to angle themselves to get the stimulation directly on your clit. You nodded, arms straining against the handcuffs. “Why don’t you stop chasing the toy then, huh? Why don’t you be a good girl for Daddy?”

 “I am a good girl – ah!”

 Your sentence was cut short by Jimin placing the toy right on your clit, turning the toy to its highest setting. A plethora of moans left your lips as the suction steadily grew and grew, simulating someone sucking on your clit.

 “Daddy…” You moaned weakly, the pleasure making your brain fuzzy. With the suction directly on your clit, your orgasm loomed over you, driving any other thought out of your head. Needing something to set you off, you began to buck your hips into the toy, moaning and whimpering softly. “Please let me cum, Daddy… Please…”

 “You can, baby.” He cooed into your ear, mesmerized with the way your body was lifting off of the bed to claim your orgasm. He quickly tugged on the nipple clamps, knowing that a tiny bit of pain would increase your pleasure tenfold. “Such a good little girl for Daddy, yeah? Always to ready to beg.”

 With a yelp, your climax washed over you, turning your bones to nothing and transporting your head to cloud nine. You trembled lightly on the bed, sending a rush of blood back to Jimin’s cock and making him impossibly hard. He watched with bated breath as your chest rose and fell rapidly, the nipple clamps jingling with your actions, a visual indicator of the amount of pleasure your body was facing. Once your orgasm receded, he quickly turned off the toy and replaced it with his mouth, swallowing your cum and treating it almost with reverence.

 “Daddy.” You croaked, voice almost gone due to the number of moans and whines that had left your throat just a few moments ago. Even though you had just experienced one of the best orgasms of your life, you wanted more – you wanted him. “Want you.”

 “Are you sure you can handle another one, Y/N?” He asked seriously, not wanting to push you further than you could physically go. You nodded excitedly, pulling on the handcuffs to show how ready you were. He chuckled at your eagerness, taking off the clamps off of your nipples. They were puffy and sore, but your breasts welcomed the blood flow.

 “Please fuck me.” You whispered, your cunt already clenching at the thought of being filled by Jimin’s cock. He smiled at you, his beauty taking your breath away as he stripped out of his jeans and boxers. His cock was already rock hard as it leaked pre-cum, the substance beading at the tip of his dusky pink head.

 “Want my cock, baby?” He asked, positioning himself in-between your legs. You tried to reach out to him, wanting to align his dick at your entrance and watch how he pushed into your core, but the restraints that bound your wrists prevented that. That didn’t stop you from continuously tugging on the cuffs, the metal rattling against the bed post. “Keep acting like a little brat and I’ll leave you here the entire day.”

 His threat immediately caused you to cease your actions, wanting nothing more than to feel him in you. Hearing the absence of you pulling on the restraints made him smirk up at you, knowing that you would probably do anything to have him in your cunt right now.

 “So obedient.” He mused, leaning back and stroking his length to rile you up. “My baby will do anything for my cock, hmm? Such a dirty fucking slut for my cock.”

 “Only for you, Daddy.” You promised, your breathing erratic due to seeing Jimin’s hand enclosed over his dick, lazily fisting the length. “Please fuck me. I need your cock in me.” He raised an eyebrow at you, still wanting to tease you despite being painfully hard. Your pussy clenched when he threw his head back in pleasure, fist pumping up and down his cock. “Jimin, please!”

 “Is that how you talk to me?” He snapped, sliding his length into you as his hand tightened around your neck. Without giving you time to adjust to suddenly having his entire cock in you, he began to piston out of you, the sound of skin on skin echoing throughout the room. Your eyes rolled back from the pleasure, the feeling of having his cock force open your walls and the feeling of his hand tightening around your neck making you lose all train of thought. “Answer me, you fucking brat!”

 “Daddy!” You corrected; voice hoarse from being choked. His hand left your neck, instead using his hands to hold your hips at an angle so that he could go deeper. “I – I’m sorry, Daddy!”

 Hot tears of pleasure ran down your face, the droplets falling to your chest. “You’re crying?” He scoffed, somehow making his hips rut into you faster, your tits moving from each powerful thrust. “Is my cock too much for you to handle?” He asked, thumbing your clit, bringing more tears of pleasure to your face. You shook your head at his question, showing him just how well you could take his dick. “Hmm, good girl. Such a good slut for my cock, huh? Take it all, baby. Take every fucking inch of me in this tight pussy.”

 “Going to… Gonna cum.” You whimpered, feeling your pleasure reaching a precipice quickly. He groaned as he felt your walls hug his length even tighter due to your impending orgasm. His thumb continued to work quick, tight circles over your clit, the white-hot pleasure surging through your veins and setting off your climax. “Daddy!”

 “Ah, fuck, Y/N!” Jimin moaned, your convulsing cunt bringing about his own orgasm. Your body arched off of the bed once again, your orgasm seemingly too intense for your body to handle. Your thighs trembled and a heat rushed up to your cheeks, sweat gleaming on your body. Jimin’s cock was coated in your cum, the sheer feeling of it causing him to shoot his hot cum deep in you. High pitched curses and moans left his plump lips, ropes of his cum coating your walls as both of you tried to control your heavy breathing.

 Without pulling out of you, Jimin reached up and unlocked the handcuffs, throwing them onto the floor to join your long-forgotten clothes. Flipping you over so that you were laying on him, he kissed your raw wrists gently, despite both of your chests still heaving.

 “Thank you, baby.” He murmured, kissing your forehead. “I’m sorry if I was too rough.”

 “You were amazing, Jimin.” You said softly, enjoying the feeling of having his skin directly on your own. “I wouldn’t want this with anyone other than you.”

 “I love you.” He blurted, unable to contain his feelings any longer. You sucked in a breath, not believing your own ears. It was the first time he had ever said something like this. “I know it’s been a journey and a half with me, teaching me how not to be some cold asshole, but God damn, I love you, Y/N. I can’t imagine a life without you; I don’t want to imagine a live without you.”

 “I love you too, Jimin.” You replied, a smile creeping on your face as your heart fluttered. “I love you more than you will ever know.”

 ***

 ↳ a/n: so that was the first instalment of my colour series! I plan on doing a one shot for each member based on meanings of a specific colour. Please let me know what you think and let me know if you want to be tagged in the future one shots :)

[comehomeducklings]

Past [Part 3] (Obsession)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

Tom Riddle's Moodboard

Main Character's Moodboard

~////////////////𓆙////////////////~

1940 - 3rd year

There’s no chance of getting out of this. Our mentor must be out of their mind. No smooth sailing this period, not for me. Nothing at all has prepared me for this point in time.

My heartbeat rises by the second. At the brink of jumping out of my chest. I constantly try to reassure myself as I prepare. Forcing the illusion that I have everything together.

I most definitely don’t have anything, not a crumb, together.

My hands sweat with anticipation, my wand almost slipping off multiple times. The magical stick even wants to run away from this situation. I’ll start running with it soon enough.

The whole room is quiet in expectation. The tension levels in this area are too high for me to even start to comprehend. All I can hear is the sounds of my breathing and the occasional ruffle of robes. The high regard these people hold for me isn’t doing me any favors. I’m about to ruin any confidence anyone holds in my skills.

My friends are holding their thumbs up for encouragement. It does little to calm my panic, but I appreciate the effort anyway. Other acquaintances from the same house nodded their heads in an attempt to console my emotions.

Before the teacher signals to start, he gives us a bit to come up with a plan. Ten seconds at most. Now, this isn’t something possible to win. Not against him, no. My only goal here is to last as long as I can and don’t mess up.

Act smart, seem like you know more than you do.

He looks as easy-going as ever. This may seem like a walk in the gardens to him. No “threat” whatsoever to make him feel uneasy. I’m quite irritated at the thought of being anything but a challenge. He may be a little right, but that doesn’t help my ego.

Easy, I’m nothing easy.

Riddle might be stronger at this, but that doesn’t mean I'm complete garbage. I can hold my own, I will hold my own.

My breathing patterns change into more of a deep inhale and exhale. Focusing on completely dropping my heart rate and keeping my thoughts intact. Madam Rose, the school nurse, hates seeing me walk in there. Frequent visits from dealing with plants has her hair getting pulled out. I don’t think Miss Rose would be too keen on me passing out from the lack of oxygen.

“Only stick with the one basic spell of force. For both offensive and defensive tactics.”

Riddle’s atmosphere surrounding him is focused, deadly. He hasn’t moved his gaze from my lips. Probably on guard for whenever I cast something. I’m slightly unsteady on my feet from nerves. It’s almost suffocating being under all these watchful eyes.

A snake takes their time to strike. They examine all angles where you may be weak. Testing the vulnerability of your actions and thinking process. A few testing snaps of their mouth can tell them how the fight will go. They are well-balanced and focused, masters of intimidation.

Breathing.

Oxygen informs the snake how much you’re able to hold on for. The more you intake, the tighter it gets. Restricting the amount of oxygen the prey respires. Until they are physically unable to anymore, slowly weakening. The fight they were presenting lessens to almost non-distinguishable. The prey’s struggling to get free, dying down. Then it passes away, openly given to the snake without any more thought. A mere temporary meal in its eyes.

“Begin.”

Our eye contact is steady, neither of us moving an inch. Our mouths are closed shut, wands at the ready. I slightly squint my eyes while I focus. If he’s waiting for me to go first he is out of luck. I’m not budging, we will stay in the same position until next period if we have to.

Riddle also slightly squints his eyes. His hand doesn’t shake even if his wand was out in the air for a long time. The arm he holds out is steady and unmoving. Nothing triggers my attention since his movements are of little importance. I search his eyes for any life, no emotion is found swirling in those charcoal black eyes. Absolutely brilliant and fierce when focused or aggravated. The class starts getting rowdy, finally allowed to talk since Riddle just made the first move.

There’s only one spell I need to remember, that makes it a little easier to think of ways to find my opening. I quickly revert the spell away from me and send it right back. A tennis match is played between that one spell. Tom huffs and sends his enchantment straight towards the ground. It bursts into tiny magical specks of green. During that time I sent a spell his way.

After a while, I start to notice right before he casts a spell he moves his mouth like he inhales to take a breath. I’ve noticed him do it quite often. Since he casts fairly quickly there wasn’t much to go off of. Not much to use to my advantage. When he “inhales” he’s most of the time not actually breathing in air. It’s just a simple movement he does. It might be because of his accent, the way he learned to talk. Quite a small little quirk of the lips.

To start testing out this theory I centered most of my attention on his mouth. Waiting to see if my theory was reliable enough to depend on. He’s starting to gain more offensive attacks on me. Most of my spells undecidedly move more defensive by the minute.

Right before he mutters the words, I send a spell of my own. The magic aiming for his knees. Before he could defend himself from that one I prepared another offensive conjuration to his wand. He forwarded an incantation my way and I hurriedly obviated the sorcery as it was also heading to my stifle joint. Some of the force still slightly makes contact with my left knee. My balance is suddenly thrown off.

As I scramble to catch my footing, Riddle with point accuracy parries my wand attack. Then diverts my knee attack towards my right knee. Since I was focused on stabilizing my posture I didn’t notice the spell approaching my other knee

Forthcoming my inevitable demise.

I end up planting both hands on the ground. My knees falling one after the other from the pressure.

Our audience starts yelling complaints and praise. Calls for a rematch and cheats. My loss was bound to happen, but I did get to do that three combo. Two offensive and one defensive, all in the span of 5 seconds. Not too bad if I say so myself.

“Mr. Riddle wins this duel. Excellent job to the both of you. A very good strategy was well thought out for each side.”

I make my way down the steps on my platform’s side. Immediately being greeted by hugs and pats on the back.

At least my feet didn’t get tied together from restlessness causing me to fall and he wins the duel immediately. I would have dropped out right then and there from embarrassment.

There’s barely any feedback for Riddle, his little posse praising him like a king. People either saw no fault in him or were too frightened to actually comment on it publicly.

For me, that’s another case. Quite a bit of suggestions are offered, keep my form ready and my attention on more than one thing. Any and all advice is welcomed. Who knows how it can help me one day.

Amelia hugs my side with the biggest grin on her face, “You did so well! I think he actually had to work a little for that win.”

Everyone is dismissed and we head our way to Herbology. Tom’s face looks as if he’s already forgotten about the duel. His body language remains tranquil as ever.

~////////////////𓆙////////////////~

Bubotuber pus, one of the grossest things I’ve had the misfortune of learning at home. Now I have to live through it again? How can one endure harvesting the essence?

“All of you are required to wear gloves for today’s class. Does anyone know what effects you would have when touching this substance with your bare skin?”

Quite a number of students raise their hands. I’m guessing they did research on why they needed to buy these gloves when handed the school procurement catalog.

Exactly what I did, curiosity might actually kill the cat.

“Yes, you sweet girl,” she picks, “What’s your name?”

“Merlene,” the student answers, “If you touch this without protection then extremely painful boils will appear in its stead.”

“Correct! 5 points to Hufflepuff,” she claps.

My fingers already lay inside the dragon-hide gloves. Its rough texture rubs against the calluses from dealing with the harsh stems of different plants.

This substance is usually processed to be used for acne treatments. Only touched in its weakened state. Oddly satisfying to some, I am not a part of that group of people

“This is disgusting,” I say as I harvest the pus. My gagging reflexes acting up every time the plant gets squeezed.

A few students chuckle at my remark. They seem to be having a good time, weirdly focused on this substance. It smells of petrol, not a big fan of the scent. Reminds me of the sketchy gas stations my parents and I would take on family road trips.

Its thick goo is finally contained in bottles. Relief washes over me from finishing the collecting process. My gloves are removed and I do a quick spell to clean my area. Nothing really fell on it so it didn’t need scrubbing beforehand.

Amelia seems to just be finishing her plant. A lot of goo splashed all over her table. Luckily it doesn’t seem like any of that touched anyone’s face or uncovered arms.

“I’m just about done, can you help with cleaning please?” Amelia starts collecting all of her bottles into her arms. None of the glass vials touched in green gunk.

“Yeah, I got you, turn those in to the professor.” I immediately started helping her out. In that process, I also cleaned other’s messes too. Why not, there is still time to waste until we can all leave. Cleaning products smell better than whatever chemicals intoxicate the air.

“Pop quiz, shout out the answers. Why not use spells instead of treated bubotuber pus for treatments?”

Easy question, I whisper the answer in Amelia’s ear when she comes back from turning in the assignment so she can shout it.

“Using spells proves to be too risky, like the Eloise Midgen incident,” she answers.

Good, she remembers Eloise's event.

“Yeah, she cursed her nose off, poofed from existence,” a girl from Hufflepuff adds.

“Precisely, everyone has permission to leave now,” the professor exclaims, “don’t head out without cleaning or I’ll reduct points. Last time a student got boils all over their hand from an improperly cleaned station.”

~////////////////𓆙////////////////~

“It actually went decently. Nothing blew up, surprisingly.”

At lunch, we are all talking about our first three classes. Potions being our first topic.

“Thought as much, I saw your stupid grin. You looked like you just won the wizarding lottery,” I say with my mouth stuffed with food. Hoping they could understand me between my chews.

“Both of you, slow down. The food ain’t going anywhere damn,” Devyn laughs.

Amelia and I pause, we look at each other, then at Devyn, then back to us. After a silent halt in our actions, we continue to shove down a bunch of food.

“I noticed you kept gagging at the pus. You looked queasy, your face was so pale.”

I audibly shiver at the recollection of said class. My eyes were watering so bad there. That stuff would never stop coming.

“I’m eating, stop mentioning that nasty stuff,” Amelia starts shaking her head. If only I could see the thoughts forcefully being shaken out of her head.

“You should have seen her station. That stuff was everywhere. How bad is your aim, the opening to the bottle wasn’t that small?”

“It wasn’t even that!” she drops her fork, “I squeezed that bloody plant too hard and it squirted everywhere!”

“Poor choice of words,” Devyn snickers. All she gets is a shove from me.

“Get your mind out of the gutter, she’s clearly traumatized.”

Devyn shoves me back, “You’re clearly traumatized from the duel. The one you failed at, the one-”

“I’m aware of the duel you’re talking about,” I interrupt, “I bet you wouldn’t have lasted as long as I did.”

“Oh please, you’re just salty about losing.”

I roll my eyes and subconsciously scan the room for him. There he is, mysteriously talking to his group of buddies. After a little bit, he catches onto my staring. He briefly looked around him to see if I was looking at something else. Finally, he comes to the realization it was in fact him I was blessing with my attention.

During this, he was talking to his friend next to him. He stopped his conversation to completely give me his attention. The guy he was just talking to engaged in another conversation quickly.

The moment was interrupted with hands waving in front of my face, “You gonna eat that?”

“Nah I’m full, go ahead.”

Riddle continued on with his food. Never looking my way again.

~////////////////𓆙////////////////~

“Hey, uh, Riddle you have a second?”

I stop him by tapping his shoulder a couple of times. His height already makes mountains seem molecular.

He furrowed his eyebrows and glances at the shoulder I just touched. Making it a scene to dust that part off, what an ass.

“No, I really don’t have a second,” he responds.

“Well that, really, sucks for you huh. Can you teach me techniques for dueling?”

“No,” he starts to turn away.

“Please, you will get one favor from me. Whatever you need.”

Tom turns back around, “Anything? Does that favor expire?”

I shake my head no. If he plans to wait a long time he’ll probably forget about it. He seems to be deep in thought for a bit. No rush really since we're on our break. If he agrees I could get ahead of so many competitors.

“Fine, every Friday afternoon starting tomorrow in the Room of Requirement.”

He immediately strides away while I stare back in shock. My brain didn’t expect him to actually accept. Getting this far wasn’t a very possible outcome.

Now I just have to find out where the Room of Requirement is located.

~////////////////𓆙////////////////~

Taglist:

@empath-bunny

@jinxqsu

[moodys-art]

if you do angst, could you do one about all (or selectively) la squadra re acting to there s/o being mortally injured? if you do angst, if not its fine u w u

La Squadra reacting to their s/o being mortally injured 🦇

There it is, finally ! Sorry for the delay ! I hope you’re still around to read it 🥺

Warnings : nothing overly explicit, but there is mention of death, blood, some injuries of course, and a bunch of angst...So be careful !

Risotto

The night it happened, you and Riz were gone for a few days out of town to take down a group of old gamblers that messed with La Passione and the citizens in the area. You succeeded, but failing to escape a giant rock being thrown at you, you fell in the arms of another enemy and were badly injured to the waist.

At the end of the fight, Risotto had found a way to keep you from bleeding until you two got to the nearest hospital. Unfortunately, his stand wasn’t enough. As the man was driving on the highway, you felt yourself fall in a dark, deep slumber, only to wake up in a different place, with so much light that you almost couldn’t open your eyes. Oh, it hurt, it hurt so much. You felt something on your hand, a warm, tingling sensation, and you knew it was Risotto’s hand. He was there, and it was all that you needed to know for now.

After some days passed, you were finally able to move back to La Squadra’s hideout. During this time, you rested all you could. Risotto had a lot of work, but he never missed an occasion to tell you to sit, or to go lie down. Indeed, he often found you trying to stand up and walk a bit, and was having none of it. Risotto often invited you in his office, which was also his room, so he could watch on you from time to time without having to worry too much.

This man wasn’t outwardly affectionate, but you knew he cared. He cared, maybe a little bit too much.

You sometimes convinced him to take some naps with you, and those kind of moments had been really useful to your recovery. The painkillers soothed your pain. And in Risotto’s embrace, everything was comfortable, warm, and you knew nothing could happen to you.

Prosciutto

You always kept up very well with your missions. You never needed anyone’s help. Prosciutto was proud of you, but he wanted you to stop helping Pesci so much, as he thought the fisherman now needed to do things on his own. But the day before you left, you had a really bad argument with Prosciutto about it. You were stressed, sad, angry, and the man’s bossiness had had the best of you. You left La Squadra’s hideout without even telling him a single word. But oh, was it a bad idea. 

Effectively, later that night, trying to protect Pesci by jumping in front of him (well, you were stubborn), you ended up laying on the ground in a pool of your own blood, badly injured to the sides. When the rest of the team finally came to your rescue, Pesci panicking and explaining the situation to a very pale Prosciutto, your vision was already blurring.

Prosciutto spent the night at your bed. During your stay at the hospital, you never got the occasion to see him properly : the anesthetics made everything around you seem hazy and strange, the dull colors of the room blending before your eyes. But the fleeting moments of consciousness you sometimes experienced made you notice some things. How his braids were messy, undone, from the way he had been running his hands through his blonde hair. How his sunken, blue electric eyes were fluttering from exhaustion, surrounded by dark circles. You spent a week at the hospital, unable to move, to talk, to even think too much.

The month that followed at the hideout was pretty much the same, but you were now more aware. Prosciutto was willing to spend as much time as possible with you. He had some work, but each moment he could spend with you, he was by your side. Pampering you, taking your temperature, your tension, checking your injury. His attitude was motherly. He told you, again, in softer words, that you didn’t need to risk everything to save the others from getting injured. He was proud of you, and you didn’t need to prove anything to him.

Pesci

It happened all of a sudden : you were hanging out with the team at some club in order to unwind from all the stressful missions. Everyone was having fun, even Ghiaccio. You needed to go to the toilets, so you let go of Pesci’s hand and told him you were coming back in a few minutes. Except, you didn’t see the enemy spying on the team, and especially you, because he had some business to settle since the last time you escaped him. As soon as you closed the door and began walking towards a cabin, he was right behind your back, and cornered you near the sinks.

The fight was memorable, yes, and you did succeed to put him out of state, but he had hurt you very badly to the ribs. You took out your phone, merely unable to breathe, to try and call your boyfriend. Pesci came to your rescue in the next minute, accompanied by Prosciutto and Risotto.He immediatly panicked : you were laying here, in front of him, almost fainting from the lack of oxygen. Prosciutto took him by the shoulders and told him that he had to refrain himself from crying, that what you needed now was help, support, and not wasted tears (mean Prosci >:().

You finally got to the hospital. The doctors had to heal your lungs which were badly injured by your ribs, but eventually, everything turned out fine. When you woke up, you saw Pesci, sat beside your bed, sound asleep, head laying next to your shoulder. When you tickled his head near his green hair, he jumped and almost cried out of relief. He told you you were very lucky, because if they had waited a bit longer, you probably wouldn’t have survived the lack of oxygen.

Back at the hiedout, he immediatly arranged some space for you to be comfortable. Pesci wasnt a really the type to like conflicts and negotiations, but after he talked about it with his aniki, he went to Risotto to try and extend your rest period. The capo accepted, of course, and you had plenty of time to cuddle with your sweet boyfriend. He bought you some gifts, anything you liked (clothes, books, video games, plushies, whatever you wanted), so you could be as happy and comfortable as possible.

He became a bit more clingy, but it was adorable. You always liked the way he clumsily peppered your face in soft kisses. You always liked his bear hugs, the sweetest hugs in the world.

Melone

Melone was fond of you. You had every quality in his mind, but unfortunately, your willingness to fight back no matter what sometimes made him worried about your safety. From time to time, he backed you up with Babyface, which wasn’t nothing, and although you were grateful for his sweet care, you couldn’t help but tell him he didn’t need to. You were going to be okay.

Alas, the last mission you were sent to almost got you killed. Your chest hurt so bad that you fainted a few times before the back-up arrived. You woke up in a white room full of strange sounds. You felt dizzy, nauseous. According to what you could hear in the distance, your heart was okay, but you would need some good rest before going on any missions. Melone was sitting beside your bed, softly caressing your hair.

Once you were out of the hospital, Melone asked you if you wanted to stay at his appartment. “It would be more practical, my lovely gattina, if you ever need any help. What do you think ?” If you refused, he wouldn’t have forced it, but he would have made sure to check up on you at any time he deemed necessary to do so (he was willing to call you in the middle of the night and in the early morning, as the night-owl he was). But if you accepted his offer, oh, dear, you were not going to lift a single finger. You never needed to bother and stand up, because Melone would always get things for you.

He didn’t show it in a very emotional and vulnerable way, but Melone was relieved that you got out of it safe and sound. He was infinitely grateful for the fact that you were still alive. In the late hours of the night, when he was sure you were asleep, he allowed himself to tear up silently.

Melone cooked you delicious lunches, and checked for all the best ingredients to give you some vitamins and nice nutrients. He made sure you were hydrated and that your injury

When the pain sometimes came, he sat down to your side and shoved his plushee into your arms. He only had one, and it was very precious to him. It smelled of his perfume, and something else quite flowery, soothing. “Keep it with you, sweet amore. I want you to know I’ll always have your back from now on.” he said, planting a gentle kiss to your temple, and then resting his head on your shoulder, sniffing a little.

[spacebatisluvd]

Content warning: More Sea Hawk. Some potential for secondhand embarrassment if you’re sensitive to things like that. Mild references to arousal. Strong references to anxiety and Hordak’s past in the cult.

-

Hordak looked up as a guard marched into his psuedo-office and dropped a parcel on his drafting table. Hordak eyed the box, noting first that it was addressed to him and sealed with Dryl’s sigil. Then he noticed that the wax seal was broken.

“This has been opened.”

The guard just shrugged, smirking. “Anything that comes through the port of Salineas is subject to inspection for contraband.” He turned to leave, pausing deliberately in the doorway to brush the dust from his boots and to spit on the stoop. Hordak said nothing. He’d seen the builders do the same thing early on. Strangely, fewer and fewer were holding to that habit. Perhaps they’d grown tired of such petty insults.

He set the box to the side, and Sea Hawk perked up. “Are you going to open it now?”

“No. I will open it later.” In private.

“But what if, hear me out, you were to open it now?”

Hordak looked up and sighed. Sea Hawk had draped himself over the top of the box, his eyes gone comically large. Hordak went back to his paperwork. “That does not work for Imp. It surely won’t work for you.”

“Imp?”

“My....” Hordak trailed off, realizing that he wasn’t sure how to refer to his relationship with Imp. ‘Little brother’ seemed the most fitting, yet he couldn’t bear to use such a designation. He exhaled slowly.

“Imp. He is just...Imp.”

“How delightfully nonspecific!” Hordak narrowed his eyes, searching Sea Hawk for any sign of mockery, but he seemed genuine enough. “But...this is from Entrapta, isn’t it?”

“That is her sigil.”

“You don’t want to look?”

He huffed. “My desires are unimportant. I need to finish this.”

“Not even a quick peek?”

“No.”

“Are you sure? Just a teeny, tiny little peek?”

Hordak exhaled hard. “No.”

“...what if...I took a peek for you?”

He froze and glared at Sea Hawk, who was infuriatingly impervious. “I would advise against that. Strongly.”

Sea Hawk pushed the lid off the crate. “Oops! Well, since it’s already open....” He reached in, pulling out a small data chip. “Ooh! What’s this?”

Hordak lunged, snatching the chip from his hand. He growled, leaning close until he was eye-to-eye with the pirate. Sea Hawk held his hands up in surrender. “You really aren’t curious? Your beloved has sent you a gift! Perhaps in return for the gift you sent her!” Despite the intimidating glare and Hordak’s prior request not to be touched, Sea Hawk slung an arm over his shoulders and drew him close, using his free hand to frame an imaginary image before them. “Can’t you picture it? She is delighted, overcome with love, overwhelmed with feeling! In fact, she is so delighted that she has decided to reciprocate! And you don’t want to know what she sent?!” For the last question, he turned Hordak to face him, shaking him lightly.

Hordak shoved him off, still glaring. “Entrapta would not be overcome by anything,” he said dismissively. “Particularly not anything I did.” Excited? Perhaps. Elated? Enthused? Yes and yes. But overcome?

No. He could not imagine that.

In a last-ditch effort, Sea Hawk caught his hands and said, “Wouldn’t she want you to open it?”

His ears folded back, and he pulled his hands free. Nevertheless, the question gave him pause, and his words lacked their typical venom as he said, “Do not touch me.”

“Oh, right. But—you know she’d want you to open it right now, don’t you?”

“She knows that I prefer to keep my work and my personal life separate.” Still, he regarded the box uncertainly. He would not want to accidentally insult Entrapta. Was this a custom he was unaware of? Gift-giving was new to him.

Sea Hawk leaned very close, but thankfully did not touch him. “Let me tell you something I have learned about women—“

Hordak frowned. “My observations indicate that individual Etherians are too different from each other to confirm many broad generalizations. The exceptions being ‘requires oxygen’ or ‘must drink water regularly’.”

Sea Hawk blinked. “What?”

“I am questioning your expertise.”

Sea Hawk blinked again. He took a breath, and barreled on—“Women want to know that they are your highest priority. The very center of your universe. Your everything.”

Hordak’s ears folded back. “I killed my brother for her sake. I am certain she already knows that.”

Sea Hawk threw his hands up in the air. “Will you please just open the box?! I’m your wingman! How can I help you seduce your lady love if I don’t even know what she sent you?”

“That is simple—you do not. I am not seducing her. Therefore, I do not require your help.”

Sea Hawk wailed dramatically. “My friend, you are sabotaging your own happiness! You are allowing her to slip through your fingers if you ignore her overtures of—“

He continued to rave, and Hordak sighed, pressing his knuckle to his temple, where he could feel the beginnings of a headache forming. “If I open it, will you stop talking?”

“Oh, yes. Absolutely.”

“Fine.”

“Really?”

“Do not make me regret this.”

He studied the data chip Sea Hawk had snatched from the crate. It was a modern chip of Entrapta’s own design, made to interact with his data pad. He set his data pad on the table and attached the chip to the back. His screen flickered briefly, then a stable image resolved. “Play video,” he ordered, and the image began to move.

Entrapta waved at him, smiling. “Hi, Hordak! My research has revealed that it is customary to send a care package when someone you care about is far from home, particularly if they’re away for an extended period of time.” She looked down, blushing a little. “I’d been intending to do this anyway, but your gift reminded me that it was probably overdue.”

Sea Hawk made a strange sound, his eyes big and hands scrunched tight to his mouth. Hordak barely glanced at him, and held his hands behind his back at he watched the screen, a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “There’s a jar in the crate—would you please retrieve it? It requires an explanation.”

Curious, he pulled the crate closer—swatting Sea Hawk away when he tried to search out the jar first. He pulled out the jar and returned his attention to the screen. Entrapta’s image waited a few seconds more, then she said, “I spoke to Perfuma, and she has designed a topical salve that should help ease muscle pain and tension.” Hordak stiffened briefly, glancing at Sea Hawk, but he didn’t seem to notice anything amiss. “Before applying it to a wider area, make sure to test it on a small patch of skin to make sure it doesn’t react poorly.”

Curious, he opened the jar, surprised by the scent of peppermint. He dabbed a small portion on his wrist, flexing his hand and cocking an ear when he felt a subtle tingling in that patch of skin. “I have also included some notes on my current project for your review. I would appreciate your input.” His ears perked, and she smiled coyly. “Not my secret project. You‘ll be allowed to tinker with that one after I have a working prototype.” He grunted, crossing his arms, though he couldn’t keep the fond smile from his face.

“She is taunting me,” he told Sea Hawk.

Sea Hawk smirked. “No, my friend, she is flirting with you.”

Hordak’s ears flexed, and he cleared his throat as he turned back to the screen, trying to ignore the heat spreading across his cheeks. “—send an annotated copy. Maybe when you send me your notes on my proposed procedure,” she said with a grin. Another glance at Sea Hawk reassured him that the man suspected nothing untoward, though Hordak readily recognized the suggestiveness in her gaze.

“Oh! You should know that this care package isn’t just from me.” He cocked his head. “I’ve asked the others to contribute as well, to show you how much they miss you.”

“Others?” Who could possibly miss him aside from Entrapta?

The video cut, then Kadroh appeared onscreen. “Hello, brother! I miss you and am eager for you to return. I’ve been working on my sketching—thank you for recommending I look for my data pad in the library! I found it behind one of the bookcases.” He held up the data pad, to show a sketch of some flowers. “Here’s what I’m currently working on. Oh! I think Imp was just a little jealous. I gave him a pad of paper and some markers, so he could draw too.” His ears drooped a little. “I haven’t done anything worth sending to you—“ The video feed paused briefly, and Entrapta spoke in voice-over.

“He’s being too modest. After we filmed this, we talked and I convinced him to include a printout of a piece he’s proud of.”

“—but I made sure to include Imp’s drawings. I thought you might enjoy them.” He smiled broadly, and Hordak peered inside the crate, noting a sheaf of papers, sandwiched between stiff cardboard to protect them. “We’re excited for your return and I hope you’re enjoying Salineas. I’ve never been to the ocean before; I hope you take the time to appreciate it!” Hordak blinked. He hadn’t even considered doing something like that.

The screen cut again. Crypto Castle’s Etherian servants appeared on the screen, waving timidly. Hordak’s ears folded back and he cocked his head. They definitely weren’t enthusiastic about being filmed, and he wondered if Entrapta had unintentionally threatened them again. “H-hi,” the cook said, wringing her hands. “Princess Entrapta said she was preparing a care package for you. I, um. I thought I’d send some tiny fruit tarts, but I didn’t think they’d survive the trip.” She winced. “So I-I made a premix of cocoa powder and sugar and-and a few spices. Just mix it with warm milk—um, about 60 degrees—“ She appeared to look off screen for confirmation from Entrapta. “—and you’ll have hot cocoa just like I make here.” She smiled hesitantly, her eyes just a touch too wide. “I, uh. I hope you like it.”

Again the image cut away, and Hordak was beginning to wonder how many people Entrapta had pressed into making this video. Then it focused on three former Horde soldiers. The lizardman—Rogelio—was standing behind the humans, Lonnie and Kyle. All of them seemed a touch nervous, but Kyle at least also seemed eager. The audio cut in mid-sentence. “—so much for letting us look after the little guy while you’re gone. I know Miss—“

Lonnie elbowed him. “Princess. Cripes, Kyle. Get it right.” Rogelio rumbled in agreement.

“Right! Princess! I mean, I know Princess Entrapta could totally look after him—“

Off-camera, Entrapta said, “Actually, it’s probably best that you guys take him. Imp’s pretty resourceful, but...um. I’m better with robots, you know. You don’t to remember to feed them every day.”

“Three times a day,” Lonnie said, looking a little alarmed.

“Yeah. That.”

Kyle cleared his throat. “Uh. Anyway. Just. Thanks. We really bonded while you were gone—“

Behind him, Rogelio signed, ‘Kyle has separation anxiety.’

“—and it just really means a lot—“

A few things happened at once. Lonnie jolted and Rogelio froze. The camera jostled, and Entrapta laughed, while Imp’s characteristic chatter echoed. The camera’s image was jumbled and unsteady as it toppled and, presumably, Imp ran off with it. Hordak covered his mouth, afraid to reveal his smile. Somebody called after Imp, but the camera just bounced and jostled, revealing flashes of metal and the tip of Imp’s wing, his small claws. A vent clanged open, and the screen was briefly plunged into darkness. A glowing pair of yellow eyes were the only things visible.

“[I miss him].” Entrapta’s voice echoed eerily in the vent.

Beside him, Sea Hawk cringed away from the screen. “What is that?!”

“Imp.”

Sea Hawk stared at him. “That is not an answer!”

Hordak offered a lopsided shrug. “It is difficult to define him. Imp is Imp.”

The eyes disappeared, and a moment later, they could hear the clanging of the vent. A new vent opened, and Imp glided down to the ground, setting the camera beside Emily. It was set at an odd angle, but all of Emily’s spherical body was visible. She stomped her legs and the upper part of her chassis spun—a kind of dance she often performed, though there was something mournful in her demeanor. She beeped sadly.

From behind the camera, Imp hopped onto Emily and laid down. He opened his mouth, and Kadroh’s voice said, “[—be back soon. soon. soon. soon.]

Sea Hawk blinked and leaned close. “That’s Imp?” Hordak nodded. “Oh. I can’t decide if he’s terrifying or adorable.”

“That is the typical reaction.”

The video cut, and Entrapta reappeared, giggling. “Kyle wanted to retake that last bit, but I thought you might appreciate it.” As always, she was correct. “Anyway, I hope you like your care package, and I hope to see you soon.” She waved, and the feed cut out.

He held his knuckles to his mouth, a subtle smile at the corner. When he was sure he was composed, he lowered his hand and reached for the crate, pulling the sheaf of papers from it. He unbound them, setting the stiff cardboard to the side. He leafed through the pages slowly, again holding his knuckles to his mouth. Imp’s drawings were little more than uncoordinated scribbles, yet he found himself touched to see them. He lingered over one picture in particular. Two tall stick figures, one with red eyes and one with sunny yellow eyes—himself and Kadroh?—and a short stick figure with long strands of purple hair. A green orb with four legs. And a very small, blue stick figure with sketchy wings and a tail.

Sea Hawk leaned close. “I didn’t realize you had a family.”

Instinct demanded he deny it, but instead he said, “It is...new.” He leafed through the rest of the pictures, lingering again on the last, which was clearly Kadroh’s work. Despite his brother’s obvious uncertainty, Hordak was impressed with his sketching—it was a rather good likeness of Emily, and he found himself admiring Kadroh’s sense of whimsy, present in the flowers he’d drawn to crown her.

His chest felt warm and oddly tight. He packed everything back into the crate with care, intending to look at it more closely later.

At his elbow, Sea Hawk was oddly quiet, almost pensive. Hordak was grateful for that. Later, when the tightness had eased from his chest, when he could trust himself to speak, he’d call Entrapta to thank her. For now, he set the crate aside and returned to work.

-

Later, in the privacy of his room, Hordak reviewed the research she’d sent him. He found himself pacing as he read, a small smile on his face. He scribbled a few notes in the margins, but he knew she didn’t really need his input—she would have eventually discovered the few bits he added on her own, but he was flattered she even asked.

At the end, he wrote, ‘I am awed by your brilliance.’

He saved the file, but hesitated to disconnect the disk. Entrapta had clearly said that he should send it with the annotated procedure she’d proposed for their Intimacy Log. Was she merely teasing—flirting?—with him? Surely it wasn’t a command. Entrapta, he reminded himself, did not issue orders. She made requests.

But if it would please her, could he consider it anything less than an order?

He stopped, clenching his hand. That...that was not true. Entrapta had reassured him every step of the way that this was as much his decision as hers. From her, he suspected that even an order should be considered a strongly-worded request.

So, really, this was his choice. Entirely.

He swallowed, hearts hammering. He recognized the anxiety that came with disobeying one of Prime’s orders—

(How many nights had he spent on Etheria, nearly doubled over with pain and panic, knowing that Prime would not approve of his actions but also knowing he had no other choice if he wanted to survive? How often had he pleaded with the memory of his maker for mercy, knowing the price of his disobedience was reconditioning or purification? How many heresies had he justified, though he knew Prime would not consider his life worth saving?)

—yet amidst the familiar anxiety, he felt something else stirring. A thread of excitement, knowing Entrapta would be pleased with him. There was spite, as well—a banked fury that came from knowing that Prime would disapprove, were he still alive to care. Hordak’s life was his own, and he was more than the sins that Prime would tally against him.

He exhaled slowly, and ignoring the tremble in the tips of his fingers, he brought up Entrapta’s proposal and set aside the data pad to prepare for bed. He paused after removing his armor, noting the strain across his shoulders. His neck ached and he reached back, squeezing the straining tendons alongside his cervical port. It did little to help. Then he remembered the salve Entrapta had sent. It had been nearly ten hours now, and there was no sign of a poor reaction at the spot he’d tested—no rash, no irritation, no itching. Perhaps he could test it further and apply some to his neck?

He dug into the crate, pulling out the jar of salve. The scent of peppermint was pleasant enough, and not too overpowering. He scooped a little on two finger and reached back, rubbing the salve into the skin at the base of his skull before dragging his fingers down the back of his neck—careful to keep it out of his port. He inhaled sharply as the skin began to tingle where he’d applied the salve, and a soft moan escaped him as the tingling sank deep into the muscle.

That worked better than anticipated. He studied the jar, wondering if Entrapta had run a chemical analysis on the salve. He’d be curious to know what was in it and if he could synthesize it himself. He wiped his fingers clean, realizing he probably should have used gloves when he felt the tingling along his cuticles and the thin skin under his claws.

He settled on the bed and arranged the pillows until he was comfortable. He leaned against the pillow at his back and surprised himself by thrumming softly. For the first time since leaving Dryl, he was very nearly content—the salve had done much to ease the pain that ran the length of his neck, and Entrapta’s care package left him feeling...well, cared for. Entrapta herself was the only thing missing.  He reached for the data pad and his stylus; it was a poor substitute, but if he could not be with her, at least he could content himself with the knowledge that she desired to be with him too. Despite the anxiety coiled like a spring in the pit of his stomach, his scalp prickled with what could only be anticipation. 

Swallowing, he skimmed the proposal, skipping past the parts he’d already read and the notes he’d made. Even so, the prickling along his hairline grew stronger. He swallowed and smoothed his hair back, regretting it immediately when that only caused the crest to rise. The tingling of his scalp seemed to blend into the prickling at the back of his neck, and he was glad he hadn’t applied any of the salve to his shoulders. Shaking his head to clear it, he reached the line he’d finished on last time:

*Ask  subject how he feels about being bitten.*

His throat felt tight. He swallowed, free hand wrapping loosely around his neck. He tapped his stylus against his leg, wondering how to respond to that. Just thinking about it caused something within himself to clench. He swallowed again and wrote neatly, ‘Not yet. I feel being bitten would net a strong reaction, and I would like more information before experimenting with that.’

The coil of anxiety loosened, just a little, and he exhaled slowly. The next line read, *Explore pectoral muscles. Test sensitivity of nipples by—*

He blushed, looking away as embarrassment overcame him. His hairline felt sensitive, and he curled his fingers to resist the urge to smooth his hair back or to test his nipples’ sensitivity. He could barely bring himself to look at them, somewhat scandalized by her suggested means of examination. Swallowing stiffly,  he wrote, ‘They are not sensitive. No testing is required.’ He hesitated. ‘I will indulge your curiosity, if you insist.’ His cheeks burned, and his ears drew back, the tips hot as his mind conjured the image of Entrapta nestled between his thighs, her hair binding his hands over his head as she bent forward to lave at—

A soft, distressed chirp escaped him, and he nearly leapt from the bed to begin pacing once more. His hair had risen to a soft peak, and the back of his neck now felt hot and sensitive. The coil of anxiety had somehow blended with his anticipation, making him feel like he was balanced rather precariously between the two. Not unpleasantly, he had to admit, even if he was no longer entirely comfortable. He took a few breaths, trying to compose himself. There were only a few lines left. Surely he could get through this without completely embarrassing himself. He bent over the data pad, crossing his legs as he continued to read—and ignoring the subtle squirming in his lower abdomen.

*Be sure to kiss the subject liberally—on the mouth and while exploring his body. Very light application of the fingernails may also be desired.*

He cocked his head, curious about that last statement. Careful of his claws, he ran the tips lightly over his inner arm. The sensation was pleasant enough, and he noted in the margins that he would be agreeable to that, thankful that it seemed like such a tame suggestion after everything else.

*If subject is comfortable with genital examination, this procedure may be expanded on.*

He froze, fingers curling. His gaze fell to his lap. The prickling along his scalp and the back of his neck suddenly didn’t feel quite so pleasant anymore.  Swallowing hard, he sat up, resettling himself again. The spring in his lower abdomen had coiled tight, all hints of anticipation replaced by dread. He tapped the stylus against his thigh, trying to decide what to say.

Finally, he brought his stylus to the data pad and began to write.

-

A/N: As always, thank you for your comments! I love your feedback and I treasure each of your comments. I often go back and reread them if I need a little encouragement, so even if I don’t reply, know that I love hearing from you.

[metellastella]

Oneshot: Injury by a Firebender: The Dragon of the West and the Avatar

“Don’t touch me.” the monk said sharply. 

Iroh’s bronze eyes blinked in bewilderment at the harsh reprimand from the lighthearted airbender.  He had gone in to hug him, because he was clearly upset after their training session. The boy had been burned before, and this one had been simple enough for Katara to heal. So he wasn’t sure what had suddenly caused this shift in mood. 

“Are you all right?” the fatherly man asked with a tinge of panic. 

The boy was silent. 

His silver eyes cut into him. Iroh began churning up thoughts, trying to puzzle out what might be wrong, as he had when Lu Ten had gotten into moody episodes or angry fits.

“Aang,” the man said with a choked noise, “I am so, so sorry.” “It’s not your fault.” But the words were not forgiving in tone. They were hard. They projected ‘I understand this, but my feelings are very different from welcoming you back into my space right now.’ 

“What can I do to make it up to you? To make you feel better?” 

Aang’s shoulders screwed up. 

“Just . . .”

He breathed three times. 

Iroh recognized how he expanded his diaphragm as far as it would go, sucking in all the life-giving air his lungs could stand, and then releasing slowly like a leaking gas tank. 

The words from tutors from his own boyhood spoke to him, 

‘Picture you are drawing in the prana, the life force around you, and with each breath out, imagine you are cleansing yourself of fear and weakness.’ 

“You don’t normally act angry or forceful like Zuko,” the airbender analyzed. “But you do have your rare moments. If you could just . . . be extra quiet for the next few days, that would be a spiritsend.”

“Of course. I will be totally silent, if that’s what would help.” 

The monk relaxed further.  “What made this one worse? Was it something I did specifically?”

The monk opened his eyes and gave him a strained smile. “Toph and Zuko see you as the father you never had, Sensei. Or,” he corrected, “Does the Fire Nation use Sifu?” “Either is fine.”

“Or do you prefer Master?” “Aang, it really doesn’t matter. You insist on this formality, even though I’ve told you it’s not necessary.” 

“You see it as formality,” the monk bowed his head. “We saw it primarily as affection.” 

“Ah! Well then I am honored.”

“It is not a sign of dominance or status,” the monk went on. “But, like ‘Uncle,’ from Zuko, a friendly honorific.” “Like -chan! Or -san.” “Exactly. Like family.” 

The boy was silent for a few moments, and his brief happiness vanished.  “I had my own gurus, so although I want to see you as a parental figure, it feels as if I am betraying the dead by doing so.” The words dropped on him with all the force of the boy’s ten ton bison slamming into the ground. 

Tears gathered in the old man’s eyes. 

“It’s not your fault,” the monk said again, much gentler this time. “I want to like you, Master Iroh. But, the man that you, as a boy, kowtowed to as respect to an elder? He brutally murdered my elders.” 

Iroh couldn’t breathe. “Katara complains at me how ‘Zuko reminds me of my dead mother, and how am I supposed to deal with that,’ well.” The preteen laughed harshly. “I have to go meditate after she says things like that, or I will end up saying some very nasty things to her. She is like a noblewoman who complains that it is too hot, while fanning herself. I am the peasant out in the fields, toiling away to serve her up her dinner plate.” Iroh was convinced that he was having an out of body experience. He hadn’t felt this completely flattened by confusion since Mahimata, the Earth Spirit essentially mentally tortured him. 

“Nobody seems to understand exactly how much pain I’m in.” The boy went on in a monotone. “When we started out our journey, I would cry almost every day, as a normal person grieving their entire extended family’s death would. Sokka totally understood. He’d hug me, and rock me. Katara on the other hand, could not handle it. Grieving periods for one person are usually about at least a year, the monks would say. We had a couple of elders join the Spirit World, during my lifetime. So. If we were going to do some simple math here, how long would I need to grieve just every single one of my boyhood playmates, aside from an entire population of my people?” Iroh was beginning to feel faint from lack of oxygen. 

“Katara could not see me like that. It drove her insane. She’d let Sokka handle it. And I didn’t understand why at the time. I was hurt. I was beyond hurt. She acted so motherly all the time, and then when I needed her most, she abandoned me? I didn’t say anything to Sokka about it. I just cried. And tried to do what the monks said, look for the gratitude in the situation. A way to look at things from a positive angle. Impossible task, surely. I’d like to see the Mechanist be good enough at problem solving to unravel that one. After several meditation sessions, I finally ferreted out a way to look at it differently. This was ‘good.’ His macho attitude didn’t extend into berating a younger boy to ‘be more manly’ as you might expect.” 

He repeated the deep breaths. 

“Because, if both of them, my new family, had been unable to comfort me . . .”

The stab through the veteran’s heart was more painful than any blade that had ever gotten through his defenses and sliced into him. 

“Katara saw me as the savior to the world,” the monk said distantly. “So, not only was she hurt by my pain, because her empathy is strong. Every time that would happen, she would think that the world was lost, that we really couldn’t do it. I was too broken to be able to do this. Later on, she said, ‘Aang, we can just run away. You are only one person. You can’t solve this. There’s too much history. Too many people involved. I’ll bet my soul to some wicked spirit, that when the Avatar was established, the elder spirits never expected him to have to do something like this!! This was all a mistake. A slip of Fate. Surely, we need to just let you talk to them, and they’ll say the same thing!’” 

“I was very tempted by that offer,” the Bridge Between the Worlds said ponderously. “What if I just found some secluded spot for a couple of weeks, in order to go into deeper meditation trance states, and negotiate my way out of my responsibility? Were the spirits that merciful? Maybe.” 

He shrugged. “Maybe I should ‘have faith’ that the spirits would be fair to me, a poor little boy who did nothing to deserve this.”

Several more breaths, and Iroh could feel the wind around him reacting this time around. 

“I had a dream, where Roku spoke to me. He apologized for how he acted. That I needed more empathy from him, too. That he was not just my Guide, but also my elder who loved me.” 

A loud sob escaped him, and his element whooshed in response. 

“And now, when I sleep, I am in his arms. Like a baby who sleeps next to their mother. Sokka doesn’t have to do it so much, although he is still completely willing, and reminds me daily. Katara has gotten a little better.”

His next breath out was like a release valve, preventing overload from a too-full tank. 

“Nowadays, Roku murmurs things to me like, ‘It’s ok if you fail, Aang.’ ‘Just try your best.’ ‘That’s all any of us can ask from you.’ ‘You won’t be penalized by the Spirits.’ ‘You won’t even hear a harsh word from any of us Avatars.’ ‘And we most certainly will be there to comfort you.’ If I die, whether by disgruntled protestors, or by assassins trying to re-ignite the war, then the Air Nomads will truly have left the world. I try, during my meditations, to rein in that all-encompassing, all-too-likely scenario. Meditation is meant to quell anxiety after all,” he said a bit bitterly, “and all its attendant visualizations. I guess I am just lucky that, although my anxiety is centered on the entire world, I also have more powerful meditation states than the average person as well. It is suited to the task.” he said flatly. 

His silver eyes glanced around his surroundings. 

“Had I been born somewhere else than the Air Temples, where meditation for bending is not taken so seriously, I’m not sure what mental state I would be in. I could be catatonic, for one. I’m sure I would’ve hurt or killed people in fits of rage by now, Avatar Spirit involved or not.” 

He paused. “There has never been a child Avatar in the Spirit World. Ever. None of the spirits I have talked to in dreams knows what will happen if that comes to pass. Will I be a child in perpetuity? Some of the more feminine ones cluck over me like a mother hen and say, ‘You poor dear, you will feel very lonely here, should you die.’ ‘You will be the only one of your kind here, just as you are on the Material Plane.’ ‘We will lavish you with attention, little one.’ ‘You deserve paradise after death, probably even more so than any human who has ever existed.’ ‘Don’t be afraid.’” His tears drew tracks down his cheeks. 

“‘You’ve never had a mother, have you, love?’ ‘Your gurus were so mastered in their minds that they could provide that feminine touch to you.’ ‘We don’t mean to disrespect their culture, dear, but it seems terribly sad to us, still.’”

He let out a broken chuckle and quavered in a slightly otherworldly voice, “Roku, you brute, you had better take over as the next Avatar’s Guide if that happens. Expecting a child who had barely begun to live to mentor a sixteen year old? The fire fields will freeze over before we let you off the hook.’” The boy wiped his eyes. 

“I have lots of ‘people’ rooting for me. Not only rooting for me, but allowing the possibility that I will fail. And that, is what every boy and girl in the world needs.” 

[midas-or-khaos]

The Ones Above Us. Chapter 1

Date:- September 30th, 2008, 14 days after initial discovery.

Time:- 18:42 pm

Flicking a cheap Poundland lighter, sparks spat in the morbid matt of a pure black atmosphere out on location in the back arse of nowhere (somewhere far off Ireland’s version of the M6 he’d been told). Winter winds were of the worst kind: didn’t matter how far inland you made it, or how thick the walls on your house were, they traversed the land with albatross wings wide and undaunted by what they came into contact with, smacking into any surface with no regards to slowing down. They didn’t seem to have any regard for detective Arthur Fleming‘s Malboro either, a stiff left hand shaking at the switch, and the right vainly trying to create shelter for the cigarette.

“For FUCK sake.” Singed fingertips for his troubles.

“Serves you right. No smoking on the job detective, you know better.”

Head Forensic Pathologist Fatima Alvi. A 4’9 willowy thing with a short, plump bob, damn near bobblehead proportions and a tendency to get right under his fucking skin like the irritating shit she was. She’d succeeded young and now all that arrogance she hadn’t quite worked out her system from (what should be mandatory in his opinion) the hard labour of working up the social ladder had only boosted her tendency to tighten her favourite black brogues far too tight, straighten her back like a bloody ballerina and fix that rod she’d shoved up her arse however many years ago a little bit deeper.

“I’m ten yards from the sodding site and wrapped in a white, walkable body bag, I think we can both agree me being over here isn’t going to tamper with shit. And not to challenge ur dictatorship, luv, but you’ve got winged lashes big enough to take off under those goggles o’ yours. Now you go back under those useless gazebos, and I’ll happily freeze my arse off out here.” Turning back round to face the empty, Arthur cursed himself for getting a 4 buzz cut rather than a short back and sides a week ago.

Fatima despised this part of the job. Working with middle-aged, greying twats like this one that clearly hated their jobs, but seemed to have this vendetta against the mere mention of career change. Yes, she was aware as you age, getting a new job gets harder. Surprise though, so did being fresh out of uni. Life sends these little tests to fuck us all over, not just you mate. Must be the bitter taste of Thatcher’s rule that’s left him slow to change. Scarred from the days when not having a job meant not eating, full stop. Doesn’t give the trout-mouthed, once-upon-a-time aryan flag pole a reason to snap like Chihuahua.

“Why don’t you stop trying to get your next sad excuse for a hit from nicotine, and come over here and do your actual fucking job?”

“No respect.” Muttered Arthur to himself, giving up on his lost cause and unzipping the top half of his polymer suit to shove the cigarette into his oversized shirt pocket.

Finally the standing misery addressed the stout woman face to face, a shaking clinging to each syllable, “What the hell d’you need me for? It’s obvious this isn’t a normal murder case, IF we’re even call it a murder case. I mean for god sake, Fatima, the grave is over 50 feet long! Whatever we’re uncovering obviously isn’t a human, it’s a fucking dinosaur! Why am I here in the back-arse of all points nowhere, rather than a load of archaeologists?”

“Because what we’ve found so far isn’t making sense, and last time anyone checked, dinosaurs were fossilised. BONES, detective, not skin. This body is so fresh, there’s absolutely no decay at all! That’s impossible. Then there’s the skin, it hasn’t even been stained by acid or mud, like the skin is coated in some hydrophobic matter. None of this should be possible.” A sigh slipped the last of Fatima’s adrenaline-fuelled spitting out, she was tired. Tired of him, tired of working, tired of being in the cold. “Look, personally I think this is probably an elaborate hoax some twat on YouTube with a fringe or whatever has decided to plant in a well known historic location for views. The arseholes will probably be waiting for the news report on TV so they can have a laugh at our expense. None of this is natural, and frankly it’s starting to look ridiculous. However, so long as our shitty superiors believe this to be a murder case we stick to finding out how this thing died, understood?”

Scathing way of saying it, But a hoax was something Arthur was desperate to cling to. Of course, this was nothing but staged and faked beyond belief! None of this could be real. Give credit where credit’s due though, the bell-ends that did this were thorough. Tutting, Arthur knew he couldn’t argue his case anymore, and started to strut off on those stilts for legs back to the beams of spotlights, Fatima trotting along after him just to keep up.

“Glad to see you’re helping.”

“Just talk to me about what’s going on so we’ll be able to document this and go back to the hostel.” Spat Arthur in retaliation. He hated this job. These people. But most importantly, that thing.

Entering through the only available entrance, the two nearly ran into another detective. Useless idiot. Despite this temporary flimsy building being the size of a football field, there was barely enough space among the number of personnel of all ranks and professions, technology, storage facilities and dig sights to separate the wood from the leaves. To add to the misery, despite being as frosty inside as it was outside, the scent of dank earth and petrol from the excavation diggers still managed to permeate the trapped air. God it stunk.

Taking on a note of interest as she got into her element, Fatima called out as she moved out the way, “Right, so we are at the feet end, and up there at the other end of the canopy is our head. We’re going there first because that’s what the two witnesses found during their initial dig.”

Taking off briskly, the forensic pathologist seemed unfazed by the sheer size of the foot sticking out like a meteorite fallen to earth just a couple of meters from the entrance, not even gracing the thing a glance. Arthur had no such laissez-faire-attitude, frozen in tunnel vision. This is why he didn’t wanna come back in. The damn toes had the familiar, unique swirling pattern of calloused skin seen on humans, and blotches of brown that must’ve been freckles, as they lacked the blotchy, wet texture of mud. Veins passing like eels under ice became exposed near the epidermis, shining icy blue. On an intellectual level, the aged detective knew a foot his height in length couldn’t possibly exist in the real world. If they did, someone would’ve surely reported such a sighting.

On a primal level, instinct was sending adrenaline shooting to his heart, and his lungs could scarcely fill themselves in time to keep up with the demand of oxygenated blood. Those feet looked too alive. The raw power those hands must posses, accompanying such ginormous feet! All of it reminded him of his honeymoon with his wife on Safari, watching a pack of saltwater crocodiles descend in a snapping furry upon shared prey, crushing a zebra’s skull in its death roll, red and bloodied teeth and palate facing the animal’s terror-struck gaze whilst it still vainly screamed for its herd to come to its aid. The vocal cords snapped, eventually silencing under the sheer force of those jaws collectively ripping the head off n one piece. Two crocodiles sent the thing flying twelve feet in the air in pure territorial aggression, neither caring that they’d just murdered another being, before the Wiley victory went after the splattering mess to claim its prize. None of the herd even dared approach the brutality. Would these others do the same if he were captured? Would they leave him to the beast?

“Arthur, c’mon.”

Back to reality. “Sorry.”

Just focusing on Fatima’s back seemed to do the trick, heart rate levelling out below 100bpm. Don’t look round and it won’t be there. Arthur didn’t have it in himself to self scold for such a ridiculous reaction; he knew he should’ve stayed outside.

Still set on her headlong track, Fatima chose to not bother with looking back and risk painfully smacking into some poor soul, so delegated talking to the air in front of herself, hoping he heard her through the ruckus around them. “The head hasn’t decayed, following suit to rest of the currently exposed limbs, though there does appear to be damage. Face appears to be male, middle-aged 35 to 50’s. Noticeable marks being three precise third degree burns across the face resembling a striped pattern. No sign of healing or breakdown within the exposed areas either, which would suggest the burns were created after death.”

“Has anyone tested a sample of skin to see why there’s no breakdown?”

“We tried, but every single time someone has come in with a scalpel to remove a piece, once removed from the body the entire piece seems to crumble instantly to a fine blue dust and disappear.”

“What, Like Indiana Jones style? We found the crusader knight?”

“Please try and take this seriously Arthur, I wouldn’t mention our findings if they were false.” Tutted Fatima.

Arthur knew he was deflecting to shield himself. “I am. Can we at least try collecting the dust?”

“No use, I meant it when I said everything disappears.”

“So anything we test or observe must be on the body at all times or it’s essentially worthless?”

“Correct.”

Well that made everything just that little bit harder. JUST! They’d been reduced to the detective abilities of the bloody Edwardian period. No testing beyond what could be extracted from the soil (and judging by the lack of messy bodily fluids, the thing probably didn’t have any), and they had yet to uncover the rest of the body to see if there were any signs of obvious trauma that would account the reason behind the death. This was going to take forever. Every waking moment in this shithole was a second wasted. Whoever made this thing was one sick fuck.

“If I ever find the shitheads responsible for this prank, I’m gonna hand em a fucking life sentence. The law be damned.”

Just missing a collision with another photographer, the head finally came into full view. Even from this vantage point above ground, the thing didn’t seem small in any way. If he’d thought the foot was massive, the head was a new beast entirely upon its own pedestal. Surprisingly peaceful for a dead person, no expressions of pain or strain, just a suspiciously perfect sullen face (aside the burns of course). Knotted, greying-blond hair splayed out in dregs from the skull like old depictions of the sun’s rays, haloing the face and drawing you to the pair of closed lids. He wasn’t pretty by any standard, Arthur vainly self-noted. Weak chin jutting thin lips out from the round face, a high hairline accentuating the large forehead and a heavy brow ridge. If he weren’t the size of a four story building and significantly burnt, he’d have been extraordinary ordinary. Forgettable even. The detective knew he shouldn’t be saying that. It was a ‘victim’ after all.

“If we can’t remove any body parts, can we perhaps open the body up instead and take samples of anything inside the stomach, lungs, chest cavity etcetera?”

A grimace pulled at the woman’s lips, marring her usually stoic face, “Already done it, we had Liam go inside with a contamination dry suit whist you were outside. It’s the kind of stuff sewage divers wear at human waste plants.”

Arthur couldn’t help turning his own nose up at the prospect as well, shuffling unconsciously just a little further away. “And?”

“There were important pieces missing. A full, undisturbed respiratory system: lungs, trachea, the works. Oddly, absolutely no digestive or reproductive organs what so ever. Weirder yet, there were no signs of sabotage or surgical removal, it was like they were never there in the first place. What really caught my eye on the camera feed was that he had, what we think, are a series of air sacks integrated along the connection between the lungs and the diaphragm.”

“Meaning?”

Poor Fatima was looking at Arthur like she was trying to explain how to use the toilet to a three year old, a strong side eye from her place parallel to him

“MEANING this thing had an incredibly resourceful breathing mechanism.”

“So no basic necessary functions like the need to eat and reproduce, but a top quality breathing system. And you wonder why I’m not taking any of this seriously? Why couldn’t we just send a report saying it was a hoax and save time? It technically doesn't even come under the scientific detention of alive.”

“Well certainly not now it doesn’t.” Arthur gave his own stink eye back.

“... Look, why don’t we try and get the body transferred over to London? Our proper, large-scale testing equipment will be at our fingertips, and we’d be able to at least stick this problem on some stupid lab rats and be done with it, what d’you say?”

Fatima finally stopped half-hearting her disgust to focus on Arthur face to face. “Arthur, where d’you think that kind of space and discreetness would be possible in the middle of London city? This body is over fifty feet all, we wouldn’t even be able to keep it cool enough to stop potential decay-“

Arthur butted in, “- This thing has been out the ground for two weeks, Fatima, and hasn’t so much as lost a hair naturally. We don’t need to worry about decay. Yes, transferring the body would disturb the ‘crime scene’, but if we get this thing sent off as archeological dig remains, the disturbance won’t matter, and we’d be off the case. I don’t wanna be stuck with this shit anymore, do you?” Was he sounding too desperate?

She knew she shouldn’t mention it, not to herself and DEFINITELY not Arthur, but within her selfish consciousness, Fatima couldn’t agree with that. This may be a hoax to Arthur, but all these findings were starting to settle saplings in the garden of her imagination. These Findings weren’t Styrofoam cut outs painted with acrylic, nor were they polymer clay held together over a skeleton. whatever material this was, it was unlike anything she’d seen before. Maybe all this was a hoax, maybe all this was a waste of time.

But secretly, she wished it wasn’t.

“...I’ll see what I can do.”

[asthefirerisesblog]

OKAY GUYS BUCKLE UP YOU DON'T KNOW ME BUT I HAVE AN IDEA.

(We are talking about Vader so if discussing his health issues is triggering for you, go make yourself a mug of hot chocolate and I hug you (or not if you don’t want to) from afar)

(if Anakin the war had been a little less murdery)

In this absolutely ridiculous AU I have in my head, I have imagined the Rebellion (mostly like the Rogues with our dear dear sunshine boy Luke Skywalker) as a group of gen z friends, with ridiculous insides jokes, MEMES and fits of laughter every 2 seconds.

For example, they have the Star Wars equivalent of a Group Chat.

And you must understand that the Group Chat is sacred. If there is a message on it, nobody cares that it's the middle of a very important meeting or even a dogfight, e-ve-ry-one must see what ridiculous meme that random guy you talked to once on a Saturday morning two years ago sent. It is mandatory. 

I talked about stupid inside jokes and for example, there was Wedge who once completely THREW HIMSELF DOWN in the middle in a hallway (actually, he fell, but 1. it was so dramatic even Luke Channel-Boots Skywalker wouldn’t have done it, and 2. he will not admit for the life of him that his foot got stuck in whatever irregularity of the floor) and it made a BOOM so loud and it was so damn funny everyone decided to never let him live that down. So now, when you enter this hallway, you have to put your foot down the hardest you can in remembrance for the magnificent BOOM of Wedge.

Now, imagine that Anakin and the crew of the Executor have defected to the Rebellion when our beautiful murderdad has discovered that he was, in fact, a dad. Anakin is, at this point, half-living his best life. He has his son, he found his daughter (ummm also Alderaan has not really happened okay thank you bye) and they actually care about him (that’s new and scary for this extremely traumatised tin can). He took off the mask and is relying on a clear oxygen mask to breath, + the vital parts of his suit. Doctors are figuring a way to completely remove the suit, but he is not completely down for another extensive surgery, so yep. Beneath the mask, the Rebellion (and the ex-Imps) have discovered a man deeply scarred both physically and mentally, with a lot of issues (about his relationship to his body, to himself in general, his self-worth etc). My vision of things is that during the Clone Wars and his Jedi years, he had already a lot of issues concerning his view of himself (growing up as a slave  and a complete lack of therapy didn’t really help), but there was still a light, a fire in him. I do think that despite everything, there was moment where he could forget about all the bad things and just spend a very happy moment with Padmé/Ahsoka/Obi-Wan. But the Darkside (and Palpatine) erased this fire and now he is mostly empty and quiet all the time (even if finding his children has lessened his apathy towards life a bit, it’s going to be a looooooooooooooooong time before anything visibly changes).

Let’s talk about the crew (= Piett because I love this man, although if I don’t remember if it’s correct timeline wise okay let’s not care about canon we are here to improve it hahah thanks). Piett has served for the last... period of time under Vader, which has probably aged him of at least 50 years. If you have to compress the entirety of Piett into one word it would be stress. The guy can never, never fail at the littleless thing or he will die. He cannot break the etiquette or he will die. He has to be perfect, otherwise (as you guessed), he will die. Piett arrives in a world where you call your superior by their name or even a nickname, you play sabacc with them, you win, you laugh at them, and you never let them live it down. In this world, you mostly communicate through memes, emojis and pranks. In this world, Luke Skywalker will live-tweet the heck out of the battlefield. (The first few interactions with the Rogues are going to be fun I tell ya).

And now, let’s have fun about the meeting of these two worlds. Vader, an ex-slave who hasn’t had fun for the twenty last years of his life, his crew who is absolutely terrified of him, and the Rogues, who have decided that today they were going to go in this Very Important Strategy Meeting in matching unicorn onesies.

[charmmycolour]

Lilo & Stitch: Kweltikwanians and Plorgonarians

Lilo & Stitch dedicates plenty of time to expose and explain everything that is known about Jumba’s experiments, especially 626. However, lovers of extended lore may want to know more about Jumba himself or the other alien on the franchise, Pleakley.

Unfortunately, there’s a severe lack of information about their species available to read at once. And fortunately, here I am! I watched the four movies and all the series and collected all the facts and interesting bits I could find about them. It’s possible other things had escaped me, and in that case, please let me know! The more information we have, the better.

This only includes things that are stated, mentioned or implied in canon, which means you can’t find my personal headcanons here (does anyone want to hear that?). Between brackets and in bold you have where every one of these references had been found.

Ready?

Kweltikwanians

Jumba’s home planet is known as Kweltikwan, also spelled Quelte Quan or Kweltiquan (The Asteroid). His species is either referred as Kweltikwanian or simply Kweltikwan and was revealed on promotional material and official descriptions before the first movie’s release.

Tantalog, the fictional language the experiments talk fluidly, is presumedly the native tongue of Kweltikwan and Jumba (Lilo & Stitch).

Kweltikwanians are most likely a binary species with males and females, according to the existence of Jumba’s ex-wife (Spooky) and a photo of a female-looking Kweltikwanian on the wall of Jumba’s cell (Lilo & Stitch). Their sexual dimorphism seems to be limited to females having bigger breast and being slightly more bluish than purple.

Two more woman can be seen in the cell, but the lack of details makes difficult to determine if they are intended to be Kweltikwanians. If they were, it would confirm it’s possible for them to have sharper teeth (and presumably, it would be considered a desired trait) and pale skin without markings (Lilo & Stitch).

Females having breast suggest newborns may need be nursed for a while before being able to absorb their own nutrients (Spooky). If that was the case, females may have nipples.

Male Kweltikwanians don’t have nipples (Lilo & Stitch: The Series) (Lilo & Stitch 2: Stitch Have a Glitch).

Kweltikwanians don’t have visible belly buttons (Lilo & Stitch).

Kweltikwanians have four teeth in total. The most notorious are two big rounded fangs leaning towards each end of the bottom of the mouth, usually the only ones visible. Two smaller but similar ones can be seen at the top, leaning slightly more at the center (Lilo & Stitch).

However, the Series Timeline added two more at the bottom, a lot smaller and a little more sharper, that can be found between the larger fangs, being the more centric of all the three sets (Stitch! The Movie). As these are very small and are usually not visible anyway, it can be explained that they were simply hidden.

Baby Kweltikwanians already have the larger fangs but lack the other sets (Babyfier).

The reason it’s hard to see their teeth it’s because Kweltikwanians have a blue membrane that seems to cover the inside of their mouth in front of the teeth (Lilo & Stitch). It’s unknow what the function of such membrane is, but it could be related to his aquatic capabilities.

Kweltikwanians tongue is blue, suggesting their blood is probably that color too (Lilo & Stitch).

Their strong accent, resembling a Russian one to humans, can also be the result of them lacking teeth for proper pronunciation and having a completely different native tongue (Lilo & Stitch) (Spooky).

On their planet, Kweltikwanians absorb most of their nutrients directly through the skin, and they need to eat rarely or not at all (The Asteroid). As Jumba is unable to do so on Earth and presumably on Turo, as he’s seen eating on his old lab (Frenchfry), it seems they need a specific atmosphere first to be able to absorb the nutrients.

Despite having a functional digestive system that allows them to eat, it seems Kweltikwanians don’t find the sensation pleasing at all (The Asteroid). Most likely, it’s due their lack of proper teeth, which would make chewing uncomfortable.

Kweltikwanians are able to either breath underwater or hold their breath for extended periods of time, as Jumba is seen diving without the help of a breathing apparatus, even with his mouth full open (Lilo & Stitch). It’s possible they can hold reserves of air somewhere on their body or have some organ that allows them to filter the oxygen from the water.

Kweltikwanians also have at least the potential to be quite amazing swimmers, as Jumba doesn’t need any equipment to dive and still moves underwater with much more precision that any of the other characters, even swimming inside a wave and jumping outside of it at the exact point he intended (Lilo & Stitch).

It quite compensates their movements on ground, where they are bulky, quite slow and prone to accidentally knock over things due their size (Lilo & Stitch).

However, that makes their body extremely durable. Kweltikwanians can withstand small plasma explosions, being hit with objects much larger and heavier than themselves and can hold a battle against stronger contestants (Lilo & Stitch).

That does not make them less skillful and precise about their movements. They think fast and are rarely clumsy (Stitch! The Movie) (Angel) (Heckler) (Swirly). Jumba is able to handle delicate equipment and chemicals despite his size, which suggest his species may have special abilities to crafting and tinkering (and may explain why Jumba doesn’t boost his ability to create and focus only on his intellect).

Kweltitwanian’s eyes also seem to suggest they are naturally good at mechanics. They have extremely good deep perception, more color receptors, and can focus on several things at once (Swapper). However, that also means they cannot concentrate well on a single object, which probably leads to a lot of multitasking. Every one of their eyes can blink independently. The two back eyes and the two front ones can depict different emotions and look at different places; but they can also be separate by side (two right ones and two left ones together) (Lilo & Stitch). In some rare occasions, it seems they can even use two opposite eyes for the same action (like winking), suggesting the four of them function separately and Kweltikwanians only use them together because it’s more comfortable.

When young, Kweltikwanians have a fluffy down hair on the same color that the markings on their skin (Babyfier). The nature of this seems to be temporary akin to baby birds, as they will develop normal hair later in life (Clip) (Spooky). Straight, curly and afro are possible, and so far, raven black and blonde had been observed.

Kweltikwanians hair seems to be able to grow really fast based on their self-esteem, if Jumba sudden hair grown is natural for them. However, it’s unknown if it was prompted by external causes, as he is seen earlier trying ways to get his hair back (Clip).

Being bald is perceived as negative on Kweltikwanian, based on Jumba’s reaction to his own lack of hair (Clip).

Kweltikwanians are very strong, as even someone like Jumba who is presented to not have any interest in working out can lift extremely heavy things (Lilo & Stitch) (Yin and Yang) (Melty) (Slushy).

On the other hand, they are not agile at all. Jumba had been seen able to run decent distances without panting, albeit slower than Lilo (627) (Spooky) (Remmy); but he had not jumped once, not even on a basketball game (Slugger). If Kweltikwanians cannot jump or Jumba is just too lazy for it, it’s up to the viewer.

As Jumba is almost always wearing high boots, it’s not seen often, but Kweltikwanians have three big, rounded toenails in each feet (Stitch! The Movie).

Jumba usually stand with his legs facing inwards (Lilo & Stitch). It’s unknow if it has something to do on how their hips are bended or he just have a bad posture.

In primitive stages of their development, Kweltikwanians used to have more sharper teeth that protrude from the mouth, the body covered in fur, their ears pointed upwards and much bigger feet and toenails. Their acted akin to gorillas (Retro).

In Kweltikwan, if a sports team loses a game, their member become slaves to the winning team (Slugger).

Kweltikwanians have concept of both weddings and divorces, and they seem to work the same way human ones do (Spooky) (Swapper).

They also have concept for parades and seem to organize them for notorious individuals (The Asteroid).

Jumba regards Kweltikwanian children as chaotic, destructive, and hard to control (Babyfier).

Jumba tries once to cook a traditional meal from his planet, which resembles bread and meatballs. Ironically, it’s extremely hard, but that’s probably because Jumba is stated to be quite a terrible cook (The Asteroid).

Kweltikwan doesn’t have any equivalent to mud (Link).

Jumba is familiar with snow, which suggest it’s at least a possible phenomena on Kweltikwan (Slushy).

Plorgonarians

Pleakley’s home planet is known as Plorgonar and his species is referred as Plorgonarians (Mr. Stenchy).

The planet resembles a Plorgonarian’s head. It seems to be orbiting a bigger planet (Mr. Stenchy).

Their language is know as Ploginar. It’s only known “Wendy” means “Brave Warrior” (Fibber), and “Smyzzyx” means “beat their pants off!” (Slugger).

Plorgonarians are a sex binary species with males and females (Mr. Stenchy) (Fibber). Sexual dimorphism is noticeable: males are completely or almost bald, while females have hair on their head. Females have a more accentuated waist and a slightly more pronounced chest curve. Interestingly, none of the young female Plorgonarians had ever been show having any breast, but Mrs. Pleakley appears to have saggy breast (Fibber). It may be a mere effect from the clothes or a trait that only develops on elderly females.

They lack skeletal system completely; their body hold together through nerves and muscles instead (Poxy).

That make Plorgonarians extremely fast, flexible, and agile (Lilo & Stitch) (Slugger) (Shoe). However, they are also pretty weak, albeit stronger than they may seem at first glance (Link) (Yaarp).

Despite their apparent delicate body, even a weak individual like Pleakley can withstand quite a few rough situations without being badly harmed, like being squished, hit, attacked by animals, or falling from great heights (Lilo & Stitch) (Poxy) (627). This durability is probably result of their lack of bones.

Pleakley, who is already shorter than an average human, is stated to be tall for his species (Fibber).

Something on Plorgonarian’s skin seems to be extremely attractive to mosquitoes, as Pleakley is attacked viciously by them (Lilo & Stitch) (Bugsy).

Plorgonarians doesn’t have belly button (Stitch! The Movie) or nipples (Lilo & Stitch 2: Stitch Have a Glitch).

Their brain seems to be quite small, smaller than their eye (Poxy). However, it may be simply constructed different that a human one, the part show being only a fraction of the cerebral area.

Plorgonarian’s vision is limited and they can’t focus on more than one thing at once because of their single eye (Swapper). However, that also gives them great ability to discern details (Skip).

The antenna on their head is called Plorgonarian quart flanch, and acts both as olfactory and auditory organ (Mr. Stenchy) (Yaarp). Pleakley states that the flanch is capable of reading "several strata of subspace ether transmissions”. It seems Plorgonarians can also have two flaches instead of one (Mr. Stenchy). Their species seems to find appealing odors that are generally considered horrible (Mr. Stenchy).

The flanch goes orange with age, at least on males, and it’s considered unattractive (Spike). Pleakley dyes his, with implies it’s a common practice to avoid the effects of age, albeit embarrassing by his own admission.

However, their respiratory system is not connected to their antenna, but their mouth, as Pleakley have to use a breathing apparatus on it while diving (Lilo & Stitch).

Once, after being held captive for about 2 hours, Pleakley is seen with bushy eyebrows and a long gray beard. However, due his dramatic nature, he probably was using wigs to create the effect (Checkers).

Plorgonarians don’t have a proper jaw lock, so they can unhinge it completely (Bugsy).

Not only have Plorgonarians two tongues, but also two uvulas (Mrs. Hasagawa’s Cats). The purple color suggests their blood is probably also purplish.

Pleakley have upper teeth (Phantasmo) (Mr. Hasagawa’s Cats) and other Plorgonarians had been observed with teeth too (Fibber). However, it’s difficult to determine how many teeth does they have, as they almost always hidden under the lips. As they have no problems chewing, it’s very possible they have a complete denture that it’s simple too short to be visible above the lips.

They use clothes that enhance their shoulders, implying it’s a desirable trait on Plorgonar (Fibber) (Heckler) (Houdini).

Plorgonarians have two hearts, one next to the other (Poxy).

When Lilo touches her chest and says “love come from here”, Pleakley states that, on his case, it would be around one of his tighs (Snafu). The dialog references the heart, but as Pleakley had mention several times before his hearts are located on his chest (and it had been seen on Poxy); he probably got it confused with another organ.

In primitive stages of development, Plorgonarians were more akin to big amphibians with more wilder appearance, including bigger teeth and a larger antenna. Is revealed that their third foot was once a tail that heavily resembles a fish fin, suggesting that Plorgonarians might had been aquatic (Retro).

Plorgonarians also seem to be rather homophobic, as Jumba was forced to pretend to be a woman to pose as Pleakley’s fiancée to meet his family expectations. However, they seem to be completely fine with other species altogether (Fibber).

They value appearances and good reputation, as Pleakley states that when your family choose a partner for you, you must accept to preserve their good name. Not that only means that arranged weddings are extremely common in Plorgonar (if not the only type at all), but that parents are perceived as an authority figure you shall not disobey (Fibber).

Plorgonarians live on houses that resemble their heads. Their neighbors seem to be very symmetrical and organized in similar fashion that 50s style houses (Mr. Stenchy).

Instead, their fashion has a distinct 80s feeling with pads, extravagant attires and colorful palettes (Fibber) (Mr. Stenchy).

Plorgonar have a sport called Priznolaprack that it’s nearly identical to basketball (Slugger).

Plorgonarians have gender roles similar to western humans, and they expect certain clothes, behavior and positions depending on their gender (Fibber).

Pleakley doesn’t understand the concept of physical money, which suggest currency in Plorgonar, if they use any, uses some kind of intangible form (Stitch! The Movie). However, Pixley being more successful based on her career and material possession also suggest they do, in fact, have some kind of transaction system (Fibber).

Pleakley is completely oblivious to the concept of credit cards, debt and owing money, which means these are things not used in Plorgonar (Yapper).

 Based on Pleakley’s being strict on rules, yet having no problems taking things from others and even stealing, it can be deduced Plorgonar have a very loose sense of property (Lilo & Stitch) (Stitch! The Movie) (Leroy & Stitch).

Plorgonar doesn’t have an equivalent to mud (Link).

Pleakley doesn’t recognizes snow, meaning it doesn’t snow in Plorgonar (Slushy).