#to be fair it seems there are Memory Shenanigans

[blue-mood-blue]

When the protagonist has been so oblivious to the love interest’s incredible and extended pining that even the villain is like “Wait, you really didn’t know?? Harsh.”

[jolapeno]

in my room

javier peña x f!reader | masterlist

summary: Because it’s an exchange, a two-way thing. He doesn’t tell you he likes your hair and you don’t tell him you fuck him so you don’t think.

wordcount: 6.2k (im so sorry, this was meant to be short)

warnings: explicit. smut + angst. colleagues who fuck for stress relief. grumpy-ish javi. file room shenanigans. unprotected p in v. oral!f receiving, mention of m!receiving. javi’s hand being a necklace. cum eating (by Javi), mild rough sex? mentions of grief (due to canon-compliant death), season two compliant/spoilers for season two. javi has a filthy mouth. joetics (jo and her poetic nature, credit to @/goodwithcheese for the name), no use of y/n but javi calls you princesa/baby.

an: dedicated to javi-edit-anon, hope you're doing okay.

It begins swarmed in grief.

A chest full of conflicting emotions, fingers itching for another smoke. It is all put into motion by the same person who became the catalyst—the match to the flame, the cause of the inferno.

He doesn’t usually wander around the building. But, today was a lot of firsts. Jaw clenched. Fingers digging into his palm at the memory, the realisation—the fucking play-by-play—of how he’d been played, fucked over, used.

Now, he’s left riddled with the knowledge that he’d lost a friend a few hours ago because of something he did. The understanding of it rusting in his stomach, right next door to the place disgrace is building a home where his gut had been.

He’s not thinking, not seeking—a desperation to run and hide, yet has nowhere to go.

And then he comes across you.

Finds you in the hallway like you were sent to save him. To pull him out of the water, pump the liquid from his lungs and smother the flames from burning his skin.

The two of you having stopped, paused in your travels.

Just two isolated shadows in the middle of the corridor—an invisible line being drawn, a noticeable white mark—backlit by sorrow and emptiness.

You don’t tear your eyes from him. Stubborn, even on your loss. Purposefully, intentionally, holding his gaze across the empty corridor.

Usually, you're so put together he feels contempt at how you seem unfazed at being surrounded by the shit they all have to do daily. But now, you look every bit as undone as him—shirt untucked, sadness stitched into your usually tight, rigid frame.

The only thing similar is the way you look at him, just like you did when the hours ticked on during those late nights you were forced to work together.

Files opened, documents scoured. Two eyes fairing better than one in their search. The toe of your shoe tapping against his desk, your fingers circling the rim of your mug full of coffee (never liquor, only coffee), pen clicking and clicking—

It had been Carrillo who had paired the two of you. Handing him a task, a surname—one Javi hadn’t heard—and the option of an extra pair of hands: you’ll see she’s good, and we don’t want her poached.

Then, he’d laid eyes on you.

You who’d he’d seen around, but never the chance to talk to. Had no reason to. You forever moved in any direction but the one he was heading in whenever he came into sight. That had been well over a month ago, weeks now.

In that time, he learnt your snark, your laugh—the way you take your coffee and your petulance for sugar after 8 pm—all proper in how you handle yourself, like royalty.

It’s then he learned that you hated being called princesa. Lips curling when it dripped from his lips, back straightening—all close to fracturing, snapping. So naturally, he called it you more.

It became—like the rest of it—a habit. He dropped the name as easily as he began pushing some of his shit to the side for you, so you had a space, a small corner of his desk you could commandeer when you joined him.

It didn’t mean anything. A thing be recited, thought to himself as he buried himself inside Gabriela—who looked nothing like you.

Then, a week ago, you were already there before he got back. The soles of his shoes had come to a standstill at the top of the steps, staring at the back of you—taking you in.

There was no need to see your face, Javi knew that you knew he was there. Not saying a thing when he seated himself down, the same way he didn’t with each tap of your shoes’ toe against the metal frame and you bit the end of your pen. He’d decided weeks ago, when you wore a shirt you felt the need to undo two buttons off, that if you weren’t paired with him to torture him, he wasn’t sure what else you were sitting next to him to test him for. But he’d find out, work it out.

Then you cracked it—found it, the anomaly, the name, a connection. A semblance of something in a sea of shit. A straw to grasp, to pull—your lips, likely stained from coffee and ink, twisting into a grin, one he couldn’t help but admire.

“¿Cómo?”

Pulling a face, he had only shrugged, feeling you watch him, answering with a, “You’re good.”

“You just realised? You just notice I got tits, too?”

Leaning back in his chair, he shifts his jaw to the side. Watching you stack papers before holding his stare, letting you see him flick his eyes from yours to your lips. Suddenly all unsure how to even begin telling you that he’d noticed you—had done so since they were all forced into this fucking building.

But you’d caught him, snapped him in plain sight with those beautiful eyes of yours. “Resorting to kissing colleagues now. Fucking whores not doing it for you, Peña?”

He had smirked, wider, but it had been tough. Leaning forward, he traced his bottom lip with his thumb. “You heard about that.”

Nodding, you’d smiled—cockily, full of something other than kindness. “Half the women will be lining up if they think you have free time.”

“But not you?”

Then, you’d stood, head tilted, files in the neatest pile compared to the rest of his desk, as you rolled your lips. “No. Not me. Goodnight, Peña.”

That exchange had been before things had gone to shit.

Before his cock had undone it all, left several people dead and the person who’d paired you together, gone. Taken—leaving a widow and children without a father.

Snorting, he focuses on clearing his throat as he replays it all. How much of a fever dream it all feels, his other hand pinching his thigh as he stares at you studying him, not scurrying off like he half expects.

And the fact you don’t makes his fingers itch at his side.

A part of him, suddenly stronger than all other parts, battles to move closer to you—like he needs to see what your mouth feels like on his. Like he’s been without his fill. It’s why even as much as he wants you to close the gap, he doesn’t move. Wants you to have an out—an escape.

A chance to choose whether you want to wake up with regret. Because even he knows sleeping with him ends in two ways, and shame is usually one of them.

“You should go inside your room.”

But of course you don’t. Instead, it’s the soles of your shoes on the floor that get louder, closer.

“Do you want me to, Peña?”

It’s building, rising. His eyes trailing up and down you, mouth chewing his tongue as he gets another taste of liquor, as he finally lets his gaze land back on yours.

“You want me to walk away from you?”

No. It’s final. Gruff. More spat out than said—laced with failure and remorse—but you hear him. Loud and fucking clear.

So much so, your lips twist up, smirking more devilish than he knows what to do with. “Good.”

It’s quick—you’re quick. Yanking him close as he forces you flush against him. His mouth crashes, steals and takes as his lips sear themselves to yours. And he learns, quickly, you’re not soft, but biting.

You are all jagged sweetness that throws a curve ball in how he knows how to handle this. You. Your lips taste of sadness, tears and liquor, all cheap—so very unlike what he imagines for you—and you make a knot tighten in his core as your palm flattens over his hardening cock in his jeans.

“You tested?” he asks, hand cupping your jaw, tilting your eyes up, pulse racing against his wrist—skin warm, scorching.

“Are you!?” you spit, and he almost snorts until your fingers knot in the base of his hair, pulling, likely hoping it hurts.

And it does.

Makes him groan—but he’s quick to smother it in the back of his throat. Flatten it, hide and conceal. Getting his answer for an exchange of your own.

“We should go inside my room,” you say in response to him, pulling down on him, Javi finding he bends with far too much ease as his ear finds itself close to your lips, “I’m not quiet when I’m enjoying myself.”

Twisting you, he flattens your back to his chest, rough, hearing you breathlessly laugh. “You know what you’re doing, baby, huh?”

And you’re silent, brain whirring as he begins walking you, till your chest is almost against your door.

Open it, he whispers, watching your hand dig for the key, his mouth latching to your neck, swirling a circle on your skin, tasting lingering perfume and sweat as he grips your waist.

“Last chance.”

He hears you laugh, low, buried somewhere in your throat just as the door unlocks, all loud, cutting through the silence other than both of your racing breaths. It’s why, he supposes, his words echo in his stare as you turn your head. Rolling your lips. It's all so reminiscent of the stare you gave him at the foot of his desk—but this time, you collide your mouth with his.

Not leaving—not doing anything except turning in the space between your door and him. Those nails, the ones that tapped now scrape across his hair, burying, carding, as you lightly pull on strands—forcing a groan to bury itself in your throat, find a new home, live there.

It's quick, practically animalistic the way he sheds your layers—baring you, finding (unsurprising) that even in misery you still match. His fingers run over it on your hip, rolling his lips, the tip of his tongue swiping across as he admires, as he steals a second to commit you to his mind.

Because he’s not sure if he’ll ever get to again.

“Last chance,” you echo.

Repeating his words, using them against him. Flicking the fabric against your skin, he snorts and he flips you. Sharply telling you to get on your bed, all-fours—bend over, hermosa.

“This how you pictured it at your desk?”

He barely registers your words until he’s behind you, bare, hand sliding between your thighs as he smirks at the noise you make. How you take him, all the way up to his knuckles—his free hand stroking himself to the in and out his other hand sets, desperation mixing with a need to forget—for a moment peace from thinking, existing, being.

And you’re drenched. Practically desperate. Hips moving with his movements and strokes, the air tinged with the littlest whimpers before replacing his fingers with the head of his cock, dragging it, skating it spitefully over your slick folds.

That’s when it meets his ears, those distinct words—ones he doesn’t know will haunt him just yet—I want to feel you inside me, Peña.

It unlocks something—floods him. Taking in a breath before he glides in, burying himself in you, right to the hilt, going deep.

He revels in your tightness. The way you gasp at the feel of him—fingers digging, scrunching them into your sheets, before he wrenches you up off your hands, needing your back flush with his—a move he realises, painstakingly, he’s done before.

Softening his palm anchored on your hip, lips pressing to your jaw—the other hand busy feeling, enjoying, basking in how you swallow against his palm on your neck.

“You like that, princesa?”

You moan as his hips snap, taking him so well, so perfectly—a thing he tells you, a rush of good girl, good princesa taking me like this. And he expects a bite, a flurry of insults—an exchange that would mean this would shift from stress relief to hate fucking.

But it never arrives. Instead, it’s a barrage of chants, all yes, please, yes, painting the shitty room—giving the crumbling paint something to be disgusted at, other than its own despair. The metal legs of the bed squeal against the floor, the headboard hammering, and cluttering, leaving a mess of years of repainting along the cheap flooring.

“Take me so well. Y’know that?”

Fingers just above your collarbone, pressing, feeling your head resting on his shoulder, eyes seeking his, determined to locate them and take something from him for it. He lets you. Briefly, just enough.

“Harder, Peña,” you hiss, shoving it out through clenched teeth, blinking, breaking the eye line.

“Javi,” he hisses deep into your ear, hand sliding down between your thighs—above where the two of you are joined.

Thumb expertly swirling, tracing the letters of his name against your throbbing clit—the sound of his cock fucking into you growing louder, sloppier. Arm thrown around your waist, feeling the way your skin is sheened in sweat, practically a mess from head to fucking toe, all because of him. Crown slid, shattered in a thousand parts across the floor, because of him.

A realisation that almost nears him to the edge, to bursting, to emptying inside your perfect fucking pussy and stuffing you full of him.

Teeth gritted together, jaw tight as he peers at the place your bodies join—watching, in admiration, as you take him, suck him in, barely let him able to leave your tight pussy as your heart hammers against his forearm.

“When I’m doing this to you,” he grunts, teeth pinching at your ear, your hand gripping his wrist—thumb still swirling, the A and V being a favourite from the way you clench around him tighter, and tighter, “You call me Javi.”

It undoes you. It ripples and then bursts through you—clenching all around him, tightening, squeezing him until his vision blurs and your name curls somewhere on his tongue, all set to be spat, spoken, even fucking whispered. Somehow able to swallow it when it unfurls through him, when it shoots up his spine and surges through every nerve and muscle.

The two of you collapsing against the shitty mattress, the squealing bed, as you turn in his grasp—lips finding his, burying words against him, only soft murmurs finding his ears.

He’s hard to avoid.

More so, when a part of you wishes to be a puzzle—a thing he cannot crack. Something that would take time to understand and figure out. Because then you’d be interesting, layered, something that could matter.

All of which, you suspect he knows when he kisses you after having his face buried before your thighs, tongue saturated in you, now licking into your mouth.

There’s something truthful in it, in the way his palm cups your entire jaw and chin, holding you, keeping you rooted for a few moments before you taste yourself on his tongue and can take note of what he’s done to you. For you.

Except, you don’t meet his eyes. Somehow fearful the space between your thighs has spilled all your secrets to him. Because he’s a connoisseur, likely gifted in being able to decipher the text on your inner walls. Hooked nose dragging along your slick core before coming up for air and seeing how ordinary you were, how boring, how average. He’s likely traced the pads of his fingers over the etchings of all the things that haunt your mind, the things that thrum and go bump in the fucking night.

But he comes back. Again, and again.

And you can't understand why.

You don’t ask either. Instead, you bury any of that against his tongue, and when it’s desperate to come out, a wish to ask him, you instead choose with fluttering lashes and parted lips if you can suck his cock. If he can fuck your throat, if he can stuff you full in one end before the other—

Words can’t escape if your tongue is occupied.

A thing harder to do in the day-to-day. As things around the place return to normal—other priorities sweep over and make people forget their sadness.

It’s why you’re not avoiding him, but you haven’t sought him out.

Too afraid of what you’ll confess when you’re not on your knees. A simple softening of his brown eyes almost forces words to rip up your throat and colour the air.

It won’t do any good. No words will. Not after waking again entangled in an empty sheet. All evidence of his presence gone except the littering of bruises on your hips and thighs and the mess between your legs.

It’s easier, less complicated to keep it like this—a thing you tell yourself as you brush your teeth and wash the leftover tang of him from your mouth.

Stress release, an undoing, an antidote to sadness and a bandage that allows you a moment to heal. You don’t judge him, because he doesn’t judge you either—not the first time, the second or the tenth. Because like recognises like—eyes deciphering how you’re not that different from him.

On the surface, you may pretend to be. Layer secrets and annoyances on top of the other, until it slips into something perfect—a mask, one that any of them can’t peer through and see that you see them all. Because working here is more than hard, it’s more than difficult and often rough.

It’s mornings with your forehead resting on your door wondering if you have it in you and moments alone in dark corners silently wiping away tears.

Most people don’t see your brain, your skills all too quickly forgotten, discarded on the same bit of paper the rest of your history lived when you approached for the role.

You reckon he sees you.

Not because you hoped for it—or because of some teenage fantasy. But, because of the way he looked that night at his desk. Not surprised, but confused as to why you were mainly pushing paper, why you weren’t based where he was, doing what he does. All questions you’ve asked yourself late at night, when your mind doesn’t stop ticking, stop whirring.

You suspect he ticks too. Another thing in common.

While he may have begun his dalliances to gain words, secrets, and stories, you have come to recognise it’s more than that. You know he knows all the names of them—likely lingers in their room. Offering them more than a good time and some money, but something he seeks from them too—companionship, a moment where he’s not DEA and rather something akin to a lover.

From the way he holds himself, Javi doesn’t think he shares that information. But it rolls from him in constant waves when he lights another smoke and drowns his throat in whatever is in his mug. He likes to think he’s effortless and austere, all too weighed down, while being complex, brilliant and wonderful.

It’s why you had wanted to fuck him. Why you had fucked him.

Because, objectively, he is beautiful. All soft in places and firm in others; he has scorching eyes and can offer searing touches. But, under all of that is what made heat blossom up your spine and commanded your thighs to press together for relief.

The way he thinks. The way he shifts his jaw from side to side and traces his finger down the length of his nose. It’s the way he holds himself when he doesn’t have to hold himself at all that makes you want him.

As it makes you feel less alone.

Less like an oddity in how you need to carve your nails into something. Your palm, other people’s flesh; wood, your sheets. All of it just so you become grounded, so there was pain, so there were feelings, so you didn’t float off or drown in a sea of mistakes, regrets and guilt.

It was a combination of both that floating and drowning as to why it happened that first time.

It had been a simultaneous tangling of limbs, a battle, a war both of you attempted to claim—a fight with your mouths, thighs, hands, tongues and bodies. Only stopped when you were both slick with sweat, the tops of your thighs coated with him and your breaths laboured. Your ear to his chest, hearing it—the way he beats, the way he lives. How blood rushes through him, all alive, real, not a fabrication.

Now, though, it’s different.

The grief is lessoned, yet you still find yourself pretending it's as rife as that first night.

A compromise, an opportunity to pretend that’s the reason the two of you do this. When in truth, the reason you don’t judge him, is because you too use sex to feel something. Needed it to claim something, prove something to yourself—that you’re desirable, attractive and fucking wanted. That you’re more than a sharp tongue and a brilliant mind, more than compliments through your way that never land—

That you’re worthy of being fucked to the point you cannot walk straight.

And, he does that so well, twists you, bends you—makes your ears ring with how attractive you are, how good you are, how perfect. A sin that rages a storm in his dreams and a thought he can’t silence.

So you avoid him. Fearful that you no longer wish to feel worthy of being fucked, but be worthy of being fucked by him.

And then he finds you instead.

Palm shoving open the file room door, all loud, like an announcement, before he lets it click into place. Allowing the air to tighten, to squeeze—all so thickening—before he’s charging, so much so the breath is knocked from your lungs with far too much ease when he flattens your back to the wall. The dust blowing from the shelves next to you from the sudden movement, the room quaking, shaking and fucking trembling as his brown eyes flick from one eye to the next.

As though he’s seeking something out.

Some truth, perhaps? A reason, a rhyme.

He splays his fingers across your hip, a hiss trying to escape from your pursed lips as your body threatens to betray you—wishing to curl into him, feel him flush, all warm and easy to escape to. Then, the other finds a home on the wall beside your head, no place to move to, to go—not that you fucking want to.

“I don’t fuck in file rooms, Peña.”

He doesn’t miss a beat. All well-versed, practically a library of quick retorts. “Where do you fuck then? Just your room?”

Surrounded by him, in all the ways that could torture. Nose smothered in the scent that is unabashedly him; eyes unable to look anywhere but him. Slowly, bothersomely, he begins to easily unpick the carefully placed resolve, practically cracking through like it was made of paper and not woven each night as you attempt to stop thinking about him.

Sometimes, it’s easier to think about him.

To snake your hand inside your underwear and ride your fingers with how much you loathe how good he feels. His name is both a curse and a fucking blessing on the tip of your tongue when you come—heat licking up your spine, washing you in something you suspect should be a shame.

But it never is.

Because it’s an exchange, a two-way thing. He doesn’t tell you he likes your hair and you don’t tell him you fuck him so you don’t think.

Instead, you leave that, fold it up, and make it as small as it can be, before you undress for him. Then you fixate on his eyes, on the darkness, the way his pupils swallow the colour you know all the flecks off. You stare, because you hope to see yourself in them—an outline, a shadow, evidence of living, remaining, not chipped away until you’re just stiff work attire and coffee. Something, anything—

Especially when you’re bare. When he stares at you like you’ve been carved for him, by him. When he makes you feel weightless and also like you are never allowed to be anywhere but right here.

It’s an illusion though. A trick of your mind—a delusion where want, need and hope all blend into a concoction that is sold in pink bottles and smells like fruit.

Lifting your chin, you want to chill your eyes and harden your expression. Neither happens.

You’re thrown from your axis, deep brown managing to shroud you, make your mind empty, clear.

“We don’t have to fuck,” he continues, letting it slide from his tongue—slither out, practically hissing. “There’s plenty of ways I can make you moan.”

“I’m sure there is. You’ve paid for the practice, after all.”

His chuckle does nothing to stem the fire—the one out of control somewhere in the pit of your stomach. Clothes suddenly uncomfortable on your skin, your earlier standpoint waning, thinning to the point of transparency.

“Yeah, but I bet you’ve been getting off to thoughts of me—us. How fucking good we are,” he retorts.

Your face blanks, and you hope it’s unreadable.

Because you already have witnessed how skilful he is. Had the unfortunate pleasure of seeing him hold his desk phone since, how he grips his gun, marvelling at the memory of how his fingers feel inside of you, both long and thick. How they engulf yours, practically able to grasp both your wrists in his one hand if he wishes.

But, from the glint in his eye, he’s seen you. Already solved you—cracked you.

“You only had to ask, princesa. Would never leave you wanting.”

You snarl. And it’s that which forces your lips to crash against his, steal more lines from his tongue and tease his mind. Ridding him for once, shaking him empty as your hands clutch the sides of his cheeks. Thankful, more than you care to fucking admit, that his tongue slides past your lips, moves past the back of your teeth—accompanied, and wrapped with it, a groan that vibrates down to your oesophagus.

Bodies pressed together, his mouth slanting over yours as though he’s been wishing to do this for as long as you have. Dizzying, heart-stopping—that’s what kissing him feels like. That’s what indulging feels like.

“I don’t like you.”

Smirking, he runs it over your swollen lips, traces his confidence over your mouth. “Your pussy does though.”

His hand moves, snakes between the two of you—fingers proficient, unwavering from their mission—undoing your trousers, zip sliding down, cutting between the silence as your mouths part, lips ghosting, breaths twisting together in the small gap.

The space is filled with a moan when his hand slides inside your underwear, fingers brushing the delicate nerves that make his name illuminate in your head like it’s been spelt out in light—in candles.

“See? Soaked. Drenched, aren’t you, princesa?”

Your head spins, legs weaken. Body betraying you as it rocks against his movements, curling, craving—desperate and hungry. Because you knew it would be good, that he’d be good. There’s no smoke without fire, and there’d be no discussion over shitty baked cake and decent coffee about his skills if he weren’t best-in-class.

“So fuckin’ needy for me, aren’t you?”

It’s there, ebbing on your tongue, yes, yes yes.

And fuck, you didn’t have him down to be like this. To have you at his mercy, practically dumbfounded, his name and a yes the only things you know, think or say. It falls, rolling from your tongue before his lips busy yours. Kissing you as if he’s starved, as if he wishes to coat his tongue in the way you moan against him—his hand getting slicker, coated in your faux hatred and practised indifference that holds no weight now.

Because you want him. Would gladly let him spin you around and, press your face against a case file box and kick your legs apart. You’d beg for it, want him to hold your hands behind your back as he spears his cock in and out of you, not giving a single fuck that someone could come in—

“Stop thinkin’ about what I could do to you, and more what I am doing to you.”

His eyes on you, blown, full of lust and shimmering with a desire that embeds into your skin until it reaches a whole new temperature. Your tongue is heavy and thick, as your throat struggles to swallow.

If anything, it proves he can listen—just to what he wants. And apparently, that is you. Making it flicker, it suddenly impending, slamming itself onto the track with a focus on its station.

“Think y'like being naughty and letting me do this here.”

Your nerves ablaze, legs quaking as your trousers slide a little further past your knee, pooling at your ankles—his breath dancing across your neck and little hairs.

In vengeance, you nip at his lips, charming kisses that leave him chasing—breaths tangling, teeth biting your bottom lip as you tilt your head. But, he’s resilient, unwavering, hand all but burning inside your underwear, fingers rough, middle and trigger finger calloused and pressed against your swollen nerves as you dig your toes into your shoes so you don’t unravel.

So he doesn’t get to have this so easily.

He knows.

You know he does. Likely knows your brain is firing, tension building, muscles all but quaking in faux-determination. Just barely present to hear what he whispers, but you know it pushes you over.

Gently guides you over the edge as your hips still, throat hoarse as it whispers moans, falling, descending from you as you quickly lose control. He makes you feel alive, full of electricity—blood pumping in your ears as he tastes the way you moan his name. Waves hammering against you, suddenly needing to crash, and they do, they do—

“Fuck, I love making you come.”

His chest rising and falling, pebbled sweat on his brow as he retracts his hand, offers a finger to you—finding you wrap your mouth around it, basking in how he says you’re his good girl.

You suppose that’s why he ends up at your base door past midnight—a silent exchange, a non-verbal promise.

Him and you. You and him.

A brown bag in hand; corruption and a need to not sleep present in his eyes. Drinking you in, lingering his eyes up and down your frame—a sheet clutched against your chest.

You suspect he knows that under this thin fabric, its lace, all ready to be snapped, thrown into some corner, the places they sat covering replaced by the wet expanse of his mouth.

It’s why you let him in, mouth conjoining to his, hearing the door slam behind him as you ruck the leather from his shoulders, down his arms, floor.

“He estado pensando en ti toda la noche.”

A part of you knew he’d come—sensing it. Dressing for the occasion, sliding the lace into place.

Because you know him as much as he understands you.

It’s why you smile, if only to yourself, when he spreads your thighs, coats his cock in your want, and sinks deep into you, rectifying all that is wrong, groaning into your neck as you feel thankful for being full again.

He shouldn’t think you’re a vision, but he does.

Javi learned it quickly, but ignored it at a speed faster than that. Not wanting to be in awe, not wanting to allow himself the chance to think of himself worthy of it.

Except, he’s forever salivating for more of you—desperate for another chance to taste, to hear how your whimpers sound, feel the way your fingers card through his hair, gripping, twisting, pulling.

If someone asked him, he’d confess it on his knees that it’s all he’s thought about. The way your nails feel, how your skin feels. The noises—fuck, the noises you make—and the way your eyes glisten, shimmer, bloom and explode with fucking desire.

“Javier…”

I know, he soothes. The sheet ripped from between the of you, discarded, removed from play as your fingers work his buttons open—more and more skin appearing until he can feel the warmth of your body, your tits against him, nipples peaked as the back of your legs meets the bed.

He’s surprised at the ease you fold for him. Dragging him down, and then you’re under him. Obedient, waiting, needy. He knows it. You know it.

Just like it’s probably obvious that you make him want. That he’s ticking, watching you, unable to tear his eyes away, more so since the other night. Your face close, eyes on the file, cogs turning, brain firing on all cylinders—and when you’d slid your eyes over, he hadn’t been able to not drop his sight to your lips.

The same way he suspects you hadn’t been able to fight doing the same yourself.

It’s why he fucks you with an increased pace, skin slapping, moans more deranged than usual. The drenched fabric between your legs pushed to the side as he drags moan from your lips, wringing them out, stuffing them into some cabinet in his mind that he only opens when he can’t have this, you, writhing, squirming as he fills you to the brim, stuffs you.

“Gotta taste you.” His tongue slides a line down your breastbone, eyes on you, fixated, waiting. “Can I?”

He’s fucking grateful that you nod. Moving, sinking to his knees on the hard floor of your base room—cock hard, dripping, all but throbbing and practically fucking angry. Fingers teasing the fabric, his mouth latching, lace and the taste of him and your desire singeing on his tongue.

And you’re heavenly—a rolling thought which appears as he licks, hearing you react, capturing it all, pocketing it.

Waiting, and waiting, until he feels it—you carding your nails through his hair, tracing lines you likely already suspect others have walked themselves. He wonders if you’re thinking it must be nothing new, nothing out of the ordinary for him, except it was, is.

Because it’s you, they were your fingers—your nails. The ones that type up his reports these days because he can’t type for shit, now typing a story into his scalp, leaving a tale for him to decipher when he tried to sleep later.

He doesn’t look up, too fearful of the sight that he’ll find and never be able to rid of. He keeps his head buried between your thighs, focused, panties still hooked on one thigh, hanging there, pointless and occasionally catching on his palm as he grasps and squeezes your leg. All focused, moving his tongue, working it on you, in you, as though attempting to sort out a kink in the chain—attempting to unravel you in the same way he has done others.

Except, Javi learns, you’re not like them. You’re not something linear, you’re not easy to understand, and there’s no transaction at the end. You’re more than a concept, more than a thing he can undo and figure out just with his tongue, but fuck, he’s sure you would let him try—or at least, he hoped you would.

Right now, he’s enamoured with a task that he finds more rewarding than asking: making you come.

Tongue sinking in, tasting you, coating all of his mouth that he can with you as your hips buck into his face. Nails all perfectly manicured and in a lighter shade than when it was wrapped around his cock last week, drag through his hair. The air punctured with his name—all Javi and Javier’s, not Peña’s and Putas.

He wonders as he spells it on your bundle of nerves, whether you feel it too. This thing—this pulsating, breathing, existing thing that is there all on its own.

A click of his jaw when you laugh at someone else; a flex of his fingers when he finds you in the heart of danger.

Javi reflects—thinks.

But then it goes, fades from mind like dust when you tug on him to move closer, so close your thighs are trembling—likely dangling on the edge of release.

“Need your cock, Javi.”

He doesn’t think about feelings, emotions or the flame he carries for you again—not until you’ve left, leaving him alone, sated, the memory and scent of you being all he has.

The base of his palm presses against his forehead, kneading, cigarette billowing in his other hand because it’s all a fucking mess. From the fact that the fantasy has turned into a reality; the dream has coloured itself until it has become true.

He knew this was real, not concocted by some blackened part of his imagination looking for an escape because you say his name more sweetly than you do in his reverie.

It’s a secret—not known, a thing kept unseen. His walls and sheets know, but not a living soul. And he suddenly wants to change that. Says so much as he moans that you’re mine.

Eyes widening as they stare down at him, hands poised on his chest, hips steadying as you remain seated—filled with him, tits slowly not bouncing.

So he repeats it, “You’re mine.”

No question, no ask.

Watching you swallow, painted in yellow-light which makes the sweat shimmer like glitter.

Rolling your hips, you hold his gaze, consider it, likely question your own goddamn sanity. But then you say it:

“Yours, Peña. I’m yours.”

And he knows he liked it. More than he’ll ever admit. Coming so hard and so quick inside of you once your mouth has twisted into an O and your nails have branded lines into his chest. Hearing it, over and over as he spills into you, relishes in it.

It’s only after, when Javi runs his knuckles along the underside of his jaw, thoughts populating, appearing and popping like balloons, he realises he doesn’t just like it.

It’s more than that.

And that’s why, more than he likely should, he wished he’d asked you to stay. To remain beside him. Let him hold you and make your morning a little better.

Javi could ask. Could half-dress and hammer his fist on your door.

But he doesn’t.

There’s always next time, though.

an: grins wickedly, thought i'd try something new.

[000marie198]

Are there any sonic au’s you would recommend? I am trying to find more to get into so would love to know if you have any favourites out there :D

Hello! Oh there are so many! :D I definitely have some favorites and some which aren't favs but are pretty great.

Putting these under the cut because there are so many! And there's definitely more cool AUs that I haven't seen or haven't saved.

Anyways, please enjoy my personal selection:

Seven Years Too Soon by NightFuchia. Basically what if a much younger Sonic accidentally set Shadow free from Prison Island. It has awesome characterization and happens to be one of my favorite stories. The rest of Team Sonic is also present

Brotherhood's Twist by @/drawloverlala even though I don't think it counts entirely as Au but it still sort of does. Unbreakable Bond ageswitch due to Zeti's meddling.

Passion's @sonic-tangled-au . I love it! So very much. The lore and backstories are so good.

Noonui's World Restored in Imbalanced Chaos au. Extremely engaging and good. Has a bunch of world building and fun concepts and lore.

Sonic's Super Totally Awesome Mixtape, though it seems to be discontinued, I'm not sure. It's pretty good so far! Takes place in the movie verse.

@brainworms-all-night-long is working on a Dreamtale Au which I'm hyped for. The tag in use is 'dreamtale and sonic tomfoolery'.

@/the-starlight-project comic is pretty good too. Mystery! And emotions. So many emotions ough.

And there's @the-emerald-isle-au by @0vergrowngraveyard . Very intriguing. 👀

Please do check out the Pandora Au by @/starrjoy. It's great!

The Fair Folk by Irritable_Fabulamancer, this fic is one of my favorites! Team Sonic as Fae my beloved! I love fae AUs.

On that note, if you're alright wanting to read a Fae!AU which is pretty much a sonadow fic, there is also I don't believe in fairy tales [but I believe in you and me]. Fantasy and Fae! Satbk inspired, another one that had me hooked.

My Arms Are Blue by thekyuubivixen and its unofficial, fan-continuation (My Arms Are Blue! Final Four Edition) by PlaystationPassenger. The story doesn't completely count as an AU but I'm recommending them anyway cuz they're really really good and has that watching your own show from different dimension trope. It's also hilarious and fun.

Burning Arrow, Wildfire Heart by Taranea is SatSR novelisation AU with Sonic's other friends present too, it's pretty fun. Not very accurate regarding the desert but it's a good read and I come back to reread it often. Must read in my opinion. Just don't dare use it as guide for desert travel or you'll be shriveled up in the sand somewhere

This fic. Read it, I will not elaborate this one. Just trust me :]

And don't miss out on @shadofiredragon's Legends Never Die fic. It's a future fic! And an awesome one. I won't spoil much but it is so good. She also has lots of fun AUs in the works.

Down the Foxhole series by MoonlitNightin. Sonic Prime AU series which is great! Tails' pov. The Shatterverses have their own Sonics. Engaging and great.

Feel free to check out @/Son1c's 10verse and other AUs. Those are some pretty great ones. Love the different lore and variants given to the Shatterverses in 10verse.

Spirit of the Wind by TrenchCoatGecko. Satbk inspired fantasy au. Sonamy, has focus on magic and lore and other characters as well.

If you'd like some Forces angst with Unbreakable Bond focus, please do read Illusionary are your arms around me by @nixoon-again. The feels will kill you /pos

Chaos Barren by but_why_not. I forgot to add this earlier (this is an edited addition). Takes place in the Blue Devils AU, great story!

Baby Tails shenanigans by @myymi . Tails got turned into itty bitty infant kit. (And also check @0vergrowngraveyard 'baby tails' tag for more little gremlin scenarios)

Myla is also working on @tails-and-the-ink-machine au

Feral au by Oneshot_bravo. Little short stories or drabbles taking place in Unleashed but the werehog is feral yet keeps his memories. Very lighthearted and fun and cute

Three or more foxes form a skulk by @/chiropter36 . Post Prime au fic, loved it! Go read.

Also, @donelywell 'roadtrip! sonic au' and 'Casino Nights Au'

Haven't yet started reading The Fox's Burrow by @/space-gutz but I'm planning to. Recommending it either way cuz I feel like it's gonna be good. Unbreakable Bond but ageswaped au.

@/sonicchaoscontrol comic. Another in-progress au which is also quite intriguing. Sonic jumps through a portal and exits in future where the planet is a mess. The mystery of what and how it all happened and what's going on slowly unfolds.

The Buzzsaw Dillemma by redpenship. I haven't personally read it myself but I've heard many good things about it, especially it's world building.

Incomplete and won't be updated anymore but if you haven't read them yet, DO NOT miss out on Ghosts of the Future and The Murder of Me fancomics by Evan Stanley (spiritsonic) and Gigi Deutrix (gigi-D) respectively. They're a must read. Both are available on DeviantArt.

The Heart of a Monster comic, @/the-heart-of-a-monster. It's in progress and updates regularly. Unleashed retelling, really really good with some extra lore and everyone involved.

Sometimes the Picket Fence isn’t Perfect and Sharp Edges (Sonic Prime AU) series by @/skimmingthesurfaces. I'm holding off the first one to read later, like that one book you've been saving so I'm not sure if it completely counts as an AU, still putting it in recs, and the second one is intriguing so far. I have heard a lot of good thing about the Picket Fence series.

Dark Boom by Smash50. The entirety of Team Dark in the Sonic Boom universe. Alongside it, there's also Boomtober by the same author.

It Always Snows by the 24th by Selendred had me hooked even though it's a oneshot. Great au and would love to see it explored more.

No One said I Wish by SylWritesStuff. One of my fav stories from the Sonic Platonic Fairytale Week event. It's really funny.

Sonic Phantom Forces (SPF) au comic. Sonic Forces au, blue boy gets taken away but not in the way you think, pretty cool story so far. It's in-progress and available on both Tumblr and DeviantArt. @/spfau

If Black Doom tried to be a better father by Tirainy. Don't take this one seriously. It's pure comedy and I love every second of it. Shadow is having a time for sure XD.

Silent Talkers by @brainworms-all-night-long. Takes place in the Prime Bros verse, feels intensified, all the good ones. A must read, trust me.

And speaking of the Prime Bros AU (in which all Shatterverse foxes also got adopted by Sonic and are now brothers), feel free to scroll through the 'prime bros' tag here. So many awesome posts for this particular au by everyone!

There's so many more, cool ones, epic ones. I haven't saved all and I'm probably forgetting some great ones too so I'm leaving this open for others to add. If y'all have more cool AUs, plz add to these (I wanna check em out too)

....

And now a few from the Fanfiction.net site because it doesn't have much audience compared to AO3 and there are some actual gems hidden there;

Premonition by thekiyuubivixen (not entirely an au but it feels like one due to the unique ability Sonic gains)

The Sonic Project by SconnieSA. Rated M but it's a pretty awesome AU and the rating is due to more serious themes and uncensored language in some parts. Highly recommending this one

Survivor's Resolve by DC111. Not entirely an AU but I must rec this fic it's so good and doea havs some AU vibes.

Sonic the Hedgehog: Attorney of Law by thedraconicwerewolf. Ace Attorney type AU with Sonic and Tails as main characters. Not too adventurous but very very fun and interesting and still managed to keep Sonic in character. Though it has a sequel started, I only rec the main story, not the sequal as it seems to be abandoned and isn't needed to be read like them cliffhanger stories.

beLIEve by Meow21. I have only read snippets from this, waiting for this story to continue but it seems to be discontinued. Felt like an epic story too and deserves to be recommended.

Sonic and the Golden Journey. Sonic gets thrown in another storybook, this time it's a children's classic fairytale. Short but very comedic and fun. Go read it.

Tales of a Samurai. I am begging you to read this one, please it's so good. Also by Taranea.

Wonderful and it's sequal Sanctuary by Inflamore for some Unbreakable Bond angst. (Kindly ignore the obliviousness of earlier ff.net for not knowing the meaning of certain symbols, there's nothing of the sort in story, trust me.)

Regrets by MazzyBooks. A high school au of sorts. Sonic centric with some heavy angst. I'm not kidding about the angst part, trust me. It had me hooked from the first chapter though and I believe it deserves a rec.

You need the cracks (to let the light shine through) by king.needlemouse. Istg this is the most underrated thing I've ever come across, it's one of my absolute favorite fics which I can never forget. Do read it.

Within this Nightmare by sonicfan1990. Sonic get transported to an alternate universe which has gone post apocalyptic and his counterpart in that universe has been dead. Pretty great story, lots of angst and everything.

And that's all I could remember and have saved for now. I'm leaving this open to more AU recs (yes even self plugs are welcome) so if you know any I missed, plz feel free to add. I hope you enjoy all these great AUs!

Thanks for the ask!

[brucewaynehater101]

do NOT kill Tim

stop being mean to tim in your fics when Bruce is right there to be mean to

let Tim run off and get into shenanigans with his friends while Gotham burns

maybe give tim amnesia and somehow gets reported as dead on a yj mission and his friends help him recover and accidentally on purpose don't mention anything about Gotham except Cass who is his sister and their friend so she's allowed and she sees Tim happy for the first time in so long that she goes along with letting Tim remember, or not, in his own time

and maybe he does remember, when they're in space and too far from Gotham for Tim to immediately rush back and try to fix things because fixing things, trying to help, has always been his first impulse, and he's convinced to wait, to see if anyone tries reaching out to him instead

and he becomes resigned as only cass reaches out, as the rest of the bats just accept that he's dead, without even a body, with just one line in a mission report, a mission report that they didn't even read, the bat computer just noted key words and updated red robin's profile accordingly in its system and no one noticed until someone mentioned that red robin had no patrol routes assigned for awhile and then the profile is brought up

and in the meantime space shenanigans for yj, including the retired ones, and cass who wants her brother to be happy

I mean... you're 100% fair in that I should emotionally beat up Bruce instead in my fics. I do have one where Tim leaves the Bats/Gotham. He has a goodbye conversation with Dick, Jason, and Damian, tries to have one with Bruce, and leaves a video/note for Alfred and Babs. I'd love to chat more about what he does afterwards if anyone wants to know more.

So... I have one fic where he leaves the Bats. There :)

As far as the rest of your ask, I'm so vibing with the amnesia. Let Tim get into wild adventures with his friends (family) and have Cass stop by to say hello. Maybe Tim goes to see her a bunch since he's no longer stuck in Gotham (if Cass is still based in Hong Kong).

I also absolutely love the idea where he gets his memories back in space and spends the entire trip back to Earth processing his thoughts. Should he go back? It's all he's known, but should he try to help out the Waynes some more? Tim is still doing good. He's still helping people. He's just no longer helping specifically Gotham and the Bats.

The part where the Bats don't notice he's dead is cruel and so delicious. Very tasty angst.

I'd also kill for Cass's POV in this (maybe a few chapters), where she discovers Tim is amnesiac, starts to realize the other Bats don't notice or seem to care about Tim (it's hard to understand the way you or a family member is being treated is wrong if that's "normal"), has her own growth and realizations about the Bats, and has complicated feelings about loving the people who are usually good to her but usually bad to Tim (in this AU).

I don't know as much about Cass's canon, but I would be interested to hear more about how her canon could or could not apply to this.

Then let the Bats have a meltdown that Tim is "dead" including their own warped perceptions of how they DO care/love Tim. Maybe they blame Tim for being distant, blame themselves, and try to hunt down who killed Tim. Let them remember certain interactions with Tim that RR remembers differently. Let the Bats be grey in their relationship with Tim because they never did mean to hurt him [they never realized that they did].

Just fun complexities of dysfunctional families :)

Moving on, let Tim be free from the Bats as they all collapse and chat about him. He can have his space adventures far from the chaos as they implode (perhaps the Bats try to take Gotham with them, and the JL has to get involved).

[ofoceansandtombsanew]

Of All Things, I Became an Oceanid

You always imagined that if you woke up in the world of Genshin, the possibilities of being a Visionless wielder of elements and a slew of romantic shenanigans would lie in your wake. But when you instead find yourself in the body of an Oceanid with romance likely out of the question, your only conclusion is that the gods of reincarnation isekai hate your guts.

cw. you're an oceanid

pairing. navia x reader, kaeya x reader, childe x reader (separate)

notes. don't feel like being an oceanid today? well go ahead and go to the series masterlist and see what your life could be if you were something else in genshin.

So you're an Oceanid now.

You suppose there are worse things you could have turned into. God, imagine if you turned into a hilichurl or something like that. Yeah, you'll take being a graceful water being over a hilichurl any day.

You can talk, you can wield Hydro and you can go literally anywhere you want as long as water is present. It's honestly not that bad of a deal, you can be Mx. Worldwide if you so desire it.

As for finding company with your fellow lochfolk? That's not really much an option, all things considered. As it stands now, Oceanids follow one simple rule.

You stay in your lake, they stay in theirs and you call it a day.

Kaeya

Considering Springvale's small pond is already taken, you decide to call dibs on Starfell Lake since after Rhodeia made even the waters of the Dawn Winery bitter, you figured it would be better to try a source lake not connected to her spot in Liyue

To be honest when it came to being an Oceanid, you figured you didn't really need to become the companion of any of the characters

You're more than content to stay in your lake and mind your business. But truthfully, it does get boring, so when you saw Kaeya's reflection peering into your waters, you popped your head up to say hi almost instinctively

Apart from a brief look of surprise, that's the extent of your attempt to seem regal and mysterious in front of the Calvary Captain

"A water faerie so far from Fontaine? I can't believe my eye; this is the certainly the last thing I was expecting to see while out on a stroll."

It's not everyday you meet something so exciting and considering what happened after encountering the Traveler and Paimon, Kaeya decides to listen to his instincts that there'll be a lot to come from interacting with you

Because of this, Kaeya is a frequent visitor to your lake besides the people who occasionally stop by to clean the statue of the Seven

You ask him about the daily gossip of Mondstadt and he asks you about the life of being a water faerie, a fair trade even if most of your information is based on your memory of the Genshin wiki page and the limited personal experience you have

Kaeya's made a joke about how your meeting is something one might read in a romance novel, much to your embarrassment

Is he serious or no?

It's not like there haven't been any Human/Oceanid relationships in this game so it isn't completely out of the ordinary when you think about it...

At the same time though, you don't want to look super eager

One particular night, a long silence fell over you both when you asked him about his family. He tells you a bit about his past, about being adopted into the Ragnvindr family and his present less than savory relationship with Diluc

You ask if he's lonely to which he asks in return "do I seem lonely?" yet there is no bite in his tone nor is there any sarcasm either. his gaze is thoughtful but miles away from your lake

"Yes" are the words on your non-existent tongue yet you can't bring yourself to say it, all while a warm hand brushes against your watery cheek much too quickly

Navia

Being an Oceanid in Fontaine pre-Neuvillette's judgement was pretty much impossible, thankfully you airdropped into Teyvat after that deciding to call an area near Poisson your home

As to how you met Navia, you heard her crying by the sea as she does sometimes after getting new flowers for the grave of her father and much like the Spring Faerie of Springvale, you answered the call and swam to the surface

She thought maybe you were Melus or Silver, or maybe some other lost soul of Poisson. You quickly let her know that wasn't actually the case, much to Navia's initial disappointment

But Navia is an optimist, first and foremost. So she won't let the reality of the situation get her down and would ask you a bunch of questions. Afterall, Oceanids are thought to be practically extinct in Fontaine after Egeria's death so she doesn't want to waste the opportunity to learn more about you

And boy do her questions range from genuinely thought provoking to so silly it leaves you both in a fit of laughter

It's a first meeting that does Navia good, there she was so sad and then you came and turned the entire situation inside out. She promises to make you macarons as thanks, if lochfolk can even eat

Truthfully, you don't know if you can either. It's not like it's necessary to eat as you are now but fuck it you want to find out for yourself

Navia is also quick to invite you live in the waters of Poisson in general, or at least settle in if you ever want to visit and see the town for yourself

You take her up on the offer to have, if anything, a change of scenery and to see more people out and about than you normally would

You truthfully enjoy a nice yap session with Navia, it's never boring when she's around even if the most you're doing is watching her dish out orders from your comfortable pond in Poisson

But the best hangout sessions you have are when you are a good distance from the place and she can chat with you freely. She'll bring a basket of snacks, a blanket to sit on and you'll chat the day away

Sometimes she'll even bring a sketchbook and attempt to draw your portrait. Navia isn't the best artist but you enjoy looking at her artwork nonetheless

A small secret of her heart though is that Navia is quite sure that as a young girl she dreamed of something like this. Meeting an Oceanid by lakeside and falling in love before willingly being taken into the depths of Fontaine to eternally perform a watery dance of love

Maybe she can't do some of those things as the boss of Spina di Rosula, but maybe the former... maybe she's just been reading too many romance novels

Childe

When it comes to Childe, you truly lucked out in becoming an Oceanid when you lost the isekai 50/50. Because if you were something couldn't talk like a Thunder Manifestation or a Geovishap... you'd be assed out

For he, Tartaglia, is constantly finding ways to become stronger and that includes fighting mythical beings he comes across

But hey, Childe is no barbarian. Anything that can talk and beg for its life, for the most part, isn't a viable option for honing his skills

So congratulations, you narrowly avoided becoming a hashtag in someone's twitter bio twice in a row

Childe quickly laughs off your near brush with death and he dodges the spout of water you send his way. Sadly, he's somewhat charming when he says "come on, in my defense I didn't think you had any real intelligence! Now that I know we can easily become buddies, I'm sure!"

Maybe it's guilt (you doubt it), maybe it's a bit of youthful wonder permeating his soul (you're sure it's this), but he makes it a point to visit you while he is in Fontaine

Yeah, you lost another 50/50 by being airdropped into Fontaine during its Archon Quest but miraculously the water isn't painful. Maybe it's because you're technically not from this world and it grants you some sort of immunity? You're not sure

You are sure of, however, the fact that Childe comes to visit you like he gets paid for it

Apparently he wants to chat it up with you so he has plenty of interesting stories for his younger siblings when he visits them next time he is in his homeland

You sadly have a soft spot for it seems for war criminals that also happen to be family-oriented so you indulge him begrudgingly despite the rocky start to your friendship

When he gets arrested, you don't see him for a while and you admittedly grow worried when he doesn't show up even beyond the crisis of the prophecy coming to fruition but isn't like you can just discreetly find a fatuus in a city, let alone a Harbinger

Childe comes to see you soon enough though when he's recovered a substantial amount (barely any at all)

He laughs at you worriedly berate him for being so careless. "I just had to make sure my favorite Oceanid didn't miss me too much, that's all"

[cheoliehansolie]

Pickup Lines

Summary: You and Soonyoung go out together, but he seems to forget one very important detail.

wc: 957

warnings: mention of alcohol, drunk shenanigans, and cringy pickup lines

an: As an apology for scrapping the Seungcheol fic, here's a cute, fluffy Soonyoung fic. As always, let me know what you think and if you have any suggestions for what you want me to write next, leave me an ask.

--

“Aside from being sexy, what do you do for a living?” asks the man who takes the seat next to you on the outdoor couch.

You’re at a little gathering at Jihoon’s apartment and you needed a break from karaoke so you excused yourself from the living room and came outside for some fresh air. Little did you know that someone was watching you and decided to follow you outside.

“Really, Soonyoung? That’s the best pickup line that you’ve got?” you ask the man next to you as you turn to face him.

You see the pink flush to his skin and you already know he’s a little tipsy. When he opens his mouth to respond, you can smell the alcohol on his breath and your suspicion is confirmed.

“You didn’t like that one? That’s fine, I have more. Feel my shirt. Do you know what it’s made of?” he asks, looking at you expectantly.

You give in and touch the shirt you got him for his birthday.

“Hmm, from the feeling of it I would have to say cotton.” you say.

“No silly, it’s made of boyfriend material!” he says as he laughs at his own pickup line.

You can’t help but laugh with him. 

“Okay, that one was good.” you acknowledge.

“If you thought that one was good, wait til you hear this next one: It’s a good thing I have my library card, because I’m totally checking you out.” he says as he giggles.

“Do you seriously have your library card with you?” you ask him while laughing.

“I never go anywhere without it.” Soonyoung says as he fishes it out of his wallet to show you.

“Is that so you can go to the library whenever you want, or so that you can pull it out when you use this pickup line on someone?”

“The reason I have it doesn’t matter, you asked if I have it and I said yes.”

“Fair point.”

Unfazed by your conversation, Soonyoung says “I think there’s something wrong with my phone. Your number’s not in it.”

“Soonyoung, you have my number. You literally texted me to invite me here.” you counter. “So, is there a reason you’re using all these pickup lines on me?”

“Isn’t it obvious? Do you like raisins?” he asks, content with answering your question with another question.

You give him a confused look but respond, “I thought you already know I don’t like them. I don’t see the point in dehydrating a grape. Grapes are perfectly fine the way they are.”

Ignoring your little tangent, Soonyoung asks “How do you feel about a date?”

You stare at him blankly and say, "Soonyoung, I don’t understand why you keep doing this. I thought we went over our relationship already.”

“We did, but I thought you might change your mind.” Soonyoung pouts.

You're struck with a sudden realization. He doesn't remember.

“Soonyoung, look at me.” you say as you lift his chin and ensure he’s making eye contact.

“What?” he says, his eyes a little hazy from the alcohol and his cheeks squished together like a fish.

It takes everything in you to not lean in and kiss his lips, but you need to make sure you get through to him first.

“Are you paying attention?” you ask him.

He nods in confirmation.

“You don’t need to use these pickup lines on me. We’ve been dating for the past two weeks, remember? You asked me out and we went to an arcade where you won me a tiger plushie?” you ask, hoping to jog his memory.

You see the gears turning in his head, and finally after a few seconds his eyes light up and he smiles so bright it could be blinding.

“Y/N!!!” he squeals. “You’re my girlfriend!” 

“Yeah, I am.” you say while you’re laughing at how adorable he is.

“We’ve been dating for two weeks!” he says as he leans in to pepper your face with kisses.

In your fit of giggles, you both don’t hear the glass door slide open. You only realize that the two of you aren’t alone when Jun clears his throat.

“Am I interrupting something?” he asks from the doorway.

“JUN! Did you know that y/n’s my girlfriend?” Soonyoung asks him excitedly.

“Yeah, you guys told us when we all got here tonight.” Jun says, giving you a ‘wtf is wrong with him’ look.

“You got Soonie so drunk that he literally forgot we were dating. He came out here and started hitting on me.” you explain to him.

“Hey, that’s not my fault, Jeonghan was the one filling everyone’s drink constantly. He also made Soonyoung take way too many shots.” Jun says defensively.

“Fair point. All roads lead back to Jeonghan.” you say.

“Junnnnn, what do you want? Why’re you here?” Soonyoung asks.

“Okay, I’m going to pretend I’m not hurt that you don’t want to see me right now.” Jun says, wiping a fake tear from his eyes. 

“Everyone was wondering where you two went. Seungkwan wanted to do a duet with you.” Jun explains to Soonyoung.

Soonyoung visibly perks at the idea of going back inside to the party and he says, “Let’s go, let’s go!” while he practically drags you back inside.

“Okay, I’m coming!” you exclaim, rushing to keep up with his longer strides.

“He’s gonna crash before the song ends, isn’t he?” Jun asks you as Soonyoung lets go of your hand and rushes into the living room to grab the other mic from Seokmin.

“Definitely.” you say.

 “You have your work cut out for you tonight.” Jun says as you fondly watch him bounce around while singing. 

“Yeah, but I wouldn’t want it any other way.” you say.

[televised-goose]

Drabbles from a valgrace fic that will hopefully be done before the heat death of the universe.

This fic is in development, so constructive criticism is totally accepted.

Prompt by the great @demigod-shenanigans

○●○●○●○●○

Jason thinks he liked to draw as a kid. He has vague memories of a secret sketch book and drawing random pieces of architecture, but just like everything else, it's blurry. He does like it, though. It's like writing, but it doesn't have to make sense. All of his emotions can leave him and be transferred into the paper. Its his own fucked up therapy. No humans needed.

He only started again when he saw Leo draw. He seemed so focused and enthused when making his schematics. It was like he fused with the paper. So he watched Leo draw a lot. Because it was nice to see him calm and the drawings were amazing. That's it. 

He ended up trying it out, and his brain seemed to remember his style even without that memory of the practice. It was like his hands were moving without him thinking of what each movement really meant. His first drawing was Leo, of course. It was only because he was right there and his best friend. 

After figuring out he could apparently draw pretty well he tried everything under the sun, even stealing one of Annabeth’s sketch books and hiding it under his bunk just like he thinks he did as a kid. The book was filled with whatever he could think of, the bow of the ship, his crewmates, fantastical landscapes and architecture, monsters, his nightmares, and even just skribbles making up how he felt. 

But most of the book was filled with Leo. He was so interesting to look at. His rugged charm and his messy appearance made him so unique to draw. He had such intense emotions, making him the caricature of every single one. Some people might think that means he has a crush, but he doesn't. His friend is simply something he enjoys looking at that's not that weird. It's not like he remembers everything he does.

(He hasn't memorized Leo's determined quirk of his brow as he sketches a curve like a compass, not the little sigh he would release when a blueprint was done, not the cross-hatching perfectly aligned and segmented showing his prowess, not his smirk whe-)

He thinks before he focused more on things instead of people, but everything about Leo needs to be documented to him. It's all so perfect that he can't forget it. 

He doesn't draw in front of anyone because it feels too personal to share. These are his true raw emotions and those stay right next to him and his heart. If people saw him draw they might see him weak and he needs to be a leader for them. This is an escape from the pressure and the pain and the fear. He knows it's dumb, and he knows no one will make fun of him, but it still scares him.

○●○●○●○●○

Was it shit? Tell me! I'm still thinking about plot, I'm think it could be a 5+1 of Jace opening up to people and finding out that drawing isn't that fucking stupid. It's really cool, I may be biased to be fair.

[kerubimcrepin]

Liveblog: Wakfu Season 2 (episode 17)

I find myself liking Eva a lot, during this rewatch, because I really am realizing that Eva&Joris is a very interesting and insane duo to consider.

If Ankama was wiser, they'd make them friends explicitly. Oh well.

Joris watching Adamai say this (Adamai is living through his worst nightmare of the person who loved him dying and coming back without memories, this time for real): 😬💀🚶‍♂️

This seems like some sort of waiting room for the meeting, judging from the fact that all the participants (as well as Grougal, but, to be fair, he's like a baby, it's logical that he'd be present with him until the very last possible moment, before being passed on to babysitters.)

I think it's interesting that Joris is sitting quite neutrally, looking exactly at Adamai and Armand, while Qilby is turned fully towards him.

...Studying him, perhaps?

Judging from the fact that Qilby was appealing to Sadida royalty by having studied their texts, and claiming to have met their god, he seems interested in learning more about people — maybe to manipulate, maybe simply curious.

Considering Qilby's connection with dragons and millions of years worth of memory, I could wager that he can feel/see that Joris is a bit weird.

(I know I am reading way too much into this, but let me have this lmaoo.)

This is why I find it quite fascinating that Qilby (interested in studying people around him, maybe seeking an advantage) is telling Joris (an old, dragonized Bontarian deligate) about a dragon that razed Bonta before Joris was born (Arty (Goultard's Dead Dragon Husband)).

Trying to gauge if Joris is secretly a dragon? If he knows that dragon? Trying to gauge his age? His opinions? Hmm???

This is one of the most short and uninformative Joris one-liners in the whole franchise. He's so epic for the way he dodges saying anything here.

Considering the fact that Joris is 1. pretty gullable, actually, 2. generally distrustful of people he doesn't know, especially royalty, 3. sounds pretty happy about this interaction here, I think Joris's opinion of Qilby is "this is a foreign leader, and the whole thing is going to cause a lot of issues. Eliatropes' happiness is worth it, though, and also he seems nice enough. But we are not friends."

Basically, I think Qilby has Joris on his side hook, line, and sinker. Lmaoo.

HE LOOKS SO AMUSED BY THE SHENANIGANS.

Joris LOVES Sadida Kingdom.

I'm insane about Brakmar. Of course the prince of Brakmar (a capitalist hellhole) would be the only one to give a lowly servant a coin.

[wipes tear] Tipping culture is real in Brakmar because otherwise people will not survive on their wage alone. Just like in America...

While none of them are shown, this meeting implies the existence of a kingdom for every race. (I need ecaflip lore so bad...)

I love this animation error so much. How did this happen.

Sitting cutely with his hands crossed.

Guys I think Qilby might have supremacist beliefs about his people. Idk, just a hunch.

And in THIS shot, the animation error is gone.

I want so, so bad to know about whatever the Ecaflip equivalent of Cra City/Sadida Kingdom may be...

Kerubim has canonically been to Trool fair and he LOVES fishing for quaquacks, and we know this from the anniversary map commentary (despite his painful and traumatic memories from episode 48 of Aux Tresors de Kerubim. He talks in the MMO about being uneasy about quaquacks since then.)

Another error — Joris sits there quite inconsistently...

@dullard @dullard @dullard @dullard @dullard @dullard @dullard HEY DULLARD HE SAID THE LINE—-

I love this so much. He's been dealing with politics for centuries, and he's so fucking angry that he allowed himself to slip up and say something antagonizing.

This is a bunch of rich people who have not known orphanhood or living in squalor in their entire lives, talking about putting children in mines, and trying to pass off a bunch of children who lost their parents in a war like a hot potato. And one of them, from a country that his country fucking hates, says that this might lead to a war.

I think Joris, with his life story and opinions and the tragedies he's witnessed in life, must be thinking things much harsher than this. Just a hunch.

This "us" doesn't include Bonta, btw :)

While I have issues with season 4, I do like that there was some moral ambiguity to the world leaders: with hindsight, I think we can say pretty easily that Brakmar's concerns are quite valid, even if false this time.

As I've said — Joris, like Yugo and Adamai, thinks pretty simply that everyone should always do good things, and that it's so so simple to be good — you just give people what they need! :) It's literally so so simple.

And that's how he, after becoming the ruler of Bonta in Waven, got to the point of having: cannibalistic wars, using living beings as building material and weapons, having 999 prisoners of war, spies and guards everywhere, implied slavery, as well as—- [I am forcibly taken offstage]

Once again, Wakfu demonstrates that Bonta and Sadida are very closely aligned.

me and @dullard have had countless conversations about this fucking episode, and he said a lot of interesting things. Here are some highlights, which he has allowed me to include:

I literally don't even know how to put my opinions into words, besides including these screenshots.

[pandoa]

when you're gone

~where the prefect has died, and he is left to pick up the pieces they shattered~ ~how they cope with your death~

~headcanons~ ~twisted wonderland x gender neutral reader~

warnings: angst, death

if you think i'm going to sugarcoat anything you're dead wrong i am here for tears :>

on the outside, nothing about him seems to have changed. in the mornings, he still wakes up and goes to class. in the afternoon, he still playfully attends club meetings and meets up with his other friends at nrc. in the nighttime, he doesn’t even spare the lifeless walls of ramshackle a glance as he walks back to his dorm. he seems… normal. however, everyone around him can sense that something is wrong. through his fake laughter and sugarcoated lies, everyone around him can see that he incredibly misses you. you left a hole in his heart that he covered up well in thick, scarlet paint. his lies to his friends bring him a toxic kind of comfort. but his lies to himself bring him more pain as each smile suffocates him with every day that passes.

CATER DIAMOND, lilia vanrouge, KALIM AL-ASIM, ace trappola, rook hunt

he works. he works, and works, and works until every fiber of his body begs him to stop. he just wants to forget about you. why can’t he let you go? he misses you every minute of his day and every second of his night. you infected his mind like a haunting curse sent to bring him down, and so he chose to work. to take his mind off of everything you. to ignore the fact that your absence affected his grieving heart the way that it did. you were his greatest distraction, after all. but why deal with grief when there was a perfectly long list of to-do’s to complete right before him instead?

RIDDLE ROSEHEARTS, azul ashengrotto, jamil viper, VIL SCHOENHEIT, ruggie bucchi

he sits at your resting place a little longer than he should. most of the time, he is simply just sitting next to your grave, quiet and lost in his thoughts. when no other person is around, he talks to you. he speaks about his days, the latest shenanigans your friends have been stirring, the new shops that have opened since your passing, the inexplainable emptiness he feels whenever he turns around and remembers you won’t be there by his side like usual. he watches as the flowers around the cemetery bloom and wither with the inevitable work of time. on his days off from class, he stays by your engraved stone as the sun rises and sets, sitting beside you to keep you company. he dearly yearns for your warmth; however, he supposes the cold touch of your gravestone against the caresses of his fingertips was good enough. 

jack howl, cater diamond, EPEL FELMIER, ruggie bucchi, jade leech, LILIA VANROUGE, idia shroud, malleus draconia

he’s irrational. angry. rage seems to be the only thing on his mind. if you think he made livid choices before, then you clearly did not see him the day your death was announced. when crowley had confirmed that you were, in fact, dead, he couldn’t believe it. wait—no. he wouldn’t believe it. someone as strong as you couldn’t die so easily. he knew you all too well. and from that day on, he made it his mission to be the most difficult and obnoxious person to have ever set foot in twisted wonderland, regardless of the chaos he caused because of it. he doesn’t care if others are appalled by his actions. he doesn’t care if his actions caused by anger affect the people around him. fine! let them suffer! their agony cannot compare to the ache he feels, though. he may be blinded by his emotions, but what does it matter anyway? his heart was bleeding and it wasn’t fair. 

LEONA KINGSCHOLAR, floyd leech

he dreams of you every night. whether those dreams are joyful ones or replays of terrible memories, he dreams of it all. you cloud his mind like a never-ending mist, and he can’t seem to get rid of you. you were his star in the darkest shadows of the night. however all stars must burn out eventually, and it seems that you decided to burn out sooner than he thought. each new dream of his unlocks an unwanted image of you. images of you and him laughing along the sunlit pathways of his dorm. images of your precious face, rosy from something he just said. images of you and him together—the way it should have been. it’s to the point that he wishes he could sleep forever just so he can see the image of your face and the sweetness of your voice, even if only in his imagination. the moment he closes his eyes, he does not wish to wake up. he only wants to dream of you again and again until even he is sucked into the depths of death as well. 

riddle rosehearts, SILVER, azul ashengrotto, idia shroud, trey clover, rook hunt, malleus draconia

he doesn’t believe it. you couldn’t have died, you just couldn’t! what would happen to all the memories you made? the future the two of you would make together? the future you both had dreamed about? it was impossible. you can’t be dead. conflicted emotions boil within him as he convinces himself that you are still alive. that you are simply taking a short break from nrc and would return home to him soon. everyone around him is pained to see him being in such shambles—the innocence in denial was just too sweet of a spell. even as he watched your coffin descend six feet to the ground on that mournful day, he remained chained to the shackles of disbelief as tears began to stain his crestfallen face. 

deuce spade, epel felmier, kalim al-asim, sebek zigvolt

a/n: there was one point where i got so into imagining these hcs that i literally could not see what i was writing bc tears were streaming down my face 💀

[gabessquishytum]

Morpheus Endless has never had much expectations from his life: he is a third child, so he has always known he'd never ascend his father's throne. Besides, he's an omega, which makes him merely a commodity. He has never been fond of his life at home, his parents ignoring him and his siblings too lost in their own misery and shenanigans, but he was cautious of his prospects, for he has always realized how much he'd be dependent on his future spouse. For once, gods seem to smile at him because Morpheus gets suddenly betrothed to King Robert Gadling, ruler of the neighboring lands. Robert has a reputation as a fair king, although Morpheus finds it very alarming and disappointing that he keeps slaves and that slavery is a norm in his kingdom in general. Still, everyone knows that Robert treated his wife Eleanor with respect despite the fact that she was an omega, and this gives Morpheus hope. What Morpheus doesn't know is that his future alpha has no desire to get married again. He simply has to. His beloved queen died as a result of ectopic pregnancy, and he still needs an heir. And better an heir and a spare. Robert agrees to the union with the Endless dynasty: in fact, that's an incredibly fortunate deal for his kingdom because his neighbors are way more powerful and rich. But for him, it's nothing but a business agreement. That's why Robert is taken aback when he finally meets his fiancé at the wedding: Prince Morpheus is ethereally beautiful. Robert falls in love at first sight and hates himself for it because it feels like he's betraying the memory of Eleanor. He's perfectly polite to his new husband, albeit cold and neglectful, and Morpheus can't figure out what he has done to displease his alpha: he is well aware of many faults of his character, but he really tried to be on his best behavior, and besides, they barely interacted at all. Robert gets drunk at the wedding. Morpheus waits for him till dawn, but he doesn't come to consummate the marriage. He continues to ignore Morpheus' existence till his omega goes into heat, and that's when Robert can no longer deny the pull and longing. And he does need an heir. Morpheus' heat is everything they both ever wanted, days and nights spent in tender lovemaking, and Morpheus dares to hope that from now on, it is going to be different...but once his heat has run its course, he wakes up alone and heartbroken. Shortly after, they find out that Morpheus is pregnant. Robert is excited and torn apart between his feelings for his mate and his love for the memory of Eleanor. He doesn't know what to do, so he does nothing. He only realizes what a fool he has been when Morpheus goes into labor, and it turns out that the baby is not well positioned. Morpheus spends two days in labor, and there are serious fears that neither he nor the baby would make it. Morpheus is barely alive by the end of the ordeal, but he miraculously gives birth to a healthy baby boy - Robyn. He himself is seriously ill, though, and in fever. Robert never leaves his side and prays to every god that his mate will survive so they can have a second chance. He is ready to do anything to make Morpheus happy, from abolishing slavery that his mate resents so much to pandering to his every whim.

OOO this is such a great outline for a story!! You can definitely see both perspectives here. Hob didn't want to remarry, he's traumatised, he feels so many things and everything is moving so quickly. Meanwhile Morpheus is in a completely new place with new people, knowing that he has a duty to fulfil, trying his best... only to find that nothing he does is enough for his new husband.

Morpheus even understands that his pregnancy must be a huge trigger for Hob, so he does his best not to mention it at all. He even hides the bump under draping clothes so his husband won't be reminded of his condition. Hob wavers between spending time with Morpheus and ignoring him for days. He forgets that Morpheus is going through this for the first time, essentially alone.

The traumatic labour does at least snap Hob out of his selfishness. He refuses to leave Morpheus even during the worst, when they think the omega might die. After Robyn is born, Hob takes care of him personally, feeding him and holding him as much as possible, and spending the rest of his time at Morpheus’s bedside. He doesn't deserve his omega, he's well aware of that - but Morpheus deserves to live! And Hob wants a chance to love him, at the very least. He wants Morpheus so much he can hardly breathe. He'd thought it was silly that his omega cared so much about slavery - it's just what Hob’s kingdom has always done. But now Hob would give anything to talk to be Morpheus about it. To be guided by his mate's principles. They could build a better realm together.

When Morpheus wakes up, he's surprised to see his mate beside him, with their newborn baby snuggled up in the crook of his arm. Morpheus hardly recognises Hob. He looks tired and soft and his eyes are full of tenderness. Morpheus wearily asks for water and Hob personally helps him to drink, slow and careful.

Morpheus is sort of expecting a grovelling apology that he'll have to listen to and then he'll have to be the bigger person, to give Hob the balm of forgiveness... but that doesn't happen. Hob just. Does stuff. Instead of making promises. He nurses Morpheus through his recovery, and supports him as he starts to care for Robyn more each day. He brings matters of state and ideas to Morpheus’s attention and asks for his opinions. He sleeps beside Morpheus each night (not in the same bed, but in the same room) until he's finally invited to join his omega. He doesn't even mention sex until Morpheus brings it up. And it's only much later that Morpheus finds out that slavery was outlawed while he was sick.

It doesn't mean that Hob didn't make mistakes. But it does mean that he won't be repeating them. And that Morpheus can finally learn to trust him. He's happy to invite Hob to share his first heat after giving birth. There's no alpha he'd rather have.

And Eleanor's spirit is finally smiling down on them, instead of repeatedly smacking Hob around the head for his behaviour <33

[zepskies]

Never Say Goodbye - Part 6

Pairing: Dean x Female Reader

Summary: The first time you and Dean sensed each other’s thoughts and feelings, you were just kids. It would take years to realize that you both were bonded for life, and even longer to finally meet. [Soulmate AU] (Rated M for eventual scenes – 18+)

Word Count: 4,800 Warnings: Angst, fluff, and some supernatural shenanigans.

Part 6: Trust Building

After you showered and dressed in a clean shirt and yoga pants, you felt refreshed but still somewhat anxious. You don’t have anything to be nervous about, you tried to remind yourself.

You finally met him. His name is Dean. He seems…nice.

A soft smile grew on your face when you thought of how he’d looked over your injuries in concern. How he’d seemed just as nervous as you, but was familiar in his teasing and gentle when he’d helped you up the stairs.

He seemed to be a decent guy. But so had Danny Schmitt.

That thought made you shudder. Those horrific memories of last night tried to surface, but you stubbornly shoved them down by covering your eyes with your hands and letting out a few deep breaths.

When you’d calmed down, you released your trembling hands. That’s it, you decided. You were going downstairs. You were going to go crazy if you stayed up here in this room.

…Plus, you were getting hungry.

Things were probably going to get awkward fast, but you were up for it. You didn’t want to be rude to your uncle, and you wanted to get know Dean and his brother Sam.

So you carefully descended the stairs, trying not to freeze in place when all three men paused in their conversation to look at you. You gave a little wave.

“How’re you feelin’?” Bobby asked.

“I’m okay.” You joined Sam and Dean on the couch once they made room for you. Bobby sat in a rickety chair across from them, with a coffee table full of old, open books in between. What kind of book club were these guys having?

You shared a small smile with Dean, who seemed to take a brief moment to look you over. You noticed his gaze lingered on your yoga pants. But smoothly his eyes returned to your face. He inhaled and looked curious.

“What’s that, apples?” he asked. You blinked in confusion, until you realized what he meant: your body wash. To be fair, it did have a strong smell.

“Oh, apple spice.” You nodded. “Good guess!”

Dean grinned a little. “It’s nice.”

Sitting on his other side, Sam rested an elbow on the couch’s arm. He hid a smile behind his hand, while Bobby just rolled his eyes.

“All right, well dinner’s on the way,” your uncle said. “Hope you like Chinese.”

You were just about to reply affirmatively when your phone buzzed on the coffee table. With a quick glance, you saw who it was and frowned. Dad.

“That’s been going off non-stop for the past ten minutes,” Dean said.

“Yeah,” you sighed, and went to pick up the phone. “Hi, Dad.”

You felt guilty about taking off from Jody’s house without telling anyone, but in fairness, you’d left her a note. Your dad was stern and quick to reproach you.

“You can’t just take off like that. You had me looking over the whole damn town for you!” said Jack.

Your lips pressed together. “Look, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you where I was going, but now you know where I am. I’m safe.”

Jack started to interject, but you cut in before he could start giving you orders.

“Tell Jody I’m sorry, but I’m comfortable here,” you said, glancing up at Bobby, and then at Sam and Dean.

“…Fine. The house should be back to normal in a couple of days. If you leave Bobby’s house for any reason, you call me,” Jack said.

Like you were a child.

“Fine,” you snapped and hung up the phone. Then you looked up at the men, who all looked away as if they hadn’t been listening.

“Sorry,” you added. “My dad’s a bit…overprotective.”

“I mean…can you really blame him right now?” Dean asked. “I get it, you ditched your babysitter. But not for nothing, I’d probably react the same way.”

His face was more serious, devoid of the flirtatious teasing from before. Your hackles started to rise as he took your dad’s side…until you realized that he meant well. Through the connection that bonded your soul with his, what you felt most was his concern for you. 

And, he might actually have a point.

You just weren’t willing to acknowledge that just yet.

You tried to get to know Sam more too. You learned that he’d gone to college at Stanford for pre-law, and that he’d planned to be a lawyer. When you asked why he didn’t go for it, he and Dean got quiet.

That’s when the takeout finally came. You sensed it was a sensitive topic, so you didn’t push it.

The four of you ate while Sam and Dean traded off telling childhood stories and motel room antics, most of which made you laugh.

But you became sad when you realized what Dean had told you once was true: he and Sam had been raised on the open road. They hadn’t truly had a home since Dean was five years old, and Sam had been just an infant, after their mother died.

“The house burned down,” Dean explained, but you had a feeling there was more to the story. You sensed it in his guarded emotions—both in his body language and through your bond.

“Nice ring,” he remarked, noting the flash of silver on your right hand. You gave him a closer look and he took the opportunity to take your hand. You tried (and failed) not to blush.

“My mom’s,” you said, your eyes lowering. “She…died when I was around fourteen.”

Dean sighed and released your hand. “I’m sorry.”

You knew he understood how you felt. He’d lost his mom too.

“What about your dad?” you asked.

Sam and Dean shared a brief glance before Dean replied. “He’s still around. He started the family business, so he travels a lot too.”

“I see.” You were very curious to meet their dad. If he was anything like Dean, then that man was sure to be interesting.

After a while more of eating and talking, Bobby wished you goodnight and went up to his room. Sam returned to the living room to set up his sleeping spot on the recliner, leaving you and Dean to clear the dining table and wash the dishes together.

“So your dad’s a cop, huh?” Dean asked.

You nodded. “Yep. Hence the overprotective bit.”

“Is that why you didn’t tell him about our…” Here Dean raised his brows. “Situation?”

You smiled in amusement. “Honestly, yeah. It just…didn’t feel like the right time to tell him about us. When you meet him, you’ll understand.”

“I get it. My dad’s not always a picnic either, but he’s a good man,” Dean said. “Your dad seems to be too.”

“Except he doesn’t want me here,” you said. “He’s got this…thing with my uncle. I can’t figure it out.”

Dean seemed to remember something. “Yeah, Bobby was sayin’ something like that. They had a falling out a while back?”

“I think it started when my aunt died,” you admitted. You were seven, and Aunt Karen had been your dad’s younger sister. You didn’t remember her that well, but you had a warm memory of her making pies for every season: pumpkin and apple for fall, blueberry for winter, strawberry and rhubarb for spring, and peach for summer.

“I’ve asked Bobby about it, but he’s not really the sharing type,” you said.

“Yeah, fair enough,” Dean said. It made you look over at him with some curiosity.

Dean was becoming something of an enigma to you. In some ways, he could be incredibly straightforward and kind in how he looked after you and asked about your life. But any time you asked about his family, about his past, about his job, he would pull back from you.

It made you nervous. What the hell is he hiding?

But it also made you determined to find out more. Now that you’d found him, you weren’t going to let him go so easily.

After the table was cleared and the dishes were done, you realized just how tired you were. Even your head was starting to ache.

Dean might’ve heard your thoughts (you had to get better at controlling that), because he looked you over in an assessing way.

“Hey, you should probably get some sleep,” he said. “It’s been a long day, sweetheart.”

Even that small nickname made you blush again. Dean noticed, smiling. You purposefully looked away and called out to his brother.

“Goodnight, Sam.”

He looked up from the book he was reading and smiled at you. “Goodnight. Sleep well.”

You returned his smile before returning your gaze to Dean. He crossed his arms expectantly, a grin playing at his lips. “My turn?”

You uttered a laugh. Gaining some courage, you leaned up on your toes, rested a hand on his shoulder, and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“Goodnight, Dean.”

Sweet dreams, you added mentally, then you turned to climb up the stairs.

See you tomorrow, he replied. It made you pause on the stairs and turn back to him with a soft smile.

Then, Dean watched you go up the rest of the way to make sure you were all right. He did his best to clamp down on his mixed emotions, so you wouldn’t sense them. When he turned around, he found Sam wearing a knowing grin.

“What?” Dean asked.

“I just never thought I’d see you like this.”

Dean rolled his eyes and sat on the other end of the couch. He leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, then rubbed at his face with both hands. Sam sat down next to him and dropped a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m glad, Dean. You deserve this,” he said.

Do I? Dean thought. “You know we’ve got a job to do.”

“…Yeah,” Sam said with a sigh. He was conflicted too. He wanted to give his brother the time and space to enjoy this, to spend time with you, but they still had to find their dad—and the Yellow-Eyed demon that killed Jess, and their mom.

Still, this was important.

“Why don’t you go up and talk to her?” he suggested, nodding up the stairs.

Dean frowned. “She’s going to bed.”

“Even if it’s five minutes,” Sam said. “Don’t waste any more time, Dean. Do something.”

So Dean went up to your room, and he knocked.

You opened the door a few moments later, but you hadn’t changed clothes yet. Sensing more than hearing his anxious thoughts had kept you puttering around the room, straightening things up, brushing your hair, trying to find something to wear for bed. You just didn’t know how to reach out and comfort him, or even if you should.

But you smiled when you saw him.

“Can I help you, sir?” you teased.

“Just for a minute,” he said, once you let him into the room. “You can kick me out whenever.”

You beckoned him to sit with you on the edge of your bed. You and Dean sat in silence for a moment, both of you trying to think of something to say.

“This is hard, isn’t it?” you said. Dean let out a breathy chuckle, his shoulders sagging a bit in relief. He looked over at you.

“Somehow, thought it’d be easier,” he said.

“Okay, let’s just get this out of the way. We’re basically strangers. Let’s stop focusing on the cosmic bond part of it all, and just try to get to know each other,” you suggested. 

Dean saw the logic there.

“Sounds good to me,” he said. He reached out and tucked your hair behind your ear, his thumb brushing the side of your face.

A blush dusted your cheeks. “You like doing that.”

“You don’t seem to mind.”

“Not really, no,” you admitted with a smile. Dean returned it, before his expression became more serious again.

“Hey, can you answer something honest for me real quick?” he asked.

“Okay.” Though you wondered where this was going.

“Are you okay?”

You folded your hands in your lap and stared down. “Yeah. I feel fine, Dean. Really.”

“Not what I meant,” he said. You felt his concern through your bond, encouraging you to look up at him.

“I get it if you don’t, but if you need to talk about what happened last night…” He let the thought hang off, giving you the space to decline if you wanted to, or if you weren’t ready. You sensed that he was willing to listen to you, and actually, that he genuinely wanted to know.

Well, that you could believe. He seemed to be the protective type.

You sighed; as much as you didn’t want to think about what happened, flashes of those memories were already resurfacing behind your eyes.

“It happened so fast,” you began. People always said that in the movies, but it was true.

“I got home late. I was…talking with you. As soon as I set my things down in the living room, he grabbed me from behind, dragged me into the kitchen for some reason…” You took a breath. “When I had enough wits about me to start fighting back, that’s when he used my head for basketball practice on the counter.”

Dean was quiet while you spoke. He was trying to keep his darker thoughts from spilling into his connection with you, but that was a feat in itself.

It was a good thing for him that Danny Schmitt was already dead.

“I saw the kitchen knives, but before I knew it I was on the ground,” you continued, though it was difficult to steep yourself in those wild, thrashing moments. Being pinned down, not being able to call for help or reach anything that could help you.

Your hand went to the bruises on your throat. “I couldn’t breathe…then I’m…not sure what happened. Maybe I got some adrenaline-fueled, Hulk Hogan-type strength, because the next thing I knew, I was looking down at Danny’s body. And the kn-knife, somehow I…”

Tears spilled down your cheeks as you started to lose your grip, but Dean reached for your hand, squeezing yours. That, and sensing his supportive presence in your mind, gave you something solid to ground you as you breathed through it.

As was your habit, you twirled your mom’s ring around your finger.

“Danny?” Dean asked.

“Y-Yeah. We went to high school together,” you explained. “He was an idiot then. He got his fingers caught in the automatic stapler. How do you go from that to psycho-killer spree?”

Dean gave you an amused look, but he gave you an honest answer.

“Some people are born bad. Some people do bad things once in a while, and regret it,” he said. “Some people got evil shit on their mind, but don’t got the confidence to actually pull the trigger. Until they do.”

You let out a deep breath as you nodded.

“I just…Dean, I don’t remember grabbing the knife,” you confessed. “But it makes me wonder…what the hell else am I capable of?”

Dean could understand that, better than most. He let you lean into him and drew you close as you finally allowed yourself to let go. You felt bad for dampening his shirt with your tears, but you relished in his comfort and the safety of his arms.

Until both of you shivered. It felt like the room had dropped ten degrees all of a sudden.

Dean got an awfully familiar, suspicious feeling.

“Aw, shit,” he said.

“What?” you asked nervously. Your bedside lamp flickered, and somehow a draft kicked up into the room.

Dean got you to stand up by the elbows and grabbed your hand, heading for the door. It swung closed in your faces, making you gasp.

“Shit,” he repeated.

Your looked up at him in fear. “What the hell’s going on?”

“Whatever happens, just stay close to me.” Dean’s voice was firm, authoritative. It was fair to say you clung to his arm. Maybe that made you the quintessential damsel in distress, but to be fair, you were definitely in distress right about now. You didn’t have a clue what was happening, but Dean seemed to.

Then a strong gust of wind pulled him away from you and threw him into the large wooden dresser across the room. You watched in alarm, but you eventually made yourself move to go and help him.

That’s when a strange mirage glitched and appeared in front of you, startling you. It was a woman, maybe in her late-thirties. She looked familiar, but before you could focus on her face, Dean’s fist swiped through the mirage and made it disappear.

You looked up at him in shock. He was a bit banged up with a couple of scratches on his arm, but he held what looked like the iron handle from one of the dresser drawers he’d smashed into. You touched his arm, and your mind blazed with questions that you were finally able to express.

“Are you okay? What the hell was that? What—”

“All right, for right now just follow my lead, okay?” he said. He grabbed your hand and tried opening the door. It was locked. Damn it.

Sam called from the other side.

“Hey, you guys okay?” he asked.

“Yeah, we’ve got us a ghost,” said Dean.

“What?” you exclaimed. As in Casper?

Dean sighed. “I’ll explain later. Move away from the door, Sammy.”

“Okay, go ahead.”

In one powerful move, Dean kicked through the door and broke the lock. You and Dean escaped the room, but your eyes widened as you pointed behind Sam. “Watch out!”

The woman was there again. Now you could see that she wore a white blouse with small flowers on them, and a long, dark skirt that seemed to glide across the floor. You realized that you recognized the shade of her hair, the shape of her face and features—many of them were similar to your own.

You felt like the air had fled from your lungs, all while your heart constricted painfully. Dean’s head swiveled toward you; he’d picked up on the shift in your emotions through your connection.

“Mom?” you uttered.

A gun shot rang out, making the vision of your mother scream angrily, and then disappear. Behind her was Bobby with a shotgun full of rock salt.

“All right, let’s get downstairs,” he said.

The four of you ran down quick to the ground floor. The lights continued to flicker as you went, and a draft followed you through the living room where the fireplace crackled with life. You watched as Sam went and got cannisters of salt from the kitchen and started drawing a large circle of salt around you all. Meanwhile, Dean grabbed the iron poker from the fireplace.

“Okay, will someone please explain what the fuck is going on already?” you asked. “Why am I seeing my mom?”

And why is she trying to kill us?

Sam and Dean shared a look before the latter sighed and met your wide-eyed stare.

“Like I said, she’s a ghost. Yeah, they’re real. Salt keeps them away, iron fends them off,” he explained. “Temporary fixes though. The only way to get rid of a ghost is to burn its old body’s bones.”

That was a lot of crazy information to absorb in all of thirty seconds. Dean laid his hands on your shoulders to get your attention, and to ground you.

“Where is she buried?” he asked.

“The cemetery,” you said tremulously. “Don’t say you’re gonna dig up my mom, Dean.”

His face twisted in apology. “That’s kinda where this is going, yeah.”

You were a tad bit horrified.

“But wait, you can’t,” you realized. “They buried her ashes.”

Sam, Dean, and Bobby all shared a similar frown. Damn it.

The ghost of your mother, Christine, reappeared just a few feet away and startled a scream out of you. The four of you stood within the salt circle, but that didn’t stop her. Her dark eyes were focused on the men as she created a gust of wind to blow the salt circle away.

Bobby shot off a salt round from his gun and made her disappear for a few seconds. But she was getting tenacious. She reappeared moments later to continue whittling at the salt line.

“Why is she coming after us?” you exclaimed.

“Some spirits don’t pass onto greener pastures if they feel like they’ve got too much to leave behind,” Bobby explained. “After a while, they start to lose their grip on…well, reality.”

“They turn vengeful,” Sam supplied. “Poltergeists, hauntings—”

“But why would she go after me?” you asked. You buried your hands in your hair and closed your eyes. Maybe you could block all of this out and pretend it wasn’t happening. “This can’t be real!”

“Hey,” Dean said. He grabbed your arms just tight enough to break you out of your spiral. You looked up at him with tears in your eyes. “This is real. It’s happening. Somehow your mom’s ghost is tethered to something else, because I think she followed you here.”

“Followed me?”

“From your house,” Dean said. He was leading you somewhere—with his tone and his eyes.

You gasped at as hit you.

The impossible knife stabbing of Danny Schmitt.

You hadn’t been anywhere near the kitchen knives. You’d been pinned down while slowly choking to death. It hadn’t been adrenaline. There really was no way you could’ve reached them.

“She…she killed Danny.”

“Yeah.” Dean nodded. “Trust me, I know, because this is my job.”

“This is what you do for a living?” You were damn near hysterics.

He offered you a helpless grin. “And it don’t even come with health insurance.”

“He’s right, there’s something else keeping her here,” Bobby said. He looked at you. “Do you have anything of hers?”

“No, I—” You’d started toying with your ring before it dawned on you with a gasp. Dean looked down at your hand and came to the same conclusion.

“It’s the ring,” he said. “We need to burn it n—”

Dean couldn’t finish his thought, because Christine reappeared behind him and threw him several feet away. The iron poker in his hand clattered away from him. She turned to Sam and Bobby next.

Before either one could shoot off a salt round, Christine raised a hand, commanding a desk to shove them against a large bookcase. They had to shield their heads as books fell off the shelves and thudded to the ground.

Christine stopped when she turned to you. Instead of attacking, she raised her hand out to you. Your eyes widened.

“Mom?”

She didn’t answer, but she didn’t look at you with the same anger and menace as she had to the men.

“She’s not after you,” Sam said, with a tilt of his head. “She’s trying to protect you.”

He was still stuck with Bobby, while Dean was also pinned against the wall by the force of Christine’s will. He had enough autonomy to raise his head and meet your eyes with urgency.

“Toss the ring in the fireplace,” he told you. “Do it now!”

Your limbs were frozen in place. It was almost like being attacked by Danny; you could see the knives, but you couldn’t make yourself grab one. This time, you didn’t want to.

“I can’t!” You shook your head adamantly.

“I get it,” Dean said. He was struggling to break free of the ghost’s hold, gritting his teeth. “But you need to put your mom to rest. It’s the ring or your life. Throw that thing into Mount Doom!”

You looked up at Christine, and at times you could see through her spirit-like body. She wasn’t really there, nor was she supposed to be here.

Right now you were poor old Mrs. Jenkins, clutching your pearls.

So you ran to the fireplace. But the moment you fell to your knees there, a strong gust of wind blew out the flames. You gasped and turned to see that your mother was there, and she was now angry with you for trying to destroy her.

Frantically you searched for something to keep her away. What you found was Dean’s iron poker.

“That’s it, stick it right through her!” Dean guided you. Inside he was desperate to help you, but he instinctively buried it under the practiced focus of a hunter.

Your hands closed around the iron and you swung it like a baseball bat, making Christine’s spirit dissolve. Sam then called your name and showed you a lighter in his hand. He threw it towards you, but it bounced through your hands and scattered across the floor.

“For God’s sake,” you muttered frantically. You all but dove onto your hands and knees to scramble after the lighter.

“Watch out!” Dean shouted.

With a gasp, you twisted to face Christine again. This time, she commanded a chef’s knife from the kitchen.

“Mom!” you tried. While she heard you, she didn’t acknowledge what she was doing. Her face was twisted with a truly evil expression—one that you’d never seen on your mother when she lived.

The knife turned in mid-air. Then it spiraled toward you.

You instinctively covered your face with your arms and shouted. “Stop, Mom. Please!”

The room was deadly quiet.

Slowly, you realized you were still alive, if breathing heavily. You opened your eyes and lowered your arms a bit. The knife hadn’t pierced you, but it was still hovering in front your face. You remained very still when you looked up at Christine.

Her face revealed her shock. The evil dregs of death had melted away, revealing your mother as she was. As she had been in your fourteen-year-old memory.

Her expression softened into regret and sadness. The knife fell away from you and clattered to the ground. You let out a relieved breath and laid a hand over your wild beating heart.

Then it was Sam, Dean, and Bobby’s turn to feel relieved. Christine released them from her hold, and Sam and Bobby pushed the desk away from them while Dean rolled the kinks out of his neck.

“I’m sorry,” said Christine. Her voice was familiar, and also sounded overlaid with many whispered voices. Tears pooled in your eyes, but your hand closed over the lighter you found at your side.

You toyed with your ring and glanced at Dean. He gave you an encouraging nod.

“Do it, honey,” your mom said.

Shakily, you got to your feet and went back over to the fireplace. You used the lighter to reignite the wood, but once you took the ring off your finger, you hesitated.

A hand rested on your shoulder, and your tearful eyes met Dean’s sympathetic ones.

It’s okay. You can do this, he told you through the soul bond.

With a deep, shuddering breath, you nodded and let go of your mother’s wedding ring. It took a while, but eventually the silver started to melt.

Your mom’s spirit dissipated with a smile on her face.

The aftermath of that night was difficult, to say the least. The guest bedroom you were supposed to sleep in had a broken door, but the guys had helped you get it back on its hinges, more or less. You all agreed to leave cleaning up the house for tomorrow, as there were only a few hours left in the night anyway.

The way you felt…well, there weren’t really words for that. You laid in bed in a worn-out, oversized shirt you found in the damaged dresser. Your body was exhausted in every way. Your mind, however, was wide awake.

So was Dean’s. He stared up at the wall from his place on the couch, downstairs. Through the bond, he could feel the many shifts in your fraught emotions. It was keeping him awake too, mostly out of concern.

He tried to take hold of that thread of energy and send you something reassuring, even if it was just his presence and not his words. Because what could he say, anyway?

He sensed that you accepted the connection. He felt your gratefulness, despite the rest of it.

Do you want to come up here? you asked.

It surprised Dean, but his reaction was…conflicted. After tonight, part of him wanted to keep some distance between you and himself. His job attracted even more supernatural batshit insanity than a vengeful spirit. He didn’t want you to get caught up in that…

But a larger part of Dean couldn’t deny you, either.

I’ll be right there, he said.

Without waking up Sam on the recliner, Dean got off the couch and climbed up the stairs towards your room.

AN: Congrats to @spnexploration for figuring out the impossible stabbing of Danny Schmitt! You guessed it right on your first try. But I hope the clues I left were subtle enough lol.

Now that the reader knows about the supernatural, let's see what she and Dean get up to upstairs...

To keep reading: PART 7

Series Masterlist

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

A huge thank you to everyone commenting and reblogging and overall engaging with this story! I didn't think it would end up being this long lol. But there's more to come soon!

If you like this, follow me for more SPN fics (and other fandoms). I'm also on Ao3!

@curlycarley @buckywenal24 @jamerlynn @iprobablyshipit91 @globetrotter28 @deamus-liv @irgendwas122 @deans-spinster-witch @dogbarkbark4445 @my-proof-is-you @vera0124 @deans-baby-momma @lacilou @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @happygoodvibe @theonlymaninthesky @spnexploration @itzabbyxx @cevans-winchester @imagineteller1ller1 @icequeen1371 @mininjageek @tiredqueen73 @bitchwitch1981 @abbigaleelizabeth

[skrill999]

I just finished the first season of Transformers prime. And overall I liked it.

The human characters are fine. I don't hate them but I am not too invested in their story. (But you would not believe how much I said to tue TV "No... Mikko... don't do it...") but some of their shenanigans are rather funny

As for the cybertronians. I like them a surprising ammount.

Starscream:

I mostly prefer starscream more higher pitched voice but I do like what Steve Blum does (also I kept hearing heatwave)

As for his character he is a wet cat which keeps running out into the rain crying, not quite sure why he's so wet. Like he has my sympathy from the abuse he goes through under Megatron (to be fair Starscream did try to kill Megatron on multiple occasions) but a lot of it was his own doing. He keeps getting in his own way.

There is a curious moment that stands out to me: in the episode where breakdown was captured by humans, the autobots try to rescue him because they thought decepticons wouldn't and Megatron didn't want to but Starscream did try. (They couldn't have known Autobots were there before leaving base)

Now I won't go so far as to say that this means Starscream cares for Breakdown. At first I was thinking he probably needed him for a plan of his but so far I have no clue what that would be so it really left me wondering why.

With Starscream defected from the decepticons and hiding I am curious to see what future awaits him in the upcoming season

Soundwave:

Soundwave is my favourite deception and in this show that is no different. He's still super cool. He's quiet loyal and no one messes with him. I liked it when he beat Airachnid (who definitely underestimated him)

Also Laserbeak is also super dope

Breakdown:

A surprise entry for me. He was actually quite interesting. At first I thought nothing of him then the episode where he's captured by the humans came. I am not surprised he sided with the decepticons but I could tell Bulkhead coming to rescue him did shake his perspective. He might come to see how ridiculous this all is. Maybe

The rest are fine and so their job well

Now some Autobots:

Optimus Prime:

He is my favourite autobot no question(idk about charcter as he would be facing Soundwave). Peter Cullen nailed it as always. The sword and gun arms are very cool.

His very strict no nonsense demeanor does work well with the dynamics of others and he does clearly care a lot about his team and the humans living on earth.

Though he might be a bit too eager at playing martyr for everyone else to escape.(I don't remember specific examples but that's my understanding)

(This is not a critique on his character just really amuses me)

Him losing his memory is definitely not good for the autobots but let's see how that plays out.

Bumblebee:

He is very cute. Love his eyes, face shape and voice. Also he really seems to look up to Optimus and Optimus seems to have a soft spot for him. I remember the last scene where Optimus looks back at him.

Him and Raf are buddies, chill to play racing games together and it is cute. Also he seems to be the youngest of the cybertronians.

Ratchet:

Another surprise entry. I certainly enjoyed his presence on screen. His banter with everyone was rather funny.

An episode that stood out with him is the one with fake energon. He did go a little nuts with the fake energon but I did like that his reasoning in general wasn't just nonsense but based in the truth and his own feelings that he might not have been expressing. (He was definitely being hot headed though)

Again the others were fine but their stories didn't stand out to me too much.

I did like the episodic nature of the show. The little shenanigans of the show were very funny and enjoyable to see. I liked the racing episode.

Also another funny note: this show reminded me of tmnt 2012 (another favorite childhood show of mine) in that there are no people. In tmnt 2012 New York had like 5 people at a time. This show took place in Reno Nevada and while we only really saw a school, there was like no one at the school.

I know why it's like that but still it quite funny to me.

[aluria-sevhex]

I CAN KILL SIFFRIN. WITH ANAPHYLAXIS. but... will have i have to do the second floor again...

Notes time~!

-please the child say it's yummy

-:D Mira can unfreeze people

-gonna stop for the night

-my break lasted all of yesterday but now i'm back baybeeeeeeee

-i still love the title screen music

-are the enemy names in French?

-yeah i think they are

-eh i feel like dying

-hm looping forwards costs memories... another incentive to fight! yippee i actually like fighting in this game

-i get the kid's drawing every loop :]

-asked Isa about "the hand thing"

-hmmmm methinks there may be... ☆gay☆ :3c

-:0 mysterious 4th hand shape?

-PHONE HAND

-time to loop forward. plantain peel time

-i feel so bad for the frozen people...

-i got a pair of garden scissors! <insert joke about how i've said that Siffrin reminds me of Basil here>

-aw... Mira's anecdotes about the frozen people...

-lol Mira's dying plant

-ooo the Head Housemaiden's office

-love how Vaugarde isn't a monarchy but they call the King that because it's the title he chose and calling him something else would be rude. Vaugarde unsurprisingly supports trans rights

-FUMKIGN ROCK

-FUCK. THE KEY IS IN THE OFFICE.

-oh nice a helpful icon to indicate you've fucked up

-i feel like Loop has some sort of weird thing for Sif...

-exploring elsewhere on the floor

-oh hey a classroom

-how many classes have you taken, Mira? >:)

-ONE HUNDRED FIFTY??? GIRL. DAMN.

-"Someone wrote on the board "Don't stay with your mistakes! Don't be afraid to start over!" You nod! What a true little fact!"

...cheeky

-"no eating snacks" live Bonnie reaction: chomp

-why yes i am writing commentary on a bunch of little bits of narration, it's my notes and i get to make the rules

-bonding earrings? hmmmmmmmm

-oh cool Vaugardians tend to give people multiple names

-fuck yeah trans rights

-oh? Odile has another name?

-Isa doesn't want to tell his because "if i do change again, i want it to be a surprise" again? 👀

-:O THE STYLISH LADY'S NOTEBOOK

-fuck. another weird Sadness

-aight looping time

-my favorite part of the game was when Siffrin said "it's looping time" and looped all over the place

-Mira and Isa: getting hopeful and romantic about how this couple's reunion might go.

Bonnie and Odile:

-hmmmm why u wanna know what a bonding earring is, Sif?

-:0 library? LIBRARY

-"people don't REALLY kiss in plays, do they?" Bonnie. actors do a lot of things.

-your honor they're friends

-the fuck happened to the island. does this have something to do with Loop and/or the King

-how fitting that a game centered on time shenanigans puts so much emphasis on change

-BONNIE CANONICALLY NARUTO RUNS???

-ah yes the Opposite Sides of the Age Spectrum Alliance vs. the Beauty Alliance

-bruh. i picked the wrong way

-"grape juice for adults"

-bonding earrings explanation!

-"I wanna know what happens when prople love each other very much, no one's ever told me!" XD oh, Bonnie

-"And if the bonding is between three or more people, you'd make as many earrings as there are people!" VAUGARDE SAYS POLYAMORY IS COOL

-kinda cool that they basically do wedding earrings instead of rings

-"Not my kind of thing" eh fair

-Isa, Mira, and Bonnie are now overthinking the normal earrings because Siffrin pointed it out

-Mira doesn't seem to want to get bonded... hmmmm... 🟩⬜️⬛️?

-:0 Mira has beef with the trap room guy? >:O he stole her shit!

-that was a tricky boss

-hehe Isa is hungry

-ISA WHAT KIND OF A QUESTION IS THAT... fair actually. what WOULD they do with any bodies?

-WAIT. THE PINEAPPLE THING IS COMING UP. I CAN DIE OF ANAPHYLAXIS?

[dragonmarquise]

I was reading through some of your tags for the post and some of them caught my eye, specifically when you were talking Abt the ref and Felix thing. Why do you get angry Abt it????/gen I'm not trying to be rude, I'm generally all around New to the fandom and I wanna know why-

Okay so!! Honestly this is a fair question to ask, because anyone particularly new to the fandom or even the game in general isn’t going to know the whole context about this situation.

Short(ish) summary (also spoilers of course!): In the postgame, Red still appears at cypher spots, even though going by the story Red and Felix are the same person, and the red cyberhead was destroyed by the end of the game. Taking it at face value, some people interpret it as Red somehow coming back as a separate person from Felix. Which is a cool AU idea imo!

Unfortunately, a decent amount of people have a heavy preference towards Red over Felix, usually either because they’re too used to Red from playing as him for most of the game, or even because they see Felix as ugly/unattractive in comparison.

So then those people tend to use that AU as a way to replace Felix, basically (in my mind at least) throwing out Felix’s character development from the game in favor of Red. When from the canon story’s perspective, they’re the same damn person anyways. And like, I just find that really rude towards him, and I say this as a person who enjoys that AU too, though evidently in a different way from what other people are doing. D:

Longer rant with more details/complaints under the cut:

There are a few different variants of this AU, just to list a few scenarios:

Red is actually a somehow revived Faux, basically using the red cyberhead to hide his identity. Why he does this can vary: him wanting to actual repent for what happened and trying to start doing so by hiding his real identity, or even just hiding himself as he plots to get revenge on Felix and the rest of BRC.

Red is a copy (either complete or partial) of Felix’s mind during the time he spent stuck in the red cyberhead. Basically that converting the red cyberhead to preserve Felix’s head didn’t remove all of the systems/internals related to a normal cyberhead’s functions. The idea being maybe the Flesh Prince had to do a rush job due to needing to keep Felix’s head preserved as quickly as possible to prevent too much rotting/memory loss. Thus some systems are still there, reading Felix’s mind and later result in Red once the red cyberhead is put back together. I will admit I did talk about this scenario in a previous post of mine!

A fun one from a friend of mine: Red still existing turns out to be because a player of the actual BRC game managed to get isekai’d into the world, with them somehow getting put into a newly revived Red as his new "AI" mind. Then having to navigate the world and maybe even befriend BRC, trying to also convince them that he’s not suspicious (especially given his knowledge of the events of the game). Also dealing with how actually moving around and doing things as a writer firsthand is WAY different from just doing it in a video game, lol

Another one from a different friend: Red is “revived” by the Flesh Prince as a new lacky. Though it’s not “Red” from the game, he just found Faux’s old body and then put a completely new cyberhead on it with a basic AI, declaring it his new minion. Shenanigans ensue, probably. :P

But the one that a decent amount of people seem to prefer: Red being the one to experience most if not all of the game, connecting with the rest of BRC and becoming friends. Felix recovering his memories is still a thing here, and him basically taking the reigns once the endgame starts to defeat Faux for good. But then after that it’s revealed Felix still doesn’t have much of a friendship with the others, because it turned out that was all Red, as a separate mind/AI/etc. from Felix. So then in this version of the AU, Red is part of BRC because of the connections he made, while Felix leaves and goes back to being a solo writer because his only connection to BRC was them helping him recover his memories. It’s using Red as a complete replacement for Felix, even though canonically they’re the same person anyways.

And like… ultimately people will do whatever they want with AUs and stuff like this, I can’t force people to stop what they’re doing or agree with the criticisms I have here. And I will admit, I used to like the last point in a “WHOA that’d be a pretty cool twist!!” way, but then later thinking on it more, and realizing… no, actually, this feels like a shitty thing to do to the narrative, especially to poor Felix.

His whole thing is like!! He was friends but also rivals with DJ Cyber and Faux, until eventually going solo for All City, and even admitting he prefers to work alone. We don’t get details on why he feels that way, but we can imagine a ton of ideas for it: he has more of an ego than he lets on? He didn’t want DJ Cyber or Faux to get hurt during the path to All City, so he decides to just go for it by himself? He still genuinely thinks of them as his friends, but overall he’s generally a more aloof loner kind of person and that’s why he went solo? There’s a bunch of options!

Regardless of his reasons, he went solo for All City. He had a one night graffiti session with Faux afterwards, maybe to just check on him and catch up. But otherwise to me it implies there weren’t going to be too many more sessions like these in the future, be it with Faux or anyone else.

And then, Faux kills him. Faux’s own motivations for that are also another fascinating potential for cool fics/AUs/etc. But that’s maybe for another post. :P

Anyways! Felix is dead, but manages to get preserved and eventually revived as Red. Early on in the game, I believe right at the beginning of Chapter 2, Red decides to go up against DJ Cyber in order to find out about his own forgotten roots. And he actually starts to go off by himself, until Tryce stops him! Then Tryce tells him they’re doing this together as a crew, and the way I see it, Red is probably going, “Wait, you… want to still help me? Even if it means fighting against a guy like DJ Cyber? Really??”

Because! Again, my own interpretation, Red doesn’t have all his memories back, but I think Felix’s personality is still there, just subconsciously, y’know? “I gotta do this on my own, can’t rely on anyone else, don’t want others to get hurt because of me” etc. So this is imo one of the first big steps in Felix’s character development that I feel is going on throughout the game: learning that it’s okay to have your friends help you, and to help them out in return, sticking together until the very end and even beyond that!

I mean, just saying, Tryce and Bel join in with Vinyl and DJ Cyber to keep Mech!Faux open for a final attack during his boss fight. That’s some serious friendship right there, willing to put yourself on the line for a friend!!

So then, to basically say, “No, most/all of that was actually just Red, and Red and Felix are separate people so Felix doesn’t need to stick around with BRC anymore” is like…

Okay, pardon my language here, but it’s effectively throwing out Felix’s whole character arc, and frankly it’s fucking insulting towards him!! Guy has the power of badass friendship and hella illegal graffiti on his side, and some people wanna rip that away from him?! Come the fuck on!!

And to emphasize, I used to like this idea as like, an amazing didn’t-see-it-coming twist. But then thinking on it more, it just really isn’t fair to Felix! At all! Especially since I really do think he has an interesting character arc, going from insisting on doing things solo, to gaining new friends and going All City a second time with, in his words, “a whole crew of the best homies around”.

Literally, he says that at the hideout in the postgame! I’m kinda paraphrasing based on memories, but that’s actually what he says more or less.

Also, a lot of people in the fandom seem to really enjoy this AU specifically as a way to replace Felix with Red in their minds/headcanons/stories. Some of them just ended up very attached to Red because of playing as him for most of the game anyways. Which, y’know, that’s reasonable at least! But then for others, they latch onto this AU because of having a genuine dislike (and in some cases, outright hatred) towards Felix.

From my observations and experiences, if it’s not because they got too attached to Red, it’s mostly rooted in people not finding Felix “attractive”. That’s it, possibly the most selfish fucking reason a person could have for wanting to forcefully throw out a character’s development, like what the hell man.

imo it also reeks of a problem that some other fandoms tend to have: dissing more masculine men in the cast, in favor of the more feminine/twink men. Some people may debate on whether Red/Faux would count as a twink, especially with how the term has been watered down recently (fun fact, it was meant to be mainly used in an LGBT+ context, so specifically for LGBT+ men who fit the appearance!!). But, I hope people reading this get the idea of what I’m trying to point out here. :/

Another thing about how people are trying to use Red to replace Felix: they treat this AU like it’s canon, or that they think it should be canon. Even though it’s not, that’s the point of calling it an AU!! Like I mentioned way earlier, I’m not going to stop anyone from going into this sort of AU, even if I personally have criticism for it if it’s handled in a certain way. But what I’m not going to let slide is people trying to force an AU to be considered canon and the way it should be.

The point of an AU is to have fun with possibilities, not try to reject and replace the original canon completely!! D:

Anyways, this is uh. Pretty long as is. So I want to wrap up with at least what I personally like about the potential for a “Red comes back as a separate person” AU. Which is evidently very different from what most people enjoy about that kind of AU.

I mentioned this in my old post I linked to earlier in this post, but basically: Red is not used as a replacement for Felix, but he exists alongside him and the rest of BRC. They could even become like brothers to one another. Red being the “younger” brother who is (quite literally) new to life and wants to go out there and explore and experience all the good stuff, even in a chaotic way. And then Felix being the “older” brother, still being chill like he was before, yet also more responsible and cautious because of what he went through, thus wanting to make sure Red is safe and sort of be his mentor through these things. Felix maybe even feels like he's the main reason Red is here at all, so then he feels responsible with guiding Red and making sure he turns out alright, y'know?

… At least, that’s more or less what I would want to aim for. Them coexisting and even getting more character development for the both of them! I would take more about the specifics of how this would all work. But I do have fan fics and other stuff I want to do someday to share those ideas more. Thus I will stop here for today, hopefully I will be able to get around to those fan fics and stuff in the future! Maybe.

So yeah, that about wraps up my thoughts on this topic? I probably came off as too hostile at some points, sorry about that. It’s just, I think this particular version of the AU is especially frustrating when it’s coming from people who are clearly only using it to replace the “ugly” Felix with the more “attractive” Red. Sometimes it’s subtle, other times it’s more obvious, but either way it’s just damn annoying for me at this point. :(

[justporo]

In between madness

A Night of Fake Smiles and Hidden Lies: Part 8

Author's Note: It's been like a week since I last updated - I needed to a bit of a break from this and now I feel the creative juices flowing better again. This is still rather... unremarkable? We're getting back into safer waters and to more exciting stuff soon I hope!

Astarion and Tav catch a small break from all the hedonistic craziness - not from their own shenanigans though. From here on out it will be a lot of chaotic gremlin energy with these two...

Songs: Stuck - Thirty Seconds to Mars Pairing: Astarion/Fem!Tav (You) Rating: Explicit Warnings: talk of past trauma

CHAPTER LIST | PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER ~~~

Having had enough of all the sinful shenanigans happening all around you for the time being, you both decided to get back to the ballroom – there was only so much of deep and dark desires that you could handle all at once. Although you couldn’t help but feel that you were of course much more affected by all this than Astarion was.

When you mentioned that observation to Astarion while you were making your way back, the vampire threw you a genuine tired smile. As you kept walking he dragged on your joint hands to pull you in closer so he could talk to you more silently as you passed through previous rooms. The guests, it seemed, had only become drunker and more unhinged since you had started exploring.

“Two hundred years of stuff like this is a quite frankly a long time to have your reactions dulled down a lot, my sweet”, he simply said – his voice lacking the usual tinge of playfulness.

You squeezed his hand affectionately before you replied: “I’m sorry, darling. I- I hope this is not…” Before you could even finish Astarion made a dismissive gesture with his other hand. Immediately you saw how his usual wit returned.

“I’m replacing tainted memories with more lovely ones as we speak, dear. For all that twisted shit going on here and all the memories it might bring back: I am still mostly thinking about that delicious strawberry that you so graciously offered me earlier, my heart”, the vampire drawled. His eyebrow twitched teasingly and his signature smirk was back also.

You would never get over just how quickly this man’s mood seemed to swing. One could argue that the term ‘drama queen’ would spring to mind.

Not even replying to his sultry comment you just gave him a look. He chuckled. And the rising tension of unwanted memories was at least for the moment resolved.

“It’s just… I thought I was more prepared. I mean, I’ve seen my fair share of messed up shit”, you continued as you left another room you had crossed before – the gambling den (and you couldn’t help but notice that cards and dice strewn about meant that some tables must have… tipped.)

“Absolutely, my love, I mean I was there for what I would guess was some of the most messed up shit. And if I may add” – he put his hand on his chest in his casually elegant manner – “I might even have been responsible for some of the fucked up stuff you’ve been put through”, Astarion gave back. The teasing tone was fully back now and his voice lowered for the last part until it was nothing but a whisper. His breath caressed your ear before he softly nibbled on it shortly – a drive-by reminder of what he could put you through.

You blushed and pressed your lips together until they were nothing but a thin line. This bastard just always had to keep going until he had you all flustered. You heard his triumphant chuckle.

You abruptly stopped and stomped down on his foot, catching him off-guard – payback! He stumbled into you and almost doubled over, making a nearby servant having to swerve around you.

“OWW!”, Astarion yelped and then hissed at you – his undying love for you temporarily put on hold. “You shithead!”, he spat at you.

“Yeah, just be thankful you didn’t put heels on me, you twat!”, you hissed back. He could change the mood suddenly. But guess what, so could you.

“What in the Nine Hells was that even for?”

“Don’t play coy, you know exactly what that was for! Stop making me all blushed and flustered at the most unwelcomed of times – and very much in public!”

Astarion’s eyes narrowed dangerously and you saw in his red eyes that he was ready to spit back again. But he, surprisingly, seemed to think better of it. But your sense of victory was only short lived when you saw the devilish sparkle in his crimson eyes.

“Oh, this isn’t over, love. Far from it”, the vampire promised, letting his tongue roll around in his mouth.

You stared at him and realised you might have made a mistake in thinking you could take it up with him on that. You stared at each other for a while. The vampire did not falter in the slightest.

But then Astarion just put his hand on the small of your back and proceeded to push you forward. “Not now though, my love, my payback will come in its own time, don’t worry”, he said cheerfully and drew out the last two words. And you blushed again.

But you were trying to be smarter about it now and refrained from trying to resist. You didn’t need to look at your vampire to know that a feral grin had found its way on his beautiful face.

Then, the two of you wandered quickly back through the rest of this maze of a mansion while trying to avoid the incubus or the drug den. And surely only after a few more minutes you made it back to the staircase that would quickly lead you back to the ballroom. You had been silent during the last couple of minutes of walking. But not because you were mad at Astarion (you could never stay mad at him for long if you were honest with yourself), but rather because your mind kept circling back to all you had seen, replaying scenes and images like a carousel. And on top of that you could feel that the whole rush of adrenaline set off by all the happenings so far started to wear off.

As you walked down the stairs, holding Astarion’s hand, the vampire threw you another glance: “Everything alright, my love?” He actually looked a little worried about you now.

You nodded at him as you kept thinking and dwelling in the oncoming wave of exhaustion. Truly, an opportunity to rest your eyes for a moment and also sit down would have been nice. But you were also determined to not let up and let Astarion have the full fun evening he’d been excited about for quite some time. So you decided to just push on – bit of exhaustion had never kept you from going on when much more perilous things than your social standing had been at stake during your joint adventures.

“I’m good”, you answered and squeezed his hand in assurance as you took the last couple of steps and were standing at the base of the staircase. Other than servants carrying around trays to and from the kitchen like bees busy to feed and provide for their hive, it was almost completely and pleasantly quiet and empty.

Every now and again, guests ventured up the stairs. But again, you couldn’t help but notice that people seemed to wander upstairs but so far it seemed you were one of the few that had come down again. Seemingly, it was almost as if two parties were going on at once – leaving the guests to decide if they were willing to cross a line; and some might even discovering that it had been a point of no return.

You were already heading back towards the direction of the big ballroom, but Astarion tugged on your joint hands and dragged you towards another direction – towards where the kitchen must be and the servants kept crossing. You grumbled at him for just dragging you on but the vampire just kept pulling you on with a smirk and a wink (“so many people would dream of me stealing them away and leading them to a hidden, dark corner, love. And here you are complaining for getting special treatment? Tss. Also didn’t we just talk about how you wanted me to not make you flustered in front of others?”)

But he didn’t lead you to a dark corner or even towards the kitchen but straight to where you hadn’t even noticed another set of double doors led outside. Much smaller than the ones you’d seen before and when you saw that it was just some of the staff standing around there and catching a break, you figured that it must be like a side entrance.

Astarion dragged you outside, earning some displeased looks from servants. But they still just went and left – obviously being instructed to not mess with guests and treating them with the utmost respect; no matter if they deserved it or not.

You stepped out onto a small round backyard that was now deserted except for the two of you. The space was surrounded by high hedges and much less pompous than the rest of the gardens or estate. A gravel path led around a pretty boring fountain and that was already the extent of the decorations.

It was pretty clear, that whoever had built this place had thought to accommodate servants with a little space – but only with barest minimum, baring them even from having a view on the city. Probably so they wouldn’t get ideas of working somewhere else, down there.

But despite the dull surroundings you were actually grateful for getting to have a few moments of peace amongst the rush of everything that was this night. You had imagined that it would be a wild ride, but this had felt quite like the fever dream for some parts.

Already you weren’t sure if you had actually seen the incubus with his pack of thirsty adorers or the poet reciting his dark words while being covered in blood. You still felt the buzz from all the drinks you’d had so far but in the crisp autumn air it let up a little. Your head cleared – as if you had come up from a dive and could finally get some fresh air into your lungs.

A sudden and even more urgent rush of exhaustion overcame you now and you realised that you had been holding way more tension in your body than you had admitted to yourself. And you suddenly felt the need to sit down.

So, you did and watched how a very poor stream of water came out the top of the boring fountain and pattered down into the basin below. Carefully you draped your skirts around you as to not ruin the wonderful garment. And on a whim, you stuck your head between your knees and let out a muffled groan – a mix of exhaustion and the pent-up tension.

Apparently, this, all this had taken much more of a toll on you then you would have thought: from the prospect of having to go to this spectacle and having to put up with rich arseholes (instead of just stabbing them with the pointy end of a knife and taking their purse) to experiencing a literal carnival of sin that tried to lure you in at every corner. Having sat down, giving yourself just a tiny break, you felt a bit like an oil lamp that you realised was about to run out of fuel.

“So, that’s what ‘good’ looks on you, my love, eh? What does ‘bad’ look like then, hm?”, Astarion said with a teasing and soft tone to you as he sat down beside you on the few steps leading down to the gravel path. Some tiny stones crunched under the soles of his fine leather shoes.

He softly placed a hand on your back and let it wander up and down – from your tailbone up to the nape of your neck where some small strands of hair had escaped from Astarion’s attempts of taming them with some pins.

“I’m not made for this kind of shit”, you muttered, your head still buried in between your knees.

You felt incredible grateful in this moment for Astarion seeing and realising your need to catch an actual break for a moment. It sometimes still surprised you how incredibly perceptive the vampire was. And the way he was so concerned about your well-being actually melted your heart.

Since the two of you had actually been in a committed relationship Astarion had been nothing but an actual sweetheart.

Yes, you bickered like an old married couple most of the time but that was just part of your chemistry. Yes, he made you occasionally want to scale a wall because of his antics. And yes, he sometimes almost lost his mind when you were unreasonable and stubborn about something.

But you loved each other and cared for each other deeply. And that fact was so deeply rooted in the basis of your relationship now that you could honestly assure yourself that there wasn’t something you were surer of in your life.

And so, you were thankful for Astarion – yet again – helping you with taking care of yourself a little better. This time, by having you sit down for a minute and relax instead of forcing yourself to always just push through.

For a few moments you just sat there, eyes closed, listening intently to the pitter of the boring fountain weakly spewing out water and some clattering from the nearby kitchen while focusing on the pleasant feeling of the vampire’s hand gently stroking your back.

“I think you’ve done rather well so far, my love!”, Astarion cheerfully exclaimed after a few more moments of calming near-perfect silence and pat-patted your back. “You screamed at some pretentious people, were the most beautiful person at this event and yet still haven’t sold your soul away for some temporary indulgence and also still have all your limbs about yourself – not even to mention your dignity”, he went on happily. “I’d actually call this evening quite the success so far.”

The vampire affectionately put his arm around you and pulled you against his shoulder as he said that. Then he bowed down and pressed a small kiss against your ear that tickled you and made you wriggle in the comforting hold of his arm.

“I thought I was only the second most beautiful person at this event?”, you replied from between your knees but couldn’t help letting a teasing tone enter your voice.

“I mean obviously, my sweet. But that’s what I get for trying to be nice? For trying to put my beloved before myself? I was only trying to make you feel better, love, but if little white lies is where you draw the line... And don’t go complaining about my ego again then!”

You peeked from where your head was still buried between your legs and saw that Astarion had started to gesticulate in one of his dramatic fashions. He was clearly putting on an act to cheer you up – and you loved him for it. Also, it was working.

“Yeah yeah, you’re putting me before you especially in the kind of situation you want me to stab someone for you”, you simply replied as you felt yourself starting to grin.

“What art thou accusing me of, villain, ‘tis a vile rebuke!”, Astarion went on placing the back of his free hand on his forehead then looking at you from the corner of his eyes seeing you peek up from your crouched position.

“Also, I can very well do my stabbing myself, thank you very much.”

The non-sense he kept spewing already made you forcefully draw down the corners of your mouth to not completely lose it.

“You’re full of shit – and yourself!”, you threw in.

“At least, I’m full of something!”

“Did you just call me hollow?” You lifted your head up from between your legs and stared at him in mock disbelief while struggling more and more to not break into laughter.

“You tell me.”

The audacity on this insolent godsdamned vampire.

But then as you kept staring at each other, both grinning, you just couldn’t contain yourself anymore. Some more tension easily left your body with the companionable laughter the two of you shared then.

Afterwards a hearty yawn broke free from your chest. And as you calmed down you went back to putting your head in between your knees with a deep breath. You really wanted to get back up again and keep going but then again – just sitting here with Astarion and goofing around was its own worthy pastime. Your partner started stroking your back again as you relaxed some more.

“If it’s too much though we can always leave, my heart. Get away from all this debauchery and the pretentious pricks. Although we’d be missing more chances to make ourselves the talk of town by the end of this night. But we could maybe grab a bottle or two of this wonderful champagne and make our own sinful little fun – at home”, the vampire broke the silence softly after a while – and with a tinge of naughty promise at the end.

You considered it for a moment because the thought of just spending the rest of the night with Astarion who would also probably make good on some promises from earlier in the night was indeed very enticing, but…

“No! We’ve fought literal fucking Gods! I am not going to back down because some wealthy, privileged noble arseholes are being mean to me or can’t keep it in their godsdamned pants”, you replied with a sudden exclamation and lifted your head up, looking up at Astarion.

And you saw the glint in his ruby eyes and knew that this had been exactly what he had intended. Astarion – as always – had known exactly what buttons he had to push with you. He knew exactly that you wouldn’t back down from a challenge.

But he had incited something in you know. You wouldn’t be intimidated or taken aback by all this stuff – as you’ve said before: some time ago you would have insulted all these arrogant assholes and taken their jewellery in the process. And ruining the night of some more of those nobles actually sounded like a wonderful idea right now.

You stood up from your reclined position, straightened your back and rolled back your shoulders, lifting up your chin. Astarion looked at you full of pride. His chest positively swelling with love and adoration for his fierce companion and lover.

“Good, because I didn’t have a single dance with you yet, my heart, and I would surely be inconsolable if I wouldn’t get the chance once to show off my wonderful lady. We can’t have that, can we?”, Astarion purred at you while he got up from his sitting position and stood in front of you.

He put his arm around your waist and pulled you to his chest in a single quick motion that made you gasp. Astarion looked at you with a fire starting to burn in his eyes that immediately made you feel the heat rise up in you again.

With his other hand Astarion cupped your face as he placed his forehead onto yours while firmly holding you against his body.

“No, we absolutely can’t have that”, you replied as a huge mischievous grin started to split your face.

Astarion’s smirk answered you with full power and he kissed you quickly and passionately. You were almost ready to completely lose yourself to him right then and there on the steps of this mediocre backyard when the vampire pulled back.

His glazed over eyes from the passionate and fierce kiss quickly coming back to a devilish sparkle.

“Let’s wreak some real havoc on this party then”, Astarion whispered, quickly pressing his lips onto yours again.

The grin you answered him with was almost feral: “Yes, let’s.”

Tags: Tags: @aurasyn

@margoteve

@usuallyunlikelyfox

@hollowmasque

@worryknotdear

[aurumacadicus]

It's time to pick our August book for book club! Tumblr will vote, and the book club will then vote among the top three in Discord. If you’d like to join the book club, send me a message and I’ll send you a link to the discord! Keep an eye out for the other poll, and check out the books’ summaries under the cut!

Gwen & Art Are Not in Love by Lex Croucher

It’s been hundreds of years since King Arthur’s Reign. His descendant, Arthur, a future Lord and general gadabout, has been betrothed to Gwendoline, the quick-witted, short-tempered princess of England, since birth. The only thing they can agree on is that they despise each other.

They’re forced to spend the summer together at Camelot in the run up to their nuptials, and with 24 hours, Gwen has discovered Arthur kissing a boy and Arthur has gone digging for Gwen’s childhood diary and found confessions about her crush on the kingdom’s only lady knight, Bridget Leclair.

Realizing they might make better allies than enemies, they make a reluctant pact to cover for each other, and as things head up at the annual royal tournament, Gwen is swept off her by her knight and Arthur takes an interest in Gwen’s royal brother. Lex Croucher’s Gwen & Art Are Not in Love is chock full of sword-fighting, found family, and romantic shenanigans destined to make readers fall in love.

Dreadful by Caitlin Rozakis

It’s bad enough waking up in a half-destroyed evil wizard’s workshop with no eyebrows, no memories, and no idea how long you have before the Dread Lord Whomever shows up to murder you horrible and then turn your skull into a goblet or something.

It’s a lot worse when you realize that Dread Lord Whomever is… you.

Gav isn’t really sure how he ended up with a castle full of goblins, or why he has a princess locked in a cell. All he can do is play along with his own evil plan in hopes of getting his memories back before he gets himself killed.

But as he realizes nothing – from the incredibly tasteless cloak adorned with flames to the aforementioned princess – is quite what it seems, Gav must face up to all the things the Dread Lord Gavrax has done. And he’ll have to answer the hardest question of all – who does he want to be?

A high fantasy farce featuring killer moat squid, toxic masculinity, an evil wizard convocation, and a garlic festival. All at once. All in all, Dread Lord Gavrax has had better weeks.

A Magical Girl Retires by Park Seolyeon

Twenty-nine, depressed, and drowning in credit card debt after losing her job during the pandemic, a millennial woman decides to end her troubles by jumping off Seol’s Mapo Bridge.

But her suicide attempt is interrupted by a girl dressed in white—her guardian angel. Ah Roa is a clairvoyant magical girl on a mission to find the greatest magical girl of all time. And our protagonist just may be that special someone.

But the young woman’s initial excitement turns to frustration when she learns being a magical girl in real life is much different than how it’s portrayed in stories. It isn’t just destiny—it’s work. Magical girls go to job fairs, join trade unions, attend classes. And for this magical girl there are no special powers and no great perks, and despite being magical, she still battles with low self-esteem. Her magic wand . . . is a credit card—which she must use to defeat a terrifying threat that isn’t a monster or an intergalactic war. It’s global climate change. Because magical girls need to think about sustainability, too.

Park Seolyeon reimagines classic fantasy tropes in a novel that explores real-world challenges that are both deeply personal and universal: the search for meaning and the desire to do good in a world that feels like it’s ending. A fun, fast-paced, and enchanting narrative that sparkles thanks to award-nominated Anton Hur, A Magical Girl Retires reminds us that we are all magical girls—that fighting evil by moonlight and winning love by daylight can be anyone’s game.

Six Crimson Cranes by Elizabeth Lim

Shiori’anma, the only princess of Kiata, has a secret. Forbidden magic runs through her veins. Normally she conceals it well, but on the morning of her betrothal ceremony, Shiori loses control. At first, her mistake seems like a stroke of luck, forestalling the wedding she never wanted. But it also catches the attention of Raikama, her stepmother.

A sorceress in her own right, Raikama banishes the young princess, turning her brothers into cranes. She warns Shiori that she must speak of it to no one: for with every word that escapes her lips, one of her brothers will die.

Penniless, voiceless, and alone, Shiori searches for her brothers, and uncovers a dark conspiracy to seize the throne. Only Shiori can set the kingdom to rights, but to do so she must place her trust in a paper bird, a mercurial dragon, and the very boy she fought so hard to marry. And she must embrace the magic she’s been taught all her life to forswear—no matter what the cost.

The Sunbearer Trials by Aiden Thomas

“Only the most powerful and honorable semidioses get chosen. I’m just a Jade. I’m not a real hero.”

As each new decade begins, the Sun’s power must be replenished so that Sol can keep traveling along the sky and keep the chaotic Obsidian gods at bay. Sol selects ten of the most worthy semidioses to compete in the Sunbearer Trials. The winner carriers light and life to all the temples of Reino del Sol, but the loser has the greatest honor of all—they will be sacrificed to Sol, their body melted down to refuel the Sun Stones, protecting the world for another ten years.

Teo, a seventeen-year-old Jade semidiós and the trans son of the goddess of birds, isn’t worried about the Trials . . . at least, not for himself. His best friend, Niya is a Gold semidiós and a shoo-in for the Trials, and while he trusts her abilities, the odds of becoming the sacrifice is one-in-ten.

But then, for the first time in over a century, the impossible happens. Sol chooses not one, but two Jade competitors. Teo, and Xio, the thirteen-year-old child of the god of bad luck. Now they must compete in five trials against Gold opponents who are more powerful and better trained. Worst of all, Teo’s annoyingly handsome ex-best friend and famous semidiós Hero, Aurelio is favored to win. Teo is determined to get himself and his friends through the trials unscathed—for fame, glory, and their own survival.

The Lost Apothecary by Sarah Penner

A forgotten history. A secret network of women. A legacy of poison and revenge. Welcome to the Lost Apothecary…

Hidden in the depths of eighteenth-century London, a secret apothecary shop caters to an unusual kind of clientele. Women across the city whisper of a mysterious figure named Nella who sells well-disguised poisons to use against the oppressive men in their lives. But the apothecary’s fate is jeopardized when her newest patron, a precocious twelve-year-old, makes a fatal mistake, sparking a string of consequences that echo through the centuries.

Meanwhile in present-day London, aspiring historian Carline Parcewell spends her tenth wedding anniversary alone, running from her own demons. When she stumbles upon a clue to the unsolved apothecary murders that haunted London two hundred years ago, her life collides with the apothecary’s in a stunning twist of fate—and not everyone will survive.

Vermilion by Molly Tanzer

Gunslinging, chain smoking, Stetson-wearing Taoist psychopomp, Elouise “Lou” Merriwether might not be a normal 19-year-old, but she’s too busy keeping San Francisco safe from ghosts, shades, and geung si to care much about that. It’s an important job, though most folks consider it downright spooky. Some have even accused Lou of being more comfortable with the dead than the living, and, well… they’re not wrong. When Lou hears that a bunch of Chinatown boys have gone missing somewhere deep in the Colorado Rockies she decides to saddle up and head into the wilderness to investigate. Lou fears her particular talents make her better suited to help placate their spirits than ensure they get home alive, but it’s the right thing to do, and she’s the only one willing to do it. On the road to a mysterious sanatorium known as Fountain of Youth, Lou will encounter bears, desperate men, a very undead villain, and even stranger challenges. Lou will need every one of her talents and a whole lot of luck to make it home alive…