#you rarely get to see the light fare. that stuff is for my brain only apparently lol

[beauzos]

3, 17, and 20 for the ao3 wrapped prompts ^_^!!!!

AO3 Wrapped Questions

3. What work are you most proud of (regardless of kudos/hits)?

I definitely never measure my success by popularity, considering my environmental niche on AO3 is posting the most hyper-specific shit about side characters most people ain't interested in to begin with lol. Ain't no good to play a numbers game.

Anyhow, by and large, my favorite (and, ergo, the one I am most proud of) has to be The Endless Ocean (Or; Leder's Private Treatise on Grief). I really like this one. Leder is one of my favorite Mother series characters hands down. He is so ripe for the picking when it comes to fleshing out the world and his character. He has a lot of depth in and of itself within Mother 3; I admire how Itoi can create the illusion of depth without having to go super in-detail about a lot of the characters. You can just sort of see it, and work your way through it.

So, writing a work that is from Leder's perspective was very fun and rewarding. It took me a while to write, but it turned out really well, and I think it's the best of the fics I wrote this year, out of the four complete fics I had. I also really love fleshing out pre-Mother 3 stuffs. I'd been wanting to do more writing centered on the White Ship and the people on it, since I imagine that there were a lot of people who, for one reason or another, did not make it to Nowhere.

Engaging with all these characters in different stages of grief, how they cope with what they have and what they expect, and how things drastically change when the White Ship survivors erase their memories is fun. And Leder being at the center, the only one who still remembers after all this time? You also get to center on/examine the way his grief manifests, knowing he doesn't get to join the others, but that he did it for the love of them. It's a nice work. I still really like it.

Oftentimes, I reread my works and think they're pretty good, but Endless Ocean is one of those ones I feel is genuinely really damn good. IDK, that's just me, though.

17. Your favorite character to write this year?

Is it cheap to say Leder? I had to avoid saying he's one of my favorite characters to write in the previous question, lol. But it's true! Leder really is my favorite of the characters I wrote for this year. He has so much potential and depth, and I love examining his thoughts and how he approaches everything from his perspective. Leder is so profoundly unique and intriguing. He's the perfect foil to so many other Mother characters.

So, yeah. He's my favorite.

20. Which work of yours have you reread the most?

If it's not The Endless Ocean, then it was probably Feet of Clay. I reread Feet of Clay quite a bit because it's a very chill, slice of life work. It's easy to approach and revisit over and over. It's just a little snapshot of life for Tazmilians during the timeskip period, and sometimes, the simplicity is delightful too, ya know? I love Paul and Abbot as a friendship dynamic, and it's all about them and how their lives intersect with the other villagers at the Clayman Mines. I don't know how many more ways I can find a way to say "it's fun" KRJKF cause that's really the only reason why I keep reading it.

[dontshootmespence]

Through It All

Part 14

Summary: Now married, Spencer & Y/N navigate the D/s lifestyle. How will their relationship change?

Words: 1,966

Warnings: Lactation kink, fingering, nipping.

A/N: My next entry for @cm-kinkbingo​ run by my beautiful girlfriend @heycasbutt​. This fulfills my lactation kink square.

In the warm sunlight streaming through your window, you can feel Spencer’s arm fitting snugly around your waist, holding you close. As you begin to stir, you realize he’s already awake too. Since it’s a weekend day, you have no plans, aside from taking care of the adorable time-vampire that is Charlotte Magnolia Reid. “So what are we doing today, handsome?” You mumble, the words barely decipherable to your own ears.

Spencer kisses the back of your hair before nuzzling his nose into the side of your neck. It tickles and sends you into a fit of laughter that ends up with you laying on top of him. “We aren’t doing anything,” he says with a glint in his eyes. “But you are.”

“What?”

Is it mom brain fog? Have you forgotten something you had planned?

When Spencer clocks your quizzical look, he laughs. “I have a surprise for you. You have to be ready by 11 AM.”

Spencer playfully smacks your ass when you get up before following you to the bathroom, where you get in one of your rare shower quickies. And Charlotte hasn’t woken up yet! Rejoice! She’s not sleeping through the night just yet, but she’s down to only waking up once or occasionally twice.

While you dry your hair, Spencer gets Charlotte, who finally begins to stir. They pass the bathroom and you sneak a kiss to your baby’s cheek. “I’ll be right there for feeding!” You cry out from the tiled walls.

“There’s a bottle left in the refrigerator, I got it!”

Since you have no idea where you’ll be going, you put on minimal makeup and then walk outside to where Spencer’s feeding Charlotte on the couch, talking to her about the people passing by on the street below - making up stories about them. “Babe, I don’t know where I’m going so what do I wear?”

“Wear one of my graphic tees and your most comfortable pair of leggings.”

With your instructions, you slip into your bedroom and get dressed. Spencer’s shirt is a tad too tight considering the girls are still big, but it’s good enough and the next few hours pass without any major incidents aside from a bit of spit up on Spencer’s pajama shirt.

As you’re rocking Charlotte to a mid-morning nap, there’s a knock at the door. “I’ve got it,” Spencer replies when he sees you go to get up.

Emily, Tara, Penelope and JJ are plowing inside in a matter of seconds, cooing over ‘little baby genius Reid.’ “Good god,” Tara says softly. “She’s so beautiful. How do you two not stare at her every second of every day?”

Sometimes it’s difficult, with her soft brown hair like her father’s and big beautiful eyes the same color as yours. “Well, some days, we do exactly that, and other days she doesn’t want to sleep or she’s sick and driving me crazy, so then I normally see the inside of the pillow into which I’m screaming,” you say quickly, flashing them a cheesy grin.

JJ snorts. It’s been a while, but she remembers the feeling well. “Did Spence tell you what we’re doing today?”

Shaking your head, you glance toward where Spencer’s standing in the kitchen, gathering ingredients together that seem to be for tonight’s dinner. “Paint and wine class,” he says proudly. “After I saw you painting Charlotte’s nursery, I knew it had to be done eventually.”

“Aww, you’re so romantic, I love you.” You swoon and run to kiss him, blushing as the girls ooh and ahh over Spencer’s sweet gesture. He’s your everything in every way. “Call me if you need anything, okay?”

Spencer takes her from your arms and looks down to talk to her, shaking her little hand with his fingers. “We’ll be okay, right? You won’t kill me?”

Laughing, you grab your purse off the counter and give him another kiss before leaving with the girls. It’s been ages.

--

Thankfully, Dr. Obel cleared you a while ago for the occasional cup of coffee or glass of wine, despite still breastfeeding, so you nurse the hell out of a glass of red at the painting party. Besides you, Emily, Tara, JJ and Penelope, there are four other women there that know each other and are much less animated. In other circumstances, you might feel bad about being so loud and laughing like a maniac, but you haven’t had a girls’ day out in months, so fuck it.

At these classes, they always have someone teaching and a specific painting is chosen ahead of time. After a while of listening to the instructor, you paint what she’s painting, but at your speed and adding little flourishes here and there. While most of the ladies have basic paintings (because admittedly they’d rather be drinking than painting), you end up with something you’re really happy with.

Shadowed pine trees sit on a moonlit lake, stars, trees and the moon alike mirrored in the lake’s surface in a myriad of colors. Bob Ross is one of your biggest influences when it comes to painting, and by the end, it feels like you’ve done him proud. “Damn, Y/N!” Emily says, taking the last sip of her third (and last) glass of wine. “Spencer said you could paint, but that’s fucking spectacular!”

All the ladies, and even the instructor, praise your work. At first, you deny it and tell them it’s not all that, but eventually you allow yourself the praise. Something you’re working on. “Ladies, this was amazing. Can we make this like an every other month thing? Every third month?”

“Hell, yea,” Penelope says, quickly picking up one of the hors d'oeuvres and shoving it into her mouth. “Man, thith iz gud.”

“Sewiously, I ‘eed the recipe,” Tara replies with her mouth equally full.

The subway ride back to your apartment is filled with random girl talk and lots of baby talk. Everyone wants to know Charlotte’s milestones and to see every single picture you’ve ever taken, which is already a lot given she’s less than a year.

Upstairs, you all walk in just as Charlotte needs a diaper change. When Emily and Tara offer to take dirty diaper detail, you just smile and sink into the couch. You’re not about to argue with just a little extra time off mom duty.

“Well, this was amazing,” JJ says, running her finger down Charlotte’s cheek. “You guys need anything? All set on food and stuff?”

“Yea, JJ,” Spencer replies. “We’re all good. For now.”

Once the ladies leave, you gather Charlotte close to your chest and lift your shirt. The time away refueled your batteries and you sigh happily when she begins to eat.

“Have a good time?” Spencer asks. You point back to the painting which is propped against the wall near the door. “That’s beautiful!”

“Thanks, babe. And thanks for the surprise. It was really nice to have a girls’ day.”

Spencer’s hand sits around your shoulder, his fingers slipping delicately into your hair. “I’m glad you had a good time. I have my girls right here.”

“Did you two fare okay?”

He nods and you both sit in silence for a moment. You lean into him, content and relaxed. The peaceful atmosphere allows your mind to wander and when you mind wanders, it tends to walk into dirty territory; today is no different. “Hey, Spence, I have what might seem like a weird question.”

“Shoot.”

“Have you ever thought about you know, maybe doing that wonderful thing you do with your hands while getting a firsthand taste of breast milk?”

Immediately, his pants tighten. “I hate the fact that it has been a consistent thought since your  boobs grew, yea. Definitely thought about it. Like I don’t wanna sit here and have you feed me or anything, but like...a little taste? Yea.”

“Wanna maybe give it a go later?”

A smile is all the answer you need.

---

Later that night, once Charlotte is finally asleep, you and Spencer practically trip into your bedroom, peeling off clothing like you’re in a nudist colony.

Spencer groans appreciatively when you jump into his arms and peel off your shirt and bra. He carries you toward the bed and plops you down onto the mattress unceremoniously, laughing as he wriggles you out of your leggings.

When he descends upon you, eyes hungry and hands frenzied, your smile fades into a lust-filled gaze that has Spencer nipping at your neck and chin and lips. “God, you’re gorgeous,” he mumbles against you, honeyed voice running deliciously up your spine. For a moment you get in your head; you don’t feel gorgeous as of late, still a ways away from your pre-baby body, but Spencer snuffs that thought out of your head. “Stop thinking and feel.”

“Yes, Sir.”

He slithers his way down your body and licks a stripe up your slit with a flattened tongue, moaning at your taste before slipping two fingers into your sodden pussy. “So wet for me already?”

“Always for you, Sir.”

Spreading your legs with his hands, he crawls back up, nipping and biting and sucking at any and every patch of skin that pleases him. And all you have to do is lay back and enjoy it and he calls you his good girl.

When he latches onto your nipple, the tug on your breast is similar but the feeling is altogether different. The way he rolls his tongue over your nipple causes you to arch into him, gathering his hair in your hand and pushing him closer. Every time he nips at your nipples, bringing them to taut peaks, it shoots straight to your core and you buck into his hand. “So wet, Sir.”

“Does this get you off, love?”

“Mmmhmm.”

“Excuse you,” he says, immediately stilling his fingers.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Why?”

“Because it feels wrong. Taboo.”

“And that gets you off?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“My dirty girl.”

Switching from nipple to nipple, never leaving one untouched for too long, his fingers stroke at that sensitive spot inside you. You buck down into his hand and reach between you, slipping your hands into his pants to stroke softly at his hardening cock. “Come for me, Y/N,” he breathes, his palm sitting heavily on your clit. “I want you to come for me.”

His words ignite a fire inside you, white hot light bursting before your eyes as he latches onto your nipple one last time. “Fuck, Sir,” you laugh shakily, stroking his cock harder and faster. “Now, come for me. I need to see you.”

Spencer bites down on your lower lip and pulls away, hissing through clenched teeth as his orgasm starts to roll over him. “That’s it, baby. Harder. Keep going.”

All you can hear over the sound of your movements, wet and slick and rough, is the rolling growl that leaves Spencer’s mouth when he comes in your hand and over both your stomachs. “Shit.”

“Have fun?”

“Yes,” he laughs, exhaustedly collapsing at your side. “You feeling okay? You were getting in your head for a second. I could feel it.”

“Yea, still having body issues. But I’m working on it.”

“I have an exercise for you to do. Not physical,” he says quickly. “A self love one. Every morning when we get up, I want you to look in the mirror and say one thing you like about yourself. You can start with things that aren’t physical and then work up to physical.”

A sleepy, content smile spreads across your face. This is the dynamic you always wanted - someone you could rely on in every single way. Even at your lowest, your craziest, your most overwhelmed, Spencer is there for you, telling you how beautiful you are as you drift off in his arms.

@heycasbutt @ultrarebelheart @katherineisagubler @proud-slytherin-ghost @randomwriter23 @fandom-queen67 @sixx-sic-sixx @xqueenofthecraziesx @aofay02 @groovyreid @criesinreid @jdougl-love @xreider @cringeemospntrashassbutt @prettyboyeffect @prettyboyreid @themanip @spencerreidsthings @augustgraceful @whollytaciturn @prisonreid @factualfic @jasmine-negron @snitchthewitch @ellabobella051419 @crazyforsstuff @kaatelyyynn​ @jane-dough @dreatine @bitter-post-millennial @adlerorzel-blog @hallieedrew @psychedelephantt @krisymccall996 @4ueijos @mclaujac @ray-likes-starwars @nurseemilyblog @slightlyvicked @she4567 @guesswhosback129 @princessdolan @happycreatorfangirl @fallwhisper @nyemadowell @sammy-jo1977 @sin-bin-and-tragedies @imsuperawkward @ahhahahaheehee @crispygiantsaladgarden @reputay-swift @pizzarollsfordayz @andiebeaword @timey-wimey-lovi @garbagecanfics @friedparadisetale @dereksbetaa @idontevenknow2 @holyfishloverfarm @nohemi2500 @typeshitbih @sadgirlhan @kmc217 @bigbuttsowhatuniverse @charmedfandomgal @im--blushing @dangerouspersonllamabagel @fichoe21 @yes-sir-hotchner @thefandomallrounder @mrsenos08 @walkerchick007 @letsdisneythings @winchesterqueenie @specialagentleigh @spn-wheresthepie @haileymew @bitchyoulied @geniusgub @urdicksmol @6lack6erry @slutlanna976 @downondilaudid​ @baileysb1tch @la-vie-en-amour1​ @letsdoit-tomorrow @eideticprettyboydrreid​ @lazynoodledragon​ @shybaby231 @aimzonicles97​ @grace-superpowers​ @softestlavender​ @ssa-dr-ladylock​ @drprettyboy​ @patricks-fabulous-face​ @tearosaria​ @shxdowofdarkness​ @marvels-gurl​ 

[babyredriot]

“I just want to give you endless headaches for however long you’ll let me’ That sounds like the sum of a relationship with Kaminari

A/N: First off, I am so sorry this is coming a month late, I got side-tracked by school. I am back and ready to write! I hope you like this as I am getting out of the groove of writing papers for my thesis and in return getting back into the groove of writing for my favorite manga/anime. I loved writing this and ugh *chefs kiss* Denki. Thats all. Just Denki. 

Word count: 1,960

HEADACHES.. YOU GIVE ME HEADACHES

A crashing sound reverberated throughout the 1A dorms. The sound was unmistakable, one of Bakugo’s explosions. You rolled your eyes as you tried to once again pull your focus away from the ruckus outside of your room and stare down at the daunting math problems below you. 

“GET BACK HERE DUNCE FACE” Bakugo yelled, it sounded like they were coming closer to your room which made you even more on edge. You felt a slight twinge behind your left eye as you once again tried to focus on her homework. Your boyfriend was not helping at all as his loud laughter could be heard. He seemed to be taunting Bakugo, from what you could hear. The back and forth of loud conversation between the two made your headache deepen into a sharp ache behind your left eye. 

“Okay if I can just figure out how to take the derivative-“ You spoke outlaid to try to keep your focus on the math problem but was cut short by another boom echoing through the halls. You knew if you did not stop the stupid antics of the boys outside Mr. Aizawa would cut in and give them all detentions. Which would just lead to more headaches for you, wondering how Kaminari was faring alone in a room with Bakugo. Your headache began to spread across her brow bone as you heard some kind of girly shrieking from beyond your door. You ripped yourself away from the paper and sighed heavily, standing up to go find out what the idiots where up to now. 

As you stepped outside of your room the sight of tape hanging from the ceiling in a vine like fashion, made your mouth fall open. Your eyes widened and then narrowed into slits as you felt your headache spread to the other temple now. The sight could only mean one thing. Your boyfriend and Sero were trying out his new maneuverability tactic. Probably in an attempt to get as far away from the hotheaded blonde as possible. Your frown deepened as she stomped through the hallways to try and find them. You trudged through the common room and looked out the window, delighted to see that they had finally stepped outside. Still, your headache wasn’t going away and they were the reason for it. The pain felt like your own boyfriend was frying your brain instead of his own. This was not something you were used to. The pain mixed with annoyance only made you angrier.  On a rage fueled mission you decided to take the problem right to the source. 

Your descent to the ground was filled with a lot of mumblings about how you could’ve picked any other boy to date, but your stupid heart had to fall in love with a spark plug. You could be spending your time in a quiet dorm right now with Todoroki as he read. But noooo, you just had to fall for the instigator of the bakusquad. As annoyed as you were with him and his disaster double right now, you knew deep down that you wouldn’t change a thing about the boy. He cheered you up to no end and always put you first before anything else. That didn’t change the fact that right now you were on a war path. 

When you finally got outside you were  surprised to see Kirishima sitting on rock laughing and observing the situation before him. You crept up behind him to watch as well before yelling at the boys. It seemed that Sero had finally been caught by the notorious King Explosion Murder and was passed out on the ground. Denki was being cornered between a bush and his friend when he made eye contact with his girlfriend. 

“Hey Y/N! Want to help me out here?” He said darting his eyes around the area trying to look for an escape route. Bakugo was closing in even further. You weighed out the options in your hands of letting Bakugo blow your boyfriend to kingdom come. On one hand the boy would get what was likely coming to him for annoying the blonde, but on the other you didn’t want him to be turned into some kind of punching bag. Kirishima had turned to you when Denki called out your name and sent you a sharp toothed smile. 

“C’mon Kaminari, having L/N stand in your way is so unmanly don’t you think?” Kiri said while turning back to the boys. You sighed and pinched the brim of your nose finally ready to make yourself known to the seething predator. You felt all of the annoyance come to the surface of your being and let loose all of your frustration on the three unsuspecting boys. 

“Actually, I came out here to tell you all to SHUT UP. I’VE HAD A HEADACHE FOR THE PAST THIRTY MINUTES AND I NEED TO FINISH MY HOMEWORK BEFORE TOMORROW SO I CAN STAY ON TOP OF MY GRADES. YOU IDIOTS ARE DISTURBING THE WHOLE DORMS AND FOR WHAT!? JUST BECAUSE YOU WANTED TO MESS WITH BAKUGO AGAIN? OR JST BECAUSE SOME STUPID INSTIGATORS GOT UNDER YOUR SKIN?” Your rant had begun and there was no way of stopping it now. All three of the conscious boys now stared at you. Bakugo seemed to be waiting for the moment to interject and throw it right back at you. Kirishima stood up next to you as you paused and opened his mouth to say something in return. “AND YOU! YOUR JUST SITTING AROUND AND LETTING THIS HAPPEN? WE HAVE EXAMS IN TWO WEEKS AND ALL OF YOU ARE JUST CHASING EACH OTHER AROUND? IT’S STUPID AND CHILDISH.” There was a feeling growing in your stomach that felt a lot like regret but you just simply gave each one of them a glare and turned on your heel. It was easy to yell at them all when they were rendered speechless. You had never yelled at any of them, ever. 

The guilty feeling in your stomach didn’t subside as you ran back upstairs. You hoped none of them would follow you back in, due to the fact that you were so embarrassed on how you just acted. They were some of your best friends and didn’t deserved to be yelled at simply because you had a headache. You should have resorted to some kind of soft spoken tactic instead of the rash outburst. 

Just as you were about to reach the top of the staircase you heard footfalls behind you. You took two stairs at a time trying to reach the door before they could catch you, but found yourself being tugged when you finally reached the landing. Your wrist was in someones hold. You looked down at the attachment and saw a hand that had become very known to you. You dragged your eyes up the figure and felt yourself deflate when your eyes met those of your boyfriends. You stood on the landing right above him, as he stared up at you through his lashes. His face was in an odd kind of grimace mixed with a frown. He seemed to be carefully choosing his words on what he was going to say next. Something you had never seen him do a day since you had known him. 

“I know you’re mad. I also know that you’re in pain and all that loud noise probably sucked hearing but I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” He looked up at you with a melancholy look in his eyes. “I didn’t want to cause you any kind of discomfort, we just stole Bakugo’s earphones because he was ignoring us while we were all doing homework in Kirishima’s room, it got out of hand as you saw. I truly am sorry Y/N. I-I don’t want you to feel any kind of pain ever and it sucks that we caused this outburst from you. Please don’t be angry with me anymore, I can change and not steal stuff from him anymore, I-I can make sure to be quiet always and-“ His words were cut off as you pulled him up to the same level as you and gave him a hug. He stayed still for a second wondering how it happened so fast before he melted in your arms. You knew your outburst would make Denki upset, but you still did it. “I just can’t lose you because I am so obnoxious. You can’t leave me please.” 

You realized how Denki was processing this and hugged him even tighter to yourself. Your head was still throbbing but the thrum of his heart against your temple felt nice for a few seconds. “I could never leave you dummy. You’re the light in my life. I just freaked out because I don’t understand anything that’s happening in math right now and couldn’t focus on it. That on top of the headache made me see red and I’m so sorry that you feel like you have to change just because I yelled at you. Your not obnoxious Denki… You’re perfect.” With every end of a sentence you felt your grip on him grow even tighter. Soon enough he was tapping on your shoulder to let you know he needed new found air. When he stepped away from you, you saw the normal spark behind his eyes. Something that made your heart fill back up with joy. 

“I just want to give you endless headaches for however long you’ll let me.” You laughed at his statement as he looked at you with that same shit-eating grin. His eyes turned serious once more as he rested a hand on your shoulder. “But, even so I am sorry Y/N, I never thought I would see you lose your cool like that. It sucks that we’re the reason why it happened. Even if you let me give you headaches in the future, I promise from now on I will always bring you advil and make sure you’re involved in the fun only after we finish all of our work together.” You felt a smile growing on your face at his sincerity. Something that was rare to be seen, but a side you got to see very often. Denki’s hand traveled lower onto your arm and laced his fingers with your own. 

“I love you Denki, headaches and all. I’m sorry I blew up and scared you. That wasn’t my intention.” You smiled up at the spark-plug and nudged his shoulder slightly. 

“I love you to Y/N.” He placed a kiss onto of your forehead and seemed to rest there for a second as he thought of something. “Uhhh, we should probably go back down there because when I came up here Kirishima was banging his head against the tree for ‘The unmanly act of causing someone pain that was unwarranted’.” You felt your cheeks light up at the news of the other boys that you reprimanded. 

“Yeah I should probably apologize to them..” You said trailing off as you looked up at your boyfriends calculating gaze.

“Orrr, you could make them think your still mad and have Sero and Kirishima waiting on you hand and foot for the rest of the day! I mean the most you could probably get out of blondie would be some math help, but who knows may he even feels bad.” You weighed out the options once again today of which path to take. And felt the mischief that Denki has instilled in your heart flare up. You looked back up at him mirroring the spark he held in his eyes.

 “Lets do it.” You said taking the stairs two at a time again, but this time your hand was wrapped in Denki’s.

[bladekindeyewear]

HS^2 bloggin’ bonus 2020-02-01

bladekindeyewear:

Boy that sure is a new HS^2 bonus I should blogread.  And there was a commentary on the Patreon for the last proper upd8 too.

I’ll… do it sometime this weekend, not right away.  (Had a stomach virus through Monday and Tuesday that’s left me pretty fucked over and still waiting for the aftereffects to flee.)

Alright, taking a crack at both of these now.  (Both light on images and quoting, since it’s all Patreon material.)  So what’s going on here?  Are the bonus chapters splitting into separate stories perhaps, following the lecture in one and the PS^2 crew in another?  Also, from the replies on the previous:

gaaraofsburbia said: It was very good and I was very happy

Good to know.  Time to read, bonus first! *clicks link*

...the title of a book someone’s holding.  Bookmarked (with a red flag?).  Uh huh.  Good start.

> ==>

“A picture book for young parliamentarians.) ...oh wow, it’s Carapacian even.  Did the Mayor have anything to do with this book?

--Wait.  Waitwaitwait.  This isn’t-- the authors wouldn’t go back in time and show us like-- PM and the Mayor trying to start the-- nooo.

> ==>

Oh shit, never mind.  This is a book ABOUT the Mayor.  Starting from him farming on Skaia and continuing from there with a focus on societal structures presumably.  So, sort of like what I just said but not quite as goddamn heartwrenching, most likely.

You know, this WOULD have been a good opportunity for the authors to finally bring some canon awareness to all the rampant Breath and Blood visual-and-textual symbolism around WV and PM’s arcs, giving people some HINT of their potential importance outside some crazy unproven blog post on some crazy wrong person’s blog.  But I’m not really convinced Andrew or his new replacements, er... y’know.  Care.  About letting us know about all that cool shit.  Or even dissuading us if we were somehow wrong.  Just gonna... let us haaaang in the breeeze there forever, more likely.  :T

...this is still what I’m most bitter about regarding the end of Homestuck, as you can obviously tell.  Thinking -- still believing -- that we found something beautiful and deliberate he’d done, but refusing to have canon openly acknowledge any of it so that 99% of readers will never have a clue about it and the few of us who caught on -- if right -- are just regarded as nutters, and if wrong, NEVER have what we need to finally disprove and accept that wrongness thanks to his silence, thus continuing to believe wrongly and be regarded as nutters.

So I just keep reading and... vacillating.  Vacillating on whether to believe any of this will get brought up in HS^2 canon, or whether to cynically fear they’ll take the worst route:  Doing things EXACTLY like Andrew did and dropping only vague hints that keep it an implied-only, unconfirmed mystery forever.  Because that’s what made the comic popular!  And it’s “safe”.  :(

...man, gut issues really bring the pessimist out of you, don’t they.  Let’s keep reading.  Once upon a time there was a simple farmer...

> ==>

Horrible kings kept fighting and didn’t care about the land, destroying it underneath their war.  Right.  (Mostly paraphrasing here and from now, mind you.)

> ==>

WV wanted to stop the kings, but the kings had power.

> ==>

That power had to be destroyed too.  (Shows the rings.)

> ==>

Hm, the journey that ends up in the rings’ destruction to the desert?  Are we going to fill in some context here?

> ==>

--And made friends with curious creatures and powerful people!  (Showing the fake Can Town built with Dave and Karkat along the meteor trip.)

Assumedly internalizing all those practice-town lessons, of course.

> ==>

--Oh, cool!  So one of the first things WV and PM did upon coming to Earth C to start their founding process was destroy the rings, the temptation of that power, throwing it into the Forge.

EDIT: krixwell said: "I don't know exactly how it reads in the bonus update because I'm not a patron, but WV and PM throwing the rings in the Forge happened before they entered Universe C, and was shown in HS proper (8107-8111, 8123-8126 and at the beginning of [S] Act 7). It was required to light the Forge and send the Genesis Tadpole to Skaia." Ah, file that under more things I forgot about, then.

> ==>

Where once nothing,

> ==>

Earth C was founded/born, etc.

> ==>

Ah okay!  So with a backdrop of the Town Hall under construction, we’re getting some context specifically as to how and why the Mayor set up society the way he did on Earth C.  Especially the challenging question of who would govern the world and how.

> ==>

Oh shit, text dump!  :D

The problem was unfortunately compounded by the fact that when the topic of fair and effective governance is broached, most sparing intellects immediately assume a certain posture. Not one of surrender or admiration, but of abject and interminable boredom.

This fact makes it hard to treat such a fascinating subject with the proper amount of attention and enthusiasm, BUT WE SHALL DO OUR BEST TO UNDERSTAND REGARDLESS.

Alright, loving this.

Also, this’ll undoubtedly put into context just how MUCH the Mayor had to think about how society would work best to have set up -- and how little comparative thought Jane put into the process when just drafting up something United-States-like and familiar.  Remember how awful it was the childlike way the Condesce essentially kept trying to recreate her familiar surroundings and rule structure on Earth?  It was only natural that her Life-aspected protege would make similar errors, I suppose.

Back to reading this long page... I won’t just quote all the details of this representative system, because that’s up to y’all to pony up for.  But I’ll note if there’s anything interesting in it that makes me think.  Let’s see...

...Hm!  The number of seats each kingdom got in parliament was based on voter turnout... THAT’S a heavy incentive to get out the vote, if your kingdom can literally lose influence if you don’t.

On the happy occasions where the maximum number of seats were allocated in all four quarters, this was known as a "full House".

Oh, fuck you.  :)

...oh dear, that was only the beginning of the card slang.

I’m not going to list all of them here.  They make sense in context, which is even worse.

Without going into too much detail, consorts all tend to have significantly shorter lifespans than the other citizens of Earth C. Because of this, a large number of House Rules were dedicated to describing exactly what to do if a seat was vacated mid-term due to the death of its occupant.

Not the carapacian kingdom, the consort kingdom.  Don’t panic, y’all.

The DELIVERY OF JUSTICE (DoJ) was founded to keep the peace and arbitrate in all legal matters, and its members were the brave soldiers of God in this righteous crusade.

They also took care of the MAIL.

Oooooof course.  :)

Unions get their rep, if only for a pun...

Oh, hm.  The Mayor’s office is much like a ceremonial-only monarch’s office without serious power.  Etc etc...... reading...

So governing Earth C was a complicated affair, and only became more convoluted over time. But the really important thing was that, despite all this complexity, it worked. It really worked. At one point, a whole field of mathematics was developed just to explain why the interim government worked so well, and they ended up proving it categorically. It was theoretically perfect.

Ppfffff

--ah.  And then the Mayor has a chill as he looks at the clouds and somehow anticipates something terrible happening to it all.

That’s it for the bonus.  I’m guessing the next chapter of this separate bonus story will go over some sort of threat the system endured, while the Mayor was still alive, possibly?  Or cut forward to the creators’ arrival and how that fucked a bunch of stuff up?  A sort of demonstration on why the gods who create a universe shouldn’t take charge of those living in it or such?  Hm.

Alright, if that’s it for the bonus, let’s see what’s available for Patreon commentary... here we go, just the one for the latest mainline upd8 that I knew had come out.

Sketches and Commentary: Chapter 3, How Are Your Feelings

Before starting into this, I want to note that I do have SOME ray of hope for more Awake Jade involvement to shine against my previous rant -- because that OTHER callie-controlled younger Jade body is coming, which I’d forgotten about.  As soon as the pursuit crew arrives in-system and THAT Jade finally gets there through whatever black-hole-powered teleportation magic she’s using (with Aradia and Robodave), it’ll be completely safe for OUR Jade to be awake and active at will.  Theoretically.

So... y’know, that’s nice.  Whenever that will happen.

So onto the commentary, we’re starting with that stupid ship.

(I think I actually said something along the lines of, "this is stupid, so we're using it." I know my Homestuck history. For those interested, the ship is modelled after a schooner, and continues the Homestuck tradition of spaceships that look like regular sea-faring vessels, only with additional stuff bolted on. - Pip)

...Yeah, can’t blame you there.

This is Jake’s “second best” ship. It makes me really nervous to think about what the third-best looks like.

Flying booty shorts, most likely.

...yeah, I did notice that latest upd8 playing with colors in a way the comic rarely even did, it was pretty nice.  Glad to see they appreciate it too.

...Yep, Karkat getting owned just for the sake of it, there.

First off, Jade’s outfit. It rules. Alt!Callie may have violently forced her consciousness inside of this innocent girl’s brain, but damn these threads are sweet. She’s managed to keep Jade pretty on brand, while throwing in a couple embellishments of her own. That’s what we call “making it work”. 

Yes, you’d better WELL fucking acknowledge what you’re doing by keeping Jade in a miserable isolated state for three years.  A G A I N.

Nice bit about the casual showing of Dave’s eyes as evidence that Dave’s recovering through some of his old mental blocks.

Dave and Karkat are wearing each other’s shirts, which is traditionally a very gay thing to do. Even more notably perhaps is the fact that Karkat is wearing crimson without a hint of complaint. Again, I doubt this was an intentional move on his part. Just, sometimes you’re coming out of the shower, it’s chilly, and your boyfriend’s shirt fits. Busting through mental blocks should typically come across as whispers to me, rather than shouts. 

--Hm, never considered the latter angle.

Karkat is being pretty mean to Possessed Jade. Which sucks, but this situation is incredibly stressful, and Karkat tends to react to stress by being mean. Treating Jade like an irritant allows him to put some distance between himself and the reality that he may have lost another friend. 

Guh.  That one stung  :(

Initially the panel directions here were “everybody pauses to contemplate Dirk fucking Strider” 

Mhmm, and you figured it’d be more unsettling to reverse it and remind us that the Prince is aware of all of this too.

Roxy’s heart-shaped sunglasses have become such a thing in the fandom that I kind of can’t imagine him without them at this point, so we decided to make it settled law. 

Mhmm, I figured that was how they played it.  One of the ways they’re incorporating fandom involvement.

Sometimes I feel like it should be Xam who does these commentaries, since there’s so much incredible shit going on with the art here that I’m really only equipped to comment on with shit like “oh wow, look at these colors. Green and purple huh. Wild. There’s also some light.” 

It’s pretty understandable to have the writers take the lead on most commentary as opposed to the artists... normally.

But then you’d have the weird places where they’d have to work together without necessarily giving away their game.  Like, all that WV/PM Breath/Blood visual representation I mentioned.

I still don’t know if they’re gonna give away the game on that eventually -- or if Andrew even gave them enough to go on to properly REPLICATE that sort of thing in this official continuation, even though my mind keeps telling me it’d make all sense to -- but if they are thinking about it, I doubt they’ll first show their hand in the commentary.

I love Kanaya’s new outfit.

I understand that sure, but will she be sticking with this outfit through the action though?  Looking like a mourning nun?

Kanaya’s nursery story is, of course, The Little Prince, a French fairytale from the 1940’s. It tells the story, rather appropriately, of a young Prince traveling through space looking for something he believes he has lost.

“And now here is my secret, a very simple secret: It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye.”

I’m not sure why I keep thinking about this quote. Probably some shit that has to do with “themes” or something.

Hinting that once he’s beaten down and likely dying from this stupid exodus plan, at least some part of Dirk may finally realize that any fulfillment and purpose he was looking for with this megalomaniacal nonsense was left behind in the peaceful life he fucking ruined for everyone to do all this.  The Heart-blind bastard.

God, Dave is just losing family members left and right, isn’t he? Really makes you think. 

Gdi.  :(

“Maybe it was naive to think a bunch of twenty something trauma victims could run a society.”

There it is. That’s the whole Epilogue.

And Andrew just had to let us ruin our naivety.

Wow. There really are just a whole lot of feelings in this chapter, aren’t there? It’s very aptly named. And it’s also actually the first part of HS^2 that got drafted; at least the first part that actually made it into the final draft. I wrote it earlier in 2019 when we were still kicking around ideas of what an Epilogue follow-up would actually look like. 

Huh.  Yeah, I can imagine when writing all this it would make sense to write/use this chapter first, as a knee-jerk reaction.

I do really think Karkat would have been a great president. He would have hated it, but he would have been good at it. 

I’m glad the authors are in agreement with everyone else with a brain on this one.

Did you guys know that Karkat still feels immense survivor’s guilt for murderstuck?

Yes.  Yes we did.

(Some continued remarks about how Karkat’s self-loathing is like a singularity that draws all blame onto himself in his mind etc.)

Apparently there was a metal gear reference in this second-to-last conversation?  Don’t tell me, I don’t care.

Eat the fucking pancakes, dude. 

A good place to end the commentary.  See y’all when there’s more content!

[solastia]

Faith | 7

- Other chapters are linked in the masterlist -

Pairing: Namjoon x Reader

Word Count: 5,592

Warnings: Mostly fluff, but there is a big smutty part in this one. I don’t want to give too much away, but caveman Namjoon makes an appearance. Sorta dom Namjoon, impreg kink, slightly rough behavior, single use of the word whore, but not really degradation. He’s just being kinky, not mean.

Notes: The last official chapter. Next up is the short epilogue. 

Namjoon had been spending the past week with you and Faith, basically relearning each other and letting him bond with his daughter. Watching him light up anytime he was able to make her laugh made you so happy, even if you still felt the twinge of guilt thinking about how it could have been like this all along. And although he’d only been at this for a week, he was already such a good father. You’d never doubted that he would be, but to see him in action was incredible. He tried so hard and was so hands-on, always asking to help feed Faith or change her. He was always looking up baby stuff on his phone and ordering new toys that were supposed to “increase her brain power.” 

Every night once Namjoon put her to sleep, it was time for the two of you to have some bonding time. You hadn’t had sex once this week, however, since Namjoon had been serious when he said he wanted to take it slow. There had been plenty of cuddling and kissing, but anything below the waist was strictly forbidden. Considering that even while you guys had been seriously dating in the past you hadn’t been able to make it two days without jumping each other, that you’d been able to last this long was frankly a miracle. Even if you were becoming antsier. You wanted Namjoon so bad that even the sight of him singing off key to Faith had become a turn on. You’d respect his decision though, because you wanted him to trust you again, and because it was still nice being with him even without the sex. 

The quiet evenings were usually spent cuddling on the couch and watching a movie until he left for his mom’s or the hotel, although the two of you didn’t really pay attention to it. It was mostly background noise while the two of you talked about anything and everything while he sprawled on top of you, his large frame squashing you into the cushions. He was rather heavy, but it was so nice having him there that you didn’t complain. You just played with his hair as he rambled into your chest. You had a feeling that 85% of the reason he preferred cuddling on top of you like this instead of the other way around was that he got to smash his face into your boobs, because that was just Namjoon. 

He didn’t let you apologize anymore, stating that it was done and being worked on, so there was no need. Instead, you spent a lot of time telling him everything he wanted to know about the pregnancy and what Faith was like as an infant.

 As the conversations grew deeper, you also began to quietly confess about the worst nights, when missing him became unbearable and you’d feel yourself spiraling into episodes of depression. How it felt like Faith was the only thing that kept you going sometimes. He told you about his worst days as well, when he’d try to bury the feelings in alcohol and call your brother Alan, begging for any scrap of news he could get. The times when he’d spend hours going through pictures and videos on his phone. How for a long time even kissing another woman had still felt like cheating. 

The two of you would crush each other closer after your whispered confessions, feeling like you could almost physically see the bridge between the two of you repairing itself. You could almost say that you felt closer to Namjoon than ever now, and you looked forward to seeing how this was going to work. You were leaving everything up to him this time, and you would follow what he wanted. If he wanted to just come out and visit now and then, you would take it. If he wanted you both to move to New York with him, you’d do that too. At this point, you’d probably even let him take Faith if he wanted to have nothing to do with you. It would break your heart but would be nothing less than you deserved. They were so good together and you didn’t want to break them up ever again. 

Today was Saturday, and he’d been able to spend the entire day with you and Faith. He’d taken you both out for breakfast, beaming whenever someone complimented him for his adorable family or well behaved little girl. This was followed by a trip to the zoo, where the two of them had spent a good hour in the aquatic section alone petting stingrays and starfish. Everyone was back at your place now with Faith sleeping in her crib in the bedroom, thoroughly exhausted, and the two of you sprawled across the couch pretending to watch a movie. 

You were cradled into his chest for once, with your legs tangled together and your face shoved into the crook of his neck. You weren’t even pretending to watch anymore, just relishing the closeness of him and basking in his scent since it was as close as he’d let you guys get so far. 

Namjoon wasn’t faring any better, you could tell by the hardness pressing against your thigh, but he still stayed silent about it. Instead, he just wrapped his arms around you and buried his nose into your hair, humming something that you didn’t know. 

After a few moments, the hand that he was using to stroke your arm pauses. 

“So...my mom has asked us to come for dinner tomorrow,” Namjoon mumbled into your hair.

“Oh. I suppose that’s to be expected.” You grimace, glancing over towards the room holding the sleeping Faith.

Once upon a time, you had been very close to his family. His mom was always hinting at marriage, and you’d been pretty good friends with his sister. They were probably not very happy with you right now, not that you blamed them. 

“I don’t see why you’re worried, my family likes you more than me. I’m not kidding, they told me that.”

Namjoon chuckles into your hair and you allow yourself to grin because that sounds exactly like something his sister would say. 

“We can go. I want them to meet her.” 

“It’ll be fine, baby, trust me. They are just happy we’re working things out. Plus, we’re kinda like the favorite children right now, since we gave Mom a grandbaby first. Kyungmin is back in second place, huzzah!” 

You smack Namjoon on his arm, playfully glaring up at him. “Be nice.” 

He chuckles and cuddles you closer, leaning down to peck your cheek. 

“You mind if I sleep over? I really am too exhausted to drive right now.” 

“Of course. Let’s go to bed.”

Namjoon lets you climb off of him, then walks wrapped around your waist to the bedroom. Snoop is in his usual sleeping area, next to Faith’s crib. You both take a peek at the snoring little girl and share a smile. 

He throws his shirt onto the dresser - his jeans long since abandoned thanks to him going back to following the old no pants rule - and climbs into bed next to you, pulling you close to his chest. You snuggle in, enjoying the few minutes of sweet cuddling you’ll get before he starts snoring like a bear. 

“Watch those hands, missy. I feel you drifting,” he growls into your hair. Your hand might have been slipping towards his ass. Purely for leverage, of course. 

“One more day,” he whispers, then dips to press a light kiss to your lips. 

It took a few moments for you to comprehend what he meant, distracted as you were by the kiss. 

“Wait, what?” You hiss. 

“Mmm, nothin. Good night, baby.”

“Namjoon? Goddamnit, don’t play with me in my own bed.” 

The tiny snores building in Namjoon’s throat sounded suspiciously fake, but you knew you weren’t going to get anywhere tonight. You sigh, your body raring to go now somehow, despite being so tired. 

“Goodnight, Joonie.”

You remember the first time you’d gone over to Namjoon’s family home, and how you’d been so amazed by the warm reception. There had been so many reasons that you hadn’t expected for them to like you, but his family had fully embraced you into the fold. His parents had treated you like you were one of their own, and Namjoon’s sister Kyungmin had turned into such a great friend. 

It had hurt to cut them off when the two of you had broken up. It felt like you had broken up with them too. Kyungmin had been persistent for awhile - constantly calling and texting, trying to come over to the apartment a couple times. His mom still sent cards for your birthday and Christmas. 

As the three of you stood in the foyer in front of his mom and sister, you couldn’t help but feel a little like a dog with a tail between her legs. 

“It’s so good to see you again! And oh, isn’t she just precious,” Namjoon’s mom is smiling and reaching her hands out for Faith, and you hand her over with a sheepish grin. 

Faith is behaving well, as she’s always been surprisingly good with strangers. That was something to worry about in the future. 

“Wow! Look, Mom, she’s got Namjoon’s smile,” Kyungmin coos, poking the cheeks of the giggling baby before she finally looks up at you. 

“You’re looking good,” she says flatly, and you could feel yourself wilt. 

“Thanks. You too.” 

Finally, she sighs and holds her arms out. 

“Oh, get the fuck over here.”

You both ignore her mom’s reminder to watch your language around the baby as you hug each other tightly. Kyungmin pulls back with a grin. 

“I missed you. I really am happy to see you again. I always knew that my dumbass brother would never be able to find anyone better than you.” 

“I’m right here, you know,” Namjoon looks up from where he’s playing with Faith and his mom, glaring at his sister in mock disgust. 

“I know. That’s why I said it.” 

Namjoon’s mom ushers everyone into the dining room, placing a quick kiss on your forehead with an understanding smile. She absolutely refused to hand over Faith or put her in a high chair, insisting on the two of them eating with Faith in her lap the entire time. Namjoon’s dad only got to hold Faith for a couple of minutes before she was yet again reclaimed by her apparently doting grandmother. 

You were so happy to learn that they were thrilled to have Faith in their lives. You could tell that all three of them were as smitten with your daughter as much as everyone else was. Faith was going to grow up surrounded by family that loved her. You finally felt like you could breathe again. 

You had all moved into the family room after the meal and you were deep in a political discussion with Namjoon’s dad when you dared to glance at the time and saw it was growing late. You knew Faith was going to start fussing soon, so you tried to let Namjoon silently know that it was time to go. Thankfully, he caught your gesture easily enough and nodded, turning to give his mom and Faith a hug and kiss. 

“Alright, Mom, we’re going to head out. Dinner was wonderful, as usual. Everything you need for Faith is in the bag. You good?” 

Wait, what? 

“Oh, we got it, honey. I may have experience with a baby or two. I have a crib set up for her in your old room. You kids have a good night.” 

You were staring at Namjoon in confusion while his eyes were laughing at you, his plush lips pulled into an amused smirk. Kyungmin’s grin was practically a mirror of her brother’s. 

“Go give Faith a kiss goodnight, baby,” Namjoon’s laughing voice instructed. 

You do as your told, kissing the tiredly babbling toddler and whispering last minute instructions. His mom ushers you away with a laugh and they all stand outside and wave as Namjoon drives you both away, still refusing to answer any questions, the asshole. 

“Bite that lip one more fucking time, and you won’t be able to walk tomorrow,” Namjoon growls as he’s carrying you up the steps into your apartment. You’d thought it was ridiculous to try to carry you across the parking lot and up steps when you could walk perfectly fine but he’d insisted this was faster. Frankly, being carried over so many hard surfaces by Namjoon was terrifying, but his eagerness was cute. 

As Namjoon’s grip on your thigh grew tighter on the drive here, along with the now very obvious bulge, you’d pieced together what was going on. Honestly, you didn’t understand why it had been so hard for you to figure out in the first place. Namjoon wasn’t exactly great at being subtle, and the fact that he’d packed so much stuff for Faith should have been a dead giveaway. You supposed the fact that you’d gotten used to not expecting anything to happen for a while made you easy for him to surprise. 

Namjoon was somehow able to unlock the door while keeping you in a semi-stable bridal carry, which both made you proud of him and terrified for your life. Once inside, he practically rushed to the bedroom. 

“Sorry, buddy. Mommy and Daddy need some alone time,” he says to Snoop as he closes the bedroom door on the confused looking pup. 

A little woop escapes you as he lightly tosses you onto the bed. 

“Strip.” 

Oh. He’s in one of those moods. 

You’re growing pretty excited yourself as you do as ordered, although you take great pleasure in moving slowly, his eyes narrowing in suspicion sending a shiver of thrill through you. He finishes stripping himself before standing in front of you - cock hard and standing proudly - and observes you from head to toe before meeting your eyes.

“Y/N, we’re not playing your game right now. This is my time.”

His voice is hard and unamused, and even if you knew that it was just for play, you couldn’t help feeling a bit uneasy for a moment. After all, you had a lot to pay for and things between you both were still a bit unresolved. Meaning you had no idea where your relationship was going. 

“Are...are we...good? Is this like a goodbye thing or...” You hate how pathetic the question came out, cringing at the obvious show of weakness. 

Namjoon’s eyes soften and he’s quick to pull you to him, kissing you fully on the lips. He pulls back and caresses your cheek with his thumb. 

“Hey, none of that. We’re good. I love you so fucking much. You and Faith are everything to me. No one is ever going to take you from me again, not even you.”

You snort and place your forehead against his, relishing the tenderness of his rough thumb on your cheek. 

“I’m going to warn you right now though, that this first round isn’t going to be sweet or easy. I’m in full caveman mode, sweetheart. I’m going to be possessive and rough. I can’t help it. Every bone is my body is aching to stake my claim on you. You know that I respect you and love you, and I respect women and don’t think they are things to be owned. I’ll apologize after and make like a huge donation to a women’s shelter or something.” 

“Joonie, you can be kinky, it’s okay,” you giggle. He bites your lip in retaliation, grinning at your startled squeak. 

“Yeah, I know. I just wanted you to be clear on how I felt and what I was doing. Like, as hard as that time was for you, it was hard for me too. You were everything to me and then you were gone. And my mind still hasn’t quite caught up with the fact that you’re here and I’m allowed to love you again. As fucked up as it is, I need to do this like you’re mine. Like I own you and no one else can touch you.” 

“But Joonie,” you purr as you wrap your arms around his neck and kiss the side of his lips, “All of that is true.” 

Namjoon’s eyes flutter closed as he does a sound that could only be described as a growl. The sound went straight to your core and you shivered when he opened his eyes and pinned you with a dark glare. 

“Get on your knees.”

You drop down quickly, keeping your back against the end of the bed because you know you’re going to need the help to stay up. The cheap carpet already feels rough against your knees and you know that’s going to suck later.

“Open your mouth.”

You let it drop open and try to relax your jaw. Namjoon has his hand on his cock, stroking it slowly as a walks up to you with his jaw clenched tight. He leans down and presses your head back a little then trails his finger down to caress your lips.

He moves away only to pull you closer to his dick, the tip already red and wet. He threads one of his hands into your hair and uses the other to rub his cock all over your face and cheeks, smirking darkly as he spreads his precum across your lower lip. 

He slowly slides inside and you instinctively close your mouth around him. He taps your cheek lightly, growling at you. 

“Open back up. I know how much you love sucking my cock, but this isn’t for you. I’m going to fuck your face because you’re mine to do as I please with, isn’t that right?”

You groan and open your mouth, letting your head fall back against the bed. A little voice was indignantly screaming in the back of your head that you belonged to no one and weren’t some man’s little fucktoy, but that the same time this was hot, so hot. Namjoon looked so powerful and fucking beautiful as he loomed above you and you were more than happy to give him the control.

He slides back inside, moving around to get himself wet enough to attempt pushing into your throat. He feels hot and heavy on your tongue, and you can taste the salt of his increasing amount of precum. He shallowly pumps back and forth from your tongue to your throat, letting you get used to the pressure before he begins his first full slide down. Tears start building in your eyes as he slowly increases his speed, the ensuing squelching embarrassing but worth it as he groans loudly. 

“You always look so good choking on my cock.”

You moan around him, the praise going straight to your dripping pussy. He slides one of his hands down to slightly caress against your throat, and you can feel him press against the outline of his cock. 

“Can see my fucking dick in your throat.”

He places both of his hands on the sides of your head, holding you steady as he increases his thrusts, giving the impression he didn’t care if you were comfortable or not, but you could still see his eyes watching you closely and you knew all you’d have to do is pinch him to make him stop. You slide a hand down, thinking he’d be too occupied to notice, only to have your arm slapped away and pulled above your head. 

“If you’re going to cum, it’s going to be on my cock and by my hand. Any pleasure you feel today is going to come from me and me alone. Is that understood?” 

You nod and he huffs before going back to assaulting your throat. Your jaw is beginning to ache and you know your throat is going to be a bitch to deal with for a while, but whatever. This was hot. He was so fucking hot. 

“Fuck,” He hisses, pulling out quickly. “Your throat was made for fucking, but that’s not where I’m going to cum today. Hands on the bed, bend over.” 

You rush to do as he says, leaning over the edge of the bed and laying on your cheek so you can look back at him. He’s staring down at you and you can just imagine what a mess you must look like. 

“Look at you. Dripping down your thighs just from having my dick in your mouth. Suck a little whore for my cock. Or is it for all cocks?” 

“Just yours,” you manage to croak out, deciding to play his little game. 

“Mmm, good girl. I’ll give you the dicking down you want so bad. Color?” 

“Green. So fucking green.” 

Namjoon chuckles and presses a quick kiss to your lower back. You sigh and relax, placing your forehead into the sheets as you got ready to relish the first delicious slide of him into you...

Smack

You squeak as your register the hot pain on your ass and turn to him with an indignant frown. That was not one of his usual teasing spanks. Namjoon merely smirks, his eyebrow raised in amusement as he gently soothes where his spank had landed. 

“What? You didn’t think you’d get out of this without some form of punishment, right? Take your spankings like a good girl. You still green?” 

You nod and brace yourself.

The next couple of slaps were easier now that they were expected, although he still wasn’t holding himself back and doing the usual little love taps he did. These were full on spankings and you had no doubt that your ass was going to be incredibly hard to sit on for a while. You weren’t about to play around and say you hated them though. You still felt your pussy clenching every time his hand connected and he’d do a little soothing rub in between each smack. 

“The next time you’re worrying about something,” Smack “You’re going to talk to me.” Smack “And you’ll never leave me again.” Smack “If we have an issue, we’ll discuss it and work on it together.” Smack “No breaking up in this house.” Smack “Am I clear?” Smack

“Yes. Sorry, I love you,” You were embarrassed that you actually had tears falling down your face, but you thought it was more because of your emotions than actual pain. You knew if you asked him to he’d stop, but it felt good to let him get this out. Maybe now that you’d been “punished” you’d be able to start forgiving yourself too. 

Finally, he stopped, making a little shushing sound at your sniffles, soothing the area. 

“There we go, good girl. Twenty spankings. Now we can put it behind us. I forgive you and I love you.” He leaned over to press a light kiss on your lips, brushing away your tears with his thumb. “You ready to continue?” 

“Yes, thank you. Green.” 

“Good girl,” he growled and pulled back to his spot behind you. 

“And would you look at that, still dripping. I think you liked your punishment a little too much, didn’t you?” Namjoon chuckles and swipes a thumb through your folds, bringing it to his lips with a moan. 

He lines up behind you and pushes in, the both of you groaning as he stretches you and fills you completely. He barely gives you a moment to adjust before he starts hammering into you, the sounds of skin brutally pounding against skin echoing in the air. 

“This is my pussy. My woman. My love. Tell me,” Namjoon demanded with a husky voice that demanded obedience. 

“Yours. I’m all yours.” You shiver and answer softly, trying to concentrate enough to remember how to use words. 

“That’s right. All mine. And I’m yours. Never forget it,” he grunts, bracing a knee on the bed as he thrusts even faster. The angle is overwhelming and you feel yourself nearing the brink. 

“Joon, please...please give me more.” you plead with a sob. 

“Cum on my dick if you need to, baby girl. I’m not going to stop until you’re full though. Gonna fuck you so good you’ll feel me for days. Then when it starts to feel better, I’ll fuck you hard again so that every time you sit down you’ll remember that your cunt belongs stretched on my cock.” 

“Fuck,” you whimper as the first ripples of your orgasm take over, Namjoon’s words having his desired event on you. You clench the sheets as you cum, the oversensitivity of Namjoon pistoning harder inside of you making it damn near overwhelming.

“Shit, I can feel your pussy trying to milk me. Is that what you want? You want me to fill this pretty little cunt up with cum? I’m gonna fill you up until you drip all over the place, knock you up. You looked so hot in those pictures you showed me of when you were pregnant. So full and ripe with my baby, tits fucking huge.” Namjoon grunts as his hands grip onto your hips with enough force that you know you’ll see his fingers bruised onto your skin. You can’t help but mewl a little at his words, loving how fucked out he sounds. 

He suddenly pulls out and flips you onto your back, crawling up until you’re face to face before plunging back inside and resuming his furious pace. He’s dripping with sweat, his plush lips reddened from chewing on them. His eyes bore into you with an intensity that surprises you. 

“You’re mine. The love of my life. Forever,” he growls, dropping his forehead to yours. “Gonna do it. Gonna keep you full of cum every day until you’re bursting. No one else is gonna have my babies but you. Gonna keep you filled with my babies.”

Namjoon’s hips become erratic until finally with three more hard pumps you feel him throbbing inside as he fills you up, groaning into your mouth as he kisses you desperately.  

You sigh happily and prepare for him to get off you, instead, you’re shocked when you feel his hips start to move again. 

Namjoon grins at you, laughing silently at your shocked face. 

“What, you thought we were done? Nope, you gotta give me one more, sweetheart. You have to cum all over me again, suck all that cum into your greedy little pussy.” 

“How are you still hard? Fuck...” you hiss as he fucks into you faster. You can feel how wet and sloppy it is down there, between your own arousal and Namjoon’s load. It’s embarrassing but so dirty and hot. 

“I’m damn near always hard around you, but I just can’t get the thought of you round with my baby out of my head. You’ll look like a fucking Goddess. Look at me baby girl, you want me to knock you up? Give you load after load until you’re full?” 

“Yes! Yes, fuck me full! Give me another baby!” you wail as he pounds into you. 

His hand snakes down to your clit, rubbing circles harshly. You were so sensitive that it almost hurt, but you still felt the twinges of pleasure fighting its way through the oversensitivity. 

“Namjoon,” you cried, your body writhing yet unable to get away. “Please, no more. I can’t.”

“You can. Do it for me, baby. Give me one more and then give you what you want. Can’t wait to fuck you when your big and round, tits bursting with milk.”

You throw your head back in a silent scream as you come undone again, Namjoon sucking marks into your neck as you slowly come back down. He moves his lips up until they meet yours, pressing lightly. 

“Don’t close your eyes,” he orders as you try to fight off sleep. He stares into your eyes as he cums again, his mouth dropping open with a quiet sigh. 

He slowly pulls out and sits back onto his thighs, staring at the sight of you. You can imagine how you must look; puffy and raw from being well fucked, dripping after being so well filled. Namjoon pulls one of the pillows from the top of the bed, lifting your hips gently to place it under you. 

“You meant it then, knocking me up?” you ask as you realize he’s propping your hips up to keep the cum inside. 

“Fuck yeah. I mean, if you want. Should probably have asked, but I did tell you caveman Namjoon was here to play.” 

You giggle and allow him to pull you to his chest as he lays down. He smiles contentedly down at you, his face so full of love. It was probably too soon to think about this seriously, but fuck it. It was Namjoon. The love of your life and you knew things were going to work out as long as you continued to have faith in him. You grin up at him, the decision made. 

“I’d love to have another. Faith will like having a sibling close in age, I think. We love each other and things seem to be working out. Let’s do it.” 

Namjoon beams and leans down to kiss you tenderly, brushing some of your hair away from your face. 

“Was everything okay? Anything I did that went too far or made you uncomfortable?” 

“Psshhh, no. That was hot, are you kidding? Who knew you had a couple more kinks I didn’t know about?” 

“I love you,” he says softly against your lips. 

“Love you too. Now lemme up so I can go to the bathroom.” 

Namjoon chuckles, rolling off of the bed to come around to your side, scooping you up. He walks to the bathroom, setting you down gently as he starts the shower. 

“We’ll clean up, then off to bed. I have a big day planned tomorrow.” 

You look at him curiously, but shrug when he doesn’t continue. You trust him. 

You wake up to an empty bed, your half asleep mind confused when you find his side cold until you spy a note on the pillow, along with a single rose. You wonder when he found the time to smuggle that in here. 

Went to pick up Faith. Meet us in our spot by noon. Come hungry and you’ll probably want to dress pretty.

Dress pretty? For a trip to the park? 

You shrug, deciding not to question it and get ready for the day. You aren’t sure what’s considered dressing pretty for a day at the park, but you go with something fairly simple. A sundress and your hair down, maybe some light makeup. 

You’re ready with just a few minutes to spare, just enough time to drive there. You’re slightly irritated just because you’re starving, but you hope the come hungry part of his note meant he’d brought food. 

Soon enough you spy them on the grass near the bridge, your usual bench unoccupied as he’d spread out a blanket. A picnic then. 

Faith was wearing some adorably frilly yellow dress, clapping and smiling once you come into her view. You crouch onto the plaid blanket, gathering her up to give her loud smooches on her cheeks, grinning as she squeals. Namjoon smiles happily at the sight before winking at you and making a ridiculous kissy face, demanding his own. Placing your daughter in your lap, you lean over and press a kiss hello to Namjoon’s pursed lips. 

“Morning, beautiful,” he smirks, then hands you a steaming cup of coffee he’d been hiding behind him. 

“Oh, bless you,” you moan, quick to take the proffered cup and taking a greedy gulp. 

“So...do you want your surprise before or after we eat?”

You pause, wondering what he was trying to trick you into. The picnic wasn’t the surprise?

“Now, I guess?” 

He reaches into the basket, pulling out a blue box that fit into the palm of his hand. You breathing sped up, your heart pumping erratically as you recognized the brand and size of the box.

“Joonie...” you sigh in wonderment as he reaches up a hand to cup your cheek, brushing his thumb against your skin. 

“I love you with everything that I am. I love my daughter and I already love the child that we’re trying to make. I love the family that you’ve given me. You quiet my soul and give me hope. Marry me?”

You didn’t even look at the ring as you grabbed his shirt, pulling him to you for a kiss. You could taste the salt of your tears against your lips as you kissed him desperately, hoping he felt all the love in your heart through it. 

“Yes! Of course, I will. God, I love you. You don’t even have to marry me but we can do that if you want.” 

“I want. I want to tell the whole world that you’re my wife. I love you,” he grinned against your lips as your daughter tried to pry her way in the middle of you, not understanding why the attention wasn’t all on her. 

Namjoon picked her up, pecking her cheek. He kept a hold on your hand, rubbing circles into the back of it as you watch him chat with her, overwhelming love filling your soul. 

You couldn’t believe the two of you were finally here. Happy, in love, making a family together. Stronger now, you thought, with the past few years behind you. You’ve learned your lesson. To trust in him and his love, to have faith. 

[naturepointstheway]

“Hospital Detour” (Life is Strange)

The only reason Max is visiting the hospital where a now quadriplegic Chloe is residing is thanks to her mother's work's conference, located in a time and place that was convenient for them to swing by the hospital. Max would rather have partied and handed out pot brownies than come all the way down here just for her parents' conference, but her parents insisted on the visit, and so Max has no choice but to be forced to confront her childhood friend's new disability, and the fear that things will be too awkward and different. To her relief, their old friendship is quickly rekindled despite an awkward relighting.

A slight AU of the alternate timeline in Life is Strange.

*****

Max leaned her head against the car window in the backseat, staring out at the passing scenery, ignoring her parents’ bantering as they sped along the road to the hospital where Chloe was still residing, even several weeks past her horrific car accident. 

I’m so uncomfortable right now. She’s disabled, and how the hell am I supposed to act around disabled people? And of course my parents decided I should come along with them this weekend, just because we’ll happen to pass the hospital where Chloe is. 

She’d had a party this weekend, and had promised to bring along some pot brownies for the shing-ding, but of course that wasn’t happening now. She’d had to quickly dash her brownies in a rubbish bin outside some old lady’s house. At least that way she wouldn’t get busted by her parents if they nosied through her stuff. The old lady was on her own, though.

It’s not that I don’t want to see Chloe, it’s just, how the fuck am I supposed to talk to her? 

What do you say to someone who’s been recently completely paralysed from the neck down? What was she going to say to her? What could she say? 

“Oh hi, Chloe, I hope you’re feeling better and able to get back to normal life soon.. We should totally go sneak into a concert reserved for people eighteen years and over. To the moshpit, amirite?” 

Yeah, right. Like that was going to happen. And what should she say about her own life? 

“Oh yeah, by the way, I was able to take a fun skinny dip the other day. Was drunk as hell though. Stepped on a dead jellyfish. Pretty sure my whole body was on fire, it was that fucking painful.”

Or: 

“Oh man, I am so exhausted from all the dancing last night. My legs are sore, but man, my whole body is still electrified from the concert. You should try it sometime. Raves are amazing, they get my whole body movin’!” 

Yeah sure, remind Chloe that she can’t move at all, let alone feel anything in her body. 

Even I’m not that kind of bitch. 

“Mom.” 

Vanessa Caulfield shot her a glance through the rear view mirror. “Yes?” 

“What the hell am I supposed to say to Chloe?” 

“Just be yourself, Maxine.” 

Max rolled her eyes with a groan. “Ugh. So helpful.” 

“We are doing you a favour taking you with us to see Chloe. My conference had the perfect timing.” 

“Yeah. You told me that before.” 

“Just say you’re glad she’s with us, and I really do hope you did send her a letter?” 

A shrug. “Just a little one.” 

“We sent her a postcard the other day. Her parents called us and were very appreciative of the gesture. Chloe is a sweet girl. Just because she’s disabled now doesn’t mean she’s not Chloe anymore, do you understand?” 

“She can’t be very Chloe if she’s completely paralysed.” 

“Of course she is. She’s an angel.” 

“Sure, mom.” 

“You will be nice, Maxine. She’s still your friend, isn’t she?’ 

I guess so, if sending her a quick email or letter on the rare occasion I remember counts as being friends with someone. 

“Yeah. Totally.” 

“I know you’re uncomfortable about seeing her after her accident,” Max’s father, Ryan, added, “But she will appreciate your visit. Unfortunately, it’s not uncommon for people to lose all their friends after trauma that leaves them severely disabled.” 

No shit, dad. People are assholes. 

“Sure, dad.” 

“I’m serious, Maxine. She’s going to need all the friends she has left.” 

Vanessa added, “Her parents mentioned over the phone that Chloe’s friend, Megan, visited her a few days after the accident and never came back, except for a postcard.”

“Well, a postcard is something , at least.” 

“A visit is far more treasured, I would imagine, sweetheart.” 

Sure, but if that visit is full of awkward silence, you may as well just never have visited at all. 

Awkward silence. That’s what she was afraid of. If she had it her way, she’d be more than happy to have continued staying in Seattle, never visiting Chloe, taking the easy way out of having to see her at all. At least, with letters and photos of road-trip selfies she didn’t have to see her for reals in front of her. She wouldn’t have to fully confront the reality of Chloe’s disability, knowing she would never be able to do anything, no matter how very basic, for herself ever again. It was the easy way out, the chickenshit way out, to just stick to communicating via the written word with Chloe. If it made her a sucky, rubbish, crap friend, then so be it. She was a sucky, rubbish, crap friend. It seemed her parents thought so, or at least were trying to make her feel so. Whatever worked for them. 

No way will they guilt trip me about Chloe. 

“Slow down, dear,” Vanessa urged her husband, “The hospital’s on the left, straight down that street.” 

“On it. We’re going to see Chloe very soon, Max.” 

Welp. Guess this is it. Time to be awkward as fuck. 

 *******************

Max hated hospitals; they struck her as sensory overload at the best of times, with harsh white lighting, harsh white walls, harsh beeping noises from behind closed ward doors, and shrill ringing of the reception’s phone. She hated seeing sick people waiting for their already half-hour late appointment, the dark worry of mothers holding on to coughing, feverish, terrified kids, and the antiseptic smell that permeated absolutely everything . It made her want to gag, just imagining all the blood, antiseptic, needles, and tubes sticking out of patients bedridden and at the mercy of the nurses and doctors. Already bad enough for those patients with full use of their limbs. 

And their food is gross. So...ugh. 

Max had to hand it to the airplane industry: even their food was miles better than the most elegant fare hospitals had to offer. She couldn’t imagine Chloe having had to endure several weeks’ worth of gross hospital food in a row. 

Damn. Should’ve brought something along. Maybe one of my pot brownies? Okay, maybe not. I’d be banned from hospitals everywhere, probably. 

“Okay, there’s the receptionist,” Vanessa pointed at the reception right before them, “Let’s ask them where Chloe’s ward is, shall we, Maxine?” 

There’s no backing out of this now, is there? 

“Sure, mom.” 

It’s not that she didn’t want to see Chloe, like ever, but it... was like she didn’t want to see her at all. Not completely paralysed, that is. For as long as Max could remember, Chloe was all activity, all energy, all movement all the time. There was no slowing down with her, and the more the day wore on, the more energy she seemed to have, as though she were photosynthesising it straight from the sun like a plant. Max felt exhausted just thinking about how hyperactive Chloe could be. And now--

Completely still. Not able to move. Not able to dance in her boots on her own bed, swing high on the swings, climb as far up as she could into a tree, run along the beach with the wind in her long blonde hair, help her parents whip up some delicious pancakes at the kitchen bench, tear open her birthday presents with abandon, nor dive into the sea on a hot summer’s day just to swim up behind Max and take her down with her under the waves. 

It made Max’s breath hitch hard in her chest to even dwell on the idea of all that energy in Chloe, always so boundless and infectious, now locked away forever in her paralysed body. 

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” her father queried, a hand on her shoulder. 

Keep it together. Let’s not embarrass ourselves, especially not here. Not in front of the receptionist, and especially not in front of mom and dad. 

“Just a little hiccup, I think,” Max lied, well aware how lame it sounded. “I’m fine.” 

Dad didn’t look like he believed her in the least, and nor did her mom, but--much to Max’s relief--they let it go, at least for now. 

Once the receptionist gave them the directions to Chloe’s ward, they headed on their way, Max trailing slightly behind her parents, pretending to the world that she was so not with them. 

Wonder how Chloe is taking all of this? God. I’m gonna embarrass myself. I feel so fucking weird around disabled folks. How the fuck am I going to greet her? Maybe I’ll just let mom and dad do the talking. That’s the safest thing. I won’t have to open my mouth at all. Here goes nothing…

 ***************

Part of her hoped they would never find Chloe’s ward, that they’d keep going down endless hallways and through doors leading into another corridor, leading them to give up and get back on the road. That way she didn’t have to face Chloe in such a state, and didn’t have to worry about having something to say. 

Weird. I’m never shy about anything. And now I am. What the fuck is up with my brain pulling a number on me like that? 

“Ah, there it is!” Ryan clapped a hand on Max’s shoulder, steering her ahead of him until they stopped in front of the closed ward doors. Max stared at it, throat suddenly dry. Hours ago, miles and miles of road separated her from Chloe, and now only a door stood in her way. 

Deep breath, Max. It’s only Chloe, right? Quadriplegic, but still Chloe. 

“Ready?” Vanessa murmured near her. “Maxine? Maxine, are you going to knock or what?” 

Great. They want me to knock, when they have perfectly functioning hands themselves. 

Resisting an eye roll, Max raised a fist and knocked, firmer and louder than she’d meant to, on the door, stepping back to wait for any response. 

Don’t respond. Don’t open the door. Don’t say anything. Be asleep, have no visitors, have no-one--

The door opened, revealing Joyce Price, looking wearier than usual, with bags under her eyes, but her face broke out into a glad smile all the same.. 

Dammit. 

“Maxine!” Joyce drew Maxine in to a tight hug, Max catching a glimpse of Chloe hooked up to several machines, staring up at the ceiling, unnaturally still, a breathing tube inserted into her nose. Max’s heart dropped at the sight of her old friend so still and hooked up to all the things, eyes fixed on the ceiling.. 

Shit. 

Joyce finally let go of her, hands dropping away from Max’s shoulders, turning to nod in greeting to Max’s parents. 

“Chloe was very grateful for your postcard, as were we.” 

“Oh yes, we do hope she is feeling better,” Vanessa said, wringing her hands, “How is your daughter?” 

“She’s...she’s alive,” Joyce said after a long hesitation, “She’s still with us.” 

“Is she in a stable condition?” Ryan asked in a low voice, eyes flicking over Joyce’s shoulder to look at Chloe. 

“Thankfully, she is. My husband is at work at the moment, but will be back to see Chloe later.” 

It was at this point Chloe spoke up from the bed behind them. “You know I can hear all of you?” 

Joyce touched a hand to Max’s shoulder, gently nudging her forward in Chloe’s direction. “Go on, Chloe has been hoping so hard to see you here. She hasn’t had many visitors other than William and me.” She turned to address Max’s parents. “I haven’t had lunch yet, will you join me, so we can let the girls reunite?” 

Great, I’m going to be left on my own in this. Thanks. 

“Why of course,” Vanessa said, ‘Max, we’ll be back soon, okay?” 

Max took a deep breath, eyes looking anywhere but at Chloe. “Sure, go ahead and have lunch. Bring me back a burrito or something.” 

“We’ll do our best, sweetie,” her dad nodded at Chloe, “Glad to see you’re doing okay, Chloe.” 

Max turned and watched her parents and Joyce leave the ward, closing the door quietly behind them. She was still staring at the door when Chloe spoke from the bed, voice hoarse and thick with fatigue. 

“Max?” 

Oh damn. I...I have to talk to her don’t I? What the fuck should I say? 

She didn’t want to turn around, didn’t want to see her childhood friend looking like...that. This was not the Chloe she remembered, running around in her favourite boots, skating outside and inside the house (despite her parents’ scolding), making up new moves to her favourite songs, and racing Max up and down the lighthouse stairs. 

“You look amazing from the back, but would be nice to see your face instead.” 

Here goes nothing, Max. 

Taking a deep breath, Max turned around to face the bed, taking in how Chloe lay so limp and still under the starchy white blanket, hooked up to the IV drip, the heart monitor, and god only knew what else. Her blue eyes looked huge in her white face, her lips parched and dry, dark smudges under her eyes. Max searched her face for any sign of the cheerful Chloe she used to know, but there was nothing but fatigue and sadness. She couldn’t even crack a smile at the sight of Max. 

“Take a seat,” Chloe invited, her voice dull. 

I can’t do this. I’ve never talked to someone this disabled before. What the hell do I say?

“Uh...sure.” 

Max pulled over a wooden chair, sitting down a couple feet away from Chloe’s bed. She looked down, scuffing her feet on the floor, fingers drumming a beat on her knees. Who’d have thought one of the most popular kids in her school could be silenced so soundly like this? 

Aaand, there’s the awkward silence. Called it. 

“Sooo, Max “awkward silence” Caulfield, nice to see you around.” 

“Yeah, I guess.” Max bit her lip, lifted her head up to meet Chloe’s eyes, seeing how glazed over they were from all the medication and malaise. “How’re you really doing?” 

“Shitty. Still completely paralysed from the neck down. You?” 

“Me? I’m...uncomfortable right now.” 

Wow, Max. Wow. You don’t just say that out loud. Come on, even you know this! 

“I mean, not because--” 

“Don’t bother. It’s because I’m disabled. Don’t blame you at all. I’d be the same myself.” 

“I have no clue what to say, okay? I haven’t had a friend disabled like this before.” 

“Anything but platitudes. Platitudes won’t unbreak my neck.” 

Got it. Anything. Just--omigod, Max, just say something! 

Maybe she should’ve had one of her secret magic brownies beforehand. Sure would’ve helped her. 

Max studied the side-tables on either side of Chloe’s bed, noting the get well cards, a couple of fluffy bears, a plush otter, and a snow globe with a doe inside--she immediately recognised it from Chloe’s room. Her parents must have brought it here for her to look at. 

“You’ve got a lot of cards.” 

“Yeah. Everyone says pretty much the same thing though. You know, get well soon, I’m sorry about what happened, and thoughts and prayers.” 

“People obviously care about you.” 

“All my friends visited me once and never come back. My parents have been here every day, as much as their work allows them to anyway.” 

“Maybe everyone else has been busy?” 

“If by busy, you mean never talking to me again, then sure, Max. They’ve been busy.” 

A beat of silence, Max desperately searching for anything else to say. 

So weird for Chloe to be so quiet. 

What she’d give right now for Chloe to be chatting so much at her just for a chance to tell her to zip it already before she uses up all the words in the English language. Or maybe she’d let her talk both her ears off, just for the memory and reminder of the old Chloe, who once skated downstairs on her skateboard and broke a wrist, and still refused to admit Max had been right to caution her against such recklessness. What she would’ve given to hear the old Chloe again, the Chloe who had gone through a massive space phase, followed by a dinosaur phase, neither of which Max had, unlike practically every other kid in America. 

Well, Maxine? You’re gonna have to be the chatty one now. Just pretend it’s school. 

Hah. Right. School. Where “disability accessibility” wasn’t anywhere in their vocabulary. 

“Those are...very fluffy bears and I like the otter,” Max offered a smile, “Otters are adorable.” 

“Like you. You’ve always been my otter in my water.” 

“Uh...thanks, I think? I see your parents brought the snow doe in here for you.” 

“My favourite.” 

“It’s pretty.” 

Another bout of silence, but Max was sure she could feel a little shift away from the dumb awkward silence to something perhaps a little more like...normal, she guessed. Something like the old days, though now it would never ever be quite like the “old days” ever again. Not with Chloe paralysed and bedridden. 

“Who brought in the bears? Do you like them?” 

“They’re...nice, I guess. Would’ve been nice to have a glowy punk bear.” 

I guess I know what to get Chloe for Christmas or a birthday then. 

“What about your shark?” 

“The one you tried to throw away?” 

“Oh god, you’re never going to let that go are you?” 

“Never.” 

Max allowed a quiet, cautious laugh. “I deserve it.” 

“You do. Sharks bite, and so do I.” 

“Can confirm. Still have the scar.”

“Shark wasn’t feeling swimmingly. Stayed home unfortunately.” 

“Bet the otter’s relieved about that.” A beat of silence. “So...any other gifts from people?” 

Chloe pulled a face. “Someone brought in a teletubby plush once. I demanded dad to give it to a kid who really needs it.” 

“What? Someone really gave you a teletubby?” 

Chloe rolled her eyes, staring back up at the ceiling.

Max gave a low whistle of disbelief. “I’m sure the kid was delighted to have a free teletubby. But... wow. ”

Jesus. Is that how people really act around disabled people? 

“You won’t be getting any teletubbies or purple dinos from me, just in case you were worried.” 

“Do that and I’ll punt you back to dinosaur doomsday. Somehow. I’ll find a way.” 

There’s the old Chloe. 

“Has there...been much improvement? Did they catch the person who ran into your car?” 

A deep sigh from Chloe. 

“Nothing.” 

Silence. Awkward fucking silence again. 

“Nothing, as in…?” 

“Hit and run.” 

“ Shit. ” 

“Psycho with enough cash to bail him out.” 

“That’s…” Max blew out a breath, “What the hell?” 

“No kidding. He blamed me. I wasn’t the one drinking and driving.” 

“The fuck? He blamed you ?” 

“Because I’m a teenager, and teens are always drinking and driving, amirite.” 

“I can’t see you drinking at all, Chloe.” 

“Because I’m still underage, Max, that’s why.” 

“Never stopped me.” 

Was that a twitch at the corner of Chloe’s lips? “Rebel.” 

“I’ve yet to go full punk. As if I would ever.” 

“Punk Maxine Caulfield. That would be the day.” 

Max grinned, already feeling a lot more relaxed than before. “With a purple and red Mohawk and tongue, nose, and eyebrow piercings. All the way.” 

Chloe stared at Max for what felt like forever, eyes flickering over her face and hair before turning her head away with the softest of laughs. 

I made her laugh. I actually cheered her up? Guess mom was right as usual. Not gonna thank her though, no way.  I have my dignity. 

“Sorry Max… but the image…” 

“Red and purple Mohawk. Tongue piercing. Arm length tattoos. Leather jacket. Faux leather, of course. I’m not about animal cruelty.” 

The soft huffing laughter died away, Chloe’s head stilling on the pillow, so motionless Max thought she might have fallen asleep, before there was a little sigh, quickly stifled, and she turned her head back to face the ceiling. 

“Guess that surprise visit to Seattle’s not going to happen, Max.” 

“What are you talking about?” 

Chloe turned her head to gaze at Max again, eyes full of regret. “For your eighteenth. I--I was planning--” she cut off her sentence, eyes flicking away from Max, to stare down at the bedsheet tucked around her. “I had planned to surprise you with a visit in my car on your eighteenth. But...that’s never going to happen. It’s not fair, Max.” 

Shit. She’s sad again. 

Max stood up, moving to stand next to the bed, placing a hand on Chloe’s shoulder, knowing full well the girl wouldn’t feel a thing. Still, surely the gesture counted enough, even if she couldn’t physically feel it. 

“It’s okay, Chloe, really. This just means I have to surprise you with a visit on your eighteenth, right? Or twenty-first?” 

“Not the same, Max. It’s not like you’ve never been to Arcadia Bay.” 

“Still…” 

“I had planned it all out, Max. It would’ve been a weekend road trip and everything. Visit a few tacky tourist traps. Check out the art and culture scene. Visit Portland and buy a tonne of books at Powell’s. That sort of thing. But not anymore.” 

“We could still make it happen, right? Somehow? My eighteenth’s still like two years away.” 

“Not like I’ll be walking again, even though the doctors have promised me there’s a chance I could get some feeling back.” 

“Chloe! That would be amazing.” 

“I don’t believe a word of it, Max.” 

“Why?” 

“What makes you think they’re telling the truth?” 

“Uh…because they’re doctors?” 

“Doctors have been wrong before.” 

“Even so, getting back some feeling is better than nothing, right? And you’re healthy, you look after yourself and eat all the right things, right? You totally got this, Chloe, you’ll heal.” 

“I don’t think so. How can I live like this?” 

Has she even heard of Stephen Hawking? 

“Hey, if Stephen Hawking can do all that science while unable to move, there’s no reason you can’t. You’ve...you’ve heard of him, right?” 

Chloe gave her a narrow look. “Duh. Everyone has.” 

“Then you know how fucking awesome he is, even if I don’t understand any of his stuff.” 

“What he had isn’t the same.” 

“Still. I’m just saying, okay? And it’s not like you to just give up, Chloe. Shit, you’re literally the girl who told me not to let bullies see me cry, or they’ll win.” 

“Different time.” 

Never thought I’d see the day I’d be giving Chloe a pep talk. Guess there’s a first time for everything. 

Max let her hand slide down Chloe’s arm as she crouched, now eye to eye with her. 

“I want to ask you something, okay?” 

“Starting to feel tired, Max, but sure. Shoot.” 

“If it were me in your place, and I told you I want to give up, what do you think you’d say?” 

“Max, no, I can’t do that. I don’t want--”

“Just for a sec or two, alright?” 

“Why?” 

“What would you say to me, if I wanted to give up because some asshole injured me in an accident?” 

“I’d tell you don’t, because…” Chloe’s eyes were definitely duller, glazing over with drowsiness, “Because that means he wins.” 

Max moved her hand to tuck a strand of blonde hair behind Chloe’s ear. “Now that’s more like my Chloe. Take your own advice, nerd. Don’t give up, not yet, because if you do, that jerk has won by default.” 

“It’s going to be hard, Max.” 

“I’m not denying that. But you’ve always been a bold and determined person, and yeah, I always thought you talked way too much at three in the morning, but, Chloe, it’s your boldness that’s inspired and stayed with me. And I know you still have that drive to make the most of what you can in you. We’ve--we’ve always been Max and Chloe, right?” 

“...right.” 

“And the number one rule of Captain Bluebeard was that a pirate never gives up--you may as well just walk the plank.” 

Chloe’s eyes had closed fully, but there was a twitch at the corner of her mouth, the hint of what might have been a smile. 

“ And. ” Max let the word hang in the air until Chloe pried open one eyelid to look at her. 

“And what?” 

Max wagged a finger at her, face deadly serious. “If I hear you decided to give up anyway, you will not receive a VIP invitation to my first photography exhibition.” 

That did it. Chloe’s other eye popped open, and she eyed Max up and down. 

“You wouldn’t .” 

Max quirked an eyebrow. “Try me, Chloe Price. Just try.” 

They held the stare-down for several more seconds, before Chloe shook her head, eyes closing again. 

“Damn,” she breathed, voice no more than a sigh, “You’re hardcore, Max.” 

“ So hardcore. So punk. Just like you.” 

“You’ll...visit me again right? Soon?” 

“I’ll try, but I swear, I’ll keep in touch and I’ll send you photos of my funtimes.” 

“Oooh, funtimes, huh, Max? Will have to hide that from the ‘rents.”

“As in parties and road trips. You and your dirty mind.” 

“It’s the company I keep.” 

“I can’t promise I’ll visit you again in hospital, but I’ll do my best for you, okay? I’ll do anything for you.” 

A long pause, so deep in silence Max could hear the loud ticking of the clock in the ward interrupted by the steady beeps of the heart monitor and Chloe’s strained inhalations and exhalations through the breathing tube in her nose. Max was suddenly hyper-aware of footsteps hurrying up and down the corridor outside the door, the mumbles and raised voices of nurses and visitors and patients alike, and that goddamn shrill ringing of the phone at reception always going and going and going with no one ever answering.

Strange how a hospital could be so loud and silent in such chilling synchronicity. 

And then, there was Chloe’s voice a minute later, no louder than a whisper, heavy with a maturity far older than her seventeen years: 

“ Anything , anything?” 

What? What does she mean? 

There was something in Chloe’s tone that bothered Max, something serious, dark and heavy in its nature, too much for a sixteen-year-old girl to handle. 

No. I’m just analysing way too hard. There’s nothing deeper to see here. 

As long as Chloe kept fighting, as long as she was still a part of her world, Max could believe they would be okay. Even if Chloe ended up forever in a wheelchair, she’d still be with her, and damn right Max would wheel her past every single photo in her first ever exhibition when she finished high school. 

“Max? Promise, right? Promise you’d do anything , anything for me.”

“Yes, Chloe, anything, anything. I promise.”

[badbackgroundscience]

Science of “The Seven”

I watched Amazon’s The Boys this week. So instead of the usual 60′s Marvel fare, here’s some tangential science relating to the superpowers featured in the show:

1. Homelander can’t see through zinc.

This is obviously a play on Superman not being able to see through lead, but the switch brings up some problems with the physics involved. X-rays - light with wavelengths ranging between 0.01 and 10 nm* - can’t travel through a lump of lead because lead is super dense. It’s nearly the heaviest non-radioactive element, with (usually) 208 protons+neutrons and 82 electrons. And its atoms pack very closely together.**

Combining that density with the fact that lead atoms are also very good at attenuating x-ray light (meaning the amount of x-ray photons that can penetrate a certain thickness of lead drops exponentially as that thickness increases), it makes sense that Superman’s x-ray vision’s weakness is lead.

But zinc is a smaller atom (usually 64 protons+neutrons and 30 electrons) and its atoms don’t pack as tightly; it’s about 1.5 times less dense than lead. It’s X-ray attenuation is generally lower, but not too different, from lead (compare this graph vs this one). Together, this makes it easier for x-rays to penetrate zinc than lead.

So why can’t Homelander see through zinc, but (supposedly) see through lead? It could be that the x-rays he emits correspond to a wavelength that zinc absorbs more than lead does. Annoyingly, the absorption spectra I can find all seem to be dealing with zinc compounds (e.g. ZnO, ZnS) instead of pure zinc metal. So I can’t tell you exactly what wavelength that would need to be.

Sorry.***

2. The Deep has torso gills

Fish are ectotherms, meaning their body temperature is regulated by their environment. Mammals - including cetaceans (i.e. whales, porpoises, and dolphins) - are endotherms. We generate our own body heat. Kevin presumably does, too.

This means that a man needs more oxygen than a man-sized fish does. About 15 times the oxygen, in fact. It’s the gills’ job to extract oxygen from water and pump it into the fish’s bloodstream; bigger fish have bigger gills, but a 75-kg man needs gills 15 times the size of a 75-kg fish’s. Not necessarily in length, but in collection area. And that’s assuming you’re not doing any physical activity that ups your oxygen requirements.

But on top of that, oxygen is far less abundant in water than it is in air - about 20 times less for the same volume. If an average human needs a quart**** of oxygen per minute, their gills would need to strain 51 gallons of water every minute to meet that requirement.

Combining these two factors, designer and material scientist-dabbler Jun Kamei is developing a set of artificial gills, and claims the final device will have a surface area of 32 square meters (344 square feet).

The human lung surface area is somewhere around 75 square meter range, so if you’ve got gills that can pack as efficiently as lungs do, you probably could fit them into your abdomen. Maybe not Chase Crawford’s abdomen, but a stockier human’s abdomen.

The real problem here is that Kevin’s doing himself no favors by covering the gills up while he’s underwater. Water rushing through the gills is the whole point, and you’ve just made it 1000% harder.

3. A-Train (and Popclaw) booms and bu(r)sts

According to the race announcer that one episode, A-Train can reach speeds over 1000 miles per hour. Assuming that’s true and not a horrible exaggeration, as soon as he passes the speed of sound (767 mph at sea level), A-Train would create sonic booms. Not a single boom. Constant booms for as long as he’s going fast enough. You (as a single individual) only hear one, but that’s only because you’re not moving.

We never see him do this, so we must conclude he’s not a complete idiot and only goes this fast when he’s far away from people and architecture. (If I read the screen right, he only clocks in at 371 in his race.)

As for the secret girlfriend he murdered, there are several species of amphibians that can stick their own bones out through their skin to use as weapons. For example, species of frog within the genus Astylosternus, and Trichobatrachus robustus (aka the hairy frog). The Spanish ribbed newt can push its ribs out through its torso; when threatened, its skin also secrets poison, turning its bones into poisonous barbs.*****

4. Translucent isn’t see-through. He’s see-around.

As the man explains to Jimmy the late night host (No, not that Jimmy the late night host...the other Jimmy the late night host), his skin can convert at will to a “carbon metamaterial” that bends light around it. 

We don’t know if there are other elements involved besides carbon, but if there aren’t, the real-world comparison is graphene -- an atom-thick layer of carbon atoms bonded to each other forming a honeycomb pattern.

Given its thickness, it’s translucent itself. [Side note: yes, “translucent” doesn’t mean invisible. However, some dictionaries (e.g. Merriam Webster and the OED) include alternative definitions identical to "transparent"...which goes against everything I ever learned. But either way, he actually is translucent when he isn’t “translucent”. Because human skin is translucent, assuming there isn’t too much melanin in it.]

A 2D sheet of graphene has a breaking strength of 42 Pa (0.0061 psi). That number seems super small, but it's actually reflecting the strongest material we know of. You'd need 4,300 pounds balanced on a pencil (pointy end on the graphene) to break through that atom-thick sheet.

Alternatively, if I did my back-of-the-envelope math right, you’d need a 50 gram .50-cal bullet traveling at ~770,000 mph (and coming to a stop in ~1 millisecond). Now, the human epidermis averages ~1mm thick. That's 3 million layers of graphene. 

However, if you manage to put a crack into your graphene, it becomes brittle on par with a ceramic.`*

As for being able to electrocute Translucent because carbon is “highly conductive”, graphene is indeed so; however, other carbon compounds aren't (e.g. diamonds). It all depends on the positioning of electrons within the solid (moving electrons = flowing charge). Since we don’t know what Translucent’s metamaterial is, we’ll have to take the show at its word.

Though here’s some bonus info: metamaterials are all synthetic. Which would mean that Translucent had this skin installed somehow. Or, it’s a very subtle dig at Compound V being used to create superheroes that only I caught.

The one thing that the season left bugging me about Translucent was his eyeballs. Somehow those are see-through.

5. Starlight pushes it real good

Our newest member of the Seven can use concentrated light to knock baddies off their feet, as well as throw them several meters back. This is an exaggerated form of reality. Light can actually push stuff. 

Photons do exert a teeny tiny amount of pressure on whatever they hit. It’s called radiation pressure. The amount is sufficient for something like a solar sail (The above image is LightSail 2), but not wiping the floor with a criminal.

According to (more) envelope math, Starlight would need to emit ~30 PetaWatts to deliver a good boxer-level punch to a baddie standing ~2 meters away. That's the equivalent amount of energy released by 7.2 million tons of TNT exploding, in 1 second. 

Also, given the color of the light she emits, she’s probably emitting a spectrum identical to our Sun, meaning she’s emitting a ton of light that normally gets blocked by our atmosphere, including x-rays and ultraviolet radiation.

She’s definitely given someone a melanoma at some point during her life. Or at least a very bad sunburn.

Bonus: Ice Princess shatters wangs

Final back-of-the-envelope math, calculating how fast that guy's (presumably erect) penis would freeze being enveloped by an ice vagina at -346 °F (-210 °C). A combination of calculating the heat lost per second via conduction, and the amount of energy lost as body-temp water cools and converts to ice.

Came out to 0.1 seconds. 

Faster than I expected...

_______________________________________________________________________

* Visible light is ~400-700 nm

** There are several (nonradioactive) metals more dense than lead, but more rare/expensive, like gold and iridium. 

*** Also, brass can be up to 45% zinc. Does that mean Homelander can only sort of see through brass?

**** Get out of here with your imperial units, self...

***** Fun fact: it can regenerate lost limbs, heart tissue, brain cells, and its spinal cord

`* Butt cracks don’t count.

_______________________________________________________________________

Image credits:

Zinc - CC BY 3.0

gills By Chris 73, CC BY-SA 3.0

frog claws from Barej et al 2010

sonic boom By I, Melamed katz, CC BY-SA 3.0

graphene By U.S. Army Materiel Command, CC BY 2.0

lightsail 2 By Josh Spradling / The Planetary Society CC BY-SA 3.0

ice by Ian Mackenzie CC BY 2.0

[nicolinocolino]

Summary: Martino isn’t allowed to stay over but he stays over anyway, giggles and smoking and feelings and kisses ensue, and Niccolò’s second attempt at making carbonara turns out only a little bit better than promised. Oh, and Marti checks Nico out every chance he gets.

Fandom: SKAM Italia Relationship: Martino Rametta x Niccolò Fares Rating: T — no archive warnings apply Words: 3,344 Additional Tags: Canon Compliant, Post-Canon, Established Relationship, Fluff, Marijuana, Intimacy, Making Out, Cooking, Banter, Feelings, POV Martino Rametta

[read it on ao3] or below 👇

Niccolò: they said not tonight :(

Marti pouts his lips at the old school emoji, reflexively making the same face. He can’t help but feel just a little disappointed.

When, truthfully, what he really is is spoiled. More often than not Nico’s parents don’t mind if Marti stays over on occasion. But, to further the overindulgence, they’ve been away in London all week which means Marti has permanently made Nico’s bed his own for the past few nights.

So, yeah, he’s gotten used to falling asleep with his nose in Nico’s neck, their legs tangled up, hands across waists and on smalls of backs and combing through curls.

But Marti doesn’t want to overstay his welcome, and he gets it: traveling is exhausting and the last thing Nico’s parents probably want to do after they just got home is play host.

(Not that Marti expects them to. He just wants to fall asleep next to Nico.)

And yet, erring on the side of his one-track-mind, he texts Nico back with a compromise.

Martino: what if i sneak in after they go to bed?

Niccolò: this seems like a bad idea i can already hear dad snoring if you want to head over now don’t ring i will meet you outside <3

Nico is finishing a cigarette, perched up against a car parked on the street when Marti rounds the corner from the bus stop.

“Hey.”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “Hey, handsome.” Nico offers Marti a drag without offering him the actual cigarette, placing it up to his mouth for him.

Marti inhales, barely able to wrap his lips around as he smiles. Their eyes meet, and Marti sees Nico study his face with soft eyes from the tip of his nose to the lobes of his ears.

“What’s up? How was school?” Nico asks, genuinely curious. Marti can feel a hand snake around the dip of his waist and rest in his back pocket. It’s been less than eight hours since they’ve last seen each other. And if they hadn’t spent the night last night, it would have been sixteen. While still not long, Nico is Marti’s favorite part of every day. Standing here, next to him, it feels like a mini-lifetime has passed since he’s last heard his voice. Saw his smile. Felt his skin.

Marti thought not having Nico around during his last year would be less distracting. Turns out it’s more, since all he can ever think about in class is the next time they’ll see each other.

“It was fine,” Marti breathes out, smoke with it. “Still a little weird to not have you around. I missed you a bit.” He leans into Nico, looks over at him — trails his gaze over his profile and the two fingers brought up to his mouth to finish the cigarette. “I mean, I guess,” Marti adds, feeling his smile go crooked. His eyes go big.

Nico laughs the smoke out, choking on it. His whole body moves with his smile — like he’s smiling everywhere: Nico is the personification of a smile. “You guess?” He repeats, looking back at Marti with his tongue resting preciously between his teeth. He flicks his eyes down, up.

Marti wouldn’t mind kissing him right here, right now. In fact, it’s tempting to. He can already feel the air grow staticky between them, a current blue with ignition and red with heat. But he can wait.

“I mean, you’re nothing special,” Marti leans back and glances over Nico, sizing him up with a playful frown and a tilt of the head.

Nico flicks the cigarette on the ground with a giggle, looking down. He moves to pull a new one out of his pocket. “Excuse me,” he sighs, “then who is this person so obsessed with me he’s begging to sneak into my place for the night? Even though we’ve shared a bed for the past week? Where is he?” He looks around, as if for someone else, and then he looks up, and they lock eyes.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Marti says, tilting his chin high, almost seriously enough to be convincing.

“Okay,” Nico agrees flatly around the new cigarette, admitting defeat. He slips his hand away from Marti and uses one to light it and one to shield the breeze. “One more, then.” He takes a drag. “To buy us another minute until mum falls asleep. Plus, it’s a nice night.”

They both look up, backs settled against the car with bent necks. The sky is clear, the air is warm — a light wind so modest it almost goes undetected. Nico lives in such a pretty neighborhood, Marti doesn’t know if extinguishing all the lights of Rome to see the stars would even be worth it. The stone pines rise high on the hills to the south. Rooftops and balconies are dripping with laundry and flowers. Everything is bathed in soft black shadows and pale orange highlights.

“You too, by the way,” Nico whispers, handing Marti the cigarette. His hand finds it’s way back to his waist. Back in his pocket. “I missed you too.”

When they sneak in, the floorboard creaks under Marti’s weight on the landing after a careful minute spent just to shut the front door silently. It doesn’t help that they have the giggles.

Nico is trying to glare at him, but it’s not working between loud laughs threatening to source from their stomachs. They swallow them, shushing each other as if that’s quieter than the squeaky floor as they tiptoe to Nico’s room.

“Where’s your stuff?” Nico whispers after they’ve successfully shut his french doors behind them.

“My stuff?” Marti repeats, sitting on his bed, confused.

“Did you bring pajamas? A toothbrush?”

“No.”

“No?”

“No.”

Marti purses his lips, a snort building in his chest, and he tips his head down to try and shush it. They look at each other, growing smiles in the dark silence, and he falls back on the bed, a giggling mess.

“There’s so much of your shit already here anyway,” Nico sighs warmly.

Marti hears him open drawers, feels some light fabric hit him as Nico throws a new shirt at his face. He changes into it, takes off his jeans, gets comfy and cross-legged on top of the covers while he watches Nico open a window.

“Will you roll it?” Nico asks, moving across the room and pulling the ukelele from his top shelf, setting it on the bed next to Marti before finding something to change into.

Only Marti’s barely loosened the strings to reach his hand in before getting distracted watching Nico take his shirt off. His breath feels thick in his throat, he bites his lip. It’s nothing new, nothing he hasn’t seen before, but he still smirks when Nico joins him on the bed in only his underwear. His skin going a degree warmer.

“What?” Nico asks, and Marti watches his shoulders shrug, watches him brush his hair back out of his face, his arm flex as he does so. His smile crinkle up so his lips thin around his teeth. “You’re so useless, give it to me.” Nico teases, reaching for the ukelele.

“I got it,” Marti mouths, pretending to be offended through a sly, sideways grin. “Be patient,” he scolds playfully, reaching to pat Nico twice on the cheek.

Nico just tries to bite his pinky finger.

The weed is sticky on Marti’s fingers as he breaks it up, flattening the paper on the smooth part of the ukelele. He can barely twist the end of the joint when he’s done, and he rustles his hand back through the strings to find a lighter.

Nico rubs Marti’s knee and looks out the window. The mood shifts in the silence.

“I wish you could stay with me every night.”

Nico says it softly, his middle finger moving slow across the bump of Marti’s kneecap, up and down like an inchworm. His face is contemplative, but not sad. Marti recognizes the expression.

They’ve melted so fast from smiles and giggles into reality.

And maybe it’s dawning on him, too, that after nearly a week together at night, while Marti starts school again, he won’t be here tomorrow — that sneaking in when Nico’s parents say no will be a rare occasion. That Marti needs to spend time with his mom, too.

That their time together like this is limited for now, and dwindling.

But Marti’s learned the best thing to do is be hopeful. Reassuring. And most importantly, honest. “One day,” he hums, his thumb on the spark wheel of the lighter. (And it’s true. One day, they will. In their own place. They’ll make it homey and warm and theirs. They’ll cook dinner and play music and do whatever they want, shielded from the eyes of the rest of the world between four walls, five floors up somewhere in Trastevere or Testaccio or Ostiense.) He flicks it, the flame bright for a second; that gets Nico to look at him, his eyes smiling before the rest of him, lips eventually curling into a cute squiggle.

Marti puts the joint up to Nico’s mouth — who holds it between his teeth — and then lights it for him.

Nico stretches out as he inhales, legs long in front of him while he scoots forward so Marti is in between his thighs, nestled there. Marti runs his hands along them, dragging his palms down his shins and savoring every little touch. Every little hair. Every little thing that has lead him here.

(Because never in his life did he think he would be here.)

“This stuff is better than what you had last time,” Marti notes when Nico passes it back and he takes a hit. He holds it in, can feel his head get fuzzier. The skin of his legs on the skin of Nico’s buzzes: flushed and staticky. The urge to feel it all over — to get closer — it increases with every hit. They’re silent for a long time as it dwindles down — looking at each other, out the window. Letting hands rest on knees, thighs, hips, feet. Just melting into each other’s presence as their brains whir in the smoke. Cherishing the fact they get to be themselves in Nico’s bed. No masks or hesitations. Pretending time will stop.

The joint’s only half smoked before Marti is high. Like, properly high. His heart rate is up, his face feels heavy, his thoughts are fast and smart with no conclusions. And then he forgets them entirely. But most of them are about Nico, and most of the ones about Nico are about how wonderful he is.

Wonderful and brave and talented and a little weird but wow — they fit so perfectly together, don’t they? On a scale, they balance to the exact ounce. So flawlessly in sync… and yet Marti still has every sense of self when they talk to each other. Or even when they don’t. They’ve found each other, but never lost who they were. Like if being complete had a next step. More complete, if that’s a thing. It’s the only way to describe how Marti feels.

(Most of the time, Marti is pulled between feeling like this could all stop at any second, or that no matter what happens, they are forever fated. Sometimes he feels both at the same time, like right now.)

“Can I kiss you?” Marti doesn’t know why he’s asking. Maybe because Nico is still looking out the window, at a car zip over the cobblestones. Despite it, he feels nervous when he asks. He just wants to be close to Nico. Almost as if he’s warning him for how intense his feelings might seep through.

Nico’s lip tips up at the corner before they meet eyes. His eyebrows follow — everything about his face rising. Shoulders too. Again, that smile that just takes over his whole body.

“Of course, c’mere.” His voice is so low. Nico slides his hand on Marti’s knee up his thigh, pushing on his lower back to move him forward until they slot together. Leg over leg. In each other’s lap at the same time. Preparing, like he knows what kind of kiss this is going to be. Like he wants to soak Marti in, too. And just be.

Their faces are close before anything happens. Soft breaths on shoulders, hands getting comfortable. Marti’s makes it’s way up to cup Nico’s cheek before leaning in with a smile, somehow feeling even more nervous than before. Nico smells so good. His lungs shake. All the blood in his body feels thick. His head is so light it doesn’t feel like part of his body.

But when he kisses Nico — more importantly — when he feels Nico smile against his lips, all of the parts of Marti that feel too big or too fast or too unsteady settle. They lock into place.

Marti holds him close, stabilizing it all. Cradles the back of his neck and loops circles in his curls with his fingers. Feels all of their long limbs and pointy joints wrestle for space while they inch closer to each other. Opens his mouth to kiss him deeper.

It’s a kiss with tongues. With hot skin. With deep breaths in through their nose and out through their mouth when they turn their heads. But it’s all so isolated. It doesn’t have to go anywhere, because the underlying intimacy of it is fulfilling enough. At least for Marti. A whole conversation is being had with this kiss, and that’s why it’s heavy and hot and long. For no other reason, really, does this conversation need to go anywhere else. They’re saying all they need to say with it.

“My parents are in the room over,” Nico warns, not breaking away. Not even relenting. As if he wouldn’t even fight it.

“I just want to kiss you,” Marti reassures him, proving his point as he continues to do so. Just focused entirely on Nico’s lips, the way his jaw moves under his hand, the way they are connected. His high heightens it all — his thoughts, weightless; his heart, softening; his stomach —

It growls.

Nico pulls away, laughing into Marti’s mouth before he does so. “Are you sure you don’t just want something to eat? Did you even have dinner?”

Embarrassed, Marti snorts. “I think I just got pizza with Gio after school,” he remembers.

“C’mon, then,” Nico whispers, hurrying Marti off the bed. “You know what I owe you?” His smile is way too devilish.

“Uh oh.”

“Another attempt at carbonara.”

“Attempt being the key word…” Marti murmurs, letting Nico drag him out of the room, bare feet on the wood floor, turning to tile in the kitchen.

“This time,” Nico whispers so quietly he almost mouths it, “I actually have everything to make it.”

“When did you go grocery shopping?”

“This afternoon,” he smiles, tongue sticking out between his teeth.

Nico slowly drags a pot from the cupboard, making an effort to create little to no noise. The water is the tricky part — they wince as it splashes on the metal before sticking the faucet head all the way down into the water that collects to silence it.

Marti rifles through the fridge, completely at home, taking out the guanciale and cheese. “Where is the grater?” He mouths to Nico.

“Let me do it!”

“I can help!”

“You don’t trust me.” Nico swats Marti’s hands away from the eggs on the counter. It’s playful, but loaded.

“I trust you.” Marti says it immediately. He pouts his lips, leans back on the counter, and crosses his arms. Only now does he realize how buzzed his body still feels from that kiss. He reaches out to touch Nico’s elbow — literally anything. His fingers find skin involuntarily. “I do,” he repeats, lucky Nico is meeting his eyes because it’s so soft, almost inaudible. And he means it. And more than just with the carbonara.

“I know you do.”

Marti pulls his elbow, positioning Nico in front of him, and he cups his face, kisses him gentle. He thinks it must take Nico by surprise, because he goes so soft he can barely stand.

“By the way, you never told me what you did in that restaurant in London.”

Nico scoffs, pulling back. “You think they let me anywhere near the food? I washed dishes.”

“Washed dishes?” Marti giggles, voice going high at the end, and Nico puts a hand over his mouth because he’s being too loud.

“Yes,” he mouths, eyes wide in a wicked kind of way, his lips pursing into a cute curl. “I washed dishes. Don’t make fun of me.”

“I just assumed maybe you were a waiter or something. They tip there, right? You’d make nice tips,” Marti hums under his hand — eyes him, gaze low and trailing up.

Nico moves his grip loosely to Marti’s neck.

“Oh yeah? Why?”

Marti bites his lip, unanswering, and just gestures vaguely up and down with his hand and a smiley frown.

“Why?” Nico presses, and he tickles Marti’s chest.

“Because you look…” Marti trails, trying to be quiet through a snort. No interest in being anything but teasingly stubborn. “Interesting.”

“Interesting?” This seems to genuinely stump Nico, who takes a step back and cocks an eyebrow. Still, though — his whole body is smiling.

“Interesting,” Marti repeats assuredly and adamantly playful.

“Okay,” Nico sighs, rolling his eyes in defeat. He smiles wide with his teeth — Marti’s favorite kind of smile, and goes back to the stove.

“So I can help, then?” Marti asks.

Nico just waves at the ingredients sitting on the counter and makes no fuss when Marti grates the cheese into the eggs, whisking it all together.

Marti refrains himself from telling Nico to turn up the heat while he sautees the guanciale, bites his tongue when Nico should have drained the pasta about thirty seconds ago. Because it’ll be fine. He trusts Nico (with everything, of course, but also to at least make better carbonara than last time — if you could even call it that).

It’s a miracle neither the sound nor the smell has woken up Nico’s parents, and maybe midnight pasta wasn’t the best idea if Marti wanted to be discreet. At least his rumbling stomach wouldn’t have woken anyone up. Nico persists on finishing, though.

They plate it, leave all of the dirty dishes on the counter, and slip soundlessly back into Nico’s room to eat on his bed, cross-legged and opposite each other.

Before Marti can take a bite, Nico twists the spaghetti on his own fork and feeds it to him, almost spitting it out it’s so hot.

“How is it?”

Marti struggles to swallow. “It still doesn’t taste quite right,” he pants, fanning his mouth dramatically.

“Oh, c’mon!”

“No, it’s good!” He insists, because it is. “But it’s missing something?”

Nico looks adorably vexed. Marti thinks it’s so cute when his voice gets a note higher in half-hearted irritation. “You helped me, what could it possibly be missing?”

“Salt, maybe? Did you salt the water?”

Nico’s eyes go wide in horror, and he takes a careful bite to judge for himself. “I think I did,” he nods, but not pressed about it. “But it’s better than last time?”

“Sure,” Marti jokes, tilting his head to the side.

That just makes Nico sigh and scrunch his nose, his lazy frustration hidden badly over a smile.

“No, it is!” Marti insists. “A gold star second attempt.” He reaches over to pinch Nico’s cheek.

“You’re giving me gold stars, now?” Nico dips his chin down, his eyebrows up.

“Sure. Do you want me to stick them on the fridge?”

“Fucking asshole,” Nico whisper laughs, and he leans forward so suddenly and plants a fat kiss on Marti’s lips, his hand on the back of his head. He says the next part through it, lips parting in a smile that Marti can feel permeate his whole body: “You get a gold star for being an asshole.”

[mikeshanlon]

he’s all that: chapter one

fandom: it

pairing: reddie (richie tozier/eddie kaspbrak)

word count: 3.8k

on ao3

summary: 

Richie smiled smugly, “You’ve got spunk Kaspbrak. I like that.”

“Why don’t you try shutting the fuck up Tozier,” Eddie retorted as the line moved forward, “So what is this, if not some ploy to get me to tutor you? Some sort of dork outreach program? Because I’m not interested.”

---

Or: The one where Richie Tozier has six weeks to get into a relationship and make someone fall for him. Only problem? That someone is the anxiety ridden, goody two shoes Eddie Kaspbrak, and he can't even stand to be in the same room as Richie.

warnings: there is drug use in that bev/mike/richie are HUGE stoners. 

a/n: hello!!! hope you enjoy this fic, i will try to update it at least every other sunday (i'll figure out the exact number of chapters before i post chapter two, but it probably won't be more than 10). you don't need to have watched she's all that to get this, although there will be some small easter eggs/quotes from the movie. but the movie has not aged well and is very Heteronormative so like.... no need to watch it lmao. 

Senior year— it was what just about any kid in the public schooling system looked forward to. You were high school royalty, enjoying the last hurrah with booze and dancing before being sent off to make your mark on the world. Lanky limbs that weren’t yet grown into became muscled and toned, hips were wider and swayed. Brains were wiser, skin was touched more, and smiles were brighter. It was a time of transformation and change.

Except, senior year was almost over, and Richie Tozier felt like he hadn’t really changed at all. Sure, in the last four years he shot up to 6’2, his voice was deeper, and he wasn’t such a fucking outcast; but really nothing else felt different. He still only passed his classes on genius alone, had a problem respecting authority figures (partially due to the fact that his parents were still pieces of shit), and never knew when to shut the fuck up.

Derry, Maine itself stayed the same too, like a town in a snow globe encased with mom-and-pop businesses and ignorance. Other than iPhones, the small Starbucks on the corner of Main and Belmont, and the fact that the townspeople were slightly less homophobic and racist (slightly being the operative word); Derry was pretty much a time capsule for banana bikes, bullies, and double features with popcorn that had too much salt and not enough butter.

Take the cliques and social hierarchy-- a staple in any American high school, especially one in a small town. Despite it being the 21st century, the cafeteria still had tables for jocks, geeks, nerds, and preps, straight from some 80’s or 90’s teen flick.

Richie, like most things in his life, didn’t necessarily fit into one group or the other, toeing the line between social pariah and popular party dude. He supposed it was the side effects of being the class clown with too-big-for-his-face glasses, a diagnosis for ADHD, and his tendency blazing at any given moment. Funny and wild enough to show up to any party, but not exactly cool enough to hang out with for anything else.

Honestly, it didn’t matter either way, because instead of worrying about what table to eat the cafeteria’s barely edible food at, Richie usually spent his lunch smoking with his friends. It was time to catch up and unwind before the last few classes of the day— and there was no way he could get through chemistry without being high.

As soon as the shrill bell rang, Richie hopped out of his seat, grabbing his shit before placing his (probably failed) history quiz on the teacher’s desk on his way out into the halls.

He weaved through the couples sucking face and the worried AP students, his unruly black curls bouncing like a hyperactive halo around his head as he walked towards his locker.

“‘Sup Tozier!” someone called out to him, a familiar face at the weekend ragers, although he never learned his actual name.

Richie nodded, “Hey, what’s up Keg King?”

“Not much. Hey, you coming to see me defend my title this weekend?”

“Wouldn't miss it for the world,” Richie smiled lazily, patting the other boy on the back before strolling along.

It wasn’t a coincidence that his smile faltered as he passed what was left of the Bower’s gang. He and Hockstetter had graduated the year prior, although like most bumfuck racists hellbent on beating up ‘dorks and queers’, they stayed in Derry. The remaining two, Belch and Victor Criss, weren’t nearly as powerful or psychotic as their elders, but they had a reputation to uphold. They weren’t exactly slamming him down on the asphalt in front of the arcade like they did in middle school, but they weren’t friendly either. Mutual respect was even a stretch. He’d enjoy seeing them get their asses handed to them, and he was sure they felt the same.

Richie popped open his locker, catching the loose papers and pencils that inevitably fell out. A small mirror hung on the blue metal door, rendered practically useless because of all the smudges covering it. The remaining space was littered with stickers of indie bands, and post-its with doodles and notes to himself or from his friends.

Have a great day trashmouth <3- bevs

Sparknotes ‘Pygmalion’

Come to the quarry after school!-mike

It’s a good day to be gay

Next time u get drunk enough 2 facetime us reading the entire bee movie script pls invite us so we dont have 2 deal w/ that sober- b+m

Buy more cigs and weed

U lewk hott big sexxxi ;) - xoxo

Richie was unashamed to say he wrote the last one to himself one day when he looked particularly good.

He struggled to stuff his history folder into the looming mess, but eventually crammed it in there, slamming the door shut before anything else could fall out.

After checking that he did indeed have his lighter, bag of weed, and papers in his denim jacket, Richie made his way to their usual spot. They liked to smoke at the stairs behind the art room, which was tucked away in the back of the school, overlooking the field that separated them and the middle schoolers.

Throwing open the orange door to the stairs in his usual dramatic fashion, he found his two closest friends, “Ms. Marsh, Lord Michael, how fare thee chaps today?” Richie greeted in his (awful) british accent.

Beverly Marsh rolled her eyes as she lit her joint, “Fine, until I heard that horrible voice.”

Richie threw a hand on his chest, a pained expression painted on his face, “Oh, how you hurt me so.”

“Hey, I mean it is his best impression,” Mike Hanlon commented from the steps, fist bumping Richie as he sat down across from Beverly on the top of the stairs, back to the railing. The sweet boy lit up the bowl in his pipe, inhaling deeply.

“Aw, thank you Mikey, you sure know how to make a girl swoon,” he cooed, mimicking a southern belle.

“Well, you don’t really have any good one’s in the first place,” Mike smirked, blowing out the smoke in his mouth while Beverly snorted, taking another drag.

Richie rolled his eyes, taking out his bag of weed, “Fuck off Hanlon.”

Mike extended an olive branch in the form of paper lunch bag filled with a sandwich, chips, and a can of coke. It was a daily occurrence for them— the Tozier’s rarely had any food, and even if Richie wanted to eat from the cafeteria, he didn’t exactly get a lot of money from them.

“My upcoming munchies thank you dear friend.”

He opened his bag of weed, attempting to balance the paper on his knees so he could roll his own joint. This failed miserably as the weed fell out, getting all over his Radiohead t-shirt.

“Shit.”

Beverly sighed, holding out her hand, “Let me roll it Tozier, you and I both know I’m better at it anyways.”

“What?! I’m perfectly capable of doing it by myself. I roll a damn good joint Marsh,” he shot back incredulously.

She plucked a stray piece of weed and gave him a pointed look. Richie groaned before handing his stuff over, Beverly handing him her own joint to smoke on in the meantime.

“How’s your day been Rich?” Mike asked from his spot on the steps. Typical farm boy, concerned with his friends. Richie often wondered how such an angelic person hung out with him and Bev, but Mike had his fair share of rebellious traits.

“Ah, well, you can tell it’s been just dandy. I can’t wait till we get out of this fucking hell hole,” Richie scoffed before taking a hit.

“Only seven more weeks,” Beverly reminded, eyes and hands focused on rolling.

Mike nodded, “Crazy. Can’t believe we’re finally graduating.”

“Thank fucking god, Derry is a suffocating shithole,” he said, “I know I’m an idiot, but Jesus, everyone here is a fucking bigot.”

“Yeah,” Mike agreed, not saying much else. They understood. It was hard being one of the only black kids in school, let alone pansexual (although most people didn’t know this about him). The prejudice he faced wasn’t something he often spoke about, trying to be as positive as possible.

“This kid in english was saying bisexuals are sluts today,” Richie successfully blew a few smoke rings, “Like, I am one, but not because of my sexuality, asswipe.”

Bev laughed humorlessly, handing Richie the freshly rolled joint and taking back her own, “No need to tell me what that’s like.”

No, the redhead had been getting called a slut over nothing since the seventh grade; the rumors and shaming only getting worse when she too came out as bi.

A comfortable and reflective silence fell over the three, occupied with their thoughts and getting high. Richie placed the joint in between his chapped lips; struggling to light the tip as his white lighter sputtered, on it’s last moments of life. Mumbled expletives fell out of his mouth before he was successful, inhaling deeply and holding the smoke in before letting it all escape.

His dark brown eyes scanned the poorly maintained sports field, filled mostly with middle schoolers running around and yelling. Part of him envied the carefree nature of it all, but the other remembered how fucking shitty middle school was and any jealousy washed away.

Not too far from them was what was dubbed as ‘the kissing tree’. The old trunk was littered with carvings, initials surrounded by hearts claiming that their love was ‘forever’. It was juvenile, small town as fuck, and heteronormative— though most things surrounding romance in Derry were.

Of course, Richie had been obsessed with it as a preteen, and knew his own name was on there (a few times).

What caught his eye now were the couple under it, making out passionately, flush against one another, like if they stopped they’d die.

Honestly, that would be preferable, as one of them was Gretta Keene, one of Richie’s biggest mistakes.

Gretta was one of the most popular girls in school, and she was also a grade A bitch. Her green eyes sent glares akin to daggers, and her lipgloss covered lips provided insults that went too far. Including frequently calling Beverly a slut.

It wasn’t like Richie had a huge crush on her or anything. Their relationship was merely born from constantly being at the same parties, cross faded and wanting a quick hook up to distract themselves. Mike had commented that it was only a matter of time, except one became many more, despite the fact that Gretta only got with jocks.

Their arrangement caused Bev to freeze Richie out for two months last semester, breaking their four year streak for best couples costume at Betty Ripsom’s annual Halloween Party. Bev was more important to him by a long shot, but per usual, he kept fucking everything up.

Most of their ‘moments’ were shared in some stranger's bed, or dancing in a kitschy living room to pop music, sharing a blunt or swigs from a bottle of whiskey. None of it was on purpose, but rather a byproduct of being intoxicated and having a high sex drive.

In fact, they had only been on two actual dates when they were together. The first was at the drive-in a town over, the pair sat in Richie’s beat up station wagon, some shitty b-movie playing on the large projector. Gretta shared a pack of cigarettes with him, and it was probably the only kind thing she had ever done. Richie tried to make conversation, so that their relationship actually had some sort of substance other than weed and alcohol; but Gretta quickly shut him up, sticking her cherry coke flavored tongue down his throat.

He took her out to his favorite diner for their other date, figuring that they might have a chance to actually get to know one another without an acceptable place to make out. They sat on opposite sides of a booth outlooking Main street, an old-timey song playing on the jukebox.

This plan proved to be a grave mistake, because Richie finally understood why Bev often said, “Satan himself thinks Gretta Keene is too cruel.”

He repressed the memory, if he remembered it he’d get too pissed off. Instead, Richie thought of their break-up, how she had beat him to the punch.

He had been waiting at her locker, leaning against #405 and picking at his nails, humming a song by The Smiths under his breath. Gretta approached, clad in a pink mini-skirt and a tight crop top, smacking her half-priced bubblegum.

Richie cleared his throat, standing upright, ready to chew her the fuck out for being such a horrible person, “Gretta, let’s talk—“

“We’re through Tozier.”

“What the fuck?!” He had gaped at her, “No, I was going to breakup with you!”

Gretta shooed him away with her manicured hands, “Please, you’re a fucking nobody. Irrelevant. You should be glad we even fucked around this long.”

A small crowd had formed around the two, “You’re the one who kept coming back for more.”

“And you’re the one who actually thought this could be something. So cute. But I don’t date losers and I don’t date attention-whores like you.”

Like he said, grade A bitch.

“Jealous?” Mike snapped Richie from his thoughts.

His cheeks reddened, embarrassed that he was caught staring, “What? No. I pity the poor bastard that’s with her. Fucking breath smells like a fucking dog ate a pack of Winston’s. Straight up ass.”

Beverly chuckled, but her eyes held a little bit of resentment, “You used to smoke those Winston’s with her.”

“I thought we had an agreement that we would never speak of the Great Gretta Keene Mistake again?”

“Sure, but you’re the one watching her,” Mike pointed out, packing a new bowl, “Missing the one that got away?”

The other boy’s tone was joking but Richie sent him a glare, “She’s fucking irrelevant to me okay?”

They hummed in agreement, but he could see the slight doubt on their faces.

Richie ripped open his bag of chips and threw one in his mouth, “She thinks she’s such hot fucking shit, but she’s so replaceable.”

“Richie, it’s rude to speak with your mouth full,” Mike admonished his bad manners.

“That’s not what your ol’ pops said last night when I was suck-“

“Beep beep, Richie,” Mike warned.

Bev shook her head, “Really Rich? His grandpa?”

“When opportunity strikes,” he flashed a shit eating grin before taking another hit.

“Anyways, while I second the sentiment that Gretta isn’t all that, you haven’t exactly had a relationship since her,” Bev accused.

“Okay, what the fuck is this, ‘pick on Richie day’?” he said, readjusting his position, “Besides, I’ve been with plenty of other people.”

“Please, this isn’t middle school, and I’m still not buying the whole ‘my bedpost is covered in notches’ bit,” Bev inspected the joint between her fingers, now just a stub.

“Well, obviously it’s not. I’ve had sex in many different beds. Yours included,” Richie smirked.

“Beep beep. You know you aren’t allowed over after you almost burned down my aunt’s apartment.”

“The apartment was fine. Everyone knows if you put the temperature up super high food cooks faster. Those tater-tots would’ve been delicious. Bon-appetit,” Richie spoke in a poor french accent, and his eyes widened, “Bon-appetot. Bon-appetatertot.”

He fell into a fit of giggles and Mike chuckled across from him.

“You are a walking disaster Richie Tozier,” Bev said, though an amused smile sat on her lips.

“Richie’s poor life choices aside… One night stands and drunken make out sessions don’t count,” Mike returned to their previous topic, “I mean something sort of serious. Something you put effort into.”

“I don’t put effort into anything Michael dear,” Richie countered.

“Not true. You put effort into a lot of dumb shit,” Bev put out her joint, “Like when you tried to climb the water tower at 3 am naked. Or the time you tried to get the principal to grind with you at homecoming.”

“You can’t blame me for that. Mrs. Marton is a vixen. Can’t believe she resisted my charms.”

Mike laughed, shaking his head, “Point is, it kinda seems like you’re stuck in a rut.”

“I get plenty of action,” Richie boasted, taking a drag from his joint, “Plus, I could make any girl or guy in this piece of shit school fall in love with me.”

“That a bet?” Bev grinned mischievously.

“You know what, why the fuck not?” Richie shrugged. He was bored, and he wanted his friends off his fucking back, “Terms and conditions?”

“Mike and I get to choose the sorry fuck who you’ll be pursuing—“

“No, I don’t wanna be a part of this. Isn’t it kinda fucked up? Getting with someone for a bet? Why don’t you just try to date someone without an ulterior motive?” Mike suggested.

Richie rolled his eyes, adopting an Australian accent, “Now where’s the fun in that mate?”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“You get till prom to sweep this person off their feet. A committed relationship, not just a hookup. If you win I’ll get you a shit ton of the finest weed the county can offer,” Bev continued, “If you lose—“

“No need to tell me, because I won’t fail,” Richie smirked, “I’m a total knockout.”

Bev’s face mirrored his own, “Fine, it’s your funeral.”

Both of them spit into their palms before shaking their hands, bonding the bet.

“C’mon, let’s go find them— you only have six weeks.”

The three of them packed up their shit, passing around the rest of Richie’s joint so it wouldn’t go to waste before they headed inside. Bev spritzed some perfume on them in an attempt to mask the smell of weed, making Richie smell fruity and floral. He popped a stick of spearmint gum in his mouth, deciding to save his sandwich for AP Calc next block.

It was a rare occurrence for them to roam the halls before the lunch bell rang, so a few of the students stared at them as they went on their search. Mike smiled at just about everyone they passed, a fucking angel per usual.

“What about him, he’s kinda cute,” Bev suggested, nodding her head to a blonde boy holding a skateboard.

Richie shook his head, “We made out at that beach bonfire over the summer. He almost vommed in my fucking mouth. The money maker! These beautiful lips are fuckin sacred— how could I smooch and tell amazing jokes if he fucked em up? These babies ooze charisma and sex appeal.”

“More like ooze bullshit,” Mike quipped.

“I think you’re just jealous that you won’t be the one I’m wooing Mike n Ike.”

Bev snorted, “I pity the poor fuck who you’ll be annoying till prom,” her eyes lit up, and she turned to Mike, “Hey, we might be able to enjoy some peace and quiet for a while!”

“The minute we became best friends with Richie I gave up all hope for tranquility.”

“Hey!” He protested, although Mike was right.

“And I wouldn’t have it any other way,” the other boy finished sweetly.

Richie planted a sloppy kiss on his cheek, “Oh Mikey, you are the most wholesome-est boy I ever did meet,” he slipped into his southern belle persona, “What about you Bevvy darlin’, got any words to butter up my biscuit? To milk my udder?”

She rolled her eyes and continued walking ahead of them, turning into another hallway.

“Fine, I know you love me Marsh,” Richie used his long lanky legs to his advantage, catching up to stroll alongside her quickly, “What about Betty Ripsom?”

Bev scoffed, “Please, too easy.”

“What?! She’s like, a good ol’ Christian girl. I’m a deviant! My skype username used to be tozier666! Or wait, it was tozier42069… I can’t remember.”

“C’mon Richie, we all know she had a massive crush on you freshman year,” Bev replied.

Mike nodded in agreement, “You wouldn’t shut up about it.”

“Like most things,” Bev said, “Anyways, you’d just use that to your advantage. Although, I am liking the whole ‘polar opposite’ approach.”

Richie groaned, of course he had a hand in his own misfortune.

They continued to travel the halls, Beverly’s baby blue eyes scouring for a victim.

“You sure are digging your own grave today Rich,” Mike commented.

Richie nodded, “R.I.P. Richard Tozier. Big Mouth and even Bigger Wan—“

“Found ‘em,” Bev interrupted, a grin on her face.

She pointed down the hallway in front of them, where two boys conversated as everyone walked around them. The taller one had auburn hair, and was lanky like Richie, although the other boy seemed a little more muscular. The other looked like a fucking middle schooler, and Richie wasn’t sure how the little brat even got in there.

It took a minute, but Richie realized that he did actually recognize them. They didn’t interact much, not being in the same circles, but the two boys had been going to school with him since the days of recess. And they had been bullied since then too.  

So, correction, she pointed to where two of the biggest losers in school were talking about what was presumably some nerdy shit. Great.

“What, Big Bill?” Richie raised an eyebrow, “He’s not too bad. Ignore the stutter and the fact that he’s best friends with total dorks and you have a shy lil cutie. Nice handiwork Marsh.”

“You know, you’re a total dork and we’re still friends with you,” Mike quipped, his own way of chastising Richie.

Bev shook her head ‘no’, “Not Denbrough, the other one.”

Richie’s eyes settled on the smaller boy, and the realization that he was totally and utterly fucked set in.

Eddie Kaspbrak. The kid peaked at 5’6, and his lack of muscles along with the fact that he wore an honest to fucking god fanny pack didn’t help his 12 year old boy appearance. Of course, the fanny pack got worse— it was full of pills, eye drops, hand sanitizer, lotion, chapstick, and most importantly, his inhaler. Yes, Eddie was a fucking asthmatic hypochondriac and germaphobe, with an equally insane mother. Richie didn’t doubt that the asshole spent more time perusing WebMD than texting or checking social media.

He wore chunky turtlenecks in the winter, and in the hotter months, his tanned legs adorned tube socks and short-shorts (they were awful, although Richie had to admit they made his ass look great). His small hands gripped onto his stuffed backpack (kid already had a fanny pack full of shit, what else did he have to bring to school?). Eddie’s brown hair was always found in a overly gelled comb over, not a hair out of place. He reminded Richie of an off-brand Fred Savage with severe anxiety.

Mostly, Richie knew Eddie Kaspbrak would hate just about every little thing he did. There was no way they’d even be friends, let alone anything more.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me Bev.”

a/n: thanks for reading!!! richie and eddie will actually talk next chapter, don't worry. also for any concerned about the gretta/richie thing it's not Too Big of a Deal as it is in the movie, i just need it for some plot points (but overall richie is like 100% over gretta and it was just something stupid he did).

[kpopreactionstoruinyourlife]

Song Girl - Part 9 - Sungjin Fan Fiction

Song Girl Masterlist

Part 9 - December 2013

Summary: Their first night together.

After their one month anniversary, Christmas was quickly approaching with Sungjin’s birthday shortly thereafter. A week before the holiday, Sungjin got a call from Ella just as he was leaving to go pick her up for a date.

“Hey, everything ok?”

“I’m sick, so I don’t think I can go out tonight.” She said, ending her sentence with a sniffle. Her voice was rough, nasal.

“Ok, I’ll just come bring you soup.”

“I can’t ask you to do that. What if I got you sick?”

“Then you can take care of me like I’m going to take care of you. Simple.”

“But what about your training?”

“They understand if we are sick.”

“But I would’ve gotten you sick and they already don’t want you dating.”

“Let me take care of you.”

“Not unless you at least wear a mask.”

“I can do that.”

“Alright, I’ll text you the door code.” Ella sighed. “And I’m warning you, this won’t be a pretty picture.”

“That’s fine. Do you need anything else besides soup?”

“Some more meds would be great, and ginger ale and more tissues.”

“Ok, I’ll be there soon.” Sungjin said hanging up. He went back to his room and threw together an overnight bag.

“Oh, planning a long evening are we?” Jae said peeking into the room. He stepped in and handed Sungjin a condom.

“Where did you get this?”

“You know they sell condoms at lots of stores, Brian and I have talked about it, you know, as your guardians, and we just want you to use protection.”

“Aya, that’s not necessary. I’m going to stay as long as I can because she’s sick.”

“Oh, yeah, don’t have sex for the first time if she’s sick.” Jae agreed, taking back the condom.

“Did you seriously get condoms for us? I’m perfectly capable of doing that.”

“Just the one.”

“Right, sure…” Sungjin said with narrowed eyes.

“It’s cute though, that you’re going to take care of her.”

“Well you know I’m very cute.” Sungjin said absently, making sure he had everything he’d need.

“Try not to get sick. Take some vitamins or something.” Jae said as he once again left the room.

“Yeah,” Sungjin said tossing a bottle in the bag. He said his goodbyes and headed out to a convenience store on the way to the apartment.

At the same time, Ella pushed herself out of bed and picked up all her used tissues and the rest of the apartment, only sneezing ten times in the process. Once she was done, she washed her face, her nose raw and red. She brushed her hair and put it back up in a bun. She changed out of her ratty PJs and into leggings and his sweatshirt. She returned to her bed to grab her blanket, wrapping it around herself like a cape and plopped on the couch.

Just before she curled up to attempt to go back to sleep, she heard a knock before Sungjin entered her apartment. She promptly sneezed three times and moaned before she could get out a ‘Hello.’

“Hey,” He said smiling as he put his stuff down in the entry, dropping the food and Meds in the kitchen before he came up to her on the couch.

“Thanks for coming, I’m sorry I got sick.” She said as he checked her temperature.

“It's fine, you don't control when you get sick.” He said kissing her forehead and making her push him away.

“You're supposed to be wearing a mask.” She said stubbornly.

“I’ve decided to bet that I got you sick and I’m immune. If you were going to get me sick with various things you're immune to, you'd have done it already. But you are in a new country and getting exposed to new things.”

She stared at him with a slightly repulsed and probably slightly repulsive expressive with her red and runny nose, puffy eyes, and clammy skin.

“Fine, I’ll take responsibility and take care of you if you get sick, too.” She said as he laughed.

“I’m going to start soup and some tea, my mom texted me some of her home remedies and I'll bring over the vitamins too.” He said and she nodded, leaning over to lay on her couch.

“I'll just try not to be completely repulsive so you can continue to be smitten with me through this.” She said and again he laughed.

“I don't think you have a fever at least.” He said as he headed into the kitchen. As he did, she realized he'd never been in her kitchen to make anything more than water.

“Wait, you don’t know where anything is!” She said pushing herself up and following him into her kitchen, which barely had room for the two of them.

“You only have six cabinets and six drawers, how hard would it be to figure out?” He asked as he found the cabinet with her pots on the first guess and started chicken ramen.

“I thought you didn’t cook?”

“I can make soup for my girlfriend, jeez.” He said ruffling her hair.

“I’m not saying you can’t!” She said, the end of her sentence a series of sneezes and coughs before the finale of a moan. When she looked back up at him, he held out vitamins and was getting a glass of the ginger ale she’d requested. “Thanks, really.” She said taking it.

“Just rest, I can take care of this.” He said herding her out of the kitchen and to the couch. “You look cute in my sweatshirt, by the way.” He added before he went back to the ramen.

“I’ll wash it when I give it back.”

“You can just keep it.”

“No, there’s no point if it doesn’t smell like you.” “So I’ll get back and make it smell like me again and then you’ll steal it again?”

“Yes, there’s a plan.” She said, coughing again.

“I see. Is there anything else you want?”

“No, and really thank you for coming.” She said, watching him moving in her kitchen. It made her chuckle. Her boyfriend, a guy who wanted to be a rockstar, was cooking his sick girlfriend soup in a relatively excessively pink and feminine apartment with a smile. She never felt so miserable and happy at the same time before. To be fair, she was only really physically miserable, her body was achy and her nose and throat protested every sneeze and cough and her lungs weren’t faring any better.

“You’d do the same for me.” He said emerging with two bowls of steaming soup.

They didn’t talk while they ate, they just finished the ramen and he went back into the kitchen to do the dishes and clean up.

“So how are you doing?” He asked when he returned to the couch.

“Good and sick.” She said, moving to lean against him.

“You said your mom would read to you when you sick, Harry Potter right?” He said moving to put his arm over his shoulder.

“I’m sorry in advance if I get mucus on you.” She said as she curled against him.

“It’s fine.”

“Yeah she did, why do you bring it up?” She asked, sniffling.

“Would you like me to read to you?” He asked. She hummed happily as her eyes closed.

“All my books are in English.”

“All of them?” He asked, looking around her arguably book filled apartment.

“Yep, mostly because more books are published in English.”

“Ah, and here I was trying to be sweet.”

“You are sweet, I’m impressed you remembered that.”

“We could just watch one of the movies.” “Hmm, sounds good.” She hummed tucking herself closer against him while more tiredness settled in her body.

“I’ll start the movie if you want to go back to bed.” He whispered and she nodded.

She padded back to her bathroom to brush her teeth while he put one of the DVDs in and added the subtitles. He moved to turn off the lights and ducked into the bathroom to brush his teeth after she padded to her bed. He changed into his sweats to sleep and relax and brought more of the medications and water to the bed for her take in a couple hours.

“Mind if I join you?” He asked while he stood next to bed. While she was a little bit too medicated and fatigued to be fully aware that this was their first time getting into her bed together, he was keenly aware of it.

“No, but could you grab a box of tissues and a bin?” She asked, and he did before he climbed into the bed with her, plugging his phone in, too.

“You are a very good boyfriend.” She said after blowing her nose in a tissue.

“I’m trying at least.”

“Why is that so rare?” She continued humming, rolling back on the bed to give him more room. “It’s not often you actively see a guy trying to be a good boyfriend, at least not in the US in my experience.”

“I imagine they’re trying, but you don’t want to appear to try.”

“Stupid.”

“Why?”

“If you don’t look like you’re trying, and your efforts to be a good boyfriend are lacking, how could a girl know you’re trying and not just being an ass? At least if she knows you’re trying, she’ll be touched and help you get better.”

“Doesn’t this come up in your research?” He asked and she waved her hand.

“Not yet, but if I gave an interview it would.”

“Are you going to give an interview?” “No, it’d be too biased.”

“Ah, could I give an interview?”

“No, I wouldn’t let you.”

“Why?”

“You’d also be too biased.” She said before she rolled back to him and nudged his arm.

“Yes?” He said, trying to force his stiff body to relax. This was fine. He could share a bed with his girlfriend without an issue since she was sick and sex would not happen.

“I am going to sleep.” She announced, her eyes still closed. “I have an alarm for the next time I have to take pills and I have melatonin if I keep waking you up.”

“Melatonin?”

“The hormone your brain secretes,” She fumbled and gently prodded the back of his neck, “right around there to make you go to sleep once it gets dark.”

She was a bit loopy on drugs.

He stayed awake while she fell asleep the first time. He liked getting a picture of that might be like for her. She alternated between pulling up or nudging off the blanket for a while, turning to her different sides. She finally asleep on her side and bent up, her breathing labored and mouth open. She was facing him, her arms twisted in the sleeves of his sweatshirt, clutching the excess fabric. It was his first time finding someone drooling adorable. He settled but pushed himself up to turn off the lights and make sure the door was locked before he returned just as her alarm rang.

Without words, he passed the meds and water to her sitting form on the bed in the dark room.

“Thanks, you’re really brilliant.” She mumbled, turning to her other side to go back to sleep.

“Sweet dreams,” he said as he crawled in behind her. He settled in as the big spoon but leaving a few inches between them due to her moving away with a muttered ‘it’s too hot.’ He struggled to think of a person he’d rather share a bed with when compared to a sick Ella. He only came up with a couple celebrities and nodded off himself.  

Four hours later her alarm rang again and the moved over Sungjin to reach the meds and water. He only woke up when her elbow hit his hip as she back on his other side.

Blurrily, he watched her toss the comforter off the bed, replacing it with a thin quilt before he could protest the coldness.

“I hoped our first night together might have been when I wasn’t sick but is it ok if we spoon even though I have a cold?” She whispered.

“Just come here,” He whispered, lifting his arm and his blanket. She fitted into the space and their legs tucked together while he nestled his nose into the curve of her neck. His arm moved around her waist, slipping under his sweatshirt to her bare skin below. His fingertips brushed over her warm skin as he fell asleep.

He woke up groggy with her still in his arms. His brain was on half its cylinders and his morning wood was making him horny. He adjusted his arm around her and she stirred. As she stretched her legs out between his, he pressed his lips into the back of her neck.

“Good morning, and no.” She said to look at him. “I’m too sick for that.”

He pouted before he nuzzled his nose against her, a sleepy smile taking over his face.

“How are you feeling?” He asked adjusting his hips so his boner wouldn’t press into her butt.

“I don’t care about morning wood, and I feel better.” She said moving so she was once again tucked against him with her butt against his boner.

“You’re not going to get up then?” He murmured and she shook her head. She pulled his arm tighter around her.

“You’re warm and safe, I’d rather just stay here.”

“What if I need to pee?” He whispered smiling against her skin.

“You’ll have to wait for your boner to deflate anyway.” She said matter of factly.

“Are you really that comfortable about boners?”

“Yours yes, anyone else’s I don’t want to go near. It’s natural. Since you’re my boyfriend, I’m not scared of your boner or anything.”

“Good, it’s not a weapon of mass destruction.”

“I know, and you’re expected to have a similar attitude about my period.”

“I am?”

“Just accept that it’s something that happens and move on, you can think the blood is gross because the blood is gross.”

“Don’t girls get horny when it’s around their periods?”

“Yes,”

“Good to know.”

“Perv,”

“Only when it comes to you.” He hummed.

“I’m glad you’re not perving on strange girls.”

“It’s the gentlemanly thing to do.”

“Ah.”

“So really, how are you feeling?”

“I still feel fatigued and stuffed up but I haven’t sneezed or coughed yet.”

“So we are progressing.”

“I’m really happy we can be like this…” She whispered.

“Me too,”

They stayed in the bed for another hour before they got up and shared breakfast. They cleaned up and he made sure she was settled with everything she wanted or needed before he left, promising to call when training was over.

It had been their first night together.

They had their second on Christmas Eve. She cooked a western dinner. He gave her another mixtape, an offer to teach her guitar, and a necklace with a key with a heart shaped handle and a treble clef in the middle. She gave him some money to put toward his saving up for a new electric guitar, new earrings she knew he wanted, and an offer to teach him English. They fell asleep tangled together and talking about dreams.