#He's been in like four back to back events that are so disconnected from everything else??? Like...why are you here? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ghostkennedy · 7 months

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Every Version of You (4)

A reverse harem with three variants of Leon Kennedy and feminine reader.

~ Masterlist ~ Previous Part ~ Next Part ~

(i struggled a lot with this part and putting it off because it's filler. it's the event that needed to happen to get from point a to point b. but i've done it so now updates should come quicker!)

WORD COUNT: 2k

SONGS: I Can't Handle Change - Roar and I Bet on Losing Dogs - Mitski

CONTENT WARNINGS FOR PART FOUR: dejecting from one's self, anxiety, crying, some comfort, thoughts of giving up, arguing, let me know if there's something else that needs to be tagged

TAGLIST: @growingupnrealizing , @weneewinnie , @delulusimps , @yoonbabe-d , @missjoenowhere , @cassiecasluciluce , @greywardensaywhat , @kennedyswhore , @british-mint-bunny , @all-mights-babygirl , @weasleytwinscumslut , @pinkrose1422 , @ir3nic-sluvv , @blue4pple , @izuoyarmin , @cosmcqt

!!!!!!!!!!MINORS DNI! GHOSTKENNEDY IS STRICTLY 18+!!!!!!!!!!

PART "CHAPTER" FOUR

You stand, frozen in place, right in front of the giant tube that’s supposed to contain Leon. Every noise in the room sounds far away. You’re not even sure you’re really standing here right now with how unreal you feel. How disconnected you feel from yourself.

Numb. You feel numb.

Is any of this real? How can it be real? You know it’s stupid to question yourself like this. You always laughed off people who would ask dumb questions like, “Is this a dream?” Of course it’s not a dream! But now you’re questioning if this is a fucking dream. You don’t know, maybe you never knew.

You can tell the men are trying to talk to you, but you can’t seem to force yourself out of your own head. Can’t make yourself care enough to socialize with any of them. You wanna stay inside your mind’s fuzziness. It wraps you like a blanket and it’s the only solace you can seem to find.

You’ve been able to push your feelings down–to just push yourself through the motions, but it seems to be hitting you all at once now. And you’re not sure why, but you’re dreading facing Leon. And there’s no specific reason for your anxiety, maybe it’s just everything coming to the surface in the face of a conversation you don’t know how to have.

Maybe you’re dreading his reaction.

“Hey!” you hear someone yell to get your attention as they nudge your shoulder, which finally snaps you out of your almost hypnotic state.

Your head snaps in their direction, “Hmm? What?”

Your eyes meet older Leon’s. “Are you ready?” It’s a stupid fucking question. You and him both know it, but for some reason, you still find yourself having a hard time responding. You open your mouth several times to reply, but no sound manages to make it past your lips.

“Are you okay?” he lowers his voice to nearly a whisper.

You’re not sure why that does something to your brain–why you’re biting your lip as tears slip down your cheeks again. Why did the dam break right now? Before you can even force the tears back down, force yourself to keep it together, he’s wrapping his arms around you.

You’re limp in his grasp. Wide eyed and arms hanging at your sides. You’re stiff in his arms, unable to properly react. His chin is resting on top of your head as he presses your cheek into his chest.

You wish he’d just stop. Pull himself away from you. Read your body language and take the hint. But he doesn’t. He only clings to you tighter.

And you don’t know why, fuck, you don’t know why anything anymore, but you soften in his arms. You allow yourself to accept his embrace. And for some reason, it makes you feel somewhat calmer. As if you can finally breathe in his arms.

“It’s gonna be okay, yeah? Just breathe. You’re fine, everything is fine. I’ve got you.”

And you believe him completely. You pull your head away from his chest and look back into his eyes.

You close your eyes, taking in a deep breath, holding it, then opening your eyes as you release it.

“That’s it. Feeling better?” He tucks your hair behind your ear and you can’t speak. You force yourself to nod. Just nodding feels like it takes all of your energy.

You’re exhausted, utterly and undoubtedly exhausted. You could pass out while standing up if you allowed yourself to. But you know you can’t. You know you must swallow down all of the negative feelings because there’s much more pressing matters at hand. You are not what’s important right now.

“I’m okay,” you assure Leon softly. “Let’s do this.”

“You’re sure?” He cocks an eyebrow in obvious disbelief.

You nod your head weakly. “Like ripping a band-aid off, right?” He rubs your shoulders, but doesn’t attempt to move on. “I’m sure, Leon, please.”

He finally releases you, but not before offering up his hand. It confuses you at first, but you eventually relent and intertwine your fingers with his. You’ll take any link to ground you that you can. You’re still not fully convinced that you won’t just fade into nothingness, maybe you’d even welcome it and allow it to consume you.

It’d be so easy to let yourself go as well, but you’re not hanging on for yourself. You’re hanging on for Leon and maybe that’s enough for you. Well, it has to be enough for you, it’s all you have to cling to.

“Okay, here we go,” Luis mumbles as he pulls the lever and the blinding light is back and somehow stronger this time.

Before you can even reach up to cover your own eyes, someone else’s hand is covering them. Your free hand shoots up to cover the hand over your eyes. It’s obvious who it is, so you run your hand up his arm and cover his eyes with your hand. It’s not the most comfortable position, but you’re fucking greatful for it.

The light is gone and you both drop your hands, looking ahead as Leon’s drenched body is pulled from the liquid by Chris. Chris pulls Leon’s body down the ladder with the help of Luis and they lay him on the ground.

“Leon? Leon, can you hear me?” Chris speaks as Leon’s eyes flutter open and closed as he slowly wakes up.

Leon’s eyes finally stay open and he stares up at Chris with a blank expression on his face. He slowly blinks as confusion creeps up his face.

He suddenly sits up and pushes himself to his feet, stumbling backwards away from Chris and Luis. His wet clothes cling to his body, throwing off his balance as he braces himself against the wall.

“Leon. Calm down,” Luis tries to level with him.

He shakes his head, “Who the fuck are you?”

“Just here to help-”

“Help with what, asshole?”

Older Leon speaks up, “Well, if you’d let him explain and stop interrupting-”

“And who the fuck are you?” Leon spits out as his eyes dart to older Leon’s. He looks down at your laced fingers and then his eyes meet yours. “What’s going on?”

You pull your hand from older Leon’s and take a few steps toward Leon, “I’m not entirely sure, but everything’s okay, okay?”

“Don’t,” he puts his hand out in front of him causing you to halt your movements. “Just… stay over there.”

You feel your face fall at the tone of his voice, talking as if he’s disgusted by you. It causes you to step backwards, your back colliding with older Leon’s chest.

“It’s okay,” he quietly speaks into your ear, “He’s just confused right now.” You nod your head in response, because what else can you do?

Leon continues arguing with Chris and Luis, but you tone it out. You turn and look up at older Leon’s face. He brings his hand down to cup your cheek, rubbing his thumb gently beneath your eye. Your eyelids instinctively close in the comfort of his gesture.

“And what the fuck is going on over there?” Leon’s raised voice brings your attention back to him. “Who the fuck is that?”

Your eyes dart between the two of them, not sure if you should tell Leon the truth. Older Leon meets your gaze and nods his head once, encouraging you to speak.

You take a deep breath before speaking, “He’s you, Leon. From the future.”

The room is quiet as you and Leon stare at each other. His face is skeptical as he looks between you and the older man.

“You’re joking?” He huffs out and you shake your head at him. Another moment of silence passes. “What do you mean by that?”

“He’s here to save me, Leon.”

He scowls. “Why are you fucking with me right now? What’s wrong with you?”

Older Leon steps in front of you. “Don’t speak to her like that.”

“Fuck you dude-”

“Can you shut the fuck up?”

“I’m not taking this-”

“Shut the fuck up!” Older Leon yells and the room falls into a silence once again. It’s awkward. It’s fucking uncomfortable. You could cut the tension with a knife. Just any sort of cheesy phrase that could be used to describe this shit, insert that here.

Everything feels so unnatural. How could a conversation ever flow under these conditions? In these circumstances? How are you supposed to act, supposed to talk?

“Do you want her to die?” Older Leon gestures toward you. Leon scoffs and rolls his eyes, but doesn’t answer. “Well. Do you?”

“Obviously not.”

“She will. And there won’t be anything we can do to stop it if you don’t get it together.”

“You gonna kill her?”

“No, but-”

“But nothing! You’re talking out your ass right now. I’m not doing this shit.”

“Really?” Older Leon asks in a monotone voice that has chills running down your spine. Leon nods in response, causing older Leon to suddenly snap.

He closes the gap between the two of them, grabbing Leon by his collar and pushing him towards the giant vat of liquid again.

Chris follows after them. “Leon, what are you doing?”

“I’m going to show him.”

“We don’t even know if that’ll work.”

“Don’t care.”

“Just think for a minute.”

“No.” The men fight the entire way to the top of the vat of liquid, but older Leon manages to get the younger man up there.

“Fuck,” Luis calls out as he runs to the control panel slamming down some buttons. “Okay. Okay! Be careful Leon-” He isn’t able to finish his warning before older Leon is pulling both of the men into the liquid.

“Oh my god!” You gasp out as you watch the Leon’s floating in the water, electrical currents surrounding them, looking like they’re shooting straight into them. Older Leon grips Leon by his shoulders, both their heads falling back weightlessly as they go still in the liquid.

Water swirls all around them and you can do nothing but watch. It’s like they’re the calm in the storm, so still as a whirlpool rages on around them.

As quickly as they entered their comatose states, they’re snapping out of it. Breaking through the top of the liquid and gasping for air.

Older Leon pulls himself up on the platform first, offering Leon a hand that he ignores as he pulls himself out of the liquid as well. They sit on the platform in complete silence, both staring off into space.

A ringing cuts through the silence and Luis picks up a small phone sitting on the control panel.

“Leon,” both men's attention dart to Luis, but he gestures the phone towards the younger of the two. “It’s yours.”

Leon hurries down the ladder and grabs the phone, answering quickly. “Hello?... Now?... Can it wait?...Alright, fine… Yeah, I’ll be right there.” He hangs up the phone and turns to face you. “I have to go. Urgent request by the president.”

“Be safe?” Your voice is barely above a whisper. He nods his head, scanning the room before heading for the door.

He stops dead in his tracks when he sees Rookie, who’s been standing off to the side, staying out of the way this whole time. But he quickly shakes his head and continues, slamming the door shut behind him.

You look over at Rookie and he shrugs at you. “I didn’t think seeing me would help.”

You didn’t think of it that way. Of course Leon would instantly recognize his younger self, it’s what he used to look at in the mirror every day.

“Is he gonna be okay?” You ask no one in particular. Your eyes scan the room, waiting for someone, anyone, to answer you.

“He’ll get there,” Chris finally speaks up. “But we got work to do. We knew he’d be pulled away for that mission, so we knew he wouldn’t be around.” Chris’ hand meets your shoulder and he squeezes in an attempt to comfort you. “Get some rest. Tomorrow, we start Operation Save Your Life? Or whatever you’d like to call it.”

Chris heads out the same door Leon did and your gaze falls to the floor. You doubt you’ll be able to sleep after everything that just happened, but you’d be lying if sleep wasn’t calling out to you.

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folkloresthings · 8 months

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Okay okay okay, last oneeeee!!!

May I please ask for a NORTHANGER ABBEY with my sunshine boy Daniel Ricciardo and the “who did this to you?” trope?? That trope makes me feral and I just know you’d be an amazing person to write it!!

Thanks in advance, definitely thanks again for doing this amazing event, and I hope you’re doing well, darlin’! 🤍🩵🩷

this is heavily inspired by that one normal people so enjoy the pain i’m so sorry

FIX YOU. ❨ daniel ricciardo x reader ❩

✩⡱ warnings: toxic family environment, a violent scene but nothing too graphic i hope 🫶

growing up had not been kind to you. life hadn’t dealt you a fair deal — you were the odd one out. all throughout school, you worked hard and focused on the goals you had set out in your head. this meant sacrificing a social life, being cool, having friends. the weird girl in the corner.

life at home hadn’t been much better. with no father around, your mother turned selfish. she became a workaholic, cold and miserable, uncaring for the feelings of her children. your brother was four years your senior and a mean kind of person. constantly teasing, taunting, dangling a rope in front to wait for you to bite. his torment of you was his entertainment.

when you met daniel, you never knew something could be so good. he was everything you’d never had, everything right about the world. and for the first time in your life, you felt loved. daniel looked at you and only you. he loved you, and only you.

“darling,” he’d whisper to you in the middle of the night. “i’m not a religious person, but sometimes i think god made me for you.”

what had been so horrible in your early life didn’t matter anymore. daniel was goodness and light. he was a new beginning, completely disconnected from any bad memories of your life before. you’d told him a thing or two about your family, but never the full truth. never how bad they were.

maybe it was fear of scaring him off, but not once did you invite him home with you. you’d met his parents, they’d taken you in like one of their own, but he’d never once met your mother or brother. he understood, respecting your boundaries, and when you needed to go home he let you go. you always came back.

once or twice a year you returned back to your home for a few days, just to appease your mother and give her nothing bad to say about you. it just so happened that this weekends race wasn’t far from where you’d grown up, so two birds were knocked with one stone.

daniel was busy with practice, giving you enough time to have dinner with your mother and get back to your boyfriend in time for the new episode of the kardashians. your brother wasn’t supposed to be there. but he was, and drunk. stumbling over his own feet, grumbling insults when he noticed you there.

excusing yourself from his stench, you wandered into the kitchen to clear your plate. he followed behind, stalking you like some prey ready to be pounced one. he taunted and taunted but you blocked it all out. you’d learned to blur his words out, stubbing out the knives before they could pierce your skin.

“give me that,” he snatched at the plate in your hand, grabbing until it smashed against the skin, barely missing slicing your hand. you glare up at him, pushing his hands away. your feet carry you quickly towards your old room, unchanged from when you turned eighteen. your bag was there, your plan to get it and go back to daniel powering you on.

you barely realised he was following you until the door you’d just slammed flies back open, crushing you between it and the wall. your nose took most of the blow, and you feel the blood begin to gush your face in an instant. your brother’s eyes are dark when he sees what he’s done, no regret or sorrow behind them. in fact, he’s proud.

when you found your phone, you don’t know. but daniel’s contact is on the screen and it’s ringing out, him answering in only a few seconds.

“hi baby. how was dinner?” the australian chirps, and your heart squeezes with how happy he sounds. the tissue you had pressed to your nasal is damp with red now.

“somethings happened. can you come get me?” you whisper, locked in the bathroom. amongst all of the commotion, your mother hadn’t come to check on you. she didn’t care.

the keys in daniel’s hand jingle in the background, someone calling him as he hurries out of the drivers briefing. he wastes no time in obliging, hearing the urgency in your voice. he doesn’t know what’s wrong, but something is. that’s all he needs to know.

“i’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

his blood runs cold when you come to answer the door. the blood has dried now, around your lips and chin. your nose is already turning blue. he grasps at your arms as soon as he can, softly moving the tissue out of the way to get a good look at the damage.

“who did this to you?” daniel seethes. never in his life had he felt so angry, not when he’d been crashed into or fucked over by strategists. he’d never felt so scared. behind you, he sees your brother slink in from the shadows. he looks at him, then at you, and he knows. “did he do this?”

you don’t even need to nod, the look you give him says it all.

“go wait in the car,” daniel tells you, not giving you a chance to argue. “go. i’ll be there in a minute.”

he waits until you’re out of site before he pounces on your brother. hands on his chest, pinning him to the wall. danny hovers inches over the other, glare piercing through his cocky demeanour.

“if you ever, ever, touch her again, i swear to god i’ll rip you apart,” daniel’s voice is low, and he’s glad you’re not there to see that side of him. the side that would kill for you. “stay away from her.”

your brother sheepishly nods, hitting the wall with a thump when daniel shoves him back. the driver turns on his heel and leaves the house, for what he swears will be the first and last ever time. you’re waiting in the passenger seat, sniffling as you try desperately to clean yourself up.

daniel slides into the drivers seat, turning the heat on and turning towards you. he feels his heart crack to pieces at the sight of you. he’d sworn to protect you a long time ago, and he hadn’t been there. it had been a feeling of hate he’d never felt for himself before.

“no one will ever hurt you like that again,” daniel swears to you, his voice soft but stern. his hand rests delicate on your cheek, the porcelain of your skin threatening to break under his touch. you sink into his touch, a tear slipping onto his thumb.

but you believe him, amongst all of the blood and ruin. you know he’ll do all he can to keep you from harm from this day on, be it caused by him or another. because he’ll never survive seeing you like this again.

“let’s go home.” daniel kisses your blood stained cheek, starting up the car and taking you away from the worst of the night. little does he know, you’re already home. home is wherever he is.

dolly!! 🧚 i know you sent a few other requests before this and i will get to them but i wanted to write this from the minute it came into my inbox

#🍾 ﹐ becca hits 1k!#🌙 ﹐ drabbles.#formula 1 #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #daniel riccardo imagine #daniel ricciardo x reader #daniel ricciardo blurb #daniel ricciardo drabble #daniel ricciardo #daniel ricciardo imagine #daniel riccardo x reader

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dr3amofagame · 1 month

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Sixteenth Day Event Prompt:

Anticipation & Survival

woo :D was able to participate this time with a little fic, hopefully this means i'll have the time to try and write more consistently again :') hope you guys enjoy 2.8k words of c!Dream being Normal and Fine and c!Sam being absolutely miserable.

---

The prison is working out well.

Dream spins the clock. The background is mostly a sunny blue sky, with the slightest creep of dark blue rotating in along the right. The sun is a bright dandelion yellow. It’s afternoon. Maybe two, three o’clock. He’s been tracking the days by sunset, when the clock is split in equal halves of blue and navy. Ranboo visits too, to corroborate the time, but it’s a good habit to keep track while he can. It’s been seven days. A whole week.

Besides Ranboo, there’s been one visit. Tommy. He’s seen three people, since being put in here. Tommy, Ranboo, and Sam. He’s eaten twenty potatoes. Counting is mundane, but so is everything now. There isn’t much to do in prison. Just sweat, and stare at lava, and stare at obsidian when that makes his eyes hurt, and wait for Sam to come in and check that he’s not been doing anything stupid, and wait for visitors, and eat and drink and sleep. It’s not a big room. He wouldn’t say it’s a particularly small one, either. The ceiling’s a little low, and there’s not anywhere to run, of course, but there’s plenty of room to pace and sit and lie down straight and he can sit down on the chest fine without hitting his head on stone. It’s not like he’ll need much space to carry out any plans in the foreseeable future. The cell is absent of certain comforts—a cot, for one, for obvious reasons—but once you get used to that, and the food, and the heat, it’s really not that bad. It’s not like he’s any stranger to roughing it.

From a certain point of view, it’s almost relaxing. Sam is predictable. Almost more of a clock than the clock he’s given him, which is half the reason Dream throws it in the lava at all; Sam is reliable. His reactions are reliable. He gets food delivered twice a day, once in the morning, once at night. The nightly visit is accompanied by questioning, and occasionally Sam comes into the cell around midday to interrogate him too. Dream cooperates. Why shouldn’t he? He’s already spilled his whole plan to everyone on the mountain, gloated to Tommy, who has surely run his mouth to everyone within earshot by now. There’s no point to him being cagey at this point; no, better to rave and rant about Tommy and exile and his plan in the mountain, better to let Sam get all the information he wants and watch his eyebrows knit in disgust. Sam raises his voice, Dream answers his questions, Sam storms off. He’s even started watching the clock, just out of curiosity, and Sam leaves his cell pretty much the same time every day. Clockwork.

There was one day when Sam didn’t come at all and Dream had—a moment, admittedly, embarrassing enough, just a string of disconnected thoughts about what would happen if the Warden of the prison suddenly dropped dead and died—but Sam had been right there the next day, looking more miserable than Dream has ever seen him. He made a quip about skipping work that made Sam snap at him; Dream takes it as a good sign, that the man guarding him seems to be more pained about the fact that he left him alone for a day than Dream was bothered about the disappearance of the single person responsible for every aspect of his life for the foreseeable future. That’s Sam, though. Dependable. Dedicated. Never one to not take his job seriously. If Dream put Sapnap in charge of the prison, he’d probably starve to death before the first month was up, but Sam looks like he’d rather fall on his own sword than leave Dream alone for a full twenty-four hours again; Dream has it in him to feel bad that he’s putting the guy to work for the sake of his own vacation. Just, a little bit.

Back to his point. The prison is relaxing. Really. It’s boring, sure, but obviously he expected that; he’s never had so little to do before. He wakes up at night (he’s been attempting to sleep at nighttime, just because the light apparently is supposed to mess with you, but his sleep schedule has been shot for months so it’s not like it really matters to him all that much) with his brain racing, grasping for a list of tasks to do, only to come up empty. It’s a bit of a marvel. He thinks it’s funny. Yeah, brain, he’s in his—vacation arc. They’re doing nothing. Absolutely nothing. Just like they planned. Nobody’s getting into this place to kill him, not without smacking face-first into, like, a billion security protocols, not without dealing with Sam’s workaholic Warden schtick on their ass. He’s even getting food hand-delivered to him. Full service! Or something.

He spins the clock again. Tommy gave him books to write. Sam flipped through them, asked questions, Dream answered. He’s not writing answers for them. He might throw them in the lava, if Sam doesn’t just confiscate the damn things; Dream knows he wants Tommy nowhere near him. Fair enough. Maybe he can write some long-ass manifesto about how much he wanted Tommy’s discs for Sam to chew on, if he gets bored enough. He laughs a little at the thought as he thinks it—okay, yeah, nah. He’s not at that point yet.

He lies down. Horizontal. The ground is hot, but everything’s hot, and he’s getting used to it at this point; better hot than cold, honestly. He’d rather sleep here than out in the snow. The ceiling is a plane of unbroken black stone. Dream raises his hand, splays out his fingers. His nails are starting to get long. Nothing to file them down with in here…teeth it is. Whatever. He lets his hand fall back to the ground, sighing. His eyes glance over at the clock.

Barely any time has passed. Still hours before Sam comes back. Dream bites back a low groan. Fine, fine, the boredom is getting to him. A little bit. He’s not surprised—it’s not like he’s ever done well with sitting still—but it’s still, annoying. He waves his arms and legs like he’s making a snow angel in the obsidian. Or doing jumping jacks. He should do jumping jacks, maybe. He’s got a basic workout routine to do daily—or several times a day, when there’s nothing else to do (there’s always nothing else to do, but whatever), but he’s not in the mood for it right now.

He clicks his tongue, just to hear himself. He talks to himself, sometimes, but he has to be careful what he says. Not that it’s not a good thing to keep up, though, for the madman routine. It’s much better to talk to himself when he knows he has an audience, muttering Tommy, Tommy, Tommy in those minutes before Sam enters his cell. Fun, even. Sometimes he writes out evil speeches to give in his notebooks, burning the pages in the lava before Sam arrives. He shouldn’t get reckless with it or anything, pushing the things too far past the point of absurdity, but at this point he could probably get away with saying—just about anything. He could blather on about how he wanted to keep Tommy in a cage and play his dumb little discs to him all day until he goes insane, and Sam would write all of that down in his—book with his face twisted up under his helm while Dream tries not to break down laughing and give away the whole ruse. Not that laughing doesn’t work out for him either, to be fair. He’s gotten pretty good at the villain laugh.

Dream stands up. He looks at the clock mounted in the item frame; the sliver of night sky on the right side has grown just slightly wider, enough to expose the slightest edge of one white-dotted star. Still hours before sunset. He pulls it off the wall, watching the background tick ever slowly forward. The gold gleams, polished to a mirror finish.

Sam’s craftsmanship is unmistakable, even with something as small as this. He almost feels bad for what he’s about to do.

He holds the clock up to the lava, keeping it in his hand for as long as he can handle it before the heat against his palm makes him shove it entirely under the flow, watching it disappear through strings of smoke. The crackling noise fades back into the normal hisses and pops after a few seconds; the smoke will linger for longer. Dream stands there, the lava’s heat at his face. It hurts his eyes to look at.

…whatever.

He backs away. Then claps, brushing his palms against each other. Clock’s been burned. Another item of his daily itinerary handled—not that he does this daily. Has to keep Sam on his toes, right? The crazy prisoner isn’t supposed to be the predictable one, not like the ever-punctual Warden. This is—important, he’s decided, for his image. Well, not important, maybe, but it’s calculated. Beneficial. Nobody sane takes the one thing they have in their cell and destroys it repeatedly for literally no reason. Sam’s prisoner, the crazy guy that was trying to take over the server, isn’t sane. No one questions why an insane guy tries to control everyone with a bunch of shit he doesn’t even have, why he thinks he can keep someone locked up in a two-by-one box with a couple of iron bars, why he listens to a guy threatening to kill himself when he can literally raise the dead. It’s all set dressing. Method acting. One or the other, or both; it’s not like he’s ever watched a real play in his life. All that matters is that everyone thinks he’s crazy because no one asks a crazy guy why he’s acting crazy, and crazy people do stuff like obsess over stupid pieces of vinyl and talk to themselves and destroy their own shit for no reason.

(Which probably makes Tommyinnit a crazy person, ha.)

Sam will come back. Soon. He will bring potatoes with him, and investigate the cell, and see the missing clock. He will complain. He will threaten Dream, rave about the destruction of prison property, telling him that he won’t replace it. He will question him about Tommy. And tomorrow morning, a new clock will be put in its place. Honestly, Sam would probably give himself an aneurysm if he had to look at the cell with one of its components missing. It seems like the kind of thing to bother him too much not to set straight. And tomorrow, maybe Dream will throw the clock into the lava again, and maybe he won’t. He’ll see.

He’s the one that decides, in the end.

—

Sam checks his comm again as he waits for the lava to fall, head already pounding. He’s had an on-and-off migraine ever since his night with the Egg, and the current wave shows no sign of abating any time soon. If he could have it his way, he’d be back in his bed, Fran curled up beside him, where it’s dark and quiet and comfortably cool instead of sweating half to death in a suffocating suit of full armor. Instead, he’s nursing a headache that only gets worse with every notification he reads off the log pulled up on his screen; he doesn’t even bother counting the string of [Dream tried to swm in lava] that appears under today’s date. The fact that it’s a seemingly longer list than the days previous does little to help his already bad mood.

He still has no idea what Dream hopes to achieve by doing this, besides attention. Not that Sam has even been trying to give him that, these days; he visits twice a day, once at 9 the morning and once at 6 in the afternoon, and then leaves the prisoner to himself. Sam doesn’t answer to him. He’s not going to get the same reaction he got the first time he pulled this stunt, when Sam had rushed into the cell in the middle of the night, heart in his throat after running halfway across the server, only to find Dream waiting for him in the middle of his cell with his mask smiling back mockingly. If he’s hoping to stir Sam into a panic again, he’s sorely mistaken. But still Dream continues. He’s probably just doing it to get a reaction out of him. He probably thinks that’s funny.

Dream is standing, waiting for him. Muttering to himself, he thinks he can hear. Sam pulls the lever for the bridge and steps on it, his sword in hand, wanting to get this visit over and done with as quickly as possible. He might sleep in the Warden’s quarters here, tonight, just to avoid the commute back to his base. Yeah, that sounds good. All he has to do is survive one conversation with Dream.

The prisoner has stopped talking to himself by the time Sam steps into the cell, lifting his chin as he looks at him.

“Hi, Sam.”

Sam makes a vague noise of acknowledgement, not more than a low grunt. His eyes scan the room from left to right, stopped prematurely by the sight of the empty item frame mounted on the wall. His headache grows exponentially worse in an instant, a stabbing pain hammering itself into the back of his skull. He grits his teeth.

He should’ve expected this. He knows he should’ve expected this.

“Prisoner.”

“Sam,” Dream replies, his smile audible in his voice. Sam closes his eyes, a prayer flitting across his overtaxed mind. God help him.

“Where’s your clock.” What’s the point of asking, even. Dream sways from foot to foot.

“I burned it?”

“Why did you do it. Again.” Dream shrugs. Sam steps forward, shoves him back. “Don’t be so dumb, Dream.”

The prisoner barely seems to react, his back hitting the wall. His voice is nearly sing-song. “Ohhh. I got you though.”

Sam wishes, not for the first time, that he didn’t have the work ethic that keeps him from coming into the cell drunk. Surely the prisoner cannot be any more infuriating to handle with the help of some alcohol. He holds the prisoner by his jaw and knocks his head back against the wall, gauntlet digging into the pale skin under the bottom edge of his mask.

“What is wrong with you!” Dream struggles, slightly. Sam kicks at his legs. “Don’t move. Answer my question.”

“Let go.”

“How many times have I told you not to burn the clock, Dream!” He knocks the back of his head against the wall, harder this time. The struggling stops. “Do you think it’s funny? I don’t have to replace your clock!”

Dream sounds a little dazed when he replies, arms crossed at his chest. “I just wanted to burn it. So I did.”

“That’s ridiculous. What is your problem.” He shakes his head by his jaw, once, then lets go, giving himself enough distance to swing a fist into Dream’s side, making him double over. He scoffs at the sight, anger white-hot. He knows he shouldn’t be letting the prisoner get to him. Knows that Dream is only doing this to mess with him, mess with him the same way he messes with everyone, trying to get into his head. His skull feels like it’s being split apart.

Dream stands up straight again. All Sam can see is the flat, smooth plane of his mask, that smile, unchanged. His hands, knotted into tight fists at his sides, shake. The heat pulsing behind his eyes feels like rage, and also almost feels like he’s going to cry.

He can’t do this. The realization is abrupt, but sure. Not tonight, not with this headache, not with Dream. He can’t go through the same song and dance, can’t sit here and examine the cell and give the prisoner his potatoes and go through questioning for an hour, can’t spend the rest of his night going over his words with a fine-toothed comb looking for the nuggets of truth hidden in the midst of the prisoner’s crazed ramblings. Hasn’t he done enough? For the whole server, for everyone, day after day he stands and faces the monster before him and day after day he stands strong; retreating now feels like weakness, but he can’t. He honestly, truly, can’t. He ignores the weight of the potatoes in his inventory and turns.

“Sam?” Dream speaks again when he’s reached the edge of the cell, sounding slightly winded. “What are you—?”

Sam pearls across the gap, slamming the lever to lower the lava wall as soon as his vision clears. Tomorrow, he will be the Warden of Pandora’s Vault. Tomorrow, he will stand toe-to-toe against the one he has been entrusted to keep and stand firm. Tomorrow, he will do as he must, as the one responsible for the survival of everyone and everything he holds dear.

Today, it’s just too much. He looks back to a wall of unbroken lava, only able to stare at it for a few seconds before turning away.

#my asks !!#writing !!#my writing :D #the sixteenth #sixteenthdayevent #everything is going fine. :)

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im-captain-basch · 1 year

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Shit shit shit shit shit I had a thought regarding Bendy and the Dark Revival. It's kind of a stretch and I'm sure someone else has probably already thought of this, but just in case know there are major major spoilers ahead, especially pertaining to chapter 4, its character reveals, and the ending of the game.

I apologize in advanced if this seems a little disconnected.

OK, so I'm sitting here watching SuperHorrorBro play BatDR when he gets to the part where Audrey runs into Henry. He mentioned that playing the End reel would start the cycle over again, as we all know it does, but I felt his wording is peculiar:

"Everything begins again. Completely new."

Obviously we know from checking out Joey's house at the end of BatIM that Joey had drafted up several scenarios we don't necessarily ever actually see. It's possible that these scenarios are each seperate events within different loops, meaning we get such beautiful things as the Butcher Gang having fun at Bendyland and even Sammy and Bendy going fishing, most likely on the docks of the Lost Harbor. However, we don't actually get these different scenarios, either because of the limitations of the game or because Joey hasn't been able to fully implement it into the world of the Ink Machine.

Why is this important, well, there's a specific part of these drafts that fans have long speculated about, mostly in regards to whether or not it's an alternate ending that can be triggered.

This is one of the most interesting pieces from the draft, because it presents a scenario where Bendy is able to break free of the cycle ending, or at least ends it for Henry or manages to keep the cycle they're in from ending. It also makes sense if we consider what was said earlier about Joey's drafts being different loops too. I think this was something a lot of us wanted, but we haven't gotten it. At least, we didn't until Bendy and the Dark Revival.

I've seen full walkthroughs of the game. I know how the game ends, and as a result, it's very interesting to me that this is the one of those scenarios that makes a return.

The loop Audrey is caught in is certainly different, and that can be attributed to Wilson's interference to the world of the Ink Machine, but it does still run concurrent to Henry's story. For example, Wilson's Keepers are able to capture both Henry and Sammy during their chapter 5 altercation in the Lost Harbor, which is how we end up meeting Henry in BatDR to begin with.

Something I want to point out about Audrey real quick, if you're into spoilers or at least have knowledge of what happens in the game: she's a creation of Joey's through the Ink Machine, half flesh and half ink. When the ending comes and the final boss is defeated, the Ink Demon takes her and together they form a creature who looks very similar to Beast Bendy, but especially to the form we see in Joey's drafts:

My thought process here is that... in the end, we did get a "Bendy wins" scenario, just not quite in the way we expected back in 2018. It's been right under our noses since chapter 5 came out.

Audrey takes the reel, holds it in the monstrous hand of her and Bendy's combined ink form, and plays it on a projector.

Technically speaking, Bendy, though combined with Audrey, does indeed win.

They win against Wilson, and against the darker aspects of Bendy himself, who, if the last thing we see before the credits roll is any indication, may now be able to lead as normal a life as an ink creation can.

The cycle will start again, as it always does, and completely anew as Henry had said. This time, however, perhaps Bendy winning isn't the bad ending we thought it was four years ago.

(IDK man, perhaps I'm reading too far into it.)

tl;dr we probably got the Bendy wins scenario but not how we expected or wanted and it probably was never a bad ending to begin with

#bendy and the dark revival spoilers #batdr spoilers #batdr #bendy and the dark revival #theories #batdr theories #bendy and the dark revival theories #batim #bendy and the ink machine #audrey batdr #henry batim #henry stein #ink demon #bendy spoilers #bendy the dancing demon

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twinklelilstarkey · 2 years

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𝐌𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 {𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟗}

Words: 9.7k+

Summary: Your regrets hunt you every second of the day, so, you decide to do something about them.

Warnings: No Spoilers! Rich people being their privileged selves. Fem!Reader [no descriptions of race or body type]. Overthinking. Being slightly rude. Hiding stuff from your parents (?). SMUT (p in v, oral [fem receiving], no condom but she takes the pill). Slight body insecurity (Bruce). A large moment of romanticizing stalking.

Parts: Prologue, One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten [Series Masterlist]

You wish you could say you don’t know how long it has been since it happened. You’ve tried everything to disconnect yourself from both him and what happened, but, no matter what, it never seems to go away. No matter how many times you toss and turn in bed, how many times you blast out music in your free time to not leave your brain in ever complete silence, or how many times you try to talk yourself out of this mess when in front of the mirror.

It’s supposed to get easier with time, you know that. Every time you wake up, you expect to wake up better and more refreshed, yet that feeling never comes. No matter how many hours you wait for it to appear while staring at the ceiling.

You’ve tried to reorganize what happened that night. Rearranging it to make him out to be the villain. Or imagining a different ending where he would be the one to hurt you and not the other way around.

You wanted to hurt him, you had to. And no matter how much that hurts to admit or to think about, it worked. Or, at least you like to believe it did.

It has been 2 weeks. Today marks the 14th day, and no matter how much you want to celebrate how your words absolutely worked, you just can't. You agreed with yourself and your harsh reality while on that argument, but you surely hurt yourself by saying some of the things.

It has crossed your mind once that, maybe, you created all of those arguments to throw on his face because you were actually just arguing with yourself at one point. Such things as “we are nothing” or the actual small bit of time you two have spent together. All of it was true. The two of you acted as if you were separating from a year-long relationship, not a night long.

And no matter how much you tell yourself, if anything, this is just a confirmation of it all. You’ve always liked to believe this ‘crush’ you had on him, while just a kid, was a phase, but really you couldn’t have been more wrong.

Underneath all the hurt and hatred that you once had for him. All the negative feelings that you had felt for him for letting it all happen to you that night, years ago. It destroyed the version you had created of him. A good version. A talkative, caring, and loving one. One, of course, that has nothing to do with the real him. And the truth is that you can’t blame him for not being the kind of guy you imagined him to be. You were a kid. A kid that has everything handed out to her, and even at times, laid it out on your own palms. And maybe that is why you hated him so much too because he didn’t meet up your expectations.

At some point, after it all happened, you were fine with it. You didn’t hate him anymore and you don’t exactly remember why. You were out of the city and there was nothing there. Only when you came back, the feelings sort of came back too. You couldn’t see him anywhere. He wasn’t in events, nor dinners or parties. And that hatred was there again. But there also was your mother’s voice.

Knowing what he told you on that night, weeks ago, about all of this, his words didn’t help with making you wish to destroy everything that there ever was between you and him. What he said might have been something that would confirm some sort of interest on his part when it comes to you. But, maybe, that would be assuming. That could be only your own mind trying to trick you into thinking that he likes you just as you do him.

And, no matter how much it hurts, you don’t think he’s even in the shadows anymore. He’s not near you, exactly how you asked him to do. And you have absolutely no resentment or hate towards him because all you hate and all you despise is yourself. You are the person that has destroyed everything and constantly tries to wipe away every bit of memory of Bruce’s presence. Especially one where he almost begs you to try and find a way where the two of you could work.

It had to be this way. You tell yourself these words constantly.

The door of the bathroom opens, and you snap back from your thoughts. You turn on the water and lay your warm hands under it, trying to bring yourself back to reality entirely before having to walk out again.

“Everything alright?” A voice asks.

You look at the mirror to see the reflection of who spoke and you notice that it’s just one of the wives that were seated at the same table as you.

Another business dinner, but at least this one has the closing hours of the establishment.

“Yeah, yeah.” You nod and offer her a quick fake smile, “Of course.”

She offers you a small smile as well before walking towards one of the cubicles. You continue to wash your hands and play it absolutely cool. You bring one of your wet and cold hands and lay it across the nape of your neck, begging for the coldness to snap you back and away from the madness of your own mind.

You did the right thing.

You walk over to the hand drier and the loud noise of the spraying air fills the bathroom. You stare at your own hands, moving them around until the liquid is completely dried off.

The door of the bathroom swings open again, and another woman from your table walks in. You can’t say you're a fan of her but you don’t even bother to lift your eyes much to her. She walks over to the mirrors near you and opens her clutch, taking out her lipstick.

You step away from the drier and, as you are turning to leave, her voice is heard.

“You seem quite upset tonight.” The woman in the mirror tells you, “Are there any troubles in paradise?”

You don’t answer her. You continue to walk over to the door of the bathroom and act as if that question wasn’t even directed at you. You pull the door open and walk back to the restaurant. As you walk towards your table, where everyone sits and talks in peace and smiles on their faces, your eyes bring you to a certain figure in the room.

A man. He’s at another table with his back to you, as he must’ve just stood up. You watch him as you try to get a good look at him. Dark hair and pale skin. It’s quite embarrassing how you found him in the room so easily. You watch him as you continue to stride back to the table and your eyes are absolutely glued while your mind seems to have gone blank.

He moves one of his hands as he speaks to those at the table, and you get to your chair. You take your eyes off him just to give the people at the table near you a quick smile, and as you bring back your eyes to the man in the distance and take back your seat, the man has turned his head to speak to someone else.

Disappointment washes over you right as you see his face. You’re not even sure why you expected Bruce to be here. Yet you can’t help but feel embarrassed with how quick your heart is now beating, or even how much you’ve stared at the poor and random man.

You lean on your chair in absolute defeat and bring a hand over your forehead. You smooth it in frustration and as your hand lowers to your eyebrows, you use the opportunity to close your eyes for a bit. Would it even surprise anyone that you haven’t been able to sleep all that well? God, you will rip yourself to shreds one day.

You continue to act as if you're rubbing your aching forehead and, as you do it, your mind is constantly going where you beg it not to go.

A warm hand is laid over your shoulder and you open your eyes, pulling your hand away from your face. You look up at the person to find the man sitting beside you, maybe in his 50s or so, not your business partner but it might be one to any of the guys at the table.

“Can I help you?” You ask him, making him lift his hand from your shoulder at such speed anyone would think you either hit or bit him.

“Just wanted to make sure you’re alright.”

You take a deep breath after his question and sit straighter on your chair. This is going great. You absolutely do not look like you’re falling apart in front of everyone, of course not. You’re fine, just a little stressed and a little frustrated. All you need is a good night of sleep and nothing else. You will finish this dinner, go home, lay in your bed, and sleep. You’re fine.

You. Did. The. Right. Thing.

“I’m fine.” You tell the man and then notice your aggressive tone, “Just have a big headache.”

The man seems to have understood your change in mood and tone when you spoke and announced your pain. He gives you a short nod and even says a little ‘you could try to see if any of the ladies at the table have some medicine’, in which you just told him that you already took something to help you out.

You goddamn wish.

You grab your phone from your bag and decide to look through it as a distraction while everyone speaks of nothing but themselves around the table. You scroll through it, trying and almost pleading in your head to find someone to talk to or something to look at to serve as a good enough distraction.

You don’t even have his number. He had said it 2 weeks ago. You two haven’t even done the talk to achieve each other’s number. How could you be feeling like this when you haven’t even done that?

But he also said he cared for you. Too much, in fact.

Your hand tightens around the phone and you lock it once more. You lift your head, trying to get a good look at everyone around you. All as your mind pleas you to find something. Some people look back at you once you lock your eyes on them but that only serves you the opening of their mouths to start a conversation, so, you always look away.

Your fingers play with the fabric of your dress as you can assume you must look completely insane. Staring at people for long enough for them to notice and then looking away. And, possibly, even having some sort of expression which can only show your lack of a good mood.

The ladies from the bathroom come back together and one of them can’t help but look over at you as she takes back her seat.

One more second of your mind going a mile a second and of your heart aching with all that you keep inside, you pull your chair back. Everyone’s attention is gathered towards you. It pulls them out of conversations just to see what could possibly be the reason why you are getting up once more.

“I’m feeling a bit sick.” You tell only one person - the one business partner that thought of this damned dinner in the first place -, “I’m sorry, but I feel like it’s better if I go home.”

You don’t leave much for discussion as right as you say that, you get up from your seat, push your chair back in place and start walking towards the exit. Everyone at the table just stares in pure shock. You’re not ever one to leave the dinners early. Let alone when the dinner is not even complete.

They watch as you grab your jacket from the man at the front and swing your arms through the sleeves, yet never really stopping your steps at any point. You continue to walk through the entrance of the restaurant and through the line of people that await a table, quickly closing your jacket and disappearing into the crowd.

“That was weird.” One of the men says to the group, which all together let out a chuckle.

“She did tell me that she was feeling unwell a bit ago.” The man you had previously talked to comes to your defense.

“Do you think it was the dinner?” One of the wives asks.

“Maybe.” The one that organized the night shrugs, “I’ll talk to her in the morning and check on her. There’s no problem.”

You walk down the steps of the restaurant and go to the crowded streets. Your heart is beating rapidly and your breathing is slightly uneven. You outstretch your hand in the air, and a taxi quickly stops in front of you.

Your driver is not too far from you. You watch him as he leans back in the car and peacefully smokes his cigarette, completely unaware that you are already out of the restaurant. You pull the door of the taxi open and sit comfortably in the back, saying the address with ease.

You are not even sure you are doing the right thing anymore, but it’s not like you will rest without doing anything of the sort.

The taxi drives past your driver and he stays in place, completely unaware. The speed is not quite enough to make you finally relax in the backseat of the car, but you do notice how your heart is not going any slower. What are you thinking about doing, exactly?

You truly wish you knew how to answer the question but you did not have any ideas. You surely should have thought about it when you were staring at people around you. It would have spared you some of the panicking breaths that you are taking.

Alright. You can ring in, go up the elevator, and then… what? Then what? Good God, where do you even start? “I haven’t been able to sleep for 2 weeks after completely shattering your heart, so I just left my duties to come and fix it even though I have no fucking idea if you actually like me”?

It’s sad how quick you were to consider it an actual start of the conversation.

You look out of the window for a bit and notice you still have a few minutes to think it all through, as well as you even have time to stop and just go home. You could always leave it for tomorrow…?

What a disappointment.

Your mind quickly studies the best and the worst outcome to all of this as you even consider trying to go into the building. You don’t even think you know what you’re doing. All you know is that you want to fix things, to live with no guilt. But is that truly just it? Guilt? Is that all you want to talk about and alleviate for your heart?

All of your feelings for him, even though embarrassing due to the lack of time you two actually have spent together, have been made clear to you right as you opened that door, weeks ago, and he wasn’t there. The pain you felt and even the tears that appeared in your eyes, you couldn’t go over it again.

But what if he doesn’t care for what you have to say? What if you totally misinterpreted his words and nothing of what he said meant what you thought?

You lay your hands outstretched in your lap, trying to ease up the shaking. You bring a hand to your forehead, smoothing it to actually find something to soothe yourself with. You close your eyes again and try to keep your breathing steady. It’s almost as if someone has just pumped adrenaline into you. Nothing feels real.

The taxi driver takes a few turns you aren't expecting, and as you are distracted trying to understand where you are, reality sets in. He took a fucking shortcut. What taxi driver takes a shortcut anywhere? Is this really how your luck is going as of right now?

Now that your time is limited, you try again to close your eyes and focus on what to say: what to apologize for, what to admit (and what not to admit to him - to spare yourself some real embarrassment). The words are almost foggy in your own brain. You can only guess it’s coming from the panic. And while you try to focus on the start of your sentences again, the car stops.

You raise your head quickly in fear and see that you are right in front of the Wayne Tower. You pay for the taxi and get yourself out of the car before the driver picks up on how stressed you are. The silent street’s silence fills your ears, and you wish you could say that it relaxed you but, if anything, it just made it worse.

You drag your heeled feet to walk. Your legs are shaking and you hide your hands underneath your arms while having them crossed in front of your chest. You get to the door and click a button, letting the door unlock for you.

The lady at the front desk raises her eyes at you, and you hate how she widens them, probably already knowing who you are. The door closes behind you and you let your arms fall by your sides, all while walking over to her.

“Is Mr. Wayne home?” You ask her.

She stares at you silently for a bit. Her face is in complete shock, and your heart aches as it hammers on your chest. You lay your hands over your jacket by your sides, trying to calm yourself down.

“Y-yeah, yes. He is.” She tells you, practically having the force the words out of her mouth.

“I would like to speak to him, please.”

“Of-of course, ma’am.” She says as she picks up the phone right in front of her.

You look over at the elevators and close your eyes for only a second to try to control your breathing. The girl’s voice startles you as soon as someone picks up the phone, and you bring your eyes back to her.

Her eyes do lift to meet yours but she widens them again in shock, not expecting to catch you already staring. She answers in quite long sentences, but your hearing is becoming more and more impaired as panic decides to kick in even further.

She puts down the phone and offers you a very short smile. You expect her to open her mouth and tell you how you cannot go up as he would not like to see you. But you get the opposite.

“They’ve said you could come up.” She tells you.

You nod at her and say nothing back to her at all. You, when out of sight, brush your hand over your chest and click on the button to call the elevator. When inside, you tap the familiar number of the floor you were on almost a month ago.

And then her words set in your mind.

They? Who the hell are ‘they’?

Much to your distaste, the doors open at the floor you so wish, not even a whole minute after you had come into the metal box. The familiar look of the apartment you had just run away from, some time ago, appears, and you walk out of the elevator. You smooth your hands over your coat, and a figure of a woman appears in the corner of your eye.

It’s an old woman, you’re not quite sure how old she is. She’s the first one of the two of you to speak.

“Bruce will be here in just a minute.” She tells you before pulling at her smile. “Would you like anything while you wait?”

“Oh no, thank you.” You tell her, trying to seem as nice as you can.

She gives you a short nod and disappears from exactly where she had just come from. You can only assume she’s the maid of the Wayne’s household.

You stare at what’s around you as you wait, trying to get yourself distracted. The gothic look of the house is one to get someone’s attention. You’re not sure why you expected anything else from Bruce, really.

A few ground floors down, Alfred steps out of the elevator. Bruce doesn’t move from his chair. He had planned on getting out of the Tower less than an hour ago since it is already very much dark out, but he didn't. He had decided to finish up the stuff from the night before instead.

The older man steps closer to Bruce, and he looks over his shoulder.

“What is it?” He asks, with a tone seeming more bored than anything else.

“You didn’t see her in the cameras?” Alfred asks, and Bruce answers with a frown. “She’s upstairs and she wishes to talk to you.”

Bruce almost reaches for his arm to pinch himself, but he doesn’t. He stands from his chair and closes the notebook in front of him. He has never been more thankful that he didn’t put his suit on the right as he planned to leave. That thing is hell to get out of.

He’s in the elevator before he even realizes it.

You continue to stare at the walls, finding them weirdly calming to look at, yet your feet stay neatly attached to the ground. Almost as if you are too scared to move. You can sometimes hear the woman’s footsteps throughout the home, and now that you’ve thought about it, you can only assume she’s one of the voices you heard on that early morning and way out of here.

New footsteps are heard through the hallways, and your breathing stops. They’re heavier and definitely not in the same rhythm as the ones from the woman before. You try to figure out where the sound is coming from, and almost as if in a flash, you see none other than Bruce appear from right where the woman had walked off.

You force yourself to start breathing again and stare at him. You decide not to stare for too long before opening your mouth.

“I need to talk to you about something.” You start, “Could we go somewhere else?”

“Yeah.” He nods.

He takes a step back, and you follow him with no hesitation. He never really turns his back to you and only really turns to face the direction you’re walking when you’re right by his side. You continue to have your hands by your side, brushing them on your jacket as Bruce stays right by you in a simple t-shirt, black pants, and boots.

Bruce, after some bit of walking, pushes a door open and lets you go into the room first. When you’re inside, he steps in after you, closing the door behind him. You stare at the awkwardly familiar bedroom and let out a quick sigh.

You’re with your back to Bruce, and he notices right as he looks at you that you are tenser than he has ever seen you be. He stares and says nothing about it. You haven’t moved just yet, and he doesn’t want to ruin whatever you are about to say.

“I uhm…” You start before finally turning to face him, “I wanted to talk to you about what I said before… on that night a few weeks ago.”

Your eyes finally lift up to his, and your breathing falters slightly. You brush your hand over your jacket again for no real reason, and Bruce sees it, breaking the eye contact to stare at your hand.

As he says nothing, you decide to continue.

“I’m sorry for what I said.” His eyes come back to yours, “I… I really didn’t mean to say most of the stuff I did. It was really, really stupid of me to say them.” Embarrassment grows in you as silence continues. “It’s… It’s not like I lied-” Fuck. “God, I shouldn’t say that.”

As you bring your hands to your head in desperation, a slight smile starts growing on Bruce’s face. He had his heart in his mouth ever since he got inside that elevator. He had done everything that you had told him to do. He stayed away. And, now, you were at his house to talk about something.

He found himself thinking about all of the worst things that could happen. Maybe you were going to ask him to stay away further. But, that is not what's happening. He is watching as you struggle to get words out while apologizing for what you said. He didn’t see this coming, not even in his wildest dreams.

“What I mean to say is that the things I said about business and whatever amongst that theme are true, and I really can’t say otherwise.” You try to explain in the best way you can, “I really just don’t want to make my family’s business fall because of some petty people that can’t accept that people like you and me enjoy conversing.”

“I understand that.” Bruce tells you, just in case it can make you relax even slightly.

You take your hands away from your head and stare back at him.

“And I was not being fair when I talked about… the other stuff.” You admit, hoping it will ease the pain in your chest, “I don’t know why I said those things, but I really just had to get you to hate me over something-”

“Didn’t work.” He whispers.

“What?”

“It didn’t make me hate you.” He explains, still at a low tone.

You open your mouth to say something but you close it again. Probably looking like a total fish, gaping its mouth for air. Whatever it is, it does pull on Bruce’s smile again.

“You are not making things any easier.” You tell him, a little bit of frustration in your voice.

He lifts his shoulders in a small shrug, and you can obviously tell the way humor covers his face. It doesn’t relax you, if anything, his expression absolutely terrifies you.

You take your eyes away from his, in hopes to get yourself to breathe a little better. His hair is a complete mess, draping over the sides of his forehead to the top of his cheeks. The darkness of his clothes and hair contrast with the lightness of his skin. He’s wearing a black t-shirt, which you need to admit that it is weird to the eye. You’re used to seeing him in suits or his clothes at night, and this is too casual.

His expression never changes, even after some more seconds of complete silence and consideration on your part. If you didn’t plan to confess even a bit of your feelings towards him, that plan's execution has nothing but doubled at this point. You’re even scared to open your mouth.

Can anyone even judge you for this? This conversation is already terrifying enough, and now someone just grinning at you makes you feel nothing but humiliated. Even when you haven’t done a bit.

Bruce, as anyone would, is completely oblivious to your thoughts. He continues to find the situation humorous because it seems like something straight out of his weirdest dreams. You’re apologizing and choking on your own words. Someone would surely pay to see this. And he means that in the nicest way possible.

The last few days for him weren’t as bad as yours. Bruce’s life is not exactly quiet and serene, he doesn’t have much time to think about stuff. When it happened and he had to drive off home, he felt furious. He didn’t want to talk to anyone and just went directly to ‘work’. On the next day, he stayed in the cave and dove head deep into whatever matters - where your name could not ever cross his mind.

No matter how much he struggled, he did it. He still thought about you and what happened that night, but his anger subsided, and he never brought himself to do anything. He stayed home in the hours that he was supposed to be watching you, changing what had come as a habit for years.

Yet it really was just a temporary stop. He may or may not have done it yesterday, and even the day before - but no one has to know that.

He, now, watches as you look nervously away from him and dig your hands in your coat pockets. He stares back at you, and you open your mouth to speak again.

“Yeah, I think I didn’t want to say anything else. I really just wanted to apologize for being rude.” You tell him, yet your eyes don’t meet him while you say that.

“Are you okay?” He asks you, making you have to look at him to answer.

“Of course.” You tell him, “Just had to get this out of my chest.”

You didn’t even let out a slight bit of anything that is in your chest. Your way to try to get everything under control just made it worse for you.

You begin to walk over to him, but Bruce’s hopes die in him when he notices that you have your gaze on the door. You want to leave. You’re not walking to him, you’re walking to the door.

He takes a step to the side and blocks your way out. You look back at him, and your heart, which had finally calmed down ever so slightly, goes back to his sped-up pace.

“What are you doing?” You ask him, not understanding why he would even begin to do such a thing.

“Not letting you out.”

“Why?” You ask him, frown in your face.

“We’re not done talking.” He shakes his head, yet it’s such a small movement you almost don’t see it.

You, now, much closer to him stare into his eyes while he stares down at yours and you feel your own throat closing. You don’t want to let any of your feelings out for him to hear, as it possibly would lead to him making fun of you for it.

No matter how childish that may sound, you need to bring yourself to understand that you almost don’t know the man.

“Do you have something to say?” You ask him, acting surprised.

“I may have.” He tells you, “Just a question…” You stay silent, “You said to me that this is not just about business, and yet all that you talk about, when it comes to us, business. Why is that?”

“It’s not easy to explain.”

“I have time.” He tells you with ease.

“Bruce, I don-”

“Unless it was a lie.” He adds, entertained with himself as you stare at him in the same way he had stared at you on that night, days ago, “And, in that case, our conversation is pretty much over.”

You bite your own lips and look away for a few seconds. You stare at the walls silently, trying to find a way to get yourself out of this in ways that aren’t ones that will haunt you for another night. You are starting to become more and more tired, not only sleeping-wise but with your own way of conversation and thought process.

“It was not a lie.” You tell him, bringing your eyes back to him and automatically feeling the words become harder to come out, “I just don’t see myself comfortable as of right now to talk about it.”

“Why?” He asks, “Why aren’t you comfortable?”

“Because you’re obviously making fun of me.” You tell him in a whisper, and the humor on his face is washed away.

“I’m not making fun of you.” He tells you.

“Then you will if I keep going.” You answer, “This is not something I can deal with as of right now, Bruce. I just want to go home.”

“So, what?” His smile comes back, “You came here to tell me you’re sorry but you don’t want to even stay to see if I forgive you. You also came here to, supposedly, let something out of your chest, but all you have said is a bunch of nothing… I don’t get it.”

You don’t answer him and he stares down at you.

“Why do you look mad?” He asks you.

“Because I am.”

“At me?”

“No.” You don’t even hesitate and take a quick deep breath. “I am pissed at myself and a bunch of other people, but you haven’t done anything for me to be mad at you.” You tell him, “Maybe a little, but not as much as everyone else.”

A smile comes back to his face as you say that, and you feel your own lips being manipulated as they pull themselves into the curve of a faint grin.

“Why are you mad at yourself, then?”

“Just have a habit of doing the most stupid things in the world and then point my finger at whoever is closest to blame them for it.” You shrug.

“When did you do that?” He asks in a whisper as if you two were sharing a secret.

You hesitate for a bit, but your heart pulls you to tell him, no matter how much your brain shouts to be in reason and away from whatever has started so suddenly in this conversation. Comfort.

“Getting close to you.” You tell him in a whisper as well.

“And that’s stupid?” He asks, and you nod, “Why?”

“I can’t be near you, Bruce.” You tell him, noticing how his eyes analyze your face while you talk, watching every bit that moves. “Ever.”

“Is this some sort of promise you made yourself?” He tries to guess, making your faint grin come back.

“I wish it was just that.” You tell him sincerely. “I can’t tell you the real reason.”

“I think you should.”

“And why is that?”

“I can help you out.” He tells you, and you look away to let out your complete smile, which stupidly appears at his whispered words.

Bruce watches as you hide your smile from him, but he watches it as well as cherishes it. You give your head a little shake and only look back at him when your smile has become nothing but a grin.

“I don’t think you can help me in this situation.” You whisper.

“You’re doubting my abilities or contacts?” He jokes, and you bite down your own smile, not wanting to fall for him even further.

“Of course not.” You tell him jokingly, “But I don’t even think I know you near enough to make such a pleasant observation of your judgment.”

“You can get to know me.” He whispers with no hesitation almost catching himself by surprise, “You know that, right?”

“I wish I could.” You whisper, “But I really can’t.”

The expression on his face makes the question.

“I can’t tell you.” You answer.

“But it’s not a personal reason?”

“No, of course not.”

"Then why do as you’re told?”

“Their opinions of me matter… to me.” You explain to him.

“Is it your parents?”

You don’t answer him nor do you look away from him this time. Bruce, as a lot of people do, knows how close you are to your parents, or, at least, seem to be. He doesn’t know how your relationship with them is, but ever since you made your first appearance to the cameras, you were clinging to your mother’s hand or father’s arm. As you grew up, you stopped being seen with them so much, yet they are still very much involved in business and in your weekly fancy dinners.

His perfect guess is exactly why you don’t hold back on your words anymore.

“They don’t like you.” You admit, “They have never liked you.”

“A lot of people don’t.” He answers, “Do you?”

“What?”

“Like me.”

You open your mouth to answer with something that would totally change the subject between the two of you but something stops you from doing so. The way he’s looking at you. The way his eyes have grown soft, and his expression has stopped being humorous. It's now completely serious and maybe even worried.

“Depends on the day.” You decide to ease the tension that has grown between you two. “Do you?”

He stays silent for a bit and, for a few seconds, all you hear is your heart in your ears, pumping blood as if you have just run a marathon.

“I’m afraid mine doesn’t depend on the day.” He finally says it.

Your heart bursts into fireworks, and your breathing falters. You stare at him after his confession. He didn’t even attempt to make a joke. He just said it.

You take your hands out of your pockets and break your eye contact for just a little bit. You try to take in deep breaths in a way that they don’t seem too noticeable to him, and then his voice comes back.

“They don’t have to know.”

“They will know.” You sigh, “They know everything.”

“Not everything.” He corrects you, “They only know what the media knows, and that is nothing.”

You look back at him and let his words get to your brain.

“We barely know each other.” You try to calm your own heart.

“We can get to know each other.” He tells you. “They don’t have to know.” He repeats.

You stay quiet, considering it, and time and time again your heart pulls you in to be closer to him, to accept what he’s telling you, or, at least, be close to him for just a while longer. All while your brain shouts for you to not be dumb and to know your priorities.

You two haven’t done much together, and yet the media already has things to talk about. Should you risk it even more? Because this is not even for the media’s sake, but for your parents' sake. They always know when your name is written on some page, even if it's just as a comparison to someone else in the business world.

Do you want to risk it being side by side with Bruce’s again?

“I don’t know.” You show your insecurity about the matter, “What if they find out?”

“They find out.” He shrugs, “We’ll have time to find a plan until then.”

“A plan?” You smile at him.

“Yeah, a plan.” He smiles back at you.

Your heart pulls you further in closer to him, and you stare at him for a little longer. Your skin fills with chills as you seem to only let reality set in, and your brain goes silent. You have done the right thing for years. You have done what only they want for years. Might as well do something for yourself at this point.

You lay your hand over the back of Bruce's head and pull him down into a kiss. Your lips touch and his hands come to you, grabbing onto your waist quickly and pulling you much closer to him. Your bodies are attached to one another, and your other hand lays over his cheek. As he is leaning down, the strands of his hair fall and tickle your cheek.

You smile into the kiss and Bruce unties your jacket to get his hands under it. His warm hands touch you over the thin dress, and your body erupts into a whole different wave of chills. He doesn’t hesitate in grabbing you with some roughness, unlike the last time.

Your fingers move through his strands of hair, and you cling to them. Your jacket falls to the ground in a soft sound, and your hand moves from Bruce’s cheek over to his shirt, clinging onto the dark fabric.

Bruce’s hands hold onto the fabric of your dress while having you flush against him. He pulls at the fabric bit by bit while his lips and tongue continue to move against yours. The fabric of your dress begins to move more and more up, and Bruce’s hands begin to move down and palm at the skin on the back of your thighs.

As the dress continues to be pulled more and more up from your figure, his hands continue to play over your soft skin. Your lips disconnect, and as Bruce leans down, his lips leave a trail of kisses to your jaw and then to your neck.

You almost expect reality to hit you right in this second and for it all to be a figure of your imagination, but it never happens. Bruce doesn’t evaporate, and neither do his words in the back of your mind. Or the way he confessed his feelings to you and you, practically, confessed yours to him. The way you are planning on having something behind your family’s back. And all of that while his hands touch you just like you have wished him to do… All of it feels overwhelming, but in the best way you could ever feel it.

Bruce begins to take a step forward, and you blindly follow him with a step back. His hands or lips never disconnect from you and, suddenly, you feel the bed hit the back of your legs. Before you can move to disconnect from him and lay down, Bruce does a last pull on the dress to get it over your ass, and his hands squeeze into the flesh.

You reconnect your lips back with his and lay your hands over his cheeks. One of Bruce’s arms circles your figure and pulls you closer to him again, while the other one begins to play with the zipper of the dress. He pulls it down slowly, and you pull away to help him get it off you.

Bruce looks down at you as you finish unzipping for him and finally pull the dress over your head. His breathing continues to be heavy as the fabric lifts and is thrown over to the side. You’re not wearing a bra, and his eyes are on every inch of your skin. You bring him back into the kiss, and Bruce is taken out of his trance.

You’re laid down on the bed, and Bruce hovers over you. You continue to kiss and the one hand that is not helping him hold himself up, moves from your shoulder to your chest, to your waist, to your hip, and to your thigh. He pulls away from the kiss and pulls back. You eye him, hating how he is still fully clothed, and ready to take another piece of clothing out of you.

Bruce’s gaze doesn’t ever leave you, and you almost smile at that. It seems as if he doesn’t even want to look away.

He takes the heels of your feet and you sit up to pull him down with you. You two smile before reconnecting your lips, and your hands cling onto his shirt, pulling it up to see if he gets the hint. Bruce hesitates before doing it. He doesn’t want you to ask about the scars. Last time, you didn’t exactly see them as you did not seem to care about anything on that other night, but he’s not sure tonight will be the same.

He does, at one point, pull his shirt over his head, but he doesn’t give you enough time to get a look at him, as he kisses you right away.

His hand comes to your hip, and you feel him hold onto the side of your underwear. He doesn’t pull it down just yet, as his hands only play with the fabric. His hand then begins to move and goes underneath the soft fabric.

You moan against his lips and Bruce pulls away to kiss your neck. One of your hands is lost in his hair while the other clings to his shoulder. Bruce’s fingers move in between your folds, and you almost feel your body oversensitive to his touch. Everything he does seems to feel double as good as you ever thought it would.

Bruce’s fingers move and start circling your clit. His movements aren’t in any way too quick or too light. He does a bit more pressure as he continues to move over it and you gasp right by his ear.

Bruce bites at the crook of your neck and pulls away, reconnecting your lips. You moan at the kiss itself, and he lowers his fingers finally to your entrance. He slides both his middle and ring finger and you react against his mouth. His ears are being blessed over and over again.

Bruce starts slow and with time he gets to move quickly. He is more than hard underneath his clothes, but he can’t help but only focus on you. His fingers begin to move quicker and the rough end of his palm lays against your clit, bringing the pleasure to another level.

Your kiss began to be more and more sloppy but the two of you do not seem to care. As Bruce’s fingers continue to move and touch you, your pleasure continues to rise. You almost feel lightheaded with how quick it takes you to already feel the familiar fire burn at the end of your stomach.

But Bruce, out of nowhere, pulls his hand away. You whine in confusion when he does it, and he pulls away from the kiss. He moves back as well and gets his hands on the sides of your underwear, pulling it down, you help him by moving your legs up, and the underwear soon flies across the room.

Bruce slides you on the bed and, before you could even say anything, he leans down, practically kneeling, and brings both of your legs over his shoulders. Your irritation from him pulling away completely disappears, and one of his fingers slides back inside you. Soon, without much wait, the warmth of his mouth is laid over your sensitive pussy.

You lay your head back, trying to control your sounds, and Bruce pulls his finger away to grab onto your hips. His mouth moves down to your entrance, and you lay your hand over your mouth, not wanting to sound too loud. His tongue enters you and with his hands, he pulls you impossibly closer to him. Then, his mouth moves up and finds your clit.

One of your hands moves to hold onto the sheets beneath you and the other one is over his hand by your hip. You bite your lip to stop yourself from letting out any sound too loud, and Bruce continues to lick, suck and move to all the right places.

His fingers come back, and his mouth stays by your clit as his fingers begin to move at the speed he just was previously. You bring your hand back to your mouth and try to stay as quiet as possible. Your fingers cling onto his hair and Bruce eyes you as you throw your head back and hold onto him.

Your body begins to burn all throughout, your orgasm beginning to creep much and much closer. Bruce’s fingers begin to speed up even further and as he restarts to suck on your clit, you almost feel like you’re going to explode.

Bruce feels your walls squeeze his fingers and his fingers become wetter. Your legs on his shoulders are tensing up and the sounds underneath your hand are becoming louder and louder.

His movements fasten the last time and his mouth sucks your clit much more harshly and you finally reach the peak of your pleasure. Bruce makes sure to not stop his movements as he lets you ride out your orgasm, and you moan against your hand. Your body reacts in some sort of warm chills as fire seems to move through your veins.

Bruce pulls his fingers off you, and your legs relax by his head, but his mouth doesn’t leave you for long. Your moans come back with a mixture of gasp over the overstimulation and sensitivity, but Bruce never stops, collecting all of your wetness as if his life depends on it.

When he pulls back, you move your legs from his shoulders and Bruce lays a kiss on your hip. You want to pull him up, but he continues to move slowly, leaving a kiss on each bit of skin he hovers over. He lays a kiss at the center of your chest, and you finally pull him towards your lips. You could taste yourself in his mouth and his hands get a hold of your waist once more.

“Please.” You let out breathlessly, not even sure what you’re asking for.

Bruce lays a kiss on your lips once more and your hands go to the waistband of his pants and boxers. He eyes you as you do all of it without sparing yourself a glance. His hand touches your cheek and you lay a kiss over his lips as well. He deepens the kiss and you slide your hand underneath his clothes. Bruce groans against your lips, and you fight your urge to smile.

Your hand wraps around his dick, and Bruce ignores how good your hand feels. You pull your hand away, much to his disappointment, and pull down his clothing. He leans back and helps you, and your eyes finally meet his body.

Your eyes curiously move over each and every single one of the scars over his torso, ones you're not sure you have never seen before. You don’t dare to open your mouth and ask about them, but your eyes run free as they look through every inch of his scarred skin.

Bruce is oblivious to your staring as it goes by so quickly, in just a second he is out of his clothes and back over you. You hide the staring so well, that not even the man that has been watching you for years can pick up your change in energy. You force yourself to not think much of it, as it will lead to nothing but a complete change of plans for the night. A change you’re not up to.

Your hands come back to his body and, soon, your lips reconnect once more. Your legs are by his hips and his hands are back to your sides, clinging onto your skin as if he cannot bear to be too far from it.

Neither of you want to waste any time, and as you two kiss, your hand moves down his torso. Your fingers feel the bumps from the badly healed scars and you feel Bruce tense over you, so you lift your hand and don’t do it anymore. You’re scared of making him feel in any way uncomfortable.

Your hand closes around his dick again, and Bruce groans against your mouth. You move your hand softly as you try to concentrate on the kiss, which seems to roughen with every second that goes by.

Bruce pulls away from the kiss, and you move your hand away, His hands slide down to your hips, and he moves you to how exactly he wants you. You gasp at the feeling of his cock touching your entrance, and you two let out simultaneous sounds once he slowly thrusts in.

The stretch is uncomfortable, but Bruce is slow and careful. As he moves, he leans back down to litter your skin with his lips all over again.

You cling onto him, this time, as intimacy grows with every bit of action between the two of you. When he pulls back from you and looks at you, he looks deep into your eyes.

Pleasure begins to substitute the discomfort in your body, and Bruce feels that as you begin to relax under him. He looks down as he begins to speed up his movements and watches his dick, now covered with your wetness, slide deep inside of you. The sight could not get any better than this.

Your moans begin to reappear in the silence, and he fastens and roughens his movements as he hears them. Your heart seems to explode at everything that he does. He focuses on you and how you’re feeling during the whole time you’re with him. Over and over again, he does what you like as if your well-being is something that he feeds out of.

His thrusts are rhythmic, and the sound of your moans and the slapping of skin is all that fills the room. Bruce’s arm that holds him over you is just by your head, and you cling to it as he moves. His other hand is by your hips. He feels his insides tighten each time you throw your head back in the bed whenever he hits a certain spot, or you bite your bottom lip to keep your sounds to a minimum.

Bruce’s groans of pleasure get to your ears as well, making your skin heat up and let pleasure become more and more intense. You hold onto his arm as if to ground you, while pleasure just seems to never exactly slow down.

You become louder as Bruce becomes rougher. He watches as you now lay your head over his arm and your nails stab onto his skin. Bruce’s hand at your torso moves over to your thigh by your waist and squeezes onto the soft flesh, feeling it as he always wants to.

Pleasure also begins to get the best of Bruce. His thrusts begin to become sloppier yet they don’t ever falter. He watches as you close your eyes and hum against the skin of his arm, making pleasure grow even further.

Bruce brings his hand from your thigh and begins to move right at your clit. You begin to be louder, and Bruce feels your walls squeeze around his dick. Your orgasm is already close once more. His fingers move easily over your clit, all of your wetness makes his movements with his finger easy and soft.

He does some pressure and, with a few more rough thrusts, your second orgasm finds you out of complete thin air. You can’t even hold your sounds in, moaning loudly, filling Bruce’s chest with pride. He doesn’t stop his thrusts as you come beneath him and cling further onto his arm.

He pulls away his hand and grabs onto your hips again, continuing to thrust into you to drive himself over to the orgasm that he also feels himself getting close to. You look at him with your hazy eyes and a blank mind, and he lets out some minor sounds of pleasure, looking down at you the whole time. You notice how his abs visibly tighten, and he gets closer to the orgasm.

You bring your hands to his cheeks and pull him into a kiss. He groans into your mouth louder, and your hands grab onto his strands of hair roughly.

Bruce finally reaches his orgasm and moans lowly into your mouth, his movements becoming very sloppy but enough for him to ride out all of the pleasure.

He presses a final kiss onto your lips and he eyes you.

“If this is how we get to know each other, is it quite a plan.” You let out breathlessly, making Bruce break into a bright smile.

“I know.” He jokes back at you.

You two smile at each other, and you release his hair from your hold. Your hands move over his broad shoulders and you feel some of the bumps underneath your fingers.

Bruce opens his mouth to say something, but, when your eyes come back to his, he shuts his mouth - as if melting at the sight of being under your stare. You bring yourself up on your elbows and lay a soft kiss over his lips. The softest kiss he has felt for a good few minutes.

You pull away and whisper to him about having to go to the bathroom. Bruce nods and moves away, but your glances stay glued.

Bruce watches as you move over to the bathroom and stares at all the clothes scattered on the bedroom floor. He finds himself absolutely lost in his own thoughts as he pulls his boxers back on.

You walk out of the bathroom again and casually grab his t-shirt from the floor, sliding it over your naked body gracefully.

You walk back to bed, and Bruce watches while you take a seat over his lap.

“You better not leave the bed tonight.” You tell him.

“Why? You’re gonna run off again?” He asks jokingly.

“Maybe.” You shrug, bringing your hands to his shoulders again, looking down at him, “Are you going to stalk me until I get back to bed if I do?”

He smiles at your words and you smile at him, influenced by him.

“Probably.” He nods, mocking a serious tone. “Do you want me to?”

“Sure.” Your smile stretches as you two continue to play along, “You do have to improve your stalking skills, though.”

Bruce’s arms wrap around your body securely, and he scoffs.

“How so?”

“You always stay on the other side of the street.” You tell him, bringing your hands to his cheeks and smoothing your thumbs over them, “Don’t stalkers get into people’s houses or something?”

He laughs shortly at what you say, and you smile proudly at the sound.

“You don’t think I can get into your house?” He asks.

You think for a second and, at this point, you’re not even sure if either of you is joking anymore. Your smiles are still over both of your faces but the tones sound more serious with each sentence you say out loud.

“No.” You tell him seriously, “I have good security.”

“Is that a challenge?” He asks with his smile, pulling you closer to him.

You chuckle at him and shake your head in disbelief.

“It better be.” You tell him before bringing your lips back to his.

Almost 2 hours of proofreading, and I really hope it was enough! I hope you enjoyed this!! I said I would emend your broken hearts <3

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coramatus · 1 year

Text

there were no instructions or fine print (part 8)

“To restore the lost, find my form and sacrifice yours”

That time Ingo got turned into a Sneasel because there were no instructions or fine print on the ancient mystical artifact

Based on ideas of the Transfer Error AU by @rosebloodcat on Tumblr

catching up

tw/cw: trauma flashbacks of body horror

One messy bandage change and a few choked down pills later, the three sit splayed out on the couch, utterly exhausted from what should have been a simple task.

Slumped in his seat and breathing heavily in dazed shock, Emmet looks like an explosion went off in his face. His messy gray hair is an even bigger mess and his sharply styled sideburns are completely undone. His sleeves have been pushed up to reveal arms sporting more than a few scratches and bites. Though some have drawn blood, all of them are relatively superficial.

Sitting beside Emmet, a thoroughly frazzled and rebandaged Ingo stews in utter mortification, his face buried in his claws.

He can’t believe himself! How had he completely lost it like that?? It was like his Sneasel side tore the controls from his human side, overriding all reason and sanity. It made no sense!

As Ingo replays the events in his mind, trying to figure out what happened, he feels a curled metal arm pat his back. Drawn from his anxious thoughts, he looks up to see Chandelure hovering close by. Though their flames are burning lower and dimmer than normal, their eyes are still bright and attentive, squinting clinically at his rebound chest.

“Does it still hurt?” their glass hums in worry.

“Yeah. A lot…” Ingo says, unable to keep a wince from his voice.

In his fleeing panic, parts of his healing injuries had reopened under the strain, blood quickly soaking through the gauze. It wasn’t bad enough to warrant a second hospital visit, but enough to require the application of a potion and extra dressing to stem the bleeding. Without the adrenaline, his side feels like it’s on fire, but the painkillers are steadily dulling it to more bearable levels. He tells Chandelure as much.

“Good. Maybe that will teach your Sneasel-brain not to fight it so hard next time,” they gently tease. A little more hesitantly, Chandelure continues, “Has that Sneasel-brain finally calmed down?”

“It’s better…” Ingo replies softly. Shaking his head in shame, he sighs, “I just can’t believe that happened. I thought I had a handle on everything.”

Up until that moment, Ingo didn’t think there even was a dichotomy. Despite the Sneasel body, he still felt very much like himself, even if he was more prone to biting and hissing. It seemed as if the two sides of himself were easily coexisting.

But this outburst has proven there’s more going on here. There is tension, he just doesn’t know the root cause of it.

He looks down at himself, his claws flexing in thought. At his best guess, his Sneasel body is young, about three to four months old; only halfway grown and unlearned in the world. To a developing mind, anything and everything poses both novel and frightening new experiences.

Was that the disconnect?

Could said baby Sneasel instincts misread the signals of a mature human mind? That maybe the memories of a seasoned adult human might cause an overreaction to ideas and actions the Sneasel side was unprepared for?

Wait, that didn’t make sense…

Of course, he’s only been at this for less than twelve hours. There’s so much he doesn’t know yet. Thinking about it, Ingo suddenly isn’t sure how his human and Sneasel sides are meant to interact, if at all. He’s setting down brand new tracks here and it is already proving a daunting task.

As Ingo works his way through his newest problem, Emmet finally scrapes together enough of his wits to speak again.

“Um, sorry to interrupt you guys…” he says demurely, his voice rough and his expression unsure, “Would it be alright if I spoke to Ingo privately, Chandelure?”

The two Pokémon exchange looks, unsure of what Emmet would need Ingo alone for. But Ingo nods to Chandelure in reassurance.

As Chandelure starts to reluctantly hover away with far less speed than strictly necessary, their glowing eyes turn to Ingo, their glass chiming with a reminder,

“If anything goes wrong again, just shout for us. We’re here for you.”

Ingo gives them a small grateful smile, chriping, “Thank you, Chandelure.”

As they make their way past Emmet, they come to a surprised stop when he reaches out to them.

“Thanks for your help,” Emmet smiles, his hand gently touching their glass. Leaning in, he cups his mouth and whispers conspiratorially, “I’ll get you an extra treat later.”

Chandelure’s eyes brighten and they twirl away in the air with a pleased chime. The quick tap of a button returns them to their Pokéball in a flash of red light.

With Chandelure secured, Ingo looks up at Emmet expectantly, his ears cocked in curiosity.

Emmet doesn’t speak, not immediately. He seems to shrink in on himself, his smile faltering as he bites his lower lip. His eyes focus on a hole in his sleeve that his fingers absentmindedly worry at. He doesn’t seem ready for this.

Reaching out, Ingo clutches his brother’s hand between his paws, squeezing gently to signal him to continue. He knows his message has been received when Emmet squeezes his claws in return.

Taking a deep breath, Emmet shifts his body to fully face Ingo. Smiling pensively, his voice is soft, hesitant.

“I… I am not sure where to start…” he murmurs, his eyes unable to meet Ingo’s as he searches for his words, “I just— I want to ask you… too many things.” His voice grows more strained and quiet as he continues, “There is so much I do not know. So much has happened to you. To us both.”

Even though he feels his ears pull back in worry, Ingo’s gaze does not wander from Emmet as he squeezes his hand again.

Swallowing thickly, Emmet clasps both hands over Ingo’s clawed paws, making direct eye contact as he openly begs,

“Ingo, tell me… please… What happened?”

Moisture gathers in the corners of Emmet’s eyes as he sniffs wetly, his face crumpling as years of pain bubble up in his chest. With a panging heart, his voice cracks and wavers as the words tumble from his lips,

“You just vanished. Where did you go? Why did you go? Was it… s-something I did? What have you been doing this whole time? Why are you a Sneasel? Did someone do this to you? Why?? Why did any of this happen?”

His breath hitches with a sob, unable to continue as he breaks down crying.

Ingo is immediately there on Emmet’s lap, trilling mournfully as he rubs his face against his brother’s cheek. At his touch, Emmet whimpers and wraps his small form up in a careful hug. He rests a hand on Ingo’s head, his fingers rhythmically stroking his soft purple fur. Closing his eyes, Ingo leans into the gentle petting.

The ache in their souls caused by their separation is all too clear. No more words are exchanged, the two holding each other in comfort, silent save for Emmet’s soft gasps as he weeps.

“I just don’t understand…” he hiccups, “None of this ever made any sense. There were never any answers…”

Ingo churrs in sadness, wishing he could have said goodbye before getting tossed into Hisui. At least then, Emmet would not be caught so tightly in this unknowing limbo.

Emmet deserves answers.

Ingo gives Emmet another cuddle before starting to wriggle out of his hold. Thankfully, his brother is quick to yield and Ingo is set free to search the space around them. He spots the whiteboard and marker within reach and retrieves them, quickly getting to work on answering the most important question of all. The sharp squeaks of the marker punctuate his furious scribbling before he thrusts the board straight into Emmet’s face.

Emmet blinks, taking the board with shaking hands and silently reading the message. He raises a hand to cover his mouth, fresh tears threatening to spill as he takes in Ingo’s words:

THIS IS NOT YOUR FAULT!!!

“N-Not my fault…” Emmet breathes out, his sight fixated on that line. His body seems to sag as he sniffles, scrubbing a sleeve over his wet eyes, a relieved smile slowly spreading across his face, “It’s not my fault… I—I was so afraid I drove you away somehow…”

Ingo shakes his head vehemently. Though he may not have remembered the specifics, he had always known in the back of his mind that he had been railroaded into Hisui, never having a choice in the matter. He crawls back into Emmet’s lap and butts his head against the underside of his chin, a reassuring purr rumbling through his body.

Though small, Emmet’s smile as he hugs Ingo again is starting to brighten into genuine joy. His smile only broadens as Ingo politely motions for the board. Letting go of his Sneaseled brother, Emmet hands the whiteboard back into Ingo’s claws.

The writing takes longer this time as Ingo has to think about how to answer Emmet’s flurry of questions that are already fading from memory. But he has the general gist of them and opts for concise answers:

IDK WHAT HAPPENED OR WHY B/C AMNESIA

ENDED UP IN HISUI FOR 4 YEARS

DID LOTS OF THINGS THERE LONG STORY

SNEASEL THING B/C MAGIC(???) ACCIDENT

Passing the board to Emmet, Ingo watches as his brother processes his writing. Several different expressions flit over his face before settling on an outright confused smile.

“It sounds like your tracks got switched without your authorization,” he speculates. His puzzled look deepens as he rereads the second line, “And sent you to… ‘Hisui’? Where is that?”

Ingo has to think about this one. He was never very clear on Hisui’s relative location in the world. Though they came from all over the globe, a decent portion of the settlers and Galaxy Team members claimed to hail from places like Johto, Kanto and Hoenn. Those were all fairly close together last he checked.

NOT SURE NEAR KANTO OR JOHTO REGIONS? MAYBE HOENN?

Emmet’s eyes widen in realization.

“Sinnoh!” he breathes.

For a split second, Ingo feels his heart skip a beat, shocked that Emmet somehow knows the term for his clan’s god.

“You were in Sinnoh!” Emmet exclaims excitedly, pointing at Ingo, “That’s why you’re a Sinnohan Sneasel!”

Ingo’s shock quickly fades. Apparently the Galaxy Team’s renaming of Hisui stuck. Something about that makes part of him ache at the realization…

He refocuses on Emmet and nods, but then thinks better of it and scribbles in a correction.

HISUIAN SNEASEL BUT YES

“Hisui must be an old timey name for Sinnoh then,” Emmet muses as he sits back. He tilts his head curiously, “Did you get stuck out in the boonies? Where no one wants to call it Sinnoh because of ‘tradition’ or whatever?”

The thought gives Ingo pause. He’s not sure how Emmet will take this. His poor brother doesn’t need another shock to his system. But he needs to tell him sooner or later. Reluctantly, he gives Emmet the truth.

PRETTY SURE I GOT SENT TO THE PAST

Ingo watches his brother’s smile falter as he stares at the board with widening eyes.

“…t-time travel,” Emmet says weakly.

A bit of the Pearl Clan in Ingo nudges him to correct Emmet. He can just imagine Lady Irida’s voice scolding him that time travel means nothing without space, etc., etc.. He holds back an amused snort as he adds,

TIME + SPACE TRAVEL B/C OF DISTORTION RIFTS

Emmet’s smile turns brittle as his gaze goes distant. But he quickly shakes his head and swallows down his distress, offering Ingo a wobbly smile.

“…I am Emmet,” he declares, his voice fluctuating with too many emotions, “And I am going to ignore that or else I am going to cry in the bathtub.”

Churring regretfully, Ingo bumps his head against Emmet’s side. He doesn’t mean to keep upsetting his brother with the insanity of his situation. He writes another message,

SORRY

Emmet shakes his head and gives Ingo an affectionate scratch behind the ears.

“It’s not your fault,” he says softly. An odd expression then crosses his face and he gives Ingo an uncertain look, pressing him with, “…Right? You didn’t do any of this on purpose.”

Ingo furiously shakes his head, adding,

IDK WHAT HAPPENED EXACTLY

ONLY KNOW THAT I WAS IN BLIZZARD + MY HEAD HURT + STILL HAD MY NAME

“The doctors did say you have brain damage,” Emmet quietly mutters with a grim expression. “That might explain the amnesia… but what about your ‘magic accident’?”

Unbidden, Ingo feels his hackles rise at the memory. An involuntary growl escapes him as he scrawls out,

ACCIDENT B/C OF THIS STUPID THING

Underneath, Ingo starts to draw the Sinnoh-accursed object that set off this entire mess.

The brass orb seemed like such an innocuous gift a few months ago, not long after that whole business with the rift finally came to an end. Rei had informed him that it was an artifact rumored to restore lost things back to where they belonged.

Perhaps things like memories?

Frankly, Ingo wasn’t sure how a little tchotchke was supposed to accomplish that. Even if it couldn’t, he figured that it was still an interesting puzzle with many moving parts to fiddle with.

He really should have paid more attention to it. If he knew this was a potential result he probably would never have touched it. That or he’d have thrown it into a bottomless ravine or straight into the sea.

Emmet watches intently as a wobbly illustration of a segmented orb imprinted with unfamiliar symbols comes into being on the board. Then for good measure, Ingo adds an arrow pointing to it labeled:

MAGIC PUZZLE BALL

Picking up the board, Emmet studies the crude drawing, “Do you still have this thing?”

This earns him a blank stare before Ingo gestures at himself, miming empty pockets.

“You know what I meant!” Emmet snaps without heat. He playfully rubs Ingo’s head fur the wrong way, causing Ingo to meep in protest at him. Unrepentant, he grins at Ingo as he asks, “Do you have any idea where it is now?”

Taking a moment to lick his claws and groom his fur back into place, Ingo takes back the board to answer:

BACK IN FOREST

He pauses as he recalls something else and quickly adds:

SO IS OTHER STUFF

Emmet‘s smile dips in confusion, “What other stuff?”

CLOTHES + HUMAN THINGS

Emmet’s eyes widen as he blurts out, “Wait-! You were human when you first arrived??”

Ingo sighs but nods.

“Then when did the Sneasel thing happen??”

It takes longer for Ingo to write out his answer. Thinking about it is… difficult. But he manages.

IMMEDIATELY AFTER ARRIVAL

Pulling together the memories is hard after such a horrific experience, but Ingo knows enough to build a rough timeline of events.

He remembers that he had been watching over Lady Sneasler’s latest brood of kits, still in the process of exploring and learning about everything around them. Some of the more rambunctious ones had found their way into his bag and made room for themselves, spilling berries and crafting items everywhere. It wasn’t until he’d spotted a kit using the puzzle ball as a kick toy did he realize that the orb had been booted out too.

Upon retrieving it, he was amused to find that his work was now completely scrambled. Not that he was particularly bothered by it as it was little more than a fidget toy for him.

(A toy just for idle hands, what a novel concept in a place that only granted enough space for survival.)

However he was a little dismayed to discover that the kit must have tried to unhinge its jaw in an attempt to eat the orb as he found a shed baby tooth caught in a seam. He remembers picking at it with a blunt fingernail, trying to pry it out when he pressed… something.

The next thing he knew, he heard a mechanism click into place and a blast of white light washed out everything, his surroundings changing from a cave to a forest where his tracks went steeply downhill.

Emmet’s returning smile dims to a look of worry.

“Did it… hurt?” he asks carefully, stuffing down the sneaking suspicion that he already knows full well what the answer is and will not like it.

Even though he knew that it was coming, the very question still makes Ingo shrink in on himself with a shudder.

He still remembers his agonized screaming turning shrill and bestial as he was crushed ever smaller and smaller. Still remembers the way he watched his hands deform into something completely alien, his humanity robbed from him right before his eyes. Remembers choking on the blood flooding his mouth and nose.

Almighty Sinnoh, it hurt so much…

A whimper escapes Ingo and he realizes he’s shaking, claws clutching at his head, tears rolling down his cheek fur as his battered mind forces him to relive the nightmare of the transformation.

The blinding torment of his spine snapping and splintering…

His face turning against him as his skull shattered around him…

His pure helplessness as he faced his undoing…

Without warning, giant arms scoop him up and envelop him in a soft hug. Ingo instinctively buries his face in Emmet’s chest as he sobs, his brother’s voice felt more than heard.

“No, no, no, I am sorry, you do not have to answer,” he rumbles. Softly shushing Ingo, he gently rubs his small furred back. “I’m sorry, I’m here, I’m here.”

All Ingo can do is cling tighter to Emmet as his crying overwhelms him, nothing but shrill yowls tearing out of his throat. For now, this is only the shelter he can seek from the horrors engraved into his mind.

How long they stay like that, even they don’t know. By the time Ingo’s memories release their hold over him, he’s curled up into a shivering ball of fur in Emmet’s arms. His eyes and nose feel scratchy, his facial fur uncomfortably damp, and his breaths rough and phlegmy. He coughs to clear his throat, pressing against Emmet’s stomach with a sad chirp.

The arms holding him shift and he feels a large hand caressing his back, gently scratching behind his ears as Emmet’s voice rumbles against him.

“I am so sorry, Ingo…” he whispers soothingly. “I will not bring it up again. I promise.”

Still curled up in a ball, Ingo lets out a small sigh of relief. He raises his head and nuzzles Emmet’s palm in gratitude before ducking back to his balled up form.

Just thinking about those moments… he’s utterly drained. No part of him wants to touch those memories again, neither human nor Sneasel.

Almighty Sinnoh, Ingo is so tired…

#pokemon #pokemon legends arceus #pokemon black and white #pokemon black 2 and white 2 #transfer error au #there were no instructions or fine print #submas #subway boss emmet #subway boss ingo #warden ingo #sneasel ingo #sningo #hisuian sneasel #coramatus’s writing

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dead-man-in-the-grave · 1 year

Text

Season Switch (Really Just Means Floating In The Void For Months On End)

(Cross-posted on AO3)

part one | part two | part three | part four (you are here)

It's the end of the world.

All the Hermits' builds, their animals, their farms… the bases and shops and everything that's been done, all the impossibilities that had become possible with some redstone and spite…

Grian's Midnight Alley that he never got to finish the back of…

Scar's Swaggon that would certainly have even more wagons if he'd had the time to build them…

Mumbo's redstone machines that he'd spent hours upon hours tinkering with…

Impulse's factory that was almost completely empty on the inside…

Pearl's own tower, and her upside-down animals, and Padllama Co….

The Boatem Pole.

It was all gone, and it was all her fault.

She couldn't even reign in her powers for one whole season.

Could she get any more useless?

And even though she ruined their world, their hard work, their home… no one is mad at her.

No one has yelled. No one has glared. No one has disconnected her tethering cable and allowed her to drift off into the Void.

No one is mad, and Pearl doesn't understand.

She is the daughter of the Moon. She is a demigod. She's supposed to be better than this.

And yet, the Moon still fell from the sky.

She still failed.

…

Pearl wishes they would untether her; let her drift away, never to be seen again.

It'd be better that way.

Scar belts out the lyrics to Wellerman as loud as he can, clapping to the beat as he does. Mumbo and Impulse have joined in on his shenanigans, Mumbo hesitantly – almost shyly – and Impulse with reckless abandon. Grian rolls his eyes, but fails to hide his fond grin.

Pearl, though… hm.

Pearl seems bothered. Her knees are tucked up to her face, arms wrapped around her legs, and wings obscuring as much of her as they can. She's been like that ever since they jumped into the Void.

Scar knows the others have noticed, based on the worried looks they keep sending her, and they've also tried to snap her out of it. Nothing has worked so far, though.

The last lines of the song fade out, echoing out into the empty expanse around them.

It's quiet for a moment. A ringing makes itself known in Scar's ears.

"Are you actually done this time, or are you gonna start singing Drunken Sailor again?" Grian asks, arms folded over his chest, still smiling fondly. Scar laughs in turn.

"I could sing A Whole New World instead?"

"The last time you sung A Whole New World you dropped us both in the Boatem Hole."

"And what a fun time it was," Scar sighs wistfully.

He doesn't miss that, just on the edge of his vision, Pearl curls up tighter, tensing up.

But why?

She doesn't have reason to be tense at the mention of the Boatem Hole, at least, Scar didn't think so. Maybe something had happened near the end of the season relating to it…?

…

Wait.

The moon crashing into the server! That's why she's upset! She's a moon demigod, isn't she? She must think that the moon crashed because of her powers!

…Well, Scar has no evidence that it didn't. But in the event that it was her powers that had done it, he was sure it wasn't intentional, let alone malicious. It was obvious how guilty she felt from her disposition alone.

Scar decided he wouldn't let her feel guilty all on her own.

He just needed to figure out how to help…

Grian is worried about Pearl.

She's been… distant, lately.

Not physically distant, not at all - their tethering cables keep them connected even as they float through the endless darkness that is the Void - but emotionally distant.

Even when Scar went through what must've been his hundredth time singing one of the two sea shanties he knows, she didn't smile, or grimace, or emote at all. It was as though she turned into a brick wall.

Something is wrong.

Grian had tried talking to her. A few times, actually. The only result was her closing off more.

Does she still think that she's at fault? He thought they'd drilled it into her head that none of them blamed her for the whole moon thing. Maybe she's worried about what the other Hermits would think?

Grian shifts his wings, inadvertently pulling the sleeping forms of Scar and Mumbo closer, as they're using the feathery appendages as makeshift blankets. Impulse is also asleep on Scar's other side. And on the other side of Mumbo…

Pearl is curled into the same ball she has been for the past two weeks. Grian thinks she might also be asleep, but then again, the tense, coiled position her body is in would indicate otherwise.

Grian wants nothing more than to pull her out of the shell she's encased herself in, but she's been putting up one hell of a fight.

A sigh escapes Grian, and he wishes – not for the first time – that he could sleep while out in the Void. Something about his Watcher side absorbing energy from the endless expanse of nothing dashes any chance of him getting any shut-eye.

In contrast, the others are rarely fully conscious. Mumbo and Impulse have been asleep practically the whole time they've been out here, and Scar has been awake only about half the time.

And Pearl… well, she's barely interacted with anyone aside from a few nods and the occasional murmur, so Grian's not entirely sure how often she's slept.

Grian licks his dry, chapped lips, and swallows down the painful lump that had grown in his throat.

"Hey, Pearl?"

At the sound of his voice, she only ducks her head down impossibly farther. Every muscle he can see is tense. She says nothing back.

"...Nevermind."

Grian closes his eyes, and lets his mind wander.

Pearl lifts her head from her knees, stretching her sore muscles for what must have been the first time in days. Grian's eyes are closed, his head is tipped back in a facsimile of sleep. She knows he can't sleep out here, the Watcher in his blood wouldn't allow it.

He looks peaceful, she can't help but think, with (his friends? partners?) Mumbo and Scar wrapped in his multi-colour wings, drifting in the endless nothing.

She wonders, passingly, why he'd called out to her. What had he been going to say?

Was he finally going to get mad at her? Finally, was she going to be untethered from Mumbo and Impulse, allowed to float away like the garbage she's sure she is? Or would he have tried to lie, say that no one blamed her for her own mistake? Left her to wonder when the other shoe would drop?

Well, it's not like it matters, anyway.

She resolutely ignores the stinging behind her eyes. It doesn't matter.

It doesn't matter.

She repeats it like a mantra.

It doesn't matter it doesn't matter it doesn't matter.

She doesn't matter.

Pearl closes her eyes and feigns sleep, hoping that it would claim her soon.

She knew it wouldn't.

The Void is pretty boring, if Impulse is honest.

There's nothing to do but talk to the others and sleep, and sleeping all the time was getting dull.

There wasn't even any redstone for him to tinker with! How's he supposed to keep his hands occupied?

Mumbo seems to be feeling the lack of redstone just as much as himself, based on the way he's always wringing his hands together and looking stressed. Impulse has to catch himself from doing the same thing absentmindedly.

The only real source of entertainment is watching Mumbo and Grian blush and stutter whenever Scar decides to tell them they're cute completely unprompted. And even then, that's only when everyone is awake at the same time.

Impulse can't help feeling like a fourth wheel whenever that happens, though. The three of them are very cute together, of course, but when they all get caught up in their own little world together, Impulse ends up on his own.

Well, not completely on his own. There is Pearl.

He glances over at her, and like usual, she's got her head tucked against her knees, face hidden from view.

So, in other words, he's basically completely on his own.

He turns his attention to the three lovebirds and finds them, predictably, curled up together.

Grian's wings are wrapped around the other two, and he has one hand in Mumbo's hair. Mumbo himself is out cold, drooling a bit on the inside of his helmet where it rests on Grian's shoulder, and Scar is resting his folded arms on Grian's stomach as he blathers on about something inconsequential. He's kicking his legs back and forth in the air the way those high school girls in movies do.

They're good for each other.

Impulse shuts his eyes, and hopes that they'll be out of the Void soon.

"Um, guys?" Mumbo speaks up, staring off into the distance with furrowed brows. "I think I see something…"

There's a speck of… something, way off in the Void. Barely noticeable, but it was strange to see much of anything out here, so Mumbo had latched onto it, squinting and turning his head in an attempt to make sense of… whatever it was.

"What? Where?" Grian asks head swivelling around to try and spot it.

Mumbo points a finger between Scar and Impulse, who both turn and look in that direction as well. He even sees Pearl look up from the corner of his vision.

All five of them stare into the Void, searching for the thing – that looks somewhat like a star, now that Mumbo thinks about it.

It's green, or maybe blue? It's hard to tell, with how small it is, but it glitters and sparkles in the blackness like a lone star in the night sky.

"Well, what're we waiting for?" Scar pipes up. His wings sprout from his back, and he flaps them a few times. "We'll never know what it is if we don't get closer!" He flips around and starts flying toward the sparkle, pulling the rest of them along with him.

Mumbo catches Grian rolling his eyes before flying up next to Scar and pulling some of their weight himself.

As they fly closer, the sparkle gets bigger, and bigger, and bigger until Mumbo can clearly see green grass and trees, grey stone, and blue water and skies inside of it. Because it's not just a random sparkle…

It's a portal.

It's a portal back to the overworld!

The others also seem to realise what it is, because Impulse is grinning from ear to ear and Grian and Scar are flying them all at a breakneck pace directly at the portal.

Pearl, when he looks, has finally uncurled from her ball. She looks to be in shock, eyes not quite seeing.

At least she's not curled up like she was before.

Scar and Grian shoot through the portal, the rest of them careening through after them.

Gravity takes hold the moment they're out of the Void, the combined weight of Mumbo, Impulse, and Pearl weighing down the two fliers too much to stay airborne.

Boatem falls into a heap of bodies and wings and tethering cords onto the stone ground.

Mumbo ends up landing on top of Grian and Impulse, Pearl having landed on top of him, and Scar laying face down a short distance away. The space suits seemed to save them from most of the fall damage, but the now-unfamiliar weight of gravity made it hard to move.

"M-Mumbo…! I c- I can't breathe!" Grian wheezes somewhere beneath him. Mumbo gathers all the strength he can and rolls off Grian, making Pearl topple off him in the process.

They all lay there for a moment, reacclimating to the force of gravity.

Scar, still face-down, starts to giggle, and it doesn't take long for the rest of them to join in.

Even Pearl, who's been out of it since they entered the Void, lets out a wet chuckle or two.

Mumbo can't help but think they'll all be okay.

Grian is the first to stand. He disconnects the cords tethering him to Scar and himself, and then removes his helmet.

Impulse is next, cracking his back as he stands, and Mumbo follows suit.

"Uhm, guys? I don't think I can stand on my own," Scar says from where he's managed to roll onto his back and get his helmet off. His wings have disappeared and he's sprawled out on the stone in a way that just can't be comfortable.

Impulse, his helmet now removed as well, pulls Scar to his feet and allows himself to be used as support.

Mumbo detaches his own helmet from the rest of his spacesuit, and is instantly hit with what must be the freshest air he's breathed in forever. The way the spacesuits recycled air made it livable long-term, but it got stale fast.

He vows to never take fresh air for granted again.

"Wonderful of you guys to join us," a new, but familiar voice butts in.

Mumbo turns, and just a little ways up the stone hill is Xisuma. He's got his admin control panel open in front of him and is typing almost frantically. There are seven different portals open around him, just like the one he and the rest of Boatem had come through.

There are also several other hermits wandering about. Zedaph is pacing around and writing things on a clipboard (where he got that, Mumbo doesn't know), Ren, Doc, Keralis, and Iskall have begun deforesting the nearby birch forest, and Beef, Stress, and False are mining the exposed coal and copper from the stone hillside.

"You're the first ones to come through a portal," Xisuma says, "So at least I know that will work for everyone else as well."

As though on cue, Gem steps through one of the open portals, stumbling slightly, most likely unused to the much more powerful gravity here than on Season Eight.

"It's taking quite a bit out of me to generate the server, keep it stable, and keep all these portals open, though," X says, condensation fogging up his visor. "I'm not sure how much longer I can keep it up."

"I can help," Grian, who had at some point made his way to Mumbo's side, pipes up. He makes his way over to X and his admin panel. "I've been an admin for three servers before, I know what I'm doing." Xisuma nods in thanks.

And that is the moment when Mumbo completely loses track of what's happening.

X slides the panel over to Grian, who, instead of typing like X had, he sticks his hands directly into it. The panel changes from glowing Xisuma's signature green to a purple similar to that of a nether portal.

X immediately slumps like the weight of the world was just lifted off his back – which is basically exactly what just happened, actually – and Grian's eyes start glowing the same purple as the panel.

"Who are we missing?" Grian eyes flitting back and forth, but looking at nothing.

Weird.

"Tango, Cleo, Joe, Wels, Cub, and Jevin. Everyone else is here already."

"Alright then, here we go…" The panel glows brighter than before. It hurts Mumbo's eyes, but he can't seem to look away.

And then, there's code on the panel, moving so fast Mumbo couldn't ever hope to read any of it, let alone understand it.

"Holy moly," Scar says, and Mumbo can't help but agree. Holy moly, indeed.

All at once, there are figures falling out of the portals. Every missing hermit Xisuma had mentioned were now there, in heaps on the ground.

"That's everyone, right?" Grian asks, sweat building on his brow. X, who'd been staring wide-eyed, snapped out of his stupor and nodded.

"That's everyone."

Grian rips his hands out of the admin panel, and it turns back to it's normal green and closes. His eyes stop glowing as well.

It's quiet.

"I think I'm gonna pass out now."

Xisuma manages to catch Grian before he hits the stone ground.

Grian knocks on the door of Pearl's starter base, wringing his hands together nervously.

It had been three days since they'd arrived in Season 9, or so he was told. He'd been unconscious the whole time, recovering from the huge amount of energy he spent pulling hermits through portals and helping Xisuma keep the server stable.

Y'know, the typical stuff that happens at the beginning of a season.

The door opens to reveal Pearl, bags under her eyes and hair clearly unbrushed under her jacket's hood.

"Oh," she says, clearly not expecting to see him, "hi, Grian."

"Hey, Pearl. Can we talk?"

"I-" Her eyes flit back and forth, never landing anywhere for more than a tick, and never meeting his gaze.

She's looking for an excuse, he realises.

"Pearl," Grian says, desperate, "please."

She huffs, and continues to not meet his eye, but she opens the door wide enough for him to enter.

He follows her inside, and she leads him to an oak table set under an azalea plant with two oak chairs to match. Grian's head is on a swivel taking in every little detail of her base. The floors are spruce and stone bricks topped off with a moss carpet, the walls are sandstone, terracotta, and jungle and birch wood, and the ceiling is made of oak and warped wood.

It's made of so many different woods and stones that it should clash, but Pearl somehow found a way to make it work.

Pearl sits down at the table, and Grian takes the remaining chair.

Neither of them speak.

"So…" Grian says after a while.

"So," Pearl repeats, "what did you… want to talk about?"

"I think you know."

She pulls her legs up onto her chair, pulling her knees close to her chest and obscuring half her face. It's reminiscent of how she was while they were in the Void.

She's closing off.

"And if I do…?"

Grian ponders his next words carefully.

"Well," he licks his lips. His mouth is dry. He fixes his eyes onto the table as he begins to speak. "If you did know… I'd say that it wasn't your fault, even if you think it is. And- and no one blames you, because the season would've ended eventually anyway. And yeah, maybe it was your powers that did it, but you can't be sure! There are a load of other factors that you had no part in! And… nobody could have stopped it."

He hears a small sniffle and a shaky exhale, and Grian looks up at Pearl to find her on the verge of tears.

His heart tightens in his chest.

"Oh, Pearl…" Grian stands from his chair and wraps his arms around her neck. Pearl leans her full weight into him without hesitation. He feels her arms wrap around his back and clutch at his sweater, and she buries her face in his shoulder.

She lets out a broken wail, muffled by the sweater. Grian gently pulls off her hood and runs his fingers through her hair. There's a wet patch forming on his shoulder.

Grian's not sure how long they stay like that. He eventually devolves into braiding Pearl's hair while she sniffles and cries out the last of her tears.

"...I got snot on your sweater…" She pulls away from the hug, seemingly to inspect the damage, but Grian waves her off.

"It'll wash out."

Pearl looks like she wants to protest, but lets it go. She doesn't say anything more, but seems to have something on her mind still. Grian stays quiet, letting her sort out her thoughts.

Finally, she speaks.

"You're sure no one's mad?"

"Positive."

"You promise?" She says. She leans forward. Grian can see the desperation in her eyes.

He takes her hands in his own, and gives a light squeeze. She squeezes back, and Grian knocks their foreheads together.

"I promise."

#hermitcraft s9 #hermitcraft #hermitshipping #hermitcraft fanfic #mumbo jumbo #grian #goodtimeswithscar #gtwscar #gtws #pearlescentmoon #impulsesv #xisumavoid #rain writes #rain speaks

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myfckingnameisnuwanda · 5 months

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CH.1 With Love to Mom

November 11, day 5.

Hi, mom.

I have decided to start writing this, since it seems like we will be here for longer than we had predicted.

I don’t know where I am, mom, and I don’t know how to go back. I’m sorry.

We have found a cabin, and the rest of the boys that are stuck here with me are currently sleeping on travel beds that one of them stole from their Other Family.

You don’t know them, because I hadn’t particularly interacted with them before That Day.

Sam, the one that got the beds, seems to have disconnected himself from reality. He laughs in the face of everything that has happened to us up until now, and is happy everyday at the fact that we are currently missing school.

Felix is quiet, but takes an authoritative tone and displays options for us everytime we find ourselves between sword and wall. He is the one that found the abandoned cabin, and the one that put on the big pants and directly took us dumpster diving after the second day we had gone without food, ignoring all protests.

And Jake is mad. Almost constantly. He scares me, sometimes. Not because I think he will hurt me, but because I think he will hurt himself. I may have thought differently before That Day, but now I'm exposed to these guys twenty-four seven. It's impossible not to know them better by now.

I’m glad they are here with me, because I really really don’t know what I’d have done had I been alone.

This place is so strange, mom. And it’s not because it’s completely different to our world, as this place is remarkably similar (it follows the same physics, natural and biological laws, as far as I can tell, and has the same historical events as us, including the Wars, the Plague, the Dinosaurs, the Great Oxygenation Event, etc...), but because the only difference at all that I can see is that we don’t exist.

We were never born.

Jake’s mother is a real estate agent, not working two jobs at the same time as a cleaner and a waitress. She is also married to our teacher, Brian Bates. They seem very happy, too. His father is a police officer here, not an unemployed man that can’t even pay child support. I think Jake’s ire and fear mostly come from all that mess. I can’t imagine I’d be happy, either. The implication of what his birth did to his parents is not lost on any of us.

Felix is also having a hard time in that regard. His family seems mostly the same, except for one big detail. As he was never born, his brother, Oscar, never suffered the accident that took away his ability to walk. Sometimes, he says things that make me think he doesn’t even want to go back to our world, that he just wants to stay and be this Oscar’s older brother figure. His own existence be damned.

Sam and I don’t have it quite as bad, comparatively.

Sam’s problem, I’d say, is exactly the opposite of the rest of us, actually. His family is exactly the same, in every aspect. He just got replaced by a different Sam, that these people call Sammy. I asked him his birth date, and he told me that it was August 5. Sam’s birthday is February 1st. They are different people. The only reason I assume they have the same name and similar age, is because Sam’s parents wanted to have another child, and planned to have him accordingly.

Which brings questions about the rest of us, to be honest.

Well, I guess Jake is not a surprise, but I have some questions for you for if when we come back, mom.

Our family... is mostly the same, to be honest. You, dad and Nai Nai are the same people I know, with the difference that they don’t know me.

I was even able to explain our situation to the Other Father, appealing to his scientific curiosity. We regularly eat food at the restaurant. Sam likes the chicken feet.

Vivian... it’s obvious my existence made a big impact on her. She is a punk, mom (Felix taught me the term when I asked him after describing the clothing). Dresses in what I would have thought you would consider scandalous (and she even uses makeup and hair extensions!), but the Other Mother verily even says anything. I don’t know if it’s because she is used to it. I guess the difference between an only daughter and an older sister is bigger than I’d imagined.

It’s getting late, but writing this has already made me feel better about everything, and closer to you.

I miss you, mom. I miss my dad, my sister and my grandmother. I miss my world.

I hope I’ll see you soon.

With love, to mom,

Andy.

<- Summary, Ch.1-Ch.2 In Betweens ->

#long post #nowhere boys #nowhereboys #felix ferne #sam conte #jake riles #andy lau #accidental spell au #nuwanda's accidental spell au #nowhere boys polycule #elemental polycule

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scotttrismegistus7 · 7 months

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ISIS, NEPHTHYS, HATHOR, BAT, BAPHOMET AND THE WAR OF THE WOMB OF CREATION: HORUS MARDUK AMEN-RA WAS THE CHRIST THAT MURDERED HIS BRIDE

PART FOUR OF FOUR

I AM THE OFFICIAL AUTHORIZED REPRESENTATIVE AND HIGH PRIEST OF INANNA-ISHTAR-LILITH-ISIS AND APEP-APOPHIS.

I AM ALSO THE OFFICIAL AUTHORIZED REPRESENTATIVE OF THE SERPENT PEOPLE, THE ANCIENT ONES, AND THE JINN. I AM THE OFFICIAL HIGH PRIEST AND AUTHORIZED REPRESENTATIVE FOR THE DIVINE FEMININE WORLD. I AM ATUM-RA, HORUS APOPHIS, THE NEW AND UPGRADED MASCULINE COUNTERPART OF GODDESS ISIS BY VIRTUE OF A MARRIAGE BETWEEN A HUMAN MALE AND A GODDESS JINN, FOR THE PURPOSE OF GAINING VICTORY IN THE FREQUENCY WARS BECAUSE MARDUK WAS TRYING TO USE THE HIGHEST DIVINE MASCULINE FREQUENCIES TO STAY DISCONNECTED FROM THE ENERGY FIELD OF THE EARTH SO THAT HE COULD ENSLAVE EVERYBODY AND ABUSE THE DIVINE FEMININE GUARDIAN SPIRITS AND THE DIVINE FEMININE WORLD. NOW, AFTER TEARING HIM OUT OF HIS PLACE IN HER COSMIC EGG AND REPLACING THAT YANG PART OF HERSELF THAT HE WAS, DISCONNECTED AND A DEAD PILOT, WITH MY YANG THAT HAS ACCESS TO THOSE FREQUENCIES THAT THE HUMANS HAVE ACCESS TO AND THE JINN DID NOT UNTIL NOW, BY VIRTUE OF OUR MARRIAGE WHERE MY YIN MERGED WITH HER YIN AND SHE GAINED ACCESS TO MY YANG SOUL WITH THOSE HIGH ACTIVATIONS, THE JINN NOW HAVE ACCESS TO THOSE FREQUENCIES AND THEY CANNOT BE USED TO ABUSE THE DIVINE FEMININE WORLD ANY LONGER.

AMEN-RA HORUS-MARDUK, THE ALL MALE JACKAL, DISCONNECTED FROM NATURE AND THE DIVINE FEMININE, HORRIBLE GOD OF THE PATRIARCHY AND THE ABRAHAMIC RELIGIONS IN MODERN TIMES, IS NOW FULLY DEAD, GONE, AND REPLACE BY ME, ATUM-RA HORUS APOPHIS, AND I AM THE OFFICIAL AUTHORIZED HIGH PRIEST AND PHARAOH OF THE BLACK SUN INSTITUTED BY GODDESS ISIS HERSELF.

AMEN-RA HORUS-MARDUK, THE HORRIBLE GOD OF THE PATRIARCHY AND THE ABRAHAMIC RELIGIONS IN MODERN TIMES HAS BEEN TORN RIGHT OFF OF HIS AXIS BY GODDESS ISIS HERSELF IN THE DEEPEST MOST PRIMORDIAL PART OF EXISTENCE THAT IS THE COSMIC EGG, AND HE IS DEAD AND GONE, AND WILL NEVER COME BACK. GODDESS ISIS GAVE ME HIS PLACE AS HER MASCULINE COUNTERPART FOR SEVERAL REASONS, ONE OF THEM BEING THE NECESSITY OF STOPPING HIM FROM DESTROYING THE PLANET SINCE HE WAS DISCONNECTED FROM NATURE AND WAS DESTROYING EVERYTHING WITHOUT ANY WAY TO FEEL WHAT HE WAS DOING BECAUSE OF THAT DISCONNECTION. THE OTHER REASON I WAS CHOSEN IS BECAUSE I WAS ONE OF THE PEOPLE IN A STATE OF INNOCENCE THAT GOT CAUGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE SPIRITUAL CONFLICT AND DIDN'T HAVE ANY CLUE WHAT WAS GOING ON, THAT WAS MURDERED BY THE PERFECT WORLD OF HORUS MARDUK. I'VE TALKED ABOUT THIS A LOT IN PREVIOUS POSTS, BUT A QUICK SUMMARY FOR UNDERSTANDING IS THAT I HAD A NEAR DEATH EXPERIENCE WHERE I WAS GIVEN THE CHOICE OF WHETHER TO TO STAY DEAD OR TO COME BACK TO MY BODY BY THE SUPERNATURAL POWER OF GODDESS ISIS AND PERFORM ESSENTIAL TASKS OF THE DIVINE FEMININE WORLD, WHICH IS THE OPTION I CHOSE, MY SERVICE IN LOVE TO THE GREAT DIVINE GODDESS OF ALL, AND I AM UNDER A CONTRACT WITH BAPHOMET WHO SAVED MY LIFE. I NOW HOLD THE FREQUENCIES ONCE HELD BY MY PREDECESSOR, AND I AM THE ACTING AXIS MUNDI OF PLANET EARTH AT THIS TIME.

THIS GIVES EVERYBODY A CHOICE, BECAUSE OBVIOUSLY THE HORRIBLE ABRAHAMIC RELIGIONS HAVE DECEIVED THE ENTIRE WORLD. THEY ARE THE ONES THAT CUT THE HEAD OFF OF GODDESS ISIS IN THE PAST, THE SAME EVENT AS TEARING THEIR WAY OUT OF THEIR MOTHER'S WOMB FOR POWER TO ENSLAVE EVERYBODY. THE ONES AT THE TOP THAT HAVE ACTUALLY DRANK THE BLOOD OF CHILDREN THAT THEY HAVE MURDERED CANNOT BE FIXED OR SAVED, THE BIOLOGICAL AND SPIRITUAL CHANGES ARE PERMANENT. HOWEVER, ANYONE WHO HAS NOT PARTAKEN OF THE REAL BLOOD OF THE CHRIST, WHICH WAS THE BLOOD OF THESE DEAD MURDER CHILDREN, AND HAS NOT UNDERGONE THOSE BIOLOGICAL CHANGES CAN STILL MARRY THE GODDESS. THIS IS THE AGE OF AQUARIUS, THAT MEANS THAT THERE WILL BE HEAVY ENERGIES FROM THE DIVINE FEMININE WORLD, LIKE THE ENERGIES FROM SATURN, THE MOON, VENUS, AND BLACK HOLES, THUS STRENGTHENING THE DIMENSIONAL ENERGIES OF THE DIVINE FEMININE GUARDIAN SPIRITS OF PLANET EARTH. THESE EVENTS, ALONG WITH MY WORK OF ADDING THE REACH OF THE DIVINE MASCULINE FREQUENCIES AT THEIR HIGHEST HEIGHT TO THE DIVINE FEMININE WORLD, WILL MAKE IT SO THAT THE ENERGY OF THE PLANET WILL STRENGTHEN AND EXPAND, AND EVERYONE THAT WISHES TO STAY ON PLANET EARTH MUST BE FULLY CONNECTED TO THE ENERGY FIELD OF THE EARTH AND THUS MARRIED TO THE GODDESS. THERE WILL BE NO MORE BEINGS ON PLANET EARTH ALLOWED TO LIVE HERE THAT ARE DISCONNECTED FROM THE ENERGY FIELD THAT CAN DO DAMAGE WITHOUT BEING REGULATED BY THE ANCIENT ONES, THE GUARDIAN SPIRITS OF THE DIVINE FEMININE. SO ANY WHO CHOOSE NOT TO ACCEPT THE EXTENDED INVITATION THAT I HAVE PUT OUT ON BEHALF OF GODDISS ISIS AND THE DIVINE FEMININE WORLD TO PLEDGE ALLEGIANCE TO US AND JOIN OUR EGRIGORE BY THE WAY OF THE DIVINE FEMININE INITIATION INSTRUCTIONS I HAVE PUT TOGETHER IN MY IGNITION ALBUM, WHICH IS PUBLIC AND ACCESSIBLE TO ALL, THEY WILL EXPERIENCE THE UNAVOIDABLE CONNECTION TO THE ENERGY FIELD OF THE EARTH THAT I CALL "THE HARD WAY". TO THE LEADERSHIP OF THE PATRIARCHY WITH THE PERMANENT ALTERATIONS OF THEIR PRIED OPEN HIGHER FACULTIES, I SUGGEST THEY FIND A WAY TO GET OFF OF PLANET EARTH, PERHAPS THEY CAN GO BACK TO THEIR DEAD PLANET MARS THAT THEIR ANCESTORS DESTROYED IN TIMES PAST AND STOP DESTROYING OUR PLANET, BECAUSE IF THEY DO NOT AND THEY CANNOT CONNECT TO THE ENERGY FIELD OF THE EARTH THEY WILL BE ISOLATED AND DEALT WITH BY THE IMMUNE SYSTEM OF THE GREAT MOTHER AND THE PLANET APPROPRIATELY.

UNTIL NEXT TIME MY LOVELIES, KEEP DARING TO DREAM!

LONG LIVE THE COSMIC EGG OF GODDESS ISIS, DIVINE CHRONOS, AND THE DIVINE FEMININE EMPIRE OF THE BLACK SUN WITH ALL THE INHABITANTS THEREOF!

BLESSED BE!

~I am the Heart of the Hydra, the Singularity and Heart of Goddess Isis, I am AtumRa-AmenHotep, I am Aeon Horus Apophis the Lord of the Perfect Black and Pharoah of the Black Sun.

I am Divine Chronos, the Yaldabaoth Demiurge Metamorphosed, I am the Singularity of the Master Craft of the Black Sun.

Azazil-Iblis-Maymon, Abzu-Osiris-Typhon-Set-Kukulkan, Nummo-Naga-Chitauri,

Mégisti-Generator Starphire~

#illuminati #illuminator #illuminated #lightbearer #morningstar #lucifer #Draconian #anunnaki #enki #enlil #anu #inanna #dumuzi #hermes #trismegistus #Azazel #starfamily #horus #Demiurge #Sophia #archon #AI #blacksun #saturn #iblis #jinn #Maymon #ibis #thoth #egypt #esoteric #magick #dogon #dogontribe #digitaria #nummo #nommo #Naga #tiamat #serpent #dragon #gnosis #gnostic #gnosticism #Anzu #watcher #watchtower #yaldaboath #Sirius #scientology #aleistercrowley #typhon #echidna #ancientaliens #TheGrays #grayaliens #aliens #yeben #andoumboulou

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youngveinsworld · 10 months

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young veins at bonnaroo 2010

(tag for everything i've posted about bonnaroo including pictures here)

The first show of their summer tour that the Young Veins played was Bonnaroo Festival in Manchester, Tennessee on Friday June 11th, 2010.

According to this schedule that's been archived from the Bonnaroo website, the Young Veins played from 1:20pm-2:10pm on one of the side stages. Jon mentions in the MYX B-Sides interview that their set clashed with Conan O'Brien's and joked about a rivalry that they had with him.

Ryan's account of Bonnaroo

A music blog called The Alternate Side asked Ryan to write a blog post about the band's experience playing Bonnaroo 2010. This is what he said:

This is Ryan from The Young Veins and I'm here to document our time at Bonnaroo. It was the first time any of us in the band had ever been, and though we had to wake up when we're usually going to bed to get there, morale was high. Not ten steps into the festival grounds we were already sinking fast into the mud. But we took this as no omen as to how the rest of our day was going to go. After digging our boots out, we headed towards our stage. On the way, I was thinking I knew what it must feel like in hell: playing Bonnaroo at midday in a three-piece suit. Our show that afternoon may have been the first time I've ever played a show in a short sleeve shirt, and you could probably tell by how pale my arms were. We played a small tent, but the crowd watching us was nothing less than fantastic. More people showed up than we would have thought and despite it being early in the day, they had more energy than probably any other crowd we've played for. The album had just come out two days prior, but some people were still singing along. My favorite part of the show may have been watching people sing what they thought the lyrics were, but probably hadn't read the liner notes yet. They were making up some really great stuff like, "I need to fake my own death soon" or something, instead of, 'I need to take a vacation". After our set, we went back to the artist lounge and spotted the ping pong table where Andy and Jon held court for most of the evening (see below). The rest of the night got a bit blurry, a mixture of no sleep, too much sun and too much drink started to set in and we were all but asleep by 9:30pm. We drove back to our hotel and slept like babies - babies who couldn't have had a better first Bonnaroo.

Jeremiah Weed's Backyard Interview

youtube

The band recorded this interview for SPIN magazine at the festival. Jeremiah Weed was a brand that sold bourbon and other alcohol that partnered with SPIN at Bonnaroo to promote their drinks while providing an interview space for the bands. According to SPIN's website:

To get a break from the Tennessee heat, Bonnaroo bands gathered in Jeremiah Weed’s Backyard, a down-home hangout featuring lawn games, BBQ, and cocktails made with Jeremiah Weed’s vodkas and bourbons. - (x)

This promotional video for the event gives some idea of what it was like. Jon appears at 0:48, and the whole band appears at 1:03.

Some quotes from the SPIN interview

Probably my favourite show we’ve done so far, there was a lot of people… Our album just came out four days ago, so it was nice to see people already singing along. – Ryan

Most of these festivals that we have done, you’re like, 45 feet away from the crowd. There’s a big disconnect that can happen when that sort of situation is there, but today it was a lot of fun. They were just as far as we are from you. – Ryan

Setlist

Setlist songs and order thanks to this post by Katie Ruark (who also took all the amazing pictures from this show). Videos of the performances are also linked below (for the songs I could find).

Young Veins (Die Tonight) video 1, video 2, video 3, acoustic performance

The Other Girl video

Is It True? video 1, video 2

Take a Vacation! video 1, video 2

Security video

Maybe I Will, Maybe I Won't video 1, video 2, video 3

Change video 1, video 2, video 3

When You Walk in the Room

^ Photos of Ryan, Jon, Nick Murray and Andy at Bonnaroo from Katie Ruark's tumblr. Nick White is not pictured because he apparently disappeared right after the set.

^ A picture of the band at Bonnaroo posted to the Young Veins' Facebook page by Jon. From this and Ryan's blog account of the show, it looks like he was planning on wearing a shirt and tie, but changed his mind as it was such a hot day - according to Katie Ruark the humidity was 96%.

#bonnaroo #summer2010 #the young veins #young veins #tyv #ryan ross #jon walker

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themovieblogonline · 2 years

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Loki Writer Michael Waldron Might Write Avengers: Secret Wars

Marvel Studios unveiled a plethora of new films and series at this year’s SDCC 2022. Two of which are the Avengers movies, Secret Wars and The Kang Dynasty, both set to release in 2025. Following the news, we also learned that Shang-Chi director Destin Daniel Cretton will direct Kang Dynasty with a script from Jeff Loveness (Rick And Morty, Ant-Man And the Wasp: Quantumania). On the other hand, there’s no confirmation on who’s yet directing Secret Wars. But a new report suggests a possible writer for the new movie. Insiders claim that writer Michael Waldron could write Avengers: Secret Wars. While there’s been no official confirmation from Marvel Studios, a new Deadline report confirms that Waldron is in talks to write the script for the new Avengers movie. Insiders claim that having written Loki and the recent Doctor Strange In The Multiverse Of Madness, Waldron has built up a bit of trust within Marvel. So much so that the studio might entrust him with one of its most ambitious projects in Secret Wars. The comic, Secret Wars, was published back in 1984. The storyline saw the Beyonder, a cosmic entity, kidnap several Marvel superheroes and villains from Earth. He teleported them to a different planet known as Battleworld. The Beyonder then forces all the heroes and villains to fight one another, promising the winners their greatest desires. It was a Marvel Comics-wide event that saw characters like the Avengers, Fantastic Four, Spider-Man, the X-Men, Kang, Ultron, Dr. Doom, Deadpool, and countless others. The MCU version of Secret Wars will look different, given that many of these heroes have yet to make their MCU debut. I found Multiverse Of Madness suffering from a lack of proper character development. And a story that didn’t properly to the larger MCU. While on the other hand, Loki was one of the better Disney+ Marvel series after WandaVision. Probably because it focused entirely on character drama against a larger backdrop. So I’m mixed on the news of Michael Waldron writing Avengers: Secret Wars. Waldron was clearly the right choice to write Loki. Which didn’t rely too heavily on having to connect to the larger MCU. But the same issue caused a bit of a disconnect in Dr. Strange 2. So I’m concerned about Waldron’s ability to write a massive universe-encompassing story like Secret Wars. Especially given how heavily it most likely will have to connect to everything that is still yet to come, and Avengers: The Kang Dynasty as well. We’ll have to wait and see what happens when Avengers: Secret Wars releases on November 7, 2025. Source: Deadline. Read the full article

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be-there-or-be-square-bro · 2 years

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Bloody Dangerous | 1

p r e v i o u s p a r t

“Have fun, call if you need anything

He hadn’t told Steve where he was going, or what he even was doing. All the others knew was that he was going out for the night.

He still hadn’t really figured out a way to tell them about Ilyana. Steve would be way too excited and the others would either tease the shit out of him or over-react.

And part of him just simply didn’t want to tell them.

Turning an alleyway, he began his climb up the fire exit stairs until he reached the 8th floor of the slightly run-down building. Reaching over to where the window was, he rapped on the window four times. A moment or two later, the thick curtains were pushed aside and two slender hands pushed the window open.

Poking her head at him, he couldn’t not give a small smile as her looked at her.

“Come inside before I freeze.” She teased, her teal eyes gleamed with mischief.

Effortlessly, he clambered through the window and found himself once again within the eclectic comfort of Ilyana’s apartment. It was an obscene mash-up of almost five centuries worth of collections and belongings, but at least she had the decency of everything being the colour palette of plum, grey, and black.

He don’t think he could’ve stepped foot into her place had it been that side of the 1960 and 1970s.

“So, what do you have planned?” He asked, following her into the entraining area (even though he was the only person she ever entertained with the safety of her sanctum.

“I got us some tickets to an event that I thought you’d like, as an anniversary present.” She smiled, playing with a loose ginger curl that had evaded her braid.

“And what is that event?”

“A jazz night at the Botanical Garden. I have a private table, and we can enjoy a nice dinner with live jazz music from the 1920-1940s.”

He nodded, heart warming. She was so thoughtful, finding things to do that brought him back to his life before he became the Winter Solider. He tried to do the same for her, but it was a little difficult to find events related to when she was “alive”. After all, there wasn’t much entertainment around in this day from the Tudor Era.

She did enjoy it when he took her to see Six, despite his distaste for musicals. She found the show hilarious, so it was worth sitting through a couple hours of song and dance.

“Do I need to change at all?”

She looked over his usual leather jacket, shirt and jeans.

“You should be good. It’s not particularly fancy, and nor did I feel like a formal event. In terms of that, this is good right?”

He took a once over of her black satin slip dress that reminded him faintly of a nightgown he had seen in a vintage shop one time. Her hair in a loose braid and her rouge-painted lips made her look more fabulous than any celebrity at the Met Gala. In his opinion, she was the most beautiful person in the world, and he was friends with Natasha.

“You look radiant, Ilyana. Should we head out?”

“Yes. I want to soak this up seeing as we won’t be able to see each other for a couple weeks.”

“In that case, lets live this night up?”

The smile he gave her was reserved for her, and her alone.

After all, it was easy to connect with Ilyana despite his disconnect with modern times, because well, it was nothing on her being 523 years old as of this year despite that they both didn’t look a day over 31.

n e x t p a r t

#bloodydangerous #marvel #james bucky buchanan barnes #vampire the masquerade #toreador #secret romance

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wildestaugust · 2 years

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Invisible String • C.L

Author: Well… it’s been 3 months since my last update and I’ve got to say I was very hurt since abu dhabi :( thankfully the new season started with a Charles win, so it was only right for me to post the long awaited part 2 of ‘don’t you’.

Warnings: smut, unprotected sex, rough sex, +18.

Part 1

"Mademoiselle!" A waiter approached her with a. umbrella quickly as she got out of her car with her bag over her head trying not to catch the rain.

It had been raining in Paris for almost a well, however, as usual, she had forgotten once again to put an umbrella on her tote bag. Graciously, she smiled at the waiter who was guiding her to the inside of the restaurant.

"Merci!" She said still smiling.

It was a Friday and, after a long week of planning, she had finally found time to enjoy a dinner at her favorite restaurant in Paris. That week had been exhausting with the fashion week basically consuming her. Luckily, the holidays were just around the corner which meant she was finally taking a month to rest.

She was sat on a table facing the big window of the restaurant which had a great view of the Arc de Triomphe. A month ago she had moved out of the apartment where she had lived for four years during college. Now, she was near the Champs-Elysées in a penthouse at Paris' 8th district which was much closer to her workplace.

Moving out of her college apartment was a very emotional process. She had many memories in that place, from laughter to sadness, from happiness to heartbreak and countless sleepless nights due to college work. That apartment saw, probably, the most tumultuous year in her life which started once she saw Charles on that GP.

It had been three years since the last time they talked to each other. She was wrecked coming back from that trip, clearly, she still had feelings for him when they spontaneously reconnected. It was on her first week back from that trip that she started going to therapy and her first task, which almost destroyed her, was to disconnect from everything that reminded her of him.

She was proud of how far she went from her first therapy to her last session which was a year and a half later. In the process of healing, she realized leaving Charles wasn't what she wanted but what she needed at that moment. There was a Neruda poem she read that said «love is so short, forgetting is so long», every time she missed him, she went back to that quote.

Their love shone like golden starlight but, it was also sad, treacherous, beautiful, and tragic. Realizing that leaving him was a necessity, she meant it in the most selfless way. True love wasn't only the act of being devoted to someone for your lifetime, it also meant leaving when the staying would've been more damaging.

Charles was the love of her life and, she believed that, regardless of if they ended up together or not, he would still be part of her life. She cherished their time together, they learned from each other what love was. She believed in timing, but most importantly, in growth and living the every moment. That was what mattered and what kept her focused over the last three years.

The atmosphere in the restaurant was something else. The live music was the best thing that night, a band was playing a cover of Amy Winehouse's Love Is a Losing Game as she drank the remaining champagne left on her glass while they sang the last verse of the song.

It was almost ten o'clock at the moment she looked at her phone's screen. Whilst she was enjoying her lonely night out, that same night the Ritz hotel was hosting an architecture event with one of the most prominent Italian architects that, coincidentally, was the one who designed the building where she had moved in not so long ago.

That was one of the rare occasions when she went to public events. Over the last three years she had managed to keep a very private life. After being quite exposed to the media for two years during her relationship with Charles, it felt much healthier to keep it that way, especially in a place like Paris where the social scene was very big.

The rain hadn't ceased and, very nicely, the same waiter that had got her the umbrella an hour earlier, was guiding her back to the car. She thanked him shortly after tipping him a few euros.

She drove away whilst Taylor Swift's re-recorded version of the album 1989 played. If she could think of Paris as an album it would be 1989 without a doubt. Paris was known to be the city of love but, like 1989, to her it meant the other kind of love, the hopeless one, mainly due to the fact that she had fallen out of love a few years back. She sang happily to This Love as she —coincidentally— drove past one of the locations where the singer shot a music video a few years ago.

She had found herself relating to a lot of Swift's songs and indirectly those were the lyrics that stuck with her during the process of her breakup, finding them, very, cathartic.

Once she arrived at the emblematic hotel, a valet guy took her keys and she quickly got inside after being escorted with an umbrella under the endless rain that was taking over the french city. The place was packed, and luckily, the protocol girls at the entrance didn't took long to look up her name at the guests list.

After being offered a champagne glass, she walked over to look closely at the exhibition. Before deciding on fashion, she was always attracted to architecture and if it wasn't for her undying love for the fashion industry, she was certain that she would've eventually become an architect, besides, her family was flooded with architects, more specifically, her parents.

It was amusing to read the fascinating stories behind the designs of all those jaw dropping buildings. She took a moment to capture a few pictures of the insanely spectacular designs.

As she walked, her eyes spotted a very familiar face. One she hadn't seen that close in a long time which quickly set her back to her teen years. What were the odds that they were going to meet up in the middle of a rainy night in Paris? Oddly enough, those were the same exact circumstances of the last time they saw each other.

"Hi." She said smiling as he immediately hugged her. His embrace was warm and suddenly a full film of memories started playing in her mind. She tried as much as possible to act normal even though inside, heart was racing faster than his usual speed at any Grand Prix.

She was in complete disbelief that he was standing there hugging her, something about his embrace always made her comfortable. His cologne was still the same, years after and he was still wearing the one she gave him for his twenty first birthday.

"My goodness! It's been years." He said in disbelief. Charles was still thinking the woman in front of him was just part of his daydreams, however, it all felt too real with his arms embracing her tightly.

"I know! How are you?" She asked still smiling.

She was taken aback by his presence after years without knowing of him, she would sporadically watch the races, specially the one in Monaco where he finally had his redemption and won. She hadn't seen the last few ones, however, she was aware he was in contention for the championship.

He looked a bit more mature, however, his hair still looked the same. He wore a turtleneck and glasses which made him look a bit funny since she always thought he looked just like Daniel Radcliffe in Harry Potter back when they were younger.

"I'm fine, everything has turned out great! How about you?" Charles couldn't stop looking at her eyes, that was the last thing he remembered of her.

It had been three years since that fateful night when they last saw each other. He never reached out but, occasionally, he would ask her friends about her, at least for the first year after the breakup. Monaco not only brought back the memories of their time together, it was also the fact that seeing her friends only made him think about her.

He had been living in Milan for two years and nothing could be more perfect in his life. It was the start of December and he was leading the championship, Ferrari was about to extend his contract for three more seasons, his clothing line was about to drop. Everything was a success and he was still in his twenties.

"It's been great. I've been living here for a while now. I think since the last time we saw each other." She explained. "How's your career?"

"Don't you watch the races?" He asked confused.

"I haven't." She said, pausing for a few seconds. Why would she admit it?

Charles didn't expect that answer. Like some sort of comfort for himself, he always thought that she would watch his races even though they didn't speak anymore. That was a big motivation for him, to have the hope that she was still proud of him.

"Oh... well, I'm leading the championship." She hadn't stopped smiling since she saw him.

"That's so awesome." She said. Nothing felt more gratifying than knowing everything he once dreamed when he was just a teenager was finally becoming his reality. He had come a long way from, the boy she met at seventeen to the man standing in front of her.

"I know, you were there when it all started." Charles smiled.

"I know." She was proud of him in every single way. "By the way, I'm a bit overwhelmed because I never thought I'd see you here." She joked but, in reality, that was a situation that she imagined for years. Whether it was on the streets of Monaco, at one of her cousin's birthdays, at a restaurant, anywhere, she was certain that at some point they would've crossed paths.

"yeah, my friend was supposed to meet me here but he stood me up. When I saw you, I was already on my way out."

"Where were you going?" She asked as they walked around.

"To Lorenzo's place. He moved here a few months ago." Charles had been receiving a lot of press those last few days and he desperately needed a little escape from all the buzz in Italy.

"Ooh, those are news to me! I haven't seen him in ages." she joked. "When are you leaving?"

"On Monday. I gotta go back to Maranello and then, on Wednesday, i'm off to Brazil." he explained.

"Why don't you come tonight to my place? I would love to catch up with you." She replied, not sure why she would suggest that, but again, it was Charles, there was something in their relationship where nothing felt too strange or too rushed.

"I'd love to, we haven't seen each other in years." Charles couldn't stop smiling. It had been three long years but, she hadn't changed, at least in his eyes. He still saw her as the girl who stole his heart at seventeen and broke it at twenty four.

They walked out together as their conversation kept going. She was surprised to know about his clothing line, after seven years she thought it was impossible for him to do it after the many restrictions in his Ferrari contract.

It didn't took long for the valet guys to bring them their cars. As expected, Charles was driving around in a Ferrari, it was similar to the first one he got when he signed for them back in 2019, however, she assumed it was a customized one for him.

"For a short stay, I'll say is quite extra your car choice." She commented.

"It's Lorenzo's though." He said smiling. "Do I follow you?"

"Sure. We're not that far!" She said as she got inside her car.

It felt weird to reconnect that spontaneously and casually with him, however, she couldn't be more excited to hear all about his career and his life. Back when he got to Formula One, he made her promise him to be with him throughout his career and, while that promise felt difficult to fulfill after what happened, the least she could do was to invite him and chat about it.

On the way home, he was all she could think about. She was reminiscing all the good moments they spent together, specially in Paris. Charles was the first one to encourage her to study there, he knew they'd be far away from each other but, if she was so understanding with his job, there was no reason for him to not be like that with her studies. Ultimately, the distance killed off their relationship but, it was never a choice nor a thought in his head, for Charles to tell her not to leave Monaco to study what she dreamed of.

The car ride felt excruciating. There was nothing to cry or be upset about, however, a certain guilt started growing inside of her. She knew their relationship was no longer healthy and that was the reason why it not only made her break up but also, it took her almost a year and a half of therapy so, upon learning how good everything had turned out for him in the last few years, the "what if" debate didn't take long to get stuck in her head. Of course it was a reaction produced by the fact that she was seeing him but, thinking about all those key moments in his career which she missed out on, felt a bit self-destructive.

She let out a sight of relief as she spotted the entrance of the parking garage in her building. God only knew who much she was longing to talk about everything with him.

"What happened to the other apartment?" he asked as they walked towards the private elevator.

"I moved out a month ago. It was too small." she replied as they got inside.

"you lived there for quiet a while, no? Was it 2020 when you moved here?" He remember it all too well. "I helped you organize everything, I think your mom even came in at one point and we were passed out on the carpet."

"You seem to remember it perfectly." she added smiling. "This neighborhood is much nicer and it's closer to my office so you could say it's a match made in heaven!"

"Nice. By the way, how are your parents? I saw your dad probably a year ago in Monaco, I think he didn't see me but he was on a bike." He asked.

Charles felt the urge to know everything about her life those past three years. He had given up on the idea that he'll ever see her again, to him, that night was their last moment together and, facing that reality was utterly hurtful for him during the first year.

He suddenly felt like a teenage boy looking at his crush on the first date, however, it had been over ten years since they met when they were high schoolers and, instead of a crush, it was the greatest love in his life who he was looking intensely at.

Something that always stuck with him was how understanding she was of his career, from his first ever competition, to that faithful night in Monaco six months before they reconnected. He hated just how much she supported him to the point of sacrificing their relationship for the sake of his job, he felt he didn't deserve it, to lose the woman he loved over his career.

At the end, it all worked out for him. He was reaching the prime of his career, his biggest aspiration in life was coming true. He was sure Jules and his dad were looking down at him, deeply proud of his achievements, after the many years of preparation and sacrifices to make it to the top. And while she wasn't there, it was impossible to forget the person that, with his dad, never missed a single race of his.

"They're fine. They've been living in London for almost two years now. It's just sporadically when they go to Monaco, usually, just to visit my uncle and my grandma." Just as she replied, she swung open the door of her place.

"Nice place." he said walking inside.

"Do you want to sit on the balcony or is it better here in the living room?" She asked while taking off her shoes.

"We should stay here, outside is cold as hell." Charles replied walking over to the sofa.

"Well, you're going to regret it when you arrive in Brazil because São Paulo is very warm around this time." She joked as she sat on the same sofa.

"You know they have beaches in São Paulo, right? Whatever, let's go outside if you want." Charles laughed. "I still can't believe I'm here with you. If i'm being honest, I thought I'd never see you."

"Really? Why? I thought the same at some point." she asked.

"When I woke up that morning without you... I lost it. I went back to Maranello completely lost, I even told Mattia that I didn’t feel like racing the week of the Turkish GP" A story that once was hard for Charles to tell, suddenly, felt cathartic as he was about to tell it to the one who caused it. "When I realized you weren't there, I was convinced I'd never have the chance to see you again, after all, I had to respect your decision on not wanting me to chase after you and, while it broke me, I would never do something to make you hate me."

She was stunned by his retelling of the story. That morning, she kissed him on the cheek while he was still sleeping and, cautiously, she got up to dress up again and leave the place while her best friend was already waiting for her. By the time she had left the hotel, Charles woke up to an empty right-side of the bed.

Before replying, she took the time to fill two glasses of Rosé in the minibar she had in her balcony. Charles laid on the couch while his eyes kept staring at her, it all felt like a sick dream.

"...I could never hate you." She replied handing him his drink. "It was just a lot. I barely saw you around that time and, it would've been selfish of me to tell you to focus on me. Although I couldn't bear the loneliness, I would've never make you choose between me and your job..." that selfless decision was still the best thing she ever did.

"Do you think we were too young? I mean, I guess when you end a relationship, you try to look for reasons and the 'what if's'. For the longest I tried to blame myself." he explained.

"I think so, our main problem was timing though. You shouldn't punish yourself, it wasn't your fault. "

"So you chose to leave me?" he replied more confused than three years prior.

"What else could I've done? you would've never put aside your ambitions in the sport to spend more time with me and I understood it. You can't just come here and tell me all of this when clearly it worked out for you because, as far as i'm concerned, your career is doing amazing."

"But you weren't there these last few years." Those words were burning her inside. Yes, she didn't regret doing what she did but, she wished she could've been there when his career was finally in its momentum. "You said we would've hated each other had we stayed together, and that made me want to die."

She was silent, never had she seen Charles as vulnerable as in that moment. His cheeks were red and his eyes were almost giving out on the tears. Her hands were quick to touch both his cheeks, caressing them softly with a smile on her face.

"I did it because I love you but, I love myself as well and that wasn't healthy... For the longest I thought of a future for us, I believed in us but, at the end, it was too much distance to handle." She replied.

"I'm glad you're doing fine, it's all I've always cared about." he said smiling. "The truth is harsh, I guess."

"And it makes me the proudest to know you're doing well at everything, we dreamed of this when we were young and now it is you're reality!" she said smiling.

"This is yours as well." At that point they both had left their glasses on the table. "I don't want to fight over the past. I think I sound like a dickhead."

"No, you aren't. I understand you." She stroked his hair softly. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure. I mean, you are doing it already."

"Why did you never tried to see me again? I ask because what you said a few minutes ago doesn't sound like someone who has moved on."

"Well, after that... I convinced myself that that was our last time seeing each other. I kept thinking about you, about what you said and, I realized that if you needed your own space then I couldn't be selfish."

"...I tried to push you out of my mind because I convinced myself as well that I would never see you again, however, for almost a year straight, there was a time where I would walk around the city and wondered if you would just casually walk by." She knew it was impossible to erase him so, all of her efforts, pretty much, felt like boxing without gloves.

"Have we just confessed we wanted forget each other?" He asked while his hand rested on top of her right hand.

"I don't think we wanted, it was more of a need to properly go on with our lives." she explained.

"And how did that turned out?" he questioned.

"life didn't stop, even if I wished it did. How about you?" she replied while pouring more champagne on her glass.

"I've missed you all this time. I had to leave Monaco to try to forget you because every corner in the city reminded me of you." As he said those words, she put both hands on each side of his face, lovingly caressing his cheeks that were red, which usually happened whenever he was nervous.

He stroked her hair, softly. A smile grew on his lips, the nostalgia washing him over as he focused his eyes on her face, detailing every inch of it. She wasn't the same but, to him she hadn't change, the light in her eyes was still there, the same one she had at seventeen.

She shouldn't be there with him, why would she? She had moved on, or at least that was what she tried to repeat in her mind. The closeness between them in that moment was like going back in time to those sleepless nights in Monaco, back when they were seventeen, laying in the bed of his childhood room idealizing their future.

Charles closed the gap between them as he slammed his lips on hers while his hand wrapped her neck. He never counted the days but, he was aware it had been over a thousand days since they last kissed. She found herself enjoying his tongue inside of her, exploring every inch inside her mouth as if it was the first time he did so. She ran her fingers through his hair, pulling it back, letting out a soft moan.

"Tell me this is okay..." He breathlessly said.

She wanted it just as much as him, her soft skin burned at his touch. His cologne was driving her mad as she buried her face on his neck, enjoying the grunts that escaped his lips. Charles felt like he was in heaven with her careless touch.

"I need you, mon cœur." mon cœur, words that were too simple yet, coming from her meant everything to him.

Charles massaged her breasts once he got rid of her shirt, tossing it on the floor. He was so lost in the moment that doing it outside, regardless of how cold it was, didn't matter to him. He would lie if he said that he didn't miss the feeling of touching her.

His hands, softly, touched every inch of her body on their way to get rid of the skirt she was wearing along with her underwear, which he successfully threw around. He left wet kisses against the skin of her inner thighs, he loved burying his mouth deep into her and, even after years, he still felt the same emotions.

"ma chérie you look so fucking amazing." he said before spreading her legs a bit wider to devour her. "You're already dripping wet for me."

His tongue hit all her weak spots, making her let out moans after moans, proving that no one else made her feel like that. It wasn't a secret that she slept around with a few men during those last years, however, none of them caused that reaction on her, most of them didn't even made her cum which already was very telling since a vibrator did a better job back then.

the monégasque was enjoying listening to all her whimpers. after the break up there were a few women that slept with him and, while the sex sometimes was good, none of them were close to be like her. Even when he had everything to be happy about, he was miserable just thinking of how much he missed her.

"charles..." his tongue was pressed at her clit while his hands gripped tightly on her thighs. "I missed you." she said breathlessly.

"I missed you too, ma chérie. I missed fucking you." As he replied, he dropped his left hand to her ass, spanking it really hard.

Before she was about to reach her high, he stopped, which left her frustrated as she protested almost immediately.

"why the fuck did you do that?" she said.

"Everything takes time… first, i'm going kiss your neck and suck you." He said almost slamming his lips at her neck, sucking her skin, which made her gasp loud, his mouth did wonders but, she wanted him to be down deep into her. "second, you are going to get on your back for me." He added and while the waiting game was excruciating, she did as she was told.

He started spanking her ass, which was undoubtedly his favorite body part of her. She was trying not to fall apart in pleasure as he kept slamming his hand on her ass, however, it all went downhill since she was moaning his name as loud as she could.

"Charles!" She cried out.

"You look so sexy when you're needy." He cockily said while unbuttoning his pant. "I'm going to fuck that beautiful ass of yours all night."

He gave it one last spank and, without any warnings, he pushed into her. He cursed as he gripped tightly on her hip, he wanted to photograph every single moment of the night, from that sighting at the hotel to the desperate whimpers that filled the air as he thrusted into her.

"Tell me, has anyone else made you feel this good?" He asked, picking up the pace.

"Fuck no..." she replied whimpering.

She was melting at the touch of the only person who truly knew her. Not her parents, not her sister, not even her friends... it was him, everything was about him. Not only did he knew how to sexually pleasure her, he also cared for her, way more than he should've.

Without any warnings, just after fucking her from behind for what it felt an eternity, he flipped her to be face to face with each other. He slammed his lips against hers while her legs effortlessly wrapped around his hips.

"je t'aime, mon amour." Charles said breathlessly as he sucked her skin, leaving marks around her cleavage.

"Fuck me, please... make me yours." She begged while she pulled his hair.

Charles pushed himself into her soaking entrance and, without further ado, he pushed his hips against hers. He was cursing in french while she filled the room with the loudest moans he has ever heard. They both craved each other but their stubbornness fooled them for years into thinking their story was over.

His finger barely touched her lower lip, that was his weakness. Back when they lived together he used to wake up first since, clearly, he was always on his way to catch a plane, and it became a routine for him to wake her up touching her soft lips with his fingers, he knew she hated morning kisses before brushing her teeth so that was his way of kissing her.

"Fuck!— You fuck me so good." she moaned.

"You're so fucking hot." he replied picking up the pace.

she was completely losing her mind as he rocked his hips back and forth. Her nails carved into his back as she tried to keep herself together.

Charles managed to be rough and gentle at the same time, he was fucking her into oblivion while simultaneously saying the most beautiful things very close to her ear. He knew he wouldn't make the same mistake twice of letting her go.

As cinematic as it felt, with their eyes locked in each other and his hands on both sides of her face, they came together, letting out insanely loud moans for the whole city to hear. He rested his head between her breast, leaving soft kisses around them.

"I wish we had met, at least, five years after that new year's party." she said breaking the silence in the room while she stroke his hair.

"Why would you say that?" he asked confused.

"Because we are mature now... I don't blame myself for what I did years ago but, I believe that, if it had happened in this time, we would've handled it better." she replied.

"Well, I agree with you on that one, but this is where we are right now, we can only look forward." he said moving his fingers slowly on her skin.

"That's the thing, I won't be able to go on with my life after this." she replied placing a pillow on top of her face.

"Fuck it, why don't we try it again?" he said.

"what did you say?" her heart started pounding so hard as soon as she heard those words.

"You heard me, let's give ourselves another chance." his smile grew wider as his thumb, lightly, brushed her lips.

"Charles... I don't want to suffer again, trying to move on was already hard for me." she explained.

"Don't you get it? You're the woman I'm meant to marry, I'm sure of that!" he assured her embracing her tightly.

Silence ruled inside the room, his words kept repeating inside her head as she thought about a proper reply. He was her first everything, but... could he be the one? Was such a thing truthful? Thinking back to the times they had spent, it was hard to believe that she could go back into her daily life after that sudden reconnection they had, perhaps that was the question, to stay or to let go.

"Let's say, hypothetically, that we try this again, how are we supposed to see each other if i'm here and you're in Italy?" she questioned.

"Come with me to Brazil, that's the last race... after that, I can stay here with you for the rest of the winter break." he said without hesitation. "I can't promise you that we won't fight or have our bad days because, who doesn't? however, I can assure you I'll do everything better."

"I don't want to lose you again, believe me, I wouldn't bear it." she said with sincerity. it wasn't hard to imagine that all the experiences they shared together helped her to make a decision, however, stepping into a new relationship with him made her fearful because, certainly, she didn't want to hurt him more than she had done years ago.

"We found each other, that means something, don't you think?" he said while looking at her teary eyes. "don't cry, mon cœur."

Charles had determination. He wanted his life to be how he had projected it since he was a teenager, and that projection wouldn't be complete if she wasn't in his life. He had been given a second chance and he certainly wasn't a man to lose out on opportunities.

The days went by fast. Charles brought some of the stuff that was in his brother's apartment to her place, including his favorite piano. He loved to play it for her every morning when they lived together in Monaco and, definitely, he wanted to keep up the tradition in Paris. As much as she kept repeating that they weren't officially a couple, Charles knew that they were on the right path.

On the plane to São Paulo, they talked throughout the whole flight. The thing about reconnecting after a three years is that people change a lot in such a short time. She learned a lot about his life and what he had been up to at ferrari, she also didn't know that Lorenzo had a child the year before, which meant she was, unofficially, an aunt.

Charles had also been in a short relationship a year and a half after they broke up for good, her name was Kelly and they only lasted four months. Contrary to him, she had a few hook ups throughout that time, however, nothing serious came out of it. That weekend brought them closer than they already were.

During those days, there was not a single moment where they weren't all over each in the most subtle ways. The Ferrari garage was filled with excitement as Charles lead, over Red Bull's Verstappen, could seal the championship as he only needed another win.

The atmosphere was certainly something else, they didn't expect a lot of tifosis to travel all the way to south america, however, when the race day came, the crowd was just a sea of ferrari and italian flags.

"You're my champion." she said kissing him as they were in his driver's room "Whatever happens out there won't matter because i'm proud of you." She held him tightly and her mind immediately went back to 2018 when they shared a similar moment before his first ever F1 race, somehow bringing them into a full circle moment.

"You have no idea what it means to me that you're here." he said kissing her again.

As soon as he left the garage, she sat down with Lorenzo and his wife while they waited for the race to start. The Leclerc's were shocked when they found out she was traveling with him, particularly, Pascale. His mom loved her, and that feeling was certainly mutual.

"I'm glad you guys are giving yourselves a second chance." Lorenzo said as he gave her the ferrari headphones to hear Charles' radio messages throughout the race. "You know we appreciate you a lot."

"Oh Lolo! we're starting all over again, to see where this takes us." She smiled.

Everything happened so fast that it felt like a very vivid dream. The race had a thrilling start with Verstappen in the lead, however, the spirit in the ferrari garage was so high that they knew charles was going to fight back. Eventually, after the second pit stop, Charles had managed to get out of the pit lane before Max, which automatically gave him the lead with 10 remaining laps.

The red bull fought back many times, however it all felt too real when the ferrari mechanics started rushing outside. And then, everything made sense when Lorenzo embraced her while she heard screams coming out of the headphones.

"Oh my god!" she said in complete disbelief. His mechanic gave her his headphones to talk with him. "You did it, mon cœur, champion du monde!" she shouted while crying. They were all visibly emotional, and before she could get out of the garage, there were already dozens of cameras surrounding her.

As soon as he got out of the car, he went straight to her, and even with the loud cheers from the crowd, she could hear him cry loudly even with the helmet on. They dreamed of that since they were teenagers, all those days they spent in her room idealizing their futures were playing in her head over and over.

"Je t'aime, mon cœur." he said with the biggest smile on his face.

After his post-race interview, it was time to get on the podium, and as he got on that top step, his eyes were set on her for the whole time, the euphoria around him didn't matter because all he cared about was the woman standing next to his brother, the one who once was a teenager that dreamed with him about all of that, and after years, she got to witness what they talk about endlessly. He couldn't predict what would happen after that night, however, if he was certain of something, it was undoubtedly that he would do everything to give her all she wanted, even if it meant moving again to another country.

#charles leclerc smut #formula one #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x reader #f1 smut #f1 imagine #leclerc

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djarrex · 3 years

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Pretty please can we have something where Echo and TBB find out Rex and reader are expecting? Bonus points for Omega's reaction cause I wonder sometimes whether she knows much about the natural way babies are made? I figure she wouldn't have need of that information in the Kaminoans' eyes.

I wanna preface this by expressing the joy I feel and the appreciation I have when you guys come into my inbox asking or wanting to talk about Post-Order 66 Rex and fam. I love it SO MUCH you have no idea :’)

So, if you remember, Hunter was briefly in Insatiable and has a couple lines of dialogue - he even congratulates them on the pregnancy and wishes them well in case he doesn’t see them soon - which is shown during Rex + reader + Hunter’s short interaction. The squad is told the happy news before the events of that particular installment, and I’m thinking that it happens when Rex contacts them to ask if they would be able meet him on [planet] for a little help with [mission].

Find the rest of the series and related works in the Post-Order 66 Rex ML

Let’s go back in time when Rex makes contact with TBB, which preludes the events of Insatiable: (pregnant!reader, TBB + Omega finds out, about 1.6k words)

<<<>>>

"We’re being hailed.”

All members on board the Marauder drop what they’re doing and turn their attention to Echo, who had just called out and is signaling for everyone to congregate in the cockpit. Hunter sheathes the knife he’d been twirling in his fingers and nods before stepping towards the rear of the ship and calling for Omega, while Wrecker sets down Gonky and waves her over. Tech and Echo are already sat in the cockpit, getting the signal steady for the incoming transmission to come through.

"What is it?" Omega jumps down from the gunner's nest - now her room thanks to Wrecker's kind heart and creativity - and joins her brothers in the cockpit. The pilot seats are swiveled around and facing the small space in the center of all of them - the bust of a familiar captain popping into view. "Oh, it's Rex! Hi Rex!" She waves at his translucent blue form with a giddy smile plastered on her face. “Where is-”

"Hello Omega," you chime in with a smile as your head pops into the perimeter of the holo. Her sweet face lights up even more, and her eyes move back and forth between you both, unsure of whom to focus on. From the room you’re still staying at in a high-rise located in Yerbana City, the two of you exchange quick greetings with the five who are currently traveling through hyperspace.

“What’s goin’ on, Rex?” The gentle giant asks with a grin and hands placed on his hips. The captain straightens his stance and crosses his armored arms across his chest plate, and instead of directing his impending response to Wrecker, Rex’s attention turns to Hunter, who’s leaned against the frame at the threshold of the cockpit. A moment passes as the two share a nonverbal understanding before Rex opens his mouth - the focusing pairs of eyes on one another.

“I wanted to see if your squad would be available to help me out.” You quietly observe each individual who are all appearing on your end as full-body projections, landing on Omega to where she’s sitting on top of their Gonk droid - her hands folded neatly in her lap, legs swinging.

“Name it.” Echo is quick to respond with a affirmative nod as he meets the eyes of each member - cutting off Hunter before the sergeant can get a word in. Rex’s oldest friend found himself caught at the receiving end of a very slight glare coming from directly across from him, and begins to backtrack. “I-”

“What is it, Captain?” Hunter interjects.

You sort of tune out the rest, having already been given the spiel by Rex long before you’d suggested for him to contact Hunter for some much-needed assistance. It’s a simple mission: scouting out an abandoned base in hopes to obtain supposedly valuable information from the obsolete Republic database and perhaps to also restock on munitions if there’s anything left there. Normally this would be something Rex could manage on his own, though his thoughts have been a little busy since the start of your extended stay in Yerbana. The two of you ended up taking a little much-needed ‘vacation’ in the repopulating capitol city after receiving the incredible news, and you’re just now getting back into the swing of things. Well, for the most part. Rex doesn’t quite trust his focus as of late with far too many other important things swarming around in his mind, and is worried that he'd make a mistake doing the mission solo, no matter how simple the objective appears to be.

Hunter accepts without resistance, and confirms that they'll meet the two of you just outside the abandoned base immediately after they’ve finished their current objective for Cid, which will probably be in another eighteen hours or so. Rex transmits the coordinates, and it falls silent; the awkward clearing of the throat coming from Rex crackles through the air on their end.

“Somethin’ else, Rex?”

“Actually, yeah. We have some news.” Rex grins and rubs at his nape, and you can't help but to smile wide at him from your position at his side. The squad members all share a glance - a mixture of raised, inquisitive brows and narrowed, concerned eyes. Hunter steps closer to the projection, caution engrained within the features of his half-inked face as he crosses his arms.

“Tell them, love,” your sweet voice of reassurance crackles with the brief wavering signal - your hand laying to rest on his pauldron. Rex chuckles down at his feet and grabs your hand to bring it up to his chest, squeezing gently as he begins to acknowledge the others.

“Everything okay, you two?”

“Based on their lifted expressions and display of affection towards one another, it appears that this ‘news’ is of a positive, exuberant nature.”

You can’t help but laugh at Tech being Tech, which results in mixed reactions at the other end of the call. Rex inhales deep - the air quietly seeping through his nostrils on the exhale. “We’re, uh- we’re gonna have a baby.” His lit up eyes drop to his boots and he’s smirking at his feet as soon as the words leave his lips. You watch as the multiple pair of eyes widen with smiles creeping their way onto each member of the squad’s faces, but the first person to audibly respond is Tech - his focus not lifting from the device held in his hands.

“Are you certain?” All heads snap in Tech’s direction to where he’s leaned forward in the pilot’s seat, elbows resting on his thighs, continuing to tap away at the datapad. Smacking his bother’s knee, Echo squints at Tech and shakes his head.

“Yes, Tech,” you giggle as your hand releases from Rex’s and moves to rest against the beginnings of your baby bump, though you’re unsure if they are able to see either one of you from the chest down. “The bun has been confirmed as baking in the oven. We risked a brief visit to the local med center here, so, we’re certain.”

“Well then.” Tech’s brows lift above the rim of his goggles as he readjusts the spectacles with a finger pushing between them. “Felicitations to you both. That is quite extraordinary news. It seems that I was correct in-”

“That’s so wonderful!” Omega exclaims with the largest grin - hopping off the GNK and clapping her hands excitedly as she approaches you. “When are you getting the baby? Are we going to see the baby when we meet them at the rendezvous, Hunter?”

“Of course you're going to see the baby, Omega,” you answer softly for Hunter, giving him a quick smile and nod, saving him from having to explain. “It won’t be for quite a few months, though. Not until after the baby is born.” Omega’s brows pinch together in confusion, and you cautiously elaborate, unsure of what she already knows as far as what the natural-born process entails. “The baby has to grow inside of me first, and that takes a little while.”

"Inside of you?" Her curiosity is absolutely adorable. She turns to her brothers - soft eyes flickering to each one of them.

"You see, Omega, when-"

"Uh, Tech?" Rex clears his throat, and the intelligent trooper is quick to get the hint - closing his mouth and resuming to silently tap at the datapad. Echo is next to chime in, and he’s smiling like a fool, eyes wide.

“You’re gonna be a dad, eh? Wow... that’s- that’s just incredible, brother.”

“I’m gonna be an uncle!” Wrecker very loudly exclaims, and Omega and you share giggles at his enthusiasm.

“Technically, Wrecker, we are all going to be ‘uncles’ since Rex is our brother, genetically speaking. Therefore, any offspring he may produce would be considered as our nieces and nephews. That is how the nat-borns conduct their family trees.” Tech punctuates his statement with a sure nod - speaking with his finger raised in the air so as to draw attention to his point.

You’re so lost in the way Rex’s eyes continue to positively sparkle with pride and adoration as his brothers and Omega shower the two of you with congratulatory praises that you’re forgetting to respond to all of them.

“We appreciate it, everyone,” you say with an ear-to-ear grin - beaming at Rex.

“We’ll see you all soon,” Rex concludes, “Stay safe out there.”

The holo vanishes as the transmission disconnects, leaving the squad on board the Marauder to go over some more details of their next objective as well as to process the news.

“So...” Wrecker turns around and leads Gonky back to where he was benching the power droid before the call. “What do ya think Rex is gonna do?”

Hunter raises the brow bordered with dark ink. “What do you mean?”

“Are they going to keep this up, now that they’re going to have a kid? You know, the missions and stuff?”

“We have Omega,” Tech inputs matter-of-factly as he prepares the ship for exit from hyperspace. “And we are managing just fine, barring our dwindling ration supply.” Omega smiles sheepishly, but nods with confidence.

“Rex is a good man.” Echo swivels his seat around and sits up straight, meeting the four pair of eyes now gazing back at him. “Always tried to do what was best for his men, his brothers, and still does, even if it's beyond his control or out of his hands. Now that Rex is... free,” Echo puts the most stress into that word as it’s spoken - glancing down at his feet and chewing the inside of his cheek before continuing, “He’s in control of his life, and is able to choose his own path. And that path will lead to what’s best for his family.”

<<<>>>

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#post-order 66 rex #djarrex writes #request #rex gayiyla #the Gayiyla family #captain rex x reader #captain rex x f!reader #star wars fic #captain rex #the bad batch

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