#fic: oblivion bound
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The Evening ― a Bound by Destiny drabble
⥼ Summary ⥽
While Nadya is busy making friends among the Ball's other human guests, Adrian and Kamilah retreat to the vampire-exclusive La Soiree. It is there that Adrian meets a pair of vampires with which to spend the evening... and finds himself caught up in the scintillating air of their natural mystery.
note: This piece takes place during Bound by Destiny, during the events of Chapter 10: The Cellar. It is not necessary to read to understand Book 1 or the Oblivion Bound series, but it does provide a fun insight into both Adrian and the original characters Valdas and Isseya.
word count: 4,175
rating: mature
content warnings: language, blood drinking, vaguely-described sexual situations
find out more: HERE
⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽
[READ IT ON AO3]
By the third time Kamilah sweeps her gaze across the room he’s had enough.
“You don’t need to babysit me all night. Do you think I’m going to up and retreat the moment you turn your back?”
The look she gives him isn’t entirely unwarranted; a simple arched brow and the kind of breath that shifts her bosom at the top of her corset but serves only to be seen and understood.
For as long as he’s known her, Adrian has been fascinated with Kamilah’s skill of speaking columns without so much as an utterance. Maybe it comes with age. More likely it’s just something uniquely Kamilah.
“Give yourself a tad more credit Adrian.” She curls a single finger in the air; summoning a serving boy from out of his line of sight and plucks her choice of dark amber liquor from his offered assortment. “‘Retreat’ is not a word in your lexicon.”
The same silver tray is offered to Adrian. He declines, and the servant flits away.
“You know what I mean.”
Kamilah savors her drink for a long moment. “Perhaps I did, once. Now, however, I find myself in need of a translator where you are concerned.”
And… well, isn’t that entirely not what he was expecting. “What’s that about?”
“It is about the changes I’ve seen in you over the last few months. I’ve yet to determine whether or not to be concerned.”
“A chan—” But before he can even get the full question out, Kamilah cuts him off.
“Do not play the fool to me. Never to me.”
Eyes sharp as the daggers she collects so avidly; plum-tinted lips curled into a frown usually reserved for literally anyone else. All of her discontent plain to see despite the heady fog of incense that curls around the foyer and its guests.
But it’s not exactly difficult for Adrian to figure out the source of her ire. The unspoken name that’s kept her on her toes.
Only Adrian wouldn’t dare do anything but call Nadya a profoundly positive influence on his life. Not even just his—Kamilah’s, too. How long has it been since he’s heard even the whisper of amusement curled into the corners of her mouth? Or seen a kindness as simple as slipping Nadya her Clan symbol so she wouldn’t have to brave the train ride without them at her side?
One of his great personal tragedies of the last century was being forced into the role of silent witness to the hardening of Kamilah Sayeed’s heart. And yet she sits here in front of him and implies he’s the only one changed by the strange yet welcome break in immortal tedium ignited by their wondrous new human friend.
Alas, Adrian isn’t the least bit surprised.
He’s young (compared to her, anyway), but not stupid.
Before Adrian can speak a word in his own defense a familiar and throaty laugh catches the pair’s attention. It has Adrian looking beyond her shoulder while Kamilah twists lithely to join him in watching Lester’s entrance to the evening’s events.
To no one’s surprise their fellow Council member has arrived with a beautiful woman gracing each arm. Mortal, given the flush in their cheeks — and no doubt a disturbingly small fraction of his presumed age. He postures; he always does. Loud bellowing guffaws and over-exaggerated reunions with old friends he will need plenty of liquor to recall the names of.
By the time he’s made his way across the foyer there’s an entire Castellanos entourage on his heels. And as quickly as they gathered… they all vanish together too. Gone behind one of several doorways draped in maroon velvet.
Attentions turning back to one another, the looks Adrian and Kamilah exchange make his heart feel a little bit lighter. Even when they aren’t eye-to-eye on one thing, they will always be on the same team.
“Well we know which salon to steer clear of.” Adrian muses.
“I would venture caution even to those which share a wall with his den of debauchery.”
That, however, brings up the unspoken discussion neither of them have wanted to set in motion. The one where they discuss their own and each others’ participation in the soiree’s intended purpose.
Kamilah is certainly dressed for it. And Adrian isn’t even the only one around them wearing a simple suit — sometimes what is not revealed is just as tantalizing as what is, after all.
So he sighs, accepts defeat, and politely stops the closest server for his pick of red wines on offer. “I’ll stay—salut,” his raised glass meets hers between them, “but I’ve got too much on my mind to even think about… joining in.”
Knowing it’s the best she’s going to get out of him, Kamilah accepts this and begins to unwind herself from the supple leather sofa.
“One of these days you might want to try not shouldering the world’s every burden.”
“One of these days.”
“And when such a day comes, I might just die from shock.”
“Just don’t resent me for being your demise.”
With a bemused little smile Kamilah bends down to bestow chaste kisses to his cheeks. It’s enough to give Adrian a strange yet fleeting sense of relief. “I cannot make any promises about not holding it against you,” she teases. “But in all seriousness— do try to find something to keep you entertained tonight. You might even find yourself enjoying what opportunity comes along. It does so only once a decade, if you recall.”
Then Kamilah takes her leave. Adrian watches her go for lack of anything better to do… though the sight of her greeting an unfamiliar woman with a coy smile and friendly kisses isn’t exactly easy on him. He’s glad she’s giving into the opportunity to let loose even a little bit — but knowing what Adrian does about Nadya and her feelings towards Kamilah…
Well, he’s frustrated. Torn between two loyalties. But that’s nothing new.
La Soiree is still in its early hours. Eventually the foyer, still bustling with the last wave of attendees under the impression fashionably late has modern relevance, will be no more than an echoing chamber. And Adrian still doesn’t know if he plans on being one of the scant few left behind.
Wistfully his thoughts drift—unsurprisingly—to Nadya and the Cellar party happening below. Maybe he could pop in. Could check and just make sure she’s acclimating and finding friends and doing well. But would the attendants even let him in…?
The other end of the long couch sighs. Drawing Adrian’s attention to the man helping himself in taking up Kamilah’s place.
He gives the stranger a polite nod out of sheer courtesy — already readying himself to stand and take his leave.
“Surely there is enough room to share?”
Adrian blinks, startled. Looking back at the man but unsure of what to say.
“Yes, you,” the stranger offers a small chuckle and a sweeping hand to all of the empty cushions around them. “There’s no need to leave. In fact, I invite the pleasure of your company.”
The pleasure of his company? Words no doubt carefully-chosen here… of all places.
“Unless…” The man shrugs one shoulder before looking up at Adrian through obviously lowered lashes. “You have a prior engagement, of course.”
Something about the unspoken implication rubs Adrian the wrong way; and makes him debate staying solely to prove the man wrong. There’s a touch of the sinner in the glint of the stranger’s honeyed eyes and the almost predatory way he watches Adrian while sipping his drink.
Apparently… he’s doing this. Adrian sits back down… and tries to reassure himself of the feeling that he may not have really had a choice in the matter. Of course he did.
… Right?
The other vampire doesn’t bother hiding the victory lacing his smile. “Forgive me, where are my manners…”
He extends a dark hand… and the moment Adrian reciprocates the other takes it as unspoken permission to snatch up the empty cushion between them.
“You will call me Valdas.”
Oh will he? “Adrian, Adrian Raines.”
Only Valdas doesn’t relinquish his grip so easily. Leaving Adrian watching with growing confusion and unease as he turns over their joined hands with a tender curiosity.
“Ease the tension in your jaw. It isn’t good for such a handsome face to always look so displeased with the world.”
Reluctantly, Adrian does. “I don’t think I look… displeased,” and brushing the barely-concealed compliment aside… “May I have my hand back, Valdas?”
Apparently not. Well-trimmed nails brush along the inside of his upturned wrist. They linger in the same way winter just won’t let the city go in February. The barest touch dragging along the lines of Adrian’s palm in a way only a lover’s should.
Valdas hums as if pleased. “The trained eye can always tell who among us are survivors of the days of old. Indulge me this, Adrian Raines — I would put you at two, three centuries walking?”
“Pardon?”
“You are pardoned. I’m asking for your age, young man.” Which is a strange endearment to hear from someone who looks pretty close to him in physical age at the very least. Adrian can almost imagine a bit of a baby face hiding under that thick and well-trimmed beard.
While asking someone’s age isn’t any taboo among their kind—especially those gathered at La Soiree—Adrian can’t help but feel a little bit uncomfortable; sharing his age with a man he’s only just met. It’s a clear indicator at the very least that he’s not from around New York or the surrounding states. If he was he’d know Adrian by sight. And age has always been an important measure of decorum — among the Council anyway. It’s why the likes of the Baron will always hesitate before crossing Kamilah; or even Adrian himself for that matter.
Kamilah had even explained to him once the importance of age in the old European vampire culture. How it dictated everything from eye contact to forms of address to even whether you could speak to someone at all.
If Adrian’s placing this Valdas’ accent even remotely geographically close… these could be dangerous waters ahead.
Subtly, Adrian tries to coax his hand free. “Is it that important?”
He fails. Earning instead the stroke of a roughly calloused thumb over the top of his palm. “My curiosity has you uncomfortable,” Valdas answers; a statement that leaves Adrian slightly taken aback.
“Well, no, I —”
The other vampire’s grasp tightens suddenly. It’s minuscule, but definitely noteworthy.
“I do not ask the same thing twice.”
That Adrian doesn’t have a hard time believing. At this rate it’s just easier to answer and get it over with. “I’ve never had a reason to count the years off,” he coolly lies, but still offers, “somewhere over the head of two hundred and fifty, though.”
His acquiescence is met favorably; an almost proud curve added to Valdas’ smile while he nods.
“Yes. I thought so.”
“How could you tell?”
Valdas seems glad Adrian asks. He gestures with a sweep of his thumb over calluses so old Adrian often forgets they’re there; no more important or defining unto him than the scar on his foot from the angry end of a horseshoe nail in his youth, or the chip on his bottom tooth he had been forced to wait for modern dentistry to finally get corrected.
Judging by the way Valdas looks at them, too, their permanence is kind of the whole point.
“The evidence is here, do you see? So many of us lucky enough to have survived have telltale marks such as these. Marks from a farmer’s labor or a blacksmith’s skill. Yours, Adrian, are a tad more distinct though. I would recognize another soldier’s hands anywhere.”
There was once a time when Adrian would have recoiled at the assumption. It didn’t matter if it was true or not. But Gaius has been gone for so long, now. Titles like Soldier, like Bloodqueen, have faded into nothing more than words; as mundane as their current occupations of CEO and Council Member.
“You’re a regular Sherlock Holmes, huh.”
Valdas again shrugs a single shoulder. Then he turns his own hand up and into Adrian’s cupped palm to reveal his own similarly rough hewn skin.
“Deduction has its uses to be sure. But I’ve found experience to be a far more adept means of investigation.”
At least Adrian can take his hand back, now.
“Well I guess my eye isn’t as trained. I hope you’re not waiting for me to guess your age.”
“Why would I, when the time it would take you to do so even close to accurately could be spent in far more amicable ways?”
In the time it takes Adrian to realize his intended insult, Valdas throws his arm over the back of the couch and allows himself to sink further into the pliant leather for comfort.
Well, Adrian thinks, there are worse ways to spend the evening.
He could be in the same room as Lester.
“I take it you are local to the area?”
Adrian nods. “Well—Manhattan, yes.”
“I mean to say that this is not your first of these events.” Valdas gestures broadly to the foyer around them; growing more empty with every passing minute. The intricate and semi-sexual dance of small talk and choosing partners seems to be nearly over.
Ah. “Oh, no then,” he answers. “What about you?” Since it’s highly unlikely his companion is here for someone’s Debut.
“‘Tis our first on this continent. Though the Balls of old hosted by the young Lord Lafayette weren’t so specific in nature back then — they never were.”
There’s… quite a bit to unpack there in a simple statement; and Adrian doesn’t really know where to begin. Maybe that’s a good thing—famous last thoughts—when Valdas reaches forward and cards a surprisingly gentle touch through his hair.
Adrian should be leaning away.
Why isn’t he leaning away?
Because apparently once again Kamilah is proven right — only this time she isn’t even here to reap the spoils of her victory. And because maybe it has been a while since Adrian has… indulged himself with the company of another. It’s not as though Valdas isn’t an attractive man; that’s not it at all. He just isn’t the first person Adrian would have picked out in a room full of equally eligible vampires ranging from casually friendly to just plain horny.
So where does that leave them?
It leaves Adrian speechless; a wordless yet not entirely unwilling participant to the way the other vampire takes slow and purposeful advances. It’s not like Valdas is trying to lure him in falsely with a ruse. They both know exactly what’s going on, what each movement and action mean, and what they could very well build up to.
And Valdas is surprisingly patient as he waits to see if his affections will be reciprocated… or politely refused.
Adrian Raines is a polite man by nature. However he doesn’t refuse.
The rough pad of Valdas’ thumb swipes over Adrian’s bottom lip slowly and with care. Pressing down with the barest of pressure; just enough to feel the tip of his nail on his front tooth.
There’s a point to this brief hesitation. Now would be the time to tell him to stop, if that’s the plan.
Instead, Adrian asks— “Which party would you be referring to, exactly? The Ball, or La Soiree?”
The answer to Adrian’s question lies not in words, but in the way Valdas moves his hand to hold the other’s chin with thumb and forefinger; in the way Adrian follows by allowing his head to cant to the side, welcoming a warm exhale of breath on his neck.
Valdas’ lips tease just shy of a kiss. There’s the tickle of his facial hair that Adrian hasn’t felt in—phew—at least two decades, maybe more? Sensations both familiar in theory and new in specific experience. All that and the air of hunger that hangs over them, sultry and sweet.
Adrian’s half-lidded eyes briefly sweep the room around them in a daze; looking but not really seeing anything from beyond this moment the men have sealed themselves in. Why would he even bother — when there’s still so much to be taken in from the awakening his body is undergoing?
That strong grip winds its way into Adrian’s coiffed hair — clutching at soft strands and digging into his scalp. Like the hand’s owner was born in the tumultuous storm straddling pleasure and pain and has never left it.
“May I?”
Two words given breath and life wet against Adrian’s throat. He isn’t given the chance to answer… but he doesn’t need to when blunted teeth suddenly give way to something sharper.
The lightest twitch is all it takes for Valdas’ fangs to pierce Adrian’s flesh. It’s a carnal act as much as it is a relief; eliminating the need to navigate the murky waters of speech any further.
They sit together, each man’s existence honed in on the other, for what feels like an eternity. The soiree, the Ball itself; everything could continue to move and flow around them and Adrian is quite sure he would be none the wiser.
Yet every time he reaches out to offer some kind of physical reciprocation, Valdas declines. Whether it’s seeking out his cheeks or hair, trying to skirt touches to his neck or shoulders… even when Adrian tries to switch subtle tactics and goes for the buttons of Valdas’ dress shirt with certainty—the other man pushes his hands back in a silent command to simply enjoy. To allow himself to be enjoyed.
The next attempt becomes his last. Rejection joined this time by punishment of Adrian’s hands held bound in his own lap. He really doesn’t have a choice after that.
Somewhere in the din of it all the hairs on the back of Adrian’s arms prickle with gooseflesh. It’s enough to drag him into awareness beyond the heated coil burning in his belly and back to the world that—somehow, like a fever dream—exists outside of Valdas’ extremely talented mouth.
They are being watched.
They are being enjoyed.
One of the staff tries to offer the woman an hors d’oeuvre; just doing her job, being polite. But even from across the room Adrian can see the tension rippling underneath supple olive skin; can sense it in the shift of her lithe body under the dim lighting of the chandelier, and in the way the sheer veils that cover just enough of her skin glide effortlessly along her body and curves.
She is dark black hair in ringlets around sharp cheekbones and a sharper jawline. One eye the color of a tree in morning light and the other an ivy-toned green; both pupils blown wide and black and seemingly endless. And her smile… oh how her fangs catch pearlescent in the light.
He has absolutely no idea who she is.
That doesn’t stop her from staring at them with eyes giving new definition to the word desire.
But the attention starts to unnerve Adrian slightly. Enough to make him twitch and move under Valdas’ continued bloodstained attentions — though his body isn’t sure where to go.
Judging by the tightening grip on his hair… nowhere.
But even through whatever lusting frenzy has him so enamored, Valdas doesn’t ignore the chance of ambiance. Rather than pull back entirely he simply shifts; coyly tucking his face into Adrian’s fluttering pulse in order to cast a subtle glance at what exactly has his new treat ready to flee.
“Ah, yes,” he croons, a familiarity in his tone that catches Adrian off guard, “she can be rather… intense at first. But I assure you darling, she means no harm. Well… none that will go unrewarded anyway.”
Blinking through the haze of Valdas is harder than Adrian expected it to be. “You… know her?” He asks.
Only the second the words pass his lips he no longer needs them. Only then does he remember Valdas’ earlier choice of words—
“…our first time…”
—and it all makes sense.
“She’s your… partner.”
Valdas chuckles lowly; lets his rumbling voice thickened with arousal burrow itself a home beneath Adrian’s skin.
“To call her such a plain term is almost an insult — not that you could have known. If my beloved is merely my partner, then this—here, you and I—is nothing more than a business-like chat.”
Which they both know is an understatement. Point proven when Valdas finally releases his wrists, reaching between their entwined bodies to palm the evidence of Adrian’s enjoyment of even the little they’ve done so far. Finding him full and aching; eager for release against the tight fabric of his suit slacks.
“I can’t recall business ever putting me… here.” Hard, confused; the itch of the role of prey tingling the base of his spine in a way it hadn’t since Adrian was Turned.
And all-too-quickly due to that woman’s unwavering stare.
Valdas wrenches Adrian’s focus back from across the room with a squeeze. Watching and relishing every expression flickering across Adrian’s face with rapt obsession. “I’m gladdened to know you aren’t opposed to Isseya’s voyeurism.”
Any protests that might have been are thus no longer. They die on the tip of Adrian’s tongue; swallowed down so quickly he almost chokes on them in exchange for the moan Valdas pulls from him when he skillfully destroys Adrian’s button fly without a care.
His head falls back against the back of the chaise, his world sent off-kilter, everything distorted at the edges of his sight.
Only to be brought back by the slow and purposeful approach of the tigress called Isseya.
Deceitfully delicate hands fall on his shoulders. The whisper of a soft thumb stroking the juncture where Adrian’s neck meets his shoulder that quickly grows heavy. Effortlessly she is holding him down — pinned and prone.
Isseya leans over him then — fully aware of how her supple breasts follow the curve of her spine to lean just within reach of his parted lips. But the kiss she captures Valdas with becomes a form of distraction all its own.
Humans invented monogamy because to them life was fleeting. Vampires have a very different mindset—and rightly so. There are dozens of ways two (or more) of their kind can define the relationships they have between one another and all together; probably even more than Adrian knows.
But as he watches their tongues tangle soft and exploratory, two of Valdas’ fingers tucking under Isseya’s chin and the control held in such a simple touch… Adrian quickly learns, and understands.
Calling her partner really was a kind of insult. It belittles them and what they are together; what they have. What they let wash over Adrian in building desperation and raising volume wet and eager and only continuing to grow.
What would it be like to kiss someone like that, Adrian finds himself wondering. It’s not an answer, but as if under a compulsion he watches himself lend Valdas a hand by hooking his finger into the rope belt hanging low on Isseya’s hips — like that could somehow hold her there.
The couple press their foreheads together briefly before parting in a silent reckoning. Isseya’s gaze trails lazily back to Adrian like he’s an afterthought.
Oh, yes. You exist.
“You always find me the prettiest presents, My Beloved One.” Her voice rings like chimes on a twilight breeze.
With a chuckle and a nod, Valdas resumes his earlier pursuit — fingers dipping steadily below Adrian’s bespoke waistline to take his arousal in hand. “Who said he was yours?”
“I did.”
“I rather like him for mine own.”
“Cruel, lover.”
Adrian wants to interject; though at the moment his brain is likely to say something stupid about not belonging to anyone, about being his own man. But it’s difficult to think when he’s… like this.
“Strong jaw, good cheekbones… You know I love the cheekbones.” Yet even the bare minimum of a compliment feels, coming from her, like worshipful praise.
His stare is glassy, and he looks up at Isseya with acceptance as well as desire. Another minute more and Adrian worries he might find it impossible to deny them both of anything. Especially the inevitable.
Maybe that’s the whole point.
“Does he suit your vision of the evening, my love?” Valdas asks, words breathed like worship into Isseya’s slender neck. The vampiress hums at the affection and question both, sweeping Adrian up in another of her all-consuming gazes.
“I’d have to taste of him, first.”
Rather than give her an answer, Valdas simply turns to Adrian with a single eyebrow raised.
The unspoken question hangs loudly between them all.
Well? The choice is his.
Well…
Adrian watches his hand cup the back of Isseya’s neck, pulling her in for a kiss.
There are worse ways to spend the evening.
#bloodbound fanfiction#bloodbound#adrian raines#playchoices fanfiction#playchoices bloodbound#fic: oblivion bound#oblv: drabble#; my fics#oc: valdas#oc: isseya#oblv: bound by destiny
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synopsis: you always have room for yang jungwon.
pairing: jungwon x gn!reader
genre/warnings: best friends to lovers!!! / self-indulgent fluff! ig maybe angst if you squint, won compares himself to others, reader talks abt being in pain but it's not real (?), mayhaps this fic is a bit incoherent T_T i wrote this in one sitting that ended at 3am so quality may be a little iffy (sorry :,( , mayb i'll rewrite in the future!)
wc: 1.4k
a/n: cass write for someone that isn't yang jungwon challenge : FAILED ! nah but fr tho, this pic has a Grip on me n i was possessed to write. but in all srsness, i Am working on other non-won centric fics n they should be out.......soon (?)
[8:36PM] through the lens of your grandfather's old polaroid camera, the sun seems to cradle jungwon's face in her array of rich oranges and deep reds. she places her bright lips on the crown of his head and bathes him in a warm, summer light; her golden fingers reach down to smooth out a few stray strands of his hair while moving slowly to caress the sharp angles of his silhouette. however, the glow he radiates almost manages to outshine her as the peach hues of the sky only serve to accentuate his natural beauty. his cheeks are full and round after a (near) five course meal at your grandparents' cottage, his lips are a delicate pink that matches the swath of tulips outside of your old elementary school, and his eyes sparkle in a manner that mirrors the ocean behind him. and, in mere seconds, you decide that this vacation is one of the best ideas you've ever had.
two hearts healing together as one, each enveloping the other in blanket after blanket of pure, unadulterated adoration. with a gleeful flicker in his gaze that you weren't able to place, jungwon had agreed to accompany you—biking around your hometown while reliving old memories and chronicling stories of youthful grandeur. the tranquility had grown steadily, like the dawn of a new day or the promise of a new beginning, and the certainty of his presence came to be all-consuming and ever-existing.
perhaps, you dare to let yourself believe, jungwon had become your sun. since the fifth grade, he has been the one constant in your life. he was the young boy who led you on a tour of your new school after packing up and leaving the place you called home, and he was the kind stranger who helped you catch up on the topics you missed out on. jungwon was the hesitant acquaintance turned best friend, and he is the one person you want to be with after oblivion plagues the earth. but, drawing too close is dangerous—his heat could scorch your skin while his love turns you to ash. for a moment, you ponder that particular track of thought and allow the train to run its course. perhaps, you correct yourself, jungwon has always been your sun.
"[y/n]!" he calls, beckoning you forth from the daydream you found yourself trapped in, "did you get the picture?" no matter the timbre, his voice is melodic, hypnotizing—it is the perfect addition to the evening's quiet sonata. he sings alongside the croaking frogs and the chirping crickets, welcoming the moon as it takes its place in the night sky.
you reply, trying to push down the sudden panic rising in your throat, "not yet, won—stay just like that!"
the camera clicks as it snaps a photo of the masterpiece before your eyes. upon hearing the sound, jungwon leaps from his position on the rocks and bounds over to watch the film develop. with a gentle tug, he pulls the picture from your grasp; jungwon shakes it and blows on it before resigning himself to the painful reality of waiting. the nerves that were crashing like angry waves against the walls of your stomach become a tsunami as he settles with his shoulder brushing against yours. his touch hurts—his presence, though ineffably beautiful, singes the hairs on your arms and ignites a column of blue flame around your heart. a tumultuous contradiction begins to swell inside of you; the peace jungwon imbues in you fights tooth and nail with the doubt your brain conjures up.
don't get too close.
don't let his fire catch.
don't let yourself be caught.
as the colors turn vibrant and jungwon's form becomes clearer, you attempt to hold everything in—every thought, every feeling, every wish, every dream. but, the walls you've kept up for so long start to break and something is forced to give. unable to will your mouth shut any longer, words spill out before you can shove them back down. "you're gorgeous—i mean, it's gorgeous! the picture, that is. i really love you—no, wait. i really love the way you look in the photo ... the sun was really pretty, the sky was perfect, everything was—"
jungwon's laughter stuns you to silence; he clutches his belly while doubling over at your jumbled mess of a confession. his eyes are closed, and you're almost positive his voice will be hoarse tomorrow with the volume at which he's expressing his amusement. the blue flame has been reduced to embers, but another influx of agony washes over you, cutting deeper than before.
"jungwon ..." you say, voice thick with impending tears, "this isn't f—"
a soft hand is pressed to your cheek. the gesture is tender and loving, conveying more than words ever could. his expression is firm, and all traces of humor have dissipated in an attempt to communicate his true feelings with you. "i love you, too," jungwon replies, rubbing his thumb over the apex of your cheekbone. "i love you, too."
"you do?" you ask, fear prickling like thousands of tiny needles under your skin.
"of course, i do." his answer makes everything seem so simple.
"no—but, i'm saying that i love you, love you. i love you in the sense that i want to spend every waking minute next to you, but i don't want to fuck anything up or make anything weird. i love you so much that my future plans always include you—no matter the way, shape, or form. the house i want to live in always has a room for you—i always have room for you." raw emotion overtakes the usual tone of your voice as the reality of this beachside argument about love and clarity and blurred lines sets in. you want him to understand. you need him to understand.
jungwon pauses for a moment. he takes a step closer to your body; the sweet aromas of blood oranges and limes permeate the air shared between the two of you while hints of vanilla and spice mingle with the citrus. never in the eight years that you've known him has jungwon ever been this forward, but as he gazes at you with two umber oceans—you can't bring yourself to care. "i get it. i swear i get [y/n]—and, i'm saying that i love you, love you, too," he giggles, diffusing the tension in the blink of an eye. "i think i always have, [y/n], but deep down, i'm still just that little fifth grade scaredy cat.
our friendship is one of the most important things in the world to me. i honestly think losing you would kill me. and, i know, i'm not the greatest with words if i'm not reading them from a script. i'm nothing special. i'm not good at things right away like heeseung, and i'm not a romantic like jay or jake. i don't have sunghoon's allure or sunoo's charm or riki's magnetism. i'm just me—good enough to be your friend, but not good enough be anything more."
the anger and hurt have been washed away by the soothing rays of jungwon's light, and you speak softly, "isn't that for me to decide?"
he reluctantly agrees, shuffling his feet as though he wants to pull away. rocks clack against one another, and the cacophony of noise foretells a future in which you let him walk away. so, your body moves on its own, and your hand shoots out to grab jungwon's wrist. surprise is evident in his stare as his eyes flick between your face and where the two of you are connected. with a newfound sense of courage, you pull him infinitely closer to you while relishing in the way his frame seems to fit perfectly against yours.
"you're good enough for me, yang jungwon," you declare. "you've always been good enough for me, and you always will be."
as high tide begins to roll in with the moon, a gentle quietude falls upon the beach. the polaroid photo has long since been forgotten, lost to the rocky shore and the sands of time. the sun has disappeared and her palette of colors has faded along with her, but you are still warm. jungwon cards his fingers through your hair while you find solace in the constant beat of his heart; fire still licks at your skin, cinders still smolder in the pit of your stomach, but there is no room for pain in his arms.
jungwon is your sun, and this time—you let yourself burn.
#enhypen fluff#enhypen headcanons#enhypen reactions#jungwon fluff#jungwon headcanons#jungwon reactions#enhypen#enha fluff#enha headcanons#enha reactions#jungwon imagines#enhypen imagines#enha imagines#enhypen x reader#jungwon x reader#jungwon x y/n#enhypen jungwon
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Love Potion.
pairing: Patrick Verona x Reader
word count: 801 (less is more with this one)
warnings: angst
summary: Reader reflects on their almost-marriage to Patrick Verona years after it’s all been said and done.
author’s note: Yes, I wrote another sad fic. I’ve had this in my head since last October. Based on a song...guess which one.
Unedited.
A lot could be said for all the sleepless nights, the grieving in slow-motion and the oblivion that followed, if you weren’t too exhausted to do so. For the last several years, you’d retreated from the world, hidden in plain sight, as it were, and you found solitude in the mundane. An average life for an average soul and that sentiment only bothered you as much as you were willing to admit.
You didn’t know what Patrick was doing now or if he had moved on. You hardly thought about him these days. Much had changed now that the two of you had grown up and apart; you were adults now and the impulses of youth that shrouded your past relationship had faded with time. The wounds were only so deep, but if you pick at a scab, it’s bound to open and that was the last thing you wanted.
You couldn’t say why he was on your mind. Something had reminded you of him, you were certain. Perhaps a whiff of peppermint had wafted into your nostrils and suddenly you were five years younger, sitting on the school bleachers next to your high school sweetheart, Patrick Verona, who was sucking on a peppermint candy he pulled out of his jeans pocket. He always used to carry them around with him. “It hides the smell of the cigarette smoke” he told you then in that thick, velveted Australian accent of his that always settled into the pit of your stomach just right.
He was like Christmas.
Senior year was rough on you both. You went off to college and Patrick got a technical degree to become a mechanic. He liked cars and was good with his hands. He made decent money and the hours weren’t the worst he’d ever had. He liked to work and it kept his mind off the fact that you weren’t there.
That must have been culprit. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, except when you’re two young adults trying to figure out the rest of your lives and where you fit in the other’s story.
Patrick was an impulsive young man. He made snap-decisions, but he had to live with them after and that was trouble. You loved his half-baked ideas, when he would beg you to skip class with him during fifth period so he could take you to the mall or the park. It was a lot easier to date Patrick when there were no strings attached. You had your whole lives ahead of you, why settle for a smaller picture?
You loved him. If you hadn’t known it then, you did now.
Why hadn’t you told him so more often?
Whatever the reason, it didn’t matter. You had said it enough times to convince him to propose.
At the time, the worst things you could think of were losing your job, failing an exam, never reaching your goals. You never stopped to think about how much worse it would be to have to put a wedding ring on your finger.
You didn’t have the time to devote to a full-time marriage. You had spent your whole life striving to reach the point where you could be fully independent, and you were ready to take the moment and taste it; there must be another way.
Who gave you the right to break his heart?
Patrick was too nice. He did things just for you, he built his life around the promise of a future with you, but when you asked for it, he gave you your freedom just the same and you craved the hurt it brought.
Patrick was sunshine, but you felt more comfortable in the dark.
You wanted the pain the came with a clean break and you wouldn’t have been able to cut him off any other way.
You had changed after high school; your lover stayed the same.
You had led him on and that was your fault. It didn’t have to end this way, but sometimes you just don’t know the answer until someone asks the question and you wished you had been more prepared for the fallout.
At least now you were unbound.
You wondered if he ever thought of you and the answer came, years later. It was a postcard and Christmas never looked so good.
He had a family and that was what was supposed to happen, only it would’ve been your arm around him, your lips on his cheek and your children wearing big smiles and even bigger holiday sweaters.
From all appearances, your Patrick, ‘Peppermint’ you remember you used to call him, had moved on.
He still thought of you when it mattered and it always had to him.
And life went on.
You never thought of him again, except on nights like this.
#heath ledger#patrick verona#patrick verona x reader#patrick verona imagine#10 things i hate about you#10tihay#ten things i hate about you#biblio :: 📖
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𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐓𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐨 | 𝐣𝐨𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰
pairings : joe burrow x reader
warnings: thigh riding, cursing
synopsis : when there's no time to fuck, there's always Joe's thigh available
a/n: full fic of this is on the way :)
"Baby, we have to stop, Jessie is gonna be back any minute," You moan out as Joe pulls down the strap of your dress kissing along your collarbone without a care in the world. As if his teammate wasn't going to walk in at any given moment to see his quarterback being straddled by you, his sister. You should've known that agreeing to tag along with your brother to fight night was a terrible idea, especially being in a taboo relationship with his friend.
The whole trip Joe had been giving you nothing but those "fuck me" eyes, which were crucial knowing you couldn't do anything about it except send him raunchy texts and pics. Finally Joe seem to have enough of not being able to touch you and practically attacked you when you open the door to your suite after Jessie left to pick up some girl he was bringing to the fight.
"So? We'll tell him to fuck off," His words were muffled as he buried his head between the valley of your breasts,licking,and sucking creating fresh bruises. You arched into his touch, desperately wanting him to just rip your clothes off taking you right then and there. But you couldn't, knowing that your brother was bound to walk through that door any minute was still lingering at the back of your mind, this miniature make-out session was all you have to settle for.
It was absloute torture, the more Joe's hands wandered your body the more needy and desperate you got. He thumbed the silk fabric of your dress itching to take it off and have his way with you. And he just might, if those pretty little noises that were coming from you elevate. His large hands traveled to your waist moving slowly behind you to grasp your ass, kneading the flesh with both of his hands, every time gets a chance to fondle it he could never get enough of how plump and soft it felt in his hands. You were that delectable all around.
Your eyes flutter at the feel of him groping you, his hands pushing your hips back and forth. You can feel his muscular thigh beneath you tense, as heat pools to your stomach. The movement sent a tingling sensation all over as the friction of your clit rubbed against his thigh, Joe lets out a sound of approval watching you in wonder as the buck of your hips move forward again.
Letting out a moan as your hips drag along his thigh, you were so grateful at the purple shorts he decided to wear giving you a direct feel of his muscular thigh every time he shifts. The wetness between your thighs is uncomfortably soaked seeping out of your underwear and on to his thigh barely missing the hem of his shorts.
"Joe," You whimper, reaching out to hold on to his broad shoulders steadying yourself.
"That's it baby, keep going." He encourages guiding your hips back and forth with a darken gaze, giving your ass a generous squeeze. He bounces his leg giving you more stimulation to work with which ultimately makes your grinding flutter, at the sensations spreading throughout your body.
You scattered kisses along his neck to express the impassioned high you felt for the man beneath you.
It took everything in Joe's power to not fuck you into oblivion, only holding back simply because seeing yourself getting off on him was something out of the ordinary and so fucking addictive. He could very well say that an obsession has grown with you, not just your body, but you entirely, clouding his mind with bliss at every second of the day. This relationship he has with you was something different taking his whole world completely by storm.
When Jessie first introduced you two he knew that you were going to slowly become his everyday obsession. The effervescent nature you possessed drew him in immediately, pulling him closer to every time you were in the same room. Now he had you pleasuring yourself on him, it was no surprise that it came down to this, before being in a concealed relationship with you he made a vow to himself that he was for sure wasn't going to let a girl like you slip away even if you are his teammate's sister. He also knew it would be only a matter of time until Jessie finds out.
Till then, he got his eyes locked on your beautiful form withering above him.
"Look at me," He murmured, pulling your head away from the crook of his neck, he held your chin with his forefinger and thumb. Your eyes meet his darkened blue ones as his thumb caresses your jaw before moving towards your bottom lip stroking it softly. Joe watched as if you were the most fascinating thing in the world, as you opened your mouth to take his first digit in.
He could feel his dick grow even more painfully hard at your plump lips wrapping around his thumb, eyes rolling to the back of your head due to your hips never faltering.
"My girl, my fucking girl. Keep going," He groans at the familiarity of your warm tongue.
Your clit pressed firmly on his thigh with every roll of your hips, continuous moans escaping from you. Joe's broad frame made you feel an undeniable comfort, your hands that gripped his shoulders that were roped with muscles made you feel secure. And his well defined arms which encircle around your waist hugged you tightly. This is where you want to be, vulnerable in his embrace drowning in the depth of security that no other man you've been with could ever bring.
"You know I have you forever right?" He says before pulling his thumb away with a 'pop'.
"Uh huh, yes!" You nodded, movements growing erratic as your clit brushes against his taunt thigh over and over again. Eyes fluttering feeling blinded by the pleasure, you need this—needed him, being there giving you all what you ever wanted.
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AO3 Finished Fic Here
Yoo Sangah opens the car door and smiles back when Kim Dokja smiles at her. It's almost instinctive now. Happiness at his happiness. Joy at his joy. He looks at her with upturned lips and hers are already forming one.
He holds his hands out to her, a little sheepish expression on his face as if she would ever begrudge him relying on her. As if this hadn't been one of her largest joys since he's come back. And it still makes her breathless sometimes. Her new reality. The constant awe and lightning exhilaration of waking up everyday and knowing he's come back. There is a waterfall in her, it connects from her fingertips to the top of her head and flows down into her heart. A current and fall, something fierce and beautiful. She is the waterfall, she is the endless river that leads to the edge of oblivion, she is the depthless pool that gathers at the bottom of that oblivion, collecting all the river's remains. She raises her head up and tastes the force of her own happiness. Crisp. Overwhelming. A thousand torrential outpouring of every feeling she had ever and will ever feel. It pours and pours and pours, a free fall of the boundless. The sun rises, she takes a sip of coffee every morning before going to work, and there it always is: he's here.
"Thank you, Sangah-ssi," he says, as she slips her hands underneath his thin thighs and firm back. He curls his arms around her neck and she easily lifts him up, presses him against her with all the tenderness he deserves. They need to feed him more, she thinks but her smile spreads into a grin at his words. She wants to grab the strangers in her memories and point out how easy it is for this man to make her so so happy. Look, for there he is. Her happiness.
"You're welcome, Dokja-ssi," she says and takes the extra second to hold him close because time is all they have now and each second is a treasure. So she'll spend her seconds treasuring him and them and together. The waterfall in her is a stinging, raining from the sky with water so clear it mirrors endless blue skies.
Eventually, the second passes and she moves to do her duty and gently tucks him into his wheelchair. It's not one issued by the hospital but something the company had bought together instead. Not the first but one of the more memorable bonding activities they've done since Kim Dokja had returned. Even aided by the power of stories, recovery has been slow and he will be bound to it for months still. Yoo Sangah still thinks it's already wonderful progress that he's no longer bedridden. And, the kids love wheeling him everywhere.
She steps back to watch as he settles into place. It is seamless, a smooth operation of wiggling around and shuffling until he's comfortable. There is a weight to his actions nowadays that hadn't been present during the scenarios. Then, it felt like he could take off at any moment, spreading his nightly wings and flying off beyond any of their reaches. Like a star falling back to the sky he belongs to. But now, there is something grounded to his movements. Not the weight of worlds nor the bearing of life and death, the exhaustion of chains and salvation, but simply a present in his eyes and a shift of his shoulders. A gaze that looks towards the present and imagines the future. Someone who has always gazed at them with their visage in his eyes but now finally lets his be reflected in theirs.
She fixes his hair, a habit that has long since lingered since the days of hospital visits. Sun Wukong had gifted shampoo and conditioner. It makes his hair silky and soft to the touch. Maybe they needed to cut his hair, she'll bring it up later even though she quietly enjoys the way it flutters around his neck.
They start moving once he's settled.
Yoo Sangah doesn't need conversation to enjoy time with Kim Dokja but she enjoys it all the same when he starts talking about the latest web novel he's reading. A fantasy one of Han Sooyoung's students had begged her to look at but she had only hedged it off to Kim Dokja who turned out to have adored it much to the professor's endless horror (and jealousy). It's a lot different to what he was used to reading, he explains.
As Yoo Sangah listens to the intricacy of magical farming, she starts to remember a certain train ride all those lifetimes ago and the conversation two certain coworkers had.
Their talk had been transcribed in Han Sooyoung's novel. She knows, she provided the details the empty story fragments hadn't been able to tell on their own. The words had been dragged out of her story later, feeling like memories remembered wrong even if they had been perfectly recalled. Their talk had been in his library too.
「"At this rate, you'll get sucked into your smartphone."」
The HR worker said and then asked what the QA worker was reading. The QA worker has floundered and hemmed and hawed before trying to dismissively saying:
「"Lord of the Rings, it's kind of like that…"」
She knows now that it had not been like Lord of the Rings nor any of the books and authors she had listed. It was a web novel about the fall of the world. She wonders if she could find a copy of it now if she searched.
But her attention shifts back to the present as he finishes explaining the power scaling of different farming tools. She asks if you have to beat up the vegetables to get a reward and he laughs easily.
There is still a bit left to walk so she nudges him to explain more on how the protagonist had finally unlocked alchemy skill and was making sketchy fruit potions in the latest chapter.
She parked a little further away so they could take a look at the park. There are two reasons. One so he could get more fresh air and exercise according to Lee Seolhwa's instructions. And the other, well, she kept it a secret to herself. It is a simple coincidence that it is spring, the air is playful with the scent of flowers, and he always brightens at the sight of light falling through tree leaves. How beautiful. The brightness of the world.
"Sangah-ssi, do you still bike?"
She blinks at the unexpected question. "I don't think so. I use our company car to work and back and if I need exercise, well, our friends are all ready to beat each other up."
He laughs a little. Quiet laughter. Quiet smiles. Someone who is quiet in emotions. As if he went above a certain volume, he'd be taking up too much room or be caught by a shadow. Though considering his presence during the scenarios and the way he could capture attention simply from his actions, from a few smirking words, and the audacious bravado he readily fans into flames, perhaps Kim Dokja had simply learnt how to navigate the world by hiding himself as much as he could. Hidden in a cupboard and banging on the doors to scare away any who approaches.
But, she knows if they keep going, unbidden by the loud banging and open the cupboard, they'll find only the soft silence of snow. Yoo Sangah has long since learnt that Kim Dokja was someone at his truest the quieter he is. That his sincerity was quiet and his devotion mouthless.
"When I get better," he starts and blinks at the way she immediately beams.
Yes, she wants to say immediately because he said when. Because he said better. Because there was very little they wouldn't do for him. And nothing at all he wouldn't do for them. She holds it back and listens.
"Do you think we could bike together?" He glances down at his wheelchair, he spins the wheels. "Or would this already count as biking?"
Yoo Sangah pauses, stares at his beaming face, and then she starts to laugh. And laughs. She laughs so hard she's crying. She sees him through her tears. His smile falling into a panicked bewilderment sends her laughing even harder which is perhaps cruel but she can't seem to stop it even if she wanted to. She ends up crouching, reaching out to hold his hands with both of hers. Their scars rub up against each other. It stings a little but Yoo Sangah holds them. She knows this is just how a lifetime of stories say hello. It hurts but it is still so very warm after all.
"Of course," she says, gasping. She uses the back of their clasped hands to wipe her tears away. "Of- Of course we can."
Happiness was a waterfall and it washes through her, sweeps her along off the edge like a free fall. Suspended in the air between Yoo Sangah and Kim Dokja.
FINISHED FIC HERE
#orv#orv spoilers#hawrites#yoo sangah#kim dokja#platonicc#long post#extra detail but yjh was the one to pick the wheelchair and it is in fact a black one HAHHA#the sentence didnt fit right so i took it out but yeah
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Just read your latest kinktober chapter, and it is sublime. It's kinda funny how long-term chastity used to be something torturous for me to read, owing to one hentai manga I read as a child, this boy was being edged to oblivion by this ara-ara big sister type, she locked him in a box where he was gagged and blindfolded, and the only thing showing outside the box was his caged cock. She was playing with him, stroking him until he was literally about to cum and it ended with her cockblocking him once again, and saying that was close, let's see if I'll let you come next year.
The art was so good, and I actually felt the phantom sensation of being torturously edged in what looked like a painful way, was not a fan for sure. And now I can't get enough of it with Hob 🤣🤣🤣🤣
Imagining a wrecked warprize Hob trapped in a box as punishment with his limbs bound, blindfolded and gagged, a vibrating plug deep inside him, his caged cock the only thing that's allowed to be seen and touched by Dream. He was force-fed aphrodisiacs once again to heighten his senses, so the only thing he can focus on is his cock and the painful pleasure against his prostate, he has no choice, and the feeling is indescribable for Hob, the edging is so painful now, but still somehow hurts so good. What's wrong with him? It feels like he's been in the box for ages, he's been squirming and sobbing in place, trying in vain to escape the overwhelming sensations. He can't remember what he did to deserve this, and Hob can't help his muffled screams when he feels Dream cruelly squeezing the tip of his cock, it's so much, he can't take it anymore. Who knows how long this is going to go on for? Will Hob come out of this the same? .
As for Dream, well, he's just having the best time listening to his precious pet cry and scream inside the punishment box. Definitely one of Dream's more inspired ideas, it didn't take long at all for Hob to be reduced to a whimpering sobbing wreck with this. Should he let him out and let him come? Dream is sure Hob would be coming out of this sweet and demure, begging for his forgiveness. It has been a few weeks already. Hmmmm, no perhaps not yet, Dream's having too much fun with this. it might do Hob some good to spend a bit more time reflecting on his actions, maybe he'll now think twice before trying to make any escape plans in the future.
Oh this is SO mean. I love it. (And here's the chastity chapter of my kinktober fic which anon has kindly endorsed!!)
Of course we all love to see Hob getting overstimulated but I definitely think there's a case to make for understimulation, too. Locked in a space where he's unable to see or touch, and his other senses are also restricted. It really sharpens his neediness and makes him more reactive when he does have his exposed cock played with.
This is absolutely the perfect punishment for a naughty warprize who tried to escape and needs to be taken down a peg or two. He's going to be so good and obedient when he gets out, Dream can hardly wait to show him off to the court. He really does miss fucking Hob’s tight little hole but it's going to be so worth it - he just knows that Hob is going to beg to be used as so as he gets the opportunity.
In the meantime it's plenty of fun to play with his forcibly hardened cock. The aphrodisiacs are doing the perfect job of keeping Hob needy and aching. His tight little balls are so full, Dream almost feels sorry for him. Almost.
Of course Hob resents the king for keeping him like this and being so cruel, but he knows that he won't be able to resist crawling into Dream’s arms. There's no use, not when his mind is so utterly scrambled and all he can think of is being allowed to cum for his King's pleasure <3
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WIP Wednesday? Nah... How about fic Wednesday instead? 💛
Finally posting the first chapter of an Oblivion fic, with my heroes of Kvatch Florian and Drissa!
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Fic rating: M
Fic relationships: Martin Septim/Male Hero of Kvatch
Fic description:
At a pivotal time for the Empire, in the wake of the Emperor’s death, two so-called heroes emerge from the ashes of Kvatch - an incompetent thief and a disgraced arena fighter.
One takes the chance at redemption. The other seeks their own ruin.
Chapter description:
Florian and Drissa were two people from completely different walks of life in the Imperial City. The one thing that they both have in common? Ending up in the Imperial City Prison.
Chapter excerpt(s):
"We've been onto you for a while, Florian Livius. Now we have all the proof we need to put you behind bars." His mark had a smirk across his face as he approached them, which turned into a grin as Florian’s hands were bound behind his back.
There was no way... He had fallen for a trap placed by these buffoons?
"H-Hey, I'm certain that we can work things out. The bounty on my head can’t be that high, can it?"
The guard who was keeping hold of his left arm glared at him from under his helmet. "Not a chance. No bounties and no running to your guild to get you out of trouble for cheap. Not this time."
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“I’m sorry, did you just say that I am under arrest... For murder?” She scowled, feeling her teeth grind as she shifted her jaw. “The only times in which I have killed people were when I was fighting in the arena, and they were lawful kills – we sign contracts about those sorts of things!” Silence fell over the Dunmer as her eyes flicked between the small contingency of guards, and a familiar blonde head of hair she could see sticking out from behind a tree nearby.
Oh, she knew exactly what this was about. She had killed the previous Grand Champion and took his place in the arena after they had unearthed some unsettling facts about his parentage. He had lost the will to live. He had asked for her to end him. “Did one of the Grey Prince’s fans put you up to this? He was the one who chose to step foot in the arena, his death was- it was a mercy to him, he was suffering-“
One of the guards cut her off by grabbing hold of her other wrist as she spoke – an especially easy task given that she was speaking far too expressively with her hand – before a manacle was clasped around it. “A murder was committed at the Waterfront, and our eyewitness places you at the scene of the crime.”
#meg has done some writing#fic - with light comes shadow#hok oc florian livius#hok oc drissa#oblivion fanfiction#tes iv fanfiction
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hi ma’am, what happened to the friends w baby benefits or something fic u were writing 😭 i was so excited for it. is it like not happening orrrrr still working on it? not trying to be annoying i just rly loved the idea!!
omg shhhh don't call me out so loud LMAOO i stopped working on it but i can start again!
Thank you for being excited for anything I do, thats a crazy concept to me cause whattttt who cares about me lol and you're not annoying at all, don't even say that!!!
Just for you, I put a little 500 word present under the cut <3 (it's from the draft so it might change) (18+!)
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Just friends. What a silly concept.
Friends through high school, friends after high school, and now, as two grown adults with grown adult jobs, you and Eddie are just friends.
Friends who, in a partially drunken stupor, hooked up. It was four months ago and obviously wasn’t planned. You two had just gotten a little too tipsy, then a little too handsy feel-y, and then… it just happened.
The morning after you two had parted with an awkward avoidance of eye contact, fidgety hands, and an overemphasized amount of distance between the two of you as you both made the agreed promise to never do that again.
Never is nearly as silly of a concept as just friends.
––––––––
Four months ago you ordered extra cheese pizza with a side of garlic knots.
Tonight you ordered the same.
Feeling parched from the savoury dinner, you helped yourself to a coke from the fridge. The first thing that caught your eye, Iron City Beer– a brand of beer that you haven't seen in this home since four months ago. Four months ago when you drank just a little too much of it...
Four months ago you and Eddie sat around in his living room watching an R rated movie.
Tonight, you do the same– except this time, you don't drink. You do, however, burn all the same.
This time, the choice R rated movie has been using jump cuts to tits and overzealous sex scenes to cover its low production value.
This time, Eddie’s sprawled out on the floor, shirt off, sweatpants dangerously low on his hips, arm propped behind his head.
This time, you’re all too aware of the bounds of friendship, but this time, you couldn’t care less.
The movie cuts to a particularly raunchy scene. Normally you’d laugh it off, but tonight, you practically groan, pushing the heels of your palms into your eyes. The moans of some D lister fill the room and you grow impossibly bothered.
Silent on the floor, Eddie pays you no mind. His oblivion is your virtue. You let yourself focus on him. The lights from the TV glow over him in the darkness of the room. Shadows cast along the outline of every muscle making them look more defined and extra sculpted.
It's taunting.
It's not how friends look at each other. Friends– what a silly concept.
Wandering gaze trailing down his torso, with a thick swallow your eyes sweep down, down, down.
Down, looming around the wispy patch of hair that starts just below his belly button.
Down, lingering at the low rise of his sweatpants.
Down, until your mouth drops agape and you can't help the gasp that escapes your lungs.
With a crane of his neck, Eddie looks back at you before his hands cover his crotch, hiding his very prominent boner.
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I'm editing the rest of the first chapter, but i have a test tomorrow so I have to switch focuses for a bit.
Thank you for your message!
#i literally gasped when i read this lol#tumblr feels like talking to a brick wall sometimes so i forget people are actually paying attention to the things i say😭#eddie munson x fem!reader
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Kotaloy Celebration Week - Day 2
🏹 Tenakth or Nora courtship ~ Marriage rituals 🏹
💙 ART 💙
getting wedding tattoos together by @alexadark13
Kotallo pokerface by @alexadark13
Courtship by @astralpaint
Courtship or Marriage rituals by @i-lavabean
Day 2 ~ Tenakth courtship by @fantasy-girl974
“Unless… you would wish to be bonded” by @hannahmationstudios
Something old. Something new. by @gnollgrin
💚 FICS 💚
(It's Gonna Be) Till the End of Time (T) by @grexigone
Autumn 3040. Aloy makes a decision after a particular event and triggers an age-old tradition.
An Oath Upon her Skin (T) by @bonjourviolette
And so they stood, in front of those they had come to call family and pledged themselves to one another, an oath declared in both body and blood.
Since the Kulrut? (G) by TheArtseeWinks
Kotallo wakes to a certain flame haired huntress braiding his hair. For what reason in particular?
Bound to You (E) by @destinysembrace-oblivion
Kotallo seeks guidance on how to propose to Aloy from Zo, and they get drunk. Later, they journey to the Sacred Lands for a fertility blessing.
come in from the cold (G) by @kotaloy
Kotallo keeps being so nice to Aloy, but that's not new, right? So why is she feeling so nervous all of a sudden? Or, five times Kotallo courts Aloy, and one time she responds in kind.
Masterlist || Ao3 Collection
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WIP Wednesday ft. Bound by Destiny II, part 2 ― Chapter 11: [Untitled]
WORD COUNT: 174
RATING: Teen+ (this series is rated MATURE for graphic violence and adult content)
FEAT: A Mystery Guest
CONTENT WARNINGS: language, potential spoilers for book 5
NOTE: Small, and ominous, but hopefully better than the nothing you've had for over a year now~
*Bound by Destiny II and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing reimagining project of the Bloodbound series and spin-off Nightbound.
Check out the first 4 books in the Oblivion Bound series, linked below!
⥼ ABOUT OBLIVION BOUND ⥽ | ⥼ FIC MASTERLIST ⥽
Wallachia, October 1462
“TEPES!”
It is, by all accounts, a sturdy and well-maintained stronghold. With a multitude of vantage points for keen-eyed archers and terrain that requires training to learn; to master. It tests the mettle of the Voivode’s men even still. All the more advantage when untested feet scramble on a battlefield that fights them as fiercely as their enemies will.
But the key to a stronghold worth taking for one’s own is something more than strategy. Something far more subtle. Something that cannot be falsified or replicated.
A conqueror’s stronghold must be old. It must stand against time itself and emerge the victor; even across the battlefield of symbolism.
There is nothing symbolic about the very real, very physical manifestation of time’s arrogant wrath where his voice echoes cavernous through the castle’s old stone walls.
Old though they may be, he is always older.
“TEPES! You vile, pompous, hubristic pile of filth! I demand you show your simpering weaselly face before I tear your walls down stone by crumbling stone!”
#playchoices#playchoices fanfiction#bloodbound#bloodbound fanfiction#wip wednesday#fic: oblivion bound#oblv: bound by destiny ii
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thoughts re: Rendezvous series and forgiveness
ive had some thoughts recently about how people might react to part 5 of rendezvous when it comes out, ie the final part, and i wanted to share for no real reason
discussions about forgiveness, infidelity and such below the cut
firstly, i want to say that zero iteration the word "forgive" appears in part 5. there is no discussion about forgiveness really at all, and i dont think there needs to be. one of the reasons is that i think the concept of forgiveness can oversimplify complex situations, as well as assign unnecessary value judgments to things. i often feel like being forgiven for something means that you have to label that thing as 100% bad and terrible, and theres no space for what sort of positive change it couldve initiated. this is often the case when it comes to infidelity - which is a whole different can of worms.
on the topic of forgiveness, however, whether its mentioned explicitly or not, ive noticed an extreme allergy to joel being forgiven for any indiscretions towards the MC in fics on this website. it seems like the MC herself can do anything and nobody really questions it when joel takes her back, we can cuck tommy into oblivion, joel can cheat on his wife etc, and all of that is cool and hot and encouraged until joel is the one making dumb decisions. people will literally forgive him for being a mass murderer but not for fucking someone else.
the discussions of morality, which are a huge focus in tlou, seem to stop short when it comes to fictional relationships between joel and MCs. we can all discuss why he merked that hospital full of fireflies, and most tlou fans will justify his actions, saying he did it for a good reason, but any relationship related indiscretions do not get the same treatment. i understand that people are sensitive about cheating, being cheated on is awful, but its unproductive to shut down all discussions about it
just to make it clear: i do not consider his actions in rendezvous cheating, not on katy and not on the MC. the MC feels more cheated on because she has an unhealthy attachment to him
am i defending his actions in rendezvous? no. do i think they need to be defended or condemned? also no. i choose not to see things as binary good/bad - even if i thought everything he did was terrible, whats he supposed to do? be alone forever because of indiscretions towards one person? i know this is fic, and i could write him living under a rock for eternity if i wanted, but this is supposed to be a realistic (in my definition) series, and realistically, thats not what happens to people who fuck up in interpersonal relationships. they move on and live their lives. we all hurt people at some point - its juvenile and delusional to think that just because someone hurt another person, theyre bound to suffer for all eternity.
i think there are a lot of nuances when it comes to relationships especially, and trying to label what hes doing in this series as cheating on the MC/katy, and then saying CHEATING BAD is an oversimplification and ignores the scope of emotion im trying to cover here. even calling it cheating ignores the depth of unlabeled relationships. i think the MC deserves more than that, cause if we say hes cheating on katy, were basically calling the MC the other woman, and the other woman is ALWAYS vilified - except in this case where shes the "reader" character. what if i wrote this entire thing in a different perspective, and katy was the reader?
im in the brainstorming stages of my next big series after love me back, and if i go with the idea thats simmering in my head right now, its gonna be a completely infidelity focused series, about when its acceptable to cheat, who is allowed to cheat and why, etc. joel will not be fucking anyone else in that series or cheating on the MC calm down
this might not be very interesting, and its not addressed to any anons in particular at all, ive just been thinking about it as the parts have been posted and thought id share my thoughts in case anyones interested. its hard to give my full thoughts without spoiling ch 5, so after thats posted i might write another reflection on it for anyone whos interested in my thought process behind the decisions ive made.
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SPOILERS AHEAD FOR GRANBLUE FANTASY'S WHAT MAKES THE SKY BLUE:
Granblue fans, WMTSB enjoyers - I wanna talk about Lucilius - or more specifically what could have been. I wanna talk about my thoughts because he's genuinely one of the most intriguing characters I've ever come across in media. (Please note: I have not finished GBVSR's story nor come anywhere close to where he shows up - thank you Story Mode update not working - so if I'm missing explanations for things by all means feel free to add it in the comments - I want to learn more.)
I've been sitting on a fic concept for a few days, and I've slowly started putting together a draft. It stems a lot from what we learn through raid quests and WMTSB - both Paradise Lost and 000. I'm not at all an experienced writer by any means, so I'm not sure the fic itself will ever truly get off the ground. But here's the concept:
An AU in which Lucilius, after his research is halted and the limiters are in place, turns against and actively undermines the High Council rather than God himself. Going right to the immediate source first before potentially upending the entire world. He's a scientist, a researcher first before anything else. I have a hard time believing that with the pragmatism he possesses that his descent into seeking oblivion within the events of WMTSB itself was nothing short of torturously slow. The kind of loathing that comes from watching your life's work be torn apart and reshaped into something unrecognizable by hands other than your own, while being forced to sit back due to someone else's fear. Sahar in 000 speaks of dreams, of fleeting thoughts with nothing to recall them by. Lucilius has encountered so much in canon that I imagine it would make any being - immortal or otherwise - dizzy and sick.
And I'd be pretty fucking jaded too if all of those things came together and landed on my head. Lucilius's current outlook had to start somewhere. No one is born with that level of hatred. No one is born so cynical. I fully believe that given the opportunity and the resources Lucilius would've been able to flip the High Council's entire world upside down without having to resort to dimensional obliteration. If any Astral we have met thus far would have the tenacity, it'd be him. Not right away though. Just as slow as his descent would've been. Sneaking around to look through records, hiding copies of his research in a million different places so even if the Council found one set they'd never find them all. Biding his time by using the Fallen Angels as a true information network, with ciphers and hidden travel routes and verbal codes to signal exactly what their plans are to each other and which hideout to use next.
To use the information gleaned from Lucifer's interactions with the sky to learn exactly where he has the best shot of not being found at any given time - by Astrals or skydwellers alike. Because god forbid a horde of skydwellers pre-War finds out there's a lone Astral and a bunch of primal beasts sitting in their backyard. And to not be afraid to leave the structure in flames before he goes, knowing he has everything he needs in the next one.
And Lucifer, dear Lucifer having to make the decision to stand against him once again. To be ordered by the Council to hunt Lucilius down after he goes on the run, to be the one to arrest him and carry out his sentence in a spectacle he never wanted to see. Belial, who narrowly escaped the conflict that erupted when they were finally caught on Lucilius's own orders and for once is powerless to do anything other than let it happen because he can't be seen. Who is well aware of the sorrow in Lucifer's eyes as the blade comes down and hates him anyway for it because why couldn't you just play along?
Sandalphon, who had heard months prior that there was finally a way that he could be useful, extended a hand by someone he never expected to receive more than dirty looks and harsh whispers from and practically bounding at the chance. The sheer betrayal striking through his core because when the operation goes down and he sees Lucifer on the battlefield surely the other wouldn't miss the wings and hair and armor he's been so familiar with?
Lucifer, who in the span of just a day lost everything. His confidante, his friend, and the light of his life when all the stress of his position makes the wings upon his back drag at his spine. And when Michael steps into the garden as Lucifer looks up at a sky that never felt so grey, giving the news that Sandalphon was there when the last hideout when down for a brief, short moment in comparison to his already long life (has it been so long?) he no longer possesses that shining brilliance he's so lauded for.
Anyway that's about as far as I've gotten in terms of planning and thought processes so let me know what y'all think. This is the first time I've done something like this so I'm interested in the feedback. As far as other writers and artists, if y'all wanna consider using any part (not the whole thing) of this just ask me first. My messages should be open and if not, leave a comment under this post and I will open them.
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Beboptober Day 31: Pumpkinhead
Thanks, as ever, to @thestarlightsymphony for the prompt list…of what may as well be called Bebop-une at this point! I want to FINALLY finish all the Beboptober prompts—as out-of-season as this one may be!—so I can turn my energy to the lovely @bebopcrew’s 30-Day Writing Challenge for the month of July.
Fittingly enough, this fic is inspired by the work of @aldreantreuperi, one of the lovely admins of the Bebop Crew server—specifically, by THEIR final fanfic for Beboptober, taking place during Cowboy Bebop: The Movie—Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door and detailing how Jet carved Ed’s pumpkin mask and watched Ed construct her Halloween costume. I wanted to write some of that same scene from Ed’s point of view! Their fic, in turn, was inspired by @jetspikepub sharing the pictures from the brochure that came with the movie!
Also, tomorrow I’ll probably publish my collected Beboptober fics on AO3 and publish a link to them! (Update: Here’s the link!)
And with this, and after far too many months, I bid a fond farewell to Beboptober…
Ed strode into the Bebop’s storage bay decisively, Ein following closely beside her. They took a look around the area, piled high with sealed boxes, baskets, and crates, then immediately began searching through whatever was readily accessible. The two of them were on the hunt for anything that would make Ed the perfect Halloween costume—paired, of course, with the jack-o’-lantern that Jet, back in the kitchen, was carving out of the great big pumpkin he’d procured and that she’d already resolved to wear over her head. What was Halloween without a mask, after all?
She had carefully sketched out the design she wanted for the jack-o’-lantern’s face, and as Jet carved it, he’d sent her off to find other supplies for a costume. She was exultant with joy, already imagining running out into the streets of Alba City to trick-or-treat, snack on deliciously sweet candy, and see the big parade that filled the streets with big balloons and costumed revelers—a Halloween celebration the likes of which Ed had never before experienced.
But before she did all of that, she’d need a proper costume.
The first thing she gravitated towards was a huge sombrero with a wide brim. Ed liked the colorful pattern around the inside, but when she plopped it down onto her head, it promptly slipped right over her eyes. It took a bit of blind groping for her to get the thing off. No way would that work with the jack-o’-lantern mask she was planning. Farther into the storage bay, she discovered a pair of ruby-red stilettos that had probably belonged to Faye at one point. The heel of one of the shoes had broken off, and now the pair lay broken and discarded. But this didn’t stop Ed from slipping her bare feet into the shoes anyway and taking a few tentative steps, wobbly and uneven. However, it didn’t take long for her to kick the shoes off her feet, sending them sailing back into the oblivion of the storage bay. They probably wouldn’t have been much fun to trick-or-treat in, anyway.
She rifled through a few more boxes, some of which produced interesting finds—including a tie that looked like one of Spike’s, ballpoint pens that still had a bit of ink in them, some wires and cords that she’d have to remember to plug into Tomato to see if they fit, and the old holographic chessboard (she thought they’d lost it after her week-long chess game with the old chessmaster, Hex!)—but none of which were promising as supplies to use for her costume. She was about to give up and look elsewhere on the ship when Ein began sniffing at an old cardboard box, then barking at what he found. Ed bounded over and pulled out the object at the top of the box, and her face immediately lit up. “Great find, Ein!” she said, and the dog barked in appreciation.
Ein had uncovered an old piece of cloth, possibly some scrap material from an old blanket or jacket. Ed knew immediately what she could use it for: a cape! It was a dark turquoise color and would reach down to just past her bottom when worn on her back, and it was the perfect article to pair with her jack-o’-lantern mask to make practically any kind of costume she could imagine. And as a bonus, if she slung it across her back, it worked well for carrying the pumpkin when she wasn’t wearing it! She wasted no time in tying it around her neck and imagining its endless costume possibilities. Her imagination ran wild.
First, she drew the cape closely around her, grabbed one of the pens, and pointed it off in a random direction, shouting “Abraaaaa-cadabraaaa!” and “Alakazam!” in her most mysterious, commanding voice. She was Edward the Great, Edward the Mysterious and Powerful, master of the arcane magical arts, commander of the universe, bending the world to her whims….
But she quickly abandoned this idea, tossing the pen aside. The cape wasn’t quite long or dark or imposing enough to belong to a proper wizard or warlock; she was pretty sure real magicians wouldn’t have their skinny legs poking out from the bottom of it. Besides, while having magical powers would be fun, she wasn’t really sure she wanted to bend the whole wide universe to her whims. That would get pretty boring after a while. It was more interesting to see what life would bring her, where it would take her next. (Although having a bit of magic certainly wouldn’t hurt!)
Next, she adjusted the cape to flow behind her, clambered up to the top of one of the stacks of crates, and perched precariously on the edge, her fist poised high above her in a triumphant gesture. She was Super-Ed, defender of justice, savior of…uh, people who needed saving. There had to be a lot of those out there, right? And she could be the superhero they needed. “Up, up, and away!” she yelled out at the top of her lungs as she leapt off the top, feeling for a moment like she really could fly, like she had powers flowing through her veins.
Luckily, she was able to break her fall without hitting anything else in the storage bay or knocking over any of the crates. From there, she ran around the storage area as fast as she could, her cape flapping and fluttering behind her as Ein—her loyal superhero sidekick?—followed as fast as his stubby corgi legs would take him. In her imagination, she was flying across a bustling city, rescuing civilians, fighting bad guys—kind of like what Spike, Jet, and Faye did, but flashier. Not to mention more fun. “Shazam!” she shrieked as she leapt over boxes of random odds and ends. “To infinity…and beyond!”
At one point, she had the bright idea to grab the tie she’d found earlier and secure it over her eyes, just like the mask a real superhero would wear. She shut her eyes tight as she tied the knot in the back of her head; then, giggling madly, she set off in another run—and immediately crashed into one of the stacks.
Right. Real superhero masks had eyeholes.
After rubbing her lightly bruised shin and doing away with the makeshift superhero mask (it wouldn’t have worked with her pumpkin mask anyway), Ed pulled off the cape and sat for a bit in thought, going through her mental catalog of other suitable costumes—until, finally, she had it. She once again tied the cape securely around her neck, pulling the knot closed with a decisive, confident tug, and let it flutter behind her on her back. “Spooky, spooky vampire! A-ha-ha-ha-ha!” she said under her breath.
Then, she loomed over Ein—her face menacing, her hands with claw-like fingers poised on either side of her head, and pretending her teeth were long, pointy fangs. “I vant to suck your blooood!” she said in her best, slightly warbling, Dracula voice. Ein drew back and whimpered a little, his ears low on his head. Ed quickly snapped out of character, then gently pet his head to let him know she hadn’t really meant to frighten him.
The costume was perfect—perfectly spooky, for Halloween—and would fit right in with the masses of people trick-or-treating on Alba City. It was bound to bring in tons of candy, too. With this cape, she was fully equipped for what was sure to be the best Halloween celebration in the whole Solar System—or, at least, the best one she’d ever had.
“C’mon, Ein!” she exclaimed, and together the two of them ran back to Jet in the kitchen, crashing into things as was their wont. Ed was laughing, brimming with holiday excitement, ready to take this costume to the streets of Alba City. She couldn’t wait to find out what happened next.
Since she’d joined the Bebop crew, since she’d made these new friends that she loved with all her heart, she’d had so many adventures that she felt like they would never end. The world, in her eyes, was brimming with possibility and promise. Anything could happen.
Anything was possible.
#cowboy bebop#beboptober#beboptober 2022#beboptober2022#bebop crew#anime#radical edward#edward wong hau pepelu tivrusky iv#ein#cowboy bebop the movie#knockin’ on heaven’s door#halloween#holidays#halloween costumes#pumpkinhead#textpost#fic#my fic#maya’s musings#maya’s masterpieces
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summer reading/writing/arting tag
tysm for the tag @wispstalk !! <3
1) describe one creative WIP project you’re planning to work on over the summer - my brain is always juggling creative ideas and projects which is a constant struggle, but the main one i plan to work on is my oblivion fic, working title Raining Stars. it's my slightly alternate take on the main quest, following the relationship of my hero of kvatch, ambrosius rex, and martin. ambrosius is part of a DID system so i'm looking forward to exploring stuff like memory and dissociation and surviving trauma. i'm going to post some more about ambrosius at some point soon because i really do not post enough about my OCs or stories here lol
2) recommend a book - the funny thing about this is that i honestly havent finished any actual books in years. but i just got myself a library card and finished a book yesterday! so my rec is Cannibalism by Bill Schutt. fascinating read and hilarious at times. he mostly discusses examples of it in nature and debunks some myths regarding historical cases, among other briefer topics. much respect for him choosing to not write about recent criminal cases out of respect for the victims' families and not wanting to add to the long list of sensationalized media out there already
3) recommend a fic! -
for TES: i don't do as much fic reading in general as i used to but im enjoying keeping up with wispstalk's nature of fire, but you'll definitely wanna read the fic that it's a sequel to first, of course. definitely my favorite TES series atm!
for MK: haven't read anything lately but i know my homies tiptapricot and pokimoko are putting out some good stuff still so their profiles are worth checking out! they both write for other fandoms so you might find other works that strike your fancy as well!
4) recommend music! - some metal penis music for all your experimental avant-garde metal needs! now you can experience fix it felix screaming at you about criticizing consumerism and eating cops and mental illness over chaotic instrumentals! liars and therapy are the standout tracks from this ep, and if that tickles the taint of your mind, rest assured that you can enjoy their whole discography in one sitting if you want because they just have this ep, an album, and a handful of singles!
5) share one piece of advice! - If you want to live to a ripe old age, buy a weapon and as much armor as you can wear and still run from trouble. Buy a spell or two. And practice your skills. Don't practice on citizens. We call that foul murder, and we don't like it. But you can kill smugglers and bandits and other outlaws all you like. Outlaws have no rights. Plenty of adventurers make a living from killing and looting outlaws. That smuggler scum down in Addamasartus, for instance. The cave down near the silt strider platform.
tagging @tiptapricot, @pokimoko, @cheeseandstrawberrytartlover, @theoutli3r, @raechology, @fdelopera, and anyone else who sees this n wants to consider it a tag can do so because memory bad and im bound to forget some people </3 have fun!
#fought for my life to post this tumblr post editor ate almost everything i wrote TWICE#dont ask why i didnt think to draft this up outside of tumblr the first time it happened like im stricken with terminally stupid ok#if there r any errors i REFUSE to edit them after the turmoil i went thru#cannibalism#tag game#tas caspian
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For the ask game: 4, 5 and 10? :3
-(@amberrskiies)
4. ARE THERE ANY WRITERS THAT INSPIRE YOU?
fanfic writers, or non-fanfic writers? oh there are tons — anyone in my bookmarks on my ao3 to be honest, but at the moment it's a little on-the-spot so i don't have any to pull out off the top of my head ^^|||
5. WHAT’S THE FIC YOU’RE MOST PROUD OF?
the fic i'm most proud of is The Oblivion Bound Series; a gritty re-imagining of the Bloodbound & Nightbound series from pixelberry's PlayChoices app game. at 5 books (& counting) & including some of my most intricate lore and plotting work i still think it's my best series of pieces to this day
but the story i'm most proud of has to be The Disaster Duo Chronicles; the Obey Me! fic/series/roleplay i've been working on with @houselamentation for almost 2 years now. we've gone way beyond canon and into our own realm of demon-inspired madness & honestly creating with lia is my favorite thing to do all day every day
10. WHAT’S YOUR FAVORITE GENRE TO WRITE FOR?
if it's not been made obvious by now probably anything fantasy/paranormal/etc. it's where i get to express a lot of my best creative ideas
& also i've forever had an obsession with writing about immortals & the like. i love exploring how an individual can change over a lifetime longer than we can fathom & all that
35 q's for fanfic writers! | my ask
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Do you think Daedra are affected by the passage of time or like Martin the HoK’s mind is split all across existence? Because the idea of them witnessing the events of Arena to Oblivion retroactive and with the benefit of an outside perspective is really funny. To me. They eventually grab your local hero booted out of the timeline and gets them to watch it with them like it’s TV. The hero is horrified. This is what gods are made of, I guess.
Definitely split all across existence is my headcanon. Working on this shivering isles fic is pushing the fuckin limits of my prose abilities 🙃
to my mind all gods are formless and not bound by the same dimensional limits that make us perceive time as linear. mantling a god is being absorbed into a wider concept (and the concepts are broader than the mortal interpretation, i.e. Zenithar is the embodiment of exchange, sheo is the embodiment of entropy, etc). so poor Martin whooped Dagon's ass and then got immediately brain-blasted with all the time all the time.
It is super funny to me to imagine all these events and all their branching paths splaying out before him and he's like "hmm. I am sensing some kind of....theme.... here."
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