ponderous metal

cypher pt. 3

Thumping bass. Flashing lights. The crowd screaming, chanting. Yoongi could taste nothing but the bitter metal of the microphone whenever he got too close, mixed with the salty taste of his sweat dripping down his cheek. He was going hard at it, they all were, rapping Cypher Part 3 with such aggressive ferocity that left the crowd breathless as they tried to keep up. Suga, Rap Monster and J-Hope were dripping with sweat, fueled with intense adrenaline as they rapped their verses until their throats were sore, screaming the lyrics and jumping around stage in time with the impossibly loud music, hearts thumping nearly out of their chests, ears ringing with the high volume of the crowd going wild.
Hoseok, as usual, was at full energy, constantly on his feet, bounding from one side of the stage to the other, shaking his hair and running his fingers through it to expose his glistening forehead, extending his microphone out to the audience for them to sing the words back to him. He felt the beat in every vein of his body from his head to his toes. He felt the thrum of the bass in his heartbeat and in the pit of his stomach, stimulating him in ways he had never experienced. He let the music flow through him, dancing along to his words, and turned his head to watch the other members.
Yoongi. Suga. Yoongi looked so good, Hoseok noticed, as always. His bleached blond hair pulled back into a snapback, exposing his pretty porcelain features, eyes screwed shut as he hiked his left leg atop a speaker and leaned into the crowd, shouting his words at an impossibly fast pace, as his body bobbed along to the beat, spitting lyrics with his fingers outstretched to the audience. Hoseok observed the contrast in Yoongi’s soft facial features to his intense rapping and his image, his ripped jeans and leather jacket, his ear piercings and hat flipped backwards over his platinum blond hair. His concentration was unsurpassed, his focus intense as he let everything disappear except for the dizzying beat and uproar from the fans.
Yoongi got to his favorite verse, the verse that made his gut hitch and made all the fans scream, and he delivered it fast and with the same passion he spit the rest of his lyrics with. He turned to face Hoseok, his tongue swiping out to wet his lips as the two heated boys made direct eye contact.
“Whether you’re a boy or a girl, my flexible tongue movements will send you to Hong Kong,” he rapped, his eyes never leaving Hobi’s. The younger boy’s mouth lay slightly open as he breathed heavily, combing his hair out of his eyes and attempting to stifle the heat rising up inside of him.
Yoongi grinned, winking at Hoseok before turning once again to face the audience and continuing on with his verse, body consumed with the lyrics once again.
Hoseok couldn’t keep his eyes off of Yoongi and his skilled tongue for the rest of the night, his libido rising and falling throughout the concert, groin constricting in his too-tight pants whenever he looked at his fellow rapper.
Both of their adrenaline was at an all time high when the show was over, but that wasn’t all – after the sexual tension between them during the entire concert, Yoongi was looking at Hoseok with the hunger in his eyes of a lion after prey. Hoseok’s pupils dilated as Yoongi shook his hair out of the snapback it was hidden under, collarbones flexing as he tilted his neck and rolled his shoulders.
Not even bothering to towel the sweat off their bodies, Hoseok glanced left and right, making sure they were alone backstage before quickly moving forward to crowd Yoongi against the nearest corner, lips against the older boy’s throat in an instant.
“You think it’s funny?” Hoseok growled, tongue flicking against Yoongi’s earlobe, earring clinking against his teeth– “to tease me like that all night, you cocky bastard?”
Yoongi squirmed, mouth falling shut and eyes closing as Hoseok’s fingers glided up his thigh, stroking him through the rips in his jeans. He smiled and hummed as Hoseok yanked on his earlobe with his teeth.
“I’ll wipe that smug smirk of your face, asshole,” Hoseok whispered, incredulous as to how Yoongi could find it in him to be so cocky at a moment like this.
Yoongi was always a slut for Hoseok’s touches, fisting Hoseok’s shirt in his hands as he brought their mouths together to nip enthusiastically at his lips.
“You looked so good onstage,” Yoongi said breathlessly, taking Hoseok’s jaw in his hands as the two continued to kiss, their bodies pressed flush against one another next to one of the stage lamps. “You were all I could think about all night.”
Hoseok moaned against Yoongi’s mouth, his hands coming up to run along Yoongi’s sweat-slicked abs underneath his shirt, fingers digging into his waist.
“Follow me,” Yoongi whispered, detaching their lips and giving him one more hungry look up and down before he took Hoseok by the shirt. He began dragging him through the dark, exchanging glances with unsuspecting stage crew, past cameras and lighting and cords and boxes until they came to an unmarked door leading to the private bathrooms meant only for celebrities and stage crew. Hoseok followed wordlessly, adrenaline still making his heart thump loudly in his chest and he struggled to swallow, eyes glued to the beads of sweat on Yoongi’s pretty pale neck.
Yoongi looked around behind the two of them one last time before quickly yanking on Hobi’s shirt, hard, as they stumbled into the bathroom. Hoseok barely had time to look around before he was shoved against a sink, pressed against a counter , Yoongi practically growling as he steamed hot kisses against Hoseok’s neck, who tilted his head back to gain better access. He groaned loudly, obscenely. Yoongi was practically eating at Hobi’s neck, and the younger boy was so turned on he couldn’t even think straight . Hoseok’s cock throbbed in his pants as he let Yoongi work on his neck, leaving behind bruises and bites that would take days to fade. Hoseok’s mouth was wide open; eyes squeezed shut and he barely noticed when the kisses on his neck ceased, he was so caught up in his own world of pleasure.
Yoongi took his hand, roughly pulling him into the nearest stall and hastily slamming the door shut, the loud bang echoing in the quiet restroom. Hoseok wondered, for a fleeting moment, if anyone had noticed they were gone, but before he could further ponder the question the metal lock clinked shut and Yoongi was on the floor, pale knees turning pink against the cold gray tiles of the floor.
Yoongi licked his lips, peeking his eyes up at Hoseok, who stared hungrily at him, both their chests heaving, pupils dilating, cocks throbbing.
Hoseok, staring down at Yoongi’s beautiful porcelain clear skin, his tousled blonde hair stuck sweaty to his forehead after his snapback was lost in the rough haste to make it into the stall, and was too afraid to open his mouth, to say something, to ruin the beautiful moment that was unfolding before him. After all; when might he ever have the pleasure of being all hot and bothered in a tiny bathroom stall, Yoongi on his knees staring wide-eyes up at him, lips pink and swollen and glistening with saliva, looking so beautifully wrecked, and they hadn’t even started –
Before Hoseok had time to finish his reflection, Yoongi leaned forward, mouthing over Hoseok’s tented pants, before quickly running his hands up his thighs and undoing the zipper. In an instant Hoseok’s pants were tossed away on the floor– they could have been in the toilet for all he cared– and his underwear was pushed down to his knees.
Yoongi took his time, licking his way up to Hoseok’s dick, taking one ball in his mouth at a time and sucking gently, hearing the thunk of Hobi’s head hit the stall as he let soft whimpers escape him. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Yoongi’s mouth took Hobi’s dick in his mouth, lapping gently at the head, tongueing at the slit, and Hoseok’s hands found his way to knot in the older boy’s thick blonde hair, pulling softly as Yoongi softly swirled his tongue around the head once more.
Hoseok wanted so desperately to snap his hips forward, for Yoongi to take more of him in, to take his entire length all at once , and the urge was nearly irrepressible as Yoongi spit gently over Hoseok’s head, pressing his lips into it then gently lifting his head back to look back up to Hobi under his eyelashes, a single pearly strand of saliva connecting him to the tip of Hoseok’s dick. He looked so innocent, so quiet. Hoseok looked down at him, unsure of what to do, all his previous energy sapped from him.
“You want to fuck my mouth, oppa?” Yoongi smirked, licking away the saliva from his lip, a single bead left behind. Hoseok reached forward, pressing the flat of his thumb against Yoongi’s plump, shiny bottom lip to wipe it away, slipping his thumb into the boy’s mouth for him to suck gently before sighing and leaning his head back against the stall, not having nearly enough energy to come up with a smart retaliating remark.
Yoongi took the tip of Hoseok’s painfully hard cock into his mouth once again.
Hoseok, without warning, thighs quivering, snapped his hips forward, his stomach pressing against yoongi’s nose, Yoongi spluttering and nearly gagging as Hoseok shoved his cock as deep as it would go down Yoongi’s throat before receding slowly, his cock laying heavy on Yoongi’s tongue.
Yoongi, taken by surprise, took a second to adjust to Hoseok’s slow thrusts, looking up with a scowl at him before bobbing his head gently up and down his shaft.
“You should’ve,” Hoseok said between gasps as Yoongi moved up and down his length, met by Hoseok’s increasing thrusts, “You should’ve gone faster, asshole.” He said this with a laugh, a beautiful bright smile, the apples of his cheeks shining, morphing quickly into concentration as Yoongi’s tongue became more insistent. He took his lip between his teeth– his hands fisted in Yoongi’s hair once again as he thrusted harder, faster, deeper into Yoongi’s mouth. His sweaty, hot skin met Yoongi’s nose with every thrust. Yoongi’s throat was beginning to get sore every time Hoseok touched the back of his throat but it wasn’t long before Hoseok felt the familiar heat growing in the pit of his stomach. Yoongi sensed this and began sucking with renewed energy, swirling his tongue up Hoseok’s shaft, brushing his lips along the underside of his dick. Hoseok’s gasps grew more strangled, his moans louder, until he came in hot spurts down Yoongi’s throat, legs shaking and hands gripping almost painfully tight against Yoongi’s scalp. Yoongi swallowed it all, without complaint, sitting back on his thighs when he was done to close his eyes and take deep breaths. Hoseok placed his hand underneath Yoongi’s chin and lifted him up with his fingers to connect their lips, to taste himself on Yoongi’s tongue.
“Have I ever told you how fucking good you taste?” Yoongi whispered confidently against Hoseok’s lips, hands easily finding the waistband of the younger boy’s underwear and helping him slide them up his thighs.
“Have I ever tell you how good your lips feel wrapped around my cock?” Hoseok rebutted, nosing comfortably up the side of Yoongi’s neck. Yoongi hummed contentedly as Hoseok slid his fingers against the waistband of Yoongi’s jeans, fingers slipping lower until their fantasy came to a sudden halt as Namjoon opened the bathroom door loudly, heavy footsteps sounding against the floor.
“Shit shit shit shit,” Yoongi muttered under his breath. Hoseok’s hand retracted in an instant, and Yoongi lightly stepped up on the toilet seat so only one pair of shoes was visible under the stall. Hoseok’s eyes widened, breathing still as he tried to step lightly backwards so he at least looked somewhat normal standing in the stall if someone were to see his feet through the bottom of the door. Hoseok and Yoongi looked at each other, all sexual tension dissolved as they fought off giggles when they heard the stall door next to them slam shut, sounds of peeing overcoming the quiet atmosphere.
Hoseok had to bite his lip and stare at the ground to keep from laughing at loud at the situation, and Yoongi was fighting back snickers as well. But soon Namjoon was done, and he zipped up, taking time to wash his hands before his heavy footsteps ceased and the bathroom door was shut once again. As soon as the door shut, Yoongi was clambering down from the toilet, smiling back at Hoseok as they giggled like children who had evaded being caught doing a dirty trick.
“I would– return the favor,” Hoseok said, thumb swiping away a stray drop of cum from Yoongi’s jawline, “but–”
“Don’t bother,” Yoongi said, scowling, “Hearing Namjoon pissing killed the mood.” Hoseok couldn’t help but grin, tousling Yoongi’s hair and adjusting his own before clasping his belt and opening the stifling bathroom stall.
The two boys looked at each other, then away, before leaving the bathroom, making no comments until they parted ways near the junction of backstage and the main corridor.
“Next time,” Hoseok said, gently scoffing, “Don’t sing your cypher verse directly to my dick.”
Yoongi snorted, shaking his head. “Next time, don’t look so damn beautiful onstage.”
Hoseok smiled to himself as they turned opposite ways, thinking of the next time he could get that beautiful boy alone with him in a bathroom stall.

In His Absence

Imagine you and Sam trying to emotionally support each other after Dean becomes a demon and leaves.

Author’s Note: Sam x reader set after Dean becomes a demon and leaves. Reader was a fairly new hunter, and not aware of Dean’s mark of Cain. They are drawn together through their grief/guilt over Dean leaving. Little fluff at the end but very angsty besides. Warnings: angst, Dean being gone, very drunk sam, alcoholism, 

This was one of those last minute things where I really didn’t want to leave you guys without a fic for the night but I was crazy busy. I was writing another fic but knew it wouldn’t get finished, so I opted for a shorter one. I really hope you still enjoy it <3 And I’m sorry the format is wonky I don’t know what’s up with that. 

 “Sam,you’ve got to pull yourself together. Come on!” I tugged at his sleeve imploringly. “Ugh you reek of alcohol.” The heavily intoxicated hunter snickered and took anotherswig from the bottle in his hands. I was amazed that it was even physically possible for him to get drunk anymore. He was finally surpassing his brother in one of their least admirable habits.

           “Leave mebe… woman.” His words were spaced irregularly and apparently amused himself, ashe spent a moment chuckling after every sentence. In all my time hunting with the Winchester, I had never seen him insuch a stupor. “Here… if you leave me alone I’ll buy you a drink…” He stuffed his hands in his jean pockets clumsily, searchingfor something that must have just now entered his mind.

           “Sam this is ridiculous. I’ve always wondered if you had a problem but you never get this bad.Come on, I’ll bring you back to where I’m staying. Stop digging around in yourpockets, I’m sure whatever money you had is gone now.” He nodded in wide eyed agreementand threw a heavy arm around my shoulder. The weight of his limb knocked every bit of breath from my lungs. He squeezed me tightly against his chest and offered up the half empty whiskey, tippingthe bottle’s sticky top to my lips. I sputtered and pushed it away in disdain, still attempting to help him along the darkened street. We must have looked like quite the pair, my little shoulders bent under his much taller frame. I silently prayed that our walk home would be uneventful. I could defend myself, but I wasn’t sure how helpful this 6′4 child would be in a fight. 

           “You are such a good friend… I wish I remembered your name. But I know I like you, you must be a good one. Even if you are short as hell…” He babbled senselessly into my ear as we made their way towards the motel we frequented while in this side of the state. God knows where the Impala was, and who’s hands Sam had passed the keys off to in that bar. He never was very good at poker. If only Dean was…

I hated seeing him like this, without a shred of dignity. He wasn’t the same powerful and brilliant man I had observed hunting all manner of creature and being, angelic and demonic alike. The man on my shoulder was just a drunk, and there was a certain guilt that filled my cheeks with redness and made my footsteps even heavier. Because, leaning on me in his inebriated state, he was an open book. A book I respected to much to read like this, and felt like closing in shame.

           “Sam, why do you do this to yourself?” I mumbled under my breath and plodded forward under the monstrous weight he was placing on me, in more ways than one. It wasn’t until we passed under a street light that I realized he had been staring down at my face silently. His features were poignantly somber. There was no more empty smiles or friendly banter, just a sticky fixation that seemed uncharacteristically sorrowful. It wasn’t clear if it was my face that he saw, or something else, but his eyes were the unchanging hazel warmth that I loved. They were so different than Dean’s eyes, which now could at any moment flicker into a certain soul consuming emptiness that made the darkest black seem luminescent. 

*

After what felt like years we reached the door to the motel. I struggled to prop Sam up and search my own person for the key, the whole time pondering how the metal number pate above my head was just as tarnished as that dump’s reputation, but it would suffice. We had been forced to hold up in much worse places in the past. Once the worn key worked it’s way to unlocking the door I ushered Sam towards the couch. He half sat and half fell into place, his arms and legs far too long for the small, dingy cushions. 

           “There, you can stay here for a while. That would normally be Dean’s bed but…” I stopped myself and grimaced. It had been months, did I really still think of Dean that much? “Anyway like I tried to tell you earlier at the bar, I figured something out. It might help us bring Dean, the real Dean, back.” I heard a crash and turned to see Sam somehow on the ground, attempting to return to his perch. It was like watching a blind spider scale the side of a slippery glass. I sighed and ran to help him up.

           “All you ever did care about was Dean…” He muttered bitterly as he used my body for support. His eyes still held their distant, sad gleam. “After all I did, it was still always Dean, Dean, Dean,… And now he’s gone on and left. He’s become some kind of psycho, and…” I pulled away and let him fall to the couch below without shred of warning or regret.

           “He’s not a psycho! Dean’s not himself, and it’s all of our faults…” My voice shook with anger and regret. “Don’t ever act like he’s not our priority. At least have the respect for him that you don’t deserve.” I turned and retreaded to the window. The view of the dimly light streets below was blurred by the tears threatening to spill over in my eyes. Losing Dean was a pain I pushed back week after week. I had let the guilt plague my thoughts til it was an unbearable burden.

           “You never warned me about all these this! You knew about the mark of Cain, and you knew what he was battling. Maybe if one of you had opened up to me I could have helped change things! Instead you let me walk into this hell blind and I…” My voice cracked as another wave of sorrow washed over me. I let the sobs rock my body until a hand reached up to rub over my back. I knew that long fingered touch, just as well as I knew the soapy scent that was hardly detectable behind the odor of alcohol.

           “Come here.” My entire being cried out to take shelter in the arms behind me but I stubbornly held back. My skin was afire with anger and spite. 

          “It’s not fair! Why do I have to keep looking for him when you get to just drink away your sorrows?! Don’t you know I’m in just as much pain? He’s not my brother, and I didn’t know him as long as some… but he was my family Sam! You are both my family… and I needed you! At least he has an excuse for leaving me all alone!” I found myself turned around and pushing against Sam’s broad chest with all the fragile strength I had, but even in his drunkenness he stood tall and unmoving. His jaw clenched tightly as I poured all of my hurt and frustration into beating against his wrinkled flannel shirt. The softness of the material under my assault was almost as infuriating as his lack of response. I beat at him until I was an exhausted mess of spent emotion. 

           “Go ahead; you have every right to be angry. I thought I was protecting you by keeping my distance, but I’ve hurt you.” I finally collapsed into his embrace, a mess of hot tears and whimpers. He pulled me close and made little hushing noises that were strange to his strength and stature. Even in his state, I think he somehow knew who I was to him, and how we had all wronged each other in one way or another. 

He chastised himself for never stopping before to consider the marvelous weight this tiny girl carried, how she was struggling silently against the pain of everything that had happened. It made him ache when he realized how readily she took on the guilt he so easily shrugged off. 

I spent a long time shaking in his arms before my breathing became regular again. Sam ran his hand over the back of my head, gentle fingers untangling the knots in my hair and in my weary soul. 

           “One of your books you read in the bunker’s library, it said ‘everyone is afraid of something, loves something, and has lost something.’ Do you remember that?” He whispered the question into my ear while massaging the tense places between my shaking shoulder blades. I nodded, head buried shyly in his neck and shaded by a fringe of his shaggy hair that was inches longer than usual. “Well I think that’s true. And I think it’s why I felt like I needed to drink so much.” I sniffled and removed my head from its resting place to give Sam a questioning glance. He gazed beyond me, outside the window and on to the shadowy highway stretching into the distance. His confident and well composed persona was gone, replaced by either strong drink or strong emotion.  

           “I’m afraid of something, I love something, and I lost something.” He lifted a hand to wipe the tears from under my tired eyes. “At first I thought it was a stupid quote. We’ve lost so much that we love, and are afraid of so little. But in the bar today I think I figured it out.” There was a moment of silence as we stared at each other, partially in disbelief that we were in each other’s arms. “In a way, my answer to all three is the same.” He slowly leaned closer and closer to my face, til his nose was just an inch from mine. His lips moved slightly and carefully, as if to kiss, but he stopped. Instead he rested his forehead on the top of my head. It was simple but beautiful, proof that some part of him was still unchanging. “The only thing I’m afraid of, is losing the things that I love.” His grip tightening around me was all the explanation I needed. 

        “But now I realize, I love those things far too much to lose them to fear.’ 

I read the essay on maesters and knowledge in the book I bought, Mastering the Game of Thrones. The essay was written before the World Book came out, so I would love to read an expanded version of this. Even working only through ADWD material, it definitely supports the “Trust Barth” argument.

Here, then, is the point about maesters’ knowledge: it’s all wrong. What they “know” doesn’t matter much, and what they should know, they don’t. This is so despite the important fact that they are precisely the people designated in their world to know things. Thus they are singularly incompetent at what they do. After all, farmers know farming, blacksmiths smithing; septons know theology, soldiers warfare. Maesters fail spectacularly at their culturally designated specialty. 

To return to the problems associated with becoming a maester: in addition to demonstrating infinite hours of study, the chain of office consistently communicates to us readers the other primary meaning of “chain” – tying down, binding, limiting, and above all weighing down. Remember Pycelle’s “ponderous metal necklace” described earlier […]. Ancient Maester Aemon can barely support his chain’s weight […]. Before his own poison snuffs him out, Cressen notes that the “chain around his throat felt very heavy” (CoK 1 Prologue: 15). What energetic young person would choose to voluntarily chain himself thus? Samwell Tarly certainly doesn’t relish the prospect. […] Dutiful and studious as he is, he “did not want to be a maester, with a heavy chain wrapped around his neck, cold against his skin” […]

Maesters’ knowledge is limited – “chained” to that which is sanctioned by the Citadel as rational, scientific, empirical, and verifiable […] With their book learning, they have effectively reasoned out of the world everything magic […].

Their knowledge is irrelevant to power, except perhaps […] in the remotest, most vaguely symbolic way […] useful for showing off how “advanced” a given house or kingdom is, but good for little else.

With Tywin employing multiple maesters in the books, I’m loving this discussion about the maesters and respectability. “They advise kings and lords, and are actively sought after as symbols of power in themselves. […] Individuals and institutions possessing valued knowledge also possess greater power.”

Going back to the idea that the maesters’ knowledge is all wrong, something I read in TWOIAF about the Eyrie: “The maesters who have served House Arryn, students of the art of warfare all, have been unanimous in the belief that the castle cannot be taken”. Maybe I got the wrong impression from this, but it just seemed funny to me that the Citadel sent its master strategists to an impregnable castle where the only strategy needed is to throw things down on any potential invader. 

nobodysuspectsthebutterfly replied to your post:

I love how the Arryn maesters say that when the castle’s been taken twice. Ok, both times they needed dragons to do it, but you’d think the “dragon rule”, enemies who can fly, should be part of strategy considerations.

Definitely! That’s pretty much what the essay is saying, that the maesters willfully ignore magic as much as possible, that maybe it happened in the past but it’s not something that needs to be considered now.