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atranswomansdiary · 4 months ago

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Day 1

It happened in the worst possible moment...

Today's June 5th, 2020. It’s a Friday and I once again had trouble getting out to bed to go to work.

I’ve suspected for a while that I’m very depressed, for the umpteenth time. I had a painful breakup almost a year ago and, after that, I rebounced rather quickly because of many reasons, one of the most important being that I started a new job, perhaps for the first time in my life, under my conditions. In short: (sort of) a full salary plus benefits in exchange for working only 4 hours a day, from Monday to Friday. 20 hours a week. 80 hours a month.

In spite of this great situation (unique, in many senses) I've been having issues waking up and getting to work on time. Although I had the opportunity to take a company transfer and avoid any commute hassles (fee included), I almost never got there in time. And even though the company offices were only half an hour or so away, even on public transportation, I was still getting there late almost everyday—sometimes by a lot. I was also failing to show up to work a couple of days a month.

I was deadly afraid of losing this incredibly comfortable job in the first few months. If I did, I probably wouldn’t have enough money to make rent with my freelance stuff, so I’d have to return to live with my parents, in a house that literally has no space for me anymore.

I asked A.P. (he/him) to help me. After some back and forth, he prescibed me an “introductory” antidepressant and some mild sleeping pills, but it has been 9 months or so since then and my mood has improved a little (it’s true), but I’m still struggling with going to the office five days a week, let alone getting there on time.

Even more so once the pandemic broke out.

It’s been a couple of months now since the world basically went to shit and, although I’ve pushed and struggled and pleaded to be allowed to work from home—doing the same job I do at the office, but without having to struggle to get out of my apartment every single fucking day—my boss has been adamant that I still need to go at least some days to the office every week. According to him, it’s for my own good, to “protect my reputation in the eyes of my coworkers”. Picture my eyes rolling so hard that I can actually see my brain.

So: today’s Friday. As everybody else in the world, I didn’t feel any desire to go to the office, even less so given the current situation. I once again cursed my boss and took enough time to finally get up from bed that I left the small apartment I rent already late.

As with any time I go to the office (the company transfer is no longer an option, so I have to commute), Cheap Trick’s hit Ghost Town sounds in my head; the city looks deserted and abandoned. The few who are forced to leave their homes, as I am, move and act like specters, shadows of once-people—as do I, to be honest. We move slowly and fearfully through the streets, unwillingly risking our lives because, well, that’s the fucked up world we live in.

Or at least that’s how I feel.

I’d love to think that I’m just like everybody. Or, in reality, that everybody else feels just like I do.

I went out, almost running, and I already had a major decision to make: subway or bus. The bus is slow and unreliable, but there’s definitely less people in it and, what’s best, I get to sit down and read or just listen to music through the whole commute, mostly undisturbed. The subway, on the other hand, is fast and runs on a tight schedule but is a) filled with people and b) it gets me close to the office, but not exactly there. I have to walk around 15 minutes from the subway station to the office proper, through alleways and streets that are mostly deserted at this early hour and, what’s worse, have a reputation of being dangerous at any time of day.

Taking everything into consideration—and more on a whim than anything else, really—I chose the subway.

The journey was short and uneventful. I got out of the train station and I don’t remember what music was playing on my ears, but I do remember being tired and bored. Then, a remnant image of last night’s dream hit me, the one that I privately blame for being late this morning.

I don’t usually remember my dreams. When they’re emotionally charged I sometimes wake up with what I call “emotional waste”, the afterimage of the intense feelings that I experienced onirically but, apart from that, I just don’t remember many concrete details about them. Mostly sensations and blurry images, that’s all.

Last night I once again dreamed that I was a woman.

It was a throwback to the time when I was still in a relationship with perhaps the greatest partner I’ve ever had: L.M. (she/her). In the dream we were living together in the tiny apartment that was our love nest, laughing and talking about something I can’t recall. We were just standing there, having a nice conversation and loving each other deeply, as we did. But, in this dream, I was a woman.

As far as I’m aware, L.M. never had any experience with or interest in any women in their life. That’s kind of a new thing for me, since most of my previous (or posterior) partners had an “attraction for women’s phase” in their lives (their words, not mine) or were decidedly bisexual. So this dream is all kinds of impossible and, still, the joy of being a woman comes back with such strength—even just being the recollection of a half-forgotten oniric experience—that I openly smile for the first time in the day.

I change the music to an energetic track and start walking with something resembling the happiness or joy of doing so with a purpose. My heart aches a little bit: if only! I have this weird feeling—I’ve been conscious of it for a while now—that I would’ve been much happier if I had been born a woman. That maybe I wouldn’t be such a failure at 34 if, when my parents made me, my dad’s contribution to the whole affair had been an “X” instead of a “Y”. But, alas! It didn’t.

It’s too late for me.

Plus, I’ve never had any homosexual experiences or even any hint of erotic attraction towards men. Men are controversial figures in my life; I have few male friends and most of them are cis heterosexuals. I consider myself one as well. Cis and heterosexual.

I follow a number of trans women YouTubers, it’s true, and I consider myself an ally of the feminist cause (4th wave and intersectional, thank you very much!). I’ve read Beauvoir, Cisneros, and Butler. Woolf, Plath, Pizarnik, and Storni are among my favorite writers. Le Guin and Rice are my (seelie and unseelie) queens.

I’ve never felt as much of a “man”, except during that weird period in my life a couple of years ago when I tried to become a “manly man” after reading too many of Howard’s Conan stories one after the other while being extremely lonely and suicidal (as one does, of course). I’ve actually thought about tattooing a quote from those stories in my body. The quote reads,

"I know this: if life is illusion, then I am no less an illusion, and being thus, the illusion is real to me. I live, I burn with life, I love, I slay, and am content."

My only problem is with the “slay” part. I don’t think I could ever kill any human being. I have a hard time eating meat and I try to save spiders and other abhorred creatures whenever I can. I love Death—especially Sandman's version of her—but I don’t think I could deal in such violence.

It doesn’t really matter. It’s already too late.

I was crossing one of the streets and then an idea flashed through my mind. It’s OK: it is late. No one’s arguing that. I’ll never do anything about it. But, but… Is there any problem if I imagined a different reality? If I, excuse the mundane use of the word, fantasized with a world in which I was born a woman? No one would ever know about it. It’d be my little secret.

And then, it happened.

I was walking down these dangerous and deserted streets, the same I’ve traveled many times during the past year, but this time, it was different. I was immensely, indescribably, ridiculously happy. I couldn't stop smiling. I felt each step, I breathed in the chill morning air, and I was content. Yes, like the Conan quote above. I felt like myself, if only for those infinitely long in the memory—but painfully brief in reality—ten to fifteen minutes. During that time, I was me. I was a woman.

I was complete.

I got to work and reality crushed me. My name—the one I was given at birth—slapped me in the face as a friendly guard at the company’s door gave me a warm welcome.

The sensation faded away during the morning. Little by little, it disappeared completely… Or so I thought. It was fantasy and imagination, that’s all. I consider myself to be pretty good at those. But it was just that: a fancy, a whim, as concrete and real and solid as a fragment of a dream can be. Maybe one day I’ll remember what it was to be truly happy, thanks to no reason or excuse greater than just imagining what it would be like to be born in a body with a different sex and a whole lot of different expectations and experiences than my own.

But that is in a future I can’t even imagine and this was today.

Until then, with love,

#trans #trans woman #transfem #transgender #transgirl #dear diary #journal entry #lbtqia #queer

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buzzdixonwriter · 5 months ago

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A Mystery

I’m not going to mention names or companies or shows because there’s no point, but I do want to discuss what happened because it opens a window to the pass but instead of letting light in it only reveals fog.

Long, long time ago an agent sent a writer to me to pitch for the show I was working on. The writer seemed a bit quiet and withdrawn but not excessively so. They pitched an idea that offered potential for the series so I took them to lunch to discuss the story further.

The writer didn’t reveal much about themselves and I didn’t pry. They did respond well to the necessary give and take in developing an idea for a TV script so I gave them the assignment and sent them off.

In due time they came back with an acceptable first draft. I can’t recall if I passed my notes along to them to fix or if I just polished it myself but I do recall it came close enough to what we needed that I asked them to come up with more ideas and passed their name along to other staff members working on other shows as someone they might want to talk to.

Never heard from the writer again.

Not an unusual occurrence in TV writing. A good freelancer might get snatched up by another show or find a more rewarding gig doing something else. The episode they wrote was well received by the fans so I figured I see their name pop up elsewhere.

It didn’t.

Again, not that unusual. Joseph Heller wrote an episode of McHale’s Navy before Catch-22 broke big, so if I saw their credit on books or short stories or magazine articles I wouldn’t have been surprised.

Nada.

Every now and then I’d check to see if they every published or got credit for anything else. Nothing. It seemed as if they vanished off the face of the earth,

The show they pitched and sold to ended that season, but before the final word came down one of the other writers on staff had been developing a story arc for another season based on what happened in the show up to that point.

I never put pen to paper regarding this following season idea but I discussed it frequently with him and knew the broad strokes of his concept. He wrote it up and submitted it to the studio but they turned it down.

And that, we thought, was that.

Jump ahead a couple of decades. The show possessed a pretty strong afterlife in derivative media, including comic books. At one time or another several different companies did comic books based on the show.

As is my practice, I steered clear of these comics. For my own sanity I’ve found it best that when I leave a project that I put it down and walk away from it. Looking at what others are doing would serve no useful purpose; I had my turn, now it’s somebody else’s chance to play with the toys.

I am willing to talk about what I did on the show when I was working on it, and recently I was asked to participate in a discussion about the proposed next season that never got off the ground.

Someone mentioned something very similar to the idea developed by the other staff writer had been done by one of the comic book series.

The author of said comic book? The freelancer who sold a story to me.

Curious, I looked up details on this comic book series. The freelancer’s run was only a few issues; while I found out they died a decade or so back, I could locate no other biographical data on them.

Now, here’s the mystery: Where did they get the idea for the comic book they wrote?

Let’s say you’re asked to write a continuation of a TV show that picks up where the previous season left off.

You’ll probably think of a few obvious ideas you could do, any one of which would preclude the others if chose.

Call ‘em A, B, and C.

Say you pick A. From that you’ll have certain obvious follow up sub-ideas -- 1, 2, 3 -- that could be developed, but again, any sub-idea you pick precludes the other sub-ideas.

So now you have A1. From there, another level of sub-ideas -- a, b, c. Pick one.

Put a bunch of writers on the same project, and some will come up with A, some with B, some with C.

Keep the writers who chose A. From that group you’ll get writers developing A1, A2, and A3.

Winnow it down further to the A1 idea thread. What are the chances of all the remaining writers picking A1a as their final option?

A long shot…

…but not impossible.

From what I can tell, the freelancer I dealt with came up with the same A1a that the staff writer I worked with developed.

I can’t be certain at this date, but I wouldn’t be surprised if rough drafts of the staff writer’s proposal weren’t floating around the office at the time.

The freelancer did a fine job -- certainly one of the more unusual episodes we did -- but then seemed to vanish without a trace.

They popped back to pitch and sell their mini-series to the comic book company published the property at the time, then vanished again.

How did they develop the comic book idea?

Simply a case of logically following A to A1 to A1a by chance?

Or did they see / hear / obtain the development for the unproduced season while pitching their script to me?

And if they weren’t plugged into the comics / fandom ecosystem, how did they become aware of the publisher doing the comic so they could pitch the mini-series to them?

I don’t know, and because I can’t say with authority, I’m leaving the names blank so as not to impugn the memory of someone who may just have had a really odd career.

In the purported words of the king of Siam, “Is a puzzlement!”

#writing #television

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iamvegorott · 1 year ago

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Meeting A Magical Man Pt. 18

Part 1: Link Prev: Link Next: Link

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Chase let out an ‘oomph’ when he landed on a plush bench. Feeling only a little dizzy from the sudden movement but got over it quickly since he’s felt this before. Although, he could have sworn he was used to Marvin taking them around like this.

“What was that, Marv?” Chase asked before his vision focused. “Marvin?”

“Sorry, he’s in a meeting.” A voice echoed in his head and made Chase jump up to his feet.

“Who’s there?” Chase didn’t like this. He didn’t know this place, and he didn’t have Marvin with him. Why was he in a hallway? Where did his phone go? Why wasn’t it in his hand anymore?

“Sorry about that. I keep forgetting to not talk like this until the person can see me.” The voice giggled before a man stepped from around a corner. The man wore a blue vest and black hat and had a thick mustache. He had a happy shimmer in his eyes, a big, bright smile, and he held a plate of cookies. He was also almost a head shorter than Chase and was fairly small in general. “I seem to have gotten into that habit.” Chase also noticed that the man’s lips weren’t moving but knew the voice was coming from him.

“How are you…?” Chase gestured at his head.

“It’s a concentration-style spell I made. I’m unable to speak, but we found a way to allow me to project my internal voice.” The man explained, placing the cookies down on the bench before sitting as well and patting at the empty spot on the other side of the plate. “I’m Jameson, or JJ for short. I’ve been told that you’re Chase?”

“Yeah…um…how do you know that? Who told you?” Chase did end up sitting down on the bench with the other man.

“Wilford did,” JJ answered, picking up one of the cookies. “Well, he told everyone your name within the short time between his reporting and the others bringing you two here, but it sounded like you two know each other?”

“We met during a job, we…hung out a lot, and it’s been a good few weeks since the last time we talked. I just assumed he got busy, and it seems like he did.” Chase took one of the cookies and bit into it. “Holy shit, these are good.” He blurted out.

“Thank you. I’ve been working on a new chocolate chip recipe. I’m very happy with how they turned out.” JJ did a prideful wiggle and ate some of his cookie. “And that makes you the ‘worker buddy’ Wil’s talked about before. He’s told me everything about you.”

That got Chase to pause mid-chew, just a hint of pink on his cheeks.

“Everything?”

“Everything.” JJ giggled. “It’s what’s fiancee’s do.”

Now that got Chase to choke and cough into his hand.

“Wilford’s engaged? When did this happen?”

“It’s only been a week.” JJ showed Chase his hand, a thick wedding band on his finger. A closer look showed hints of a pink fog that appeared to be moving inside the ring.

“Fucking hell. Sorry, I just-” Chase weakly laughed. “I never imagined Wilford as the marrying type.”

“That’s what everyone told me, but here we are.” JJ shrugged with another giggle.

“Not to like, kill the vibe, but you said Marvin was in a meeting? In a meeting with who? I didn’t think he actually worked for anyone. That he was…um…freelance or something like that?” Chase finished the cookie in his hand and got himself another one.

“Oh, he certainly has a boss at the moment, and he’s been under contract for a while, but he ran off one day.” JJ patted crumbs from his pants. “The last time someone tried to run away instead of finishing or buying out their contract…well…they always say ‘an eye for an eye’.” His smile was bright and cheerful, but there was a different shine to his eyes. A shine that sent a shiver down Chase’s spine. Cute yet deadly. “But, we like Marvin, and he’s very important, so we decided to give him a chance to get off scot-free.”

“Cool…cool.” Chase cleared his throat when his voice came out as a terrified squeak.

“Hi, Chasey~” Anti giggled, appearing in Chase’s lap.

“Careful of the cookies.” JJ huffed, picking up the plate of cookies before Anti’s feet could land on them.

“Uh…hey, Anti?” Chase just did as he had before and held Anti’s waist so he didn’t fall. “Were you in the meeting Marvin’s in?”

“Yep.” Anti took Chase’s hat and placed it on his head.

“Is he okay?”

“You are just adorable.”

“Is he?” Chase didn’t like that his question wasn’t answered, his brain listing off horrible things that could have happened with what JJ had said earlier about eyes.

“Yes, yes, he’s perfectly fine. Might be a little huffy, but he’s okay.” Anti poked at Chase’s chest. “It’s cute how you’re worried about him. Such a good boyfriend you are.”

“You and Marvin are dating?” JJ perked up.

“No, no, we’re not dating.” Chase waved his free hand. “We’re just friends.”

“Friends that have sex.” Anti corrected. “And kiss and hang out constantly and get jealous and are very protective and-”

“Sounds like you and Dark.” JJ interrupted Anti’s listing, and Chase felt Anti go stiff.

“Fuck off.” Anti kicked JJ’s leg.

“I’m not wrong. I know Dark plays it all cold and serious around everyone, but I’ve seen his hand on your rear when he thinks no one is looking.” JJ quickly got off the bench to avoid getting kicked again.

“We fuck.” Anti finally got off Chase’s lap.

“And kiss and hang out constantly and get jealous and-” JJ stepped to the side, the knife Anti threw sticking out of the wall next to where his head had been. “Someone’s grumpy~”

“You-” Anti’s insult or threat or whatever crude thing he was going to say didn’t happen as a door opened, and someone came into the hall.

“Phantom? Right?” Chase asked when he saw the man.

“Yeah.” Phantom stayed at the door, leaning against it as if still trying to listen to what was happening in there. “Second time meeting and both have been awkward as hell.”

“And Marvin’s upset both times,” Chase muttered. “Sorry.” He added when he realized his mutter wasn’t really the quietest.

“I promise me and Jacks didn’t want to upset Marvin. That’s why he didn’t say anything. Ignorance is bliss and all that.” Phantom chewed on his lip. “I know I’m a bitch, but I’m not that much of an asshole that I’d purposely hurt my boyfriend’s ex for no good reason. I mean, if he had been shitty, I’d be petty and put eyedrops in his tea or something.”

“Chase knows plenty about shitty exes.” Anti clicked his tongue, his chuckle cutting short at the look Chase gave him. “I did some research on you, and no, I haven’t said anything to Marvin about it. I don’t talk about his scars to you, and I won’t talk about your scars to him. Like Phan said, I’m a bitch, not an asshole. Unless you need me to be.” He added the last part with a wink.

“Did someone hurt you, Chase? I can get Wilford to-”

“Don’t.” Chase stopped JJ’s offer. “I’m okay. I don’t need anyone worried about it anymore. I’m fine.”

“Well…you just let us know. An enemy of my fiancee’s friend is an enemy of mine.” JJ sounded sweet and gentle, but something told Chase he had his own literal and metaphorical knives he could throw when needed.

“Marvin agreed.” Phantom’s comment got everyone to pause.

“Agreed? Agreed to what?” Chase asked. Phantom didn’t get a chance to answer before he had to move away from the opening door. Chase watched as Wilford, Marvin, and a third man came out. The only other name Chase had heard was ‘Dark’, so he assumed that was him.

“Did you two share war stories about me?” Wilford laughed as he went over to JJ, wrapping his arms around him in a hug from behind. JJ was small compared to Chase. He was tiny compared to Wilford.

“What kind of war stories?” Marvin asked. His eyes hardened when he saw Chase’s hat on Anti’s head, and he snatched it off him. “How do you two know each other?”

“Old coworkers,” Chase answered as Marvin put his hat back on his head.

“Give me a little more credit there, Chase. I was the first man you made out with~” Wilford chuckled, and Chase blushed bright red. JJ slapped Wilford’s chest with the back of his hand. “I’m just being honest, blueberry.”

“You were what?” Marvin’s hands ended up on Chase’s shoulders as he glared at Wilford.

“Jealousy is certainly an interesting look on you, Marvin,” Dark commented as he handed a piece of paper to Phantom.

“Concern and jealousy are very different things.” Marvin let his hands drop. “Can we just go now?”

“Of course. As I said before, all the information will be sent to your home. I gave Phantom your address so he can send your belongings back to your home. Would you like one of us to send you off or are you wanting to do it on your own?” Dark had almost a smug grin on his face.

“I can take care of us just fine.” Marvin’s words were like venom before he took Chase’s hand and snapped his fingers, sending them off.

He knew they had expected him to go home, but he had himself and Chase arrive at Henrik’s instead. When they 'landed' the first thing that happened was Chase saying:

"I have so many questions."

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Tags: @brokentimewatch @bookwormscififan @d-structive @rainymae523 @ashtonisvibing

#meeting a magical man #trickshot #veggie writes #the plot be gettin thicc

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thejollywriter · 9 months ago

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where did Delilah Jones come from? (pt 1)

Skinner sat quietly in a dark archives on the south end of Redwood proper. Papago Welles was to the south, the Obsidian Pearle the north, and all around him, a kind of anonymity where counties find their borders.

The console glowed brightly, the only source in the dark archive aside from the green EXIT sign above the door, far away.

He leaned back, closed his eyes, rubbed his temples, tried to sooth the growing ache therein. He'd asked around about this Jones character when he'd arrived. It's what his contract stipulated, his mission was singular, but he was neither reckless not foolish.

He'd never failed to apprehend and annihilate his prey. But every target began with research. Know thine enemy, and catch them with their hubris, exploit their patterns, their blind spots.

These points of weakness weren't always easy to find, but there were always indicators of a fault in the metaphysical weld.

But for Delilah Jones, he had a contradictory confusion. His client had a veritable mountain of information that detailed the supposed personality of the target. Except, despite the depth of information, it offered almost no clarity.

The confessionals, stories and encounters drawn from any of a hundred cases that'd occurred across the city of Redwood, California, detailed a singularly driven person with an unparalleled appetite for violence and an unyielding willingness to dish it out.

Such people are not subtle. They are not careful. Skinner's experience reflected a simple reality. Psychopaths such as this are not prone to caution, nor self-preservation.

Which means there'd be evidence, tangible reports, that reflect the reality of such a person. Police reports, news articles, blog posts, incident statements. Dispassionate observers that deal in fact, not speculation.

And yet there was frightening little. Almost no reports. A single police incident where a massive bounty was placed on her head by late CEO Michael Lense. The bounty had been considered collected immediately before a catastrophic PR disaster detailed the ways a vast segment of Redwood's law-enforcement community were criminally compromised by the same CEO.

And nothing before, or since.

But he found a vaguely related thread. The name, Delilah Amelia Jones, was not as old as the thirty-something 'freelancer,' that roamed Redwood.

Pull the thread. The name was legalized seven years ago. And a different name was surrendered in order to assume the new identity.

The thread unspooled rapidly.

Jones was an orphan. Lost her parents, both, in a tragic car accident that miraculously spared her life. She was put into the care of a paternal uncle, the only living family of direct relation that could be found. She was thirteen years old at the time. Reports do not give a reason, but Delilah chafed viciously under her new circumstance.

All of this took place far north from here, in Seattle, Washington, and its outlying counties.

She made a habit of running afoul of law enforcement for fighting, gambling, and hustling, in and out of juvenile detention for the next four years, until she just up and disappeared.

There's only one further incident, when she was twenty-two. During this event, the bodies of four Italian mobsters were found dead, and despite her strongly being suspected, she was released based on lack of evidence and witnesses.

This was the end of her saga in Seattle. Six months, address chance, and this mysterious hooligan brought her traveling circus of violence and chaos to Redwood. And that's when things got really interesting.

***

Not to break character but this is an interesting idea I've had lurking in my brain that I'm going to write as short little narrative bursts that tell the story, from a slight distance, of Delilah's origins. I'll do similar things to talk about Redwood, and where the fictional city came from.

All of this comes from an effort to simply share more of my favorite OC, a righteous gunslinger living in the lawless Cyberpunk city of Redwood, California.

We'll see Skinner again as he tries to come to grips with the LEGEND that is Delilah Jones.

Until next time, if you want to read her exploits yourself, here's a link. Dollar gets access, and from there, there's TWELVE stories to sink your teeth into.

Thanks for reading <3

#the adventures of delilah jones #the redwood files #the jolly writer speaks #lgbt books #lgbt writers

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burnwater13 · 9 months ago

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IG-11 speaking with Din Djarin in front of a building on Arvala-7. Image from The Mandalorian, Season 1, Episode 1, The Mandalorian. Calendar from DataWorks. Caption reads: You are a Guild member? I thought I was the only one on assignment. - IG-11. That makes two of us. - The Mandalorian.

Grogu found a lot of things about the Mandalorian’s life puzzling. Why couldn’t he take off the helmet? Why travel to Arvala-7 to begin with? Why blast the droid? Weren’t they friends? You wouldn’t do that to a friend, would you? Okay, they were both trying to do the same job, but why was that a problem? The Jedi did, had done, the same job, but they worked together. Did bounty hunters not know how to do that?

It really seemed like they didn’t, but Grogu didn’t blame them. At least he didn’t blame the Mandalorian. How could you tell one bounty hunter to bring the target in cold and tell the other one to bring them in warm? Especially when cold was a permanent state of not being alive? That didn’t make sense.

Grogu had wanted to ask the Mandalorian about that but they got pretty busy, pretty quickly. There was no time to ask technical questions about the systems and processes used by The New Republic Bounty Hunter’s Guild, let alone identify, evaluate, and compare those systems and processes used by the freelance guilds that flourished in the current galactic political environment. Grogu barely had time to think of that sentence let alone apply to his situation.

This wasn’t the first time that he’d been ‘collected’ by people. He doubted that it would be the last time. Those people hadn’t been ‘hunters’ per se. Nope. They’d been elite Imperial troops. Large groups of them who had been admonished that they couldn’t let any harm come to him. That would have been funny if it hadn’t been so bothersome.

Grogu wasn’t like anyone else those people had to try and bring in, bring back, just catch, whatever. First, he usually didn’t run away. He’d learned at the Jedi temple that stillness was always his friend. He’d learned that human eyes tracked movement better than stillness. Stillness was boring. Movement was exciting. Frightened creatures often ran and that motion ended up dooming them. So stillness was his friend.

Now, stillness, while a friend, didn’t always work. If the area was very clear or the squad had thermal sensors… stillness couldn’t do the job. That’s when he used proximity to help him. He’d pick one of the troopers and hop onto their back, or foot or helmet and then the other troopers would follow their training. Much to the regret of that first trooper. But, much like stillness, you couldn’t do that long term. It got confusing and the body count was pretty high.

Finally, although he didn’t like doing it as a first choice, Grogu would find some critter that could help him. Barghests and lurkers were good choices. They were sized so he could just hop on their backs and direct them away from the scene. Unfortunately for the critters the Imps took notes. About everything. Dank Farrik.

They shared those notes or stored them, again, whatever, Grogu had never asked them about the mechanics about how a new set of troopers already knew all about still, hop, pet (which is what he called his tactics) and were better prepared for the hunt. The critters started getting hurt and the troopers started getting mean. He didn’t need that and neither did the critters.

Of course they had never worked out that putting out food traps or leaving an injured critter nearby would work better. Grogu couldn’t ignore a critter in need like that. Just ask the Mandalorian. Huhhhhh.

Yup, apparently groups outside of the Imp structure realized that food and friendship were powerful motivators. That’s how the Niktos got him. He’d escaped from a cargo container on Arvala-7 only to discover too things: the planet was mostly volcanic and it was sparsely populated. It was easy to get hurt and it was easy to go hungry on planet like that. When they noticed him stealing trash from their dump site they thought he was just a scurrier or some other critter. A trap was laid with a tasty bit of not quite moldy stew and some poison. Grogu found it easy to detect the poison and avoided it readily, but he couldn’t avoid the cage that dropped on him as soon as stepped off the pan that held the food.

The next thing he knew they had his pram, no doubt stolen from the automated cargo ship, and he was being held, more or less like a pet that wasn’t allowed to go outside. Ever.

Since they continued to feed him, he didn’t really see the need to leave. He was tired of being on the run and needed, rather desperately, to get some sleep. Of course that was almost impossible. Bounty hunters had started to show up. There would be some fighting, which was noisy, then a period of eery silence and then life went back to normal.

Then the Mandalorian showed up. And IG-11. They had gotten farther than any other hunter and Grogu had decided that stillness was an advantage. He stayed in his pram and tried to ignore what had been going on.

That didn’t last.

But that was what puzzled him. Was there really only one bounty out for him? It seemed like there must be two… Would the guild do that? Or was the Mandalorian refusing to follow the guild rules? How could they split the bounty if IG-11 was deactivated, to put it kindly? Or was that the plan the whole time? That didn’t seem honorable.

Grogu remembered promising himself that he would figure that out. It seemed important at the time. But then life kind of got in the way and he’d dropped that puzzle and hadn’t picked it up since. Well… what do you think? Were there two different bounties out there? Or did the Mandalorian just follow his own way?

Grogu values your opinion, so let him know what you think in the comments. First one to reply wins a… something… a story maybe? Any story you like. Sure. He can do that for you. This is the Way.

(And Grogu’s favorite reply will also win something, maybe a story, maybe a Grogu… the Force will decide.)

#calendar prompt a day #the mandalorian #grogu #din djarin #IG-11

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cybervesna · 2 years ago

Note

👱‍♀️, ❔(Saburo-sama) for Vesna ;)

Awww thank you for the ask and for making me take out my neglected baby!

Wiosna’s get along with:

👱‍♀️- Meredith Stout

They actually never met! Since Wiosna isn't "V" but rather "NPC" in my Vincent's story, I don't see them meeting. Although! As a corpo Wiosna knows Meredith exists since her position is notable enough to be featured in the news about Militech. She doesn't have an opinion about her, but that goes with her in general about people she never met.

❔ - Saburo Arasaka

Things here get more interesting! For background, Wiosna's parents were top Arasaka scientists when it came to space research, etc. They were "bought" by Arasaka after winning Noble prizes for their discoveries. Because of that, they got a quite privileged position. They were a big deal, and pioneers in their field, therefore they were really important and valuable for Arasaka or anyone for that matter. This way Wiosna's parents had direct contact with Arasaka Family. They were often invited to dinners at Arasaka Compound, and Saburo himself respected Wiosna's parents. Wiosna wasn't living in Tokyo like them, so she had way fewer opportunities to meet with Saburo, but she met him a few times while visiting her parents. Saburo liked to invite Wiosna's Family for exclusive dinners where they talked about various topics, having more friendly conversations than anything. Of course, it was a great honor and an even bigger surprise that they could bring Wiosna along, ever since she was a kid to her late teens. In reality, those meetings were a manipulation tactic. Saburo was making sure her parents feel like "part of the family" therefore their loyalty won't be questionable. There were corporations that would try to double what Arasaka offered or ask them to name their price just to work for them, so it was important to keep them with something that can't be bought. A feeling of belonging that worked, but it didn't work on Wiosna. Wiosna was scared because she understood she was not part of the privilege. She is just an extension to use, to show that Arasaka cares for their "family". She never talked to Saburo 1:1, and if she spoke out it was always when asked. She didn't have the freelance her parents had, but also what she will talk about with an old potato like him? She much preferred Hanako's company that in general was more approachable and less threatening. Saburo on the other hand tolerated her. Wiosna as a person didn't bring anything to the table. She wasn't an extension of their parents' great minds, but she existed. And there was not much in Arasaka to use from her. At least they thought so.

Wiosna can't say she hated Saburo, not sure she even understands hate itself, but she knows he's not a good guy. Especially not when Arasaka Family ditched her after her parents died. In her middle 20s (2077) Wiosna started to work closely with Hanako. Specifically, she was her right hand in helping her run from Arasaka and have a happy time with Vincent. It brought her huge satisfaction to mess with Saburo, who did everything he could think of to find Hanako. And there was Wiosna, making sure whatever data they had was erased every single time when they were even 2 miles away from a footprint Hanako left.

#oc ask game #cyberpunk 2077 ask game #wiosna blazkowicz #vesna blazkowicz #cyberpunk 2077 oc

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rut-ro · 1 year ago

Text

... 9 years later

I realized today that Tumblr still exists (!!) and that I started a hand-full of short lived blogs. Reading those old posts, I'm kind of impressed with myself. (Is that allowed?) Who wrote this, it's not half bad!

This one is my fav. Rut Ro! I was in a rut after moving to Amsterdam, struggling to look for a job in 2014. This blog helped me stay motivated and now 9 years later (in spongebob voice) I'm in a rut again.

Somehow writing my thoughts down in a blog feels so different than writing in my journal. My journals are filled with wild rants and negative thoughts in my worst moments. Maybe because they're on pages of paper that no one will ever read, I feel safe to unleash my worst self. A blog has that possibility of being read. Even if it's read by only one person, a stranger who doesn't know me, I want to be on my best written behavior(?) But I still want to be authentic and maybe impress that one person with my wit and obvious intelligence. ;)

I guess a rut every 9 years isn't too bad.

This is how I ended up here and what's happened since the last post.

Work:

Left that job I found 9 years ago because of a visa issue. The HR person was not interested in helping me and wouldn't permit me to go back to the office after I left one Friday and never returned (not even to collect my things). Hired an immigration lawyer and we won the appeal 1 year later. Probably the best career move to happen to me that I didn't do for myself.

After panicking about being unemployed again, I got a job freelancing for Philips and never left. Started as a UX designer and moved up to UX lead. Joined as a fulltime employee to build out the digital design team when the domestic appliance division split off, becoming Versuni 2 years ago.

Now on burnout leave after simultaneously building, then rebuilding the digital design team, helping educate the global design team on digital/UX design, leading multiple app projects, and taking part in the company's digital transformation projects. It was a lot. I'm now just starting to return to work, carefully.

Thus my current rut but I have a therapist this time!

Friends:

Made lots of friends in the last years. Some stayed, some didn't. Some became very close. Burnout has affected the social events and people I hangout with now. I also think getting older and more settled within myself also made me appreciate the ones who have been there for me when I really needed it (and didn't know it).

I'm not good at asking for help. Wasn't taught to do it and wasn't encouraged to need help when I was young. Still learning how to do it. So when people called and brought me food and kept me company during the difficult times, its surprising to me. I'm a lucky person to have these friends (you know who you are).

Family:

My mom remarried and my sister has grown up. My dad's health steadily declines at a medium pace but he remains positive about life. I was running from them when I moved away and now I'm starting to open up to them more.

I'm seeing a lot more social media and media in general about the immigrant experience. Especially about Asians growing up in western communities. It's so crazy to think that we were all having similar experiences at the same time in the 80s and 90s. And now that we're the "adults" who rebelled/fought/suffered/lived through it, we can create content about it. I guess when it comes to this topic, I still don't feel like an adult. I'm still the Chinese kid growing up in LA confused about her identity. And to add to that now living in the Netherlands for 11 years. Who am I and where do I really belong? Still working on that one too.

Romance:

This one is hard to write about. Had a couple bad breakups. Very dramatic ones that I won't go into details about. I learned from each one. Codependency was a hard but incredibly valuable lesson to learn. Interdependency, that's what I've been working on. Lots of habits to change, unlearn and relearn. Communication and being vulnerable are difficult and important things to do in a relationship (romantic or not). I learned that you don't have to do them well all the time, it's more of a practice.

My new relationship is the healthiest one I've ever had. We both have a learner's mind and actually want to learn from and understand each other. What a concept!

Inner peace:

I think I lost my way a little bit on this one. When I started freelancing, it was also when I became single after a long time, I decided to study yoga seriously. Went almost everyday for many years. Learned that it's more than physical movement and stretching my body into impressive looking poses. Stepped into the spiritual stories, meditation, and ayurvedic lifestyle a little bit. With that, learning how to create/communicate boundaries for myself, and living on my own (again) in a foreign country, I felt like I ate a mushroom and leveled up my life.

I felt so free and confident. I prioritised traveling and visiting with friends. I got my yoga teaching certification. I started studying yoga therapy and other forms of yoga.

Where did I lose myself? I think when I decided to put all that aside to focus on my so called career.

What now:

I guess I feel quite negatively about that decision because of how it's turned out. I might feel differently in another 9 years. It was part of a bigger plan. I wanted to accomplish a few things.

Own a home

Level up my position (difficult to do while freelancing, you end up getting the same positions/projects most of the time)

Get paid to learn new things instead of paying for my own training and struggle to get experience

After that go back to freelancing and focusing on my inner peace, gain experience teaching yoga, and eventually exit corporate world to become a yoga teacher/therapist of some sort.

I did do all three! But it doesn't feel like I succeeded.

Dammit!

If this isn't the biggest example/lesson in "it's about the journey, not the destination" then I don't know what is.

Not saying my way here was all terrible. It wasn't. But it did cost me my inner peace and mental health.

I'm lucky to have friends and a partner who support me with hugs, food, their time, kind words, and love.

Now I'm trying to retrace what I did back then when I felt free and confident (only a few years ago). After writing this, I see it. I need to bring back my inner peace practices while focusing on work. Maybe focus even more on my personal practices because work will happen anyway.

My practices:

Yoga with a touch of spiritual mindfulness

Meditation

Breaks to see friends near and far

Learning both for my career and for myself

Nurture my friendships while also having boundaries

Approaching work with less attachment and more boundaries

Ask for help and ask loudly (new)

Onward and upward. Thanks for reading.

#motivation #inspiration #burnout #career #mental health #life choices #life challenges #rut #life lessons #reflection

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fuzzy-melonlord · 2 years ago

Text

I posted 11,200 times in 2022

That's 8,022 more posts than 2021!

7,237 posts created (65%)

3,963 posts reblogged (35%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@bruh-im-aggro

@vampire-bite

@the-stray-liger

@fuzzy-melonlord

@magicalballerinaprincess

I tagged 7,950 of my posts in 2022

Only 29% of my posts had no tags

#imperium 6.0 - 996 posts

#anon things - 897 posts

#superhero au - 840 posts

#imperium asher 🐺 - 628 posts

#imperium 5.0 - 606 posts

#morgan 😘 - 521 posts

#dr. collins 🩺 - 419 posts

#mafia au - 330 posts

#viktoriya anon 💙 - 318 posts

#pirate au - 309 posts

Longest Tag: 137 characters

#i was written by a movie director who only has the female lead running around in just a tshirt and underwear because they have depression

My Top Posts in 2022:

Milo: come on, try seeing things from my perspective!

Asher: *crouches down*

Sweetheart: *sits down on the ground*

Milo:...I will kill both of you in your sleep.

137 notes - Posted January 19, 2022

This can be found on the Freelancer's fridge.

300 notes - Posted February 17, 2022

Things Redacted has given us about the Shaw pack boys (this post is a joke)

Milo: Last name, BOTH of his parents names.

David: Last name, Dad's name.

Asher: 🖕🖕🖕

317 notes - Posted August 28, 2022

I will apparently never stop making these! Last one is a spicy one, just a heads up

***

Darlin: when have I ever done anything rash or irresponsible?

David: i have a list. Its alphabetized

***

Vincent: Lovely, that was intense to say the least. Everything okay?

Lovely, giving two thumbs up: nope

***

Damien: whatever you're thinking right now, stop

Gavin: what?

Damien: you always make that face when you're about to say something stupid to piss me off so cut it out-

Gavin: i love you

Damien:...

Gavin:...

Damien:...

Gavin: also cereal qualifies as soup

Damien: I fucking knew it

***

David: how did you guys get arrested

Angel: Honestly, I have no idea. We didn't do anything wrong.

Babe: when the cops pulled us over and said "papers", Angel said "scissors" and sped away

David:...

***

Damien: What the fuck is wrong with you.

Freelancer: I will try to be brief. (1/435)

***

Huxley: Are you seeing anybody?

Kody: No, why? 😏

Huxley: I don't know I just think a therapist or something might really help.

***

See the full post

323 notes - Posted February 5, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

More incorrect quotes because why the fuck not

***

Angel, holding onto David as he drags them around the house: you can't move

David: ....

Angel: conced defeat! You have been conquered!

***

Darlin: I've...come to ask for your help. I dont think-

David: wait, wait. Shhhh

Darlin:...

David: ah, moment savored.

***

Sweetheart: I wasnt injured. I was lightly stabbed.

Milo: I'm sorry...you were STABBED?

Sweetheatt: lightly stabbed

***

Freelancer: I've only had Caelum for a day and a half, but if anything happened to him I would kill everyone in this room and then myself.

***

Asher: When I was a kid, David told me that the paper strip that’s in the chocolate kisses were edible and I ate them with the chocolate for a year.

Babe: I mean, they are!

Asher: FOR REAL?

Babe: No! Why did you fall for it again?

***

Freelancer, flopping dramatically into Gavin's lap: Tell me I'm pretty.

Damien, from across the room: You're pretty annoying

***

Aaron: Smartass sneezed and I accidentally said "shut the fuck up" instead of "bless you"

Ollie: how do you accidentally tell someone to shut the fuck up?

Aaron: Very easily as it turns out

***

Asher: you know what would be sexy?

See the full post

589 notes - Posted January 31, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

0 notes

reallyromealone · 3 years ago

Text

Fortune teller

Part 1 - Part 2

It was a late night as the Bonten men left the club, chatting about God knows what as they made their way to the black BMW without a care in the world as the meeting went successfully.

“oh sorry!” A stranger said as he bumped into ran, hands touching only briefly as ran caught the other but that was enough.

“Traitors from the sea will tear apart the gold sunset” the young man dressed in a loose white shirt and sweatpants, a hoody loosely hung over them said as their eyes turned white as they quickly pulled away and looked frazzled “shit..!” They mumbled before running away.

“what the fuck?”

The men couldn’t get the strangers words out of their minds.

It wasn’t until their partners in Thailand tried to steal their shipment of golden glow, a hallucinogenic drugs that was making waves on the streets.

“holy shit he predicted it…”

“has to be a coincidence right?”

(name) sat in his apartment, legs crossed and hands gloved to avoid another incident as he played with a star puzzle, he enjoyed puzzles without knowing exactly how to do them via fortunes.

He doesn’t know why he can do it but he can predict the Future of anything he touches with his hands and it was annoying to say the least.

Knowing when people’s happiest moments happened only to learn their most tragic.

And seeing how they die.

That broke him.

Only person who he couldn’t see was himself, it never worked and he was honestly thankful for it.

He knew he wouldn’t be able to take knowing how he died.

Only a select few knew of this ‘gift’ and even fewer knew not to ask for their fortunes.

The other night was a mistake.

Nothing more.

Not like he would see them again, right?

The days and nights turned into a haze as (name) continued to be his reclusive self and was completely unaware of the cosmic explosion he caused amongst the most feared men in Japan who desperately tried to find the little fortune teller.

Why wouldn’t they?

He could lead Bonten to greatness after all.

Sweatpants, a loose fitting tee and a sweater that hung over him lazily along with a pair of slides.

That’s all they had along with glowing eyes.

The men were growing more frustrated as they practically hunted the man down but to no avail, it was like he didn’t want to be found.

It wasn’t till one fateful day.

One glorious day.

That Mochi saw him while grocery shopping, the man was young, probably early to mid twenties as his gloved hands held two items, comparing.

He was cute, he wouldn’t deny that.

“you know, you’re really hard to get ahold of” Mochi whispered as he pretended to look at items, the other hardly flinching as he continued browsing “do I know you?”

“my boss has been looking for you”

“aren’t we all looking for something?”

“not many look for someone whose eyes glow white and tells the future”

That made (name) stiffen “you on drugs or some shit?”

“just come with me” mochi said simply as (name) felt something cold press against his back.

“fine…”

(name) was miffed to say the least, just wanting to go home and nap but nooooo! He had to attract attention to the most dangerous crime organization in the damn country! This is why he stays home!

He sat Infront of eight men who were honestly to pretty to be fair but that was besides the point.

“sooo, what do you guys want exactly?”

“what do you do?”

“freelance video editing”

“you know what we mean”

“ah right… that”

“answer or we kill you”

“when you have seen the deaths of those you love most, death isn’t as scary as you think” (name) said seriously, staring into nothing with cold methodical eyes.

Eyes of someone who has seen a lot.

“so you see fortunes or some shit?” Takeomi asked with a raised eyebrow and (name) just shrugged “when I touch something, I can see whatever or whoever I touches future, longer I touch more I see” (name) said simply fiddling with his gloves “so the gloves..”

“it gets really annoying seeing everything’s outcome”

“does it matter if it’s living or not?”

“nope, can see a hamsters future or a god damn pens” (name) said casually as he slouched in the comfy chair “so what do you guys want anyways?”

“you predicted traitors of Bonten trying to steal drugs” Mikey finally spoke up, cold black eyes staring him down.

“how fun” (name) was barely phased at this news, the memories of his most recent fortune burned into his mind like the rest “so what?”

“we want you”

“eh?”

#tokyo revengers x male reader #tokyo revengers x reader #bonten x reader #sanzu x male reader #mikey x reader #haruchiyo sanzu x reader #haitani rindou #mikey tokyo revengers #bonten #stockhom syndrome #kidnapping

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kyun-toast · 4 years ago

Text

[ATEEZ] Mafia!San - Will You Join Me?

word count: 2.9k warnings: explicit language, gun use, violence, description of death (not explicit), sexually suggestive, gets a lil steamy summary: cupid has a bullet with your name on it a/n: Y/N a little dramatic and San annoying af. I wrote this in a two hour flash at 2am, so this might be deleted after I reread it tomorrow because I’m pretty sure a lot of this is just me chatting shit.

1. Yoon, David – 12:45 Note to self: likes donuts. probs dunkin’, maybe krispy? idk just look for a man w a paper bag.

“I’ll have to warn you though, the lift is under maintenance, so you’ll have to take the stairs.” The receptionist smiled at you sympathetically. “I can get someone to help you with your suitcase if you’d like?”

“Oh no, it’s ok, I’ll just find another place to stay. I have weak knees anyway.” You forced a laugh and hoped the lady didn’t notice the dead look in your eyes.

“I’m sorry about that, love.”

Turning away with your suitcase in tow, you headed towards the building opposite the hotel and hoped that the rooftop would be easy enough to access.

It was quite irresponsible of you not to have a backup plan. It seemed that being named the sharpest shooter in the underground world had gotten to your head a little, but you argued that a bit of spontaneity never hurt anybody. Though your target would beg to differ.

Being a public building of offices, it was all too easy for you to reach the roof of the building. You found that walking with your held head high and gaze set straight ahead would never get you questioned. Who would ever stop someone with a walk so confident?

Thankfully, the rooftop hadn’t been turned into some garden space: an air-conditioning fan over here, a water tank over there. You checked your wristwatch reading 12:40 and muttered under your breath. The damn hotel lift had taken precious minutes of your time and compromised your view.

You opened your suitcase to set up your sniper, giving your little black cat charm on the side of your gun a squish. Cute.

Sitting on the case with your stock snug against your shoulder, you peered into the scope to get a closer view of the revolving doors to the bank. Oh great, there’s a lamppost in the way.

Mr. Yoon was apparently quite the punctual man, always seen stepping into the bank doors after his lunch break at exactly quarter to one and therefore, your window of opportunity was thin.

“I want it done today or you’re getting sniped yourself, Y/N.” You heard the voice of your boss yap in your head again. Blah blah blah, same old threat. You argued that procrastinating the man’s death was actually something very considerate of you to do.

You heard a familiar clatter of metal hit the floor and you turned your scope to the rooftop opposite to see a man in overalls with his toolbox open on the floor.

“Lift maintenance guy?” You muttered to yourself and wondered if the mechanics of elevators ran all the way through to the rooftop. You made sure that you wouldn’t be in his line of vision and swivelled back to your original position, cursing the man under your breath for ruining your first choice of setup.

12:44

“Come on, Yoon. Lunch time’s almost over.” Your finger lay restless on the trigger, itching to get a glimpse of the bank teller.

20 seconds.

“Krispy or Dunkin’ what will it be today, entertain me.”

10 seconds.

You saw the man turn the corner and waited for him to get a little closer for you to shoot.

5 seconds.

“That’s it, just past the lamppost and you won’t even know what hit y- what the FU-?” You shouted and quickly clasped a hand to your mouth. Mr. Yoon hadn’t even made it past the post, and he was already laying on the pavement in a growing pool of blood.

Calculating the angle in which he was laying, you spun your vision around to the hotel rooftop and saw the maintenance man begin to pack up a sniper back into his toolbox. Taking off his cap, you noticed a flash of white in his jet-black hair and just like he knew you were watching, he turned with a smug grin on his face and shot you some finger guns.

“Oh, you little fucker.” You spat, and watched the man jump down into a hatch to disappear.

You slumped dramatically onto the floor and splayed your limbs to stare blankly at the sky. Never in your life had you ever missed a shot, let alone have it stolen by someone else, and your boss had your phone ringing to rub it in your face.

“That wasn’t you, was it?”

“Listen, what if? You know, what if that was my thirteenth reason? I just couldn’t take it anymore and that was it. No more Y/N. You wouldn’t even come to my funeral, would you?”

“No, I wouldn’t because you’d be too broke to have one. You realise you’re not getting paid for this?”

“Why? He’s still dead?” You sat up in disbelief.

“Well, it turns out someone else wanted him gone too. I can’t lie to our client and say that we did it.”

“You’re oddly moral for someone that runs a hotline for hitmen.”

“I’ll call you if I find you another job.”

“Justice for freelance contract killers.” You muttered weakly as he ended the call. The faint sound of police sirens filled the air as you let out a heavy sigh and lay back on the concrete.

You pictured the man and wondered who it was that would even think to render the notorious Y/N L/N jobless. Though you did have to admit that it was a clean shot.

“Skunk-hair looking ass.”

2. Kim, Seungho – 18:00 Note to self: babysitting. easy target but kid knows NOTHING.

You were stationed by a corner window in an unfinished apartment building with a trainee by your side, setting up his kit.

Stood by the trainee, you scanned to see if everything was in the right place, checking the kid’s posture too. You had been sent by your boss to reluctantly train a young recruit and you joked if you had been demoted following your last predicament. You were never in it for the money though, you lived for the adrenaline.

The boy had potential and you saw it, he just needed to make cleaner shots because three bullets somewhat near the target’s vital organs wasn’t going to cut it.

“What’s your name again?”

“Jisung. Han Jisung.” The recruit replied, his eyes never leaving yours, in absolute awe.

“Eyes on the scope.”

“I’m sorry, nobody told me I’d be getting trained by you. The Seoul Shooter? Like wow.”

“Ew, is that what they’re calling me?”

“Yeah, well I think it’s a pretty cool name, they used to call me ‘Jitman’ in my hometown, not very creati-”

You shushed the boy and tapped his shoulder as you pointed to a small figure in the distance.

“You see him through the scope? Now keep your hand steady, never feel as if you’re being rushed. Death works to your schedule.”

“Got it.” Jisung said, following the man with his gun.

“Ok, on 3… 2… 1…”

You heard the bullet cut through the evening air and hit the target neatly through his office window.

“Bro? That was so clean? That has to be one of the sexiest shots I’ve seen in a while-” You began.

“Uhh, that wasn’t me, Y/N.”

Before you could even process what had happened, you heard the rustle of footsteps patter down the stairs behind you. Taking out your handgun, you moved towards the open door to find the same man you had seen on the hotel rooftop stop in his tracks on the landing. Clad in a fitted black sweater and jeans this time, he looked a whole lot more attractive close up.

“You again?” You exclaimed; gun still pointed at the man as he dropped his duffel bag to raise his hands.

His eyes widened, not in shock, but more with an excited glint in his eyes.

“Oh my, it’s Y/N, the Seoul Shooter.” A coy smile painted his lips as he shook his white fringe out of his eyes.

“See, everyone calls you that.” Jisung interjected from behind.

“Shut up, Han.”

“Word around town is that you’ve been unemployed for some time now,” nodding towards Han, he added, “and it looks like the rumours are true.”

“I’ve actually decided to take a break you know? Let the other kids have a chance at making a name for themselves. Bit of charity work.”

“Y/N kinda got demoted because you keep taking their shots.” Han interrupted again.

“Hey, who told you that?!” You narrowed your eyes at the boy. Han Jisung was a smart ass and you vowed then and there that you wouldn’t take on any more training sessions.

You whipped your head back around to the man eyeing your body up and down.

“My eyes are up here, sir. Unless you really wanna get shot.” You spat.

“Well, I’d die a happy man if you were the last thing I’d see.” He smirked in retaliation and studied your eyes carefully. “Well, my job here is done, I better be on my way. Got a big cheque waiting for me.” He grinned as he reached to grab his bag and carry his way on down the stairs with footsteps too light-hearted for your liking.

“Why didn’t you shoot him?” Jisung asked as you watched the man disappear into the evening.

“I don’t think killing a man for taking my shots is justified.”

“What, and sniping Mr. Kim Seungho just before he gets to feel the bliss of clocking out is?” He laughed. “Do you know what I think, Y/N?”

“What?”

“I don’t know, I’m not going to say anything.”

Han Jisung tormented you the whole drive back to the quarters.

“Y/N and Skunk Man sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G. First comes lo-”

Smack.

“Ouch, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I was just kidding.” He laughed as an idea struck him, “K-I-D-D-I-N-”

Smack.

3. Park, Kiha - 10:32 Note to self: bad man. bad, bad man. but big, big cheque.

Having had your last two shots stolen, mystery Skunk Man was beginning to get on your nerves. You were seething to the point that you demanded your boss give you another job, itching to defend your title of being the finest shooter in Seoul.

Laying on the floor of a rooftop hangar, the man had the gall to pop up out of the hatch to set up his station right next to you, as if you were both on some picnic.

"Nice seeing you here today, Y/N." He said, sitting cross legged to mount a scope to the top of his sniper.

Not even bothering to take your eyes off the target, you muttered, "I got here first, you better back off." voice laced with venom.

"Well I've been promised a cheque too, we're all just trying to get fed around here."

Ignoring him, you glanced down at your watch that read 10:31. Any time now, Park Kiha would be walking through the glass bridge to get to his meeting in the twin building.

Steadying your finger against the trigger, you held your breath and counted down from three, two, o-

"I like your cat charm by the way."

You pulled the trigger only for it to stray a little to the right, still hitting your target, just a little less central than you would have accepted.

You shot up from your position to face the man laying on his side, head propped up against his hand to look at you.

"Do you have something against me? Do I even know you?" You exclaimed, carding your gloved hand through your hair.

"No uhh, but I saw your face on a bounty poster once and thought you were cute." He said, attitude too blasé. "That was a nice shot though, I was going to wait a few more seconds."

"So you saw my picture, and started following me around to antagonise me?"

"Nah, I just happened to be super lucky to have been put on the same cases as you. Big bad men have a lot of people after them I guess?"

Throwing your equipment back into your bag, you watched the man proceed to roll over onto his back with his arms behind his head to look up at the sky.

The mid-morning sun cast a golden glow over his skin and though you spent most of your life working with guns, his uniform and kit next to him looked a little different, almost attractive. They suited him a little too much and you thought that if a sleek sniper were to be personified, it would look exactly like this leather clad man.

"I should ask for your number, the way you're looking at me right now, Y/N."

"Good luck, you won't get it." You turned to step down the hatch as he propped himself up again to watch you leave.

Choi, San – 15:25 Note to self: he’s kinda hot tho :/

So, we had finally put a name to the face. As your boss handed you a folder, you were slightly taken aback at the small ID picture pinned to the top of the file.

“You might be a little happy about this one.” He said, taking a sip of coffee. “He’s been recently recruited by ATEEZ as their sniper. Quite a deadly one too. He was scouted shooting pheasants down in the Namhae countryside apparently.”

“Hmm, how much?” You questioned.

“A million dollars.”

“Excuse me? A mill-?” You choked on the air and composed yourself just as quick to nonchalantly lean against the filing cabinet and look out the window, “I don’t know, he didn’t look a million dollars-worth to me.”

“He hasn’t been in the game long, but man has he taken down some big names.”

Though you didn’t necessarily feel too attached to Choi San, you did think that you were going to miss him a little. It was nice having a friend on your level to spar with.

Who were you kidding? You thought he was hot and that it would be a shame to have to shoot him.

But on second thought, you had been itching for the adrenaline in the trigger again, and the million dollars looked a lot sexier to you than some man.

“I’ll take it.”

San was all too easy to find. He seemed to enjoy hiding in plain sight since no common person would recognize him in the bustling streets of Gangnam. Nestled in the corner of another rooftop, you zoned in on the recognizable black and white hair sat outside on the terrace of a café.

Once you were ready, you repositioned your finger on the trigger and focused the cross hairs on the familiar head. You were steady until San lifted his head and stared right back at you through the scope, sending you a wink.

“Shit.” You muttered, his actions throwing you off and when you repositioned your aim, he had slipped into the crowd, now lost.

“No, no, no, no, no, Choi San, ugh.” Seeing that he knew what you were up to, you got up to pace around the rooftop. Your mind worked nonstop to find an alternate solution but all you could conclude was to go home, stay low and pick another day to continue.

This man had thrown you into the worst slump of your life, but you were somewhat enjoying the chase and you hated to admit it.

The abrupt sound of a closing of a door behind you had everything clicking into place.

“You pretty motherfucker, had this planned, didn’t you?” You laughed.

Upon hearing the cocking of a gun, you turned to pull out the throwing knife strapped to your thigh and pulled his body in by his collar to reach his throat. And it just turned out that San had the same idea in pushing his handgun up underneath your chin at the same time, faces a little too close.

“I like your beret.” San said candidly, jerking his brow up at the hat on your head.

“Me, too. It’s Marine Serre.”

“Nice choice.”

“I’m going to count down from three and we’re going to drop our weapons, ok? And talk this out like adults because I for one, didn’t wanna kill you.” You bargained.

“Sure.”

“Three, two, one!” The both of you pulled away for a split second in bluff only to reposition your weapons against each other’s throats again.

“I knew it.” San smirked.

“No, for real this time. I mean it.”

“Go ahead, baby.” He smiled as his gaze dropped to your lips.

“Three, two, o-”

San cut you off by leaning into your lips, placing onto them a kiss so intense, almost mirroring the violent nature of the situation. However, what surprised you more was that you let yourself melt back into him. He let his gun clatter to the floor to walk you backwards into the wall behind, hoisting your leg up around his waist.

You broke away from the kiss for air when he smiled, “I mean, it is kinda hot, but I would appreciate it if you could stop holding that knife against my throat right now, Y/N.”

“Ugh, fine.” You muttered as San leaned back in to kiss you whilst roaming his hand around your thigh, ridding you of the rest of your knives and smirking against your lips in satisfaction.

Feeling his bulge grind between your legs, you both only grew more fervent for each other as you kissed.

“Wait, I wanna take you on a date first.” He pulled away to look you in the eye.

“Are you serious right now?”

“Mhmm, to Bar 1117.” He hummed, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck.

“Isn’t that your company’s place…?”

“Yeah, they’re gonna love you.” He whispered, peppering small kisses down your throat.

“Are you trying to recruit me or fuck me, San?”

"I mean, you can kill me now and leave for that million dollars or you can come with me for a new job and that million dollar dick."

"You're unbelievable."

“I heard you were doing freelance anyway, baby.” He looked into your eyes again, a mischievous glow blooming across his face, “So, will you join me?”

disclaimer: San’s pie chart hair is one of my all time faves but I also can’t stop thinking that it looks a little skunk-like. In the cutest way. a/n: I've edited this a lot since I posted it and I think I'm gonna keep it

Mafia AU Masterlist

423 notes · View notes

marginalmadness · 4 years ago

Text

Summer Nights: 2/4

Pairing: Rabbit!Hybrid Jungkook x Y/N

Rating: Mature (later explicit)

Genre: Hybrid!Fantasy, Romance, Fluff

Synopsis: A freak weather anomaly leads to a chance encounter with a rabbit-hybrid, and your kind nature results in you gaining a small, fluffy lodger, who questions your taste in television shows. It’s won’t be for long…will it?

Warnings/Tags: This chapter involves Jungkook going into heat.

Author’s Note: If I called @johobi patient before, I fucked up the tenses to bad in this chapter, it took her HOURS to fix. But she approved of the chapter which I’m happy about because this is the one I was most worried about. Jungkook Goes into heat in this chapter, and I hope nobody wants to kill me when they finish it. Chapter 3 is only a week away! <3

Previous Chapter: Chapter 1 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

Tags: @kookiebunny97 @mintyrae @skswriting

Word Count: 5.6K

Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction for entertainment purposes only. The events depicted here are entirely of my own imagining, and have no basis on actual people or events.

I hope everyone is enjoying BE, and Life Goes On.

Summer Nights: Chapter Two

The next morning is the first day of your new-new normal. You wake to the sound of music coming from the living room. You pull yourself to your feet, shuffling from your bed to find the sourc

The next morning is the first day of your new-new normal. You wake to the sound of music coming from the living room. You pull yourself to your feet, shuffling from your bed to find the source of the enchanting sound. To your shock and delight, you find Jungkook hopping around the kitchen happily, ears and hair bouncing as he sings along to the radio and prepares pancakes. His voice is divine. You stand there enraptured, caught under his spell. He drops the spatula in fright when he turns to find you leaning against the wall, watching him silently.

“Please continue,” you urge him. But he shakes his head, blushing and hiding behind his ears. “Your voice is so pretty. Please?” you coax, stepping towards him. Jungkook considers you from behind his ears for a second. Then, tentatively, he picks up the spatula and resumes his song while he washes it clean.

From that day onwards, he wakes you each morning the same way, voice drifting through the bedroom door he leaves slightly ajar. There’s always a stack of warm, fluffy pancakes waiting for you in the kitchen, and beside it a bowl of yogurt-drizzled fruit. As soon as you’re seated, Jungkook extends a freshly brewed cup of breakfast tea to you. You eat together in the early morning light, the radio playing in the background. And while you get ready for work, Jungkook cleaned up the dishes from breakfast.

Domestic heaven.

At the end of your work day, you come home and thank God he’s still there. Sometimes he’s typing away on your laptop. Jungkook signed up as a freelance transcriber as a way to make money while staying with you. It was something to do while you were at work, too, restless soul that he is. Sometimes, though, you come home to find him flopped on his side in a patch of sun, having a nap as a bunny.

You cook dinner together now. Well, when you say together, you mean you take his direction, since Jungkook is a much better cook than you. He uses some of his free time to look up recipes he thinks you’ll like.

It’s ridiculously heartwarming.

After dinner, as is your routine, you split the washing up and curl up together to watch some Netflix. On the days you do all the washing up, Jungkook doesn’t fight you for control of the TV.

You still tease him over the first and only time you watched a horror movie. The first jump-scare forced him into rabbit form and he leapt into your lap in fright. Jungkook spent the entire movie there, shivering. And the rest of the night he spent pressed against your side in a tight, furry ball. Of course, the next day he insisted he wasn’t that scared, he just didn’t want to bother you by transforming back and forth.

He did a similar thing when you were watching a sappy romantic movie, but you don’t tease him about that. The second you noticed him sniffling at the lovers’ separation, he turned into a rabbit and hopped off his chair and over to you. You expected him to come cuddle, but he scrambled onto the back of the sofa and situated himself by your head instead. Every time there was a particularly romantic moment, he would nudge you with his nose and tickle you with his whiskers. And when he was feeling particularly bold, he’d grip your shoulder with his front claws and rub his chin over your cheek and neck. It tickled so much it made you squirm.

After extricating yourself from his clutches, a quick search on the internet told you that rabbits do this to mark their territory. You have trouble looking him in the eye the rest of that day. You know he’s attracted to you; have done since that first night. But he’s been ever so respectful. For some reason, the thought of him marking you as his makes your skin flush and burn.

Shopping for groceries is an experience, too. Jungkook skips around the store, picking multiple things up, asking you if you like them before throwing them in the shopping cart. It doesn’t matter whether you need them or not, just if you like it. That’s good enough for Bun. He’s so happy and energetic, his smile wide and eyes sparkling until you bend over into a freezer to pick up some ice cream. When you turn back, Jungkook is clinging to the cart, his eyes wide and entire body stock-still. All but his foot as it wildly pounds the ground.

“You okay, Bun?” you ask with a tilt of your head. His mouth drops open into a shape as round as his eyes. Mimicking you, Jungkook tilts his head before blinking and shaking it. And then he coughs, practically vibrates, before muttering something about cereal and running off in the opposite direction of the cereal.

Ever since that peculiar day, Jungkook has insisted on going grocery shopping alone. Something about getting out of the house and becoming more independent. But he blushes and averts his eyes as he says it, foot tapping wildly until he kicks over a plant pot. He cleans up the mess without another word, chewing on one of its stricken leaves and purposefully avoiding your eyes for the rest of the day.

Your weekends become different too. Before Bun arrived, you’d spent them relaxing after your work week, alone and in peace. Now you have a tiny, demanding rabbit that follows you around your apartment, tripping you up. And now you also have a fully grown, demanding man. A roommate - for lack of a better word - with which to do things. Now you have Saturday walks in the park and Sunday brunches. Imagine that.

Jungkook is incredibly physical. Forever moving, rarely still, bouncing from foot to foot, wiggling when excited. When you praise him, he claps and dances. The day you get a promotion at work, he hugs you so tightly, lifting you up and spinning you in the air because he’s simply that happy. He binkies about in excitement just as much as he did in bunny form, long hair and floppy ears bouncing wildly as his eyes crinkle in happiness, sending things flying in his excitement. You’ve already replaced one particular lamp three times.

But then Jungkook starts marking his territory in human form, too.

You’re chopping something for dinner on some nondescript day when Jungkook approaches you from behind, hands sliding gently over your hips. You could shake him off easily if you wanted to. But you find yourself not wanting to. His chin rests on your shoulder as though he’s just watching you work, but then the subtle rub starts. Across your shoulder and into the crook of your neck, until an involuntary shudder runs down your spine. It snaps Jungkook back to his senses and he pulls away.

—-

The day everything changed was the day from hell. Work had been awful, just one fuck up after another. None of which were even your fault, but all of which you were expected to fix.

You come home to a tidy apartment, subtle scented candles burning and soft music playing. Jungkook is in the kitchen cooking, and you’re sure the ingredients you can smell are ones he’s shopped for today.

“Welcome home.” He smiles over his shoulder at you. “Dinner is almost done if you want to get washed up.” He turns back to stir the pan on the stove. When you walked through the front door you were on the verge of tears. Now your eyes are misting up for the complete opposite reason.

You drag your sorry ass over to him and practically collapse against his wide, strong back, wrapping your arms around his tiny waist like he often does you.

“Thank you,” you practically sob into his shirt, screwing your eyes closed in an effort to not actually cry. You try to keep the emotion out of your voice but Jungkook knows you well enough to sense you’re upset by something. He immediately switches off the stove burners and turns to wrap his arms tightly around you, holding you without a second thought.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” he asks, voice full of concern. Large, strong hands brush the hair back from your face.

“I just had a really shit day, and you just—” You turn, arms flailing, motioning to the clean apartment and dinner on the stove. Jungkook nods in understanding. “—you made it all better.” His eyes go round as he blinks at you in shock, before melting into something warm. He tucks your hair behind your ears and tilts your head as he moves in, as though he were going to kiss you. Your eyes flutter closed as his nose brushes yours, but his lips never touch yours. “What’s this?” you ask in a whisper, blinking your eyes open to find him smiling at you softly.

“A rabbit thing,” he says simply, resting his forehead against yours with a soft grunt of air. It doesn’t quite reach a growl. You know it's a rabbit thing; you researched. But you didn’t expect it in human form.

“Okay.” You don’t push, don’t demand an explanation for a deeper meaning, just accept the affection from him. You lean in and brush your nose against his in return, causing him to gasp and grunt again, hand moving from your face to your waist. It lingers there for a few seconds before Jungkook gently, physically, pushes you away, his large eyes looking bigger than usual. His pupils are blown out, almost entirely black. Breath comes from his parted lips in short pants and huffs.

“You should get cleaned up while I finish dinner,” he says softly, stepping backwards. There’s an arm’s length of space between you now. You nod at him, hands finding his, giving him a squeeze as you back out of the kitchen. You don’t let go until the space between you is too far for your fingertips to touch. His eyes don’t leave you until you’re completely out of sight.

You close the door quietly, leaning your forehead against it and taking slow, deep, grounding breaths, trying to calm the racing of your heart. What was that? Sure, it isn’t the first time he’s done it; he did it on the night he transformed and kissed you. Somehow, though, it felt as intimate as him kissing you again. Is it wrong to feel this way towards Jungkook? He’s your Bun, your charge; you’re his caretaker. Are you taking advantage of him? Is he only acting like this because he’s thankful to you for taking care of him?

You push off and away from the door, feeling heavy. It’s almost like there’s a rope connecting you to Jungkook and forever pulling you towards him. You change out of your work clothes into something more comfortable. If that more comfortable thing happens to be something just a little clingy in certain, flattering places, and it makes you feel pretty, then you tell yourself you need the ego boost after the day you had. It has absolutely nothing to do with wanting to look good for Jungkook. You head to the bathroom to wash your face and brush your hair into something more relaxed before returning to the kitchen. And Jungkook.

“Nope!” Jungkook yells, stopping you before you can even enter the kitchen, two strong hands taking you by the shoulders, turning you around and practically marching you towards the living room. You pout over your shoulder at him, but he’s just grinning and laughing at your pouty face. You slump onto the sofa and he leans over the back of it, hovering over you, his eyes crinkling as he laughs musically. Ever so carefully he takes you by the jaw, rubbing his chin over your head, tilting you to the side so he can whisper in your ear.

“Sit and relax, I’ll bring you dinner.” His voice is light and full of joy.

You sit and pout, grabbing the remote to put some music on. At the exact moment you drop it back to the table, a bowl of food is placed in front of you. You blink up at a grinning Jungkook as he retreats eagerly to the kitchen, presumably for drinks. His enthusiasm is infectious. You pick up the bowl of pasta, twirling your fork in the creamy sauce and noodles, and take a big bite. It’s delicious. Delicious enough to have you moaning with pleasure and sliding back against the couch.

“Kookie, this is amazing!” you groan, licking the sauce from your lips.

Jungkook stares at you, eyes wide, focused on your tongue as it slides along your lips. You hadn’t even realised he’d come back from the kitchen. He places a glass of wine on the table in front of you, ducking his head and hiding behind his ears as he shuffles to his spot on the sofa, bowl in hand. You watch him slyly out of the corner of your eye. His face is so red, so glowing you can almost feel the heat radiating from it. “I made it,” he says, still staring intently at his food. “I found a recipe online I thought you would like.”

“From scratch?” you ask, amazed. He nods, biting his lip and refusing to look at you. You reach across the space between you and thread your fingers into his soft, wavy locks, rubbing the spot just behind one of his floppy ears. “Bun this is amazing, it tastes amazing!” His head lifts up, eyes so big they sparkle in the low light. “You’re amazing,” you whisper in a soft voice. Jungkook ducks his head again, hiding once more behind his long ears and curly hair. He eats his food slowly, more picking at it than anything. You, on the other hand, tuck in enthusiastically, all manners and grace gone, letting him see and hear your enjoyment of the food. You know how much it pleases him when you unabashedly enjoy his cooking. When you ask for seconds, handing him your empty bowl, Jungkook binkies across the room to the kitchen, bouncing on his heels as he piles a second serving of noodles and sauce into your bowl.

He hands it back to you soon after and sits beside you on the sofa, knees curling under himself. Reclining on the back cushions, he observes you as you eat, arms crossed and eyes sparkling. When you’re half way through your second serving and can’t eat a bite more, he whisks away the dishes and returns quickly to your side.

Jungkook flops over and places his head in your lap. “Will you…” He bites his lip, turning to bury his face in your sweater, his cheeks burning crimson again.

“What? What do you want, Kookie?” you ask, carding your fingers through his hair and rubbing a thumb over the gentle fur of his ear. It twitches repeatedly.

“Just this. Will you play with my hair? Stroke my ears?” he asks in a small voice. It’s unusually meek for him in his human form.

“Of course I will, Bun. Anything you want.” You smile, running your fingers through his hair, nails trailing down his scalp. His leg kicks out, narrowly missing the coffee table. You hand him the remote. “Pick something to watch.”

Jungkook shuffles, turning to face the TV. With his head still in your lap, he curls up into a ball, enjoying your ministrations. You continue to pet him, running your fingers through his hair and stroking his ears, twirling locks of hair around your finger before releasing the resulting curl. You lounge there together, the stress of the day bleeding away from you thanks to a stomach full of good food and your hand tangled in the hair of—Jungkook—whatever he was to you right now.

You don’t know exactly when you fall asleep, but you wake to strong arms holding you, carrying you to your room. Jungkook places you delicately on your bed and you fling yourself backwards, curling up to drift off again. But before long you’re being shaken gently awake and sat back up. Soft, cotton pajamas are pushed into your hands.

“You need to get changed,” a soft, deep voice says firmly in your ear. A warm body presses against your back.

You pout, eyes resolutely closed, but begin taking off your sweater. Large hands help you when you get tangled on your arms. It’s even more of a struggle to unhook your bra. You flail for a while before dropping your arms and slumping back against Jungkook with a tired, pathetic whine. If you were properly awake you might have noticed how his breath hissed through his teeth, or how his nose rubbed your temple.

With more force than is probably necessary, Jungkook grips you by the shoulder and props you forward. Then, with just one finger, he pulls your bra band away from your back, taking all care not to touch you at all. By some black magic he manages to unhook it, sliding the straps down and off your arms before discarding it on the floor. Not once does he look over your shoulder. He pulls the camisole of your pajama set over your head, guiding your arms through the straps before you wake enough to take over and pull both arms through.

“Now the shorts,” he grunts, low and gruff. It’s unusual enough that you pout at him over your shoulder.

“Bossy bunny,” you mumble, standing and kicking off the comfy leggings you had on. Somewhere in the back of your head you register a soft ‘”shit’” that you’re too tired to acknowledge. You pull on your shorts and sit back down, immediately flopping to your pillow. You feel your body being turned, tucked beneath the sheet pulled over you. Sleep comes easily to you after that.

—-

You wake up while it’s still dark outside. Jungkook’s chest is hot against your back, his knees curled and tucked behind yours. A muscled arm hangs heavily over your waist, keeping you close to him. You lift it as carefully as possible and slide out of bed, tip-toeing stealthily across the soft carpet and out of the room. You head to the kitchen and grab a glass in the dark, in search of a drink for your parched throat.

You drink your fill and shuffle back to bed, bringing a glass with you just in case. Although you slip into your room as stealthily as you’d left it, Jungkook is awake when you return. He sits with his arms wrapped around his knees, bottom lip snagged beneath his prominent front teeth.

“Kookie?” you ask softly in the darkness, making your way back to your side of the bed. “I’m sorry, did I wake you?”

“No, I just—I reached for you and you were gone,” he says, watching you place your glass of water down and climb back into bed. “I was waiting for you to come back.”

“Silly rabbit,” you coo. Jungkook rolls towards you, wrapping his arms around your waist and tangling a powerful, muscular leg with yours. You settle back, stroking his head and mulling over his unusual clinginess as sleep comes to claim you.

But then you feel a pressure against your thigh, and you’re suddenly very awake.

Jungkook undulates his hips to a subtle rhythm. “Wha-” you begin, turning to look at him. But he buries his nose beneath your jaw, his breath coming out in soft, heavy huffs in time with his movements. He grinds against your hip with a desperation. You swallow audibly, forcing yourself to ask as your face burns. “Jungkook, what are you doing?”

“Sorry,” he whines. “I can’t help it, I just—” He throws his thigh over your hips, shifting until he’s hovering over you, weight on his knees and forearms. His hips drop to roll against your stomach, a thick bulge straining the thin material of the pajama bottoms you had bought him. Jungkook ruts against your sweat-covered skin as you stare up at him, eyes wide, frozen in shock. Heat floods through you, stirring your insides until you’re panting. He is, too. His mouth hangs open as he huffs in time with his thrusts, lips grazing your jaw until they reach your mouth. He caresses it softly with his own, barely a whisper of a touch. Once. Twice. Just like that first night he turned. The third time, he kisses you. Your eyes flutter closed and you kiss him back. Nothing more than a delicate tilt of your head and a careful brushing of your lips against his. This is wrong, a voice in the back of your head whispers. This man is practically a stranger.

Only he’s not.

He’s shared your bed as a human for the past two weeks, and ten weeks before that as a rabbit.

You’ve spent evenings curled up together, watching shows you both enjoy. You know his moods, as he knows yours. Your hand feels as comfortable tangled in his hair as it does amongst his fur, and you can read his eyes in both forms exactly the same.

He’s your Jungkook. Your Kookie.

Your Bun.

He exhales heavily, his tongue lapping at your lips for more. Warm breath fans your face and you practically tremble with anticipation. Jungkook tears himself away to run his hands down the curves of your body, and as you look up at him, your mouth dries at the sight of his godly form. The ever-present glow of the city creates a subtle neon halo behind him, heightening his otherworldly, divine presence.

“I-I—“ As suddenly as he came onto you, Jungkook scrambles backwards off the bed, falling ungracefully to the floor. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry!” he yells, eyes watery and wide with terror. He rushes out of the room so quickly he doesn’t even stand up straight. Just heads straight for the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. You follow too late, reaching your bedroom doorway just in time to hear the bathroom lock snap into place.

You drop to your knees outside the bathroom door, knocking on it gently. “Jungkookie, what’s wrong? Please, come out,” you call.

“I can’t,” comes a whine from the other side of the door. It almost sounds like a sob. “I have to stay here. Can I have a blanket please?” The voice is strained and tight; unsure. It’s not like the warm, bright voice you’ve come to know at all.

“Okay,” you agree. “I’ll get that for you. I’ll be right back.” When you return with the requested blanket, you let Kookie know with a small knock on the door. He cracks it open just enough for you to push the bedding through. In doing so, you catch a glimpse of his eyes. They’re wide and a little teary, his pupils huge. His face and upper chest is worryingly flushed. Jungkook notices you scrutinising his appearance and slams the door shut before you can comment. You hover on the other side of the door, not wanting to leave him. “I’m not upset with you, Bun. I understand if you want some space. Good night.”

You shuffle your way back to bed, curling up under the duvet for the first time in weeks. Because despite the heat and humidity of summer, it feels far, far too cold.

—-

The fullness of your bladder wakes you, demanding you seek relief immediately. You can tell by the noise outside that it’s late morning, and you hope Jungkook is already awake. You roll out of bed and shuffle over to the bathroom, trying the handle and finding it still locked.

With a reluctant sigh, you knock. “Jungkookie? Bun, I need to pee. Can you let me in please?” A few moments later there’s shuffling behind the door and the soft click of a lock opening. A sunken-eyed Jungkook stands on the other side, eyes averted. The duvet you gave him wraps him like a shroud. It hangs over his head, hiding his ears, his hands clutching it tightly at his chest. He stares pointedly at his feet as he shuffles past you, and if it weren’t for your desperate need to pee you’d stop and talk to him. But that’s a conversation that can wait until you’ve made breakfast.

You finish in the bathroom as fast as possible and make your way to the kitchen, noticing how he sits curled up on the chair in the corner of your living room.

You pull out all the things you need to make pancakes and crank up the volume on an upbeat playlist; mostly songs Jungkook likes listening to in the mornings. “Jungkook, could you help me please?” you ask sweetly. “The strawberries and bananas need slicing.”

He perks up at that, ears twitching before his eyes dart over to you. He loves bananas, almost obsessively loves them. I knew that would work, you smile to yourself. Jungkook fiddles with the waistband of his pajamas and you try to forget the outline of his hardness straining against them. Try to forget how your skin flushed when he rocked it against you. You focus back on the batter, giving it an extra hard stir, making sure there’s no lumps in it. That’s the reason for you beating it so vigorously. No other reason.

You sigh, pinching yourself before switching on the burner on the stove.

Jungkook begins chopping fruit. Yes. You smile to yourself, watching him out of the corner of your eye as you work on two stacks of pancakes. The tension in the air between you two eases, and soon you’re both dancing to a song that Jungkook listens to often; its easy choreography something you developed together. The song changes into something new, something you’ve never heard before, but you sway your hips nevertheless as you ladle batter into the hot frying pan. Jungkook bounces from foot-to-foot, endlessly energetic as he works his way through half a bunch of bananas and the entire bowl of strawberries. He’s piling the chopped fruit up on plates when you push between him and the counter with a small, murmured excuse me. The step he takes back to allow you access isn’t quite big enough. Even then you don’t notice; so used to squeezing around one another in the modestly-sized kitchen as you are.

Jungkook, however, notices.

Your ass slides firmly against him and he grips your hips almost painfully hard, pressing you into the counter.

“Ow! Jungkook, what are you—” Your question becomes a squeal of surprise when he buries his nose behind your ear and grinds his rapidly hardening cock into the cleft of your ass. Only two, flimsy layers of clothing separate you.

“I need you so bad,” he growls as he rubs his nose through your hair, the underside of his chin skimming the column of your neck. You arch back into him, throwing your head back to expose more of your neck to him. You’re usually a lot more reserved with men—a lot—but something about Jungkook makes you want to be wild. Maybe it’s the way you feel so safe with him. His body is a solid presence against your back, his thrusting desperate and needy. Gone is the sweet, delicate Bun you’ve come to care about. He’s been replaced with someone who grips you, growls at you, and yet you still feel safe in his arms.

It’s Jungkook. He’d never hurt you.

You groan, something between a whine and a whimper being ripped from the back of your throat as he rubs himself against you. Then, suddenly - unwelcomely - cold air hits your back.

Jungkook has torn himself from you for a second time.

You turn but he’s not behind you. Spinning in place, you see a fluffy tail vanishing around a cabinet and a pair of light grey pajamas left in its wake. You follow fast enough to watch him hightail it out of the kitchen and across the living room, straight under the chair in the corner. He never sits in it as a human, preferring to sit next to you on the sofa, but it’s his favourite place to hide as a bunny.

You crouch, peeking under the chair, trying to coax him out.

“I’m sorry, Jungkookie. Come out and talk to me, please?” you beg to the huddled mass of fur under the chair. He stays where he is, shifting in a way you know means he’s settling in for the long haul. You stand up, running to turn off the stove before dashing to your bedroom and throwing on some clothes. After grabbing your bag, you check under the chair again. Jungkook is still there. “I’ll be right back, okay?” you tell him, before rushing out the door.

You all but run out of your apartment building, dodging people on the street as you head to the florist a block and a half away to get a custom bouquet made. It’s ugly as hell, but it’s not supposed to be for looking at. All of the flowers are suitable for rabbits to eat, and you get triple the ones you know Jungkook is particularly fond of.

You rush back to your apartment on a sliver of energy, taking extra care to preserve your gift, but the whole journey takes you less than twenty minutes. You discard your shoes and bag by the door and head straight for the chair, placing your peace offering on the floor before it.

“I have a gift for you,” you say, pulling a white hibiscus from the bouquet and presenting it to him. “Please come out and talk to me, Bun.” You watch as Jungkook hops forward, unable to resist the pull of his favourite flower. You untie the haphazard collection of flowers and lay them out on the decorative wrapping paper for him. It does the trick and draws him out from under the chair. You hold your hand out to him carefully, letting him come to you on his own terms. Jungkook devours a rosebud and hops forward, bumping your hand with his nose. You sigh, tension you didn’t know was building melting from your shoulders.

Somewhat placated, you head back to the kitchen. The pancakes are now cold but nothing that can’t be reheated. You store his breakfast in the fridge and slip a couple bits of banana onto the paper with the flowers. Jungkook leaps at them, devouring them with relish before following you into the kitchen and circling your chair as you eat your pancakes. He reaches up, nudging your foot to get your attention. And by attention, he wants more bananas.

Once you’re all done with breakfast, you move to the living room. There are several episodes of a TV show you and Jungkook have been watching together that you need to catch up on, and that’s your usual plan for the weekend. Jungkook, however, has other plans. He jumps into your lap, purposefully knocking the remote out of your hand. You tangle your fingers through his fur and feel him shudder under your touch.

“Do you want to tell me what's wrong now?” you ask softly, thumb rubbing soothing circles between his eyes. Beneath your hand, Jungkook transforms. He curls in on himself, doing his best to obscure his nudity, and buries his head in your stomach. You run a hand down his back and find his skin is clammy and feverish. “Oh my god, are you sick? Bun, you’re burning up!” you exclaim, panic injected into your tone.

“I’m going into heat. It’s why I keep—why I keep—” His voice is high-pitched and strained again.

“Why you keep rubbing against me?” you finish for him, raking your nails through his long locks. His ears and tail twitch and Jungkook whines. Nodding, he curls in on himself tighter. “You need a partner,” you say matter-of-factly, but he shakes his head in disagreement.

“No. I don’t need a partner...” he says simply, the implication left hanging. You move his ear carefully, brushing his hair from his face and cupping it with one hand. Your thumb strokes his cheekbone until his tightly-clenched eyes open.

“Then, tell me what you want,” you whisper. His eyes narrow like he’s assessing you. Assessing the full implication of your words and trying to decide how to answer you.

“Normally I’d mate with someone in a nest—” Jungkook starts before he’s racked by shudders. He buries his face in your stomach again and whines.

“My bed,” you offer. “You can build a nest there if you need to.”

He shoots upward at your words, watching your face carefully. “But—” His eyes are wide, mouth agape as he draws the logical conclusion but not daring to hope. “--where will you sleep?” He asks as though he is scared of the answer.

You carefully brush his hair back from his face, thumbing over a floppy ear. “I c-can—“ you stutter, before taking a deep breath. “I’ll figure something out.” You lean forward, pressing your forehead to his. Your lips are so close like this, close enough to brush against each other as you speak. It’s not quite a kiss, but your intention is clear. “If you need anything—if you want anything...” You trail off.

Jungkook wastes no time. He sits up and crawls into your lap, his bare, muscular thighs straddling yours as he kisses you deeply. His hands, no longer rough, cup your face delicately as though he can’t believe he’s been gifted something so precious. Even as his naked hips roll against your stomach.

“Iwantyouwantyouwantyou. Need you,” he chants between kisses.

And in an act of madness - or perhaps sanity - you give yourself to him completely.

Next Chapter

#Jungkook #Jeon Jungkook #Jungkook Fluff #Hybrid!Jungkook #Jungkook Smut #Jungkook x You #Jungkook x Reader #Bunny!Jungkook #Jungkook Fic #BTS #BTS Fic #MarginalMadness #commission #MM Summer Nights #Summer Nights #Hybrid!Koo in Heat #kookiebunny97 #mintyrae #skswriting

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glassyyx-blog · 3 years ago

Text

Sims 4: Flower Legacy Challenge

This legacy challenge was created by cloudiecake, glassyyx and liaclynn! We hoped to allow players to try more aspects of the game that they have not delved into yet. We also made sure to have BGC options for each generation! We really hope you enjoy.

Basic Rules:

It’s basically the same rules as any other legacy challenge

No cheating (unless specified).

The heirs can be any gender, sexuality, etc.

Money cheats are allowed, but not excessively.

Lifespan should be set to normal.

For likes and dislikes, you may add additional ones in CAS if wanted.

You may live wherever you please unless specified otherwise.

Every generation passes down a family heirloom (on their teenage birthday).

Note: We have decided to release the entire challenge we’ve come up with, however, please note that it isn’t entirely play-tested! If you notice things are impossible to achieve while playing, please let me know and we will tweak the challenge accordingly. All three of us will be playing as well.

Generation 1 - Delphinium

You grew up in foster care, bouncing from home to home until finally, you had enough. You decided to pack your bags and run away, hoping for a fresh start. This fresh start isn’t all you had dreamed of, however, and you struggle to find a proper job. Instead, you do odd jobs and the occasional theft to keep yourself afloat. When you have children, they become your entire world, wanting to give them everything you never had as a child.

Traits: Gloomy, Kleptomaniac, Active Aspiration: Chief of Mischief Career: Odd jobs (if you don’t have Island Living, do any part time job) NOTE: if you have cottage living, you are allowed to do errands!!

Likes and Dislikes:

Colours: Likes purple Likes blue

Activities: Likes mischief Likes fitness

Rules:

Start as a teen.

Start on an empty lot (use a tent if you have Outdoor Retreat).

Master mischief and fitness skills.

Complete chief of mischief aspiration.

Live off of stealing and odd jobs (you may sell collectables as well - fruits/veggies must be sold at the shops if you have cottage living but you cannot have a garden of crops!).

Have one best friend - this will be the person you end up marrying.

Your partner cannot move in until you have a full house (including one bedroom) - then they may move in and have a job.

Have a close relationship with all of your children.

Throw a party for each of your children's birthdays.

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Generation 2 - Sunflower

As a child you had everything you wanted, a loving family and a beautiful home. You were always the center of attention because of your charisma and good looks. However your indecisiveness and childish behavior constantly prevented you from long lasting friendships. But there’s one dream you will never leave; having the best restaurant in town. That’s why you’ll convince people to give you loans in order to fulfill your dream, while having the people you care for the closest to you.

Traits: childish, outgoing, foodie Aspiration: Friend of the World Career: own a restaurant/culinary career (bgc)

Likes and Dislikes:

Colours: Likes yellow Likes brown

Activities: Likes cooking

Music: Likes kids radio music

Rules:

Master cooking and charisma skills.

Own a restaurant/master culinary career.

Have at least 3 partners before marrying “the one”.

Complete the friend of the world aspiration.

Ask for loans at least once a week.

Have at least 3 close friends and see them regularly.

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Generation 3 (Glassy) - Rose

Growing up in the middle of your parents’ restaurant made you strive to be just as successful as them, if not more. You are ambitious and want to climb the corporate ladder as high as you possibly can. However, your dreams become a little harder to obtain when you are blessed with triplets! Still, you push on, determined to show your children that you can in fact have it all. Oh, you are also obsessed with collecting things and displaying them in your home. You also love to bake.

Traits: Ambitious, Good, Slob Aspiration: The Curator Career: Detective (or Secret Agent if you don’t have Get to Work)

Likes and Dislikes:

Colours: Likes red Likes black

Activities: Likes baking

Rules:

Master baking and logic skills.

Master the curator aspiration.

Reach at least level 8 of the Detective (or Secret Agent) career.

Complete a collection of your choice.

Have triplets (using cheats) only.

Spend a few hours baking each Sunday.

Never clean the house (you can hire a maid and/or have others do it).

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Generation 4 - Jasmine

All your life, you had to fight for attention from your parents, but were always out working. While your other two siblings were studying like crazy, you always remembered imagining what it would be like outside of the world you lived in. Therefore, you decided to dedicate your life to travelling and exploring new cultures. You had always been an active and creative kid, but not the smartest. So you decide that this path is the perfect path, and no person can get in the way of it.

Traits: Adventurous (Self Assured bgc), Goofball, Non Committal Aspiration: Any Location Aspiration (Body Builder bgc) Career: Freelance Artist

Likes and Dislikes:

Colours: Likes white Likes yellow

Activities: Likes skiing Likes snowboarding Likes fitness Likes painting

Rules:

Master either skiing, snowboarding or fitness (any one of these) and painting skill.

Master aspiration.

Have only one kid by accident.

Live in 3 worlds over the course of your life.

Travel to every vacation world you have for vacation at least once (Batuu can be excluded).

Never get married, any relationships cannot last longer than a week.

Never get above a C grade in school.

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Generation 5 - Dusty Miller

Hearing your parent’s amazing adventure stories always made your heart flutter, but you always thought there was more to life than the eyes can see. You’ve always been the shy kid that had good notes, but no one knew your true motive behind your great academics. You had one goal in life, and that was to discover the paranormal side of things; and so, with your best friend by your side you’ll dedicate your life to investigate all the weird phenomena happening around you.

Traits: Unflirty, Squeamish, Neat Aspiration: Soulmate Career: Freelance Paranormal Investigator (astronaut bgc)

Likes and Dislikes:

Colours: Likes pink Likes green Dislikes black

Activities: Likes bowling

Rules:

Have a childhood crush and marry them later in life.

Complete the soulmate aspiration.

Befriend Bonehilda.

Master the medium and bowling skill.

Adopt at least one child.

Live in a haunted house for at least 1 sim year.

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Generation 6 - Goldfish

Growing up with a paranormal investigator parent, and having lived in a haunted house yourself, you have plenty of stories to tell! So, you decide to write them all down in hopes of becoming a bestselling paranormal author one day! However, despite having so many ideas, you struggle finding the motivation to actually write your novels.

Traits: Creative, Bookworm, Lazy Aspiration: Bestselling Author Career: Self-Employed Author

Likes and Dislikes:

Colours: Likes orange Dislikes yellow

Activities: Likes writing

Rules:

Master the writing, knitting and fishing skills.

Complete the bestselling author aspiration.

Have a close relationship with your grandparent from generation 4.

Only write one book a week.

Only meet friends online and only chat with them on the computer (only meet your lover in person).

Collect fish and mount them in your house.

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Generation 7 - Carnation

You used to spend your time in your room all day daydreaming and acting out scenarios. You were really good at it too, when you finally asked your parents to join after school acting they said yes. Everyone always praises you and you let it get to your head. You get in and out of many relationships, never learning that your egotistical behaviour drives them away from you. With every child you have, you never want them and always give them away. But deep down you still care so you go visit and spoil them like crazy. You have always wanted to grind your way to the top and you won't let anyone or anything get in the way of that.

Traits: Self-Absorbed (Mean bgc), Bro, Perfectionist Aspiration: Master Actor (Serial Romantic bgc) Career: Actor (Entertainer bgc)

Likes and Dislikes:

Colours: Likes pink Dislikes orange

Activities: Likes acting Likes guitar Likes piano Likes media production Dislikes fishing

Rules:

Take acting club as a child.

Reach level 10 of acting career and complete Master Actor Aspiration (or just max out the career and aspiration if you don’t have GF).

Master of the acting or guitar (one of these), and media production, violin or piano (one of these) skill .

Have at least 10 ex lovers before marrying a coworker.

Reach 5 star celebrity (not needed if you don’t have GF).

Have 6 kids (can be with different lovers or same lover), make sure you don’t have custody over them and they stay with your exes .

Make sure to visit your kids at least once a week and to give them loads of gifts.

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Generation 8 - Peony

Having your parent so close but so far from you at the same time was always difficult to you. In your eyes the paparazzis saw them more times than you; in the movie premieres, charity events, you name it. That’s why you made yourself the promise to become a renowned photographer, hoping you’d have the chance to see them more that way. Even if your heart told you video gaming was your passion you convinced yourself being behind a camera was better for you and that it would make you happy in the end. But once again, when do things ever go your way?

Traits: gloomy, geek, creative Aspiration: Computer Whiz Career: Freelance photography (fashion stylist bgc), tech guru

Likes and Dislikes:

Colours: Likes purple Dislikes red

Activities: Likes video gaming Likes programming Dislikes photography (in elderly stage)

Rules:

Master video gaming skill, photography and programming.

Never marry.

Have two sets of twins with different sims (by cheats) but always be a single parent.

Have a photography studio at home (only if you have moschino, if not then skip) and then convert it to a gaming station.

Win at least 3 video game tournaments.

Have a great relationship with your kids, always help your children with homework/projects.

Reach excellent performance in the freelance photography career and then quit to join the tech guru career.

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Generation 9 - hydrangea

Growing up, you always loved spending the day outside rather than indoors, as your household was rather hectic. Eventually you tried gardening and found that you absolutely loved it. So, you spend your life building up the perfect garden. You love using produce from your garden to cook fancy meals for your family.

Traits: loves the outdoors, freegan (outgoing bcg), hot-headed Aspiration: freelance botanist Career: self-employed gardener (you can have a whole farm if you have cottage living)

Likes and Dislikes:

Colours: Likes green

Activities: Likes gardening Dislikes video games

Rules:

Master gardening and gourmet cooking skills.

Master the freelance botanist aspiration.

Build up a greenhouse over the course of your life.

You must sell produce at the grocery stall and not your inventory (if you have cottage living).

Cooking a gourmet meal for your family every sunday.

Have three children.

Have a cat and a dog (bgc: just ignore this one).

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Generation 10 - Odessa

Being the middle child, you never got as much attention as your siblings (middle child syndrome). Therefore, you spend your whole life dedicated to proving yourself worthy to other people. No one ever doubted you, but everything has always been competitive. You get straight A’s in school and you start not one, but two businesses. Well, at least you have the love of your life by your side.

Traits: Cat Lover (loner bgc), Dog Lover (materialistic bgc), Hates children Aspiration: Friend of the Animals (Mansion Baron bgc) Career: Own a vet clinic and bakery (Business career if you don’t have either of these packs)

Likes and Dislikes:

Colours: Likes black and purple Dislikes every other colour

Activities: Likes baking

Rules:

Be the middle child.

Master the pet training and veterinarian skills (bgc logic and charisma).

Complete aspiration.

Get married to your highschool sweetheart.

Have the house full of pets at all times (bgc just ignore).

Never have kids, you’re not into that (if you want to have kids to continue the legacy, have only one but hire a nanny at all times).

have a date every Saturday night.

#the sims 4 #sims 4 #sims 4 legacy challenge #ts4 flower legacy

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after-witch · 4 years ago

Text

Yandere Ransom Imagine

“That's some heavy-duty conjecture.”

Word Count: 2700ish

notes: unhealthy relationships, emotional and physical abuse, financial abuse, yandere

Imagine being a struggling adult working a full time job plus freelancing gigs just to get by in your one-bedroom apartment where the ceiling always leaks when it rains and you have to perform a complicated maneuver to make sure the door doesn’t jam up on you and you’re constantly worried about your landlord raising the rent.

Maybe a well-meaning friend gets you a gift card to an upscale bookstore because they know you haven’t had a new book on your shelves in years, or maybe you find $20 on the street like a veritable Charlie Bucket but instead of buying a Wonka Bar you head into a this fantastic artisan coffee shop on the rich side of town, a place that everyone always raves about on Instagram, just so you can try an expensive latte with hand-ground beans and flavors you’ve never heard of before--because don’t you deserve a treat, for once?

Whatever it is, wherever it is, Hugh Ransom Drysdale is waiting inside and sees you there.

And oh my God is it obvious that you’re out of place right off the bat. I mean, what the hell is someone like you doing in this part of town?

With your worn out clothes that are worn from necessity and not from being fashionably thrifted and your ratty purse stuffed with papers and candy wrappers that spill out when you dig in for your card or cash and your winter boots that you’ve probably worn 5 years in a row, ripped in the hell and patched with black tape that you hope people don’t notice.

It becomes even more obvious that you’re out of your element when something goes wrong. The gift card isn’t activated. The $20? A fake, probably a movie prop that blew in the wind. Whatever goes wrong, it means that you’re suddenly at the register, impatient people with real money tapping their expensive shoes behind you, unable to pay. You’re left standing there like a deer in headlights, unsure of what to do or say.

Normally he might just roll his eyes and remind himself that people like you ought to stick to your own shops, your own place. But something about the way your eyes go all downcast and you seem to shrink down in embarrassment makes him take pity on you. Like a stray cat in the alley hoping someone will toss it some scraps.

So he strides up and flicks out a card and hands it to the cashier, dropping a friendly greeting to them because he spends like crazy and they probably know him by name at this place, and he’s the one who hands you your coffee or your bag and your hands touch ever so briefly during the exchange.

He leads you away from the register--don’t want to piss off the spoiled debutantes and assistants on lunchtime coffee runs--and you stammer out a thank-you-thank-you and you promise you’ll pay him back as soon as you can and Jesus Christ, isn’t that just adorable? Someone like you, some lost kicked puppy who can’t even afford new boots, promising to pay him back?

He doesn’t care if you pay him back, but he finds that he would like something out of this exchange, so he says that instead of paying him back you can do him the honor of going to lunch with him. His treat.

He insists. And you can’t really say no, can you? You are hungry and he did just pay for your things and it’s the least you can do to oblige his request.

He’s not stupid. He doesn’t take you to some razzle dazzle fancy restaurant where you’ll feel embarrassed and out of place. Instead he takes you to a quiet diner, classy not greasy, where you can have an easy conversation and tell him all about yourself.

It’s funny. Normally he brings up his family name, his grandfather’s books, to women he picks up, to get them impressed and hooked and pliable. Something about you, though. Something about you is making him want to turn this into more than a lunch date and pressure for a quickie in the car to repay him.

So he holds back to see what he can do with you on his own. No quickie in the car, but instead before he drops you off--at a bus station, you insisted--he brushes his hand over yours. Can he get your number? He swears he can feel the heat coming off your cheeks as you fumble for your phone and let him put his number in your contacts.

He waits a day, then asks you out again. Dinner, this time. He asks you if you know any good places and you recommend a dive bar that you can go to after work (because 1) schedule and 2) cheap) and shit, he’s all for it. There will be time in the future to impress you with restaurants that have dress codes instead of sticky floors. You sit close on the stools and you buy him a drink (real cute, real real cute) and just for you he keeps the baggie in his pocket there all night instead of heading to the bathroom to liven things up.

Your relationship develops with an almost shocking speed. He knows just how to reel you in. I mean--look at you. Working your ass off at some dead end job, living in an apartment so shitty it takes you almost a month before you reluctantly agree to let him see it.

He can understand, though. Because you’re not that stupid and you know he’s wealthy, even before he casually brings up his family in a “it’s no big deal but I don’t want to keep things from you because we’re getting serious” sort of way.

You pretend to be casual about it all, but he can tell you’re suddenly wondering: why the hell would someone from this wealthy family want anything to do with me?

It’s a question Ransom asks himself a lot. He asks himself this when he’s snorting coke off another woman’s stomach (hey, you’re dating, but he’s got needs and they aren’t met with hand-holding) or when he’s eating another greasy burger at a shitty bar because you refuse to let him buy you a nice dress to wear so he can take you out somewhere fancy.

You’re not the type of person he normally goes for, not at all. He has strings of girlfriends and flings, but they all tend to fit that same cookie cutter mold: wealthy do-nothings with their parent’s credit card who want someone else to spoil them for a while, without caring who it is or what they’re like. They’re easy pickings that Ransom can burn through and then toss aside when he’s bored of them. Some of them cry but a few days later he’ll see them on someone else’s arm, it’s the circle of life.

With you, though, there’s more. You don’t expect him to pay for dates or anything at all (even when he wants to spoil you a bit) and you have actual conversations and you seem to actually give a shit about what he says and does. You argue with him, too, when he wants you to do something (just let him take you shopping, for Christ’s sake!) or he asks you to move in (again) and you say no (again). I mean, you really fight with him, spitting words and all.

And unlike his previous girlfriends, you don’t come crawling back a few hours later because you want to buy a new purse with his shiny credit card. Instead, you make him apologize first. Fuck, that’s hot. It’s also something he tucks away in the back of his mind to work on later--but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t admit that he sometimes has the overwhelming urge to push you against the wall and fuck you for the first time right after a good argument.

But he knows that would destroy your image of him entirely, so he holds back. He’s good at crafting a version of himself that appeals to others when he has to, and you’re maybe the first person that’s been worth all the effort he’s put into you so far.

But you need a push, a push that makes it so you can’t go running back to your shithole apartment when you fight or when you question whether or no you two have a future. You do, you’re just too naive--too inexperienced with money, to say it charitably--to realize it.

So he tips off the fire marshal about your apartment building’s shoddy fire escapes and well, damn, in the process of the investigation all the little corners that your landlord has cut come crashing down. At least they were discovered before it was the building that came crashing down.

But the evacuation of the building leaves you--and countless others--high and dry. You don’t have any family in the area, and your only half ass-decent friend in the city lives in the same building but her parent’s aren’t going to let a stranger move in.

When you finally realize you have no options and call him, voice tentative and embarrassed, he knows just what to say to get you to pack your meager belongings and wait for him to pick you up. He’s no-nonsense about it.

He knows how to avoid deflating your pride, how to keep you from deciding you’d rather stay in a shelter than take his charity. You’ll pay him back, he says, you’ll figure out a rental plan or whatever. He even teases--he’s not the best landlord, but he won’t take 2 weeks to change the toilet if you submit a maintenance request. It makes you crack a smile and bam, just like that, he knows he’s gotten in.

That night, after takeout and wine and a Netflix movie neither of you paid attention to, you fuck for the first time on his expensive sheets on his expensive bed and afterwards, when you’re both sweating and cuddling and reveling in the afterglow, he makes a note to buy you some new lingerie.

It’s all very homey, for a while. He could do without you leaving for work and working your ass off, with your freelance shit, sometimes staying on the computer until two, three in the morning. But it’s nice to have you close all the time, available to him whenever (almost whenever) he wants. He brings home takeout and you snuggle on the couch and he finally even convinces you to go out with him to a nice restaurant wearing something he’s bought and hot damn, do you look good, head-to-toe in the clothing he’s chosen for you. Especially, later that night, in private, in the lingerie.

Does he love you? The word hasn’t left his lips yet, hasn’t crossed yours either, but he can feel it underneath the surface. No. It’s more than love. He wants you. He wants to have you. And not just for the afternoon or the summer, but forever.

He spins daydreams about how he’ll clean you up nice and introduce you to the family. Probably to Harlan, first, because everyone knows that’s whose opinion really matters. Harlan will like you--he would probably like you without any primping or fixing, actually, which is more than he could say for his parents or anyone else in the family. Then once you’re in, you’re in--you’ll come to family dinners and vacation retreats where people always end up in ridiculous arguments, and you two can exchange snarky comments about the family on the ride home.

And yeah, sure. You fight sometimes.

He throws out your old clothes and buys you a wardrobe befitting someone he wants to integrate into his family. You fight about that.

He makes comments about you how you should quit your job or at least try to get a degree--he’ll pay, as long as you agree to go to a university within driving distance--to work somewhere more respectable than a chain restaurant. You fight about that.

He gets pissed when you want to meet some “friends” at a bar without him, because why would you need to go anywhere without your loving boyfriend in tow, unless you were trying to flirt with someone else? You definitely fight about that.

And, okay. Maybe he’s hypocritical.

Maybe he goes out late at night when you’re stuck doing your “freelancing work” and he’s in a rotten mood about it, and he ends up on the floor of a swanky club with drugs in his system and lipstick on his neck. He doesn’t come home until the next morning and you’re pissed and red-eyed and arguing with him, accusing him even, but you have no shitty apartment to stomp back to anymore so you’re stuck.

Until you’re not stuck. Until he casually snoops through your phone and sees that you’re looking up cheap-ass apartments and hey, you’ve already booked a few interviews already. The thought of you slipping through his fingers makes him more sober than he’s been in a while. He’s got to do something. Not to himself, of course. But to you. To keep you with him.

It’s easy enough to get you fired. He’s a ‘Thrombey’ after all, and some nice crisp bills anonymously sent to the right hands is all it takes for you to come home one night, cheap mascara (he notes: buy you some better quality makeup soon) running down your cheeks. Your freelancing isn’t nearly enough to get you into an apartment.

He assumes that you’ll give up on the idea after losing your job, but you’re nothing if not stubborn (one of the reasons why he likes you) so you start the job hunt the next morning, fresh mascara in place.

Damn, do you keep him busy. Anonymous calls. Cash in nice white envelopes. Rejection after rejection. You get so sad, so depressed. You don’t even want to go out to restaurants, so he orders in and you snuggle in his lap while he feeds you bites of orange chicken and rubs your back. It almost brings you two closer again, starts to mend the rifts that began when you refused to get over his occasional late night out.

But then you break the uneasy mending by snooping and woah, you don’t like what you find on his phone.

You fight.

Damn, do you fight. This time there’s no pretense of potential forgiveness as you begin wildly throwing your clothes into your ratty duffel bag from the back of the closet, telling him to fuck off fuck off fuck off, telling him he’s crazy, telling him that what he’s doing is fucking illegal and--

It’s the shock that hurts you the most.

The shock you feel when he grips your wrist hard and pushes back on your shoulder when you try to yank away, pushing you against the wall with a hard thud. It’s like having a rug pulled out from underneath your feet when you feel a slight ache in your back, on your shoulders, when you tell him to Let go, goddamn it and he only pushes back harder to keep you in place. It’s Ransom. It’s Ransom who’s doing this.

His voice feels unrecognizably cold when he leans in and hisses in your ear.

“You think you can just leave me? After all I’ve done for you? Let me tell you something--you won’t get another job within one hundred miles of here, within one thousand miles of here, unless I say you can. So just put your clothes back in the closet, chill the fuck out, and stop being such an ungrateful bitch.”

It’s the shock that makes you numbly hang your clothes back up in the closet, fold them again with shaking hands, and sit on the bed until the dam breaks and you cry.

And oh fuck, he’s sorry. Really. He wraps his arm around your shoulders and then he’s the one who’s crying and confessing that he didn’t want you leave him because yeah, he knows he’s a fuck up, he knows he’s got a drug problem, but he loves you.

It’s the first time he’s ever said it out loud. He loves you. “I love you,” he says, again and again, half-laughing. And he tells you you’re the only person he’s ever dated that made him want to be a better person but he doesn’t know how.

You don’t know what to say because maybe you do love him--but he hurt you and got you fired, but the tears on his face seem so genuine and he tells you he’ll never, ever hurt you like that again and fuck, he says, if you want to go get a job he’ll drive you to the interview right now just-let-him-blow-his-nose-first-please.

You make him sit down and then you’re the one apologizing and the rest of the afternoon is a shaky truce between you two as you drink hot chocolate and order in takeout and watch a movie together.

It’s not until you’re both under the sheets, satisfied and then showered, that you think about what he did to you in a clearer light. The thoughts weigh heavy on your mind, pulling and tugging. You think you might love him. He hurt you. He took care of you when no one else would. He cheated on you.

I love you, he tells you, when your mind is starting to tug itself into sleep.

He hit you. He said he was sorry.

He hit you.

#ransom drysdale #ransom x reader #yandere x reader #afterwitch headcanons #afterwitch writes #I'm not sure what to callt this because it's not a normal fic but it's not headcanons either #just #word vomit about ransom after i watched this movie every day for a week straight

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