#Maybe he just kept it because shiny and expensive

[abyssalaerlocke]

Ooh, interesting

I don't think equipment shows, because magic tends to extend to it, so it would probably be just as non-reflective as his clothes

But! I was thinking what might make the eye different in terms of visibility, and obviously it's an eye that lets you see invisible things ☝🤓

So now I'm imagining if that extended to vampiric reflections, and Astarion could suddenly see himself in the mirror (kind of ghostly/translucent — only one eye can see him, the other still sees the reflection of whatever's behind him)

V19_arts on Twitter

[cottonlemonade]

Just Down The Street

word count: 1050 || avg. reading time: 4 mins.

pairing: post-time skip Ushijima x chubby!Reader

genre: fluff

warnings: spoilers

request: watching Goosebumps with caramel popcorn, dressed as a pirate || fluffy, going trick or treating with crush Ushijima

Being a cool aunt came with a whole lot of responsibilities. Most of it was the usual of showing up at school plays in outfits that would put any opera-goer to shame, covertly slipping the kids extra pocket money, or rolling up in your freshly polished convertible to pick them up from soccer practice when their parents were busy. But around the holidays more tasks emerged, like taking your niece and nephew trick or treating while their parents were stuck at a work function.

The boy was dressed as Pikachu and his older sister wore the black dress and blank expression of Wednesday Addams. You joined your niece as Morticia, with a long black evening gown that clung tightly to your curves and your corgi by your side dressed as a fish befitting his name.

Originally, you would have left your dog at home to enjoy some peace and quiet after the long hours of playing with the kids but even though you loved him dearly, you didn't trust that sly weasel with an empty home filled with decorations and possibly easily reachable chocolates stashed by not so innocent children's hands.

It was late afternoon and typical for Halloween the sun had already gone down. The first groups of children and chaperones wandered along the sidewalks next to the neatly trimmed lawns of your neighborhood. The street was mostly inhabited by lawyers and doctors and architects, in short, plenty of potential prospects to make your mother ask during every phone call if there was someone on the horizon for you. Usually, you ignored that question, opting instead to silently ponder about the man living in house number 15 with the gorgeous Japanese pine out front and a large pool in the back. You had seen him around the grocery store every so often, inspecting the fresh shiny produce or loading up on a new sack of rice that he effortlessly lifted into the cart. A few times before, he had helped you get something off a high shelf with a polite nod and once at a coffee shop he had paid for your new drink because you dropped the first one just outside the door. And maybe, once or twice, you had stood by your kitchen window, absently nibbling on an apple, waiting for him to run past your home on his morning jog.

When you had seen him on TV during the Olympics this year you had let out a short yelp that had Fish look at you in concern.

The unmovable and kind Olympian neighbor quickly became your crush and you racked your brain trying to think of ways to ask him out.

“Okay munchkins, be cool.”, you told the kids as you headed up the short walkway to number 15’s front door.

They both nodded and your niece rang the bell.

A few moments later the Ushijima Wakatoshi opened, dressed comfortably in dark sweatpants and a gray shirt, holding up a large bowl of what seemed to be expensive French pralines.

“Trick or-“, but before the kids managed to get all the way through the short phrase, Fish spotted a black Shiba Inu strutting down the corridor behind his owner and tugged his leash out of your niece’s hand. In an admirable attempt to catch your dog, your nephew ran after him into Ushijima’s pristine home, and your niece right behind him to get both of them back outside. You and Ushijima just gaped after the chaotic procession racing left into the living room, back out into the corridor, and then right into the kitchen.

Quietly to himself Ushijima had hoped you would stop by today. He had seen you around the neighborhood with the two children plenty of times and although the sight had filled him with a numb lump of disappointment at first, it quickly disappeared once he overheard them calling you their aunt. He asked Tendou to send him some chocolates just in case you’d ring his bell and had kept them in a separate bowl by the door.

He couldn’t help but let his eyes wander for a moment over your tightly fitted dress before calling his dog. The little shadow raced around the corner, tiny paws making scratching sounds on the wooden floor and came to a halt in front of him. Fish’s turn wasn't as graceful. He slipped into the adjacent room before trotting back out, niece and nephew on his tail.

“Sorry.”, both kids bowed as they passed Ushijima Meanwhile, Fish made one last attempt to get the Shiba Inu to play but one stern mention of his name and he hopped over the threshold to be by your side again.

“I am so sorry.”, you also said, bowing as deeply as you could without the dress becoming a distracting issue.

Ushijima smiled and shook his head, dividing the pralines equally among the children whose eyes grew big as saucers at the bounty.

“No need to apologize.”, he said calmly.

With a nervous laugh, you turned the end of Fish's lead in your hands. “This would be so much easier if I had an extra arm. You know, one for each kid and one for the dog.”

“Oh, alright.”, Ushijima took a jacket from a hook and slipped into a pair of sneakers.

“What are you doing?”

“You said you need an extra hand.” And as if to drive his point across he raised both of his.

You blushed. You really didn't want him to think that you were guilt-tripping him into helping out. “This is not necess-”

“I was just about to take him for a walk anyway.”, Ushijima nodded to the well behaved pup still sitting at his feet, then looked back at you, “If you wouldn’t mind some company…?” He let the question hang in the air for a bit, wondering if the “subtle insinuation”-approach Tendou had taught him was not too vague.

“Oh!”, you said, “No, not at all! The more the merrier.”

Followed by his dog he stepped outside into the crisp fall air.

“Who are you dressed as?”, your nephew asked, frowning up at your neighbor about his non-existent costume.

The man was perplexed and halted as he fixed the collar of his jacket, then said, “Ushijima Wakatoshi. - Nice to make your acquaintance.”

art: @Sally_Chang_ on Twitter

a/n: request for @rosetakemi - Thank you so much for your request and the congratulations and your kind words ^^ I hope you enjoyed it! 🌟

for requests see here

[guppybibi]

i wrote this in under 30 minutes, not proofread, plus it's night so it's not actually me writing it.

This wasn't how his angel’s wedding was supposed to go, no not even the tiniest bit close! And whose fault was it? The pair of fucking attention seeking bastards sitting ‘prettily’ at the guests table, bragging about the unnecessarily expensive car they recently got to a bunch of people who couldn't even give two fucks. That wasn't even the worst part, the woman thought it was a good idea to show up to the wedding in white, when there was a specific color code for the women that was clearly stated in the details of the invitation. Oh and she even had the guts to defend herself like she was an innocent little thing who could do no harm when John confronted her about the dress.

“It's not white, it's chiffon! Two different things!” She exclaims, dramatically sighing as if John had physically attacked her right now. (He would've if she kept acting like this.) Whatever, a dress can't ruin your perfect day. Not on John’s watch at least. Until the pair pull another unexpected trick out their sleeve. It happened all too fast as well that John simply had to just watch the whole thing go down.

“Will you marry me?” The man asks, holding..well more like flaunting the tiny leatherette box that contained a shiny diamond ring. “Yes, yes! I do!” The woman agrees, practically jumping in her heels. And..everyone in the venue is confused, awkward whispers and congratulations filling the room. By this time, it's taking every fiber of John’s being to restrain himself from kicking their asses out of here. Every minute they spend here, he's basically questioning himself—why won't he politely tell them to leave? It's not like he's hurting anyone aside from their feelings so..why?

Maybe it's the way you tug at his arm and shake your head when you notice him fuming at the sight of the bitchy pair, attempting to calm him down and not get his blood pressure too high. “It's okay, let them be. They're my friends. I didn't expect them to do this but no matter what they do they aren't going to ruin my special day, trust me.” You whisper to him, eyes wandering around the place and locking onto the table full of an arrangement of food. “C’mon let's grab a snack.” You giggle, pulling him along.

He doesn't get it, not one bit. If he was you, he’d have the couple far away from here. Like, on top of Mount Everest kind of far. It leaves him questioning your choices the whole evening, and a question without an answer is enough to keep John awake at night. In hopes of a goodnight’s sleep, he asks you.

“I think you were too patient with them, love. You could've told me the words and I would've had them out of here in a heartbeat. Why did you let them stay?” He wasn't exactly sure what your reply was going to be but..

“Well it's not purely out of respect and politeness itself, John. I let them stay because no matter what they were planning, it wasn't going to ruin my day. As long as by the end of it, I’m Mrs. Price!”

[aethesfaelibrarae]

Mouthwashing has given me a lot of brain worms and we've got thoughts—time to share them with the hungry void that is Tumblr. One of the last places I'm 90% certain my words won't show up stolen or regurgitated by machine.

Warning for spoilers about the game and rambling!

I believe that Mouthwashing is a modern-day Lolita. The storytelling is similar, in that, almost against their own better judgement and will, the audience finds themselves thinking like our unreliable narrator(s).

Most people.. Sorry, some people have cottoned on to the fact that Anya's personality is not that of a scared, timid and ultimately, useless nurse and she's been in fight or flight response for months now with no other choice but to fawn. As someone who has been in a similar situation for only one day a week for months, the fear only got worse, the longer I went without support. And the things that she does in the background.. No doubt similar to the way that Daisuke kept track of their food supply was brushed over and unsung.. So is the fact that Anya has been keeping a severe burn victim—with 4th degree burns so severe, any treatment we currently have is experimental and expensive.. If the pain does not kill you first—she's been keeping Curly alive for months with no help and incredibly minimal supplies. (I personally think that Anya probably was on the side of giving him an easier death or maybe even suggested a gentler way of giving him medicine—but (sterile) syringes in space? Limited water? An especially dismissive Swansea and go with the flow Daisuke?.. Easier to try and give Jimmy what he wants.)

But. I believe that people overlook the ways in which Catastrophe Jim's perspective on Curly twists our own. Pre-Crash Curly exists upon a pedestal—a good man, better than Jimmy could ever hope to be; a good, well-liked captain. Well-off, better looking (I say this because of the similarities in how Jimmy mentally views himself in similar shape and age as Curly) and still reaching for more. For better. People catch the underlying jealous and resentment for the life that Jimmy wants at all cost but.. They miss the pedestal. The miss the fact that if Jimmy says that Curly's better than he is, a good and better Captain.. That means that Curly is doing the bare fucking minimum: keeping them all alive year after year. Curly is a nice captain with the capacity to soothe over minor issues and keep a cool head and keep the crew on schedule.. But he is not a good one. He's not even a good person. Not really. Jimmy thinks of him as a good person, puts him on this pedestal that he's foaming at the mouth with excitement to pull him off of. Dirty the golden boy and spit on his silver-threaded bootstraps once and for all.

Except.. What evidence do we have that Curly is especially liked or respected? Where is this cheering crew? Where is Curly good?

Curly is a human, at the end of the day.

And.. Which comes to my more complicated and no doubt contriversal take... Curly is also a victim of Jimmy stuck in fawn response. This doesn't absolve him of the ways in which he failed the crew but Anya especially by letting Jimmy run amok and failing to take any action while he still had the chance. He stood by when Anya begins to hint at something beneath the shiny veneer of a happy tight-knit crew and most damningly, he stood by as Jimothy entered the cockpit immediately after suggesting a plan to kill everyone aboard.

I genuinely.. Genuinely.. Don't know what he thought would happen.

But he does take action.. And his last action is what makes he and Anya swap places. Except.. Not truly.

Yes, they are in similar situations—vulnerable to the whims of a psychotic madman with an inferiority complex and their plight largely ignored by the crew; a necessary sacrifice to keep the peace.. Just until safe harbor—but where Anya begins to gain autonomy and some relief from Jimmy no longer having a need for her.. Curly finds himself the center of Jimmy's world.

And that is not a great place to be in.

Curly is systemically isolated (bad-mouthed to the crew over and over again, berated publicly, blamed for an awful accident that Jimmy caused) and his torture and abuse mirrors the continuous, silent medical, emotional and physical abuse that many disabled people face. And almost in a worse way, his voice is stolen from him and used in such insidious inspiration porn.. A lot of people think that he actually said those things.

But we won't know. And if he did say these things.. Why does Jimmy only seem to (mis)understand them in the final acts? Recalling them in Curly's voice but not as the Captain but as a savior, his last charitable act to wipe the ledger of blood clean.

Jimmy doesn't want to see Curly better. He likes feeling useful. He enjoys having Curly watch him and in the same breath, he loathes it. He wants Curly's judgement. He wants Curly's praise. He wants.. Everything that makes Curly Curly.

Curly as a silent observer isn't remarked on often.. Nor is the fact that more than likely, the others heard Curly's sobs of pain from the medbay. But Curly is very conscious, very aware and very alone in his thoughts.

There's a point in which the perspective changes during Swansea's mercy killing—a gift that no one offers Curly—and once again, Curly is stuck watching all of his mistakes play out, one after the other. Unable to do anything but laugh.

But is it a laugh or a sob? Jimmy doesn't care and neither does the player—what's important is the objective: the gun. 739. Click. He steps over Anya's body like it's not even there and runs away.

We don't find out what set Swansea off—maybe Jimmy couldn't help himself and said something about Daisuke or Anya that blamed them. Maybe it was something else. Curly watches on. Helplessly.

There's something to be said about the black screens and the static that occurs when Jimmy hurts Curly or kills Swansea—like he's cutting the memory off before the guilt can get to him. And it's the same thing I'd like to bring up about Curly's voice. Yes, it takes a lot to speak without lips.. Or from what it looks like a tongue.. But there are more noises Curly can make. Noises that can refute Jimmy.

And in the same way that he's at the precipice of something so terrifying he keeps returning to the same spot that's slowly killing him, he's learned that fighting is useless.

It's 2 months after the crash when see Jimmy's perspective again, after all. And while Anya's requests for help seem to be new.. Who's to say that the beatings are?

The worse type of abuse is the type that leaves no bruises. After all, Curly cries all the time in pain.. What's the difference here?

To cycle back to my original point in this.. I don't see a lot of people consider Post-Crash Curly's living hell as another facet of Jimmy's abuse going unchecked by the people around him as anything other than comeuppance. As Karma. And it's the coldest take I've seen from the fandom so far. Allow me to reheat it up for you: disability so severe that you must rely on others is not divine punishment. It's not just desserts. Just as disabled people are your infantilazed, idealized, inspirational iron woobie that can take pain and push through it.. They are also not being punished by the divine. They are humans and sometimes shit just happens and it sucks.

The way that Jimmy views Post-Crash Curly as a saving prop.. Proof that he can indeed fix it.. is so normalized that as the audience, it can be something that you aim to achieve–one of the earliest and easiest achievements you can get is opening and closing Curly's mouth like a mannequin.

There's a relief that we share when Curly shuts up. There's a shutdown in empathy when Jimmy brutalizes him. Up until we can no longer look away.

Because Jimmy can no longer look away. And that is the chilling part of all this. Jimmy gets away with it—all of it—because of the crew's inability to overcome their own apathetic acceptance of the monster in their midst.

Just like most people accept the main character from Lolita as a gentleman, the crew accepts Jimmy as a guy. A little rough and short-tempered but what do you expect from blue collar work? Hold your nose, it'll be over in a year. In 8 months. In 10. Soon. It'll be over soon.

I can't help but worry if Jimmy weren't so bad at being likable and if he were even a smidgen of the charismatic mastermind, he so clearly wants to be..

We'd have another Valentino on our hands.

Mouthwashing is a horror that I can't help but devour. FEAST, indeed.

[sehodreams]

sex money feelings die - second visit

first visit ↬ second visit ↬ third visit

WC: 1.5k

TW and Tags (permanent for the story): rich client!Anton x stripper!reader, smut, fluff (?), a touch of angst for the moment, inexperienced reader, fingering, kissing, lots of silly conversations.

Summary: Working at a night club was difficult in many aspects, your sleep schedule was messed up for life, your feet were more used to high heels than sneakers and you had to lie about where you went to work those nights. Still, even with all those cons, you didn't hate your job, you had more than enough to pay your bills, feed your brother and save money for his college. However, what happens when your boss makes you do the one thing you asked to never do.

Mondays became the new Fridays.

Anton had completely stopped booking the VIP room for him and his friends and disappeared until Monday came, the girls were sad at first, missing his expensive champagne and pretty face, but since his friends didn’t stop coming and they also brought their own drinks to share they quickly got over it.

Shotaro was elated to have now two big incomes in the week instead of just one, and every time he saw you around, he patted your back as if he was congratulating you for making the right choice.

You don’t know how right was to accept his money, the first time you told yourself you deserved it as compensation for all the stress he caused you, but after the fourth time you had started to feel bad receiving the wad of cash when all you two did was talk and sometimes drink, and you didn’t even drink with him, you just made sure his glass was full while you talked about recipes you had tried days before, how clients had treated you during the week, or maybe some gossip you heard around.

And he always kept the conversation flowing so smoothly that, before you noticed, you had started to talk about things you wanted too, from the simplest dish you had tried in your infancy to the coat you had seen when you were window shopping at the mall.

‘’I can buy it for you’’ he answered when you described the long black coat you saw that weekend.

You denied, ‘’It’s okay Anton, it’s not that I can’t, but there are more important things I could buy with that money.’’

‘’Like what?’’ he seemed sincerely curious about what else you had to do with money instead of buying yourself something truly wanted.

Saying you could buy your brother more practice books was impossible, you hadn’t talk about that kind of personal aspects of your life. Also, you asked yourself, would he be able to understand you? You saw the gold earrings he had on each of his ear globes, drops shiny enough to know they weren’t fake like the ones you bought yourself in the little fairs you visited when you had time, and you didn’t dare to even guess the price, because you were sure they costed enough to pay at least four months of your rent.

‘’Like food or, I don’t know, pay my bills, I don’t feel good wasting too much money on myself.’’

‘’Why would it be a waste to buy yourself something you want? Of course, those things are important, but gifting yourself things you want too.’’

He wouldn’t understand you at all. You couldn’t tell him how a two thousand coat was not something you could gift yourself, you had a mouth to feed, a student to maintain, and when you were young you never appreciated how much your mother did for you, but now that you were on her shoes, you understood why she collapsed after so many years taking care of you two without thinking about her own health. You couldn’t even afford fruit when you were young, you would be happy if you had a fried egg in your lunch, and now you decided that eating two fruits a day was a better decision than buying some piece of cloth that your brother wouldn’t find useful at all.

‘’I shouldn’t, I have to think about the future, I don’t know what could happen tomorrow.’’ You saw his glass half empty and tried to fill it again to avoid his eyes on you.

Minutes passed and the uncomfortable silence that you had forgotten about after so many times together came again, making you shrug in your spot, wishing you hadn’t talked about that. He seemed to deeply think about something while slowly nodding and sipping his glass full again, and before you were about to change the subject to something one of the girls had said about him, he interrupted you.

‘’What I give to you is not enough? Should I give you more?’’

‘’Anton in first place I don’t know why you give me so much money, you could have any girl in this place, you don’t have to put up with me.’’

His hand found yours and, caressing the back of it to calm you, he sighed.

After so many nights talking until Sungchan called for you, he had learned many things about you, how you enjoyed sweets a lot, how you always had a praise for the people you worked with and how you never recognized how special you were.

‘’Can I ask you a favor?’’ You, tired of hearing that phrase, like always, stayed silent until the other person said what wanted from you. ‘’Could you treat yourself a little better? I don’t think you realize what you do, but you talk as if you didn’t deserve nice things, and I’m not here to lecture you or anything, but it’s painful to hear how you say things like waste, or put up, and I thought that, after all the times we were together, you would notice that, for me, you would never be someone I have to put up with, I’m here because I want to, and because I think your company is as valuable as what I pay for, to not say more.’’

The tenderness with what he said it made you blush and, grateful for the room to be so dark and your foundation so good, you let him hold your hand.

He chuckled when your smokey eyes met his, seeing you so shy with just a grasp of his hand after knowing how bold you could be was a charm he didn’t expect from you, and when he saw how your ears betrayed you, all red and obvious even with the dim light of the place, he found himself as lost as when you took off your robe and showed him your pretty set of lingerie.

The occasion never repeated, you two strictly talked and got to know each other, so he never received another of your shows again. Kind of sad, but he didn’t mind, seeing your soft face and hearing your voice was enough to keep him satisfied the whole night.

However, he thought about you a lot more the next days, sometimes he thought about calling your boss and asking for more of your time on random days, but he didn’t want to scare you away when you were getting so close. For him, you were just like one of those stray cats he had seen around his elite school when he was younger. His friends and he would sneak some food a couple of times, and they would instantly run away from them and hide if they weren’t careful enough, and even if with every encounter they would warm up and occasionally accept to be petted, just the action of one of the immature boys, like putting too much pressure with their hands or being too loud, would be enough to make them run away, and would have to start all over again.

Your eyes met his and, holding all his desire to give you a kiss over your nude lips, he focused his attention on going back to the conversation.

‘’So, what do you say, will you do me that favor?’’

You hummed with a smile, you were tired of favors, but this was the first time you didn’t mind that someone asked you for one. ‘’I’ll think about it.’’

Testing the waters, he pulled the hand he was holding and gave it a quick but delicate peck. ‘’Knowing that you will think about me later it’s enough for me.’’

Not believing his cheesy line you scoffed, ‘’I’ll think about what you said, not about you.’’

‘’Well, just so you know, I’m always thinking about you.’’

Your laugh brought him joy again, whipped with the sound of it, he always left feeling victorious if he made you laugh during the night.

He kissed your wrist this time, and you didn’t pull your hand away, so he felt he had advanced a big step with you after so many nights.

‘’Why don’t you come Fridays anymore? The girls miss you’’ you changed subjects, like you always did when Anton, or made you uncomfortable, or made you too comfortable.

‘’And you? Do you miss me?’’ he replied kissing your index finger.

‘’Sometimes, your champagne is better than your friend’s’’ you had no idea how it tasted, but it always smelled good, so you decided it wasn’t exactly a lie.

He was exhilarating, hearing how you wanted to see him more was something he had waited for so long. ‘’I’ll make sure to bring two bottles then.’’

You let him hold your hand until you were called, and that night Shotaro gave you a check. ‘’Too many bills’’ he said.

Anton had given you a raise.

first visit ↬ second visit ↬ third visit

[berryhobii]

Hi there! First of all, I wanted to say how much I like your work!! As a black woman myself, its is so nice to see other women creating work that represents us and is so well written!

I saw you are accepting requests, and I wanted to ask if you could write about how the LateForWork!Couple met. Like how everything progressed and they fell in love with each other.

Thank you in advance and keep up with the amazing work beautiful <3

Wow! Thank you so much for your kind words!🤧it makes me feel so good knowing that black women are feeling represented in works of fiction. I’ll continue to do my best to represent every black woman out there.

And thanks for the request! I think the LFW couple would meet kind of through Taehyung/Jimin at a company meal. Jungkook’s more of an introvert here with reader/OC being naturally flirty and knowing exactly what they want.

I really enjoyed writing this and I hope you like it!

~

Jungkook didn’t know how he kept letting Taehyung drag him to these meet ups. He didn’t know any of Taehyung’s coworkers or other friends outside of Jimin so he felt really awkward sitting at this table. He’d much rather be at home right now, maybe live streaming Little Nightmares 2 or cracking open the new Resident Evil game he had just received through pre order.

All Taehyung had to do was bribe him with promises of expensive beef and fancy desserts for him to leave the comfort of his home. Taehyung even managed to force him into a loose button up shirt just as Jungkook was about to throw on his signature hoodie. Goodness, that man was strong when he had a goal. At least Jungkook would get some free food today and maybe a sweet to take home so tonight wouldn’t be a total waste.

His face was practically glued to his phone, focus on clearing all of the jelly on this level of Candy Crush. He was down to 1 move and one more jelly square but there were no moves in that area that could help him! Urgh! And he didn’t want to uselessly use any of his power ups. Should he just lose his streak?

Just as he was about to move the candy, a hand came out of nowhere and did it for him. That move created a power up that triggered itself thus clearing the jelly and causing him to win the level. When the happy music played along with that little girl popping up to tell him he won, he couldn’t fight the smile on his face.

Then he realized that he didn’t make that move. Turning around, he was expecting to see Taehyung or Jimin but his mouth dropped at the sight of the person.

You were……what words could he use?

Beautiful? Gorgeous? Majestic? Attractive? Stunning? All of the above?

Your skin was dewy and effervescent, even the lights that lit up the restaurant paled in comparison to your glistening and dark skin. You looked like earth personified—graceful and cool and he just knew you sparkled when the sun hit you.

Your hair was in a half up half down style, claw clip holding it up, 2 locks of hair framed your face and were curled at the end. Your lashes were long and your full lips were shiny with gloss.

He couldn’t take his eyes off you, it was hard to look away when such a gem was standing before him. Could someone even be that exquisite in real life?

And when you smiled, he swore he heard angels singing in his ears.

“I hate when there’s only one move left yet nothing around it. I just know my FBI agent sees me throw a fit over it every day.”

His brain short circuited for a moment. Were you initiating conversation with him? About a game? Willingly? Oh god, is he getting pranked right now? He thought Ashton Kutcher was dead. Is he?

Stop thinking about possibly dead actors! There’s a pretty girl in front of you!

He cleared his throat. “Yeah. They must be concerned I’m having a mental breakdown because they advertised a therapist to me.” He actually shocked himself a little from how easily those words flowed out. Small talk with a stranger was not a specialty of his.

Your laugh was loud and a little goofy but so endearing, it made him chuckle as well.

“Candy Crush will do that to you. I wouldn’t be surprised if the creators opened a rehab for us.”

“It’ll just be us having group discussions on how bringing hazelnuts to the bottom has been affecting our ability to form positive relationships.”

He couldn’t believe how easy conversation was flowing between you two. For some reason, he didn’t feel pressured or nervous speaking to you. You just seemed so open and kind.

Who were you?

“Jungkook! I see you met one of my coworkers. She’s super hot, isn’t she? I told her to let me make her a model but she insists on staying in PR. Boring.” Jimin appeared out of nowhere like a jump scare, draping an arm over your shoulders. Jungkook’s face faltered a little. Jimin was the biggest flirt known to mankind. He could probably charm the pants off a dead person if he wanted to. If you knew him, and more importantly if you worked with him, you must have been on the opposite side of his flirting. Was it a possibility that you two were closer than coworkers?

But instead, you just rolled your eyes, moving his arm off of you.

“Save that talk for your next spread, Park. Don’t think I’ve forgotten that you still haven’t submitted your portfolio.”

Jimin’s smile never dropped despite your slightly cold attitude. He could tell you were just poking fun at him.

“Anyway, Jungkook, this is y/n. y/n, this is Jungkook.”

“I can introduce myself, thank you.” You said before pulling out the chair next to Jungkook and sitting down. That movement caused your perfume to flutter all around him—it was light but sweet like some kind of dessert.

Once you were settled, you turned your body to Jungkook, propping your elbow on the table to lean your cheek against it.

And the way your hooded eyes stared at him sent a harsh shiver from the top of his head all the way to his toes. He didn’t even notice Jimin’s smirk or how the man tip toed away to gossip to his favorite buddy.

“I’m y/n.”

He opened his mouth but no sound came out. He didn’t know why his throat felt dry all of a sudden.

Oh great, he could chat with you about mobile games and FBI agents but getting his name out was difficult?

Clearing his throat, he forced out his name, voice cracking a little at the end. Embarrassment rushed through his body, heat rising to his ears and he was grateful his hair was long enough to cover them.

You must think he was a dork now.

You giggled, your eyelashes fluttering and making his heart weak.

“Nice to meet you.”

He shyly nodded. “You too.”

“Sorry about Jimin. He’s like that at work too.”

Jungkook pushed his hair back with one hand, not noticing how your eyes followed the motion. “At least you only have to work with him. Imagine knowing him since childhood.”

You pressed your hand against your chest in faux distress. “How awful. I could only imagine the pain you endure daily.”

Wow. You were so easy to talk to. He had completely forgotten about his phone, tucking it into his pocket to finally have a rest.

Eventually, food and drinks began flowing. Taehyung and Jimin joined you two at the table but not even they could pop the bubble that you’ve formed.

Jungkook could barely focus on his food. You had his full attention, holding onto every word and laugh that fell from your lips. He found you to be witty but also humble, not afraid to poke a little fun at Taehyung and Jimin who just laughed right along with you.

You were mesmerizing. He almost hated blinking if it meant your beautiful face left his sight.

And when you would turn your attention back to him, not realizing that you’ve never left his, you’d send him a flirty wink and coy smile that would send his blood pressure through the roof from how his heart would stutter and race. If a doctor was listening with a stethoscope right now, they’d think the organ was giving out on him.

“So how’d you end up here?” You asked after taking a sip of your drink.

He sighed, eyes going over to the other side of the table where Taehyung was showing Jimin something on his phone but the man was so drunk that he was holding it upside down. And Jimin probably didn’t even notice, laughing as if he could understand the upside down photo. “Taehyung dragged me here. Said I need to start getting out more and I can’t waste my youth playing games all day. He keeps pushing me to date but I’m not that interested right now.”

Well, that was before. Now, however, he was starting to change that view.

You hummed, using your chopsticks to eat a piece of meat, chewing carefully and swallowing before speaking again.

“Does it make you happy?”

That was a question he didn’t hear people ask him often. Well, in a genuine way. He’d normally hear it rhetorically. He’s heard it come from his parents more times than he could count, followed by a lecture that he’d drown out.

He blinked a few times. Gaming did make him happy. He appreciated the hard work creators put into each frame, the adrenaline he got from jump scares, and the accomplishment from completing one. “Yeah….it does.”

“Then that’s what matters. Who cares if someone else feels like you’re wasting your life? It’s yours. You can’t be focused too much on what others want for you. You’ll only neglect your own self.”

Wow.

“Then again, we should thank Taehyung from forcing you out tonight.”

He tilted his head. He would absolutely never do that but he was intrigued by your suggestion. “Really? Why?”

You didn’t say anything, just gazed at him with those captivating eyes and he knew exactly what you meant.

Maybe he should thank Taehyung.

As the night came to a close, he helped escort Taehyung to his car. Jimin had left a little earlier with a person you identified as one of the newest members of management. Apparently, they were kind of resistant to Jimin’s flirting at first but had crumbled after about 4 months of Jimin trying and trying. Jungkook recalls Jimin speaking about this person, claiming he was in love with them and would respectfully shoot his shot whenever possible.

That left Jungkook with a drunk Taehyung and you were helping your coworker who lived in the same apartment building as you.

Jungkook didn’t just want to see you walk away. Who knows if he’d ever see you again? And he refused to ask Jimin or Taehyung for your number. The teasing would never end.

“Hey…..wait.” He called out to you after practically dumping Taehyung in the back seat. You had parked right in front of his car and were buckling your roommate’s seatbelt who was slumped over asleep.

You turned to him after closing the passenger door, your eyes locking in with his.

There was that nervousness again but he swallowed it down. He couldn’t chicken out now! Not when you’d been getting along so well this evening.

“Um…..look, if you don’t mind, could I have your number? Maybe we can hang out sometime.”

You eyed him up and down but not in a checking him out kind of way. It was like you were analyzing him, finding every little crack in his personality that you could.

He honestly felt a little vulnerable. Why weren’t you speaking? Hadn’t tonight gone well? Was he just trying his luck and you’re already dating someone? Oh god, were you just being nice and he took it as you flirting with him?! Assumptions really were dangerous.

He was about to apologize and roll under his car to stay there until the end of time before you finally spoke.

“I’m not a maybe type of woman, Jungkook.” You spoke bluntly.

His mouth dropped a little in shock. Not necessarily because of your blunt tone but because you were just his fucking type. You knew what you wanted and that was his cup of tea.

You didn’t wait for him to respond, rounding your car to open the driver’s side. He just watched you with doe eyes and a funny feeling swirling in his tummy.

However, before you got in, you said,

“I don’t wait around.”

And on his drive home with a snoring Taehyung in the back, he thought one thing….

~

When you arrived at work Monday morning, it was to a bunch of people surrounding your desk. That wasn’t really out of the ordinary since people often got their assignments of the day from you.

What was out the ordinary though?

The huge bouquet of flowers that sat just in the middle of your desk, the colors vivid and the arrangement looking larger than your desk.

Your coworkers chatted excitedly about the flowers as you approached but you ignored them. Instead, you reached for the little card on a plastic stand just nestled between the blooms.

You had to bite your lip to fight your smile but you couldn’t fight the feeling that was rising in your chest.

I don’t either.

[magnoliacharmed]

Hurtin' But It's Happy Hour

18+, Shawn Michaels x Sycho Sid one shot

[Also available on Archive on Our Own!]

[There's also a part 1 to this-- not necessary to read before this one but here it is: Awakening]

Tags: Drunk sex, mild painplay, rough sex, jealousy (kinda), spanking, biting, rough oral sex, choking, scratching, creampie, shawn is kind of a brat

Word count: 3709

Summary:

Sid loses control himself while out at the bar with Shawn.

Shawn was feeling especially cute tonight. He took some extra time to get ready before his date-- well, not really a date… his outing with Sid. Looking in the bathroom's mirror, he shook his head from side to side to fluff his recently touched up hair. A good majority of his afternoon was spent at the salon where middle-aged women who'd never heard his name (they assumed he was one of the Chippendale's boys and he wasn't going to tell them any different) oohed-and-awed over his soft, pretty locks. Sid wasn't in the mood for the love-fest and Shawn was sure no one was going to try to kick his ass, so Sid left him to his own devices. How one man could need that much adoration and attention, Sid would never understand. As long as he didn't have to be the only one who gave it to him he was happy.

A hard succession of knocks on the hotel room door made Shawn rush out of the bathroom. According to the steady green glow of the nightstand alarm clock, his big dope of a bodyguard was ten minutes early. Didn't he know by now that Shawn needed every second of primp time? Shawn hopped around the room while he put on his black cowboy boots, searching for his shiny new gold Rolex. He had a few different expensive watches, but this one was particularly special to him. The band of smooth metal wrapped snugly around his wrist and he knew he was ready to go-- wait! The final piece of his outfit sat carefully on top of the dresser. He put it on and bounded over to the door, opening it so quickly that the wind of it made strands of it fly into his face.

"You're early."

"Yeah."

"What if I wasn't ready yet?"

"Well, you are."

A crimson bloom spread across Shawn's cheeks. He hoped that wasn't the only thing Sid would say about his look.

Sid let his eyes roam down Shawn's body. "Man in black tonight, huh? You look nice. You don't wear that cowboy hat often enough."

"Thank you." Shawn's voice came out a lot softer than even he expected to. "You smell nice."

"Oh yeah? It's some kind of fancy cologne someone got for me."

Sid finally let a small smile color his features. It was hard for him to accept gifts, but Shawn just kept giving them to him. First was the cologne, then a nice bottle of champagne. That was really a gift for the both of them, Sid figured. Shawn watched the movement of Sid's big hand as he reached up to scratch at his chin. There it was, his matching Rolex shining pretty on his wrist. 

"You're wearing it!"

"'Course I am." The watch was a little loud for Sid's taste, but the gesture was appreciated. Shawn was a fidgety mess when he watched Sid open it, hoping such a pricey gift didn't scare him away. When Sid let it slide down his wrist and clicked the solid clasp closed with no words, he breathed a sigh of relief.

"You ready for tonight? I wanna get fucked up."

One of Sid's blond eyebrows arched up in question. Shawn always wanted to get fucked up, what was any different about tonight?

"And you are gonna get fucked up with me." 

"Eh, I don't think that's a good idea."

"Hey, I'm not payin' you to think."

Sid chewed at his lower lip, a pang of anger hitting him in the chest like a flash of lightning. Just because he'd gotten used to Shawn calling him stupid didn't mean he liked it.

"Watch it," Sid grabbed a little bit of Shawn's hair and yanked it hard, causing a yelp to squawk out from his boss.

"Ow! Okay, I'm sorry, geez. So sensitive. You're too big to let little ol' me get in your head like that."

Sid rolled his eyes. Maybe he did need a drink or two to deal with Shawn tonight. Shawn took his hat off to rub at the tender part of his scalp that Sid almost ripped his hair out from and sighed. God, that felt good. As usual, that little act of foreplay alone had him at half-mast. The night was young though, so he placed his hat back on his head and walked out of the room. 

"Close that door and let's go, we've gotta call the cab."

Shawn was halfway down the hallway heading to the elevator as Sid pulled the door to his room shut.

---

"Keep the whiskey coming, please and thank you!"

Shawn nodded his head along, only slightly off-beat, to the loud music playing in the bar. His eyes were shut as he mumbled along the lyrics to a Motley Crue song. Even this drunk he still knew every word. As the song came to a close (Finally, he thought), another two shots of brown liquor were placed before them. Sid watched his own blurred hand pick his glass up and felt whiskey pour down his throat like lava. 

"Aw man, you drank before we could toast." 

Shawn used all of his might to focus his eyes on his shot glass. It was a Herculean task. He blinked slowly at the glass, and when he opened his eyes it was empty. 

"Whoa. I drank it already?" His accent strengthened significantly when he wasn't sober, Sid had noticed. The slurring probably didn't help either.

"Who's the stupid one now?" 

Sid laughed loudly at his rib towards Shawn. Shawn watched as Sid's head reached up to look at the ceiling, his mouth wide open and joyous tears clumping his eyelashes together. His chest rose and fell as he tried to catch his breath from laughing so hard. If there was one thing Shawn was good at, it was cracking him up. He didn't even have to try, he was just inherently funny.

"Still you!" Shawn burped as he laughed. It was nice to see Sid not scowling for once. He waved over at the bartender, who shut his eyes like a parent running out of patience with an unruly toddler, to order another set of shots.

"More, Shawn?"

"I said I wanted to--" Another burp. "Get fucked up. Can't tap out yet! Oh shit. Tap out." From the way Shawn began to giggle, he thought he was pretty clever for that one.

"Okay. I'll be back, I gotta take a piss. Don't get yourself into trouble while I'm gone." 

Even though Sid sounded like he was joking as he pointed a finger Shawn's way, the hard look in his eyes told a different story. Shawn nodded seriously. When Sid drank this much, he was essentially useless for what Shawn hired him for. Instead of watching his back, Sid was the one getting himself into trouble. Usually they got kicked out of wherever they were at before things really came to a head. A few too many close calls had kept Shawn from making Sid his official drinking partner, though. He could keep to himself for a few minutes while Sid was in the bathroom, right?

A short amount of time passed, it could've been seconds or only a few minutes as far as Shawn knew, before a shadow darkened his left side. He swiveled his body around on the barstool, almost falling off of it in the process, to face the man standing before him. He was cute enough, Shawn thought. Long, brown hair barely brushed his shoulders. A broad chest strained through his tight t-shirt. Brownish-green eyes seemed to sparkle under the dim lighting. Shawn felt like he was in a dream as a Van Halen song started to blast through the speakers, putting him in a trance he would be embarrassed about later.

"Nice hat. You from Texas?"

Shawn nodded his head slowly. This stranger, whoever he was, had a mischievous look in his eyes. Most men that came up to him were either nervous wrecks or putting on a fake-it-'til-you-make-it level of confidence that turned Shawn off. Whoever this guy was though, he seemed very sure of himself. And he was just Shawn's type too. Shawn looked up at the man through his long eyelashes, batting his eyelids at him while he poked his bottom lip out. 

The man's breath hitched in his chest. Shawn may have been way past tipsy, but he could still sniff out attraction from a mile away. His lowered inhibitions made him bolder than usual. He hooked a finger into the belt loop of the man's jeans, pulling him closer a few steps so he could feel his warmth. Something about the word 'trouble' echoed around in his head for one second, but he pushed it away. He was just having a little fun, no big deal.

"San Antonio, to be exact. Where are you from?" 

Shawn lowered his voice down to a molasses sweet slowness that he knew would crack this guy's cool facade. Readjusting himself to sit up straighter on the stool, he also took the time to let his legs spread open. Just as he expected, the man's eyes took a glance down to his zipper…. Hook, line, and sinker.

"I'm from--"

Suddenly, the guy turned his attention away from Shawn's face to look up and over his head. Sid's expression was hard as his breath huffed out from his nostrils, not unlike a bull ready to charge at the red cape. Shawn scooted his body back around away from the man to face Sid's undoubtedly pissed off self. But he could explain!

"I can explain, Sid."

"Hush."

"It's just…"

"I said hush."

With the way Sid's eyes bored into his, drilling right past his skull and into his brain, Shawn decided that being quiet was probably a good idea.

"Who the fuck are you and why the fuck are you still here?"

Sid's eyes moved back up to the guy, blinking hard and quick. To his credit, he wasn't cowering in fear. By this point most other men would be running scared. Most of the time Sid didn't even get to show how "psycho" he could be.

"Who the fuck am I? Who are you? I was obviously busy." The man waved his hand absentmindedly in Shawn's direction.

"You're not busy any more. Keep it movin' before I make you move."

An unhinged edge was nipping at Sid's voice. Shawn hoped that for everyone's sake this guy would take the hint and get out of dodge. And yet… he hoped he would keep pressing his luck, too. Selfishly, and Shawn knew it was selfish because he began to get hard at the thought, he hoped the guy would pick a fight that would lead to Sid smacking him around. Sid was scary and mean when he was riled up like this, which turned Shawn on beyond belief. God, forgive him.

"Yeah? You and what army?"

There it is, Shawn thought. It didn't take much to provoke Sid.

The clatter of the barstool Shawn was sitting on falling to the floor made everyone turn to see what the commotion was. Sid had slapped the man so hard he lost his balance. Shawn jetted out from between to avoid any damage while Sid pushed the stool out of his way to continue on. Sid's left fist careened square into the nose of the man who got more than he bargained for. The way his cartilage crumpled and collapsed from Sid's hand made a few people gasp in awe. As the man collapsed onto the floor with blood beginning to pour out from his nostrils, Sid lunged forward to grab the collar of his shirt. A few stiff slams of his body and head into the hardwood floor rattled him into yelling for help. People began to crowd around the scene, a cacophony of loud voices over the music making Shawn remember that he couldn't just stand there and let himself get hot and bothered. There was a very real possibility that if they didn't leave as soon as possible, his bodyguard could end up in jail for the weekend. Vince let Shawn get away with a lot, more than he deserved, but he would have a hard time explaining this jam to him if it went any further.

"Sid, we need to leave. Now."

Shawn tried not to trip over himself as he placed a steadying hand on Sid's shoulder. When he turned away from the sentient glob of snot, blood, and tears that was once Shawn's former suitor, Shawn couldn't help but to widen his eyes. Sid's face was incredibly flushed, his blue eyes widely sitting in his face like two glass marbles. Sweat beaded at his hairline and poured down into his face. Despite it stinging his eyes, he kept them open to stare into and then past Shawn. Very quickly, his anger at this nobody popped like a balloon and was replaced by the urgent need to fuck Shawn until he passed out. 

"Come on, enough!"

Shawn pulled at his shirt in an attempt to get him off of the guy. With one last right hook into the man's cheek, Sid raised himself slowly away. The commotion ceased itself when Sid began to look around at everyone, daring someone to step his way. When no one decided to try it, he grabbed Shawn by the arm and dragged him out of the bar with an unpaid tab and worried mutters.

--- 

The short cab ride back to the hotel was silent outside of Sid's heavy breathing. When they exited the taxi, Shawn tossed the money at the driver and ran behind Sid to catch up with him. Oh, he was pissed alright. Steaming mad still, for some reason. Shawn thought for a moment he was so upset he wouldn't come back to his room with him until Sid jabbed his floor number when they stepped in the elevator. He walked ahead of him to open his door, anticipating with jumped up nervousness what was going to happen next. As he turned away from the door to take off his boots and put his hat down, Sid threw him hard onto the bed. He barely had enough time to make sure his hat hadn't gotten dirty in the whole scuffle.

Sid dragged and pulled Shawn's limp, still pretty drunk, body around to pull off his jeans and shirt. Once he was naked below him, Sid took off his own clothes and tilted his head to the side. Shawn raised on to his elbows while he watched Sid think of what he was going to do to him. As he expected, Sid began to climb on top of him. What he didn't expect was Sid continuing to climb until his knees were on either side of Shawn's chest, his dick bobbing right in Shawn's face. Sid pulled Shawn up closer to it by his hair, pressing his lips against the tip. In response Shawn rested his hands on Sid's ass, spurring him on to enter his mouth.

Shawn's mouth was nice and warm. Immediately he took to drooling on Sid's length, sucking lazily at his cock like they had all the time in the world. They kind of did-- by Shawn standards this was an early night. A steady stream of precome dribbled down Shawn's throat while Sid pushed further into his mouth. He was starting to choke him now, speeding up his pace and tugging harder and harder on Shawn's hair with every thrust. Shawn moaned around his cock, the humming sensation making Sid close his eyes in ecstasy. He could come just like this, plunging his dick down Shawn's throat, feeling his tongue slide around the underside of it while he sucked. The angle of Sid on top of him restricted some access to his lower half and it made Shawn frustrated that he couldn't stroke himself while Sid fucked his mouth.

"Hope you can breathe."

Shawn made a little huffing noise that was barely audible over the wet sounds of his own throat. He could breathe a little, which was just enough. Sid's legs stuttered-- he was close. He pulled out of Shawn's mouth to let him catch his breath for a second. Although the warmth of his mouth felt like heaven, it would have been a waste of an orgasm if he came right there. Shawn turned over on to his stomach to give his elbows a break. Just as soon as his face came to rest in the sheets, Sid was raising him up by his hips and palming his ass. His thumb ghosted over the tattoo on his cheek.

The stinging sensation of Sid's hand smacking one cheek made Shawn shiver. He continued to slap the same spot over and over, with more force each time until it was bright red and raw feeling. Shawn thought he was going to go crazy if Sid waited any longer to fuck him.

"You want any lube?"

Shawn's hair flew around him as he shook his head no. Sid pushed himself inside with no hesitation and expected Shawn's arch to falter, but he stayed right up just like the pro he was. Sid drunkenly watched as his cock disappeared inside of Shawn, all the way up into the very base of himself. He felt so good just like this, not even moving. He could fall asleep right here inside of him as the room swirled…

Shawn pushed back against Sid, chasing after his own orgasm since Sid wasn't following through. Nails dug into his hips and scraped down his thighs, the thought of long red scratch marks making him groan. Sid barely moved as Shawn fucked himself on Sid's dick. This wasn't what he wanted but it felt good anyways. He could imagine it, Sid looking down on him with a stupid, empty-headed look on his face. Shawn reached down to stroke his swinging cock at the image when Sid grabbed his wrist and held it against his lower back, pushing his arch down. It was almost as if he'd read his mind, because suddenly Sid was fucking him hard, grabbing him for purchase and rutting inside of him like an animal. He even breathed and panted like one, some kind of renewed energy flowing through his veins. 

Sid could see the fading scars of the last scratches he'd left across his back and decided to freshen them up. Shawn threw his head back when he felt Sid's nails drag roughly down his shoulder blades and to his lower back. Already they were turning red, a nice contrast against Shawn's even tan. Shawn's knees spread farther and farther apart with each thrust and soon enough he was flat against the bed. Somehow he'd managed to go deeper with the change of position making tears well up in Shawn's eyes. He could feel Sid's breath by his ear, hot and loud against the sound of his own heartbeat. Sid gently brushed Shawn's hair away from said ear, lips murmuring into it.

"Hurt enough for you, Shawn?"

Shawn babbled something incoherent back. Every time Sid's hips pistoned, Shawn's own cock rubbed against the sheets. He could feel the wet spot below him starting to build.

"Do you think that guy at the bar could fuck you like this?"

Squeezed out tears rolled down Shawn's cheeks as he yelled out. "No!"

"You liked seeing me whoop his ass, huh?"

"Yes, fuck."

"I liked doing it too. 'Cause I knew it'd turn you on."

Sid grazed his teeth along the shell of Shawn's ear. He felt his body tense up below him and pulled his head up hard by his hair. From the little bit that was revealed to him, Shawn's face was a blushing wet mess, not only from his tears alone but drool that had dribbled out too.  Shawn gasped when Sid's teeth sunk into his ear, a noise that was so loud they both hoped no one would knock on their door to see what was going on. Sid pushed Shawn's face back into the sheets and held it there, muffling his moans and whimpers, fucking him fast and hard until he couldn't take it any more. Sid's come flooded into Shawn's ass in a rush and Shawn followed suit shortly after, his come spreading across his skin and into the sheets. He could've sworn his eyes crossed as his body slackened up after the force of such a strong orgasm. 

The two removed themselves from each other. Shawn rolled off of the bed and slowly made his way to the bathroom. Compared to the sight he saw earlier, he was a wreck. All that work those ladies put into his hair was for nothing as it sat in a tangled mess on top of his head. Pushing some it back, she saw the mark Sid left on his ear and smiled. Then of course was his back, which he wasn't able to get a great look at but was sure was damaged. His ass was sore, the cheek and inside of it. The scratches on his thighs looked rough. It was all so perfect.

"I think this was the best sex I've ever had-- hey!"

Shawn re-entered the bedroom to see Sid fast asleep, snoring lightly while he laid on his back. He was barely gone for five minutes! 

"Wake up, night's not over yet! I'm still kinda drunk, and I'm hungry." Shawn grabbed a pillow and began to hit Sid with it, causing him to open his eyes in a daze. When he finally looked alert, Shawn threw the pillow to the side and crossed his arms over his chest.

"What am I supposed to do about that?" Sid blinked. How did Shawn still have energy?

"I'm gonna order a pizza. You're gonna go downstairs and get it."

"I--"

"I know you're hungry too. Besides, I can barely walk, which is your fault I must remind you, so you have to be the one to go get it. Don't worry, I'll give you some cash before you head down." 

"Okay, I guess." 

Sid tried not to fall back asleep as he heard Shawn dial away on the bedside telephone. 

[afatlotofchance]

Kristoff's Full Year (commission)

This was a commission for a weight gain story involving Kristoff from Frozen. If I recall this was written when there was still just the Frozen movie, and not its sequel. Enjoy!

Kristoff felt really uncomfortable. He was starting to regret his decision. Anna had begged him to go live with her in the castle, and while he resisted the fifteen first times, he gave up at the sixteenth. This girl was certainly persistent, and darn cute. He thought to himself “Hey, why not? After all, living in a castle isn’t that bad.”

And it wasn’t that bad. At first. It was nice to sleep in a warm, soft, comfy bed. To be able to wear fancy, expensive, shiny clothes. To not be insulted or beaten up by angry merchants or bandits in the woods.

But then, there was… the rest. All those servants who kept being polite, formal and careful around him. All those weird rules he had sometimes trouble understanding, these strange etiquettes people kept referring to but that he could see nowhere. The domestics were patient and kind with him, yes, but it made him feel worse. They acted like that out of pity. They knew that he didn’t fit in, that he wasn’t made for this kind of life. It showed in their eyes.

And, on top of that, there was… well, the bigness.

Not the castle. Kristoff had grown accustomed to live in big, deserted places. The castle was like the forest, only with a roof on top, and less cold. And less wolves.

No, what really troubled him were… the meals.

Three different types of soups. Followed by five different meats, seven different fishes, eight different cheeses, and an incalculable amount of pastries. There were beasts on the royal table he had never heard of or seen in his life, like spider crabs or swans. He didn’t know how he liked his food cooked – medium, rare, blue, these terms meant nothing to him. For him, meat was cooked, burned raw, there was no in between or nuances. And the sauces! There were so many sauces! He never had sauces before, outside of Sven’s saliva, and even then, saliva wasn’t changing the taste of the food! Here, he had to be careful not asking too little or too much… And the sauces could be sweet, salty, yellow, green, sour, plain… His head was spinning after each meal. Hell, one time they asked him what kind of quarry he wanted: he thought they were speaking of stone-pits!

As a result, Kristoff took a shy approach to the food in the castle. He ate very little, always left a bit on the plates, sent back dishes to the kitchen. He was used to two, maybe even one snack a day, not five parades of dishes between sunrise and nightfall! The only thing reassuring in these meals was the bread. Plain, old bread, you can never go wrong with it.

Well, that’s what he thought. Until he discovered that the castle’s kitchen offered ten different types of bread.

Kristoff’s lack of eating worried the cooks. Kristoff feared that the servants would realize that he wasn’t a man of refined taste, but it ended up being the opposite: the staff thought that he couldn’t enjoy his cooking because it was too bad for him. So the chefs tried harder and harder to please him, commanding the finest, richest, rarest food, multiplying the spices, the herbs, the sauces, making each meal bigger, more complex, more extravagant… But still, nothing. Kristoff was eating like a bird. Only Sven was eating his heart’s fill, and that was because he only ate raw carrots! The cooks tried to include a lot of carrots in Kristoff’s menu, assuming that he would have the same preferences as his mount, but that was another failure.

Anna, noticing the state of despair in which the cooks were plunged, thought it was time to step in and talk to Kristoff.

“Kristoff, why are you vexing them like that?”

“Who?”

“The cooks! They are all working so hard to please you! And yet, you keep eating nothing of what they prepare! I saw the head cook crying in his apron this morning! Why don’t you try to be a bit more considerate? You know, food doesn’t appear magically on the table! There are people behind it, who make it with patience and love!”

“I’m not trying to be inconsiderate! It’s just that…”

Kristoff sighed.

“I don’t know how to act here, okay? I know I don’t belong here! You understand that, Anna? I was raised by trolls, in wild nature! I ate raw vegetables each day! I drank straight out of the brooks! I’m not used to all this… fancy food. And there are so many forks and knives and spoons, and things I don’t even know how to name! I don’t know what to use!”

“I prepared you a little guide to help you with the cutlery.”

“I know, but still! And, anyway, it’s all too much! I always fear I will not be able to finish the meal! I don’t want to get sick! It’s a wonder and your sister are so scrawny with eating so much!”

“I’m not scrawny!” Anna replied. “I’m a strong woman, with a perfect weight for her height and age! And we are used to these kinds of meals. Just like you can get used to them!”

“I don’t know if…”

“Have you learned nothing from what happened with Elsa? Stop fearing what people will think of you! Restraining yourself and hiding your feelings is not a good solution. Accept the gifts people want to make to you, alright? It’s all just good intention. They want to please you. So, eat your fill, eat what your heart desires, and the servants will be glad. You’ll show them you appreciate their work, and they’ll probably stop preparing so much food. Trust me, you can pig out a bit if you like, it will only do good for everyone.”

Kristoff agreed. Anna kissed him on the cheek as a reward.

The head cook never stopped preparing so much food. He was filled with joy at the mere sight of Kristoff cleaning his dishes and digging in his meals – and he thought that him regaining his appetite was because he had finally reached the perfect level of food quality and quantity. As a result, he kept working hard to provide rich, filling and nicely fattening food.

Kristoff actually ended up enjoying this journey on the culinary world. He discovered so much new things! He ate smoked salmon and scrambled eggs, prawns and crab, cod and herring, sardine and mackerel, mutton stew and pork chops. He was particularly amazed at the amount of seafood the cooks served him. There were so many weird things with weird names and weird looks and weird tastes. Oysters and clams, lobsters and mussels, scallops and cockles… And there were so many ways to cook them! Braised, boiled, roasted, raw, smoked, salted, pickled!

For the first time in his life, Kristoff went to bed with a full belly and without any fear of being hungry ever again.

And this new life took quite quickly a toll on him. After all, you couldn’t go from eating whatever berries and potatoes you could find in the woods to a full breakfast-brunch-lunch-afternoon snack-dinner routine without seeing some changes in your body.

Kristoff was living in the castle for roughly two months now. He was naked in his bathroom (that he tried to not use as much as the servants wanted him to). He looked at himself in the mirror and said:

“Yep. I’m fat.”

He wasn’t enormous, of course. But he still had his flab.

His belly was soft now, soft and fleshy. It was still quite flat, but thicker and plumper. He had grown love handles, which gave him the feeling that he was carrying a belt of fat around his waist. And his chest, that used to be stone-hard, felt more doughy and flaccid than usual.

“It would be a good time to work out a bit… Staying in the castle all day long and never going outside isn’t the best for a mountain man like me.”

It was true that his level of physical activity had drastically dropped. While the castle was big enough to make him walk several hours a day, it was nothing compared to the roads he had to take, the mountains he had to climb or the ice he had to harvest.

At this thought, he looked outside. One of the windows in his room was overlooked a small court, the one where his sled waited. The beautiful sled Ana gave him as a gift. The beautiful sled, with its cup holder. He tried it maybe once or twice, and then he put it there.

He should be getting out more, he thought. Doing his job.

Because, as it turned out, “Royal Ice Harvester” was a real job after all – but it consisted mostly of sending other men to work, and watch the team as they cut the ice, and making sure there wasn’t any accident. But he wasn’t supposed to cut the ice himself. He was there to oversee.

It was nice at first, to give orders around, to teach young men how to correctly cut the ice, to advice the team on what were the best times and places in order to have a good ice. But soon, he felt quite useless. They all knew their work and what they were supposed to do. They were good workers, with strong bodies and a zero-percent rate of accidents. They didn’t need a babysitter. So, he came back to the castle and left them be, only checking if the amount of ice supposed to be delivered each month was due.

Thinking so much of ice made his stomach growl. He wanted some ice cream. The castle’s cooks could make some wonderful ice creams, with flavors only Heaven could surpass. He salivated a bit, but then wiped the drool on his chin.

“Come on Kristoff, we said exercise!”

He got onto the floor and, still naked, started doing some push ups.

After a series of ten, he decided to take a pause. He was hot, sweaty, tired. He didn’t mind the hot and sweaty part – all those baths they forced him to take made him feel cleaner than a healthy man should be, and it grossed him out a bit. Not, it was the tired part that was bothering him. He used to do three series of ten each day, without pause.

Kristoff laid on his bed to rest a bit. His big, comfy, sweet bed. With good-smelling sheets. And soft pillows…

“You have a pillow on your belly already…” a voice whispered in his mind.

He got up once more to look at himself in the mirror again.

His belly wasn’t so big. It was just wider and thicker. If he kept his clothes on, no one could tell the difference. He still looked buff and muscular, and that’s all he needed.

“Yeah… your chest may be a bit bigger and your stomach more bloated, but you can still close your belt.”

To make sure, he got out of the closet his old ice harvester suit. He had stopped wearing it after setting in the castle – the place being very warm, the suit, with its lining of fur, kept making him too hot – and not in the good sense of the term.

He put it on and looked at his reflection.

“Yeah. No difference whatsoever. Don’t worry. It’s just some… some sympathy weight, as they say. Nothing to worry about.”

He took a new look at his sleigh, outside. He felt a bit guilty not using it – but, at the same time, he thought about what happened to his old one, right after he finished paying for it, and it was enough to cool him down.

“No, I won’t take that risk. This beauty will stay here. I’ll get out another day. Another, safer day.”

And thus Kristoff stayed indoor, enjoying the royalty’s life.

He did not worry one bit about his stomach getting bigger. He didn’t realize that his stomach expanding meant that he would get hungrier and be able to eat more food, which would only expand his stomach even more, leading him into a vicious circle of feasting and fattening. Kristoff had spent most of his life with trolls and reindeers, who had very different eating habits and seasonal diets than humans, resulting in him lacking a knowledge about how his body worked.

That’s why he went on gulping down fish, cream or mutton soup, wolfing down meatballs, meatcakes and beef with mustard, gobbling up liver pâtés, salted offal and braised pheasants, putting cheese on his buttered bread with a bit of cream on top, sometimes devouring entire roasted pigs! However, he couldn’t bring himself to eat moose – the cooks proposed some to him, many times, but it reminded him too much of Sven and made him really uncomfortable.

But what Kristoff fell for the most, out of everything that came out of the royal kitchen, were the pastries. The cakes. The desserts. As a child, he never knew the delightful bliss of eating sweets or biting into candies. So, when he discovered those at the palace, he went full sugar-crazy. He kept asking for more. More cherry pies, more apple pies, more rhubarb pies! More strawberry tarts, more bilberry tarts! More raspberry waffles, more cloudberry cakes! More meringue, more cardamom, more whipped cream! The cooks were happy to oblige.

Of course, sometimes he felt guilty. Guilty for not taking the sleigh out of the castle like he promised. Guilty for not supervising the workers at the ice harvest. Guilty for not getting out as much he used to, and for not being active anymore.

But he quickly found out that fried food was an excellent way to wipe your guilt out of your mind. With the amount of butter Arendelle produced, they tended to fry everything they could put their hands upon: onions, fishes, sausages… And fried sausages soon became Kristoff’s favorites. With a bit of gravy.

Of course, like we said earlier, all of this was a vicious circle of feasting and fattening. Kristoff’s belly started to get rounder and more prominent, while his pectorals grew and puffed out and his arms got flabby and tubby. But the young man never noticed how chubby he was actually getting. Partly because of his own lack of interest in his appearance, and disdain for mirrors, and partly because of Anna. She mentioned to the servants that Kristoff was starting to fill out his clothes, and that it wouldn’t be a good thing for him to stress over such little things. As a result, the servants started to offer the prince-to-be larger clothes, more fitting for his new castle-life-size, and Kristoff gladly accepted them, not thinking much about it. After all, royals must get new clothes every week, right? That’s how rich people did it.

There was nothing weird with that.

Months went by, and soon it was time to celebrate Kristoff’s first year at the castle.

Kristoff walked towards Elsa. He was munching on an Arendelle flute – a local candy he particularly enjoyed. It was a chocolate bar shaped like a small chain of mountains, filled with butter, biscuit, hazelnuts and caramel. He was mad about them, eating nearly one per hour. Absolutely delicious.

Kristoff had a little friendly chat with the young queen, nothing out of the ordinary. Except maybe for some… allusions Elsa kept making.

For example, how she called him “big guy”. Usually she nicknamed him “reindeer prince”. Or when she said he should lay down a bit on the Arendelle flute, “You know what they say. You are what you eat, and it shows that you’re snacking on little mountains”. Later, she even compared him to a “full-grown snowman”. Kristoff tried to imagine a human-sized Olaf and wondered why he would ever look like him.

Well, that’s until he later saw some kids in the court make a snowman. An actual, traditional snowball. A big, round, white snowman.

Tortured by the most horrific doubts, he rushed to his room, gulping what was left of the Arendelle flute, and got rid of his clothes before standing in front of the mirror.

His worst fear had come true.

He was fat.

And not just pleasantly plum, like before, no. He was really fat and pale. Just like a snowman.

His belly was a big round ball. His chest was all puffy, and falling down on his gut. His behind was enormous, his thighs double the size of what they used to be, his arms all chunky – even his face was round now, with two bloated cheeks! And was that a double chin? It was! He had a big, round, snowman face!

“But… I don’t feel different… I don’t feel heavier!” Kristoff lamented. “And my clothes still fit me perfectly!”

Well… the clothes of the castle still fitted him perfectly, he thought. But what about his original clothes? His ice-harvesting suit?

Kristoff took it out of the closet and tried to get in the pants.

It wasn’t easy. They were tight. Tight around everything! Around his calves, around his thighs, around his behind… He couldn’t bend over, out of fear of making the seams explode.

“Well, I may have gained a bit of weight, alright… But it’s not that much…”

He then put the sweater on. It was as tight as the pants. He couldn’t even make it past his belly button! Not wanting to admit his defeat so fast, Kristoff sucked his gut in, and took his belt. He tied it around his now-slimmed-down-but-still-flabby abdomen, hoping that it would help to hold his gut in. He then put the tunic and looked at himself in the mirror.

“See? Not bad. Yeah, your shoulders are puffier, and your arms bigger, and your face rounder… and maybe you have a hard time moving in your clothes but… you’re not as fat as you think!”

That’s when he made the mistake of releasing his gut. He had lost the habit of using his abdominal muscles – he couldn’t hold it back anymore. When he let it out, the beast went wild. His belt snapped, his tunic ripped off and his sweater was pulled back all the way to his stomach, revealing his belly-button once more.

Kristoff let out a whimper as he had to face the hard truth.

He was as big as a whale.

“You knew the whole time?”

“Well… yes. It was a bit hard to miss.” Anna answered.

“But then, why didn’t you tell me?”

“What should I have told you? You put on a little weight, and what? No big deal! And no, that wasn’t a joke at your expense. What I mean is… there’s a lot of tubby guys in Arendelle. It’s not something out of the ordinary. Everybody gain some pounds in winter… it’s their winter weight.”

“I am the double of my original weight! That’s not just a few winter pounds! Have you seen just how much I eat per day? I paid attention recently, you know, and guess what I realized? I eat more than anyone in this castle. Much more than you, than Elsa, than Sven, than Olaf – well it doesn’t count because he doesn’t eat – but still! I’m the biggest eater in this castle! I’m the one walking around, snacking on fried sausages like if they were carrots!”

Anna didn’t know what to answer.

“Hey… wait a minute.” Kristoff whispered. “I get it, now… That’s why I always had clothes that were fitting me perfectly, when I should have busted out of them! It was you! You kept replacing them!”

“Well, I didn’t want you to feel bad, or stressed. You said it yourself, you feared you wouldn’t fit in! And again, it’s not a joke on the fact you can’t fit in your old suit anymore. I just… I didn’t want to destroy your self-confidence. And the cook was so happy that you finally ate his meals and…”

“The cook? It was all about the cook?”

“No, not at all!”

Anna sighed.

“You were happy. For once, you stopped caring about what other people thought. You weren’t anxious anymore about what fork to use. You weren’t fearful of the other’s judgement. You weren’t hiding yourself in your shell. You were outgoing, funny, happy, always smiling… and I liked that. And I wanted to keep it that way.”

Kristoff sat on a chair. Anna sat right next to him and hugged his big frame.

“You don’t have to be ashamed of your look, or your weight.” she whispered in his ear. “It’s just how you are. And you are still strong, and cute, and I still love you. You’re still the same Kristoff.”

“No. You’re wrong on one thing, and that’s what bothers me the most. I’m not strong anymore. I’m lazy. Sluggish. Weak. This morning, I was wondering “Hey, shouldn’t I stay in the castle today? It’s a bit cold outside.” Do you realize what that means, Anna? Me, who spent my whole life in the snow, the mountains and the winter, me, for who ice was the purpose of existence… I feared that it would be a little cold outside! I’m not me anymore, Anna. I want to get back to my old self.”

Anna bowed her head.

“I understand.”

“Thanks.”

He kissed her on the forehead while stroking her hair.

“Alright. Then I’ll have to do some exercises. Ask the cooks to cut down on the butter. And the bread. And the cheese. But leave the pastries. One – or two – at each meal isn’t what’s going to make me fatter.”

First step of the “From Fatstoff to Fitstoff” program: get a new ice-harvesting suit. Kristoff went to buy one at Oaken’s place. He nearly died of humiliation when Oaken offered him one of his own suits, from when he was younger. Even worse, it fitted him perfectly.

Second step: Ice-harvest again. The good, old fashioned way, with big saws and giant tongs. Kristoff went to work with the guys of his team at least three times a week. He felt himself reliving, adrenaline rushing through his blood.

Third step: Races with Sven. Running was good for him. Of course, he failed every time – but at least, he was moving and sweating.

Talking of sweating, fourth step: spend time in Oaken’s sauna. Oaken’s family making remarks about Kristoff’s size and the children slapping hard his “jelly-belly”, asking if he was pregnant, was quite a trial on its own, but he endured it as the penance he rightfully earned for his gluttony.

Fifth step: stop eating those damned Arendelle flutes!

“Kristoff is back! Kristoff is back!”

The trolls all rushed towards him to welcome the boy back, taking his clothes off to wash them, pressing him with questions about his life in the castle.

“And you’ve grown quite well!”

“Yeah, you’re becoming more and more like a troll now!”

“All big!”

“And all round!”

“Yes, that’s one heavy, heavy Kristoff!” they all sang in a choir.

Kristoff didn’t mind their playful teasing. Besides, he knew very well that he had lost quite a weight.  His chest, while still saggy, was now smaller. Same thing for his flabby arms. His face wasn’t round anymore, and he had lost the double chin (even though his cheeks were still a bit puffy). His belly had deflated – goodbye, ball gut – even though he still had to work on the lard that was hanging over his belt. And his butt was back to a roughly normal size.

He was even floating in his new ice-harvester suit! If this went on, he would have to get it fixed, or buy a new one!

He was fully confident that he would go back to his usual silhouette in no time.

He shouldn’t have been so confident.

It happened the day of his birthday.

“Tadaaa!”

Kristoff couldn’t believe his eyes. In front of him, the biggest, largest, longest table he had ever seen. And on it… food. Lots and lots and lots of food. Piles of fishes, entire roasted menageries, mountains of cheese and bread, a sea of soup, a forest of pastries… And, in front of him, an enormous ice-cream cake with “Happy birthday Kristoff!” written on top.

“Where are the other guests?”

“It’s all for you, Kristoff!”

“But… but I can’t eat all of that!”

“You don’t have to, silly! But feel free to do if your gut can handle it.”

Anna sat beside him and took a slice of cake.

“It’s just that… I saw how hard you worked.” she said. “You lost so much weight, and you’re so often out there, and you restrain yourself at each meal… Don’t lie to me. I see how you devour the cheese with your eyes at lunch. Even yesterday you were drooling just by looking at my loaf of bread! And I know you’re dying to bite again in an Arendelle flute.”

The mere mention of the candy made Kristoff’s stomach swirl and rumble in hunger.

“But today is your birthday. Your day. Go on, it’s all for you! Go ahead, it’s your gift! You deserve a treat after all, for all your hard work.”

Kristoff hesitated, but the glorious glow of all the butter, the fat, the frying and the oil finally broke him. He had been dieting for too long and Anna was right, he could offer himself a little treat.

He started with the cake. Then he went on with the seafood soups, the creamy soups, the meaty soups… followed by the mashed potatoes, carrots purée, raw carrots, salads, beetroots, some lingonberries, stewed peas with bacon, boiled cabbage with potatoes… he gulped some fruit juices, before finishing the berries and attacking the meat. Big, salty, heavy meat. With a lot of mustard.

After finishing the roe’s liver, the boiled lamb, the braised pheasant, the roasted sheep and the brawn, Kristoff laid back on his chair, his shirt raised on his prominent abdomen, his big hands rubbing his distended stomach. He let out a burp that resonated throughout the empty dining room.

“Excuse me…”

“No offense taken.” Anna replied.

“I never ate so much before… I think I’m full. I don’t have room for more.”

“What do you mean? You can’t end now! There’s still the fishes, and the cheese, and the biscuits, and…”

“I don’t think I can… my gut won’t…” Kristoff whispered before letting out another, smaller burp.

Anna put a hand on Kristoff’s belly and started rubbing. Strangely, it made his cheeks and his ears feel hot. 

“Come on, I’m sure you can do that… A big guy like you, afraid by a little meal? Plus, if you finish the rest… there’s a bunch of Arendelle flutes waiting for you.”

“Many?”

“Many.”

Kristoff looked at Anna, then at the half-emptied table. He sighed.

“Well, if I have to… Damn, what couldn’t I do for some Arendelle flutes… Pass me the gravy, would you?”

He poured it straight in his mouth, to help him wash down everything he had already eaten. He burped once more and attacked the fishes.

Poached, fried or braised, there was probably all of the inhabitants of the sea on the table. The trout and the cod, the halibut and the haddock, along with crabs and cockles. Sometimes, Anna would help him out, or by rubbing and massaging his belly or by handing the plates that were too far away – his now bloated and rock-hard belly making it harder for him to bend over the table.

Then, it was the turn of the five different cheese wheels, before the biscuits and cookies, with a bit of milk. He gulped the other, smaller birthday cakes, and rinsed his mouth with a bottle of apple cider.

Now, only the Arendelle flutes were left, several boxes of them.

Kristoff was panting, his head completely thrown back, his forehead sweaty. He wasn’t speaking, merely letting out small burps from time to time.

“If you can’t take the Arendelle flutes, it’s okay…” Anna said. “I can put them away for you. You’ll eat them tomorrow. We don’t want you to be sick.”

But Kristoff stopped her and gestured with his hands “Leave them here. I didn’t stuff myself with all of that just for missing the Arendelle flutes. Gosh, look at me, I’m like a Christmas goose.”

Yes, Kristoff’s hands were quite expressive.

Anna giggled and kissed him on the cheek, staying by his side as he slowly grabbed the first box of Arendelle flutes.

He purred when the sweet chocolate mountains melted on his tongue.

The following day, Kristoff couldn’t fit into his ice-harvesting suit. And he couldn’t fit into his latest royal garment. In fact, he couldn’t fit into any of his clothes! He spent several hours trying to find what to wear, only to result in a concert of pants ripping, belt snapping and button popping. Eventually, the royal tailor had to come to his room to make a new outfit for him on the spot.

And, as he stood in front of the mirror while a wide-eyed tailor took his measurements, Kristoff took a good look at himself.

He was bigger. Bigger than before he started to lose weight. Just so… big.

His belly was big. Wide, round, enormous, hanging in front of him like an enormous cauldron of flesh.

His chest was big, wide and large, falling into rolls of lard on his flanks, with fleshy nipples the size of mushroom caps.

His legs were big, his jumbo thighs pressed against each other, continuously rubbing – he had to outspread his feet so that his skin wouldn’t caught fire.

His hips were rolls of fat, his arms looked like over-stuffed sausages, and his behind – well, it was better not to talk about it. And his face! With these round, overgrown cheeks that fell on the side of his face like pork jowls, and this double chin that dropped from under his jaw like a little goiter, and his fat, bloated neck that drowned into a big bulge of meat…

He was all flesh and fat, and rolls and curves, bloated and overstuffed, with lots of lard and lots of gut. Fattened up like a hog for the winter.

And, strangely, he kind of liked it.

Yesterday. The banquet. The feast. Eating to the brim, until he was ready to burst, savors and flavors dancing on his tongue while his beautiful fiancée rubbed his belly and whispered in his ear… It was a weird… new… pleasing experience. Yes, it was a pleasure he had only rarely felt before, and usually in the middle of the woods, during long, lonely, cold, wintery nights.

And, looking at his reflection, he didn’t felt the same reluctance as before. He was even bigger, fatter and grotesque, yes, but he did not felt weak or sluggish. He felt strong, full of energy, ready to walk all the way to the mountain and harvest all of its ice. He didn’t know that it was mostly all of the sugar he had eaten the past day that was still affecting his body.

But, even outside of that, something, deep down, told him that this shape was a good shape. The instinct he had grown living in forests filled with woods. The inner beast he had opened himself to in order to speak to Sven. The wild man that was living in his heart. They were all pointing out how fat was useful to keep warm in the winter, and a good way to last for several days without eating, and a natural armor to prevent major wounds. They all said “You’re the perfect surviving machine. You’re the best, Kristoff, the coolest guy in the woods. You’re a super-man, baby.”

Kristoff, feeling for once proud of his fatness, ordered a servant to bring him both a fried sausage and an ice-cream. Hell, he even asked him to put the sausage inside the ice-cream.

 “Let yourself go, let yourself go…” he sang. “Can’t hold back your gut anymore… let yourself go, let yourself go… Eating never bothered me anyway.”

[seyoonlgc]

at approximately 7:47 am - yes, you read that right, 7:47 am - oliver throws his entire weight onto a sleeping seyoon. “WAKE UP, SLEEPYHEAD!” he grabs seyoon’s face and plants a fat kiss on his cheek. “wait wait wait - before you get mad at me -”

oliver nearly trips over the blanket as he scrambles out of the bed to grab a platter of what looks like an assorted breakfast. he sets the tray on seyoon’s lap and proudly beams at his .. creations. “this is a kimchi croissant with honey mustard, and this is a kiwi waffle with peanut butter, and this is my all time favorite chocolate sprinkles and nutella on sourdough bread, and this - maybe i shouldn’t tell you what this is until you try it - okay, okay, it’s orange juice mixed with coffee! i know it sounds weird, but i swear by it!! oh, and -”

he runs off again and returns 2.5 seconds later with a - surprisingly - neatly wrapped giftbox, which he then presents with a gleeful HAPPY BIRTHDAY! ( yes, it’s still seven in the morning, sorry to all the dormmates. ) inside is gold wristwatch that’s worth a pretty penny, a tiny moose figurine because he heard that seyoon’s from canada, and a smooth butt-shaped rock that he insists is a heart.

The breakfast looked questionable, even for him, but he loved the fact he was being presented with multiple gifts! So, despite having been woken up and subject to all of Ollie’s excitement after a truly late night, Seyoon was beaming. 

“You are the best,” he told his dormmate, and manfully ate that kimchi croissant with honey mustard. And...let’s just say it was an experience. 

The wristwatch should have been his favorite thing, because it looked expensive and was shiny and gold. Seyoon was like a crow in that sense, attracted to the sparkly and glittery. The first thing he touched, however, was the tiny moose figurine. He toured it around their room, pretending to make it wave to the other dormmates, who may or may not have been roused by all the commotion. In the end, he named the moose Polly because Polly Ollie sounded funny and left it at the window sill to guard them all from evil. 

After the celebration was done, he ate the kiwi waffle for a second breakfast. Then waited a whole hour before he attempted the nutella on sourdough, just to give his stomach some time to digest. Whoever came up with orange juice and coffee should be shot, but Seyoon drank the entire thing anyway with a grimace. He didn’t have to eat it all - he knew that - but Ollie got up early to make it and to be honest, the kid made him really happy today. 

Seyoon took the third present out of his pocket after finding a moment alone that day in the dorm. He cradled the butt heart-shaped rock with soft eyes, a smile that was not as bright as his usual but very genuine at his lips. Little known fact, Seyoon loved collecting rocks by the beach with his family when he was a child. He kept all of his prettiest finds in a pouch and when his parents decided to make him a memory box, they put a selection of them in there. 

He did...actually bring the box to Korea with him. It’s been sitting under his bed, tucked at the very back, untouched for many months. 

Seyoon double checked to ensure that he was alone, then pulled out the dusty box. He sifted gently through a few items to make spot for Ollie’s rock. First report card. A medal for courage from kindergarten. This cute shell he found with his friend...

He didn’t allow himself to look in there for too long, but the reminder was nice. 

[the-firebird69]

This is the idea there's a few looks at a different but they look like bombardier jackets and we don't want to do that for this particular jacket. It's a handy coat to wear we will use zippers zipper though. It is a shiny material but our material is not as shiny but it is a little it's waterproof there's a material that's called water fasted it's like that but it's less expensive a lot less expensive and it's our design and it works great and we're going to add more insulation and it's going to be synthetic so it won't be cold if somehow you get away the outside is going to be waterproof it'll rain and it won't go in if it's drenching pouring you're in trouble but we're going to be handing out ponchos tonight just a shitload of ponchos we can punch out tons of them I mean trillions we can be handing out trillions and trillions of panchos and emergency blankets in New York City in Jersey there's a crisis up there yeah we're going to be trucking in advance of beef stew and bread and that's what we're going to be bringing in with big vats this fish too. We're going to have huge huge bags of numbers of bags of cured fish sealed and it can be eaten dried or you can saute it and we're going to bring tons of it up there I'm going to try and get some chips up there bja might be going up with ships and they might not let him in to New York City or or even if he's coming down but we're going to bring it in this humanitarian aid Red Cross and we're going to bring the free ponchos the free jackets they're free hat gloves and neck warmers which are beanies and the gloves will be not not skin tight but they're not real loose they're not they're like like a ski level Sun used to wear but not as puffy and the jackets will be warm they're good to like about 20° and we're going to bring the free long underwear with t-shirt over it and they're showing together but it's a full long underwear t-shirt on your own for pants and he said he said there's a version of sweatpants that beer drinker swear maybe a bunch of those even some more water resistant material and we're moving out now and we bring a ton of it cuz you can see it movies

Thor Freya

We're going to bring it all over the world and we are pumping it out they need trillions each location and we have it pretty soon we'll have it all we're going to bring it all and it's a giveaway some people might donate to us and we'll accept some money but not a ton.

Olympus

We're getting this now we're getting beer and it says we should order whiskey and now I get why freezing temperatures it works like antifreeze believe it or not and if we have a freeze out for a day and a half it'll actually keep you alive I've heard of stories people have been negative 40° weather for 3 days and one of them only last one toe because it thins the blood too because they're inside they filled all the crevices but they are pretty thick with it okay they they had a alcohol level of I think it was a 3.5 each and it kept him alive inside pickling it really works this whiskey is really good too and we drink some of it so we can get more of it

Tony s

We might order some to see what it is we're going to go ahead and do that

Mac

Probably a ton of it

Ben

[exterminate-ak]

I'm with both sides of this argument.

I'm DONE with people (mostly younger boomers, but even people MY AGE!) who are PROUD (!!!) of not knowing the slightest thing about how to use everyday, very user-friendly, pieces of technology.

I've seen a not-so-old person refusing to use the ATM for taking some cash, and kept bothering the bank clerk, who was dealing with some kind of major and time-sensitive crisis with my account. Just because he "didn't feel like pushing bottons" (quote). Fuck him.

And I hate how a lot of people are 24/7 on Facebook on their new, shiny, expensive smartphones, and then they need to ask ME how to use a fucking map! Or HOW TO GOOGLE SOMETHING! Or how to silence your ringtone! Or even HOW TO FUCKING COPY-PASTE WORDS!!! 1. Why do you need the coolest phone in the world just to share hoaxes, put hearts on photos of cakes, and take ugly selfies of your chin? 2. HOW CAN BE ALL DAY EVERY DAY with the screen in front of your eyes and not learn how to use THE MOST BASIC PHONE FUNCTIONS?! You're lazy and dumb and disrespectful of other people's time and I loathe you all so, so much.

They want to feel "cool" and "hip", but they don't want to put in the slightest bit of effort in learning hiw to use their "cool" and "hip" products.

And bureaucracy always changes, there's always been a new and totally different way of doing thing every few years, but suddenly if it involves pushing a button it's the devil's work? and you're proud of being unable to do something?! WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?! Assholes.

But yes. On the other hand, I still agree with everything you all just said. There is a technological gap between generation, and maybe this gap has never been this huge, and it's getting huger everyday, at an increasing speed. And yes, it's not always a good thing. Relying SOLELY on "apps" and on the latest piece of technology will end up making look too optimistic even the worst hellscapes imagined in 90s sci-fi.

Its okay they could call me on a rotary faster than i could explain to them I’m old enough to know what a rotary phone is

[slowishgreen]

today I had giant dreams

so first I remember biking, it was like a dream I had before, in the same road, but I was wearing these fabulous boots

after that I was travelling with a group, and maybe it was part of the previous dream, so yeah, I was travelling and carrying a bag full of yarn.

Then we were all at school, and we spent some time there, but it was soon time to leave. I had gathered my many bags and realized that one of my travel companies had just gone and left all his things, so I tried to carry them, put some pen in my pockets, but I had no idea how to organize his things so I just got them and took them to him. So he got his things and we went to the train station.

At the station there was this information table, and on top of it a "machine" with a note that said it would identify demons in each travelling groups. It looked like a creepy, distorted mask. I was so afraid and didn't want to mess with it, but one of the guys in my group paid the fee and put his fingers on the masks eyes, and it showed that that guy I helped earlier was the demon. So I told them to run to the train that was about to close his doors, and we all run, but when the doors closed I found out that only the demon guy had boarded with me, and I remember being scared but nothing else.

Theeen I was in another country. For me it was Korea, but it looked nothing like that. I was at a busy street, and I entered in some stores. They had such weird lightning, and it was weirder because in the back of the store there were these nail techs working, but that was the darkest part of the place, and I kept wondering how were they working in such darkness.

I left the store and went down a street, to the suburbs, and they looked like brazilian streets now. Then I crossed the street and entered a hotel.

Now I was like, a preteen I think. I was at this very expensive hotel, that had a pool on the top of it, with my mom (my real one), my dad and my grandma (not real ones). My parents were actors, and my grandma was a producer I think, and she wanted me to go work with them, and I wanted to, so we all went to prepare to go.

So I put on these clothes that in shape were not really innapropriate, but in fabric and color was a bit, idk. I wore this a line black dress, it looked like neoprene, and leather scrunchy boots with knee socks, and latex triangular earrings. So this woman, maybe she worked for my family, i'm not sure, she entered my bedroom and told me to change because my clothes were too innapropriate. So I put on these earrings that were like tiny puppets (they had hats!) and she made me wear these shiny sandals (that i'd never ever wear irl). I got very upset with her.

So I went upstairs first with my mom, and there was a party going on round the pool. The people there freaked me out, because they were wearing these very realistic fish masks. My mom had met a friend, so she allowed me to go downstairs. As I was descending I met a lady, who was with a kid and a baby. And then the baby slid from her arms and went down the stairs, like a feather. He didn't get hurt or anything, but his mom couldn't run after him, because of the kid, so I went. The baby ended up at the big dining room, so I caught him and gave him back to his mom. Then I sat at this big table and had a very merry dinner with the other people there.

Then my parents arrived and called me to go. But then this other woman that worked at the hotel called me, because the mail had arrived. Somehow I had ordered new boots like the ones the woman made me take off earlier, and they arrived that fast! So I got them and ran to the car. The car wasn't really a car, it was like a weird metal carriage.

So off we went, but then we heard the news that my father was being searched by the cops, I have no idea why. So one stopped us, but he didn't realize that the searched man was my dad, so we let us go. So because of that we stopped at this beauty store. We searched for dies to paint his hair blonde, and make up.

While my mom kept searching, I left the store and met a girl. She was mute, but I managed to understand that she needed her mom, because her tooth had fallen out. So we went to search, and found her mom at the door of an expensive bar, drinking with her friends. We tried to get her attention, but she kept shooing us, so I started screaming with her, that her daughter needed her, and that she was a horrible mom and many many things. She got very surprised and helped her daughter. Before leaving I gave the girl a card with my number, and motioned to her that we could facetime or text each other.

Then I went back to the store and the dream ended

[devoted-souls-gone]

   Okay. So remember that ring Vector got from some mysterious Numbers? Whatever happened to it? Turns out, Yuma kept it. Vector didn't want any part of it, but it was so shiny! Gorgeous! What was the harm? Shark and Rio wear rings. Alit wears rings. Nothing wrong with that! However, Yuma had the entire ring redesigned, replacing the gemstones and saved it for a… special occasion. That being Christmas day.

   “ Shingetsu! Shingetsu! „ The boy called out, rushing near Vector. Yuma was happier than usual. This could have been because of the holiday or seeing his adoring Barian. Well… it was probably both! After all, Yuma loved both!    “ Merry Christmas, Shingetsu! Not sure if Barians celebrate but… you were human before! So you must know what it is! „ Yuma gave Vector a ravishing smile, bright as the morning sun that beamed down on the two of them. Reaching though his pant pockets, he revealed a miniature box.

   Without a word, the duelist opened the small package. And there it was. The same ring Vector was given, only now with amethyst jewels to match the Barian's dazzling eye color. It looked expensive, no doubt. But that didn't matter. Not one bit. Seeing Vector's smiling face was worth more to Yuma than anything in the world.    “ U-um! Since you didn't seem too interested in it… I gave it a whole new look! Maybe you'll like it now! …Maybe…? „ Foolish Yuma. He didn't realize the Numbers gave Vector that ring to give to him. …Hopefully this wasn't going to be awkward. It was still Yuma's Christmas gift to Vector, all the same.

@highfivethesky

Vector eyes didn't widen and a small yet growing smile appeared on his lips. Eyes shutting brief as he sighed. That was to give to Yuma but maybe in the future Vector can give one back.

"I love it, thank you Yuma.." Soft tone as he accepted the gift even placing it on one of his fingers to show he meant that thanks. "I'll treasure it,Like i treasure out bond. Always." Sounding sappy but the Barian did not care the fact Yuma was here meant the world to him, he didn't need anything else just Yuma. Now he had thought of gifts for the other but wasn't sure what -- though he has better ideas now.

[mwolf0epsilon]

Couldn't leave these tags unanswered, so here ya go @squirrelno2

Heads up, this will definitely suck a bit, but then again this is Krell and his machinations we're talking about.

They started off just as any other clone fresh off Kamino. Bright-eyed, with a million and one expectations of the glory of serving the Republic and the Jedi, and just as many aspirations of being remembered as proud and powerful warriors, etc...

That is to say, they were in way over their heads and naive in a way only a Shiny could be, because anywhere was better than the frigid and wet hellhole that was Kamino, and surely all the good they'd heard of the Jedi thus far had to apply to their own General, right? How terribly wrong they were...

Now, I can't be sure of Krell's character prior to the war. We're never given much context of what he did before he was conscripted into fighting but, since he was likely a knight before he became a Jedi Master and doesn't appear to have had a Padawan, it's safe to assume he did (and preferred) a lot of solo missions before becoming a Jedi General. And I doubt he liked his position at all because it both meant he was being forced out of his comfort zone (the style of approach that worked for him) and being forced to look after several beings he didn't regard as particularly sentient (not many sentients understood the fine details of cloning and not all Jedi trusted the clone army)...

From my perspective, it definitely seems to me like Krell never wanted to lead a battalion of what he came to consider expendable subhumans, so he did everything in his power to get rid of these hindrances that kept slowing him down. And yet, no matter how many casualties, no matter how many expenses, he still got saddled with more and more troopers to replenish the numbers he'd lost while adding a bigger workload onto himself.

All of the logistics and strategy meetings, the unending flimsywork, every minute detail he was forced to tend to and iron out when he probably thought that he could do more on his own, without all of the dead-weight that could most definitely not keep up with him... It made him more and more hostile towards his men as time went on. Made them seem like little more than stubborn cockroaches. And then he started making the best of it.

If he himself couldn't get rid of them in battle, then he'd make it so they did it themselves outside of it. And thus started what the Imperial Scientists might consider and interesting "Social Experiment": How miserable did one have to make the lives of an entire clone battalion before they inevitably turned on each other?

Denial of amenities here, a few excessive punishments there, and maybe some coercion to fight amongst themselves on false pretenses of special treatment/favoritism on occasion ... The more troopers ended up dead by their own hands or via sabotaging each other, the less clones Krell had to deal with while on missions. And he got a bit of a kick watching them act like what he considered them to be: Nothing more than mindless killing machines.

To put it simply, Krell REALLY destroyed his battalion's sense of loyalty and camaraderie, and he enjoyed doing it. Might have done the same with the 501st if he'd had them for longer than just Umbara. But, since he was on a self-appointed mission to join Dooku, he opted with toying with them a little while actively sabotaging them.

Hence why Dogma was pitched against his vode so effectively. Krell already had the practice and he was fairly easy game...

The core members of Krell's Battalion (aka the Anti-501st)

They're... Uh... Something alright!

Lets be real, if they survived long enough under Krell's rule to get names and even ARC Troopers, then of course they're not going to be the most social or trusting of vode. If anything, the fact these 8 lads are considered their battalion's veterans is more than an explanation as to why they have such screwed up personalities/character traits.

I'm sure you can figure out who is which 501st lad's anti/mirror version. A detail not mentioned above however is that they all lack paint and are instead marked by battle damage and carbon-scoring. That's not even taking into account the scarring they all have...

Krell really did a number on them.

[lunathebee]

Pairing: Jake Lockley x fem!reader

Warning: fluff, Jake being a softie but only for you, no mention of Steven-Marc-Khonsu, basically anything from MK, he is just a cab driver here.

A/n: I enjoy writing fic with a 3 part/act(?) structure more than I thought (even if it is a bit exhausting) so I'm gonna give Jake some love too. There will be 3 parts based on three different songs, each dedicated to a phase in the love life of you and Jake. This is part 1!

Summary: One look at you and Jake knows you're his soulmate in this life.

Jake sat in his car after pulling up in a small alley, his eyes were tired and bloodshot. After letting out a long sigh, he began to search for his beloved alcohol flask in the drawer, among with candy wrappers and some wrinkly dollars.

Jake hates people, and he hates having people in his car even more. They might ruin the expensive leather seats he loves so much, but now look at him, not even bothered anymore. "What a life, being a cab driver" Jake thinks to himself while taking a sip of vodka from the flask.

As pathetic as it sounded, it was still a job and he had bills to pay at the end of the day. Jake decided to turn on the radio and let his shoulder relax to whatever it could offer him, maybe traffic news or even commentary of a football show. Jake needed a good rest and he couldn't do that without something playing in the background, it reminded him of how he used to let the TV play and sleep on the couch when he was a kid.

''Do you live in New York City

Or a couple towns away?''

To Jake's surprised, an angelic voice begin to sing, he waste no time moving around a bit to find the perfect position, ready to let the music lures him to sleep.

''Wherever you are, I'd jump in my car

Just to see you today

Will I meet you at a party?

Sit next to you on a plane?

Maybe I already know you and love you

But will fall in love some day''

That sentence stuck in Jake's mind. The thought of falling in love with someone kept him awake, unable to sleep.

Truth is, Jake has never known what love is, he has passed it aside because love can't get him a nice meal, or a full tank of gas. For Jake, love is something only rich people can afford, it comes with diamonds and jewelry, and all the shiny things that he could only dream of.

Truth is, Jake is too poor for love.

"Dear soulmate

Do you think of me? 'Cause I do"

'Soulmate, huh? It'd be nice to have one.' Jake thinks to himself, his eyelids getting heavier and heavier, until unknowingly, he has fallen asleep to the song in the background.

Ever since that day, the song has become something special in Jake's life. It helps him with his sleep and more importantly, it gives him the hope of having a soulmate in his already shitty life.

Being a traditional man, he made the song into a cassette and kept it safe under the secret drawer, only pulling it out when he needed to feel at peace or when he was alone. But today is different.

===☾︎ ☾︎ ☾︎===

"Could you put on some music while driving, sir? Thank you :)" Y/n asked the cab driver while getting into the car; she was slightly annoyed with the amount of newspapers scattered around the seat, but it's too late now and Y/n can't risk waiting for another cab alone.

While you're busy putting the newspaper aside to sit comfortably, Jake has been watching you from the rearview mirror with curiosity.

He expected a drunk girl from a party or an overworked guy who was simply too tired to take the bus home for his final ride of the day, but it appears to be... you. Jake doesn't know exactly what word he can choose to describe you, but somehow the smile on your face brings him comfort, just like the song he loves so much.

"Any song would be okay, yes?" Jake asked, eyes still focused on the road. He heard a quick "yes" behind him and that's all it took for Jake to pull out the cassette.

"Dear soulmate

Do you think of me? 'Cause I do

...

Will you make me butter toast?

Perhaps a morning roast

When I wake up and I'm sad?"

Once again, the melody he has heard a thousand times played. But the singer is not the only angelic voice Jake can hear now; he can hear your voice too. You're singing along to the song, not just any song, but his special one.

Jake wants to ask more about it, but he decided to keep his mouth shut. You seem really tired, and maybe asking about your singing would make the whole situation feel awkward.

In the blink of an eye, Jake has already driven you back to your home safely. You thanked him and even tipped him more than he asked for (which made Jake feel very thankful).

The story of how Jake has become a somewhat personal driver for Y/n is unknown, but whenever and wherever she needs him, he will be there. Y/n see Jake as a grumpy, overprotective guy, and in return, Jake sees Y/n as an innocent, needing to be protected girl.

The more they learn about each other, the closer they become, from strangers to friends, and finally... lovers.♡

[geminimoonbeamx]

Reality Bites: Dazed & Confused (5/6)

A/N: While this is painful to read, it was a blast to write. We finally get to see why Y/N(Peach) and Billy hate each other...and its because they’re a little too alike. @allaboardthereadingrailroad Bean has a type, doesn’t she?

Warnings: Swearing. Bullying. Underage drinking. Realistic descriptions of a couple tearing each other to verbal pieces. Semi OOC Steve. Horror at the end.

Parings: Steve Harrington x Plus Sized Reader

Summary: The end of the bonfire at the Quarry is supposed to be the cherry on top of a perfect summer. Instead, the tension between you and Steve comes to an ugly head.

Chapter Five: Love Will Tear Us Apart(Again)

Pregaming is a very dangerous business. 

You’d learnt that Freshman year, when you’d spent the entirety of Homecoming in the backseat of Heather’s then Wide Receiver boyfriends car. Violently drunk, spinning, the front of your pretty green dress soiled with vomit. 

Since then, you've learned to keep a count on your drinks. Blackouts weren’t on the agenda. 

The conclusion was; anything over two beers before a party? You’ll be blackout before midnight. You don't ever accept more than a couple shots, and mixing the two? Is out of the question. 

There's a method to your madness, a party equation of sorts. It always worked, always. In the past it had kept you from many fiesta folly, celebration carnage if you will. 

Of course, just like everything else in your life lately, 

Nothing was going how it should, how it always had. 

Boo, Bean. Bullshit. What a lie about the Scientific process always being right. 

The night is damp, muggy Indiana heat hanging heavy in the air. Ugh, you hate it, but more importantly, your hair hates it. 

You’d had to absolutely douse it Clairol serum, and even then, you know that sooner rather than later you’d sweat out your sleek blowout- 

Luckily, if there was anyone who cared as much about their hair, you so happened to be in his car. 

Steve Harrington had come to pick you and Bean up in that shiny BMW of his. Fashionably late, a little after ten pm. He’d been to enough parties to know that nobody of notoriety showed up before nine.

You’d both informed Bean of that fact, you sliding into the passenger and her into the back. 

“Aren't we going to be late, or something?” Bean wondered, tugging a little at the hem of her dress. It had come out perfect, just as you’d planned. 

Short and tight and slutty, leopard print and just on the right side of tack. She wanted to look like a Motely Crue groupie, and that she did. 

Steve chuckles as he cranks the wheel, backing out of your driveway and into the street “I don't think that you can really be late to a party, Sinclair- it's like, not conducive to partying” 

Steve and his big, shiny new words. 

They clash, his developed vocabulary and his ability to morph into a near replica of his school days self. Shiny styled hair, the red and white bomber over the crisp white tee. Cuffed jeans. Expensive tennis shoes. 

You used to hate him, and his pretty hair and his exorbitant sneakers and now, he rubs your bare thigh absent mindedly, before reaching for the radio.  

It’s odd. 

A real mid fuck. 

You suck, hard on the end of a lit pre-roll, your lungs screaming in protest. 

Weed gods, please. SOS. Take away this…unease. 

There’s no need for it. You’re hot. Beans hot. You and Steve arent dating, just showing up together. 

Multidimensional aliens aren't real. Maybe. 

It was Bean's first “official” party, the knot in your stomach must be her residual nervous energy. Had to be. Right?

As Bean swigs Orange Jubilee Mad Dog, she doesn't seem very nervous at all. 

The Farewell at Lovers Quarry is as old as the town it’s self, as middle america as it got. A bonfire, bright and blazing sat on the rocky shore of the watering hole, a meeting ground. It felt primordial, and trashy and more then a tad bit juvenile. 

Just the way that a High School kegger should. 

You’d always loved it, the dirty debauchery. The pounding music, the never ending chatter and commotion that came with being in a large group of people. You liked being acknowledged, spotted in the crowd, having your name called, 

“Y/N, wherve you been?” 

“Wow, look who actually showed up” 

It just doesn't…scratch the itch. 

“AH! SEE!!” Heather had screeched, eardrum piercingly loud, throwing her arms around your neck and squeezing tight “I told you she was coming! Didn't I tell you! I fuckin’ told you”

She’s drunk, but that's a given. Whenever the brunette has a red solo cup in her hand, it only means one thing; full to partial black out. Maybe a fight. Possible alcohol poisoning “What you didn't tell me is that you were bringing your boyfriend, you bitch” 

Her whisper isn't much of a whisper at all, and you're glad for the blush you’d already applied because your face would be flaming. You don’t even want to look at Steve. 

“Hi! You're Ben, right?” 

“Um, Bean” Bean corrects, looking a little bit uncomfortable with the intimate nickname being thrown around so blase. You hope she knows you're sorry “B/R/N, actually”

“Oh! Yeah! Bean!” Heathers not malicious, not venomous the way you knew the rest of the squad could get. But she is drunk, her filter dissolved in vodka, who knows how long ago “Want’a shot?”

“Sure” Bean nods, grin a bit forced but still there. Trying. There- she might have that experience she was looking for yet. Fake it til’ you make it, huh. 

“Yessss” 

Bean had a lot of practice with touchy feely former Homecoming Queens. Being friends with you, she had to adjust to overbearing physical contact pretty damn fast. 

When she becomes victim to a Heather Headlock, she can't help the squeak she emits. her eyes look like they're legitimately going to bulge straight out of her head and you let out a peel of laughter. 

This is what you wanted, sweet Jelly Bean. 

You don’t notice how Steve trails behind, apprehensive- even when his former team players clap him hard on the back. Man hugs. Weird boy code hand shakes. He smiles, but that look in his eye never shifts. 

Cheerleading is a competitive sport, and one day the world will recognize it as such. It’s the most physical thing you’d ever done, your body had bent and broken in ways that had made even your surgeon of an uncle take a double look. 

All those fractured bones and tumbles, 

And none of that shit had anything on the mental gymnastics that came with being a Hawkins High Tiger

It’s sick, and you’d deny it to anyone who asked, but you’d always kind of gotten off on it. It was a pyramid of gossip, and as long as you stayed at the tip, you got a good vantage point. It was fun, looking down on everyone. 

It used to be fun. 

So why isn't it anymore?

Because you’re old news, the intrusive bitch part of your brain whispers. 

The new generation of Varsity Tigers are shiny, new. Young and excited, eyes glittering and hopeful. They’re only a bit younger then you, and most of them you’d known for years- and yet you envy them so much it makes the liquor in your stomach churn.

This is what this party was about. A final farewell to the Graduates of 86’, as soon as the clock struck midnight the schools books would officially update.

Your names would be gone forever, gone. 

Time would reset and go on, and you? Would be stuck. 

You’re not only old news, you’re Jurassic. You’ll be a Hawkins fossil, forever frozen in the Indiana mud the even bitchier, more intrusive part of your brain reiterates her evil twin. 

Weren’t people supposed to have an angel and a devil on their shoulders? Instead you had a head full of bitches, and really, none of them liked you. 

It’s why you’ve been actively trying to drown them in the trash can punch you’d been handed. 

Shut up. Have fun. Be normal.

You wonder if people would be so eager to party in the woods if they knew what you did. If they hit a Venus fly trap with legs, would they be okay in the near darkness? 

You are. 

Okay. 

Listening to Molly talk about how she’s road tripping to Ann Arbor next weekend. She wanted an early monopoly on Freshman rush. She was a legacy, of course. 

You’d be good at that, you think. Sorority. Another predestined social construct you could fall in. Sounds nice. 

“What about you, Y/N? Still taking that gap year?” 

It comes from Kirsten. Bleach blonde, fake tan Kirsten. You’d never liked her, and you think the bright blue swiped across her eyelids looks like clown makeup. You should tell her of the fact, 

Instead you explain for what felt like the thousandth time that yeah, you were. Maybe you’d volunteer at the hospital with Elliot. Maybe you’d go backpacking- you like hate nature but whatever. Maybe you’d blow your brains out, oh, that’s if you didn’t get eaten by-

You leave out that last part. A smile on your glossy pink lips, toss a quick “I’ll be back” before you give them your acid washed back. 

Where’s Steve? And Bean? Heather had been feeding your party green friend shots, but then Kyle showed up and well now Heather was liplocked and distracted. Usual. Hargrove hadn’t gotten here yet, had he? You hadn’t seen that environmental ailment of a car of his parked along with all of the others in the clearing. 

Bean had to be around here somewhere, your eyes scanned fast for the raven haired girl. Leopard print. Amber skin- the bonfire is raging now, full blast. The party packed; bodies swaying, way more people had shown this year- how long had you been sucked into the cheer vortex? You hadn't realized how much time had passed, but if you were gauging it by how many people were now here…shit. 

The wedges you’re in are tall, and though you’d been on heels since the first time you’d seen how they made your ass look in a Macy’s changing room in 8th grade, the terrain isn’t meant for them. It’s too rocky, unstable. Roots and uneven ground.

“Learn how to fucking walk, asshole” you hiss at a guy, he had knocked into your cup and your hand is covered in sticky red, the sleeve of your jacket soaked. 

He slurs an apology, something about a bitch, but clears the path enough for you to shoulder your way around him. 

These stains would never come out, you mentally lament as you inspect the damage to your coat and dress, the vivid red that marred the baby blue. No baking soda slurry would fix it. 

It’s not even Midnight, hadn't even hit the hour that everyone had shown up for. You can't leave yet, it would look bad. 

Everybody talks about how fun you are, but I just don't see it,. 

You down the little that's left of your drink, and drop the cup, let it roll where it may. It gets stomped on, down to flat plastic bits and yeah. That feeling isn't far off or foreign 

Finding Bean is bust, the girl is gone in a plume of smoke. If you had to guess- said plume of smoke was thick Marlboro Red based, exhaled by a certain mullet having asshole. 

Where the hell is Steve? 

What, you can't get him to leave you alone for more then five minutes at a time all summer, but the moment you get him in a social setting he totally ghosts? It makes you uneasy, that notion. 

He said it was fine, that the two of you were fine. 

Ending up with the burnouts is not how you thought this party would go, but they have weed, even if it is shitty home grown grass. Youre all for Bean getting her rocks off, but did she have to run off with the tin of pre-rolled joints in her bag? 

Midnight comes and goes, 

The world doesn't stop. 

But it doesn't feel like it goes on either, the bonfire, the people. The sky and the watering hole and Hawkins in fucking general is suspended, a snowless snow globe. 

The new seniors cheer, raise their cups because fuck yeah, one step closer to being done. And the graduates, they cheer because they did it. Accomplished what they had been told needed to be accomplished since kindergarten. 

You don't cheer, but you don't let your face screw up either, just suck on the end of the poorly rolled blunt that some guy you would have absolutely never talked to in school hands you. 

You don't even really talk to him now, but you’ll smoke his weed. 

“Y/N-:” 

You're sufficiently stoned, when you hear your name called. When that familiar head of perfectly styled hickory hair bobs through the crowd. Steve finds you, standing too near the bonfire, arms crossed, a frown marring your pretty features, the flames licking and dancing in the reflection of your narrowed eyes. 

“Uh, what are you doing?”

“Not like you care,” You shoot at him. “But some asshole drowned my jacket in jungle juice. I’m trying to dry it off”

“Shit, here-” He starts to take off the bomber hed donned for the night,a peace offer. Maybe. You wave him off, its fine, you tell him. Whatever. 

“No, I’m cool. Where have you been all night? I feel like I've barely seen you. What? We come together but you're too cool to be seen with me?” 

You’ve said worse to him, so much worse. Your tone isn't even that shitty, bratty maybe but well he deserved it. Bean had an excuse for ditching you, but Steve? What the hell. 

“What the fuck are you talking about? you're the one who sent me on a beer run so you could sit and play catch up with the squad” 

“Longest beer run in history, huh” 

“Y/N” It’s a warning, his tone. The square of his shoulders. 

But youre drunk and irritated, and not having even a little bit of fun. The music is too loud, blaringly so, and whoever is in control of it has super shitty taste, A View To Kill had been replayed like three times. 

Steve drains his own solo cup, seeming to need it before replying and yeah. He was the DDD, Designated Drunk Driver, but like, that seems extensive. 

“I really don't need this shit right now, I’ve been looking for you for an hour, no one told you to run off-” 

“Run off? Are you serious?-”

“Look, I dont want to fight, I really dont” he grabs your arm, loose grip. “Let’s just go home. My parents are gone so you can spend the night at mine? We can get the hell out of here, and go watch that weird Gelfling movie you were telling me about” 

“We cant leave yet, Steve” 

“Why not?” 

“We- We haven't even been here for that long. And you know after parties always beat this stupid shit anyway. Isn't Tommy H throwing?” 

“Yeah, fuck no I’m not going to his after party. You don't even like Tommy-” 

“I know but like who cares. All of our friends will be there” 

“So? Doing what? More of this” He gestures vaguely with his hand, and you don't like this, “This shits miserable, I didn't even want to come-”

“What?” That's not true, he’d been just as excited as you. He’d wanted to be here just as much as you did. He'd been all for it, hadn't he?

“But I did, because you did. Because you wanted to have fun, but I can tell you're not. And I’m not, so let;s just go. We have a better time when it’s just the two of us anway” 

“Okay you're kind of being an elitist asshole right now. What do you mean miserable? All of our friends are here” You insist, trying to force your voice party light. Happy. Because you’re supposed to be here, He’s supposed to be here. It makes sense, you can't leave yet. “Beans somewhere around here-”

“Nah, she ran off with Hargrove. They left, dude. A while ago” 

Dude? 

“Okay, dude” its a clear taunt “So what? You just want to go without telling anyone goodbye-”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying I want to do”

“Heather!-” You’re insisting. Throwing out the weakest argument points ever, and really, you don't even know why. Why youre playing devils advocate for this stupid as shit party, why youre trying to convince him to stay with you. 

“Ditched you to play tonsil hockey with Lisnecki” 

“I did not get ditched! If anyone ditched me tonight it was you-” 

You’d always believed that there was a time and place for everything. The right timing, Your Uncle Elliot had taught you young, could change everything. Could make or break a situation. 

Nancy Wheeler has horrible timing. 

Always had. Spoke when she knew it would infuriate people. Reminded teachers who had clearly forgotten about homework due dates. Stumbled into the middle of cat fights in the locker rooms. 

It was clearly a habit she wasn't going to drop anytime soon. 

You're so consumed with Steve, and the ever growing tension between the two of you that you dont notice her. Wouldn't have, even if your- Steve wasnt starting to really piss you off. She’s never been very noticable. 

There's a tap on your shoulder, just as you're about to tell him to go home without you if he wanted to leave so bad. 

You should've known, by the look in his eye. By the way his mouth snaps shut and his jaw does that weird little grindy thing it tended to do when he felt awkward, put on the spot. 

Nancy stands there, looking completely out of place. Far from her element, and both of you know it.

 Any other day the two of you would be just about the same height, but you tower over her in your heels. Look down on her. Jonathan Byers lurks just behind her, in his usual Jason Vorhees fashion. Very shasher sheek. 

“Um, Hi Y/N- uh Steve, hey” She greets, thin lips pulling up into a cumbersome smile as she greets you.

“Nance” Steve nods. 

“Wheeler” The pseudo one word greeting you give back is short.

 “I was just wondering if you know where Bean is. I can't find her anywhere, and we were supposed to meet up. I thought she’d be with you” Nancy continues. Doesn't this bitch want to be a journalist? Shouldn't she know how to read the proverbial room better? 

Maybe it's the fact that she calls Bean by the sacred nickname that meant so much to you, that she inquired about your best friend. 

Or maybe, it’s the way that Steve greets her back, with none of the strained animosity that he had been speaking to you with just moments before. Soft, he’d always been so soft with Nancy. So soft for her. 

Either way. Nancy had always had horrible timing. 

And you…well, you didn't have the patience to play nice right now. Not for someone who mattered so little, who you barely liked in the first place. 

“She wanted to meet up with you? Are you sure?” Your voice is sweet, teeth rotting. Nerve exposing “I didn't even think the two of you were friends anymore”

Nancy’s already big round eyes go even rounder. Shock. Indignance. You don't give a shit. She wasn't the little doll people treated her as, and you sure went going to handle porcelain priss Nancy with kiddy gloves. Not for Bean. And certainly not for Steve. 

“We never really stopped being friends. Just different paths, for a while. I thought we could all- Bean invited me here so that we could hang out” 

Oh. 

Hm. 

“Here? To a party?” You let out a giggle, “ Isn't that that a little counterintuitive, you and parties don't really mix. The last party I remember you being at was Hanna’s Halloween thing, and well. We all know how that went” 

“Y/N-” 

No, Steve. This is the most normal you’ve felt all night, 

“I mean you were better dressed at that one, to be fair. Which is funny because that was an actual costume party. Whats with this get up, Nance? Did you get dressed in the dark or something? Its okay. We all have our fashion faux pas But for future reference, green and pink stripes dont look good on anyone” You whisper the last part, delighting at the way her face crumpels.

 The tendons in her neck straining as she swallows. Tears? A retort? 

You want it. It feeds something in you, something starving and empty and gaping. Ugly. Familiar. 

“What the hell is your problem?” Oh. Retort it is. She’s not a doll at all is she? Ballsy, taking the bait. 

“Okay that's enough” Steve goes forward, wanting to put literal space between the two of you. You side step him easily, crossing your arms over your chest. That smile, the one that contorts your entire face, aimed at him now. 

“It’ll be enough when I say it’s enough” 

“You’re being ridiculous.It’s not her fault, don't take our shit out on her-” 

“I’m being ridiculous?” 

“Yeah, you are. Act your age for like, two seconds and let’s go cool off. This is so below you-” 

“Screw you, Steve” You spit the words right into his face. Cutting whatever else he had to say short. 

You’re turning away, fast on your heels before he can say anything else. You cant even look at him, as you feel the heat lick up your chest your cheeks burn. 

Embarrassment and rage intermingle dangerously, and you feel them in your throat. In the tips of your fingers, as you curl them int fists at your side. 

Its not that he stepped in to defend her- even though yeah, you fucking hate that too. 

It’s the way he had spoken to you. He’d literally looked down on you and scolded you, in front of everyone. For anyone to see. Like you were a child, like you were below him. He had spoken to you the way he did the kids. Like you were Lucas, or Dustin, or Mike. A child who needed to be corrected. 

You're on a warpath, you don't care who you knock into. If anyone has any sense, they’ll get the fuck out of your way. You push and shove through the crowd, legs carrying you faster then they should be able to. Your ankles barely wobbling as you climb the rocky path, the one that leads to the field. Away from the party. Away from the fire. From Nancy, from Steve- 

“Y/N!” 

You ignore him, ignore the way he yells after you as he trails behind you, getting caught up in the crowd. Lacking the fuel like anger to push his way through. 

You’re too mad to think about how you’re going to get home, you don't even know where you're going. You just need to get away. You have to outrun this. These feelings. Him. 

“Really? Fuck” Steve curses as he fumbles through the dark, slips on rocks and almost faceplants “Wait a second, Y/N!”

Curse his athleticism. Curse his long legs. Curse these fucking wedges!

Steve grabs your wrist when he catches up to you, which he does quickly. You wrench your arm away from him. 

“Dont touch me” 

“Seriously, talk to me-” 

“Talk to you? I dont even want to fucking look at you right now” 

“At me? I wasn’t just a cunt to random people for zero reason. What the hell was that back there? Why would you act like that?” 

You can't believe him

“Like what?” You goad him, finally meeting him head on. Steve wanted this. He wanted to fight. “A cunt? Like myself?” 

“Stop” 

“No Steve, you said it. I’m a cunt. I’m not a nice person, and that's fine. At least I dont parade around, with a holier then though nice guy act pretending to be decent” 

Steve rubs his head, both hands, standing straight and letting out a long exhale “Dont try to turn this around on me. You always do this shit, its always the same thing. Me. I’m the bad guy. I’m the asshole-” 

“You are!” 

“I’m not the one who just used an innocent girl as my own personal punching bag” 

“Oh! Okay! There it is Steve” You point at him, hands gesturing  wildly, manic shrill laughter bubbling “Innocent Nancy. God, could you be more pathetic? How are you still pining after her? It’s been like two fucking years, get the fuck over it” 

“You don't know what you’re talking about” Steve grits out. “This has nothing to do with her, I didn’t even know she was going to be here tonight”

You've seen him annoyed. You’ve seen him get chewed out by shitty customers over ice cream, seen him lose big games. Seen him exasperated and pissed. 

You’ve never really seen him angry. 

Not at you. 

“You want a Nancy. Thats fine, go find one. Hell, go see if you can get her back from Byers. But don’t you ever, ever fucking try to chide me infront of everyone because I refuse to play boring Wonder Bread girlfriend for you” 

“Is that what you’re so pissed about? You’re embarrassed that I called you out in front of everyone?” 

“You had no right-” 

“Fuck, really? I had no right? So you get to say whatever you want to me, whenever you want to? But god forbid I-. Why do you always have to start this?” Steve’s eyebrows are pinched together something fierce. Face sour in a way you had never seen it. 

“Me? I started this?” You cry because you don't like where this is going, you don't like the way hes turning it around on you. “You’ve been acting sketch all night!”

“You did. You started it because all you care about is what these people think of you. We shouldve left an hour ago- fuck, we never should of came in the first place. But you just had to come show out for em, huh? What do you get out of it, what does it do for you?” Steve questions, and the worst part is? It’s valid. 

You don't know what to say, your well of near constant quick witted comebacks going dry. As dry as your throat as you swallow around the lump that clogs it. 

“What are you so scared of?” Steve pushes, coming forward. You want to hold your ground, he doesnt get to make you feel this small “Why are we here? For someone as bossy and OCD as you are, it's insane to me that you let opinions, of people who you don't even care about, get to you this bad” 

“You're such an asshole-” you start, but he goes on. 

He doesn't even sound as mad anymore. Just tired. Exhausted exasperation. It makes your hair stand on end. 

What he’s saying, the way he’s looking at you. 

“-I don't have to explain a thing to you. What, you think you know me because we’ve fucked a few times? That doesn't mean shit, it doesn't mean a single thing to me” 

“Here we go” He shakes his head, a joyless quirk of his lips. “I don't know you, huh? At all? Thats such bullshit” 

“You don't. What, you think because you know how to make me come you suddenly know the inner workings of my psyche? What are you so scared of? Fuck off with that garbage, Steve. You're not my boyfriend. You're a glorified booty call, you get that right? That all we've been doing? God, your parents really didn't hug you enough as a child” 

The blow lands. You can tell by the look on his face. By the way he staggers, almost physically. 

He gapes, mouth opening and closing. Like he's trying to figure out what to say- you're ready for it. For the back lash. For him to snap. 

“It's always gonna be like this with you, isn't it? With us?” Steve frowns, disgusted. 

You shrug. 

Probably. 

“You’re fucking insane” Steve accuses. 

You start to walk away from him. 

“And insecure!” 

Whatever. 

“And I'm done chasing you. I’m so serious, I’m not gonna keep doing this with you, don't walk away from me-” 

“Fuck you, Steve!” You hiss. 

“No- fuck you, Y/N. Fuck this” 

Your pride keeps you from looking back, from watching him climb into the BMW. You hear the ignition though, heer his wheels ground gravel as he backs out, as he drives away. 

Even though you're furious, even though you hate him in that moment,and even though you’re drunker than you’d meant to get. You he won't leave you, not really. 

Steve always comes back. 

Steve doesn't come back

The night is sweltering, the summer heat digging its nails in even as the stars dot twinkling constellations across the blackened sky. Hot, humid, and miserable. You’ve never felt so heavy. 

You trudge down Old Mill Road, through the darkness. It cuts through the woods, and is a straight shot back into town from the quarry. It’s also a five mile hike- you’d ditched the platforms twenty minutes ago. Your feet feel no no relief, padding barefoot on the rough asphalt, 

“Ow- Fuck” You hiss, for what feels like the hundreth time as you hop on one foot, rubbing pebbles and rubble away from your soft soles. A hysterical sob bubbles up from the pit of your chest and you choke on it, fighting to keep your emotions at bay. It’s fine, you’d made this walk before. Drunker than this- 

There's a shuffle in the leaves. 

Yeah, you’d made this walk. But never had you done it alone. 

The treeline is alive, dark and ominous and gaping on either side of the road. Your ears catch every noise, head snapping to follow the sound, eyes shifting in the thick pitch dark. It’s probably an animal or something. A bunny, or maybe a deer- the coyotes in the area had ripped the Jeffersons dog to shreds last fall. 

Funnily enough, you’d take a pack of rabid dogs over what could be out there. 

It’s going to be fine, you chant to yourself, picking up the pace. Your calves screaming in protest, your inner thighs rubbed beyond raw. 

You're just paranoid and upset. You’re not thinking logically-

Branches snap and crunch and the hair on the back of your neck stands straight, on high alert-

Your mind is just playing tricks on you, but you propel yourself faster and faster until you’re full on sprinting down the isolated road. Your lungs tighten painfully and your head spins. It has teeth, rows and rows of them, and claws. It left a crater sized dent in your hood- and it fucking killed Barb. Bean said-

A pair of headlights cut through the dark,

Part of you would’ve taken the Xenomorph instead. 

The beat to shit Ford Galaxi passes you, and then rolls to a stop a few feet ahead. You deliberate bee-lining into the monster infested forest.

 Instead you raise your chin and square your shoulders a bit. It looks better than jumping up and down and cursing at the sky because what had you done in a past life. To. Deserve. This. 

There's only so much dignity one can have when they’re barefoot with mascara running down their face, with their shoes hanging from their left hand. 

“Y/N?” Nancy calls through the open, she’s riding passenger of course. Jonathan Byers just stares at you, beady eyes hard and cautious. “Are you okay?”

“Uh-” you blank  because really, what the fuck does she expect you to say. You wonder if maybe this is some kind of prank, you tell her no, you are very much not okay and she drives away cackling because you’d pointed out her lack of fashion sense. 

It’s what you would do. 

Nancy’s gaze isn’t malicious, as much as it is inquiring. A little too knowing, a little too concerned. 

Because she’s a better person than you are. 

“I’m totally fine” It’s weaker than you mean for it to be, far from the venomous retort that you can't seem to muster. 

They have all the reason in the world to leave you there, stranded on Old Mill, Jonathan actually looks like he’s totally okay with that option. But Nancy persists. Pushy as ever. 

“We could give you a ride home, if you need one?” 

Everything inside of you protests that offer, down to a cellular level. You should tell them absolutely the fuck not, and walk away. Flipping your hair behind you. That’s how it is, how it’s been. What you know. 

The forest breathes again, crunching and shifting and swaying and you swear somewhere in the distance something is shrieking. 

“Yes” the words feel like cotton in your mouth. Jonathan looks as shocked as you feel, like the craziest thing to ever happen in this town is you agreeing to ride in the back of his junk mobile. 

“Please, if you’re going by my place. I’d really uh appreciate it” 

The smile Nancy gives you is both forced and sympathetic and you’d really like to die. Death seems like a comfort at this point, and that’s not you being dramatic. 

“No, It’s okay you’re only a few streets over from me. Right, Jonathan?”

Jonathan grimaces and you never thought you’d feel any sort of camaraderie with the Eldest Byers, like ever. But as you climb into the back seat, situating yourself on the tattered leather, you lock eyes with him in the rearview. I’d rather be doing anything other than this. 

 Yeah, the feelings fucking mutual. 

The ride to your place is too long, and you don’t think you really breathe through the entirety of it. The Guns of Brixton floats through his speakers and you cling to the thought of; maybe none of this is real. Maybe nothing has been real, since you hit that thing in the woods. 

If only that were the case. 

Word to the wise; If a man ever calls you a cunt and then leaves you stranded in the middle of nowhere? You better never talk to him again. Ever. Even if he does look like Steve Harrington